It’s the little things that let us know we truly love someone; the things that lay around their room, how they fold their clothes, they way they let their towel hang, the way their blanket crinkles. It’s the smallest of gestures that taste better than any romantic dinner and shine brighter than any diamond ring. So, when Juliette Commagere sings, “I’ll carry them for you,” it’s easy to see that her love runs deeper than syllables – it’s in the details.

image by Catherine Ryan

listen to Juliette’s album, The Procession

Dig out the cartoon star covered sheets of Incubator’s Blanket Fort and slip inside. A trusty flashlight shoots its slender rays to the top of the make-shift structure, drawing the multi-colored stars close enough to count and even touch. The crack of a smile ignites a pillow fight and when the cotton bursts open we pause to watch the dislodged feathers float to the ground in slow-motion, like snowflakes. It’s our blanket fort, like the walled insides of a snow globe, twirling around in a world all our own, safe and sound.

It’d been a whole year since yours truly had wandered through the chilly cellars and sun-soaked vineyards of Gundlach-Bundschu winery with our pals, Fruit Bats, taking in an unforgettable session with a few too many sips of wine. It was truly a day to remember, and one that was about to blossom into something much much bigger. Turns out that at the end of the night, Eric Johnson of Fruit Bats and Jeff Bundschu (the winery’s founder) were enjoying a few bottles of wine together, rewinding the day in their minds and wishing that they could do it all again. Several  sips later, the idea for the Huichica music festival was born, a feast of awesome music, fine wine, and beautiful scenery.

Yours Truly and High/Low Film were there to capture Andy Cabic of Vetiver and Eric Johnson of Fruit Bats performing the Bobby Charles tune “I Must Be In a Good Place Now,” in a 100-year-old cabin on the Bundschu property.

Last time I saw my homie Kells was at his cousin’s wedding. It was kinda like that “cold-ass weddin’” that Cedric the Entertainer described in Kings of Comedy. The flower girl was tossing around grape pop-rocks instead of rose petals and people were picking them up and eating them. I heard one of the grandfathers yell, “These flowers keep pokin’ my mouth!” The couple walked down the aisle to “Mama’s Song” by Boyz II Men, which made no sense, and the pastor recited verses from the Bible with a cigar in his mouth. Kells was in the wedding party on the bride’s side and he was one of 3 people that were crying during the vows. He’s an emotional dude so that didn’t come as a surprise to me. What was surprising was seeing him sway back and forth, fists clenched, mumbling words like he was reciting prayers in church but after closer study, I realized that he was actually mouthing the words to “I Believe I Can Fly.” I slipped out the side door and almost fell over laughing. Fucking genius.

At the reception, I met some of the family – such a loving group of people. Everyone was dancing, laughing, drinking and eating. I ate way too much food. No, it wasn’t barbecue, you dick. I had a breaded Cornish game hen with some sort of crisp, yet airy, cake-like bread, and a maple dipping sauce. Shit was bomb. But, the real fun came with the drinking. Some time between dinner and the Electric Slide, I walked up to the back bar to order my fourth or fifteenth St. Ides. And that’s when it happened. That’s when I met The-Dream.

Now, if you’re not familiar with The-Dream, you actually are and just don’t realize it yet. He wrote “Umbrella” for Rihanna. That shit was huge! He also released one of the dopest hip-hop/R&B albums of the decade just last year. Love vs. Money changed my life. I bought a bottle of Andre, shook it up, and sprayed it all over the crowd at a club. I walked into a Louis Vuitton store and browsed around for hours. I almost bought something. I called up a girl and talked smoothly, only asking questions like, “Whatchu doin’ right now, sweet thang?” She thought someone was crank calling her from my phone and hung up. But still, it felt right. I felt like I was me. That’s the kind of music The-Dream makes – music that tickles your soul, makes you giggle a bit, then jump out to see the world. He’s got a new album, Love King that just dropped hard, so when I saw him standing at the bar, I got super excited and cried.

The-Dream turned to me and said, “I wish you were a woman so I would care more about this question, but why you cryin’ dude?” He had a soft voice and it sounded like he was singing when he spoke.

I didn’t even realize I was crying. I said, “Nah, nah man. I wasn’t. I was just…”

” – Don’t trip G” Actually singing this time, he said, “These weddin’s are like lemonade – no sugar. They make your eyes water.” Somehow he made ‘sugar’ and ‘water’ rhyme. Damn, he’s good. And, I recognized those long stretches for similes in his lyrics. It was comforting to know that they’re not just on paper, but are actually used in his real life – a real-life bad poet.

“What are you doing here, The-Dream?” I asked.

“I’m here for love,” he confidently replied, like all of those contestants on VH1′s dating shows.

“Oh, well that’s nice. Here to witness the celebration of love,” I said smiling.

He looked at me with the most confused look on his face and shook his head. “Nah man. I’m here to find three girls to take home and make love to.”

“Oh, well that’s cool too. You’re just going to take three girls home and have sex with them?” I casually asked.

He sang, “One in the kitchen and two in the bed. Like a Daddy Long Leg, eight legs I’m gonna spread.”

I was confused. “Wait, you said eight legs.”

“Yeah. So what?” he snapped, a little bit irritated with my questioning.

“Well, you bang one in the kitchen – .”

” – I make love to her in the kitchen,” he asserted.

“Right, you make love to one in the kitchen and then you make love to two of them in the bed. But, you said eight legs, which would make four girls, right?”

He looked at me as if I was stupid. “I’m a married man, son. You think my wife’s gonna let me bang 3 chicks without her?”

“Oh, okay. Gotcha. Class. Moving on, I gotta tell you that track you did with Drake,
Shut It Down is so ill. It’s incredible.”

Instead of acknowledging my compliment with a ‘thank you’ or something normal, he started to sing the song. I softly laughed a little bit, thinking it was a joke, but he continued to sing. I looked around to see if anyone was noticing this, but the DJ was spinning Juvenile so everyone was on the dance floor. Not only did he sing all of his parts, but he sung all of Drake’s parts as well. I stood there for 7 whole fucking minutes, listening to his entire a capella version of the song. I can’t describe to you how awkward it was.

I stopped paying attention towards the end of it and was fixated on the ass-shaking happening on the dance floor. As I was smiling, I turned back toward The-Dream and saw that he was waiting for my reaction. I looked around a little bit, just to see if he was staring at someone else. Although confused, I started applauding him. Then he smiled and nodded his head.

“That was good. I’m actually torn between that jam and ‘Put It Down‘ as my favorite song by you.”

He started singing that one.

“Please don’t,” I timidly begged.

He mad-dogged me hard for an entire minute. But, he has a bit of a baby face, so he looked more like a baby pit bull begging for scraps. Still, I didn’t want to upset him so I was worried. But, after that entire minute of silent staring, out of nowhere, he yelled, “Radio Killah!” and then asked me if I wanted another St. Ides.

“Sure, I’ll take one. Let me ask you a question though,” I said as we grabbed three St. Ides from the bartender, one for him and two for me. “What do the terms ‘shut it down” and “put it down” mean? Like, what’s the difference between the two?”

He smiled as if he had been waiting for someone to ask him that all his life.

He responded in song. “When I say ‘put it down,’ I tell the haters don’t come around. Like Bozo, you’s a clown. You can call me Ali, the way I’ll knock your ass out.”
I stared at him blankly. “With all due respect, The-Dream, I have no clue what you just said.”

He didn’t respond – just continued his R&B-style explanation. “But when I say ‘shut it down,’ like in my song “Shut It Down,” call me Ali, the way I knock that ass down.”

Again, blank stares. I sighed. “First of all, you rhymed ‘shut it down’ with ‘shut it down.” I raised my eyebrows at him, as if to ask what he was thinking, but he gave me the same response, as if to ask why I was even questioning it. “Okay. Second, you, um……well, then you just don’t make sense at all. Simple as that.”

“That’s the beauty of it,” he nonchalantly replied.

I couldn’t decide if he was retarded or a genius. “Well, either way, I can see why you’re boys with Kells.”

“Who’s Kells?” he asked, confused.

“Kells. R. Kelly. That’s why you’re here, right?”

“That muthafucka’s here?” he said, seeming to be a little upset.

“Yeah, this is his cousin’s wedding. I figured that’s why you came.”

“I told you I was here for love. Where’s that muthafucka Kells? Mofucka owes me a swimmin’ pool.” He stomped off past me to try and track down Kells. I took another swig of St. Ides and turned around to watch him walk off. I yelled, “Hey The-Dream!” He stopped and turned around to look at me, but didn’t say anything. I hesitated for a moment, but then yelled, “Radio Killah!”

He stared at me for a bit and I think he was debating whether or not to respond. Then he yelled, “It’s the R&B Gorilla!” smiled, and turned back around to hunt down Kells.

I turned to the bartender and, before I could say anything, he said, “Two more St. Ides?”

I pointed at him and said, “You know it.”

I’ve never been to Portugal, but I hope Chad Valley‘s Portuguese Solid Summer is playing from every sound system in sight when I get there. The track takes me to a beachfront hammock, where I’ve been chillin’ for what seems like days, gently swaying while sippin’ on sangria. Each time I lift my head to take a sip, my white-rimmed aviators slide down my nose slightly and, even though the sun is setting, I still nudge them back in to place. Cristiano Ronaldo rolls up to me to say what’s up, but I say, “Yo Cris, kick rocks. I’m puttin’ out the vibe for the ladies and you’re crampin’ my style. Go take a knee over there.” He kicks some sand and moves on as I take another sip of ‘gria. A girl in a bikini walks by and I smile at her. When she smiles back, I put my headphones back on and finish out the track.

Not ready to leave the beach yet?

Up and Down is perfect for early on in the day when you get your first carafe flowing.

Put on Spanish Sahara (Chad Valley Remix) when the sun dips below the shore and and its tiki torch time.

Here, let’s pop this little pill that Hard Mix gave us called To Care, To Know

At first, the marimba sticks out like an oasis in the distance of a vast desert. But it’s merely a mirage, actually it’s the tranquil trip-hop 2-step that sets the tempo. As the sun drifts down below the dunes, ushering in the darkness, the air is warmer than a lover’s bed and you can’t help but move your hips in time to the desert breeze. As tiny droplets of sweat begin to trickle down your temples, everything fades out of focus and you wonder why nothing maintains its shape. Then you remember taking that pill earlier and those worries fall effortlessly to your feet where they’re scattered about by your toes and danced back into the sand.

When you’re ready, rehydrate yourself from that trip to the dunes with this Marvin-sampling song, Alright

Sometimes songs sporadically change their tone, bouncing back and forth between minor and major, making one wonder if the song’s supposed to make you turn down the lights or crank them up. Though it’s sometimes confusing, songs that teeter on the border between lightness and dark are those that cut closest to my core. And, it wasn’t until I listened to “Back to Back” from Dusty Brown’s beautiful new EP that I realized how defenseless I could be.

Back To Back tells of a love that once burned strong but was never meant to be. On it, vocalist Jessica Brown asks, “Back to back or is it face to face? As we remember the light in our dark past,” a lyric that effectively sums up the wavering emotions the music elicits: when those fleeting moments of warmth tease us into believing that the sun will soon break through (and it never does), it’s those cracks in the clouds that keep us hanging on – that keep us listening.

More Dust…

Dusty Brown- Stevey Wonder

Dusty Brown – How’s That

Dusty Brown – This City is Killing Me EP Download | Donate

Imagery and discovery courtesy of the inspiring Iso 50

If you could do it all over again, would you change anything? Of course you would – no fuckin’ brainer. You’d ask that girl to the dance, even though she was way out of your league. Instead of taking that job offer, you’d tell ‘em you got some traveling to do before settling down into that desk. You’d make your life a god damn party because, hell, that’s how it should be.

This is the way Philadelphia’s Golden Ages approaches remixing. They take the finer points of the original and mix in the sound of nostalgia, creating songs that bring old memories to mind, memories that are transformed into the way they always should have been.

Take Swimmer’s Ear (Golden Ages Remix) from Viernes. What was once a watery, sun-burned, Merriweather drift, gets molded into an early ’90s house jam with a Hall & Oates bass line. It’s the track you’d be grooving to in a hip, couch-filled, 76-degree lounge found in the heart of the uninhabited desert.

Then there’s Twin Peaks (Golden Ages Remix) by Surfer Blood. The original already has a sense of nostalgia, forged in its early ’00s indie rock pastiche. But, this remix is a flashback to the late ’70s and early ’80s. It’s summer lovin’, had me a mafuckin’ blast. It’s the way the Brat Pack would have danced if the New Pornographers and GBV were around. It’s the song that’s blasting out of the T-bird as you drive out of the parking lot on the last day of school. But, it’s 2010.

Golden Ages’ approach wasn’t the same for Day We Met (Golden Ages Remix) by MillionYoung. However, it’s still a potent remix and, in fact, there’s still a trace amount of this nostalgia. In the original, Mike Diaz sings, “I just want to hold it all in my hands,” above a lazy daze 8-bit beat, which makes it sound regretful, like something that was there but is now lost. But when Golden Ages takes a crack at it, it becomes a song about empowerment, where there’s no question that they can hold the world in the palm of their hands. It’s no longer regretful. It’s exactly the way life should always be.

photography courtesy of Jock McDonald

It’s never surprising to discover something brilliant when you tumble onto Don’t Die Wondering. It’s a goldmine. They recently posted the beaten-down rave-up, Is This On Me? from Minneapolis’ Elite Gymnastics, from their Real Friends EP. It’s a track that grinds gently and emits a warm glow beneath it’s brisk surface. But, as gorgeous as that track is, it’s the title track that truly stands out.

Real Friends is the song that melts the snow, allowing the water to flow down the mountain into the lakes where we take our summer swim. Reminiscent of Air France, the song blends symphonic synths and tender, yet churning rhythms that seem to whisk away our winter coats with the softest breeze. Bask in this one as the summer sun draws near.

photo by Ryan McGinley

As  a kid, I remember watching this terrible live action version of Peter Pan – not the badass cartoon version, but some sort of play/musical-type version. It was full of bad b-movie acting and poor cinematography, but I watched it over and over. I couldn’t help myself. And it was all because of this one scene with my girl, Tigerlily. She was my first crush: a cute little blonde girl with face paint, a headdress, and moccasins. She never failed to turn my 7-year old cheeks rosy. I adored her.

This song from Fossil Cities reaches back to that time when all I wanted to do was watch my girl Tigerlily and blush. A swirling lullaby tone introduces the song for a moment until a few layers of precious vocals enter. They sing, “You’ll always be my little Indian.” And, when the rain-dance beat kicks in, images of Tigerlily and her tribe follow, dancing in a circle, covering their mouths with their palms, scanning the terrain around them with wide eyes.

We all have a Tigerlily somewhere in the back of our minds. This song is for that someone, who will always be your little Indian.

Little Indian