Recording with KV today. He made this mixtape and this song was on there. It became the themesong of DG tour and Aaron and Josh and I would listen to it lots. Reminds me of driving into San Francisco over the Bay Bridge.
Hello from the Roosevelt Hotel. Amazing times, these days. Amazing days. Playing Bardot tonight in Hollywood. What the fuck. Life! Here is something else cool - Fred Thomas is putting out my record on cassette!
My friend Fred is putting out my first solo record The Withdrawing Room on cassette coming up. Life Like 55! You can paypal email@example.com if you’d like a copy to listen to on a long drive or on a boombox in the yard!
Life Like 55 MARY LATTIMORE C-50 Edition of 100 $7PPD/$10OVERSEAS
We met Mary when she was playing harp on the Kurt Vile tour two years ago and they came through Detroit. It was a Monday night gig, Swimsuit opening for Real Estate and KV, which seems great, but Lightning Bolt and some other bigger bands were playing down the street, so most people went to that show instead. We had a pretty good time, and one person who did come to our show for some reason was Miley Cyrus. I guess her dad, Billy Ray Cyrus had thrown out the first ball at a Tigers game earlier and she was looking for weed or something? Anyway, Mary rules and this is her first recording of solo harp. Super early morning, up all night feelings, gentle and kind with menace just below the surface, much like Miley.
Listening to my new friend Cale’s Soundcloud and this song is so beautiful. I would like to play music with this dude! Here in a guest room in Minneapolis, staying with my friend Jack’s cousin Robin. Robin has decorated this room with Christmas lights draped, old-timey bed, and has left the windows open. There’s a breeze, crickets, and listening to this song at 2:53 AM in the total darkness in this strange half-sleep dream tour that already feels like a memory, it’s a perfect pre-nostalgia soundtrack. I never want this memory to end.
Letter To N.Y.
For Louise Crane
In your next letter I wish you’d say
where you are going and what you are doing;
how are the plays and after the plays
what other pleasures you’re pursuing:
taking cabs in the middle of the night,
driving as if to save your soul
where the road gose round and round the park
and the meter glares like a moral owl,
and the trees look so queer and green
standing alone in big black caves
and suddenly you’re in a different place
where everything seems to happen in waves,
and most of the jokes you just can’t catch,
like dirty words rubbed off a slate,
and the songs are loud but somehow dim
and it gets so teribly late,
and coming out of the brownstone house
to the gray sidewalk, the watered street,
one side of the buildings rises with the sun
like a glistening field of wheat.
—Wheat, not oats, dear. I’m afraid
if it’s wheat it’s none of your sowing,
nevertheless I’d like to know
what you are doing and where you are going.