I swear I missed my calling in life—I should have been a band or talent scout or a label rep. I can practically tell you at note two or three if I’m going to be into something and better yet—if YOU are going to be into something. It’s a gift. You’re welcome.
You might be asking yourself then why so many more or less ‘established’ acts have graced our Wednesday ‘First Date’ feature which was initiated under the pretense of introducing brand new talent–fresh from the 15th rehearsal or the warm demo. Well, honestly, that plan didn’t pan out because frankly what’s graced the in-box on average has been…er, crap.
As Bob Lefsetz wrote a few days back, “Today’s artists are built in a day. They buy a Mac, fire up GarageBand and record a track, post it on MySpace, immediately e-mail you an MP3, insist you pay attention. Whereas it used to be much harder to make it. You had to practice, play endless gigs, fight for a chance to get a deal. Where it still might take you multiple albums to break through…”
And he’s right, but he left out one thing in this passage: you have to have the innate TALENT to merit that second or third listen. You HAVE to be good and reveal a hint that perhaps yes, maybe one day you’ll be GREAT. That you’ll transcend.
Which is why I’m pleased as punch to introduce you to Post Post, three young women from PA who mine a very clever 80s, Rough Trade-y, early Cure meets Tegan & Sara by way of Glasvegas vibe. (Got that?) Alan McGee would be a fan.
The band embodies that rare ember of promise and potential that so infrequently makes an appearance. The knowing world-weariness of front person Michelle Zauner’s vocals are a breath of long, long-forgotten air. Marry Post Post with the right producer (John Leckie – do you read TVD?) and big things are upon them. (Got that all you 9-5, AR and promotion people and publicists who I KNOW read us daily?)
Post Post open for Vivian Girls in December and might just blow away the headliners. Til then Michelle, Post Post’s resident vinyl enthusiast takes a trip down memory lane for us …via her record collection:
“I never really thought of it before but looking through my vinyl milk crate, my collection sort of reminds me of a graveyard of past significant others, albums are headstones and track listings are epitaphs. I guess this isn’t the best metaphor. I certainly visit my collection far too often and further, visit it happily (though there is certainly mourning involved, particularly when I confront Randy Newman’s “Something New Under the Sun,” or Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds’ “No More Shall We Part.”) Also I don’t have nearly enough exes to be represented by albums/“headstones.”
I guess what I meant to allude to was the fact that there is something very magical about vinyl. It’s easier to place your memories in their sleeves, because there’s just something so damn romantic about still listening to vinyl in this day and age, sort of like writing letters, there’s no better way to improve your day then finding a real letter in your mail box, especially a good one.
There’s almost a more tangible experience that comes with the music. It’s more meaningful. Even the act of putting a record on involves a sort of ritualistic practice, you can’t just throw it in a CD player and press play, or more appropriately, search your itunes and double click on the title. A person has to care about music in order to have patience with vinyl, especially in these times. They have to slip it gently out of the cover, hold it by its corners (because god forbid you scratch it), bulls-eye it onto the turntable, aim the needle at one of the five deeper grooves and let it softly go. And then, that satisfying scratch crackle congratulates you, you’ve earned your right to listen to music.
And in this way I relate “Songs of Leonard Cohen” with loneliness, “Harvest” with falling in love and Jesus and the Mary Chain’s “Psycho Candy” with great sex. But only are these relations/experiences really prominent when I think of them as pieces of vinyl, because the physical object actually embodies these things. I don’t know if this is making any sense.
All I know is that if I were to be asked one of those if-your-house-were-on-fire-what-would-you-bring questions, or, fittingly when our drummer Casey called me and told me that our basement in which I was storing all my stuff for the summer had flooded, the only thing I could ask was, are my records ok? (They were, thanks Casey.)
Because collecting records is kind of like a lifelong scavenger hunt, it’s not only that the objects are meaningful, it’s also the way you can look back at the way you got them, what situations you played them in, what you were into then, what hip local record store you got them in, and constantly trying to find that pesky piece of rare vinyl that’s (gasp!) not even available on ebay. That being said, if anyone happens to find a vinyl copy of Irma Thomas’ “Sweet Soul Queen of New Orleans,” please try and contact me.”
Post Post – The Auction (Part II) (Mp3)
Post Post – Wolf (Mp3)
Post Post – Sober (Mp3)
