Monday to Monday and Friday to Friday: Pop Culture Round-Up
A very belated Pop Culture Round-Up on account of, finals!
Read
5-10-15-20 with Johnny Marr. Mark Richardson. Pitchfork.
The first 45 I ever bought with my own money was a T. Rex record, which, luckily, is very cool. It was a fluke, though— it was in a bargain shoebox in a furniture store, and I didn’t know what it was. But I bought it because it had a picture of Marc Bolan on the B-side label, and I figured I was getting more bang for my buck!
[…]
When Angie and I first got together, the first thing we did was make each other a mixtape— that’s what you do with people you love.
How Samuel L. Jackson Became His Own Genre. Pat Jordan. New York Times Magazine.
Jules was the moral center of “Pulp Fiction,” Jackson told me recently, “because he carried himself like a professional.” The same can be said of Jackson as an actor. “Before Jules,” he went on, “my characters were just ‘The Negro’ who died on Page 30. Every script I read, ‘The Negro’ died on Page 30.” He thundered in character as Jules for a moment, repeating his point in saltier language, then returned to himself and said: “After Jules, I became the coolest [expletive] on the planet. Why? I have no clue. I’m not like Jules. It’s called being an actor.”
Grimes: nine days without food, sleep, or company gave me Visions. Sam Richards. The Guardian.
Yet despite her own version of the hat and the waistcoat – the dyed fringe, the occultish homemade tattoos – Claire insists that Grimes is not a kooky persona that she slips on and off with her rings. “That would be cheesy, and I’m really bad at faking it. If I’m a bad mood I can’t go onstage and smile. Sometimes my show is really emotional and quiet and sometimes the same set is like a punk show where I turn up the distortion and scream.”
Why We Fight: Bubble Pop, On The R&B Vocalist Miguel, Screaming Females, and closed cultural loops. Nitsuh Abebe. Pitchfork.
The songs on Ugly are well-composed, well-paced, and well-structured. But there’s also a quality in some of them that it feels like it could only come from a band that thinks the basement is always realer than the internet, and spent time cruising comfortably outside the ken of many potential fans. “Red Hand”, for instance, does not seem like the kind of song one sits down and thinks up as an aesthetic missive to listeners. It seems like the kind of song that comes from people who spent a lot of time in a room together, and do it well enough that they can grab a simple idea— the song starts with an ordinary bass riff, the sort of thing any player might idly toy around with— and elaborate it into whole gorgeous workout, complete with really stunning guitar filigrees and ominous word-chewing from Paternoster.
Watch
Bagged. Benjamin McConnell.
Presidents Tellin’ Jokes. Barack Obama.
The Fellowship. BRKF$T CLUB.
Stream
Savor. Natalie Royal.
“Malfunction.” Useless Eaters.
“Call Me Greyhound (Kap Slap Bootleg).” Swedish House Mafia vs. Carly Rae Jepsen.
Prepare
…for the return of the Hufflepuff.
