Tonight the Fembots played the bar at which I work the door. They're on tour to promote their new album, The City. If they're going to be playing near you, go see 'em. I don't know what they themselves call their style, but what most of what I heard tonight had a fine alt-country feel to me.
The bicycle ride home from work a bit ago was cool and peaceful. It was about 2:30 am, and not a single car passed me as I rode across the Hillsborough Bridge. The wind, which blew hard out of the nor' east most of the day, had moved around to the east and died down to a mile or two per hour. Just as I started up the bridge, a blue heron came out of the darkness above the harbour and flew barely five feet above my head. Moments later, as I turned my head back from trying to catch one last glimpse of the heron's wings beating that long, slow rhythm, I saw the quick flare of a shooting star.
And now I'm listening to the Fembots' somnambulantly punkish 2003 album, Small Town Murder Scene.
The bicycle ride home from work a bit ago was cool and peaceful. It was about 2:30 am, and not a single car passed me as I rode across the Hillsborough Bridge. The wind, which blew hard out of the nor' east most of the day, had moved around to the east and died down to a mile or two per hour. Just as I started up the bridge, a blue heron came out of the darkness above the harbour and flew barely five feet above my head. Moments later, as I turned my head back from trying to catch one last glimpse of the heron's wings beating that long, slow rhythm, I saw the quick flare of a shooting star.
And now I'm listening to the Fembots' somnambulantly punkish 2003 album, Small Town Murder Scene.
1 comment:
Very, very nice.
Smells like...
living.
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