The last couple of months I've been enjoying records by Julie Doiron. Lately, the album that has captivated me is her 2001 release Désormais. All ten songs are in French with the exception of one.
The track "Le Piano" is a good example of the narcotic power Doiron marshals on this record:
I have always been a Cat Power fan, from the time I heard Chan Marshall sing "Nude as the News" on college radio. But this morning, interrupted from my normal ritual because of technology problems, I was reminded of her song "Maybe Not":
May 9 is Victory Day in Russia. Browsing these old videos on YouTube of Cat Power appearing on Letterman in the aughts, and seeing how beautiful and Slavic Chan Marshall looks, why not a peek at "Metal Heart"?
Spaced out during lunch, walking the dead-end section of 24th Avenue South that runs in front of the Federal Detention Center, listening to Cat Power's Sun, I was hailed by a voice:
"Can I help you find something?"
I looked up toward what must be the detention center's employee parking lot and saw a young black man looking back at me. His demeanor was professional and polite, but none too pleased.
I pulled out one of my ear buds and said, "No. I'm just listening to music. I work down the road."
I put my ear bud back in and turned my back and slowly made my way out of the scrub on the other side of the concrete barriers that mark the dead end.
I generally don't go on this street because I assume that it's all monitored by close-circuit television and that my languorous lunch-time strolling probably elicits concern on the part of whoever is watching.
I wasn't doing anything illegal. I wasn't loitering. I was moving. I was dressed for the office. The scrub beyond the dead end is not marked by "No Trespassing" signs. The only sign read "Road Closed." Meaning, or so I interpreted, closed to vehicular traffic.
