In America you go to the cafe and everyone is on their computer - you think, “how much work is to be done?, what company employs this many people?” - not to be euro fetishistic(?) but in that continent the cafe is for gossip, fervour, fun, leisure and the reading of newspapers
I am not joking when I say this.
Spotify, Apple Music, and streaming in general is over.
AI music is now very, very good. You just don't know yet because all AI music circulating today is from ~2-3 generations ago.
Suno v6 pro et al has solved infinite personalized music.
@geoffwilt I stand by Skull and Roses as the best gateway album. Four minute Playing, eighteen minute Other One, otherwise it’s normie Dead at its finest
Brought back the Substack yesterday with a write up+q&a with Jennifer Rubell about her show up at @meredith_rosen and her new app, Attune (link in replies)
@harryhew Hoping it’s not morbid to say this, but I’d love to read a book on Dylan in the 2020s someday. So many confounding decisions and events over the last six years. I need to know who’s installing stuff on his iPad for him.
People die every day, but they won’t mint more Bob Weirs. He was the last of the best, the headlight on the northbound train, the rebellious teen who became the rambling man who became the keeper of the Grateful Dead flame. Weir helped birth the new world, watched its ruination, and spent the autumn of his life rebuilding it. Six full decades ensuring that the music never stopped. He withstood time with grit, soul, and a Boddhisattva’s Zen. And now, he's gone.
Bob, eternally sacred in the no-bullshit Stetson, straight out of a black and white Western, a dead-ringer for the last honorable sheriff in a depraved and sinister county – the last rampart protecting our society from pagan free fall. A cowboy prophet descending from Mt. Tamalpais declaiming outlaw epics about bloody shootouts in El Paso corrals, estimated prophets on burning shores, and lightning trains.
Projecting the Sinai authority of the Old Testament God, he helped birth a mythic scripture replete with winners and losers, wronged heroes and sinister villains, those haunted by death, but who remain determined to cheat the grave.
Goodbye Ace, may there be infinite Saturday nights in whatever dimension you've ascended to, one more big old party where rock and roll music meets the rising planet sun.
Wrote about Tina Braegger���s The Dream Relatives at Meredith Rosen Gallery for the Dec-Jan @TheBrooklynRail (link in replies!) - “…a tenderness that’s as cryptically enveloping as it is joyfully immediate.” #art #thankyou
The absolute essentials but you need one fatty item & one sour item to complete the quadrangle. Depending on one’s flowstate they could both be candy
Also in this month’s @thebrooklynrail, I wrote about Clare Grill’s Parlance at Derek Eller Gallery - “…a near-cinematic spiritual gathering of legitimate dream portals, unstable entrances to living scenes from Grill’s vast internal and temporal world.” https://t.co/NWl07Qd0fr