Red Squirrel in the Morning

"Red squirrel in evening,
Red squirrel in the morning,
I'm coming to take you home...."
from Sun It Rises by Fleet Foxes

Sometimes I'm a little late. Sometimes I arrive hands wide open and wandering. Sometimes I turn and finally notice. Sorry it took so long.

These summer days have been long. I'm thankful that the weather has grown slightly cooler. I'm glad that the busy part of this season is over and we can finally enjoy a few weeks of quiet recreation and rest.

After James arrived home from the Vermont workshop, we packed up the car and set off for NYC. I was worried that such a big trip might add to the stresses of the Summer (workshop, broken toe, general hot season MS fatigue) but I think we both found the adventure rejuvenating. Two of our closest friends, Will and Amber, played host and guide for our very first visit to New York. We waited in the sauna-like subway, saw our first city rats, wandered the streets of Chinatown and Greenwich Village, pillaged Yogurtland, shopped in Soho, searched through the stacks in the Strand. The Strand is extraordinary and overwhelming. I found an out-of-print Nancy Mitford novel, Don't Tell Alfred. James wandered a bit, eyes large, taking it all in. It was a bit like the first time we reached the upper room of the Ohio Bookstore. We could have stayed there for hours...but we needed more coffee.

The Antlers CD release for Hospice was that Friday night at the Mercury Lounge on the Lower East Side. The show was incredible. I love the record. The narrative of the record is so powerful and I was unsure if they would be able to replicate that on stage, to interpret something so beautiful in a live (and uncomfortably hot) setting. I should never have had a doubt. They pulled it off beautifully.




Upcoming Events...happening in the near future...as in the next two days:

Tomorrow evening there will be a poetry reading at Sidewinder Coffee in Northside featuring several poets including but not limited to: Kristi Maxwell and Mitch Raney.

Saturday:
There will be a free performance of As You Like it at Eden Park.

Poet Matt Hart is reuniting with his band and playing in the front parlour of the Southgate House? That's the rumour, Kids. We'll be there to see if it's true.

Also, later in the evening we may stop by the Freddie Mercury Birthday Bash at Grammers.

"All I Do is Dream of You" by Arthur Freed

I wish that I could express to you the strange and wonderful contentment that I get from from listening to Gene Kelly’s quiet croon send this sweet song into a cloud. Nothing at all like the flash and jump version from the party scene in SINGING IN THE RAIN. It was one of the many surprises that I found in the EMI Music Resource : THE STANDARDS. Amber gave this collection back to me before she left for New York. I can truthfully say that I am glad she held onto it for a while. During it’s furlough, I learned to truly appreciate it. For the last 9 months, I’ve been stumbling happily through a rather large catalogue of Hollywood musicals (thank you Netflix), and pulling Jim kicking and screaming all the way...well maybe not kicking and screaming. He loves Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly, enjoys a good Stanley Donen or George Stevens musical, and the Gershwin, Irving Berlin, Cole Porter, Jerome Kern and Dorothy Fields, and Arthur Freed songs keep bringing smile after smile to his handsomely bearded face. In the midst of this whirlwind of song and dance, I picked up a colleciton of Astaire recordings. I listened to it so much that the words of the silliest tap-dancingest songs stuck in my head for days and days. I listened to it at home, at work in the Cancer Center, in my car. I couldn’t stop. I found my feet tapping along under the covers when I listened to it in bed. I’ve always thought my life a musical filled with these sorts of songs. No one bursts into them in front of me, but Jim can tell you that I definitely burst into them enough for everyone else. The constant flow of Musicals in the mail and the Astaire collection prepared me for the gem that I was returned to me a couple of weeks ago. The Standards... Frank Sinatra? Of course. Dean Martin. Yep. Billie Holliday, Cab Calloway, Mario Lanza, Mel Torma, Ella, Nat King Cole, Tony Bennett...yes. But oh...Sarah Vaughn...Bea Wain with Larry Clinton and his Orchestra....Kitty Kallen...a little bit of Fats Waller...

Awesome. Total Awesomeness.

Tomorrow morning, bright and early, I report to Brookwood Hospital for a short stay. A few days really. For any of you who’ve been missing me at the old St. Vincent’s ER, I’’ve missed you too. I’m in the midst of a relapse. They found some dark spots on my spinal cord. Travmo has suggested that I just get it whitened. Just line up some of those Crest Whitening strips down my back and I’m set. Unfortunately, MS doesn’t work that way. I’ve just got to work through the flare up. The steroid infusion that I’m going to get will help me do it. As is usual with Multiple Sclerosis, there’s no telling what caused the exacerbation, whether it was stress or a seasonal illness set it off. I think that it was the egg sandwich that I got from Whataburger on my way home from the Vulture Whale show a week or so ago. Jim doesn’t quite buy that one.

So. Email me. Call me. Come by. Whatever. Let me know how you’re doing. I’ve spent a good week staring at the TV (mostly TCM, but a little bit of Bravo) (What is up with those Housewives of NYC? Could we not just give them Southern Accents, some Vicoden, and send them to Seaside and say that they are the Housewives of Mountain Brook?) (Dude, Bravo would save like a THIRD in production costs doing that show here.)
As you can see, I’ll be ready for a few friendly faces and some good conversation and you can check out my new Whale patterned PJs. They’re awesome.

Love you!

Wherein Sara Leah's music geekness rises to a new level...

I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be singing. It seemed to be a sing-a-long type of moment. We were crowded in the center of the room. Crowded in the dark, circling John Vanderslice and his guitar, David and the bass drum, St. Vincent and her crystal clear harmonies. John pulled his arm up from his side and waved it in the air. Was it a sing-a-long? No one else was singing with them, but Will and I, but at that moment there could have been choirs behind us. The whole room was filled with sound. As John opened his mouth and wagged his blonde head, the whole world seemed to be singing along:

"You know that guy who
stole your girlfriend
away from you
in the summer
of '95
he's going to die

you know her name
sits in your brain
like a tumor
eyes still shine in your memory
she's going to die

well you can carry that grudge
or you can let it go
but as sure as I'm singing this song, you know
she's going to die, she's going to die

five'll get you ten so just let it go
that she and he and i will hear the final chord
just let it go, let it go, we're going to die"

-Nikki Oh Nikki, Life and Death of an American Four Tracker



The room was still. The lights were very low, casting an orange and golden glow upon the faces of my friends, standing just across the way. Rebecca stood, elevated on a bar stool, camera pulled up to her small serious face. Amber stood below her, hands clasped, eyes warm, smiling in my direction. This was it. A perfect moment.

I sat at the bar earlier, trying to tell Ben way I love John's music, telling what scattered history that I knew, what my nervous brain could remember. I kept saying the word perfect. Scott Solter's production, perfect. John's lyrics, perfect. I know that these statements are not true. The lyrics, the clicks and whirrs, the piano, the guitar...not perfect. They are odd and interesting, off putting and inviting at the same time. There is an earnestness in every measure that I can't shake off, that seems perfect when it hits my ear, like that moment when you slip into a warm bath and you sigh and smile. It's a good moment and to you, it is perfect because it's what you've longed for. I long for music that speaks to me. More than that, I long for music that makes me think, drives my day. I long for music that will make me tilt my head as I start my car, exhausted from a long day of work. I turn through the intersection, underneath the overpass and forget everything. I lose myself in his voice and what he has to say, every clear strum of the guitar. Every distorted chord transports...

John had walked quickly to me once he had found that I was there. We chatted about the music scene, the Bottletree, Chris Ward and Pattern is Movement, the SDRE/Mk Ultra show in St. Louis. He smiled so easily and spoke with an honest warmth. Why was I so nervous? I felt nauseous still and the meeting was already over. I knelt down by Hamric, who was sitting at a table on the patio, his green "Wes McDonald and the Fizz" t-shirt, his smirking, wonderful eyes. I told Jason Hamric and Brandon that maybe it was because as a listener, you build this image of, this meaning behind what you hear. This is the freedom that you are given, to create a persona, a history from which the stories and the songs are born. To finally meet the person behind all of this can be devastating or transcendent

I remember meeting Mark Kozelek a couple years ago at the Nick. I had seen him in Nashville the night before and had decided not to talk to him as he stood beside me quietly during Warren Gently's opening set. Having seen him on stage a few times in my life and knowing his cloudy and sometimes downright mean disposition, I did not want to actually talk to him, for fear that his stage persona would leak into his true self, a self that I so honestly wanted to be the yearning, sad hearted, quiet lover of his voice. In other words, I did not want him to punch me in the face for asking him about a particular song or album. When I finally got up the nerve to approach him at the Nick, after much pushing and prodding by my friends, he was genuinely...well...sweet. "Hi. Hey. I remember you. Pink scarf girl." It was a great moment.

I've been listening to John Vanderslice for ten years. His music has been a great part of my life soundtrack. I do not know him, but I know his climbing voice. His voice has been a friend to me. His music has gotten me through dark days and accompanied me on great adventures. When he walked up to me after his set and hugged me and thanked me for smiling and singing along...I thought to that moment, sitting at a table at the back of the room, when he had traveled from the stage to the organ by the bathrooms to sing a number. I sat at that table and smiled as he lifted his head and sang out. It was a perfect moment. Worth all of the nervousness, worth all of this quiet hope.

check out tour dates and news of John Vanderslice at www.johnvanderslice.com

SXSW ate my brain.

How do I start this? I'm a little overwhelmed to be sitting here in a fold up chair at my computer in the Bucket office, eating a mishmash of salad bar and listening to the Vulture Whale Boys practicing in the next room ...it's hard to believe that just this morning I returned to work. At 7am (7:15), I walked through those automatic doors to the ER with my cup of tea, I sat at my desk. I was not sleeping heavily on Will's couch, or sitting and waiting forever for the Austin Transit, or racing down the street, pushing through the crowds, holding on to Amber's hand as we scan the sides of buildings, looking for the venue to the next show.

I love my friends. I'm sure I told them ten thousand times this week how happy I was to be making this journey with them.










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LISTS:

TUESDAY:
Team Hydration Departs -
We met up with The Bucket Mobile (Travis and the Twins)
and The TTS Party Van a couple of times on our journey.



Once at a honky-tonk truck stop. Then again at the Dairy Palace in Canton, Texas....home of Freedom Toast.




WEDNESDAY:
Lots of Panels
Not enough caffeine
I love the Shinerbock

THROUGH THE SPARKS DAY!!!!

(some pics from the show)









FOOD:
Will took Amber and I to the Whole Foods Flagship Store. THREE floors of underground parking. And the food was amazing.

BANDS:
Through the Sparks
Tally Hall
Slaraffenland (Hometapes Showcase)
Pattern is Movement (with Scott Solter - Hometapes Showcase)

Thursday-

College and Community Radio Panel (really Awesome) (Birmingham is so missing out)
I think I forgot to eat

BANDS:
Dark Meat (Team Clermont Day Party)
Kaki King (Convention Center Stage)
Tally Hall (Found Party)
Cloud Cult(Emo's JR)
Shout Out Out Out Out Out Out(Beauty Bar Patio)
Matt & Kim (Beauty Bar Patio)
Vashti Bunyan (First Presbytarian


Friday-
PANELS:

SXSW Interview: Booker T Jones
Interviewers: Jim DeRogatis and Greg Kot
Very awesome indeed. I was sad to learn from Sweetdog as we walked out of this panel that I had missed Booker T play with Jason Isbell the night before.

The Relevance of Retail
What Makes a Successful Tour? Marsha Vlasic from MVO was a trip.

BANDS:
Some Reggae Band (High Times Party)
Jessie Sykes (No Depression Day Party)
Casa De Chihuahua (on the side of 6th Street)
The Paybacks (Pop Culture Press Party)
The Hoodoo Gurus (Pop Culture Press Party)
Clem Snide (Buffalo Billiards)
Adem (A patio somewhere)
The Cape May (Lambert's - Flemish Eye/White Whale Showcase)
Chad VanGaalen (Okay, well a video of Chad VanGaalen)
Immaculate Machine (Lambert's - Flemish Eye/White Whale Showcase)
Dennis Coffey (Ponderosa Stomp - Opal Divines)
Archie Bell (Ponderosa Stomp - Opal Divines)
Wiley and the Checkmates (Ponderosa Stomp - Opal Divines)
Bobby Patterson (Ponderosa Stomp - Opal Divines)
Harvey Scales (Ponderosa Stomp - Opal Divines)


Saturday-
Slept in.
Forgot to eat again.
Damn you, Southern Comfort.

FLATSTOCK!
Amber and I wandered the stalls for hours. She bought herself and Will some really cool stuff.
I bought an awesome M Ward poster.
I called Tim while wandering through the room. "Who's your favorite band?" "Um? Uh."
It wasn't a fair question to be sure. It's really the worst questioned to be asked.He hesitated. And searched and stammered. Tim works at a record store and loves music. ALOT. So I bought him a t-shirt of a hot dog eating a hot dog.

FADER PARTY!
After wandering through what looked like a Levi's Store and then a maze of empty rooms and couches and doors with signs that said DO NOT ENTER or teased us with ADULT SWIM STAFF ONLY, I followed some arrows to the bathroom and instead found myself in a courtyard with a massive amount of drunk hipsters talking and talking and talking. I followed Travis through the crowd and found Wes, Jake, John, and Dr. Drew standing and smiling, and watching the end of No Age's set.



During the 501 Happy Hour, there was a "Who looks the most like Jesus contest.
I wanted to enter Travis:



But instead, this guy won...or was it that guy?



BANDS:
No Age (Fader Party)
Ladyhawk (Fader Party)
VietNam (Fader Party)
Redman (Fader Party)
Aziz Azinari (Human Giant Showcase @ Friends with Patton Oswalt & Eugene Mirman)
TimandEric.com (Friends)
The Teeth (Park the Van Showcase @ Habana Calle 6)
The High Strung (Park the Van Showcase @ Habana Calle 6)
The Friends of Dean Martinez (Park the Van Showcase @ Habana Calle 6)

Followed by a late night trip to IHOP with the Flemish Eye boys.

Thoughts I was thinking at Lunch - Highlights:

Matt and Kim - Saw them at the Beauty Bar Patio. With the energy they exude on stage, no matter how technically talented they are, it made for an incredible show. Rebecca and I COULD NOT STOP SMILING. Even when the drunk irish guy behind me kept trying to slam dance everyone. I elbowed him in the ribs. Really hard. And then I smiled some more.







The High Strung @ Habana Calle 6 (Park the Van Showcase) Right before they started, Derek (drummer) pulled the plug for the string of lights circling the small stage. Chad Stoker pulled off his glasses and pulled on his Rock goggles. And he needed them. Indeed. That man is crazy.








Pattern is Movement - Hometapes Showcase - Mohawks
Andrew and Chris were joined by Scott Solter (producer of their last two releases and owner of Tiny telephones - homecamp of John Vanderslice awesomeness). Chris Ward (drums) sits up front and to watch him play is a delight. The disjointed, turning, scaling vocals by Andrew Thiboldeaux seem like movements of the classical type...and I guess they are, just pulled forth by the distortion of rock'n'roll.








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for more pictures and commentary form SXSW, which apparently will be added daily until all of the freaking pictures are off my phone and I find all of my notes, visit:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/saraleah

Austin Bound

Dear Ones,

In 6 and a half hours I will step off of the diving board and plunge deep into the waters of Music Awesomeness.

If you recieve random indecipherable text messages over the next week featuring lots of exclaimation points....well. I'll just apologize in advance. I'll most probably be at a show, wishing to god that you could be there, sharing that moment with me.

I would give you a short list of everyone I plan to see, but my brain has melted from going through all of my notes.

So instead, I'll give you a picture of Chachi packing my suitcase.




I will update as much as I can while I'm gone. With Rebecca, Amber, Travis, and the Bucket crew in tow, we're bound to get into some trouble. I can't wait.

Tracy and Leah from Red Blondehead and the boys from Through the Sparks will be blogging together about their adventures in Austin. You can check out their SXSW blog:


http://blog.al.com/sxsw

Thursday - yadsruhT

She turned to me, swathed in white blanket, her greyish-white, tossled, sleepy-haired head tilted to the side with a questioning glance. She looked up at Shannon. His brown eyes gazed down in a smile. "Don't you worry 'bout her, Ma'm. Sara's just been misbehaving today. That's why she's back here. Now you come along with me." He pulled her into the next room, out of my line of sight. She sighed a worried sound, one corner of her mouth turned up, the other down, as her gurney disappeared through the doorway. I pulled my warm, sterile blanket up around my chin, then up to my ears, inhaled and closed my eyes. When I opened them, I was staring at the ceiling, the florescent lights shaded by in intricate grate I'd not expected in this ancient department of the hospital. One row of big circles one row of small, one of big, one of small, and so forth, creating this beautiful, dizzying, dim pattern. The MRI tech pulled me into the next room. He helped me off of my stretcher and onto the little pallet. He handed me a pair of earplugs. I slowly laid back as he fasted the frame around my head and tucked the blanket around my feet. As the pallet sowly moved backward, my eyes followed the two lines of light above my head, in front of my face. Light blue, restful. My right hand, tense and apprehensive, finally calm. I closed my eyes as the familiar clicks began. I couldn't help but think, drifting in and out of the harsh sounds of the MRI, thebuzzbuzzbuzz, clickclick, buzzbuzzbuzzbuzz, how these uneven rhythms had a place somewhere, in a distortion art noise project by Lance, in the back corner of a Vanderslice song, in rolling of my everyday...everything.

They would find nothing. No new lesions, all clear. The pain would be ruled a muscle strain.



Tonight we will all sleep soundly. I will dream with a curling happy brow. I know now that all I need is rest. All I can think of now, beyond everything else, beyond any pain or discomfort is that in truth, I'm okay. Three years in remission and many more to come.

On Tuesday, the girls and I will pack up Ella, my Honda, and depart on our greatest adventure. SXSW. I can't even begin to tell you how ecstatic I am at this moment.

I'm really happy right now.

Amber and Will. Thanks for the chocolate milk and the cadbury eggs you brought to the ER. They made this little victory that much sweeter.

Summer Dress

"summer dress makes you more beautiful than the rest
lovliest girl that i know, and the sweetest...."
- Mark Kozelek



When I think about Sunni, I always hear this song on the jukebox in my head. It's a sad tempo-ed little serenade, but the lyrics are beautiful and the guitar earthy and pretty, just like her.



Her head back and laughing, her slender arms gesturing, I looked up from the phone. Sunni was sitting in the armchair just to the right of me, her white peasant skirt wrapped wrapped around her long legs. Keelan stood by the sliding glass doors, one eyebrow cocked, grinning from ear to ear.



Today was their wedding day.

"summer dress separates you from the rest..."



Sunni & Amber

Les & Amber

It was the lovliest wedding reception I'd ever attended. When I arrived, I handed the groom a case of Amberbock. To the bride, I gave an embroidered linen handkerchief I'd found at the antique bazaar at Brookwood Mall. She loved it. Maid of honor (Amberoo) got a box of Tagalongs which were promptly consumed by all. Les Nuby stopped in soon after. We listened to music, looked at the pictures taken earlier in the day at the courthouse. We drank sparkling grape juice, played with the dogs. Keelan tried to master the wonderment of my camera phone. We couldn't stop laughing.





Congratulations, my lovely friends.

Laying down the gun....

This morning as I mindlessly packed my little bag for work, I pulled the Hope For Agoldensummer album from the towering stack of cds sitting dangerously close to my bed and slipped it into the inside pocket. I had to bring it with me, because everytime I've taken a moment to daydream in these last two days, every minute wonderfully wasted, I hear "Laying Down the Gun" and it has been building and building and building into a frenzied triumphant chorus.

I see my friend Sunni just as she sat on her couch Saturday night, leaning back with Ralph's steel guitar, pushing her golden hair out of her eyes and picking out the all of the tiptoeing, intricate loveliness of every line as we sang the harmonies high and whispered:

"It turns out, instead of blood you've got love songs traveling through your veins. What I found were all the words you ever sang tapped into the bones of your rib cage...."

I think of the first time I saw it performed live, upstairs at the Moonlight, the tense and burning energy turning around the stage. Deb Davis and her xylo. Will Taylor wavering from side to side, cello churning. Claire's eyes are closed. She's sitting straight and tall, her face turned up into the light as she's crying out:

"Instead of stopping our hearts, we play music because we're rock stars.
We come together and we work and we fall apart...."

I listen to the song again and again and it burns brighter every time.

"I play music because I'm in love with silence and sound. Just like a machine I picked my pen...."

And all of the sudden, it stops.

**********************************************************************

There is a cave up by Garden City that is rumored to have been used as speakeasy during Prohibition. The Welch* brothers told me about it today. They smiled at me, standing to either side of their elderly mother as she was signing her paperwork, and looked up into the flourescent light above my head and then at each other. Jeff* turned to his brother and then to me,"It's still intact. I think so...at least it was when I was younger. You'll have to use a rope to get down into some parts of the cave, but it's worth it....Banger Cave is the name." Interesting. Sounds like an awfully good adventure for the spring. If anyone possesses any additional info about the cave, please let me know. Joe* gave me some general directions.

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Pictures:
From Saturday night's Skybucket Workforce Extravaganza


Amber and George the Turtle. BFF.

(from a play-by-play sent to gorjus later that evening)

"...the deadly Connect Four match between George the Turtle and Michael Douglas the B.H. Action Squirrel. A few borrowed Busch Lights into the evening, Travis and I dueled (through our plastic animal counterparts) and sadly, I must say that Travis and Michael Douglas won. After realizing that he had the winning row, Travis promptly jumped to his feet, hoisting Michael Douglas with his wildly wobbling head into the air and raced out the front door and down the street, yelling "We WON! WE won! YAYYYY!!!" all the while."



I, in the mean time, collapsed into the floor, defeated and downtrodden.

Sweet Sunday

images courtesy of Leah of Red Blondehead

In truth, as I knelt up there on stage and beat out rhythms onto the floor at the Wrens show, these were the three things going through my head:

1. "Crap. Now Brian's going to have to repaint the stage."

2. "I hope that guy in front of me doesn't mind that I keep hitting him the ass with my drumstick. Here, let me switch hands, maybe that will give me enough range not to have to ....nope, still hitting him....crap...let me try this side...ow..that's uncomfortable...maybe if I take just do a few beats instead off the whole cadence...maybe the guy will have less of a bruise tomorrow....um..." Sorry yellow shirt guy. It's all in the name of rock, right?




3. The obligatory -"This SONG IS AMAZING!" Because it really was. What an incredible sound experience. I kept watching Charles Bissell clicking between pedals and closing his eyes through the set...jumping back and turning side to side, holding his guitar, beating out rhythms, his eyes would fly open and he'd look around as if he had just awoke from some sort of dreamlike soundscape. He created it. He's like my friend Andrew, creating all of those beautiful little sounds during and inbetween that make listening so much more worthwhile.

The Wrens. So good.

Barton Carroll played a completely different set last night. It was dark and sweet for a Sunday.
His set included Vulture (a request), Small Thing, Cat on a Beach, Superman, and a song I was not familiar with, about a man living his life in the shadow of his older brother...I turned to Travis after this song was over. He was smiling, his eyebrows raised, his heart shining through his eyes. I felt the same.

I've been enjoying Barton's album for quite a while...it's become my soundtrack for the ride home on late jovial night, almost like a book of bedtime stories to unwind.

(Okay, I know they are stories full of desperation and fear in time of war, lost loves and quiet obsession...but tragedy is meant to cleanse the soul right? And what better way to arrive home after a big night out, all of your emotions left in the driver- side floorboard of your car.)

Tonight is Jose Gonzalez at the Bottletree. It will be an incredible show.
Don't miss it.

Wednesday, a Budweiser, and Books on Baseball

Amber is still the master of Connect Four. After an evening of stuffing and stickering, getting ready for the press rampage of the new Barton Carroll album, we sat at the folding table plopping the black and red checkers into their holey, yellow home as Travis and Shawn brainstormed about the upcoming showcase in T-town and Will worked on his new screenplay. God, I love my friends. Have I mentioned that? I find myself so freaking fortunate to have these intriguing and imaginative, lovely, lovely souls in my life. We threw comments back and forth over the table all evening, passed beers around and laughed a good deal and it felt so good.

I played Midlake on the stereo for a while and then Travis took over. He threw in Wire's Chairs Missing and then Pink Flag...great soundtracks to the rough and tough mind match going on down in the Amber/Sara corner of the table.

Okay, so I'm sure that you're going to hear about this on like every music blog (Stereogum's already kicked it) in the next few days, but I can't help but show you the great new video by OK GO. And now you're saying..."Sara Leah, they've already done the whole choreographed in the back yard geeky band dance fest." Sister, the last video was not done on treadmills. So here you go:



I've started distributing my summer mix. Just in case you got a cd without a song list, I'm posting it now:

All My Wasted Days - the Amazing Pilots
Priest's Knees - Destroyer
Straight to My Head - Ana Egge
Down to Zero - Bettye LaVette
The Storm - 13ghosts
Somersault - Decoder Ring
A Cold Wind Will Blow Through Your Door - Bill Ricchini
They Cannot Let It Expand - Midlake
No Room for Change - Crystal Skulls
Crooked In the Weird of the Catacombs - Oranger
Bees & Butterflies (Down) - Girls in Hawaii
Malt Liquor - Hope For Agoldensummer
Oh Lately It's So Quiet - OK Go
No One Knew Where we Were - Midlake
Mysterious In Black - The Mendoza Line
Ballad of Bitter Honey - Eef Barlzelay of Clem Snide