[ASOS maxi skirt, $12, get one! + T by A Wang t-shirt + Joie Refugee boots + WESC headphones + cuff bracelet Rob’s cousin Andrew knit for him for snowboarding.]
This is when I’m so burned out, I take the most typical thing and try to make it sound interesting.
I listen to music. A lot. I’m constantly DJing for a tough crowd: myself. The spinning never stops, tailoring songs to every occasion: car rides, in-flight wine, blow drying of hair, cooking, guests, morning misery, deep discussions… Jesus, anything. I could say—in all honesty—the only time I’m not listening to music is when I’m asleep. Even then, some subtle brainwaves are keying in Duane Allman or Donny Hathaway or Aretha Franklin or Morrissey. There’s no life without music. You can take the clothes, just leave me the music.
Here’s something my coworkers must enjoy: constant foot tapping, chair creaking, and head bobbing to Spooky Tooth, Stevie Wonder, Goldfrapp, Doves, Curtis Mayfield, Crosby, Stills & Nash, The Animals, The Holidays, Traffic, Duran Duran, RJD2… and today, the complete David Foster-penned score to the 80s classic, The Secret of My Success. There’s little rhyme or reason.
Sitting all alone by the fireside / Listening to the wind in the chimney top,
Lately, I’ve been unearthing all my Bond movie scores; John Barry is my favorite, but they’re all insanity. Eli prefers circa-1991 Joe Cocker and Adam Ant.
A little ’06 Cigare Volante on this TV-free evening:
So… what am I listening to in these pherters? Time to share some serious gold with you.
[Traffic “Evening Blue”]
And that’s because I love ya.