wish we were there
Hello,
We are busy for a little bit. Commitments, you know, that sort of thing. Hold tight, we will have more to share shortly.
- RN
Second Date
At the risk of spreading ourselves too thin, a lot of the music being made in the Royal Native camp these days has been falling into two distinct styles, and we decided something needed to be done. Action needed to be taken.
And so, after some good old-fashioned asexual reproduction, we are pleased to announce the recent birth of another musical venture: Second Date.
Second Date shall run alongside Royal Native simultaneously, and will be more electronically focused than its analogue counterpart. It might sound somewhat like falling in love. With a computer. In 2003. Windows ME, no doubt. A Packard Bell, perhaps.
Anyway, the myspace just launched. Releases will be handled by our good friends deBonton, the up-and-coming Parisian label. We’re all very excited.
First up are a couple of remixes (Thieves Like Us, anyone?), but keep an eye out for more to come this summer. Hype Machine is usually a good starting point…
ODDSAC This Saturday
Bawlmoreans, hark!
Animal Collective’s visual album, ODDSAC, arrives on the 17th at the Senator Theater. It’s 15 bucks. I had a link to purchase tickets, but then I forgot, and besides, you probably have them already don’t you? Won’t it be great? A friend recommended that we paint ourselves red with yak blood and go naked. Now, my legs generally need pants, but it is tempting, as long as it doesn’t rain. Then we’d just be a couple naked creepy guys… there was a joke that was supposed to go here. In the end, it was cut for time.
So come this Saturday, take your little legs and run. Run as fast as you can to nearest merchant and slap those buckaroos on the counter. Sit down, smile, and don’t mind the overwhelming scent of nitrous oxide.
Rohyp-hop
Oh come on, we all knew it was only a matter of time before date-rape got its own theme tune.
so tasteless right now
Ecosystems on a Bus
Tomorrow I will step in front of a bus. Then around said bus. Finally, I will step onto the bus, and into a dank pool of paegan savages, also known as art students. One of them might have a guitar. One of them might quote Sylvia Plath. Two of them will attempt a conversation for beginners. All of them will wear flannel.
Art Student
The guitarist will strum a ballad:
“And he will sit, he will dream, about all the special things that his mother told him one day that he would do. But finally he’ll put on, those head phones that he bought, so he doesn’t have to hear the strangers say: ooh look. He used to be the lord now he’s the slave.”
The poetry academic will maniacally pick at her scabs, while trying to think of a clever nothing to say to the guitarist. In her mind, she’ll repeat: “Kiss me and you will see how important I am.”
A couple rows up, there’s a boy who wears a fedora. He’s an idiot, which he has always suspected in times of self-doubt. He tries to ignore those thoughts. His foolhardy perseverance in the realm of thoughtful creatures, has not left him empty handed. He turns to the girl behind him and waxes enthusiastic about her iPhone. His apps show an indomitable spirit. Her’s, an utter neglect for those who are self-absorbed. They take it slow. Neither party will try to reinvent the wheel. They both stick with the formula.
They Will Reproduce
When you think about it, it’s not so surprising that mother nature has beaten the vaccum of deathly night.
BKNY
The Irony Overflows
It has been a long time coming, but I am currently in New York. Specifically, Brooklyn. Yesterday I spent the day endlessly trawling the streets of Williamsburg, in search of the hipster queen herself, St. Vincent.
Where might she be? No doubt in some vegan café, sipping a nettle tea and nibbling on a sesame seed bar, like a fragile beautiful little bird. Err….
Anyway, Glass is also now on American soil, in Baltimore. Next week shall reunite and continue our work on the music. It shall be epic.
In the meantime, I shall update sporadically with news of my hipster pilgrimage. Wish me luck.
Forever yours,
Pennington
