I am arse-deep in end-of-year uni crap and this is the reason for my extended absence from this here blawg. But as I've done before (and will probably do again next year), I present a musical offering. If you follow Gwyneth Paltrow on Twitter (and if you’re not on Twitter, you’re missing out. I never thought I would say that, but for reals. It’s fun shit. Get on it), you might have seen her tweet this video was making her very happy. Because I like a bandwagon, I clicked the link and was mesmerised. The video is insane.
Erato, three girls from Sweden, covering Robyn’s Tell Your Girlfriend, using only empty, plastic margarine containers as musical instruments. Their voices are amazing but I couldn’t take my eyes off their hands. Incredible. Watch it, go on. Even if you don’t like the song (gasp!), it’s worth it for the high-five fail at the very end. Awkward.
P.S. Just as Lana Del Rey complemented my Rolling Stones essay a couple of months ago, I’m absolutely positive that these lovely ladies can only have the same effect on tonight’s essay about Bra Boys, a notorious surfing tribe from Sydney. You can watch their shit here if you want. However, if you’re taking documentary-watching advice from me, I’d suggest the Rolling Stones’ Gimme Shelter. It’s from their 1970 tour of North America which ended in a huge free concert in San Francisco and some poor bastard being stabbed by a member of the Hell’s Angels, which can be relived over and over again in all its shocking detail as it was captured on camera – unbeknownst to the cameraman at the time. It’s really worth watching, I flipping loved it. And then, if you watched Gimme Shelter and wondered what the hell happened to the whole ‘sex, drugs and rock n roll’ malarkey, watch the other Rolling Stones’ documentary, the charmingly-named Cocksucker Blues. The quality is crap but the content is mind-blowing and in fact, the Stones sued the filmmaker to prevent it ever being released because they realised just how damaging the images of their debauched lifestyles would be to their reputation. Apparently, though, the filmmaker is allowed to show it twice a year (seems weird, no?) and I guess a bootleg copy got out somewhere along the way. But if watching footage of groupies mainlining heroin isn’t your thing but the Stones still are, the more recent release of Stones in Exile could be more your speed. I don’t have a link to the whole thing, but here is the trailer. It’s about the making of the album, Exile On Main Street, in the ‘70s in a rented villa in the south of France. I prefer the nitty gritty of Cocksucker Blues but each to their own. Oooh, and if we’re continuing this Stones theme, may I recommend to you Keith Richards’ autobiography, Life? I read it a couple of months ago, when this obsession was at its peak, and he has managed to tell his life story seemingly without holding anything back. Especially the drug stuff. (I’m fascinated by this, can you tell? I also loved Kate Holden’s autobiography, In My Skin; she’s a Melbourne-based writer who funded her former heroin addiction through prostitution. Gritty. I like gritty).
Longest postscript ever. Probably too long to be a postscript, really. But it’s 1.36am, I’ve been up since 7am and I’ll be up for a while yet, typing out this ho of an essay (I make it really difficult for myself and handwrite it all first). But at least I’ll have something lovely to listen to. Go on, watch it. Watch their hands. Listen to their angelic voices.
I’m so tired.