To the left of Nick Cave’s left foot, at the lip of the stage, looking up in reverent, fevered wonder, right cheekbone partially obscured by a power supply: it’s John Darnielle, 16 years old, loving his life for at least the next 35 minutes and probably until at least 2 a.m.
30 dias de livros| Melhor livro que leu para escola — O Vale do Terror.
Não me lembro muito bem da estoria desse livro, só sei que ele é incrível e bastante assustador.
CAN SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN THIS MAGNIFICENCE.
O M G HAHAHA Martin Claret has been releasing new editions of their books and the covers are gorgeous, but they also have a collection of the worst covers in the history of the classics.
This one is a gem, though.
Oh, Doctor, you’re so nice to catch Jamie when he falls.
And to hold onto him for a prolonged period of time for reassurance after his ordeal
And he might be cold, too, so it’s nice that you’re there to warm him up; you better stay close.
All in a day’s work. Good job, Doctor.
Strumming Along With Musician Andrew Bird
Once upon a time (the mid 90s) in a gloriously music-laden land (Chicago), a lanky, sharp-witted, sharp-featured tenderfoot (Andrew Bird) graduated from Northwestern’s acclaimed music conservatory and dove into the sea of indie rock. Inhabited by hard-edged musicians who took pride in their lack of skill and almost-affected amateurishness, it was about passion — forget technique. Live shows were supposed to be truly live, and in-concert mistakes were nothing less than standard. “Experience the sound in its raw, unadulterated form,” they’d say. And Bird — despite his “super-trained” background — fit right in, rolling with the sonic tides to the eventual mid-ocean calm of celebrated musician status.
The earl is in play
Cabin pressure time anyone?
oh my glob
