Sure, we’ve all heard of the Eiffel Tower, but what do we know about the architect whose name it bears? April March breaks it all down on this version of the Pixies’ song. Also in this show, a special-delivery track from Planets in the Ocean, a new project from one of my favorite vocalists, Robb Benson.
If you got The Nude Party to perform at your next get-together, it would be the kind of shindig that produces two marriages, three break-ups, and gossip for years to come.
Double Date With Death are loud and Canadian, and they don’t care if you don’t understand their French howling. They have a double date to get to.
The Musée National stood like a squat block, facing the highway at an angle and mirrored to the left by the library. The hu hu sat inside, waiting in the wing housing the musical instrument collection. The surgeon nervously handled the endoscope case, dusty from the helicopter ride that had brought them to N’Djamena. The calligrapher was clearly nervous but their services would only be required for brief minutes while they inspected the inscription on the inside of the ancient calabash.
The baker took one last look at the cake, sitting on its gold-rimmed stand on the veranda, the carefully cultivated gardens surrounding the Palacio Rioja visible in the background. If it weren’t for the two backpack stealthcopters leaning against the railing, it would be Instagrammable, hashtag noneofyourbusiness. The architect finished the final touches, and gave a silent nod. In a smooth motion, the two of them had their packs on and had plummeted over the edge, carefully angling away to not disturb the icing.
The mechanic reached deep into the tool bag, knowing the required spanner would be at the very bottom. The clanking briefly drowned out the strains from the radio, its signal relayed every 500 meters by the commpods they had dropped on the way. Carefully fitting the business end of the tool between the rear set of treads on the boring machine, they found themselves exclaiming out loud “actually, I think it’s pretty interesting.” The surveyor, measuring the long tunnel behind them with an x-ray transit, looked back briefly, by now used to such outbursts. The cavern should be another two miles down.
It's a steamy Florida night, and it marks the debut of Julius C. Lacking on the airwaves of WFIT, a university radio station in Melbourne, Florida. The random nature of the playlist is born of a catastrophic home furnishing disaster that hopelessly jumbled the contents of the vaunted Lacking Selection, the music library which Julius has been aggregating for the last twenty years. The process of its re-cataloging and collation, which promises to last decades, will henceforth be known as The Lacking Organization. Let it begin.
lacking.org