This mix by Picture On The Fridge gets it in a good picture-frame of mind, wooden, painted white, cracking. It’s a sweet initiator into a new vest top, a straw hat, sunglasses. It’s a good welcome home from a brown bike ride through the fields. And during, it’s enduring, it’s a sunroof away! The tags, I see now, are summer, happy, good mood, indie, indie rock, electronic, alternative, german. Tags are great, they’re such a modern internet bloggy thing – if ever you see them, I am warmed to think of fingers reflecting on whatever complicated their contribution with a whirring mind… what word can I sum up this? and then, what sort of terms do people search? what kind of person is going to get this wavelength? It’s an amusing thing to imagine a poet in 1764, huddled over candles, as the sun whirls the big oak front door, a feather quill scurrying the last line of riddle on parchment, before a moment’s pause, and marking underneath everything a few astute summary words that convey the riddle’s content in a few buzzwords anyone could understand. I kind of envy the 1764 poet, but then it’s kind of awesome to think that if someone shouts a buzzword into the wild today, they become immediately acquainted with content conforming to their desires, that’s sort of what the internet is right? So maybe I could have a poet’s big oak door, candles, and ink, but also some interweb for good measure and as a place to publish anything and everything.
Ahh! I digress. When I digress, I am in a good mood, so, Picture On The Fridge, you fulfilled your tags well. I’m on second listen and track 7 now, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah – Skin of My Yellow Teeth. In the journey up to this classic and in the journey that succeeds it, we have traversed a 6 carriage party train, where instead of drinking beer and being loud and raucous, we have encountered a mixture of big bright sunset views, a plethora of top buttons, shoulder blades lurching good, seriously fine selection of food, basil towers, foddle of cheeses, thin spaghettis, widgets of cheesecake, everything conveniently presented, and, gleaming, everyone would be drinking out of condensation-covered glass bottles, or maybe cups of fruit-flavoured cauldron punch, a few would have gin and hip flasks, water would be widely available and there’d be really good loos, but whatever, one gets the feeling with this kind of selection, this kind of 8tracks mix, this kind of train of thought, feelings, that we’re all in somewhere together, and we’ve all got sense of rhythm as much as we all winch around worries when we have to choose how to do things. It’s kind of implicit in what I just said that the pinnacle of this kind of Indie Rock and everything around it fits into a formative state of mind, one that still funks its foetal shape; it’s a picture frame where the picture isn’t a self-portrait of wisdom, but rather an indeterminate landscape or undetermined cityscape or a portrait of someone else, an escape, an education painted in curiosity. I can jig around to that.
I digress again perhaps, it’s difficult to know what’s relevant to a mix that is good, that you’d like to listen to, and that is created by a blog that is also definitely worth your looking: Picture On The Fridge.com is your favourite kitchen, sourced all the good way from Vienna, Austria, a clutch, a crowd of good-looking pictures and scrolls and scrolls of worthwhile objects, interviews, glorious glorious photos.
head and check ’em (the photo above links to the tumblr, as opposed to the main site)