The cover of the first edition of this book is thrillingly of its time (1960), in a fine art context, but feels quite disconnected from the disillusioned Middle-American tale that unfolds within. Or, perhaps the inner turmoil and endless miasma of the main character, Rabbit Angstrom, are both appropriately reflected in the op-art sleeve. Either way, I’ve just re-read/finally finished this troubling, masterful book.

I was listening to this record today and as well as being an excellent jazz fusion LP by recently deceased trumpeter, Donald Byrd, it has a brilliant, cosmic sleeve. This whole blog could be dedicated to the sleeves of the Blue Note label, such is its mastery of the medium, but I suspect there are plenty of tributes out there. As Nick Cave sometimes says, “Google it!”

Madame Yevonde, Mrs Edward Mayer as Medusa, 1935

I have this photograph on my fridge! It astonishes me to think that it’s from 1935 – the colours are so modern and vivid, creating an unsettling image.

Captivating, world-weary interpretation.

Mesmerising song and mesmerising moves. I think this is what they call chutzpah.

I think I first saw this sleeve hung up in the Salsa Club in Newcastle. I fell for its modern, concrete curves and Larry Young’s hip dress sense. The music sounds like this.

This photograph by Bert Hardy shows engrossed browsers in HMV Oxford Street in 1958. I have spent a lot of my spare time doing the same thing, which only enhances this lovely image for me.

via this popular blog

Two of the most talented people you’ll ever see on the silver screen, Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire.

Marianne Faithfull “Broken English” from Ivan Blatny on Vimeo.

Bleak and mysterious and rough around the edges. Derek Jarman matches up to Marianne Faithfull.

I love the covers of the new, deluxe Fitzgeralds. Maybe this is my favourite book, too.

The fashions in this clip may be trapped in aspic but the joy of singing remains fresh and alive. Although this song sits on the borderline of a land called sentimental, Gladys Knight and her high-pitched Pips display a joyous example of control and release that looks effortless but requires such a degree of control that it leaves the technically impressive vocal acrobatics of today’s R&B ballad singers looking somewhat forced and emotionally cold.

I recently saw Paul Thomas Anderson’s The Master. I was so impressed by the two central performances by Joaquin Phoenix (whose contorted, bemused face you can see above) and Phillip Seymour Hoffman. The film continues to have an afterlife in my mind and today I was watching the Fred Astaire & Ginger Rogers musical Follow The Fleet when I heard the following song, also featured in The Master, albeit beautifully sung by Ella Fitzgerald. Both Phoenix and Astaire’s characters are sailors pining for lost loves.

I heard this song on an excellent mix by guitarist William Tyler. It has a depth of feeling that resonated with me and it perfectly captures a sense of perceived inertia and perpetual drift that can sometimes strike you down.

Angel Olsen – Acrobat (Official Music Video) from Toshadeva Palani on Vimeo.

Angel Olsen’s voice is old yet fresh, familiar yet jarring. I like it a lot.

Nick Goss, Don Van Vliet Lounge, 2012

Making a spectacle of the unspectacular. If in London, go see.

Well, that’s my most convoluted pun in a while… perhaps it does an injustice to this photograph and book, which I came upon in a bookshop in Frankfurt. Its luminous nature beguiled me.

Richard Diebenkorn, Seated Woman, 1968, lithograph

I was in Washington DC a couple of days ago and there was a beautiful Diebenkorn exhibition of his Ocean Park paintings. I was going to post something about it, but when searching for images I came across this print and I felt like I had to share it because it appears both hesitant and confident. The pose is very ambiguous and it draws me in.

Josef Albers, Portrait Study, 1918 (ca.), ink and pencil on paper.

The fluidity of ink is equal to the fluidity of the self, which is always shifting.

Yesterday, trapped on a bus, travelling for twenty-four hours in a heatwave with a broken air conditioning system, I watched Heartworn Highways, a documentary about a new breed of country singers, filmed by James Szalapski at the mid-point of the 1970s. I’ve had the soundtrack for a couple of years, which features fragments of dialogue, so watching the songs come alive via the warm colours of Szalapski’s film was an enlightening experience for me. Townes Van Zandt is already one of my favourite country/folk singers from that era and his self-destructive personality is on show in the film alongside this moving example of his musical ability, which is evidently too much for those present to bear.

I saw this Jean Painlevé short film with subtitles last night, which allowed me to focus on the powerful soundtrack. I was rocking out in the back row of the cinema! I got home and looked at the original soundtrack by Pierre Henry and it was great, but totally different from the post-rock noodling that I’d just heard, which was played by the brilliant Yo La Tengo. I’ve posted both so that you can mute the original and experience the same nature documentary wig-out that I did or enjoy the spooky original should you wish to do that.