Sylvan Esso: Fillmore Part Deux

It’s been a good, better, best kind of week. And it only took through Tuesday.

By the time we were standing downstage right (LDG: “Right? Where are you? That’s left!”) for Sylvan Esso’s return trip to The Fillmore, I had already reevaluated my stance on a previously despised commerce-driven holiday; rekindled a list-driven exploration of Nordic pop; and rediscovered a central coast hideaway, heretofore nothing more than a power plant curiosity, that is home to both a bevy of sea otters and a treasure trove of Shakespeare aficionados.

And then, of course, the show Tuesday night was fantastic.

Last year I thought I was done with Record Store Day. It was a miserable, disheartening experience, and not just because I didn’t get shit on my list. The mad scramble for anything remotely valuable, and the audacity of album flippers creating eBay postings while waiting in the checkout line was enough. Never again, I swore.

But this past Saturday I got up a little bit earlier, and saved a place in line for MH outside Amoeba. Of the two must-haves and seven would-be-nices on my list, I got every damn thing. There was still a crazy dash for albums; still a queue forming instantly with as many profiteers as collectors; and still plenty of apologetic post-it-notes in places where vinyl used to be. MH got everything he wanted too, and I even grabbed a copy of the Ride compilation for WH (which I ended up keeping for myself after WH tracked it down later that morning).

So… Record Store Day. I aint’t mad atcha.

One of the topics of discussion in the IT docs lately has been a revisiting of that Scandinavia vs. Oceania debate. MH broke it down in a number of playlists. We keep talking about making more of the pseudo-rivalry. Something old-school Idle Time. Like an NCAA-style bracket maybe… Something’ll happen in the coming weeks, I suspect. Especially since The Moonbabies, one of the bands that kicked off my Swedish obsession twelve or so years ago, just came out with their first new album in seven years. And it kicks ass. Oceanic ass. You heard me, Cut Copy. Enter the ring.

And speaking of old favorites with new material, howsabout new favorites with new names?

I was pretty excited about Spanish band Deers a few months back, and started following them on Twitter, naturally. But I didn’t follow closely enough, apparently. I started seeing all these little notes and track reviews in my feed prefaced by “Hinds rewtweeted:” The fuck are Hinds? When did I start following them?

Oh. Hinds is Deers. And they’re still awesome.

Oh, and the central coast town in question is Moss Landing. As part of a rather surreal Sunday, I stepped from a flat-bottom boat that skimmed the slough safari-ing for marine mammals, to the relocated headquarters of the Shakespeare of America group and a full bagpipe troupe rehearsal. I kinda don’t want KB to find a job anytime soon. So long as he’s unemployed, he keeps uncovering these little adventure nuggets for our weekends…