Eight weeks of Earbuzzz. Thanks for reading, I mean it.
Ew, ok, that was sentimental. Don’t you have a newsletter to read? Jeez.
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sleaze
it’s all grey skies when you wake up. You’re on someone’s couch and your mouth is sour. Rain patters against the windowpane, a quiet soundtrack while you tie your laces. You kick a couple bottles over on your way to the door. A brief look in a mirror to confirm your suspicions of smeared mascara; with suspicions confirmed, you slip out the front door and into the drizzle.
this mix sounds like a tumblr fanfiction about working for BBC radio in 2011. Think Skins, but think about it like someone who’s never seen Skins would - bc I’ve never seen Skins. So, like someone who has like a vague idea of what Skins is, making a mix about what she thinks Skins might sound like. Mixed with American coming-of-age, sort of. With me?
it feels like loose change in your palm as you walk, sounds like never ending spitting skies, and smells like underground public transportation (for better or worse). It’s good if you’re, like, kinda in a mood. I like to listen to it in order, but you certainly don’t have to. Now, does anyone have any suggestions for getting glitter out of carpets?
the Chanel boots? yeah
you were on the hunt. Given a small woven swatch of deep purple fabric and a push towards the door, you were off in search of a pair of elegant, but reserved, pumps in an exact color match and under no circumstances were you to return empty handed. You called every boutique you could think of, every maven in your contacts. No one had anything, until,
“I heard from Jesse the other day that Saigo was having his new collection installed in the storefront that day, and I think I saw Veronica just bought a pair of aubergine sling-backs there, so maybe he’ll have pumps, too?”
it was all you needed. You were off, rushing out of the cafe and leaving a crumpled six dollars cash and a Lifesaver mint under your latte cup. The bell rang on your way out.
this mix smells like the steam that comes out of manhole covers in cities, mixed with a really expensive perfume. It sounds like a clunky keyboard, and feels like hogging the payphone while a line stacks up behind you. It’s garlic-sprout green in the center of a cold, brutal grey. It gratifies moments of great drama without killing the humor, the hope of the day-to-day. It’s a little Nicole Kidman Finally Divorced, maybe.1 So go on: sit on that cafe’s patio and think to yourself that, yeah, maybe it is all gonna work out. It’ll all be ok.
round up
sleaze: indie rock, 00’s-10’s alt-pop, sloppy, ripped tights, chuck taylor low tops
the Chanel boots? yeah: alright fine it’s the devil wears prada. it’s the devil wears prada but it’s in song, ok, and! Since you’re asking! I think Miranda Priestly was more or less right (minus the fatphobia etc) and Andy should’ve left her bunk boyfriend and loser friends. That’s all.
That’s all for today, folks. If you’ve made it this far, leave a like to let me know you’re enjoying Earbuzzz. And, if you haven’t already, please consider subscribing! I send out new playlists every Monday.
If you have artist, album, or song recommendations, leave a comment below and I’ll check it out.
I’ll be back next week with more music.
Lots of love, always,
