Songs.

Songs.

A couple weeks ago, I saw Tori Amos in a nice, sit-down venue here in Denver. Nearly as notable as the extremely good performance was the people-watching: the general crowd vibe can only be described as Lilith Fair-ass. Particularly the universally goateed dudes sprinkled through the crowd.

I don't know how to start this shit, Nasir Jones voice. I hope everyone got a chance to read Claire Dederer's What Do We Do with the Art of Monstrous Men?, which was included in last week's Good Word. It's a wonderful exploration of how to reconcile enthusiasm for a work in a vacuum with the unavoidable monstrosity of its creator, and more broadly a re-assurance of the primacy of one's personal, private feelings over canonical or correct tastes.

The first time I saw Circuit des Yeux, she was howling and writhing all over the stage in a small Irish pub in Raleigh. It was completely disruptive to the otherwise tranquil Friday night scene, and one of the more impressive shows that I had seen in some time.

When I met Skooly, he was pretty heated about some clothing. He was doing an in-store appearance at some Complex.com-ass store in Denver, and he flatly refused to be compensated in anything bearing the store brand's logo. Jacket only, that jacket's the swaggiest thing in here! he said, referring to the one available item lacking a gaudy logo.