My wife is too kind. New strings for my classical guitar--one had snapped months ago, and I've been too distracted and lazy to fix it--and new brushes for my drumming needs.
Musical, yes, but quiet, so today I treated myself to Sleater-Kinney's The Woods, anything but.
I'm prone to overstatement, so forgive me for saying that S-K are the salvation of rock and roll. Forget the White Stripes, forget Queens of the Stone Age, forget Wilco, forget The Strokes, forget all other false prophets and pretenders and has-beens. The Woods is a pile-driving ass-kicking Zeppelin-resurrecting power trip.
(I won't retread; Kyle Ryan and Stephen Deusner effectively capture the album's essence, and Carrie Brownstein, speaking with The Onion, fills in the backstory.)
Oh, how I miss being at home in the musical-snob heaven that is the PNW. It's true, though. We have the best music around. Montreal Schmontreal.
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