Elliott Smith on Thumbsucker soundtrack



My friend John passed this to me and now I’m passing it to you:

“Elliott Smith, Polyphonics Bring Balance To ‘Thumbsucker’ Soundtrack”

When director Mike Mills began considering the music that would underscore his coming-of-age teen dramedy “Thumbsucker,” he remembered a similar, albeit darker film: Hal Ashby’s 1971 classic comedy, “Harold and Maude,” which was scored entirely by singer/songwriter Cat Stevens.

Known primarily for his imaginative music videos for ’90s hipsters (Air, Cibo Matto, Jon Spencer Blues Explosion), his graphic design and album art (Beastie Boys, Sonic Youth) and his affiliation with Spike Jonze’s skate video crew, Mills was originally pegged as an ironist, but hopes the raw and emotional nature of “Thumbsucker” will clear the misconception.

Influenced by Ashby’s movie, Mills sought a contemporary analogue to Stevens’ folk-inflected songs, and settled upon indie-rock auteur Elliott Smith, who died of an apparent suicide in 2003. Before Smith’s death, the director approached the singer about scoring his debut film, and to his surprise, the reclusive Smith agreed.

“Elliott has always been an artistic hero of mine,” Mills said from his home in Los Angeles, noting that he’d met Smith in 2000, when he designed the artwork for the singer’s “Happiness” single. “I gave him the script and I was shocked that he liked it and wanted to work on it.”

Read entire article.

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Wesley Crusher and the patenting of pig reproduction



wil.jpg This morning I awoke to Wil Wheaton, aka “Wesley Crusher”, waning in the crumbling complex of my nighttime imaginations. In my dream, I’m pretty sure his name was Carl. (Eminem was nowhere to be seen)
Carl had some drug problems and I was trying to help him. Mostly I’m sure of this because the soundtrack to my dream was The Verve’s “The Drugs Don’t Work”. Which was fine, awake or asleep, it’s a great song.

In a lucid state, I wouldn’t normally be inclined to nocturnal notions of Wil aka Wesley aka Carl. Well, maybe I should break that down: Wil is kind of cute. I like how silly and fun he can be at wilwheaton.net; Wesley, no way no how. He was a limp dick cold fish. And Carl, well I’m getting to him…

With Carl, I was feeling enchanted in a let-me-save-you-from-yourself kinda way. Thank god that inclination is over in real life – a rancid leftover from when I was 23, currently surfing the garbage dump of my subconscious. A temporary brain belch let’s hope.
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Cottage Incognito



I’m on the last day of my week-long cottage adventure, about 100 pages away from finishing Tom Robbins’ “Villa Incognito”.

I love the guy. He’s wonderful and always reminds me that being alive is amazing and filled with wonder – you just gotta look under the surface.

Before I get weird and weepy (from Tom Robbins’s genius and from missing the huzbond something fierce) I’d like to share some of my favourite lines from the book:

“Are we not a contradictory species occupying a dichotomous planet wobbling about in what, from all indications, is a paradoxical universe?”

“The soul is most definitely not some pale vapor wafting off a bucket of metaphysical dry ice. For all its ectoplasmic associations, it steadfastly contradicts those who imagine it to be a billow of sacred flatulence or a shimmer of personal swamp gas.”

“Are you really the All Controlling Agent of Destiny and Change?”

“The moon bloomed like a radiation sore, every tree was ajitter with swinging intestines.”

“Was Jesus an enlightened being who understood maya (the illusory nature of the material world) and the folly of seeking happiness through wealth, or was he merely a humorless, undersexed, masochistic proto-communist with an olive branch up his butt?”

Thank you Tom Robbins, you make me smile!

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I dreamt about you last night…



and I didn’t fall out of bed once.

eminem_3.jpg I’m staying at some poshedy posh hotel with people I work for, most likely folks connected to music somehow. For some crazy reason (I can’t remember why now but you know it made total sense then), I can’t have my own room. Instead I’m given the keys to the hotel pool area to bathe and spend the night (cue the canned pornosonics).

And there sitting poolisde, on your typically hotelish ratan, is Eminem.

We hit it off, we really did. He’s a nice guy. He’s cute. He’s smart. He’s a famous pop icon. He likes me. He likes the star tattoos on my wrists.

He puts the moves on me. He tries to kiss me. I push him away, tell him no, and that I’m married to the man I love.

Which is true, but seriously, can you believe it? In my dream… I coulda had some make believe with Eminem but no, I remain faithful, even in fantasy land.

On one hand I’m proud of myself, on the other hand I wonder if the huzbond would say no to Charlize Theron?!? I would never ask him to… dreams are fair play! Sheesh.

But apparently not for me. My high self-standards are killing me.

Note to self: If Ewan McGregor challenges me to a game of beef in yo taco… the answer is yes!

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