So there is this song on the new Beach House record called "Real Love" that will break your heart into a million pieces and dance on it like someone who knows you. I can't stop listening to it.

Welcome to your Dylan phase Malone......

It happens every winter. I leave town for a week or so, sometimes up north sometimes way west but it

always remains to be reminiscent of traveling the U.S. for me. The cold breaks, and covers every part

of my body with frost and awkward dew and I can't think of anything else to do but smoke 12 packs

of cigarettes and catch up with Bob Dylan for some reason. I remember hearing all of these songs for

the first time and who I was with and where I was, the way everyone's coats smelling of awful things,

my own coat not excluded. Remembering sneaking beer everywhere and feeling really crazy, like I was

maybe losing my shit for the first time, not really realizing what losing my shit really would feel like

when it actually happened. Still not really knowing what losing my shit will actually feel like I listen

to these songs and feel like I am not losing it. For christ sake every single fucking album is on you-

tube and there is really no excuse for my not listening to every one of them and accosting myself

for thinking a bit too much all of the time. Every single song or album, songs I have never heard

before, that I had no idea of their existence. Sure once it hits a certain point late 70's into the 80's

I have no idea what he was thinking, I'm sure he is about as clueless as me, or maybe not, maybe

glowing with that cocaine confidence and divine intuition he knows exactly what he was doing,

Gleeful self indulgence in sabotaging everything else that is so "great". I don't know and despite

what the above implies I don't really give two shits about what he was thinking during any of it

but I am glad that I have it to listen to now, stream even, everything all on youtube for my drunken

convenience.

-Casey

Dear Bill,

Please stop perpetuating my reality. I really loved your music until you became "Grand Dream Master" and then I still really loved it until your songs started materializing themselves in my day to day.

I still love your music,

Casey

LOng Pause

It has been month(S) since posting anything on here but I have since decided that,  that notion is dumb. 
After thinking long and soft about it I think everyone I know would be a better person after hearing this record. This is a perfect 10 as far as I'm concerned and I would really like all of the people I know to post their thoughts(good or bad, [my best friend HATES IT]) about what they hear here.

Hardly a live album, wholly a concept album. Liner notes do not lie , this is best enjoyed on an afternoon of head phone'd euphoria & played front to back. I rarely lobby for mass consumption of somethin's but in this case I will blatantly say, get outta yer head for this record. For real.

Cool

Bee Stings+Tobacco

You often don't listen, thats a problem. I can be absent minded but even still most of the time I listen too.

Who knows who will care? but I listen like Earnest(*1) should, but you fantasize for him and not my witted ears. 

"When I kick the bucket, just say chuck it."

Worst day in a while, I bludgeoned myself through it though.

(*1) :earnestly listening.

Smitten.

So well on my way now,

I have 3/4 of my new material completed, as stated, the two pretty ones, the short one, the weird one, the fun one, and the aggressive one. I am moving along at a real nice pace and should be done in time to package these in time for my first TEUR at the end of july. I'll post dates as they come, so lookout. 

Also if anyone talks to ashley alexander anytime soon, please tell her that I will die if she doesn't do the artwork for this.

Problem and solution?

I am a school of gnats

So no pinnacle of cuteness has been reached by any costa eureka song yet, but I am starting to find it hard to draw the line between what I want my own music to sound like and how much I like the way the costa eureka songs have been coming along. 

It's odd, I can't remember the last time writing a simple pop song made me feel so ahead of my own curve. Never have I felt so good about taking 3 hours to record and mix a song that barely reaches the two minute mark, sounds like steve reich making love to africa but steve reich is kinda retarded so he can never get his amp up loud enough. 

I dunno.

Let's Wrestle....

I'll be not what you want me to 

I'll be no more or no less than when I first met you

I'll be getting older and you'll be getting more adorable

Patchouli , god the wreak of that that restless vessel's hallway

God:that wretched populous' vessel always

Not understanding makes us feel like other people are missing something

Other people are missing something

Stubborn people are kissing something

Kissing twin ducks a quack in the muck

Sorry for spilling oil in your honeymoon.

Please play harp future girlfriend, Please sing to me when I can't remember my name at 50 if I make it, Please be my patron saint, Please don't let him take you out for drinks, Please share my unhealthy desire for detailia and writing things.

Enter obsession with African music.

I like music a lot of the times because it evokes a certain feeling or bridges one side of something to the other for me. Never have been a huge fan of dance music or dancing in general to be honest, but african music makes me want to dance with you. It makes me want to sit outside and drink beers and dance while the sun descends behind us. Things rise and fall and the music does the same conceding to the basic rhythm of not only nature but the nature of the brain and the nature of the body.

Sooliman Rogers Rogie was born in Sierra Leone West Africa in 1940ish and made music for well over 40 years. In the 60's he grew to be popular and formed a band called The Morningstars. He passed away in 1994 shortly after releasing "Dead Men Don't Smoke Marijuana" . This is a collection of his recordings called Palm Wine Guitar Music, enjoy it.

duh

Pedestrian

I am the great white north

I am a fleet of gnats, flailing-fluttering in the wednesday

I am the smirk of algae as it surfs on the solid of your water

You are the saxophone notes bewildering pedestrians in the park.

Whirl Weekends of Apartment Dates and Basement Skates.

This is the pre - hope my film didn't get fucked up - brooklyn whirlweek photoblog with accompanying micro mix coming soon.

Update

So this has kind of turned into a ramble and poetry blog which I am like 70% cool with.

I just got back from vacation, expect a sort of re-cap of that and then I'll get right back to posting musics. I have a lot more I want to share with ya.

Hearts,

Casey

Vacay-09

"You pray in the storm, I'll sing to static on the radio 
You there in the amber, I'm the clay 
I just pulled out of a city I no longer know 
who says don't bother writing unless you're dead 
or in the family way 

Parades, alcohol, and love's swinging phantoms 
Everything everyone's been dying for all year 
Jimmy says there's no God in the sky holding him for ransom 
but he's doing alright keeping himself hostage down here 

This is where the insects go to expire, fire 
This is where the children go to weep, sleep 
This is where the gypsies go when they retire 
Now they're counting on you kid and your famous cold feet 

But if everything rolls around again 
does that mean we are free? 
If everything rolls around again 
does that mean we don't have to follow the grail, 
we can go ahead and swallow our tails 
and then just wait and see? 

If everything rolls around again, 
what about the ceremonies in our beds, 
the crushed flowers in our heads, 
the hope and the smoke and the sleet 
and the sad reocurring dream 
and the thirsty kisses in the rain 
and the promise only the dead can keep? 
Is that when we are free? "

Taken from "The Only Living Boy in Omaha" by Simon Joyner & The Fallen Men

The Pull

Man, Stupid being

You do thaat.

Birds nest nest nestle in restless oak next to fleshless metal

Confused party goers stumble and slur obscenities into the moonbeams

Cute and uneasy to pin down most of all , they love it.

"My colony is love, apology and love."

Eat my skirts

So I had originally planned to try and come up with a 50(really ya'll ?!?!) word essay for Skirt magazine about why Feminism is important, naturally I wrote a long winded introduction and an even longr set of verse.

Stranger

Mangled sense of self 

I play drunk piano while you put your youth on the shelf

Swamp water spilled over 

Soaked the inside of the boat in ways of clover

Come over,

I am unabashedly lucky

For I truly know glee and barely know myself

Like how time must understand how long it takes a flower to permeate a slumber of cells and numbers.

ps this is like, 60 words?

Curiouser

Say to me shaking 

While water pours itself out into a larger merger of  mass

Nothing this innocent should be worth breaking

I suggest my calmness much like my unsettle will pass

More often in mornings than otherwise, I find myself to be a peaceful person

It's once night comes and we are left with no more than a theme to dwell upon

A sometimes comforting silence but mostly deafening meander or absence of light

Confused like tadpoles we wander out into the larger merger and soak our loins in salt

Lay a weary head in an orchids nest

Balmy and fragrant won't stop an open mind

I drink to feel pretty and insurmountable

I could populate a large party with all the girls I've fallen in love with

It would be a fun party but I wouldn't want to be there.*

* I think this poem should be called I I I I 

Cloud Pool mission statement

Skied over the dew drawn fields at dawn

Flailing and "FUCKING!" at sky eyed chirpers

Cloud's reflective of ponds reflective of palace spirited spitters

Spitting splinters at the chipper and untamed woodland sitter

You paint me a picture, I'll draw you with words

A colorful speechless

Cheeking and a why not wry

Morning bathed birch

Writhing and all smirks

Tempting too

All we are is all too unkempt

I think,

a caged bird still sings

honey bees buzz and sting in the wind

bring me truths and I'll be the caged bird singing in the furry sand

albeit a bit bland

nonetheless hand in hand in hand in hand

Bury me in wood and I will splinter, bury me in stone and I will quake

"Once I saw it and I knew it and you will to when you know about it."

This is an album by Smog, I haven't listened in at least a year up until a week ago and I am convinced that this man knows me better than I know myself.

I don't usually plead for people to listen to anything I post, and would never dream of pleading for anyone to like any of it , with that said.... please listen to this, alone in quiet.

A River Ain't too Much to Love.......

psps

I'll be there

God is a word and the argument ends there, oh do I feel like the mother of the world.

David Shrigley on the brain today for some reason... I've been going through pieces of his that I have had saved on the drive for a while and figured I would share some of my favorites. 

I am supposed to be writing a 50 word OR LESS!?! essay on why being a feminist is important to me and others in skirt(hehehe) magazine and

I can't even explain my current state of mind in under 70.

Grace lend a hand to thee collapse

My Collapse is unimportant

Save up pencil shavings or feathered rings of your old tree heart

Put em' in my cap and think about it when your crying starts

Who could understand what it could mean to be free from anything

How could you possibly be free to understand anything if it were not for a misunderstanding

Subjection is the subject

The personally willful change by subtraction

Why must all beautiful creatures have such a starving desire for impurities

Mind lost.

If I Were More Intoxicated

I would've said oh yeah

No one else likes it so it makes sense that you don't either

We're all grown up and stuff right everyone?

So actually be it and not just act like it pal(lindrome?)

So much cooler than me

Run ego run, 

Catch yourself before you rest in that sea of likeness that everyone and you reside in.

You make me tired of Charlotte.

-Casey

4/27/09

A Poem About The Early Morning/I Think Too Much

Bea Arthur is dead......

He fondles his beer and gropes her breast

With of course an unhealthy dose of ego un-laid to rest since christian school

He tells her she's his star while his brother buys them shots at the bar

Logic fell on me last night, like a cartoon piano

Only not enough to kill me but just enough to wake me at 8 am puzzled fuck dumb muzzled 

Corrected I stand erected, are all of my meanderings misdirected ?

Shit is shit, perhaps neither of them remember(know) this

I want to move 

I have to move

Cooped up in the same headplace for too long maybe 

Don't sleep in my bed

Don't call me baby

Your yes' could've only meant maybe

Now you lay on the cot 

While I am forced to dream in arbour's of your own beauty

Fill me up with water, do what your brain can do to dilute me

I'll spill out and you'll still be the same

Yes I find it hard to explain

Why don't you get right on that while I shake and refrain

Is this okay?

I hope everything goes great really

I'll leave eventually 

I could never wish anyone anything horrible 

A friend a friend that is the end a friend of mine

Sorry I took the time.

-Casey

Digg Digg

This is informal, on the fly, sweating into a pile in my room thinking about spain before headin' to the record store prima donnalding. Basically a list  of things I have been getting by on for the last week and as early as just this morning.

The new Cass McCombs record

leaked earlier it's called "Catacombs" and I think it is his best, on the first few listens. The entirety of it has this sort of immaculate sense of logic in songwriting. Really nice tones too, all of his records seem to be growers though. Every time I put one on I am pleasantly surprised to find mr. mccombs still singing his heart out just as much as the first listen. It also doesn't hurt that I saw him live and he killed it, about 7 songs 30-35 minutes full of reverb soaked sad pop. I love it.

Rolling around in the grass all day, is where it's at

Carson Mell is brilliant.

I want a Charlotte Hornets car.

Forward Kwenda

Okay, I will not pretend to know any more about Forward than I do, which is not much.

this is from Mbira.org

"Forward Kwenda was born in the rural Buhera area of Zimbabwe, an area known for its fierce resistance to colonial rulers and respect for Shona tradition. As a young boy, Forward excelled in traditional dance and recitation of ancient poetry. At the age of 10, he began to play ngoma (drums) and hosho (gourd rattles) for his mother's gombwe (rain-making) spirit. He was given the name "Forward" because of his curiosity about many subjects, enthusiastic involvement in many activities and his singing for liberation war freedom fighters.

By 1985, Forward was playing in a unusually complex style - much to the amazement of master mbira players two and three generations his senior. This style was first recorded in 1985 and 1986 by his American friend Glenn Makuna (see MBIRA tapes nos. 56, 57, 58, 143), who dubbed Kwenda the Coltrane of mbira."

Asked about his experience of playing mbira, Forward responds:

"When I pick up my mbira, I don't know what is going to happen. The music just goes by itself, taking me higher and higher until I can end up crying because the music is so much greater than a human being can understand." and "I just have to get out of the way so spirits can make my mbira play - it isn't me - I'm just amazed."

The soft passages created on this album are entrancing like little else. This is a constant saviour for me anytime I just wanna get out of my head for a minute and be in a more subdued frame of mind.

Svikiro: Meditations from a mbira master.

1 Kanhurura (5:19)

2 Gonamombe Rerume (5:58)

3 Zvichapera Chete (6:38)

4 Chipembere Nhimutimu (4:52)

5 Tadzungaira (10:34)

6 Chipembere (7:09)

7 Mukai Tiende (7:20)

8 Mandarendare (5:36)

9 Chipindura (5:34)

10 Mahororo (6:23)

11 Chidhangechidhange (4:41)

Here It!

Nightmare Fodder 2.0

I have been having a really hard time getting my brain into a space where it feels comfortable allowing itself to drift off into the ethers of a healthy 7-8 hours of sleep. When all is calm and I'm left with only the vague silence that becomes Basinski's "Watermusic" and thoughts at the close of the day, my mind finds itself shattered once I do transcend the buzz and hum of whatever appliance or lighting fixture that has been wrongfully installed or conceptually flawed, I find myself in an undesirable place.

I have had more horrific dreams in the last month than I have in the last year. It's always something very personal but at the same time perpetually veiled by an eerie silence and dusk that usually serves to intensify the matter.

My 7 hours are usually punctuated by tosses and turns thus turing my actual sleep schedule into a sort of to be continued set of puzzling revelations and 10 minute staring contests with blackest cavity of my room.

I don't really know what most of this means, to be honest I don't even know why of all things I felt the need to share this, but in any case I did so here it is.

Weirdy McWeirderson

Please do not forget to mention the fact that it was my home.....right you did!

Let me say first, I love living in this neighborhood most of the time and wouldn't trade what I am able to be a part of  because of my situation, for the world.

Let me also say the people who run the IDONTGIVEAFUCKINGSHITABOUTANYTHINGBUTATTENTIONANDSHITPISSINGONENDLESSDICKSTHATMASQUERADEASMICROPHONESFORMYCHARACTERISTCTICALLYANDPROVEN VIA INTERNETWORTHLESSFUCKINGSCHTICKTHATIUSETOGETLAIDBYWOMENWHOHAVENORESPECTFORTHEMSELVESANDREPEATEDLYSUBJECTTHEIRBODIESANDMINDSTOPENISFODORINTHEMODERNDAYSORTOFCOOLCAMEANDCOLLECTEDTYPESHIT

were at my house last night lookin' all SUPERDUPERFUCKINGBOGUSANDWEIRDLIKE(proof in text message form, Lindsay?!?!?!?) inquiring about drugs which occupied said empty pill bottles that my roommate Ben takes from the pharmacy at his work to recycle at home, yes thats how much the people who live here give a shit about things most 10 or 23 year olds forget about after doing cocaine off of total strangers pink floyd records(appropriate RIGHT?!)

So in closing apart from people acting all wild and stuff I'll say what you could've guessed I'd say.

Support your community, you are it, it is you, do what's important for yourself and those that you care about , or even those you get to puke on yer dick at 4am.

Woman is but should no longer remain "nigger of the world"( yes I caught the racist jab schubert and think you'll be shocked to learn of my all none too literal Steve Martin "The Jerk" style child-hood".

Great Architect rules,

See some of you monday, some of you are leaving on this day and it makes me all sad n such.

2 P o E m s

Enlightenment -

Entitlement Enlightenment Entitlement Enlightenment

You are a woman with heart shaped cheeks

Eyes you close and open up like sprinklers in may

Blinks of uncertainty red bulbs flash green

I will adhere and hear your every word if I can

I am a silly tadpole, please go easy with me.

Mary is a poem/song I have been working on for quite some time and now that the lyrics and music are finished I feel good enough about sharing it.

Mary, proud and devastated clearly

Hair brown and soft just as a fairy

Floating in the ethers above the cemetery 

How selfish

How selfish to squash an acorn to make it all your own

Just put it in your pocket and carry it home.

Also, I don't know what to say ever.

For Ex-Lovers Only

Black Tambourine were a four piece from Maryland whose existence was criminally short lived. Fronted by Pam Berry whose voice registers somewhere between Galaxie 500's Naomi and a far less angsty Calvin Johnson. The band released a  few 7"s on Slumberland in the way early nineties, followed by limited touring and the quartet eventually going their own separate ways.

This band has since re-released their entire selection of recordings on Slumberland a handful of years back. The style and aesthetic has very blatantly influenced newer indie pop groups like Vivian Girls and The Pains of Being Pure at Heart just to name a couple.

There is a loose nostalgic feel to most of the music and it is the perfect early summer soundtrack. Fall in love to and with this is....Very pawn shop reverb unit tone-y and the percussion seems to wash things out a bit as well. Some of it comes off as them taking a stab at tweegaze which I think people are calling surf rock* now, whatev.

Hear it!

*****See next post on Joe Meek in a couple days for the real scoop

Poor Translation

pt. 1

The Bullfighter's Beautiful Daughter

Gasped and winced at slaughter

Where are you gonna bury him?

e

Ask your older brother

Where are you gonna bury him?

pt.2 

"Why can't I ever sleep"

"reds"

"Beautiful deafening 'Reds'

She thinks of him and nods her head

Beautiful trickling reds

She sleeps in other men's beds 

"Why can't I ever sleep"

Drop your list of demands into the caspian

I will no longer feel comfort in my former home

No longer be able to lap in the confines of tall wheat 

Tell my private things to a close friend in confidence just like a teenage romance novel

You will no longer be able to unwillingly sob into a strangers shoulder 

No longer have memories of dreams shrouded in the elegant blanket of infinite reality

Lean all of those endearing qualities on a passive sigh and an always understanding goodbye

Feels good to not know what to do

Who's there if and when these things do come to see you

It'll break just like a wishbone one half bigger than the other even if unadmittedly so.

Back Space Back Space

The smallest most insignificant-ist of insignificances' walks into a barn.

All of the grandeurism's made up triply of parts shame, luck and jest be defined in thee.

Perfect moments all of them align to form a perfect 9 sided star of imperfectionless wit.

Maybe it did make sense to separate the like parts from the  depleted chasm of grey area wandering.

Sam is the I am, and often echoes simple jest and profound innocence like summer and hot fall.

A moon that rises twice and over a valley of  crimson points.

Live at Pacific Palace Aids 5/18/08

Let me start this off by exclaiming how much I love Ariel's music, I could go back and forth all day just like R. Stevie "No your the best Ariel!" I would say and in a sense I would mean every word of it.

I once had a very late conversation about interpreting Ariel Pink's art, not just the music because I think that would be too easy , of course it's dumb stumblingly brilliant pot-pop and therein lies the genius behind the music. What I have come to question and be equally enthralled about is the whole "scene" that goes along with the music. The 1000's of handmade cd's and tapes, the playful inequality to which said music is subjected to(only making it better in my opinion)by the true lo-fi bedroom mouthdrum fuzz buzz production of it all. I think that is probably the magic behind it and what keeps me listening, because so many things are buried behind layers of tape hiss and instrument wire hum that the lack of aesthetic becomes a unique aesthetic in itself pssssheeeewwwwww.

That being said this is a live recording from Haunted Graffiti from the 2008 tour. Six blistering(closer to ten if you count every actual song as opposed to the number of cocks)pop tunes recorded right down the way from Ariel's hometown.

ps  thanks for the rip dover.

Oh Ariel

I Want The Quiet Moments of a Party Girl pt.1

Societal hierarchy is everywhere, people are always consumed to buy and do things to appease the next rung of the ladder. This is confusing to me. It is something that transcends all facets of human individuality, race, gender, age, pretty much all of the pseudo defining qualities of a civilized peoples are rendered useless by this. Sure different groups of people are affected by different obstacles and pressures in society, thus molding each and every group's what I will call "deficiency of self" into its own disturbingly unique pitfall full of plastic surgery, 700 dollar shoes, 500 dollar hair cuts and so on and so forth. So many people I know, even if agreeing with this(by no means a new or foreign concept- not trying to re invent the wheel this is just a personal commentary on the things I see everyday.) still concede and say "oh well it's their happiness and personal blunder to blow money on things that you find to be asinine, it may not be viewed as asinine to the person doing it." or something to that degree. I find it upsetting sometimes that there isn't some level of equality especially in the monetary sense. Find yourself asking questions like "why is this person homeless if this other person has a 5 bedroom house but lives alone?" or "should this kid be made to walk 3 miles home in this neighborhood when there is someone driving right past the kids destination?" I do quite often think of these things. Lately it has been kind of crippling to a degree. I understand the problems that we deal with in this country are fucking absurd and I too find it ridiculous to even address most of our conflict as an actual problem, but this is something that does transcend all levels of individuality and even community.

My Birthday is in a month, and honestly the only thing I could wish for is that all of my friends(myself included) be a little more hip to the fact that were not the only people in this world and maybe understand how doing 4 or 5 super small things a day to help out a complete stranger can affect so much more than the face value of it all. 

I will also say this, I am not proud of it but I did not vote in this past election, while somehow the results panned out to be in my favor I still consider this..... Voting is said to be a very important part of our rights, however I for the most part opt out of this, at least in the way that some human rights activists would have you believe this is the plateau for us to rise up and speak what we feel about the issues that are important to us, fuck that. Try this... the next time someone does something you feel slighted by or just see happen and really think it's awful (mistreating of a child, random acts of sexism or racism, just out and out rude behavior), you may take some shit for it and most of the time it will not be worth it to try, but tell whoever is doing these things about how whatever they are doing makes you feel and why you think it's wrong; be ready for irrational arguments and all kinds of shit. I don't know what else to say this kind of turned into a weird rant and I am ready to get off of this stupid soapbox.

Ralf and Florian (1973)

Ralf and Florian is an album by the german band Kraftwerk. This album Gets it's name from the groups very minimal recording lineup at the time of just Ralf Hutter and Florian Schneider.

The album opens with the beautiful almost Pole Position soundtrack-y "Elektrisches Roulette" which only expands into mind numbing finish line hallucinations of other worldly space station fodder. "Tonebridge" comes in next and does just what the title implies , serves as a light bridge from the previous kraut-out and sends us headlong into the synth movement "Kristallo"

With "Heimatklange" we descend into an almost tragically somber ballad of piano and what sounds like it could be a clarinet borrowed from the bottom of the ocean blue. Strings and wind instruments continue to dominate the mix until the tiny insects that have nestled themselves into your subconscious recess, and side two takes us on a more poppy trip.

The second side opens with "Tanzmusik" an upbeat section , ever expanding, and the first time we get to hear the wordless vocal calls on Ralf and Florian. I can only imagine the influence this song has had on many young experimental artists, myself not excluded.

At last we arrive at the breathtaking finale "Ananas Symphonie" which marks the first use of the voccoder by Kraftwerk. This song in keeping with the refined theme of most the record takes you on a journey, but instead of twisting and turning these sounds are moving upward, it's ascension and descension that keeps the album's tone grounded. Waves wash over it all, letting the instrumentation become the ambience from time to time. This one ends similar to the lps beginning - Kraftwerk surfing the cosmos.

GRAB

My Plans

For tonight my plans are helping my mother move my stuff and watching this on the late night tip.

Queen of the Underground.

I will blissfully admit(ignorance ultimately?)but honest all the while that Chelsea Girl is my favorite Nico album. I have heard Marble Index and Desertshore enough to know that they are good but neither of those do it for me quite like Chelsea Girl does.

There is a quiet sophistication and innocence all the same in these recordings. Repeated crescendos with violins and Nico's beautiful wispy call. The production always reminds me of the serenely nice brownstone laden area's of a wealthier Washington D.C. Both Nico's tone and lyricism here evoke strong feelings of someone who is a bit past prime. Although nico proved the bittersweetness of this lp as a hoax by following with more ambitious works throughout the rest of the 60's and 70's

This is the first studio release from the lauded queen of the Velevet Underground and was recorded by Tom Wilson in new york in 66. Features John Cale, Leonard Cohen and a slew of other performers and cohorts.

Chelsea Girl