Evil Friends was the soundtrack to my summer. I think every year since about 6th grade I’ve had some album in my life that gets played to the point where the nostalgia runs deep in my veins and straight to my heart.
As fall approaches and new albums get played on repeat, I can already feel the warm fuzzy feelings of summer commutes with the windows down and John Gourley’s voice blaring out the car stereo. Evil Friends definitely was like no PTM album I’d heard before, but so so goddamn catchy and soulful and eclectic. (I’ve had one too many car sing a longs to Holy Rollers.)
It’s super exciting to see a band I’ve loved for years grow and evolve. The no fucks given attitude they have makes me love them more. Also, seeing them live is incredible and life changing and I love nothing more than a good jam session.
I will, however, totally admit that I have the hipster mentality of “I loved them first” as I watch their popularity grow and their songs get played on local radio. It’s exciting of course, but I’m also very selfish.
Pitchfork would probably be really disappointed with how awful of a review this is and how it’s really just fangirling. Whatever.
Sometimes I roll my eyes as I scroll through my dashboard and see pictures with 50,000+ notes that say something mildly poetic or a personal quirk the original author thought only they had… but then at the same time, I realize how fascinating a thing the internet is— even if it’s regurgitated content circulating dashboards everywhere.
Someone, somewhere, is feeling the same exact thing to a point where they reblog it. And that’s mind boggling more than it is cheesy, because it’s a huge reminder that the alone and lonely feelings you feel, someone else actually gets it. They do. Even if they live on the other side of the planet and have none of the same problems as you.
It’s that weird cosmic voodoo that makes life worth it for me.
Blue Ridge Mountains, Fleet Foxes.
Photo by Alasdair Mclellan, styled by Jane How; W Magazine August 2010.
Lately, the internet has left me with a particularly overwhelmed feeling. I know this only happens when I’m feeling unsatisfied in my life because this anxiety forms inside of me about all the exciting lives that I’m not living. It’s nothing new— it’s just wildly frustrating. Suddenly, I find my browser has 15 tabs open of blogs and links and material things that will never bring the happiness I so desperately want from owning stuff and things.
I can’t help but think all that wouldn’t matter as much if I actually managed to have a meaningful relationship in my life. That this obsession with stuff and things would subside. That satisfaction from finding someone worth being with would be enough.
Sexuality has never seemed so fluid to me as much as it has in the past few months. Naivety or ignorance, whatever it was, has seemed to vanish as I discover so many new things about myself. The complexity of lust and attraction and senses is fascinating and frustrating. Life’s golden rule of you-can’t-always-get-what-you-want is ringing through my ears as I navigate the tangles of my head and my heart.
I’m so unsatisfied.
Tanga Moreau in "Infanta is Style" by Paolo Roversi for Vogue Italia September 1997
#tripping journeys through kiev | lada matis by amy gwatkin for dazed digital