Patrick Wolf

Hello lovers, I was so inspired by Patrick Wolf’s new video for The City from his upcoming (and highly-anticipated – by me) album Lupercalia that I thought I have to dedicate an entire post to this man / beast / genius / weirdo / inspiration.

With every video he pushes the boundaries of artistic and musical expression and in a time where everybody is putting half-clad girls in their videos to attract attention, Patrick manages to do so through beautifully crafted songs and Kinski-esque, androgynous, dark but eternally hopeful videos.

Below a selection of my favourites…

Good Will Hunting

Good Will Hunting is my favourite film. Ever. I have watched it about 48 times. I love it more every time. Below is one of the reasons why.

Fashion Fix #32 SPRING!

Morning lovers, in anticipation of spring coming to these shores soon, I decided to create a summery florals-heavy light fashion fix. See some hot shit below.

Real Talk.

Only liars get defensive. Real talk.

Boy, if a girl tells you she likes you, she doesn’t necessarily want your babies. She might just wanna make out. Man up. Real talk.

Giving up is for losers. Real talk.

You should have options. If you don’t, be nicer and look hotter and make sure you have options. Real talk.

If you know someone is bitching about you behind your back, cut them loose. Real talk.

If someone is bitching about you to your face, embrace the honesty. Real talk.

There is nothing worse than a sneaky cheater. Real talk.

People need to have more Jordan Catalano moments and more Good Will Hunting moments. Real talk.

The right man will love all the things about you that the wrong man was intimidated by. Real talk.

Happy Days > Dark Days = Real Talk

Forgotten Bands

Hello loved ones I feel like we are always talking about who’s the hottest, who’s the fiercest and sexiest band right now, but what I really wanna talk about are the bands that never made it, but should have. There’s this sentiment of sadness and gloom and underlying sense of a broken promise that I find way more enticing than discussing who’s gonna top the charts next month. And……I like losers.

Elefant

Sort of like the proto Killers, but just came a bit too early to hit the mainstream with their bittersweet lyrics, electro pop and observations about love. Dreamboat lead-singer Diego Garcia was Brandon Flowers for a generation of girls who looked for poetry and debauchery. Their full-length debut, Sunlight Makes Me Paranoid, was released in 2003 and perfectly encapsulated a sense of loss and longing of the post millennium generation. “Tell me your name, tell me your story, cause I’m into it, running through life like a misfit” sings Diego Garcia and it sounded so perfect at the time.

Check this shizzle here. Elefant – Sunlight Makes Me Paranoid

The Music

Now The Music were massively popular for a short time, and they sort of re-introduced psychedelia which is a bloody achievement, if you ask me. There were loads of reasons to love The Music, here are some.

They called their first EP ‘You Might As Well Try To Fuck Me” – love it.

Their gigs looked like regular guitar gigs but were raves really.

They fused all the most shit elements of music (psychedelia, wanking guitar solos, hippie-esque tribal beats, Britpop, repetitiveness) and turned them into a beautiful beats beast.

Their lyrics didn’t make any sense, but it didn’t matter cause it was too loud and feedback heavy to understand anyway.

Rave this way: The Music – The Music

Snow White

Now I love Snow White. They were and still are the best proto-post-pop-punk band that ever existed. They never even released an album, but their singles and EPs speak for themselves really. A bunch of bratty kids hating everything and hating everything very loudly and eloquently, but doing it with an unparalleled passion.

Underneath the noise, they always had a beautiful melody and their songs perfectly symbolised the idiosyncrasies of life, the dichotomy of light and dark, up and down. Often dubbed the British Sonic Youth, Snow White were way more than that. Favourite tracks include ‘I Fucking Hate Led Zeppelin’, ‘Bored, Somewhat Detached’ and ‘Walking Past 27 Pictures of an Ex-girlfriend'. Actually all of their songs are favourites.

Check their Myspace and this and this song and fall in love with a dead band.

Crush of the Week - Arnim Teutoburg-Weiss

Hello lovers, so I haven’t written about a crush of the week for a long time, cause proper crush-worthy people don’t come along too often. I’ve crushed out on a really hot guy, a very strong and inspirational woman and an uber fashionisto gaylord.

Today I’m extending this list to someone with a complicated name and a simply great presence. Arnim Teutoburg-Weiss is the singer in a little band called Beatsteaks (shit name, great band) and a well-known face in Berlin. There is even a Facebook group dedicated to his hotness.

Here are some reasons to crush out on him.

Cheeky smile – totes crush-worthy.

He writes songs like this.

He's very 'Berlin' - in a good way.

He trained in a circus academy; you never know when that might become handy.

He’s funny, he’s charming, he’s sharp.

He’s mature but hasn’t lost his child-like sense of wonder.

You can have a matey laugh with him the one minute and then a sexy make-out the next.

I just got a major thing for double-barreled names. Especially strange ones.

Witness the fitness below.

Becca + Blaine - A short story

*illustration by Mark Adlington

Here is the third short story in my 'desolate' series. Part one here and part two here. Read.

Becca couldn’t help but like him instantly. She couldn’t sleep because she analysed his every move, his every word, his every glance. She knew he was a good one. She also knew that good ones were hard to come by. She could feel that she was getting herself into trouble, but nonetheless there was something in her that couldn’t resist playing with fire. She picked up the phone.

It only rang once before he answered. It was two a.m. on a freezing starless night in London. He sounded irritated that someone would dare to call him that late. He also sounded intrigued that someone would dare to call him that late. Becca was on the brink of telling him she liked him. A lot. She was on the brink of telling a relative stranger, who she only met the week before, that she fantasised about being with him. A lot. She thought that wasn’t like her. She never had these feelings. Awkward.

But instead she started a meaningless conversation about today’s football results. She knew that now wasn’t the time for too much intensity, for too much truth. She had learned her lesson.

Blaine didn’t watch football. He wondered what the hell Becca was talking about, but he enjoyed the sound of her voice too much to stop her. He could listen to her voice for hours even if it stammered endlessly about Manchester United or some other club he didn’t care about. He did care about Becca though. He realised that on the first night he met her.

She was unlike any other girl he’d ever met before. She was strange. In a good way. She was loud, but not obscenely so, just in a confident way. He felt instantly attracted to her. Becca was drawing him in with her flirtatious glances that seemed to shy away at the last second. She was contradictory and that amazed him.

When he finally approached her after deliberating how to open the conversation for about three hours, he simply said: “Hi, I’m Blaine. I’d love to chat to you.” She looked slightly bemused that a stranger would come and talk to her. Like it had never happened before.

It had never happened before.

Becca and Blaine talked for hours. About their dislike of grated cheese, about their love of literature, about being the oldest children in large families and about pretty much everything else.

She was too scared to tell him she liked him. He waited for her to tell him she liked him. No one said anything. Both didn’t want to let their guard down. Both didn’t want to stand on this battlefield unprotected.

Becca put down the phone. She felt empty. They never saw each other again. They never stopped thinking about each other.

The Panther

This is my favourite poem. And the best English translation I could find.

Rainer Maria Rilke - The Panther

The weary passage of these bars

has made his gaze an empty stare:


as if the bars were all there are


and that behind them nothing's there.

Strong and supple strides around


and back to their beginning come.


A swirling play of power surrounds


a noble will that stands there numb.

Just at times the curtain parts


quietly inside his eyes.


Along a nerve, awareness darts

— 
arriving in his heart, it dies.

*translation ©1995 Leonard Cottrell.

Der Panther

Sein Blick is vom Vorübergehn der Stäbe


so müd geworden, dass er nichts mehr hält.


Ihm ist, als ob es tausend Stäbe gäbe


und hinter tausend Stäben keine Welt.

Der weiche Gang geschmeidig starker Schritte,


der sich im allerkleinsten Kreise dreht,


ist wie ein Tanz von Kraft um eine Mitte,


in der betäubt ein grosser Wille steht.

Nur manchmal schiebt der Vorhang der Pupille

sich lautlos auf—Dann geht ein Bild hinein,


geht durch der Glieder angespannte Stille —


und hört im Herzen auf zu sein.

Shoes and Boys.

So it’s a new year, but it’s the same on The Book of Linda. I’m talking. A lot. About boys. This time about shoes and boys in particular. Here are some pearls of wisdom in the shape of shoe specific life advice. Happy times.

If you can't walk in them, don't wear them. Twat.

If your heels get worn down or the seams come undone, don't just go out and buy new shoes. Show some love and effort. Get them mended, not replaced. Like you would in a relationship.

There is no excuse for Uggs. EVER.

Clogs don't look good on anyone.

Black Mary-Jane's look good with any outfit.

If you have to go for trainers, go for high-top Converse. Trust me.

Shoes are like boys. The scruffy ones might be easy-going and really comfy, but they look like crap. The nice shiny posh ones are bloody hard work and will give you blisters.

Shoes are like boys, part two. If you show them some attention and polish them, they last longer.

Shoes are like boys, part three. Once you find the perfect pair, you wanna keep them for life.

Love Linda x