The internet is no place. Greenpoint, Brooklyn is a place and I am moving away from it today. Goodbye, Greenpoint.

1. I keep listening to the new Joanna Newsom album and fear that it is a complicated whiskey dream. Jim O’Rourke, Nuts and Who Cares: “At one moment during the mixing of this record, I said to Joanna, ‘I’ve got an idea for the ad for this record, just a picture of you, and above it says ‘music’ and below it says ‘is back.’”

2. Short Reviews of Two Tapes I Found While Cleaning: One of music I made with a friend who went crazy like driving cars into walls crazy, one of a friend who passed away very suddenly a week after turning 21—A-/A+

3. Mighty Sparrow, the calypso singer, was born with the name Slinger Francisco. To change a name like Slinger Francisco is either a sign of great courage or great stupidity. Go listen to calypso. A gallingly favorable current events/danceability ratio. I’ve been taken with the London is the Place for Me series on Honest Jon’s, which is fucking excellent, but compilations are always frames and somehow, someone didn’t see it fit to anthologize Kitchener’s extended dick/experimental healthcare metaphor “Doctor Kitchener” or Sparrow’s cannibal envy/jungle fever boogie “Congo Man” for the hipsters. No, you have to go to the artist comps for those and god damn are they worth it.

4. Under sheets of sarcasm, hear my voice quiver with love and sincerity on my farewell to the Stycast with Todd Burns on The Boogie Woogie Resurrection Hour.

Thanks to everyone for sticking with me; PBW will be back in full force soon. I am sharing a dilapidated place in Little Rock with a guy named Slaughterhouse. Keep your fingers crossed.