St. Vincent – Actor
Don’t be deceived by the doe-eyed luminosity of Annie Clark’s (a.k.a St. Vincent) pallid face, nestled in the confusion of her soft brown curls. Actor takes on the sensibility of binaries: from the album’s (palatable) sweet allure of ambiguity down to its last smack of bitterness as you consume it in its entirety. Album cover alone, you can’t tell whether she’s witnessing the blossoming serenity of cherry blossoms or if she’s watching humanity’s apocalyptic fate take place from a distance.
Actor is beautiful as it is strange. The pleasantries of pop tunes infused with a lingering darkness, the subtle silhouette of eeriness. A brush of familiarity lures you in, curious critter that you are; while the innocent frailty of her voice anesthetizes the ineluctable precarious note, that tips the song over to the desolate forests where many of the characters in her songs can be found lurking in the shadows. St. Vincent testifies to the harrowing chaotic grace of our mundane lives. Slowed down in frames of patient renderings of muted emotion and restraint, somewhere between the stark la-la-la of sanity, a heavy riff intrudes; the estranged banter of madness makes itself known.
Julie & Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen
This is a refreshing memoir about discovery, possibility, and ineffable amounts of butter. The book was a light read, though I often found myself tearing up and staring into the open spaces of my life with the subtle yet incisive wisdom of her words.
At some point, the rest of us will have bouts of frustration and envy, left with the tingling buzz of a thought: I wish I could do that. Create and commit to a project as if your life depended on it. Even if you have to butcher ducks and murder crustaceans. It can get bloody. Then again, that is the beauty of the book: The revelation that quietly arrives to the threshold of our knowing. We taste with caution, swallow without fear, and allow the reawakening of our senses.