It’s that time of the year when I go away for reflection, epiphany, inspiration and whatever emo shit you can think of. I’ll be tackling the golden triangle of IndoChina this time around. I’m trying to sneak past the Junta and see if I can bring Aung Yang Suu Kyi home with me. Oh not in that sexual way you may think.

I’ll see you guys in December, everyone’s favourite time of year. Wish me luck. I’ll leave you with my new found obsession. Jay Farrar and Ben Gibbard’s personal soundtrack to Kerouc’s Big Sur.

If you need to contact me for whatever gossip, rumours, bitchfits, find me at vernadium@gmail.com.

Till then, be well always.

This radio station has been playing static for a while now. So, I’m going to turn your dial to a station that is worthy of tuning in to, while we try to get something nice to play on this channel.

I have been listening to this Internet radio by a weekly British magazine called NME Magazine. Known as ‘New Music Express’, it has been a popular music magazine in the United Kingdom by IPC Media since early 1952. And just recently, they have elected their first ever female editor to run the magazine. And in their last issue, they featured rock stars from the past, including essays by current rock musicians talking about their favourite legends, which I thought could be a pretty good read if I can just get my hands on a copy.

The magazine went online in 1996 at NME.com, and more than a decade later in 2008, they launched NME Radio, playing their first ever tune – Knights of Cydonia by Muse.

I guess I like this station because I have always enjoyed British music. Face it, Malaysian radio stations suck balls, and although many may find salvation with BFM Radio, but they can only go so far because they put business first and music not so much. And I do admit that often I find the music a little too mellow; I do like the occasional rock out in my headphones.

With NME Radio, imagine listening to Hitz FM or Fly FM playing again and again mainstream music from Akon, Beyonce, Taylor Swift and the likes, but only with brilliant musicians like Brand New, Kings of Leon, The Smiths and the likes.

I wake up 6ish in the morning and, being 7 hours behind us, NME Radio would just have launched into their overnight indie alternatives slot. I cannot say it keeps me from getting drowsy every morning (Air does not really scream wake up!), but it has its days, and I would say it is a good thing when they play more often than once Jeff Buckley’s Grace and The Verve’s Sonnet, and the occasional Sigur Ros too.

After lunchtime is when a new day begins on the other side of the world, and DJs Sarah Kerr and Jon Hillcock play quite upbeat music to keep you energetic for the rest of the working day. Playlists include U2, Brand New, The Cribs, Oasis, Kasabian, The XX, Radiohead, The Temper Trap and many more.

Also, the DJs don’t hog the airwaves, and talk more than playing music, or have the ads going on and on. That’s definitely a plus point for me.

There are also occasional general news and gig guides hitting the UK. Not that it has anything to do with us over here, but I guess it beats listening to ridiculous politics going on here.

So, if you would like something edgier than Love Story or Single Ladies, log online and click for NME Radio for something new like Underdog, At the Bottom and Islands, or something old but familiar like The Street Has No Name, Roll with it and Sex and Drugs and Rock and Roll.

Tune in to NME Radio on their website HERE, or follow their tweet (@NMEMagazine) for up to date music news, or if you are in the UK, just grab a weekly copy. And you know, share with us what is the latest song that caught your attention there.

Nothing sucks more than being inarticulate and uninspired with words. Fortunately, there is still good music to fill in the silence, right?

Here is what it feels like to be on an ordinary day. A regular. At least to me.

Download The Temper Trap’s Soldier On HERE.

As torrents of rain continue to wash the city of its sins, I hide in the folds of a man – Patrick Wolf, to be specific – as he transports me halfway across the world. Like how Sigur Ros would bring me to Iceland, and Death Cab to Seattle, Patrick Wolf brings me to the Irish moors. Mist like past ghosts’ breath chilling the air as they hover over dampened green pastures.

The Bachelor is the first part of Wolf’s initially entitled Battle album, with the second part The Conqueror to be released the year after. Unlike the preceding The Magic Position, this album sees Wolf dwelling in his recently harboured depression, as he takes advantage of his operatic voice to greater heights. Elaborate backup vocals and celtic-infused instrumentations make up the foundation of the album. Though the strings are slightly pitchy and melody may get cheesy, his voice soars, like an ancient Ireland majesty, prowling for a modern-day revolution.

Helping with the uprise is Eliza Carthy in the title track, with her hoarse vocals and busking violin, and Tilda Swinton, reciting as The Voice of Hope in Oblivion, Thickets and Theseus alongside the bow that runs through the violin strings like a boy zipping through the wide countryside.

Wolf too experiments with Electronica in Vulture and Alternative Rock in Battle, both courtesy of Atari Teenage Riot’s Alec Empire, in which the former has been critically acclaimed. His revolution.

Forget about work. Take a day off to avoid the traffic. Hide in your covers and sip on hot cups of tea. Watch the falling rain and listen to this wolf howling leprechaunic lullaby into your ears.

Download Damaris from the album HERE.

If today’s post is a digression from what you’d normally read here, I offer no apologies.

So yesterday I watched Good Will Hunting for the 5th time. If you’ve never watched it, you should minimize this window, launch your torrent and download the film now. Or you could go buy the DVD, whichever works best with your conscience.

Anyway, I discovered something new from my re-watch of the film. No, I’m not gonna go into how fucking brilliant Matt Damon/Ben Affleck’s script is. Nor am I gonna go into how gayly artistic Gus Van Sant’s direction is. Neither am I gonna touch on how powerfully moving Robin William’s performance was.

Instead I’m gonna discuss about an alleged plagiarism that may or may not have occurred.

By now, everyone would have watched the late Yasmin Ahmad’s Beautifully Imperfect ad, made for Singapore’s Ministry of Community Development, Youth and Sports. And yes, everyone would have no problems being in agreement on how moving the ad was. But watching Good Will Hunting last night, I can’t help but think the idea may have been “borrowed” from Damon and Affleck.

Watch this first. Pay attention from 1:40 onwards.

Then watch this.

When I saw that scene last night, I cannot help but connect the dots between the two. Something like Coldplay’s Viva la Vida and Joe Satriani’s If I could fly. I’m not pointing any fingers lest I incur the wrath of Marina Mahathir like Kosmo did, but it really is too close for comfort.

Plagiarism or coincidence? You be the judge.

In the mean time, in tribute to one of the finest films ever made, here’s my song pick of the day – Seattle based rock band, Satchel’s Suffering.

Listen.

I was in Carls Jr the other day at about closing time. It was quiet so the crew put on a CD. GnR’s Appetite for Destruction was playing and it wouldn’t be complete to put on that record without blasting the legendary Sweet Child O’ Mine.

So I was thinking, 22 years old, and that record still speaks to souls. If I could ever make a record like that, I’d die a million happy deaths.

So in the spirit of Axl Rose, here’s my favourite cover of the song that we have all grown to love/hate. The blue-eyed vocals of Taken by Trees, does well to delicately channel the emotions that Axl wanted to tell but could never find the voice to do so.

Since we are all being inarticulate with words lately, I am not going to bore you with my excessive writing. God knows it is just a waste of time and space anyway. You don’t need it.

HERE. Listen to this for a change. It is She & Him’s version of The Smiths’ cover, Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want.

May you get what you want out, like Zooey Deschanel here. Just remember to say the magic word.

I’ve run out of things to say lately. Words just refuse to form in my head. I blame it on my day job. Advertising is such a fake industry. You write heavenly words for things that belong in the gutter. And when you sink in your armchair at the end of the day, you feel so disgusted you wish the floorboards would transform into a black hole, suck you in for eternity.

My song choice today might not exactly be unknown, but hey what the fuck. It sure is a bloody beautiful song. If you’ve never heard of it, shame on you. If you have, well, sing along with me.

Riceboy Sleeps is a collaboration between Jón Þór Birgisson, a.k.a Jónsi, and his partner, Alex Somers of Parachutes. My initial thought was, this is nice. I mean. Who can ever call something hailing from Iceland and from Jónsi not nice? The calm of the strings like carefree wind through your hair. Immaculate music.

But the thing is. When I listen to Sigur Ros, it is like a picture of a boy holding onto a balloon. When I listen to Riceboy Sleeps, I cannot shake the image of the balloon floating aimlessly in midair, with the frail string just breezing along the current in midair.

I guess what I am trying to say is, Jónsi played a huge part when it comes to Shoegazing music for Sigur Ros. He has been around all along that we forget how important he is until he is gone. He is the boy that holds the balloon – the music – in place. Without him, it is just another one of those helium balloons you let off to the sky at special occasions with no specific destinations to go to.

Jónsi takes a big rest in Riceboy Sleeps (hence, the title perhaps?), leaving ample room for Amiina’s strings and the Kópavogsdætur Choir to take over. It is a sleepy calm throughout Happiness, Atlas Song and part of Indian Summer. And when Jónsi finally makes an appearance in the middle of Track 3, you kind of cherish every bar he sings because the previous songs are like minutes building you up for his return. But once he is gone, the rest of the album is as plain as the white fields in Iceland.

Riceboy Sleeps sounds pretty much the same from beginning till the end. There were not much dynamics from Amiina, and the Kópavogsdætur Choir did nothing climatical like Jónsi did. It is pretty much like background music for a movie that has not been made yet. Thinking back about it now, it is hard to pinpoint which song is which without checking my iTunes playlist while the song is playing, save Indian Summer, only because and when Jónsi sings. Perfect for playing back-to-back  as you go to sleep though.

For what it is worth, Riceboy Sleeps still provides the same kind of comforter cocooned around you like Sigur Ros did. Kind of like the warming up to something much bigger inside an enclavement. If that even makes sense.

HERE is Indian Summer. Listen to it. Wait for 6:20. It is worth your while.

You can aslo stream the album here.

Sometimes words are not necessary. Click. Listen. Dream.