I just saw the second-to-last episode of The Wire. Don't worry: no spoilers here. But spoilers aplenty here, here and, oh yes...here.
David Simon, your genius--almost a fact of critical consensus by now--continues to, for lack of a better term, freak me out. I need to take some Klonopin now, and lie down. You truly are the brooding Babe Ruth of cable television, pointing a chubby finger to the sky where the Franklin Terrance towers (Poot lost his virginity here, of course) stood before their demolition in season three, calling the shot for March 9th's last big episode, 93 minutes of deadly-accurate social commentary and crimino-mythos, a long angry kiss goodbye to Baltimore before you move on to New Orleans, 93 final minutes with the rumpled, haunted hot mess that is Jimmy McNulty.
I pray it ends well, but I know it can't.
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On March 31 Diamanda Galas will release Guilty Guilty Guilty, a collection of 'tragic and homicidal love songs' on Mute U.K.
Galas always fascinates, whether she's shrieking a death wail in whistle register or, you know, just speaking in tongues. Her style is great (she's super-hot, strange, political and has dated Henry Rollins) and I am awed by her super/in/human singing abilities, but I admit that soft core as I am, I've always favoured more...accessible Galas. I love her covers, which are usually of gospel and blues classics, best: Malediction & Prayer's cover of Phil Och's 'Iron Lady' and her versions of 'I Put A Spell On You' and 'At The Dark End Of the Street' from La Serpenta Canta have been in my rotation for the past few years.
I'm in luck; the new album promises Galas's take on fresh old tunes like 'Long Black Veil' and the Edith Piaf standard 'Heaven Have Mercy', which, should be amazing:
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On a side note, it's been a good week for Piaf, or at least her estate, non?
Photo: Reuters
J'aime cette belle fille!
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