I'm From Barcelona, "Treehouse" (2006)
An ex-roommate is apparently in town. Thankfully, he hasn't called me, and probably won't, because he doesn't need anything from me this time. I once wrote about him elsewhere, noting that he's the "kind of person who might: go to a radical faerie meeting; enjoy beating drums in jungles with other naked gay men; have once gone to a massage gathering and thoroughly embarrassed the guy he was with because, anytime someone laid hands on him, he insisted on sighing really, really loudly and exaggeratedly; perform a ritual to change his name that may or may not have involved blood, a jade dildo, a virgin aardvark, and the drinking of ashes dissolved in water; and then write a serious essay about said ritual."
So I'm worried sick because I really love this song. I'm From Barcelona hail, logically enough, from Sweden. Since there are something like three hundred and twenty-seven members in the group, they have been endlessly compared to The Polyphonic Spree. If my ex-roommate were music, he would be The Polyphonic Spree, i.e., sound like an irony-free choir of singing granola bars. You just know he would really love the liberating outfits because they let his balls swing free.
Mercifully, I'm From Barcelona are dressed much more sensibly, and more akin to a scruffy army of happy pop hipsters. Some of them even border on being a little hot, but then again there are twenty-nine to choose from. You'd figure that the odds are reasonable. "Treehouse" is my favorite thing from their quite-good debut album, and almost impossible not to sing along to: "I have built a treehouse!/I have built a treehouse!/Nobody can see us!/Cause it's a you-and-me house!" The harmonies are expectedly glorious, but it's the "ah, ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah" and "wa-aaah-aaah" backing bits -- they first bring us from the opening chorus to the verse, and then are overlaid over subsequent choruses -- that are especially killer. And it's not as if it's not obvious from the start that "treehouse" is a stand-in, but by the end of the song, the joy at finding a private place in the world really feels infectiously uplifting.
Obviously I've started down a slippery path and am myself now a step away from wearing a muumuu. Help.
An ex-roommate is apparently in town. Thankfully, he hasn't called me, and probably won't, because he doesn't need anything from me this time. I once wrote about him elsewhere, noting that he's the "kind of person who might: go to a radical faerie meeting; enjoy beating drums in jungles with other naked gay men; have once gone to a massage gathering and thoroughly embarrassed the guy he was with because, anytime someone laid hands on him, he insisted on sighing really, really loudly and exaggeratedly; perform a ritual to change his name that may or may not have involved blood, a jade dildo, a virgin aardvark, and the drinking of ashes dissolved in water; and then write a serious essay about said ritual."
So I'm worried sick because I really love this song. I'm From Barcelona hail, logically enough, from Sweden. Since there are something like three hundred and twenty-seven members in the group, they have been endlessly compared to The Polyphonic Spree. If my ex-roommate were music, he would be The Polyphonic Spree, i.e., sound like an irony-free choir of singing granola bars. You just know he would really love the liberating outfits because they let his balls swing free.
Mercifully, I'm From Barcelona are dressed much more sensibly, and more akin to a scruffy army of happy pop hipsters. Some of them even border on being a little hot, but then again there are twenty-nine to choose from. You'd figure that the odds are reasonable. "Treehouse" is my favorite thing from their quite-good debut album, and almost impossible not to sing along to: "I have built a treehouse!/I have built a treehouse!/Nobody can see us!/Cause it's a you-and-me house!" The harmonies are expectedly glorious, but it's the "ah, ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah" and "wa-aaah-aaah" backing bits -- they first bring us from the opening chorus to the verse, and then are overlaid over subsequent choruses -- that are especially killer. And it's not as if it's not obvious from the start that "treehouse" is a stand-in, but by the end of the song, the joy at finding a private place in the world really feels infectiously uplifting.
Obviously I've started down a slippery path and am myself now a step away from wearing a muumuu. Help.
posted by Brittle-Lemon at
1:07 PM
5 Comments:
You know, usually I don't like to describe songs in terms of an X+Y algebra, but this is really Sufjan Stevens + cocksucking. (Hello, googlers!)
By
Anonymous, at 6:48 AM
This has earned a post on my blog. PLUS I have a feeling you will know the female artist I posted about tonight.
By
xolondon, at 9:16 AM
esque, are we sure that formula isn't redundant? (Hello, lawyers!)
xo, I actually have never heard anything by that female artist, although all the other people you mention as having black-widowed are all familiar to me. Even Ké -- oooh eeee awww aaah strange world!!!! Thank goodness I only bought that CD for a dollar.
By
Brittle, at 10:59 AM
I even went to a Ke launch party in DC where they showed his in-a-toilet video and a verrrry old man named SYLVESTER tried to pick me up. oy. I bought his second album in Hong Kong out of some strange desperation. It sucked worse and now where is he?
By
xolondon, at 11:23 AM
Hey, you asked, Jailbait.
By
Brittle, at 5:50 PM
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