COMMON INTERESTS WERE NOT ENOUGH TO KEEP US TOGETHER
godmode valentine’s day compilation
a not exactly subtle breakup with ourselves
16 more or less brand new songs
the debut recordings of
SHAMIR (vegas-born gospel house, what a voice), FITNESS (fucked up depeche mode vibes), SOFT LIT (have you ever been honestly in love?), FATHER FIGURE (mina said it sounds like ‘braveheart’, all i hear is ‘waterworld’)
new music and other left turns from
THE FLAG, COURTSHIP RITUAL, SLEEPIES, FASANO, MR. DREAM
deep cuts from
ALAN WATTS, YVETTE
out 14 feb 14
reverse-printed j-card “story art” a/k/a “the new look” a/k/a “fuck all y’all for ripping off the stamps”
c-60 pink cassette limited to 100, hand-numbered, etc.
press contact nbs at entergodmode dot com
i have photos of these people
most of them anyway
GODMODE CAT NO GM054.
'common interests' available now for $6.50 at the GODMODE shop
sure we’ll send you mp3s
just give us a minute
nick & talya
Good morning internet friends! I am pleased and proud to announce Shea (#SHEA on Instragram, #SHEA on the Twitter. Don’t use hashtags on Facebook), my new zine is DONE and for SALE to YOU! Pix and ordering information in the link below.
A brief description:
5 years of pictures from one of my favorite places in New York, Shea Stadium — in both its incarnations. Screaming; hollering; screamhollering. Bodies, oh God, the bodies — they are everywhere and they are all young and beautiful. The best friends you will ever have on the best night of your life. Handsome covers printed in glowing silver ink by my good friends at ACME Letterpress.
Please consider ordering this if you owe me, in lieu of drinks.
Please consider ordering this for your nieces and nephews if you are afraid they will end up boring.
Please consider ordering this if you are in it, because soon you will be burdened with responsibilities and a job and being in a smelly room on a Tuesday doesn’t sound as fun as a new episode of NCIS.
I love you all.
First edition numbered and limited to 105 copies:
Commission piece for my dude @kjphotos1022 📷
Lou Reed, New York, and Me
When I wrote about and photographed the Lou Reed memorial at Lincoln Center for CBS Radio Dot Com, I tried not to interject my own feelings on the matter. Rather, my goal was to capture the overall feeling of that day. Or maybe I had simply been ignoring how I felt about Lou passing. To be honest, I didn’t start listening to The Velvet Underground until late high school and early college, that period when your horizons expand because you sort-of force them too. (My dad was more into jazz and Zeppelin and the Stones, my mom into folk and The Beatles. I got into second-wave punk and hardcore pretty early and derailed from there. We missed the Velvets as a family.) Though I do love Lou’s music very much—“Walk On The Wild Side” was the first song I played at my brother’s funeral, believe it or not—he’s not the cornerstone of mine that he is to so many others. However, I’ve felt an immense lack in the months since his death.
I met Lou Reed exactly twice. The first was at the penthouse of what was then the Cooper Square Hotel (now called The Standard East). I was covering the album release party for Laurie Anderson’s amazing Homeland album for the New York Press party column Bash Compactor. There were a ton of notables there: Antony Hegarty, Marina Abramovic, RoseLee Goldberg, Timothy Greenfield-Sanders. They were all dressed beautifully in black, sometimes ornately, with that presence and grace you expect from art-world wonders.
But it made me physically shake to see Lou across the room, wearing a khaki tracksuit and trainers and big glasses, drinking a wine glass full of ice and Coke. For some reason, I didn’t fathom that Lou would show to a celebration of his own wife’s most notable work in years. My editor at the time, Jerry Portwood, was there too, and he encouraged me to talk to Lou. So I went up to him in a vulnerable moment near the end of the event. I as much as stole his hand away in a nervous fit and said to him, “Mr. Reed, I am such a huge fan.” He looked at me with that Lou Reed look without so much as stopping to walk, said, “thanks,” in the abrupt, blase way you might expect him to, and tore his hand away from mine. I felt idiotic.
The second time I “met” Lou was on a cold night in the East Village. I was hurrying to a happy hour to meet some writers or something and peeled around the corner of Avenue A and 14th Street. I ran directly into Lou, wearing a dark peacoat and glasses much smaller than the previous pair I’d seen him in. I don’t think his gaze had changed at all since he had started doing Tai Chi, and this moment was no different: he held that stoic Lou Reed look that appeared in so many photographs. “Hey there,” he said, so, so calmly. I stopped for just a brief second and hurried on, not really realizing what had just happened: his cohort had laughed and it was kind of embarrassing, at least to me, for my rush to drink. I felt idiotic.
You see a lot of celebrities on the streets of New York City. But after having lived here for about five years, I can say you don’t actively look for celebrities, even early on. Except for Lou. I actively looked for Lou. Both those run-ins happened in the first twelve months of my life in New York. As innocuous as they were, they were signal moments, proof that even as stupid and inept as I was that I could rub shoulders—even briefly, on the street— with the people who paved the way for the dumb shit I was trying to get up to. I swear I saw Lou cross 7th Avenue a thousand times. I swear I saw him on the R train every weekend. I swear I saw him at two different Spiritualized shows. I swear that was him eating a burger at The Spotted Pig (that actually might have been him). He’s the one person, as idolized or as not, that held a presence in my mind to direct my gaze at strangers and palpitate something in my idle mind that there is still the possibility of a meaningful anything in this city.
It’s only been in the last couple weeks that I’ve actively had to stop looking for Lou. It’s the echo of death, this one ringing not in my soul, as the death of my brother has, but in my hope, in the streets of New York City, in the dissolution of possibility. Now, when I cast my doubletake down a subway car or across the street at a curly-haired bespectacled old codger, I have to tell myself, after the initial moment of joy: “No. There is no possible way that is Lou Reed.” This city is different now.
Lost at Sea Triplet (to be played simultaneously)
DALE W EISINGER ENTERS GODMODE
we are thrilled to announce the addition of dale w eisinger to the godmode family
-a brilliant writer
-an infuriating photographer
-the best drummer
he joins us as the director of special projects and other provocations
he is from idaho
follow him here
read his eyewitness account of the big snow shooting and aftermath here
look for his ‘saturday 6am’ photobook in the near future (above photo taken from the series)
you can email dale at dwe at entergodmode dot com
This is what one hour of my inbox looks like, in case you’re wondering why you’re not making any money on Spotify.