Tag: Mac Demarco

Tonight, the universe set off a billion trillion nuclear bombs in order to paint the sky with northern lights. It’s an appropriate light show for Peel Dream Magazine, whose shimmering tones seem to float out of the speakers like undulating curtains of sound.

Bursting out of the gate microseconds after the light turns green, Hotline TNT is red hot and ready to go.

Tonight we open with Margaret Glaspy and her delightfully umami voice tackling Creedence Clearwater Revival’s classic, dedicated to all the changing weather, a favorite topic of these introductions. Elsewhere tonight, the set that started with Los Straitjackets and ended with the Skatalites was 🔥, as they say. Look for it in an upcoming Mixtape.

You’re not crying, it’s just Water From Your Eyes.

The aleatory nature of playlist selection for The Lacking Organization means all-instrumental sets are rare, so having two in one show definitely merits a mention in the show notes. Tonight’s highlight is Mac DeMarco, whose new album provides the perfect soundtrack for this particularly floaty stage of summer.

It’s easy to suspect Ray LaMontagne came from a recently unearthed time capsule documenting the folkie scene of half a century ago.

The cryptographer tried to once again estimate the circumference of the lighthouse, asking the question aloud and then naming best guesses. The compulsion to know these geometric factors was strong. The agronomist successfully prevented their eyes from rolling. The history of this place was more interesting, having provided a high point from which to shine a light for centuries, currently for Estonia but briefly for the Kingdom of Torgu. That last bit of trivia was relevant because they were here to meet with the self-appointed Official Court Jester, who had requested they journey to this location on a rented tandem bicycle. They had also requested ice cream, “any color except white.” It waited in a cooler strapped to the bicycle’s ample frame.

The courier unrolled the blueprints onto the brightly-lit drafting table. The basement of the Gomel Regional Museum of Military Glory was not only roomy enough to house several specimens of large weaponry, but also extremely well illuminated. The historian had mused, repeatedly, on how some of the bigger pieces must have been disassembled in the field then reassembled in here for storage, hence the need for the lights. Upstairs, the gala which had served as their cover for entry continued into the night, the band now striking up some sort of Caspian samba. Quite an elaborate operation, but they needed to machine a new aileron for the ekranoplan, and this was the only place they would find the designs.

The mason laid a bare hand on the stone block. It was nearly three hours since the sun had set, yet the western-facing brick, part of the multitudinous grid that made up Port Blair’s Cellular Jail, still retained a significant amount of heat. The cryptographer glanced back at the yelp of surprise, but continued scraping a sample into a container with a microchip at its bottom using a dental tool, humming along with Caribbean tango audible in the distance. They were supposed to meet the man with the elephant down at the beach in only forty-seven minutes. It was still unclear why the plan called for such a journey as part of their extraction to Viper Island.

A set of guitar-centered mid-tempo numbers that live somewhere in the region staked out by jazz, funk, and soul.