I’m usually a sucker for slickly-produced spy-pop, so this new single from Jordanian-British singer Ayah Marar totally tickles my fancy:
It sounds sort of like if Edwyn Collins produced one of those white British soul lady types, right? (Also, how great is the lyric “He’s the creep to my TLC?”) I guess Marar’s pretty hotly tipped in the UK, hanging out with Calvin Harris and singing on a Jack Penate single. I had never heard of her before a few minutes ago, though.
You can download the on the newest Mondo Salvo mix. Contrary to earlier reports, whoever makes those hasn’t stopped posting new ones, he (or she) just took a two-month hiatus.
So, it looks like I may actually be able to write for a living. Or, if not for a living, then at least for part of a living. I just started writing for Carnal Nation this week, and there’s a chance I might be getting some freelance jobs in the near future.
But I was also thinking of going back to school, at least for one class. They start Monday at the college down the street, and late registration opened today. It’s a lot cheaper than, say, RISD, and it’s walking distance from my house. Plus there’s a bunch of cool-sounding that are still open: Anthropology of Human Sexuality, History of Photography*, Gender and Communication*, Gender and Language, Feminist Theory… Or should I take Soviet Cinema, Intro to Arabic, Intermediate Spanish, Adolescent Literature or the Modern British Novel? I have too many interests.
I miss college, really, so I’m excited to look at course offerings again, though I fear going through the rigamarole and paperwork signing up for something only to find out that the professor’s a total tool or the class is full of dopey girls from the suburbs who complain that there’s too much homework. I think I figured out the way to avoid the second fate (take hard classes that aren’t requirements for anyone), but I worry about this tool professor issue. I graduated five years ago, so I don’t even recognize a lot of these names.
[*These have prerequisites that I'd have to talk my way out of. But I'm okay at that, I think.]
