Seasons change and so do our music tastes! If you’re in need of new music, take these for a spin. Get out your portable music players, put on your matching sunglasses, and go outside with them breezy tunes.

1. As I Went Out One Morning

Mira Billotte on a secret mission, shaded men hot on her tail.

2. Witch

Listen to this song and Map & Atlases will make you laugh inside.

3. Road to Joy

Beethoven grows up in the Midwest under the Bright Eyes moniker.

4. The Lonely Doll

Cass McCombs’ “tribute to all things petite, pretty, and sweet.”

5. Why You’d Want To Live Here

Death Cab For Cutie reminds you that there’s no place like home.

6. The Distance

Arthur & Yu’s Excellent Adventure IV: Martian Surfers from Mars

7. Under the Boardwalk

with The Drifters.

8. Weak Man

Insert: LP Cover Art of A Good Old War Party!

9. Transfiguration #1

M. Ward is one of only 39 artists who have a cricket in the rhythm section

10. Bryter Layter

We follow Nick Drake through the park.

11. Ridin’ in My Car

She & Him fly down PCH.

12. New Slang

You’ve heard this Shin’s hit before, but have you really heard it?

13. Leaves That Are Green

A Simon & Garfunkel Guide to Life

14. Decatur

“Steven A. Douglas was a great debater, but Abraham Lincoln was the great emancipator,” argues Sufjan Stevens.

Recording the next album. Disregarding monologues or poems. Reading old ones. Mixing tires my ears. Sunlight wakes me up. Mind is all over the place. Piecing it back together.

Thank you for reading! Thank you for your time! Thank you for your curiosity!

Come back soon.

Regards,

RE:re

Every Thursday, at 12:30 P.M., Cassie and Jordan have coffee together at the Dada Café. They meet here, at the corner of 23rd and Portland, as Cassie leaves their apartment to go to work and Jordan heads back from campus. Because of the mild springtime weather, they have only had to sit inside once this semester. That instance was the only time in which Cassie ordered tea, and she drank it with soy milk.

Today she drinks her usual water; fortified, as she likes it, with vitamins and electrolytes. Jordan prefers coffee, but, like Cassie, he does not have it plain. Gazing down at the table, he tears open a sugar packet. Across from him, Cassie gazes down at her smartphone, sitting with her legs crossed. She wears a neon green tank. Jordan wanted to wear his neon green tank today, but he settled for red.

“Jacob and Lauren broke up,” Cassie says. Jordan removes the lid from his coffee cup and pours in the sugar.

“About time,” he replies. He tears open another sugar packet. “She’s cheated on him at every party. With Chris Lee, mostly.”

Cassie scrolls through her phone. With her free hand she takes a sip from her water.

“No,” says Cassie. “Loren Bacall cheats with Chris Lee. I’m talking about Lauren Flanagan.”

Jordan sips from his coffee and then takes the lid back off.

“I know. Chris Lee does have a thing with Loren Bacall, but he and Lauren Flanagan hook up, too.” Jordan empties another sugar packet into his coffee. “They hooked up at the Groundhog’s Day Rager.”

Cassie frowns, still looking downwards.

“No, that was Chris Li. Like, ‘L-I’ Li.”

Jordan sips from his coffee again. He frowns.

“Lauren Flanagan has auburn hair, right?”

Cassie stops scrolling. She looks up to think.

“No. She has chestnut hair.”

Jordan pauses before tearing open the next sugar packet.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he nods, before pouring in the sugar. “So she and Jacob broke up?”

“Yeah, just last Thursday. She broke up with him.”

Jordan places the lid back on his coffee, unfazed by the fact.

“She said he’s devastated,” Cassie continues. After taking a sip, Jordan shakes his head.

“He’s not. He was in Santa Barbara the next day. At UCSB, until Sunday.”

Cassie transfers her gaze up toward Jordan. In her sunglasses, Jordan can see his reflection. His reflection pours sugar into the coffee cup. Cassie smiles.

“Adam would do that,” she comments. Jordan shrugs and smiles back.

“Yeah, he came back yesterday. He said the girls there are at least 8’s.”

Cassie shakes her head.

“Whatever! More like 5’s.”

Jordan shrugs.

“He said he was drunk as a bum all weekend.”

Cassie raises an eyebrow.

“Then, yeah! Of course they’re gonna look like 8’s.”

Jordan leans back in his chair.

“What about Lauren? She’s an 8, maybe a 9. She got with Jacob.”

Cassie puts her phone down on the table. She crosses her arms.

“Lauren only got serious with Jake because last semester they had sociology together. He had the answers to the final.”

Jordan raises his eyebrows, unconvinced.

“But what about winter break? They went to Mammoth together.”

Cassie shrugs, her arms still crossed.

“So? Lauren likes snowboarding.”

“Yeah, but they wouldn’t have been together for so long if she didn’t really like him.” He takes the lid off his coffee. “What was it, like, three months?”

Cassie shakes her head.

“She said early on that she wanted to break up with him.”

Jordan tears open a sugar packet.

“What are you—” Jordan stops. “Hold on.”

He notices someone coming up the sidewalk, behind Cassie.

“Jacob’s here.”

Jacob approaches their table. He wears sunglasses, and his tank top is baby blue. He hangs his backpack on one shoulder.

“Hey,” Jacob says to Jordan. “We’re in the same writing class, aren’t we? Jordan, right?”

Jordan concurs with a head nod.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jordan says. “Your name’s… Jacob?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Cool.”

“See you ‘round, man.”

Jacob leaves. Cassie leans across the table, her phone in hand.

“Look,” she says, holding her phone up to Jordan. “See Lauren’s status update? From January? ‘Some guys just can’t take a hint!’”

Ariadne?! The string’s on your nightstand.

I want to commit this scene to memory. She doesn’t normally unwind like this. Look at her go! Like no one’s around. Like she was waiting for an excuse. Fifteen excuses, to be exact. Fifteen and she wants to dance. I had to match her, though. Like a gentleman. One who doesn’t complain. Who downs one after the other, without complaint. No force on my part. None on hers. As if she wants me, too. As if she always did. Maybe he was just a rebound. Maybe she needed the excuse to notice me. Or maybe I’m not thinking straight. Right when I finally feel fine with myself, tonight happens.

It’s not like I’ve never seen her this way. I’ve seen her with no one else around. Different at three in the morning. When she comes by to chat. To rant, relax, unwind. At three in the morning, because that’s what friends do. A friend stays up late, waiting. He thinks of things to talk about. He insists he was going to be awake, anyway. He drinks a lot of coffee. He tidies up his living room. He washes the dishes, empties the ash tray, tunes the guitar, takes out the trash, Febrezes everything. I want to be a good friend.

I want to remember tonight. I’ve seen her this way, and now the others have, too. Tomorrow I can text a witness. Ask what he thought of last night. Exaggerate my hangover. Comment on the playlist. Joke about the lame dancing. Agree she’s fun to have around. Agree she was different. Act surprised. Laugh at the idea of asking her out. Deny I even have a chance. Hold back my relief. Say she’s cool. Say we should do this more often. Promise to host another one. And be honest about it.

Will it require the excuses? I don’t mind them throughout the night. In the morning I’ll feel bad. I’ll have to piece together these thoughts. Will have to think hard to retrieve these images. Remind myself she likes the running-man. And two-stepping. She doesn’t like jerking. Feels whatever about the mashed-potato. Likes 80’s, 50’s, and 70’s music, in that order. Favorite musical is West Side Story. Prefers cocktails over beer. Uses her phone when bored. Can’t turn down chocolate. Avoids small talk. Doesn’t mind an audience, if there’s excuses to go about.

Excuses. My conscience relents to excuses. Desire always gets its way. It devises the excuses. So which is the real me? The conscience or the feeling? I want her. I don’t want her. She wants me. She don’t want me. She keeps her eye on me. She dances for us. But she eyes only me. She must want me. She took those fifteen excuses like a champ. The conscience left, and this is the real her. I watched her do it. I still watch her. I like doing so. I hosted this shindig. I had my excuse to see her. I had my desire create that excuse. Desire called the shots. I am the sum of my desires. 

If happiness needs excuses, so be it. They will be clever, pathetic, and everything in between. Throw a party, hope she shows up. Rent an apartment, ask her to help decorate it. Attempt a poem, tack it on a blog. How gracious I am for the conscience. How desperate I would seem without it.

I need to remember these things! I won’t imbibe as much, next time around. Tomorrow her smile will be less genuine. She will be polite, as usual, and I will attempt the same. She will say we should do this again, and I will agree. She will leave out the details, and I will wonder if she remembers them at all.

You curse and swear.

You dye your hair.

Say, “I don’t care,

Don’t give a fuck.

No heart to spare.”

If it moves you along—

This will to live most strong—

Then I must not

Expect the soul

That you were once.

You’re happy now.

You found yourself.

No one will tell

You what to do.

Just you. No one else.

I knew the day would come when you leave this town.

But I didn’t realize how empty I was ‘til after “farewell!”

I won’t decline

A second try.

It’s not fair I

Just know the you

Of another time.

the filmography section

Quicksand

Seeing I got this predicament,

I should’ve guessed you’d be dangerous.

I stepped without looking

And fell into something—

It feels like quicksand,

And I’m sinking in.

I know I have to sit still, but I get so restless,

Seeing you laugh there, you beautiful temptress.

Shouldn’t I be angry with you?

Yet, I feel more enthused…

So why’s the wise move

The most tedious?

Restless

It’s weird seeing you with a purse. Not a book bag. Not a backpack. A purse. Something you take out only once in a while. Or maybe a few times now, if you include tonight. Anyhow, it’s weird. And you know it, too…

You painted your nails. How’d you have time to do that? Tonight wasn’t supposed to be that big a deal. Didn’t want to make it seem that way, at least. Could’ve spent that time finishing paperwork…

What would you want to talk about anyway? What’s to come of all this? Perhaps the change of scenery could be nice. Or maybe you regret saying yes so much…

Weird. To not have to think deadlines. To not have to hear work talk. Work talk—  the worst. The most petty little things.  Mass e-mails and appointments, et cetera, et cetera. Trying to get your attention. Discussing breaks, coffee, memes, plans— the worst. How about, “Let’s get out.” “This weekend?” “Can’t. / Next weekend?” “Mmm. / Sorry. / The next?” “Possibly.” “Cool.”

Now tonight. You should relax. You should park over there. You should talk about the city. You shouldn’t brag. You should keep your distance. You should ask questions. You should be clever. You should listen more. You should impress more. You shouldn’t think so much. You should split the check. You should offer to anyway. You shouldn’t give the advantage! You should pay attention. You should make eye-contact. You should be straight up. You should be polite. You should say “Thank you”. You shouldn’t ramble. You should relate. You should relax…

You’ve been feeling quite dead inside.    But right now, maybe not as much.

Now when did a minute get so long? Eight-hour days fly by on a normal basis. But tonight a minute feels stretched. And it stretches quite well. Walking; what’s there to say? Eating; why’s this so difficult? Talking; how late is it? It’s not weird to feel this tired. Then again, it’s only 8:30. That purse! Bet it feels heavy. Well, hope you’re not sorry about it.

Digital doesn’t count

I wonder what Jacob’s been up to. Haven’t spoken in almost a year. Life does that, huh? Never tried to stop hitting him up. Never tried to hit him up, either. Yeah, it’s weird. In second grade we would swear to be best buds. ‘Til we get married. Be best men. Like in movies. But look! Look at us now! I’ll never get to know him anymore.

Well, digital doesn’t count. I say, “I wonder what Jacob’s been up to,” and I go see. Oh. He likes Asian girls now. Oh. He thought Hunger Games was just okay. Oh. He still hangs with David Liang.

I know all about you, Jacob! And I am not sorry we’re not friends anymore! I see you like Asian girls now. You are a hypocrite! I see you thought Hunger Games was just okay. You are a pedantic! And you still hang with David Liang! Yo, he cheated with Tiff! Remember?!

There would have been no point trying to hang with you. It’s obvious you’re different. No. I don’t even need to see you. I already knew it!

At night after a long day

At night after a long day you walk home and see the lights on in her window. And you know while you’re up late every night that she’s awake, too. You think maybe, perhaps, she thinks of you, but for practical reasons you don’t assume. Still, you know while you’re up late every night that she’s awake, too. “It’s a silly game that only kids play.” You choose the sidelines — secretly complaining that, honestly, it’s boring at a distance, trying to justify your indifference.

The next time you see her bedroom light, remember you chose to remain outside.

Polite

If this gets longer than 3 minutes, I’ll cut myself off. Just to be polite. It seems silly, right — but right now I have your attention. Wait a little bit longer, you’ll refresh your news feed, and then I’m old news. So: “No rambling beyond this point.”

You’ll be glad to hear this. I’ve ceased the smoking that’s stretched out all my time. I’ve capped the drinking that’s dampened down my mind. Well, if only I’d feel this way for longer than 3 minutes. But to think more means say less. And with every new thought I grow slightly more anxious. With every lost listener I want to rewrite the act. So when this cycle repeats, each time I pitch to you, the routine will be shorter (but I don’t promise to be sober). I’ll cut the show in half the first time I rewrite. Then see you’ve grown bored. I half it once more. I see you’ve grown bored. I half it to infinite, to bore you less and less. You’re welcome.

Because with what I get with you — one hundred + eighty seconds — I probably waste the first sixty. Contemplating what you want to hear. Surveying body language. Where your eyes wander, the like. The second act: I argue with myself. Whether to please you, or express what I really came to say. At the climax I decide… but now I’ve only one minute! So I choose the topic! Search for words! Craft a nice sentence! (but not too eloquent)! Rehearse the delivery! Anticipate the reaction! Fine-tune the delivery! Get into character! No, don’t look away! The text message can wait! You’ll like to hear this! I’ve been thinking it through! I did it for your sake! I did it for mine! The other night, when you and I were talking about how

Like, this very second. Head to http://music.reginaldespiritu.com before it’s too late! Just kidding, it’s never too late.

Quite some time has passed since I wrote the album’s songs. In that time I’ve grown up, changed, matured, evolved, whatever you want to call it. The songs, likewise, have changed as well, both lyrically and musically. I might even say that I wouldn’t write the same lyrics and melodies today because it’s been so long now. But I won’t say that. Instead I’ll say, “If you bother to take some precious time out of your day to enjoy this album I will be grateful and appreciative because yeah nowadays we’re always rushing around with something to do and something on our minds and time is money as they always say so I’ll straight up acknowledge how kind it is of you to take 30.7 minutes out of your hectic day for these songs” or other things along those lines.

I wrote these lyrics more than a year ago. Think of them as stories. Or as features. Yeah. Features. That’s a better way to describe them.

I’d like to acknowledge the people who made this record possible (in no particular order): Ryan Espiritu [my wonderful brother], Natrina Gandana [for her talent, for the stories, for the scenes], Elisha Suh [for the food, shelter, puppy entertainment], Nick Leon [guitarist extraordinaire], Josen Corpuz [I ask too much of you sometimes], Tyler Bourdet [you probably weren’t expecting to find yourself on this list], as well as all the influences, inspirations, and writers who have made the songs what they are now.

Now go outside and enjoy the beautiful sunshine! Or if it’s nighttime, go appreciate the rare quietude.

Be well,

Reginald

5. “POSTMODERNISM”

This morning you leave in a lover’s coat. The sun, it rises and it seems to move slow. All through the night you were sure he’s the one. You say, “This time it’s different.” You’re feeling clairvoyant.

This morning you leave with your stockings undone. Inside those pockets rest your stockings undone.

Opening your Moleskine® you write in some thoughts:

“So-and-so is everything that so-and-so was not!”

Sometimes you dream of being alone. And you wish you were different, and maybe clairvoyant.

This morning you leave with a lover’s coat; inside those pockets rest your stockings undone.

You dress like Zooey D. but you practice free love. You know all your politics and faux nostalgia. Your hair, it is vintage; and your dress, it is from some shoppe down on Melrose. You brag that only you know. This morning you leave just as soon as you come; this morning you leave with your stockings undone.

Late you arrive where your beau idly waits: an indie cafe where you had your first date.

“This coat? Oh, you know, I bought it online. This week’s been so busy. There was traffic in the city.”

He orders the plate which he keeps memorized, to relive that day of a far better time.

“POSTMODERNISM” from Features (2012)
Release Date: March 27, 2012
Written November, 2010
Background Vocals - Natrina Gandana