The lo-fi SF outfit known as Sic Alps have called it quits, but for those who enjoy that acid Beatles wrapped in scuzz kind of sound, fear not. Sic Alps main man Mike Donovan has taken his show solo, with the inchoate but still rather lovely WOT? out mid-October on Drag City. One or two listens in, I am liking as much as I ever liked Sic Alps, maybe a little more. Anyway, see for yourself.
In other news, we watched the riveting but not quite classic Frenzy last night, the next to last of Alfred Hitchcock's films, shot in 1972 and really, a bit giddy with its wrongly accused hothead, its florid, suave villain, its necktie strangled girls and its fixation on the horrors of classic French cooking. One interesting thing about the film is how it wasn't. Michael Caine was supposed to be the killer but turned away the script in nausea. Helen Mirren was initially considered for one of the victims, didn't do it, and regretted it for life. (Maybe why she jumped on Hitchcock?) I wish there were more Hitchcock on Netflix, just this one and The Lady Vanishes and if we want more, we'll have to pay for it.
Also, of interest to no one, I like my shiny purple running shoes. I did a 10-mile run this morning in them, first time in ages I've run over eight, and I had next to no pain, just a twinge on the worst uphill. (I could probably run 15 if I could find one with no hills.) So for the first time in several years, a voice is whispering "marathon" in my ear again, not this fall, certainly, and probably not in the spring, but maybe next fall if I can get the training going.