Musician Owen Pallett (whom we interviewed about his latest work last week) won some major points with his audience last Tuesday at the Institute of Contemporary Art by dismissing the fact that Pitchfork recently gave his newest album, Heartland, an 8.6 rating.
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Results tagged “finalfantasy”
Owen Pallett is a singing, violin-looping one-man orchestra from Toronto. Though a self-identified creatine-chugging "jock," he used to perform and record as Final Fantasy, a name swiped from an interminable video game franchise.
Seattlest watches as a S.L.U.T. is born and Seattle Flickr users go nuts over a local art installation. A restaurant critic demands a Diner's Bill of Rights over a gnat next to her drink, and, in lieu of a Portlandist, Seattlest debates with itself over the identity of the Northwest's crown jewel. Seattlest also joins the guys from Fantagraphics for an ill-fated gun party in the woods. LAist saw national headlines soar this week with...
What's going on this week? Everyone is moving. Hipsters are swapping apartments in Allston. Scenesters are invading Cambridgeport. Undergrads and grad students are making their way into the new rental for September. The lucky ones have renewed their lease (or are keeping up with payments on the mortgage). The music you'll be hearing is blaring from the cab of the U-Haul and out of the windows of that f*ing third floor walk-up you offered...
In a world where there's nothing to do but watch movies. In a city full of theaters, museums, and libraries. One moviegoer who can be in three places at once. This week's films promise to be festive, well-attended events for their respective niches: Bollywood, science fiction, anime, and self-identified "Brechtian punk cabaret" enthusiasts. Bostonist is especially psyched that Krrish's Massachusetts premiere isn't a day later than its release in India, and that no amount of...
Last week Bostonist arrived at an almost-empty TT the Bear's during Deertick's opening set of earnest acoustic guitar ballads. After an almost-pint of Newcastle in a plastic cup, we were drawn over to the stage by the upright bass and unapologetically fey vocals of the next act, Nat Baldwin. He made Bostonist think of Final Fantasy a few octaves lower, or a more mournful Joanna Newsom a few more octaves down.
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