Buffalo, girl

I never got the Jesus and Mary Chain. When they played Auckland in dada-dada-whatever someone at the Powerstation told me their static "feedback" came from a tape loop on the sound desk. No biggie; I'm all for synthetic augmentation: The Jesus and Mary Chain's problem is that they were boring. That week at Entertaining The Stars In New Zild Yeah No It's Rilly Strong Here Aye drinks at the record company offices on K Road the shambly ensemble appeared and shuffled through the room with armfuls of CDs -- they'd pounced on Prince's back-catalogue, which made you wonder why they didn't have Prince in the first place. Later that same day, standing in the kitchen, Neil Young wandered in holding a beer, and being New Zealanders we all stared at him saying nothing, not even 'hello' (including the record company people in the entourage. How shy are we?) and after a long, long minute Neil shrugged and left. I have regrets in life, and that moment is one of them.

But I digress.

The Jesus and Mary Chain have exactly half a song, 'Just Like Honey'. Younger readers will know it from Lost In Translation as the song that ruins the film: the soaring paean that never climaxes; the Velvets steal by someone who could only transcribe two of the three chords in 'Femme Fatale'. After this the British indie scene could only go one way (Pete Doherty sounding like a small child trapped in a car) but no, now The Jesus and Mary Chain have appeared on stage with Jessica Paré AKA Megan Draper, and so it begins... again. Jessica is the tall one, with good teeth: the one who could beat the other ones up.

(Pic: NYMag, obv.)

She's not that indie, you

Your Sister's Sister is the story of a man who having failed to notice that Emily Blunt is in love with him accidentally sleeps with Rosemarie DeWitt. This is unlikely but the acting's good and you get to hear Bluntsky whisper at length in that plummy Surbiton accent while watching Midge Daniels from Mad Men, and Mark Duplass brings shine to what could have been a silly role. Directing and writing -- those truly unlikely bedfellows -- are shared by Lynn Shelton (Mad Men). The ménage à trois and its rustic setting are beyond any human reach (behold the luxurious chill of dawn trickling golden across my ladycabin) but all the more desirable for it. This Nora Ephron for the Nirvana crowd; Sex, Lies and Videotape for people who are too young to know what that is.

Baby you're the best magazine advice

New season of Mad Men about to start here, which means I can read the internet on Mondays again. Commentators have complained that the Rolling Stone cover looks shopped: don't care. Would upload copy if Blogger let me. Slow morning on the servers, I guess. Me, I'm up early. That's what writing on paper does for you - the laptop seems like a novelty again.

Gizmodo has a good essay on why writers are bypassing publishers and putting their own work online. Although every point they make could also be seen as a negative. With great power comes great responsibility, basically: the time you spend publishing your own work is time you could have spent writing. Still, got my eye on it.

Great essay on Liz Phair's new online album Funstyle at Rock Turtleneck. I still would.