Streeter Seidell is a comedy writer and (mediocre) drummer living in Brooklyn, NY. During the day he edits the front page of CollegeHumor.com but when the sun goes down he takes his place at the helm of the Indablog. He maintains a personal blog at StreeterSeidell.com and wants to make sure you know he once wrote something for the New York Times and that it was, in the words of his mother, "Amazing! You're so talented!"
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David Byrne Journal
Stop making sense David Byrne. Seriously, you make too much sense to us - it's scary. When are you coming by to hang out? -
Creative Commons
If you want to know about IP law - this is the place. CC is defining the cutting edge of music licensing. -
Lefsetz Letter
In his own words - "First in music analysis" -
Wired Listening Post
One of our favorite places to stay on top of what's happening in the music industry. -
Create Digital Music
Fairly relevant to Indaba :) -
Underrated Magazine
Our favorite NYC music-scene blog from our favorite CMJer. -
StereoGum.com
Super-hip music blog. A must for anyone serious about the NYC scene. -
The Daily Swarm
ll the news that fit to print ... about music, that is. -
Idolator
Gawker Media's music blog. Perfect if you like a little snark with your music news. -
That's What Matt Said
Shameless promotion, we know, but this is Matt's (Indaba Co-Founder) non-Indaba blog and he wants people to read it.
Thursday July 10, 2008 at 08:00 AM |
Many great musicians pen love poems to the cities that birthed their talents and i appears Jack White, of the White Stripes, is no different. TheDailySwarm got their hands on a poem penned by the singer and devoted to the Motor City. It's called 'Courageous Dream's Concern.'
‘Courageous Dream’s Concern,’ by Jack White
I have driven slow,
three miles an hour or so,
through Highland Park, Heidelberg, and the
Cass Corridor.
I’ve hopped on the Michigan,
and transferred to the Woodward,
and heard the good word blaring from an
a.m. radio.
I love the worn-through tracks of trolley
trains breaking through their
concrete vaults,
As I ride the Fort Street or the Baker,
just making my way home.
I sneak through an iron gate, and fish
rock bass out of the strait,
watching the mail boat with
its tugboat gait,
hauling words I’ll never know.
The water letter carrier,
bringing prose to lonely sailors,
treading the big lakes with their trailers,
floats in blue green chopping waters,
above long-lost sunken failures,
awaiting exhumation iron whalers,
holding gold we’ll never know.
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