'Mo Music: Best of 2010 Countdown: Lindstrom + Christabelle

With only so many Wednesdays left in the year, it's about time we begin to celebrate our favorite music of the year. This is the first of many more to come, 'til we reach the end of the year, and some convenient number, like 40. Here goes:

With the taste of s'mores and spray paint on my teeth, I headed for home, drunk, and alone. I thought I could hear bells, or was it hooves, dancing in the night. Like the feeling of being pushed around by waves in your bed after a day on the beach, my heartbeat took the place of the insistent throb of dance floor drums, and my bones rattled with each heartbeat. A steady 4/4. Music crept into the air, slowly plodding, fading in. My ipod was on in my pocket, playing Lindstrom + Christabelle.

Suddenly, I was John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, peacock on the catwalk. I was liquid cool. Like those old Capri Sun commercials. or Alex Mack. I was fucking Alex Mack. Alex Crack. I pranced in my porno tempo, down the questionable alleys of the city, the neon lights sighing as I passed. Untouchable. I was gently propelled forward, my confidence emanating warmth. I was Moroder, gone with rock promoter. I was The Bee Gees. I was the Fu Gees. I was CBGB's. I was the most popular mirror at Studio 54. The stars swooned as I flickered in the distance. I was watching my shadow dance with the snow and smoke when I felt a nuzzle at my elbow. It was Dandy, always there when I needed him. Coughing up glitter onto me, he offered to fly me home. I climbed onto his back and took a big breath of the sharp icy air. Real Life Is No Cool indeed.