Little Edie is off kitty Prozac and living her best life in Queens. The former teen-mom bodega cat turned Medium Mystic muse is joining us for coffee (she’s having a “coffee phase”) and tacos. It’s sporting of her; Edith really prefers bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel (never crossaintwich) and is very particular about her Fancy Feast, inspiring the song “Trashy Feast.”
“We were just coming back from the grocery store with like so much of it,” Brenna Ehrlich explains. “And we were like, ‘We gotta give her fancy feast, not like trashy feast.'”
“We” includes herself and Morgan Enos, the other half of Medium Mystic, the die-hard jangle pop half. Brenna has punkier leanings (she lists Bratmobile and X as favs, and I can def hear a bit the latter’s influence in their demo), but the pair meld their tastes together for a sound that’s bright and quick, but never shallow, and melodious enough to make you genuinely shimmy instead of doing that weird head-bob (you know the one).
They’re also very much boyfriend-girlfriend (I mean, they live together) and passionate music journalists who enjoy looking at the scene in the same satiric lens I do. So going into this piece I deeply fear the scrutiny that’ll fall on me, the Overly Earnest Trash Blogger, all my colloquial observations sandwiched between the usual self-centered rants.
But lol, whatever. We’re all gonna have a fancy feast today, guys. You, me, and Edie.
THE SCENE: We’re at Morgan and Brenna’s new place on the border of Ridgewood and Flushing (Me: “Like in The Nanny?” Brenna: “Like The Nanny“). It’s immaculate in its new-ness, filled with Beatles paraphernalia, and I cannot take my eyes off their massive bookcase. Allegedly the two voracious readers can’t fill it properly because Brenna has too many stray books from past jobs – weird things like the NoFX autobiography (Brenna: “It’s called Hepatitus Bathtub and I have two copies of it”) and hokier paperback grocery store finds (Morgan: “where there’s a big unicorn and a beautiful woman on it and it’s called like, Sapphire’s Promise.”)
The take-out tacos are from a nearby place and Morgan bills them as strict “peanut butter and fish” since I said those are the only two things I won’t entertain for breakfast. But it’s fine; I have chicken-and-vegetable-filled tortillas. Edie tries to get a bite as we start talking.
1:24 I’m trying to explain, in much more neurotic detail than this, the story of how this column came about. You can all recite it by now, but to recap, it was birthed from my Brooklyn Year One experiences of dealing with deception, misinformation, and ice cream truck guys.
“Moving to Brooklyn is so funny. Your first year is like…what do you call it?” Brenna asks Morgan. “Disney Land?”
“Yeah, your first year is like an alcoholic Disney Land,” he confirms. Morgan is wrapping up Brooklyn Year One (Queens Year One?) after moving from rural California to be with Brenna, and he recognizes certain benefits.
“Speaking of ice cream trucks, I love hearing the ice cream truck. It’s a slice of Americana that’s just gone somehow,” he says.
“In Wiliamsburg or just in general?” I ask.
“Just in general. Until I moved to New York I’d never really seen ice cream trucks around. But you think about what your parents tell you that there were ice cream trucks all the time –”
“– and running for the ice cream truck –” Brenna adds.
“Running for the ice cream truck. Now kids run down the street to play Pokemon Go or something. It’s a very tactile part of our culture, the ice cream truck.”
“I love when there’s two competing melodies. There’s one that’s playing