I MEAN THEY'RE FRUSTRATED
Dirty Water by The Standells gets my vote for the most deliriously snotty piece of garage band noise ever. The way Joey Standell is not only going to tell us a story about his town, he's going to tell us a "big bad story" about it, about the "lovers, fuggers, and thieves." And all the while Johnny Standell works out the riff he learned in his first guitar lesson the week before they put this to tape. It's protopunk on a stick, fuggers.
I suppose you could make a case for The Seeds' Pushin' Too Hard, but that's delirious and snotty, and there's a difference...
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
DINOSAUR BONES
I love this.
I was reading through the April 1982 issue of Trouser Press (and no, this story does not get any less geektacular as it goes along, so strap yourself in), and I came across the following letter to the editor:
Trouser Press puts "let it rock" on its cover,
but never has and never will "let it rock"
because it refuses to recognize where real
rock is coming from. TP is not new, hardly
ever features new bands and, to put it
bluntly, sucks.
Lou Barlow
Westfield, MA
The existence of this letter authored by 15-year-old Lou is probably common knowledge among the Dinosaur Jr/Sebadoh cognescenti, but I feel like Howard Carter when I unearth nuggets like this...
I love this.
I was reading through the April 1982 issue of Trouser Press (and no, this story does not get any less geektacular as it goes along, so strap yourself in), and I came across the following letter to the editor:
Trouser Press puts "let it rock" on its cover,
but never has and never will "let it rock"
because it refuses to recognize where real
rock is coming from. TP is not new, hardly
ever features new bands and, to put it
bluntly, sucks.
Lou Barlow
Westfield, MA
The existence of this letter authored by 15-year-old Lou is probably common knowledge among the Dinosaur Jr/Sebadoh cognescenti, but I feel like Howard Carter when I unearth nuggets like this...
Monday, August 29, 2005
THE BOTTOM OF MY COWBOY SHOES
There were two further significant Doors' releases that predate the grave-robbing "Is Jim really dead?" crap that reared its distasteful head in the late 70s: Absolutely Live and Weird Scenes Inside the Gold Mine. (13 was a greatest hits package released prior to L.A. Woman that stuck to the short, digestible stuff, but proferred nothing "new.")
Absolutely Live contains a couple of covers that did not make it onto any of the studio albums, none of which are revelatory, although Who Do You Love? is definitely in their comfort zone. Then there are some original oddities...
Love Hides
"Love hides in molecular structures"-- it was funny then, and it's funny today...
Build Me a Woman
Cry me a river. Buy me a vowel. Give me a break.
Universal Mind
This could have improved The Soft Parade, and it certainly would not have sunk Morrison Hotel. I guess it's actually sort of an acid-fried cousin to The Spy...
Dead Cats, Dead Rats
It is with great generosity of spirit that I assume this riff on Break on Through was improvised, and not a proper "song." Because, really, you should hear the shit that comes out of my mouth sometimes...
Celebration of the Lizard
One of my good friends in high school was prone to freak a little easily when he got stoned, and I was always there to push him over the edge with an in-your-face recitation of this. I remember writhing around on a lunch table, mewling through the whole Go Insane part, while the lunch ladies scratched their heads. I hear you lunch ladies, I hear you...
Weird Scenes is an interesting, slightly discursive collection. It eschews chronological sequencing, and is the better for it.
Who Scared You?
Fun fact: This is the only Doors song title that contains a question mark. This was the B side to Wishful Sinful, and is another song that would have improved The Soft Parade.
(You Need Meat) Don't Go No Further
If I had wanted to listen to Ray butcher (sorry) old blues tunes, I would've bought Other Voices and Full Circle.
The version of Roadhouse Blues that pops up in the middle of An American Prayer ain't half bad, with a gunka chunka be bop section that goes on and on and on.
Now let us leave these fag ends of The Doors and move on...
There were two further significant Doors' releases that predate the grave-robbing "Is Jim really dead?" crap that reared its distasteful head in the late 70s: Absolutely Live and Weird Scenes Inside the Gold Mine. (13 was a greatest hits package released prior to L.A. Woman that stuck to the short, digestible stuff, but proferred nothing "new.")
Absolutely Live contains a couple of covers that did not make it onto any of the studio albums, none of which are revelatory, although Who Do You Love? is definitely in their comfort zone. Then there are some original oddities...
Love Hides
"Love hides in molecular structures"-- it was funny then, and it's funny today...
Build Me a Woman
Cry me a river. Buy me a vowel. Give me a break.
Universal Mind
This could have improved The Soft Parade, and it certainly would not have sunk Morrison Hotel. I guess it's actually sort of an acid-fried cousin to The Spy...
Dead Cats, Dead Rats
It is with great generosity of spirit that I assume this riff on Break on Through was improvised, and not a proper "song." Because, really, you should hear the shit that comes out of my mouth sometimes...
Celebration of the Lizard
One of my good friends in high school was prone to freak a little easily when he got stoned, and I was always there to push him over the edge with an in-your-face recitation of this. I remember writhing around on a lunch table, mewling through the whole Go Insane part, while the lunch ladies scratched their heads. I hear you lunch ladies, I hear you...
Weird Scenes is an interesting, slightly discursive collection. It eschews chronological sequencing, and is the better for it.
Who Scared You?
Fun fact: This is the only Doors song title that contains a question mark. This was the B side to Wishful Sinful, and is another song that would have improved The Soft Parade.
(You Need Meat) Don't Go No Further
If I had wanted to listen to Ray butcher (sorry) old blues tunes, I would've bought Other Voices and Full Circle.
The version of Roadhouse Blues that pops up in the middle of An American Prayer ain't half bad, with a gunka chunka be bop section that goes on and on and on.
Now let us leave these fag ends of The Doors and move on...
Friday, August 26, 2005
MIDNIGHT ALLEYS ROAM
The Changeling
Pretty bold move to start with this, knowing they had the next song in all its charming obviousness at their disposal. You look at the album cover and see the once-leonine face that was thrust to the fore on the cover of the debut, now puffy and hirsute, keeping a physically lower profile than its bandmates, only four years on. And you understand the attraction to the concept of change. Probably worthwhile to keep in mind the three definitions of "changeling" in Webster's:
1. Turncoat.
2. A child secretly changed for another in infancy.
3. Imbecile.
Somewhere deep in his heart, Jim probably thought he was a little bit of all three...
Love Her Madly
Charmingly obvious, or didn't you hear?
Been Down So Long
They work up a good blues froth here, straightforward and gruff.
Cars Hiss By My Window
Slow as molasses, and relevant mostly because it provides a thematic lead in to the epic and propulsive...
L.A. Woman
One of their best. Even the leaden anagramming that it builds to kind of tickles-- it's self-mythologizing that doesn't take itself too seriously. The whole thing moves like L.A., with all the sights/sounds/smells of L.A.
L'America
Bites My Generation's "fade away" with its "find yourself" but it's still kind of amusing. I like how it flips between menacing and merry-go-round...
Hyacinth House
The "I need a brand new friend" stuff is touching and convincing, and I genuinely buy that this is not a pantomime of real emotion. But "I see the bathroom is clear"? Yeah, I could've done without that...
Crawlin' King Snake
FF
The W.A.S.P.
I liked this even less when Bono called it Bullet the Blue Sky. To be fair, this doesn't leave quite the scorched earth on L.A. Woman that Bono's rap does on The Joshua Tree-- the music is intricate enough to hold your attention, and some of the lyrics are well turned, if a bit well marinated.
Riders on the Storm
Haunting, in retrospect, kind of like All Apologies. Not just because both end their respective groups' final albums, but because they seem to carry markers of their leaders' deaths. They also carry clear markers of their leaders' weariness, which plays out here in some pathetic lyrics (the "dog without a bone" and "his brain is squirmin' like a toad" patches in particular). And so to bed, perchance to dream...
I'll wrap this all up on Monday.
The Changeling
Pretty bold move to start with this, knowing they had the next song in all its charming obviousness at their disposal. You look at the album cover and see the once-leonine face that was thrust to the fore on the cover of the debut, now puffy and hirsute, keeping a physically lower profile than its bandmates, only four years on. And you understand the attraction to the concept of change. Probably worthwhile to keep in mind the three definitions of "changeling" in Webster's:
1. Turncoat.
2. A child secretly changed for another in infancy.
3. Imbecile.
Somewhere deep in his heart, Jim probably thought he was a little bit of all three...
Love Her Madly
Charmingly obvious, or didn't you hear?
Been Down So Long
They work up a good blues froth here, straightforward and gruff.
Cars Hiss By My Window
Slow as molasses, and relevant mostly because it provides a thematic lead in to the epic and propulsive...
L.A. Woman
One of their best. Even the leaden anagramming that it builds to kind of tickles-- it's self-mythologizing that doesn't take itself too seriously. The whole thing moves like L.A., with all the sights/sounds/smells of L.A.
L'America
Bites My Generation's "fade away" with its "find yourself" but it's still kind of amusing. I like how it flips between menacing and merry-go-round...
Hyacinth House
The "I need a brand new friend" stuff is touching and convincing, and I genuinely buy that this is not a pantomime of real emotion. But "I see the bathroom is clear"? Yeah, I could've done without that...
Crawlin' King Snake
FF
The W.A.S.P.
I liked this even less when Bono called it Bullet the Blue Sky. To be fair, this doesn't leave quite the scorched earth on L.A. Woman that Bono's rap does on The Joshua Tree-- the music is intricate enough to hold your attention, and some of the lyrics are well turned, if a bit well marinated.
Riders on the Storm
Haunting, in retrospect, kind of like All Apologies. Not just because both end their respective groups' final albums, but because they seem to carry markers of their leaders' deaths. They also carry clear markers of their leaders' weariness, which plays out here in some pathetic lyrics (the "dog without a bone" and "his brain is squirmin' like a toad" patches in particular). And so to bed, perchance to dream...
I'll wrap this all up on Monday.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
WEIRD SCENES
A strange thing happened on the way to closure. All these old connections that I figured were too lossy and frayed to be conductive started firing, and I found electricity where I expected simple clinical objectivity. The betrayal of talent that was The Soft Parade made me angry; Morrison Hotel sounded like a recovery; but we already know how the story ends. I suppose I'm familiar enough with self-destruction and death to take that ending a little personally. It's hard to sit and watch the filament blow, and I know what comes next: darkness.
Tomorrow: L.A. Woman...
A strange thing happened on the way to closure. All these old connections that I figured were too lossy and frayed to be conductive started firing, and I found electricity where I expected simple clinical objectivity. The betrayal of talent that was The Soft Parade made me angry; Morrison Hotel sounded like a recovery; but we already know how the story ends. I suppose I'm familiar enough with self-destruction and death to take that ending a little personally. It's hard to sit and watch the filament blow, and I know what comes next: darkness.
Tomorrow: L.A. Woman...
Monday, August 22, 2005
A BRAND NEW PAIR OF SHOES
Roadhouse Blues
You'd be forgiven if you'd assumed this car had pitted and left the race, but then out of nowhere: "Keep your eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel." Good advice. And then the verite "Well, I woke up this morning, I got myself a beer." We might just have something here...
Waiting for the Sun
Gotta love the old we'll-come-up-with-a-song-to-match-the-album-title-in-a-couple-of-albums gambit. Fellow traveler Julian Cope pulled the same trick years later with World Shut Your Mouth. I suppose in retrospect it's a minor miracle that the Bunnymen didn't do it too. The kicker is that it's better than anything on the album of the same name.
You Make Me Real
See what you can do when you ditch the boho mystic crap and have some fun? Plus it has the weight of fun that's been singed by fire.
Peace Frog/Blue Sunday
A mash up. PF seems like sort of a clearinghouse for some poems that had been sitting and gathering moss, and BS is a slight, innocuous ballad. Both benefit from the general reinvigoration that's on display here.
Ship of Fools
I always liked the way this and Land Ho! sounded back to back, but I used to need to wait for the leader tape to run out on side one before the auto reverse kicked in on my cassette player and started up side two. So here CDs, which have dulled the dramatic impact of many a side closer, aid in the thematic flow.
Land Ho!
An odd little bedtime story/nursery rhyme, with verve if nothing else.
The Spy
All Music Guide is telling me this is 4:17. Feels longer. Not all bad, to be fair-- "I know ev'rything. Ev'rything you do. Ev'rywhere you go. Ev'ryone you know" has some warmth to it-- but pretty turgid overall.
Queen of the Highway
I can never quite figure out if this is underrated or if I have an irrational attachment to it. "Formless/Hope it can continue a little while longer" had great resonance to me during a summer I knew I was pissing away, which I knew would have to end, which I hoped would never end...
Indian Summer
And this put a nice atmospheric capper on it.
Maggie McGill
Where earlier blues efforts were callow, and sounded unearned, this is starting to sound "real" if you will. It's the sound of a man who's come through a crash course in self-hatred and self-abuse, and emerged with a lasting mark, one that speaks of a well-earned humility, but also a growing sense of self-worth...
Roadhouse Blues
You'd be forgiven if you'd assumed this car had pitted and left the race, but then out of nowhere: "Keep your eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel." Good advice. And then the verite "Well, I woke up this morning, I got myself a beer." We might just have something here...
Waiting for the Sun
Gotta love the old we'll-come-up-with-a-song-to-match-the-album-title-in-a-couple-of-albums gambit. Fellow traveler Julian Cope pulled the same trick years later with World Shut Your Mouth. I suppose in retrospect it's a minor miracle that the Bunnymen didn't do it too. The kicker is that it's better than anything on the album of the same name.
You Make Me Real
See what you can do when you ditch the boho mystic crap and have some fun? Plus it has the weight of fun that's been singed by fire.
Peace Frog/Blue Sunday
A mash up. PF seems like sort of a clearinghouse for some poems that had been sitting and gathering moss, and BS is a slight, innocuous ballad. Both benefit from the general reinvigoration that's on display here.
Ship of Fools
I always liked the way this and Land Ho! sounded back to back, but I used to need to wait for the leader tape to run out on side one before the auto reverse kicked in on my cassette player and started up side two. So here CDs, which have dulled the dramatic impact of many a side closer, aid in the thematic flow.
Land Ho!
An odd little bedtime story/nursery rhyme, with verve if nothing else.
The Spy
All Music Guide is telling me this is 4:17. Feels longer. Not all bad, to be fair-- "I know ev'rything. Ev'rything you do. Ev'rywhere you go. Ev'ryone you know" has some warmth to it-- but pretty turgid overall.
Queen of the Highway
I can never quite figure out if this is underrated or if I have an irrational attachment to it. "Formless/Hope it can continue a little while longer" had great resonance to me during a summer I knew I was pissing away, which I knew would have to end, which I hoped would never end...
Indian Summer
And this put a nice atmospheric capper on it.
Maggie McGill
Where earlier blues efforts were callow, and sounded unearned, this is starting to sound "real" if you will. It's the sound of a man who's come through a crash course in self-hatred and self-abuse, and emerged with a lasting mark, one that speaks of a well-earned humility, but also a growing sense of self-worth...
Thursday, August 18, 2005
MILKY BABIES
Tell All the People
It's not often you find the sound of a band hitting the bottom right at the top, but here you go. Robby writes one with a "message" that is like a punishment for Jim to sing, and a passel of horns do their best to drown all the nonsense out. Staggeringly bad, quite possibly their worst.
Touch Me
Robby's back, and he brought the horns again. This seems truer to his muse, if you will, and is the better for it. The Comet cleanser ending can't wash away the stain of that opener, though.
Shaman's Blues
Three songs in and here comes Jim. It's a decent blues number, and the odd line seems interesting (I'm thinking of "Out in the train yard/Nursin' penitentiary" and "Cold grinding grizzly bear jaws"), but that might be a product of drastically lowered expectations...
Do It
Bored and uninspired is one thing, but this is something more pernicious. "Please, please listen to me children"? Listen to what? "You are the ones who will rule the world." Oh, okay. And? "You gotta please me." Ah, now I see. Well, fuck off, you lazy, cynical bastards. Fuck right off.
Easy Ride
More by-the-numbers guff, until Jim wakes up a bit at the coda with that "Coda queen-- be my bride" bit...
Wild Child
You remember when we were in Africa? Hee.
Runnin' Blue
OK Robby, this is more like it. Nicely executed, straightforward tribute to Otis. Can't complain about that.
Wishful Sinful
Damn, this is like Robby Krieger and the Doors. I give him credit for keeping the band in songs while the visionary lead singer was wetting himself in the corner of the studio. A nice, nonoffensive ballad.
The Soft Parade
Kind of by default, the most intriguing thing on the album. What is it "about"? Dunno. Starts off with that wacky jeremiad, then seems to slip into a draft evasion primer (the "four ways to get unraveled"). Eventually, a monk buys lunch and some horses get their eyes whipped (ouch!). It's probably best to call the stuff in between an imagistic carnivale, and be done with it...
Plans tomorrow night, so I'l be back on Monday to roll through the last two studio albums. Turn out the lights...
Tell All the People
It's not often you find the sound of a band hitting the bottom right at the top, but here you go. Robby writes one with a "message" that is like a punishment for Jim to sing, and a passel of horns do their best to drown all the nonsense out. Staggeringly bad, quite possibly their worst.
Touch Me
Robby's back, and he brought the horns again. This seems truer to his muse, if you will, and is the better for it. The Comet cleanser ending can't wash away the stain of that opener, though.
Shaman's Blues
Three songs in and here comes Jim. It's a decent blues number, and the odd line seems interesting (I'm thinking of "Out in the train yard/Nursin' penitentiary" and "Cold grinding grizzly bear jaws"), but that might be a product of drastically lowered expectations...
Do It
Bored and uninspired is one thing, but this is something more pernicious. "Please, please listen to me children"? Listen to what? "You are the ones who will rule the world." Oh, okay. And? "You gotta please me." Ah, now I see. Well, fuck off, you lazy, cynical bastards. Fuck right off.
Easy Ride
More by-the-numbers guff, until Jim wakes up a bit at the coda with that "Coda queen-- be my bride" bit...
Wild Child
You remember when we were in Africa? Hee.
Runnin' Blue
OK Robby, this is more like it. Nicely executed, straightforward tribute to Otis. Can't complain about that.
Wishful Sinful
Damn, this is like Robby Krieger and the Doors. I give him credit for keeping the band in songs while the visionary lead singer was wetting himself in the corner of the studio. A nice, nonoffensive ballad.
The Soft Parade
Kind of by default, the most intriguing thing on the album. What is it "about"? Dunno. Starts off with that wacky jeremiad, then seems to slip into a draft evasion primer (the "four ways to get unraveled"). Eventually, a monk buys lunch and some horses get their eyes whipped (ouch!). It's probably best to call the stuff in between an imagistic carnivale, and be done with it...
Plans tomorrow night, so I'l be back on Monday to roll through the last two studio albums. Turn out the lights...
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
LAZY DIAMOND STUDDED FLUNKIES
Hello, I Love You
Sure, it's a rinky-dink Kinks rip, but it's cute. This is another case where it's worth it to track down the original demo, though, which is just absurd.
Love Street
The second of the four "Love" songs on this album finds Jimbo in crooner mode. The spoken word section is not quite Are You Lonsesome Tonight? level hokum-- actually, maybe it is, in its little hippie way. When I was 15, I thought that they needed less of this la la la la la la la'ing-- now I realize they could have used more la la la la la la la'ing.
Not to Touch the Earth
The only remaining fragment of the aborted Celebration of the Lizard, which was supposed to make up one side of this album, and whose ultimate absence left them scrambling for songs. As fragments go, it's pretty strong, although it is again a set of random "dark" images that don't really cohere into anything meaningful.
Summer's Almost Gone
About that scramble for songs... Jim sounds lethally bored-- the only redeeming feature (and this is a stretch) is the way it winds up with "The winter's comin' on" leading into...
Wintertime Love
..."Love" song number three. Half the la's of Love Street, and less filling...
The Unknown Soldier
You mean war, and perhaps in particular the Vietnam War, is bad? You bold erotic politicians, you! The D-Day celebration noises on the fade out are a pretty cool move, the obviousness of the politics notwithstanding.
Spanish Caravan
In which the boys set off on a bold attempt to get through an entire album side with nary a song at their disposal. They don't do a half bad job of it. The guitar work here is quite pretty, and the way Jim draws out "Andalusia" shows that not all of his phrasing skills are in the bottle at this point.
My Wild Love
My experience is that the last of the "Love" songs works best as a stoned campfire singalong among a group of people who are vaguely familiar with the lyrics.
We Could Be So Good Together
This is Waiting for the Sun's version of Strange Days' My Eyes Have Seen You, which is a perfect illustration of the difference in quality between the two albums.
Yes, the River Knows
This is very affecting, and the return of the drowning motif links it back to Strange Days in a positive way. "I'm going but I need a little time" in this context certainly sounds like the words of a man who knew full well what he was doing to himself...
Five to One
It sounds menacing, but when you measure it against something like the following year's Gimme Shelter, you begin to realize that there's not much there there. "America's Rolling Stones" could make but vague and cryptic references to revolution, while all their leader really wanted to do was go "out in this car with these people and get fucked up." Which leads to The Soft Parade...
Hello, I Love You
Sure, it's a rinky-dink Kinks rip, but it's cute. This is another case where it's worth it to track down the original demo, though, which is just absurd.
Love Street
The second of the four "Love" songs on this album finds Jimbo in crooner mode. The spoken word section is not quite Are You Lonsesome Tonight? level hokum-- actually, maybe it is, in its little hippie way. When I was 15, I thought that they needed less of this la la la la la la la'ing-- now I realize they could have used more la la la la la la la'ing.
Not to Touch the Earth
The only remaining fragment of the aborted Celebration of the Lizard, which was supposed to make up one side of this album, and whose ultimate absence left them scrambling for songs. As fragments go, it's pretty strong, although it is again a set of random "dark" images that don't really cohere into anything meaningful.
Summer's Almost Gone
About that scramble for songs... Jim sounds lethally bored-- the only redeeming feature (and this is a stretch) is the way it winds up with "The winter's comin' on" leading into...
Wintertime Love
..."Love" song number three. Half the la's of Love Street, and less filling...
The Unknown Soldier
You mean war, and perhaps in particular the Vietnam War, is bad? You bold erotic politicians, you! The D-Day celebration noises on the fade out are a pretty cool move, the obviousness of the politics notwithstanding.
Spanish Caravan
In which the boys set off on a bold attempt to get through an entire album side with nary a song at their disposal. They don't do a half bad job of it. The guitar work here is quite pretty, and the way Jim draws out "Andalusia" shows that not all of his phrasing skills are in the bottle at this point.
My Wild Love
My experience is that the last of the "Love" songs works best as a stoned campfire singalong among a group of people who are vaguely familiar with the lyrics.
We Could Be So Good Together
This is Waiting for the Sun's version of Strange Days' My Eyes Have Seen You, which is a perfect illustration of the difference in quality between the two albums.
Yes, the River Knows
This is very affecting, and the return of the drowning motif links it back to Strange Days in a positive way. "I'm going but I need a little time" in this context certainly sounds like the words of a man who knew full well what he was doing to himself...
Five to One
It sounds menacing, but when you measure it against something like the following year's Gimme Shelter, you begin to realize that there's not much there there. "America's Rolling Stones" could make but vague and cryptic references to revolution, while all their leader really wanted to do was go "out in this car with these people and get fucked up." Which leads to The Soft Parade...
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
WET FORESTS
Strange Days
Yeah, success'll turn your head like that. The cock is still in cocksure, but the sure's a little shaky, and it sounds good.
You're Lost Little Girl
The forgettable stuff here is more memorable than the forgettable stuff on the first album. I guess Sinatra never did get around to covering this one...
Love Me Two Times
Chugs along nicely, and that guitar's got some sproing in it. The sound of the singer trying just hard enough...
Unhappy Girl
Another girl song, huh? As tired as that may be, it is nice the way the water theme is introduced (Don't miss your chance/To swim in mystery), and how that carries through the next two pieces.
Horse Latitudes
Normally I wouldn't countenance this kind of thing, but some of the imagery is actually pretty interesting ("In mute nostril agony/carefully refined/and sealed over" is an evocative portrait of a drowning horse). Plus-- and I can't stress this enough ye future writers/performers of song poems--it's short. If you find yourself in a situation like this, say your piece in 1:30 and please move on...
Moonlight Drive
Definitely a top fiver in the oeuvre, this one is pretty much unassailable. And just like Horse Latitudes, it ends with a drowning. Seek out the demo to hear how much it benefited from maturation of vision/sympathetic production.
People are Strange
And now we resurface for a return to the strange. There is something to be said for consistency of vision, especially when it's as sharp as this.
My Eyes Have Seen You
An underappreciated gem. I love the way the first five words become one: Myeyeshaveseenyou. And how the song speaks to the power of simple repetition: Endless roll, endless roll, endless roll, endless roll...
I Can't See Your Face in My Mind
Filler. But again, unlike some of the filler on the first one, this is at least of a piece with the rest of the album.
When the Music's Over
But alas, as with the first album, we close with an "epic" that would have been much better served by some judicious editing. Could've been a five-minute song about music being your only friend, goth kids could've latched onto it as a manifesto 15 years later, and black would be the new blue. Instead, it's bogged down by what appear to be snippets from three or four unrelated poems, an exhortation to "revolution," and some Jesus stuff. Huh?
Strange Days
Yeah, success'll turn your head like that. The cock is still in cocksure, but the sure's a little shaky, and it sounds good.
You're Lost Little Girl
The forgettable stuff here is more memorable than the forgettable stuff on the first album. I guess Sinatra never did get around to covering this one...
Love Me Two Times
Chugs along nicely, and that guitar's got some sproing in it. The sound of the singer trying just hard enough...
Unhappy Girl
Another girl song, huh? As tired as that may be, it is nice the way the water theme is introduced (Don't miss your chance/To swim in mystery), and how that carries through the next two pieces.
Horse Latitudes
Normally I wouldn't countenance this kind of thing, but some of the imagery is actually pretty interesting ("In mute nostril agony/carefully refined/and sealed over" is an evocative portrait of a drowning horse). Plus-- and I can't stress this enough ye future writers/performers of song poems--it's short. If you find yourself in a situation like this, say your piece in 1:30 and please move on...
Moonlight Drive
Definitely a top fiver in the oeuvre, this one is pretty much unassailable. And just like Horse Latitudes, it ends with a drowning. Seek out the demo to hear how much it benefited from maturation of vision/sympathetic production.
People are Strange
And now we resurface for a return to the strange. There is something to be said for consistency of vision, especially when it's as sharp as this.
My Eyes Have Seen You
An underappreciated gem. I love the way the first five words become one: Myeyeshaveseenyou. And how the song speaks to the power of simple repetition: Endless roll, endless roll, endless roll, endless roll...
I Can't See Your Face in My Mind
Filler. But again, unlike some of the filler on the first one, this is at least of a piece with the rest of the album.
When the Music's Over
But alas, as with the first album, we close with an "epic" that would have been much better served by some judicious editing. Could've been a five-minute song about music being your only friend, goth kids could've latched onto it as a manifesto 15 years later, and black would be the new blue. Instead, it's bogged down by what appear to be snippets from three or four unrelated poems, an exhortation to "revolution," and some Jesus stuff. Huh?
THE GATE IS STRAIGHT
Forgive the indulgence, but I'm going to take a week or so to walk through each of The Doors six studio albums-- I'll give a sentence or two to each track-- and maybe touch on some effluvia on the seventh day. Lord knows we're going to have to do something about all this classic rock content...
Break on Through (To the Other Side)
OK, if you're selling the whole Dionysian blah blah blah, this is a pretty good place to start-- an overture with just the right undercurrent of menace...
Soul Kitchen
This works best when it's simmering, as in the first verse. But the choruses, particularly the final one, are overcooked. And that little blues vamp at the end? Burp.
The Crystal Ship
I once saw Doors cover band Crystal Ship play at Great Adventure in New Jersey. No, I didn't have a mullet, but I can practically feel one growing as I type those words.
Twentieth Century Fox
This got some radio play because it's mildly crunchy and witlessly sexist, but it should have been left in the can.
Alabama Song (Whisky Bar)
This is more like it-- boozy, woozy cabaret with nice louche vocals. Really, they did Brecht well-- they did Brechtian horribly...
Light My Fire
Castrated for AM radio, with all the sex excised, this was still a huge hit. Which shows you just what a stroke it was...
Back Door Man
Bring back the garage-band Brecht! Pretty please.
I Looked at You
It's quite easy for even the most ardent Doors fan to forget that this song exists. It's probably even advisable that they do so.
End of the Night
You can do worse than to crib from Blake, and this, um, sustains a mood. Next.
Take it As it Comes
You could, for example, crib from the Maharishi. And "Specialize in havin' fun" doesn't exactly sustain the mood...
The End
Cut out the snake, the blue bus, and the Oedipal nonsense, and what are you left with? Seven beautiful, mournful minutes, plus an orgasm-- what could be better? It's too bad they couldn't find a better way to bring this to climax than with the mother fucking.
Forgive the indulgence, but I'm going to take a week or so to walk through each of The Doors six studio albums-- I'll give a sentence or two to each track-- and maybe touch on some effluvia on the seventh day. Lord knows we're going to have to do something about all this classic rock content...
Break on Through (To the Other Side)
OK, if you're selling the whole Dionysian blah blah blah, this is a pretty good place to start-- an overture with just the right undercurrent of menace...
Soul Kitchen
This works best when it's simmering, as in the first verse. But the choruses, particularly the final one, are overcooked. And that little blues vamp at the end? Burp.
The Crystal Ship
I once saw Doors cover band Crystal Ship play at Great Adventure in New Jersey. No, I didn't have a mullet, but I can practically feel one growing as I type those words.
Twentieth Century Fox
This got some radio play because it's mildly crunchy and witlessly sexist, but it should have been left in the can.
Alabama Song (Whisky Bar)
This is more like it-- boozy, woozy cabaret with nice louche vocals. Really, they did Brecht well-- they did Brechtian horribly...
Light My Fire
Castrated for AM radio, with all the sex excised, this was still a huge hit. Which shows you just what a stroke it was...
Back Door Man
Bring back the garage-band Brecht! Pretty please.
I Looked at You
It's quite easy for even the most ardent Doors fan to forget that this song exists. It's probably even advisable that they do so.
End of the Night
You can do worse than to crib from Blake, and this, um, sustains a mood. Next.
Take it As it Comes
You could, for example, crib from the Maharishi. And "Specialize in havin' fun" doesn't exactly sustain the mood...
The End
Cut out the snake, the blue bus, and the Oedipal nonsense, and what are you left with? Seven beautiful, mournful minutes, plus an orgasm-- what could be better? It's too bad they couldn't find a better way to bring this to climax than with the mother fucking.
Friday, August 12, 2005
ROOM WITH A VIEW
The first thing that grabbed me about The Arcade Fire was this:
"But sometimes, we remember our bedrooms,
And our parents' bedrooms,
And the bedrooms of our friends."
MY BEDROOM
I had the same bedroom for the first 15 years of my life. The door didn't lock, and my dog would push it open with her nose every night to come sleep on my bed.
The inside of the closet was smeared with glow-in-the-dark paint, which in a lapse of judgment my parents had given to me one early Christmas.
When I was five or six, I got a poster of the Pals vitamins animal friends, and I would stare at it, concentrating, every night before I went to sleep. I had vivid imaginings of them coming to life and protecting me from the thing under the pillow that wanted to nibble on my fingers.
I had a wooden toy chest into which I was constantly shoveling my latest haul of baseball cards. I was not a sorter, and certainly not a preserver, but rather an amasser.
MY PARENTS' BEDROOM
My parents had two queen-size beds, which were on wheels and pushed together. If you weren't careful in navigating a move from one bed to the other, they would split apart like a stressed fault line.
My father kept Playboys in his dresser, which I uncovered in the course of some idle sick-day explorations. Several years after I made that discovery, my mom moved the magazines and stowed them under the flag that had been draped recently over my father's coffin. The flag had been folded into a tight military triangle. I don't know why she didn't just throw the Playboys out...
THE BEDROOM OF MY FRIEND
My best friend's bedroom was larger than mine, and we would use the space to spread out our shared collection of 45s. We spent long hours arguing the merits of KISS (he in favor, me opposed), witchcraft (he in favor, me opposed), and skateboarding (he in favor, me in favor, but inept). In this room, his sadistic babysitter beat him to the point of hospitalization with his own flute.
So all hail The Arcade Fire for understanding not only the power of memory, but the power of the specific locations of memory....
The first thing that grabbed me about The Arcade Fire was this:
"But sometimes, we remember our bedrooms,
And our parents' bedrooms,
And the bedrooms of our friends."
MY BEDROOM
I had the same bedroom for the first 15 years of my life. The door didn't lock, and my dog would push it open with her nose every night to come sleep on my bed.
The inside of the closet was smeared with glow-in-the-dark paint, which in a lapse of judgment my parents had given to me one early Christmas.
When I was five or six, I got a poster of the Pals vitamins animal friends, and I would stare at it, concentrating, every night before I went to sleep. I had vivid imaginings of them coming to life and protecting me from the thing under the pillow that wanted to nibble on my fingers.
I had a wooden toy chest into which I was constantly shoveling my latest haul of baseball cards. I was not a sorter, and certainly not a preserver, but rather an amasser.
MY PARENTS' BEDROOM
My parents had two queen-size beds, which were on wheels and pushed together. If you weren't careful in navigating a move from one bed to the other, they would split apart like a stressed fault line.
My father kept Playboys in his dresser, which I uncovered in the course of some idle sick-day explorations. Several years after I made that discovery, my mom moved the magazines and stowed them under the flag that had been draped recently over my father's coffin. The flag had been folded into a tight military triangle. I don't know why she didn't just throw the Playboys out...
THE BEDROOM OF MY FRIEND
My best friend's bedroom was larger than mine, and we would use the space to spread out our shared collection of 45s. We spent long hours arguing the merits of KISS (he in favor, me opposed), witchcraft (he in favor, me opposed), and skateboarding (he in favor, me in favor, but inept). In this room, his sadistic babysitter beat him to the point of hospitalization with his own flute.
So all hail The Arcade Fire for understanding not only the power of memory, but the power of the specific locations of memory....
Thursday, August 11, 2005
FEAR IS A MAN'S BEST FRIEND
The only album that ever actually frightened me? White Light/White Heat. I'm talking scared, like I couldn't listen to it for months at a stretch.
The thing just sounded like the ricketiest carnival ride in the lowest circle of hell.
Other contenders? Unknown Pleasures, I suppose. But that wasn't so much fear as a desire not to listen. Closer is glacial, antiseptic, sad, and pristine... but not scary.
Entertainment! is jittery and high strung, but probably more exhausting than frightening, when all is said and done.
There are others, I'm sure, but the dissonance that comes from that black slab tends to drown them out...
The only album that ever actually frightened me? White Light/White Heat. I'm talking scared, like I couldn't listen to it for months at a stretch.
The thing just sounded like the ricketiest carnival ride in the lowest circle of hell.
Other contenders? Unknown Pleasures, I suppose. But that wasn't so much fear as a desire not to listen. Closer is glacial, antiseptic, sad, and pristine... but not scary.
Entertainment! is jittery and high strung, but probably more exhausting than frightening, when all is said and done.
There are others, I'm sure, but the dissonance that comes from that black slab tends to drown them out...
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
SYNTH-THESIA
When it's over 90 degrees out, I need to listen to Stereolab's Velvet Water at least three times a day. Between 85 and 89, at least two times a day. Over 80, once a day. So, yeah, I guess you could say it's my summer song of choice.
If you've never heard it, I'll tell you what it sounds like: It sounds like velvet water....
When it's over 90 degrees out, I need to listen to Stereolab's Velvet Water at least three times a day. Between 85 and 89, at least two times a day. Over 80, once a day. So, yeah, I guess you could say it's my summer song of choice.
If you've never heard it, I'll tell you what it sounds like: It sounds like velvet water....
Monday, August 08, 2005
GRUESOME TWOSOME
Wait a sec, The Parent Trap came out in 1961? Does that mean the Beatles cribbed their yeah yeah yeahs from Let's Get Together? Were they equally influenced by Bill Haley and Hayley Mills? I can accept Let's Get Together as one of the most influential songs in rock history, because, hey, it's a really cool song.
It's probably more than ironic that this three word spurt, which became pop culture Morse code for parodying the Beatles in the early to mid 60s (see, oh, I don't know, Gilligan's Island, the Flintstones), would become the last words we'd hear on record from John. The way he sneers them at the end of Polythene Pam should have told anyone who was paying attention that the dream was over...
Wait a sec, The Parent Trap came out in 1961? Does that mean the Beatles cribbed their yeah yeah yeahs from Let's Get Together? Were they equally influenced by Bill Haley and Hayley Mills? I can accept Let's Get Together as one of the most influential songs in rock history, because, hey, it's a really cool song.
It's probably more than ironic that this three word spurt, which became pop culture Morse code for parodying the Beatles in the early to mid 60s (see, oh, I don't know, Gilligan's Island, the Flintstones), would become the last words we'd hear on record from John. The way he sneers them at the end of Polythene Pam should have told anyone who was paying attention that the dream was over...
Saturday, August 06, 2005
JUDGE AND JURY WALK OUT HAND IN HAND
Where was I? Oh yeah...
I'm Free
Soup Dragons improved it. There, I said it.
Don't be afraid of your freedom.
Jig-Saw Puzzle
An awkward attempt at a "message" song. And of course, the Stones being the Stones, the only part that resonates is the verse that goes on about how hard it is to be the Stones. That stuff about Keith and Brian is especially poignant...
Let it Bleed
To answer the sanctimoniousness of Let it Be with this loose piece of debauchery, well, damn, it just warms the cockles of my heart. Because "You can cum all over me" is a much better balm than "Mother Mary comes to me"...
Little T&A
Purportedly "about" sex, but this has got to be the unsexiest vocal performance in the history of recorded sound. I've got a better chance of getting hard listening to Edison sing Mary Had a Little Lamb.
Mixed Emotions
The simmering tension between Mick and Keith allowed them to cap the '80s with something that actually felt, uh, felt. And it had been a while...
Respectable
That part about talking heroin with the president? Brilliant. But then this kind if meanders. It feels like it could have been so much more, if they would have just pulled back the curtain a little further.
Silver Train
The best thing on Goat's Head Soup. Feels classic, but ultimately it's an empty vessel. And you know what that says about the rest of Goat's Head Soup...
Stray Cat Blues
Mick once claimed, much to the disbelief of an early '70's interviewer, that the end of this was influenced by Heroin (the cap aitch Velvets version, that is).
Sweet Virginia
As inspirational verses go, one can do much worse than "Got to scrape the shit right off your shoes."
Waiting on a Friend
Awww...
We Love You
In which our fair young peacocks get tossed in the jimmy, and produce a little universal-mind love poem for the faithful. But still it tickles me every time.
When the Whip Comes Down
Some Girls was talked up as the Stones "answer" to punk. Gee, what was it, Far Away Eyes? Beast of Burden? The cover of Just My Imagination? No, it was this.
You Can't Always Get What You Want
This might very well be the Stones finest, most fully realized achievement. From the Bach Choir, to the mournful French horn, to the death, frustration, and resolution, to the scream underlying the choir at the end, this works on just about every level. Supreme.
Where was I? Oh yeah...
I'm Free
Soup Dragons improved it. There, I said it.
Don't be afraid of your freedom.
Jig-Saw Puzzle
An awkward attempt at a "message" song. And of course, the Stones being the Stones, the only part that resonates is the verse that goes on about how hard it is to be the Stones. That stuff about Keith and Brian is especially poignant...
Let it Bleed
To answer the sanctimoniousness of Let it Be with this loose piece of debauchery, well, damn, it just warms the cockles of my heart. Because "You can cum all over me" is a much better balm than "Mother Mary comes to me"...
Little T&A
Purportedly "about" sex, but this has got to be the unsexiest vocal performance in the history of recorded sound. I've got a better chance of getting hard listening to Edison sing Mary Had a Little Lamb.
Mixed Emotions
The simmering tension between Mick and Keith allowed them to cap the '80s with something that actually felt, uh, felt. And it had been a while...
Respectable
That part about talking heroin with the president? Brilliant. But then this kind if meanders. It feels like it could have been so much more, if they would have just pulled back the curtain a little further.
Silver Train
The best thing on Goat's Head Soup. Feels classic, but ultimately it's an empty vessel. And you know what that says about the rest of Goat's Head Soup...
Stray Cat Blues
Mick once claimed, much to the disbelief of an early '70's interviewer, that the end of this was influenced by Heroin (the cap aitch Velvets version, that is).
Sweet Virginia
As inspirational verses go, one can do much worse than "Got to scrape the shit right off your shoes."
Waiting on a Friend
Awww...
We Love You
In which our fair young peacocks get tossed in the jimmy, and produce a little universal-mind love poem for the faithful. But still it tickles me every time.
When the Whip Comes Down
Some Girls was talked up as the Stones "answer" to punk. Gee, what was it, Far Away Eyes? Beast of Burden? The cover of Just My Imagination? No, it was this.
You Can't Always Get What You Want
This might very well be the Stones finest, most fully realized achievement. From the Bach Choir, to the mournful French horn, to the death, frustration, and resolution, to the scream underlying the choir at the end, this works on just about every level. Supreme.
Friday, August 05, 2005
IF YOU'RE ON YOUR BIKE, WEAR WHITE
And now for some random thoughts on some random Stones songs (I'm pulling these from an alphabetical list, if a pattern is apparent)...
2000 Light Years from Home
One of the few pieces of Stones psych that's worth it's weight in lysergics. And really, this one is not so much about the trippy part of the trip as the dislocation part of the trip. Which is what keeps it from floating off into the ether.
All Sold Out
Between the Buttons has had a weird history as far as public perception goes. I think initially folks felt it was just kind of minor and weird, and eventually it became admired for being minor and weird. It's actually kind of endearing after all those cocksure albums to hear the Stones a bit lost in the sheets. This is a perfect representation of that vibe.
Before They Make Me Run
"And then there's Keith, waiting for trial/25,000 bail/If he goes down/You won't hear his sound/But his friends'll carry on anyway/Fuck 'em!"
Can't You Hear Me Knockin'
I've waited in the street while my buddy stood under some dirtbag's window buying coke with money he scored by stealing his parent's credit cards. Sounds exactly like this song. Well, the first half of the song, at least-- not the wanky part.
Dead Flowers
On the train into MSG to see the Stones back in '81, some Deadhead bikers were going on about how they hoped the Stones would play this. And I was hoping to hear Have You Seen Your Mother...? Sadly, we were all terribly misguided.
Flight 505
I've always loved that Satisfaction piano riff at the opening.
Happy
Yes.
Have You Seen Your Mother, Baby, Standing in the Shadow?
What a glorious piece of skronk this is. It's a shame that they followed the line of sonic experimentation from here to Satanic Majesties-- it was not perordained that they had to take such a mundane and of-the-times turn. Perhaps part of what makes this so discordant is the fact that it is simultaneously the sound of revolutionary promise and, at least in retrospect, the sound of retreat from revolutionary promise.
It's Thursday night, and my needle is on E-- more tomorrow...
And now for some random thoughts on some random Stones songs (I'm pulling these from an alphabetical list, if a pattern is apparent)...
2000 Light Years from Home
One of the few pieces of Stones psych that's worth it's weight in lysergics. And really, this one is not so much about the trippy part of the trip as the dislocation part of the trip. Which is what keeps it from floating off into the ether.
All Sold Out
Between the Buttons has had a weird history as far as public perception goes. I think initially folks felt it was just kind of minor and weird, and eventually it became admired for being minor and weird. It's actually kind of endearing after all those cocksure albums to hear the Stones a bit lost in the sheets. This is a perfect representation of that vibe.
Before They Make Me Run
"And then there's Keith, waiting for trial/25,000 bail/If he goes down/You won't hear his sound/But his friends'll carry on anyway/Fuck 'em!"
Can't You Hear Me Knockin'
I've waited in the street while my buddy stood under some dirtbag's window buying coke with money he scored by stealing his parent's credit cards. Sounds exactly like this song. Well, the first half of the song, at least-- not the wanky part.
Dead Flowers
On the train into MSG to see the Stones back in '81, some Deadhead bikers were going on about how they hoped the Stones would play this. And I was hoping to hear Have You Seen Your Mother...? Sadly, we were all terribly misguided.
Flight 505
I've always loved that Satisfaction piano riff at the opening.
Happy
Yes.
Have You Seen Your Mother, Baby, Standing in the Shadow?
What a glorious piece of skronk this is. It's a shame that they followed the line of sonic experimentation from here to Satanic Majesties-- it was not perordained that they had to take such a mundane and of-the-times turn. Perhaps part of what makes this so discordant is the fact that it is simultaneously the sound of revolutionary promise and, at least in retrospect, the sound of retreat from revolutionary promise.
It's Thursday night, and my needle is on E-- more tomorrow...
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
RIGHT IN THE BED NEXT TO MINE
So there I was, minding my own business. The Clash had stripped the paint from the walls, the Velvets had refurnished the room, the Dolls brought a beanbag chair for the corner, X came with some warm beer, R.E.M. fashioned an abstract paper sculpture for the desk, the Pogues brought some cool books they had stolen from the library...
Then the Stones showed up out of nowhere, bearing candles, of all things. The dark and weary charms of Sticky Fingers and Exile on Main St suddenly made a whole lot of sense to me.
Yes, Brown Sugar is a strained (but invigorating) effort to offend, Wild Horses is a dull maudlin gray thing that seems like it will never end, and Sister Morphine is a terrible bore, but the rest of Sticky Fingers is drugged out, desperate, and wonderful. Songs like Sway and Moonlight Mile exist so you can have something appropriate to listen to when you're driving to 7-11 at 2 am to buy cigarettes.
Exile let in some light, but just a little, because it was sprawled out on the couch with a hangover to end all fuck.
I had grown up enough not to forgive the Stones their numerous trangressions, but rather to allow the aspects of which I will be eternally critical to coexist peaceably with the aspects for which I will be eternally grateful.
How's that for a notion of circular time?
So there I was, minding my own business. The Clash had stripped the paint from the walls, the Velvets had refurnished the room, the Dolls brought a beanbag chair for the corner, X came with some warm beer, R.E.M. fashioned an abstract paper sculpture for the desk, the Pogues brought some cool books they had stolen from the library...
Then the Stones showed up out of nowhere, bearing candles, of all things. The dark and weary charms of Sticky Fingers and Exile on Main St suddenly made a whole lot of sense to me.
Yes, Brown Sugar is a strained (but invigorating) effort to offend, Wild Horses is a dull maudlin gray thing that seems like it will never end, and Sister Morphine is a terrible bore, but the rest of Sticky Fingers is drugged out, desperate, and wonderful. Songs like Sway and Moonlight Mile exist so you can have something appropriate to listen to when you're driving to 7-11 at 2 am to buy cigarettes.
Exile let in some light, but just a little, because it was sprawled out on the couch with a hangover to end all fuck.
I had grown up enough not to forgive the Stones their numerous trangressions, but rather to allow the aspects of which I will be eternally critical to coexist peaceably with the aspects for which I will be eternally grateful.
How's that for a notion of circular time?
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
TELL ME A STORY ABOUT HOW YOU ADORE ME
My awareness of the Stones idled at a certain level of constancy throughout childhood, revving up a bit with Some Girls and maintaining some traction through Emotional Rescue.
The relationship deepened as I was transitioning out of an embarassing adolescent obsession with The Doors (Lions in the street and roaming/Dogs in heat, rabid, foaming...-- Christ, I can still knock that shit out in my sleep), and discovering punk. I developed a particular affection for Out of Our Heads and Aftermath.
The door of my cassette player was held closed with silver duct tape, and it emitted a slight click click click as the cassettes played. I would listen to I Am Waiting and Going Home late at night, with their quieter passages battling the native noise of the machine.
It was great, but something was wrong. It wasn't so much the calculated efforts to shock that began to trouble me, but rather the more casual misogyny. I had realized that a shitheel was not what I was, and this seemed to be the perfect soundtrack for being a shitheel...
My awareness of the Stones idled at a certain level of constancy throughout childhood, revving up a bit with Some Girls and maintaining some traction through Emotional Rescue.
The relationship deepened as I was transitioning out of an embarassing adolescent obsession with The Doors (Lions in the street and roaming/Dogs in heat, rabid, foaming...-- Christ, I can still knock that shit out in my sleep), and discovering punk. I developed a particular affection for Out of Our Heads and Aftermath.
The door of my cassette player was held closed with silver duct tape, and it emitted a slight click click click as the cassettes played. I would listen to I Am Waiting and Going Home late at night, with their quieter passages battling the native noise of the machine.
It was great, but something was wrong. It wasn't so much the calculated efforts to shock that began to trouble me, but rather the more casual misogyny. I had realized that a shitheel was not what I was, and this seemed to be the perfect soundtrack for being a shitheel...
Monday, August 01, 2005
IT IS THE EVENING OF THE DAY
My first memory of the Rolling Stones? Breaking the zipper on my sister's copy of Sticky Fingers. And around about the same time, my next door neighbor Mitchell and his garage band murdered Brown Sugar every weekend. Sounded like the tin-pan rattle in heaven's kitchen to me.
A few months ago I was driving my son to his art class, and Jumpin' Jack Flash came on the radio. "What's that gas gas gas song daddy?" he asked, and I wished I had an easy answer.
Because, you see, it's very complicated...
My first memory of the Rolling Stones? Breaking the zipper on my sister's copy of Sticky Fingers. And around about the same time, my next door neighbor Mitchell and his garage band murdered Brown Sugar every weekend. Sounded like the tin-pan rattle in heaven's kitchen to me.
A few months ago I was driving my son to his art class, and Jumpin' Jack Flash came on the radio. "What's that gas gas gas song daddy?" he asked, and I wished I had an easy answer.
Because, you see, it's very complicated...
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