Friday, June 30, 2006

LED IT BE

For some mysterious reason, preset number 4 on the satrad has been stuck on a classic rock station all week. I tried switching it to old-school hip-hop, I tried switching it to whatever the hell the determinedly eclectic station is called, but no dice.

It's made for an average of one amusing moment per day. And yesterday it was What Is and What Should Never Be, that mockjestic Zep text rimed with the hoarfrost of 35 stoned winters...

Sure, it's got a castle, and a trip way up high in the sky.

But the best thing bar none is that channel-jumping riff that precedes the gong. And oh yeah, the gong...

Fucking hilarious.

Thursday, June 29, 2006

RIBBON

It’s the rock and roll Goldilocks equation.

Some bands are too big. (How the fuck did Stone Temple Pilots ever sell 17 million albums?)

Some are too small. (Why the fuck didn’t The Pixies sell 17 million albums?)

And some are juuuuusssst right.

Superchunk was juuuuusssst right...

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

YOU KNOW I'M ALRIGHT NOW

Guilty pleasure

Feelin' Stronger Every Day— Chicago

Chicago was as doomed from the point of conception as poor Tristram Shandy, what with all that incessant cocking about with Got to Get You Into My Life horns. I mean, sweet muted Jesus, of all the Beatles tangents on which to base a career...

But this one crackles with so much winter-into-spring, got-to-tape-it-off-the-radio energy, that for 4:14 you forgive the soulless bastards.

Especially that part where the tempo shifts and gets all metronomic and in your face.

Nyah-nyah-nyah...

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

WOMEN OF THE WORLD

I pulled out Jim O’Rourke’s Eureka to play for some friends as we navigated our way to Georgetown for lunch last week.

“He’s a post-rockin’ genius!” I exclaimed, with two parts enthusiasm, one part consciousness that they were staring at the CD cover of a rotund bald dude coyly hiding his genitalia behind a stuffed rabbit.

What I didn’t mention was that O’Rourke’s version of Women of the World was the soundtrack to my daughter’s birth...

It was around 11:30 pm on May 29, 1999 when my wife went into labor. We tiptoed out of our bedroom, each tipping of her toe punctuated by a heavy breath.

Her parents were visiting from Japan and sleeping on the floor in the living room, and as we stepped out the sliding door, her mother lifted her head slightly and watched us exit into the darkness.

It was a Saturday night, but the Long Island Expressway was uncharacteristically serene and cooperative. We made it to the hospital in about 30 minutes.

Our daughter was born—quivering, beautiful, and from another world— at 6:47 am on Sunday morning. My wife’s blood pressure spiked right after the delivery, so she was moved to critical care as a precaution.

For the next three days I shuttled back and forth from the house to the hospital, bringing visitors and gifts.

In quiet moments, I held my daughter to my chest, and brushed the hair from my wife’s forehead with my fingers.

And as I drove up and down the Expressway for those three days, I listened to Women of the World almost exclusively.

“Women of the world, take over, for if you don’t the world will come to an end, and it won’t take long...”

Monday, June 26, 2006

CYCLONE RANGER

I know just enough Japanese to titter whenever I read about Asobi Seksu...

Titter.

Friday, June 23, 2006

I SAY A LITTLE PRAYER

Epic, window-rattling, twig-snapping, biblical thunderstorms last night.

Dionne Warwick, Her All-Time Greatest Hits today.

Ahhh...

Thursday, June 22, 2006

WE LOVE YOU P5!

I love this dagblasted video...


Pizzicato Five-- Twiggy, Twiggy

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

WHAT WOULD I DO TO BELIEVE?

So here I sit, a committed agnostic. And yet, I am drawn to faith...

The woman I love is a devout and lifelong Buddhist, and I am warmed to see my children kneel before her altar and chant.

My mother, after many years in retrograde, has returned to the very church that I abandoned on that long-ago Christmas Eve, and I find myself encouraging her to attend.

And as long as they do not proselytize too aggressively, I connect very well with folks like Sufjan and Stuart Murdoch. Committed Christians.

I guess that the mystery inside me never truly died away...

Monday, June 19, 2006

ANGELS WE HAVE HEARD ON HIGH

The last time I attended a church service was the Christmas Eve when I was 15.

It was the first time that I recall incense being incorporated into the ceremony. The priest slathered it on until the elderly portion of the congregation was clasping wrinkled silk handkerchiefs to their collective noses. The elongated vowels of Gloria in Excelsis Deo competed with brisk, spirited coughing.

It all seemed so absurd at that moment, in the special unvarnished way that things seem absurd when you’re 15.

I excused myself from my mother’s side and slipped out the front door. I walked the mile and a half home in a damp cool midnight, with still-white streetlamps throwing large dots of light across the periodic darkness. It was peaceful— Christmas Eve peaceful— and all I heard was the faint hum of mystery dying inside me...

Friday, June 16, 2006

CUT LOOSE LIKE A DEUCE

A little Friday rock math...

Oh! Sweet Nuthin' + Blinded By the Light = How a Resurrection Really Feels

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

I AIN’T GOT NO PAPERS ON MYSELF

I periodically spin on my chair to open a drawer and catch my eye wandering out of my sixth-floor window to the green below, where more and more people gather in shirt sleeves to eat, smoke, sun, and gab.

For the last couple of days I’ve played nothing but the Francis Albert Sinatra & Antonio Carlos Jobim CD, in an effort to bring a little outdoors indoors...

Monday, June 12, 2006

DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC?

I spent a couple of hours yesterday scouring the perimeter of the Wolf Trap parking lot, hunting for bottle caps with my three-year old son.

We got a good three-year old’s handful, some shiny and pristine, some rusted, nicked, and flattened.

At one point, I picked up a discarded ticket stub from the New Cars/Blondie Road Rage Tour. I showed it to my son, who threw it on the ground with quick disdain.

“That’s not a bottle cap, silly!”

Rock on, Sebastian. Rock the fuck on...

Friday, June 09, 2006

LITTLE T&A

OK, I have to confess that I'm not above tittering at the fact that El Perro del Mar is the nom de rock of someone named Sarah Assbring.

Damn, who am I kidding-- I'm not even above tittering at the word “tittering”...

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

BECAUSE THE NIGHT

I got home on Monday a little after midnight, in time to see Larry play on national TV.

Sweet.

But damn, The Tonight Show sucks so hard it's in real danger of turning itself inside out.

Good to be back...