GIFTED AND TALENTED

Listened to Thunder, Lightning, Strike all the way through today, and, you know, there's not a duff track on there.

I suspect it's pretty much the mid-aughties version of Odelay, and will sound in the teens as artifactual as Beck does today.

But the shit/giggle factor is mighty high, so that's OK.

Now, just back away from the E-meter slowly, Go! Team kids...

HILLY

Tonight I will wear my CBGB shirt to bed.

I will dream about a bowl of Kix and a bowl of Trix.

And in that dream, I will dump the Kix in the trash.

And I will eat the Trix straight, no milk.

A transistor radio on the kitchen counter will crackle with something dumb from the ‘70s, like Paper Lace.

The bowl of Trix will shake perceptibly, and maybe a red Trix will hop over an orange Trix.

First I will be a little scared, and then I will smile.

Tonight I will wear my CBGB shirt to bed.

EN EM AITCH

My daughter was looking over my eBay watch list the other day.

She skimmed past the usual suspects-- Be@rbricks, 1971 Mets' cards in NM-MT condition, 7” singles-- and stopped at one particular item.

“What's that?”

It was a drawing by Jeff Mangum.

I explained how much I wanted one, but told her that the last one I saw sold for over $400.

“Can I see it closer?”

She put her elbows on the desk, pushed her nose toward the monitor, and considered the drawing.

“Is it so popular because he can draw like a kid?”

That's it exactly, dear. Exactly.

A HABIT THAT STICKS

Maya Arulpragasam.

I feel like I should smoke a cigarette after just saying her name...

UN CHIEN

The morning of the Styx/Foreigner/Def Lep show, I awoke with a nagging compulsion to listen to Debaser.

I think it was precautionary, kind of like dousing yourself with a thick coat of mosquito spray before you go frogging in a swamp.

I don't claim to be the biggest Pixies fan ever, but there are times when I'm convinced that Debaser is the greatest motherfucking song in the world...

HUDDLE FORMATION

Just bought five tickets for The Go! Team show on Halloween eve.

[Pointing hands out and wiggling fingers slowly] "Don't suck, Proof of Youth. Donnnnn't suuucccck..."

ROCK OF AGES

Here's the musical scorecard for the Styx/Foreigner/Def Lep extravaganza.

We got stuck in some commuter traffic out on 66, so we missed most of Styx. I heard Renegade rolling down a hill as I got my ticket scanned, but by the time I hit my seat, they were winding up with who knows what.

Foreigner, of course, opened with their customary cover of Throbbing Gristle's 20 Jazz Funk Greats, then changed things up a bit with a sweet version of Dennis Wilson's Pacific Ocean Blues. And then came the hits: Bran Barn Rabble, The Entire, Pop a Tremolo, Busty Clog Hop, Pincer Snare... well, hell, you know them all! They encored with John Cage's Atlas Eclipticalis, as the lighter flames swayed in the Virginia gloaming.

The Lep came on and rocked a mean Pop Goes the Weasel, segueing right into The Wheels on the Bus. The woman next to me nearly pissed her pants when Joe Elliott took off his jacket to reveal a sleeveless Union Jack t-shirt, and bellowed so loud they could hear him in Birmingham: “His name is my name too! John! Jacob! Jingleheimer! Schmiiiiiiiiiddddddt!” I have to admit, it was a pretty electric moment.

So for these of you haters who think the Rock is dead, well, the Nissan Pavilion had a response for you last Friday:

Not by a long shot, mister. Not by a long shot...

FOOLING YOURSELF

But the reality is that I was cringing that night just as much at myself as I was at my surroundings.

Because the people at the concert were good people.

They hugged, they high-fived, they exchanged brief biographies. They told each other where they had been, where they were now, and where they were going.

They danced, and I sat in my seat and thumped the knee of my pants in rhythm every now and again.

Feeling superior and inferior, amid an untroubled crowd...

IN CONCERT

Yes, I felt out of place.

And when you get right down to it, I think it was the complete and utter lack of irony that made me feel like an alien.

I mean, there was not a quotation mark in the house.

A woman near me lectured her boyfriend that he had to get over the affair she had with his brother back in 1991, and “stop living in the past.”

Um, you might want to check your ticket stub there, miss…

HARD TO BELIEVE SUCH A CALAMITY

The first rock concert I ever saw was Aerosmith.

It was the tail end of their first wave, I was 14 or 15, and my brother gave me a couple of joints to smoke at the show. A life of unvarnished cool was surely ahead.

A year or so later, I found myself at Nassau Coliseum, sitting center stage but a mile back, for the Paradise Theater tour. I even walked away from the show with a black-sleeved Styx baseball shirt.

Cool, it seems, would prove to be a slippery fish.

I'll be sure to let you know how tomorrow's Styx/Foreigner/Def Leppard show goes...

THIS BOY CAN REALLY FLY

An e-mail dialogue between a lifelong Mets' fan and a lifelong Yankees' fan, on the death of Phil Rizzuto...

Mets: Holy cow. The Scooter died.
Yankees: Makes me sad for some reason.
Mets: Me too. I think for us it kind of ends an era that actually ended 20 years ago.
Yankees: Yeah, it's my childhood.

RIP Scooter. RIP Pix. RIP Lindsey Nelson. RIP Murph. RIP WOR.

RIP childhood. RIP...

COME ON, BABY, YOU CAN DO MORE THAN DANCE

See, the thing of it is, it's not even the real Styx and Foreigner.

They both have some Rock-Star-Supernova-Mark-Wahlberg-I-grew-up-on-their-music-man Dennis DeYoung/Lou Gramm manque swinging the mike.

As if Lawrence Gowan could truly INHABIT Kilroy. As if Kelly Hansen could play more than adequate head games...

The Lep, it must be said, are still mostly intact.

LONG NIGHTS, IMPOSSIBLE ODDS

Yesterday I received an exceedingly kind, surpassingly generous, and completely nonironic invitation to a Styx/Foreigner/Def Leppard concert this Friday.

Not sure what to do with this one.

I mean, I'm curious to see what type of crowd a triple bill like this draws in 2007. But I'm also a little frightened.

Seriously...

UNTITLED

As a writer (and I mean that in the sense of “one who writes things down,” inclusive of shopping lists, epic novels, pie recipes, etc.), I find myself on rare occasions having written something that I actually kind of like.

For example, in that song about Russ Tamblyn, I had a strong initial reaction to seeing this part written out: “The damp concrete/Smells like birdseed/So the starlings circle idly/With open bills.”

My practice when I write anything that resonates with me is to then read it over in my head semi-obsessively, until I finally hate it. I then assign a level of merit based on just how long it took for me to hate it.

So, if you see me skip a day of posting, there’s a good chance it’s because I’m still working on developing a healthy enmity for all or part of the previous post…

MONSTER

Here's a little song I wrote while the kids dried off from their baths tonight.

The Green and the Brown

Russ Tamblyn's got stories
About War of the Gargantuas,

And I am waiting on a platform
For a train to take me to him.

The damp concrete
Smells like birdseed

So the starlings circle idly
With open bills.

Yeah, Russ Tamblyn's got stories
About War of the Gargantuas,

The memory of bounced checks
And bowls of sticky rice.

Day-for-night shots
And Toho backlots

Kumi Mizuno weeping
For Nick Adams.

Oh, Russ Tamblyn's got stories
Russ Tamblyn's got stories
Russ Tamblyn's got stories
Russ Tamblyn's got stories
Russ Tamblyn's got stories
Russ Tamblyn's got stories
Russ Tamblyn's got stories
Russ Tamblyn's got stories...

SINGLES 45 AND UNDER

I decided on a sudden today that I'm going to start a small collection of 45s.

I will wrap them in plastic outer sleeves, and keep them all in a nice little box.

Fortunately, a lot of my favorite bands cater to this kind of object fetishism, so I won't need to start listening to Balkan death metal or pretending I actually like Sigur Ros or anything as drastic as all that...

SO HOLOGRAMIC

1. Life! It's a Shame, Gang of Four
The purity of GoF's downward trajectory was almost admirable. They're at about 3000 ft here, and the ground is getting rapidly closer...

2. Loose Translation, The New Pornographers
I like my New Pornographers' tracks to go doodle doodle doodle. This one only goes doodle doodle...

3. United States of Surrealism, Turn On
A Stereolab/High Llamas side project. Look, I know I have a problem, but I swear I'm getting help.

4. TVC 15, David Bowie
If you can possibly withstand that “Oh oh oh oh oh” stuff at the beginning, you just don't know your robot. And shame on you for it...

5. Helen of Troy, John Cale
A “shiny, shiny” that lies somewhere between Venus in Furs and Hayse Fantayzee. That's some pretty fucked up real estate right there...

SINGLE OF THE WEEK

The one thing I did pick up at Plan 9 was a two-disc comp called CD86.

It’s a survey of the C86 movement that flowered briefly in the UK back in the mid 80s.

The whole movement was actually named after a cassette that the NME gave away back in 1986.

Near as I can tell, there’s not a unified field theory for this one, but I hear a lot of jangly guitars and seriousness of intent/purpose that tilts my head Athens-ward.

I bought it new for a little less than $25, which for 50 or so songs feels like a bargain.

It also feels like a bargain because there are so many bands I don’t really know.

Bands I do know, at least a little:
Primal Scream, June Brides, BMX Bandits, Talulah Gosh, Television Personalities, JAMC, Primitives, PWEI, Wedding Present, Age of Chance, Half Man Half Biscuit, Darling Buds, Pooh Sticks, Soup Dragons, McCarthy, Mighty Lemon Drops, Pastels

Bands I’m pretty sure I don’t know at all:
Hurrah, Loft, East Village, Servants, Another Sunny Day, Sea Urchins, Siddeleys, Boy Hairdressers, Hit Parade, Weather Prophets, Mighty Mighty, Dentists, Razorcuts, Bodines, Raw Herbs, Laugh, Jasmine Minks, Fizzbombs, Fourteen Iced Bears, Close Lobsters, Meat Whiplash, Bachelor Pad

It’s probably not all great, but it’s an education…

I CAN EVEN FIND IT IN MY HEART TO LOVE MIKE LOVE

1. Un Secret Sans Importance, Monade
Thank you Norman Conquest, for making me feel intelligent enough to actually understand what that title means. Vive le rock!

2. Misty Morning, Albert Bridge, The Pogues
Last night as I laid in bed and fought and fought to fall asleep, I had the urge to listen to this album. So I'm glad the iPod came through with a piece of it...

3. Downs, Big Star
When Alex Chilton turned into a hot mess...

4. Navigator, The Pogues
OK, another Pogues track had me rushing to their Web site to see if Shane had fallen down a well or something. (“What's that, iPod? You say Shane's in trouble?”) The kick in the pants is that I see Phil Chevron has throat cancer, and has taken a medical leave from the band. Peace and love to you, brother.

5. Funky Pretty, The Beach Boys
“What's that iPod? You say the Beach Boys are in trouble?”

LIVING THROUGH ANOTHER CUBE

The best part of "Gleaming the Cube" is about three minutes in, when skate-rat 47 says to skate-rat 3 "Gleam that cube, man!"

Um, yeah. Fuck yeah.