CRAZY WAY OF LOVING

My buddy brain coral posited the other day that only every other track on Merriweather Post Pavillion is strong.

I call this kind of album a Saberhagen, in honor of former MLB pitcher Bret Saberhagen. He had a knack at the beginning of his career for doing poorly in even-numbered years while excelling in the odd ones:

1984: 10-11
1985: 20-6
1986: 7-12
1987: 18-10
1988: 14-16
1989: 23-6
1990: 5-9
1991: 13-8

Man, there’s something damn near poetic/heroic about that pattern…

OM

Here's a good way to spend 41:29 this weekend...

STORM FRONT

Taeko wanted me to download some music from YouTube for her, maybe burn a CD.

She sent me links to 5 or 6 videos by a group called Arashi.

Which is, um, a Japanese boy band of some sort. One of Johnny's group, she told me.

Apparently, “Johnny” is a Japanese boy-band impresario without peer. Grows them like fungi, does Johnny.

-OK, are you crushing on one of these guys?

She pointed to the one in the pink sweater.

I mocked her half-heartedly, to appease the small sampling of jealousy I felt.

But more than anything, I was excited. It was so out of character that I was just damn excited...

TODAY OR NEXT YEAR

of Montreal does a version of Broadcast's Colour Me In that's pretty non-essential, but it illustrates their shared predilection for sweet sticky things dipped in weird crunchy coatings.

Come back, Broadcast. I miss you.

IN THUNDER CLOUDS ABOVE THE CITY

I spent Valentine's Day at a wedding in Terrace on the Park, overlooking the last remnants of Shea Stadium.

And while we poked at lemon sherbet and pondered the dessert tables, Shea girded itself for destruction.

The final piece came down today.

TIME WON'T GIVE ME TIME

Man, the present can be tiring, but the past is just goddam exhausting...

MAN GAVE NAMES

I have long admired the ability of the Japanese to name the living fuck out of shit.

My favorite chocolate bar? Why, Crunky, of course.

But even I was blown away by this band name I came across while watching Music Station the other day: ladies and gentlemen, I give you... flumpool.

Wow. Just, wow.

ROSIN UP YOUR BOW AND PLAY YOUR FIDDLE HARD

IT'S THE BEGINNING OF A NEW AGE

I'm a peaceful guy. Honest I am.

That being said, everyone involved with The Last Mimzy needs to get head punched.

That includes you, Dwight from The Office...

SPROING

Spring is disco, art history, and punk rock, neatsfoot oil and mended hearts.

It was in the air today, and it felt good...

ANGER IS AN ENERGY

Injustice tears at Sebastian.

He’s probably too young for me to call him noble, exactly, but it’s something close.

If he feels that I have slighted his mother or his sister even a little, he lets me know about it. I shoved Taeko gently the other day, in response to some cardio-kick moves that she had laid on me. Sebastian rose quietly from his chair, circled the perimeter of the table, and without an immediate word, started pushing me.

“How do you like it? Is it funny?” He was in a heat, but I wouldn’t call it a rage. He really wanted an answer.

And lest you think it’s all Oedipal, he will spring with equal zeal to the defense of total strangers. I once made fun of an abstract someone, and he tried to turn around and do the same to me.

“How do you like it? Is it funny?”

I think he’s always a little surprised by my response:

“Thank you, Sebastian. Thank you.”

Injustice tears at Sebastian, and it always will…

TWO TIX TO PARADISE

I have two St. Patrick's Day Pogues tickets up for auction, starting at $150 for the pair, and I haven't seen a bid yet.

Not sure if this is a product of the economic collapse, or a result of my sacrilegious hucksterism.

See, in the item description, I kinda sorta compared seeing the Pogues on St. Patrick's Day to seeing Jesus on Christmas...

WHAT A GOOD PLACE TO BE

Something that I've been listening to recently has got me thinking about Happy Hour by The Housemartins, but I can't for the life of me place what it is...

ORGANIC ADDICT

I have a new analogy for when something is really common and easy to find: "Like an Obama bumper sticker on a Prius in a Whole Foods parking lot."

As in: "Dang, new-home prices continue to freefall in the face of an ongoing economic collapse. Those things are like an Obama bumper sticker on a Prius in a Whole Foods parking lot at this point."

Haven't had a chance to debut it formally yet, but I'm just biding my time...

FALL ON SLOUGH

Prerecorded Conference Call Dude: Now entering the conference. You are the --- 10th --- caller.

Me: [Pause] Awesome! I'm the 10th caller. Do I win the REO Speedwagon tickets?

Other 9 Callers: [Laughter]

David Brent, bitches! What?

WE'RE DEDICATED TO OUR FAVORITE SHOWS

The kids had a sleepover last night, and this morning I was reporting the day's weather forecast to the whole gang.

-Snow. One to four inches.

-Snow!?

Sebastian was down with it. But Amity was skeptical.

-You can't believe everything you see on TV, you know.

Dang, that is one media-savvy kid right there.

-Because cartoons aren't real.

OK, I still think she's media savvy...

LUCKY NUMBER

Reasons why I'm a suspect father, part 12:

-I don't always correct malaprops if I think they are cute and/or amusing.

So yes, Sebastian's kindergarten teacher, I have had the opportunity to tell him that the machine for performing simple calculations is not called a “conculator.”

But, dammit, I just can't bring myself to do it...

PLEASING PEOPLE IS SO PREDICTABLE

In my dreams, Danielson is Daniel.

I went to college with Daniel. We were both English majors, and we met in an intermediate Spanish class that was eight leagues over our heads.

Daniel wrote ornate and out-of-time poetry with his sister. He had a quick defensive sense of humor, and punctuated perhaps too many conversations with a braying, nasally laugh. He was kind and gentle, and did not have a social clue.

I’ve read enough biographical information to know that Danielson is not actually Daniel.

But in my dreams, Danielson is Daniel…

InAUGURation

America, 1/20/09

LIVING PROOF AT MY FINGERTIPS

Today is our 16th wedding anniversary.

The traditional gift for number 16 is silver holloware.

I… don’t know what that is.

Maybe this will cover it.

I love you, Tae-chan.

WHEN IT'S COLD I'D LIKE TO DIE

OK, Winter. I like you. Honest I do.

But single-digit temperatures? I'm not with that.

Get your shit together, 'K?

A DODGY TRANSFORMER

Dear Santa,
I realize it's a little late, but
All I Want for Christmas is a Dukla Prague Away Kit...

Peace and cookies,
sliced tongue

VENE VIDA VICI

OK, so apparently there's one thing you can't avoid when you're shopping for a new suit: fucking Coldplay.

And Coldplay corrodes my civility-- their middlebrowbeating actually makes me angry. They should really stop doing whatever the hell it is that they're doing exactly.

I still don't have a suit, and I blame them...

OH, THE WATER

Some nights, taking a bath with your six-year old son can feel like an act of pure defiance...

CRACKING MY SWEET LOVE

Things I know about Skeletal Lamping:

-My obsession with Hissing Fauna made it tough for Skeletal Lamping to gain a foothold with me initially. It’s sort of like when Stereolab followed Dots and Loops with Cobra and Phases.
-Like Cobra and Phases, Skeletal Lamping is three or four songs too long. Not sure which ones just yet.
-The fact that I don’t have a set of those mad vinyl stickers on my office wall still baffles me. I stare at empty off-white space each day, and it mocks me. Soon, my Capri Coast OC-87, friend. Soon.
-Taeko says it sounds like David Bowie. She’s convinced I have some latent David Bowie fixation. I swear I don’t. Oh, BTW, Happy Birthday, David Bowie!
-The last two minutes of Nonpareil of Favor is pretty much bliss on a stick.

CENSORED FROM OUR MINDS

One of the albums I downloaded from Amazon was Aftermath.

The American version was my favorite Stones disc when I was 15 or 16, and I’ve always been curious about the UK version.

Back in the 60s, American labels had a nasty habit of altering the track listings of domestic releases by bands like the Beatles and the Stones. They would pull off UK tracks for release as stateside singles, or eventually bundle a bunch of orphaned tracks together to create US-only compilations.

The Beatles loved this practice so much that they resorted to fake dead babies to make a point:



Here are the respective tracklists for the US and UK versions of Aftermath, with original album sides just for kicks:

US version:

Side one
1.Paint It, Black
2.Stupid Girl
3.Lady Jane
4.Under My Thumb
5.Doncha Bother Me
6.Think

Side two
1.Flight 505
2.High and Dry
3.It's Not Easy
4.I Am Waiting
5.Goin' Home

UK version:

Side one
1.Mother's Little Helper
2.Stupid Girl
3.Lady Jane
4.Under My Thumb
5.Doncha Bother Me
6.Goin' Home

Side two
1.Flight 505
2.High and Dry
3.Out of Time
4.It's Not Easy
5.I Am Waiting
6.Take It or Leave It
7.Think
8.What to Do

So the UK version has the US version beat on sheer volume. (Out of Time, Take It or Leave It, and What to Do would later appear on Flowers and More Hot Rocks.)

The US got Paint It, Black (and, yes, the, Stones, were, as, surprised, as, anyone, by, that, interloping, comma) over an alternate mix of Mother’s Little Helper, which I’ll call a wash.

And both the UK and the US got a gobsmacking amount of misogyny. It is truly a thing of wonder to hear Stupid Girl (“She’s the sickest thing in this world…”) turn into Lady Jane (“I pledge my troth to Lady Jane…”), and then end up Under My Thumb (“The way she does just what she’s told…).

Angry much, boys?

My favorite part of the US version has always been the way it ends, with I Am Waiting and Goin’ Home, so the original UK sequencing is going to take some getting used to.

The next Stones album after Aftermath was Between the Buttons, and this was the last time the UK and US releases differed. The UK edition contained Back Street Girl and Please Go Home, which were replaced in the US with the double-sided single tracks, Let’s Spend the Night Together and Ruby Tuesday. (Back Street Girl and Please Go Home ended up on Flowers.)

And thus ends today’s archeological dig…

MP GARDEN

Allow me a brief moment to pimp for one billion-dollar corporation in favor of another and recommend Amazon's MP3 downloads over iTunes.

The selection is pretty first rate, and it appears that all the files are encoded at 256 kbps, as opposed to iTunes' typical 128. (iTunes+ my ass.)

And at least for the moment, they're making an effort to undercut iTunes pricing as well. Last time I checked, you could score the most-recent Cut Copy, M83, Hold Steady, Fleet Foxes, TV On the Radio, Beck, Vampire Weekend, Santogold, and Byrne/Eno for exactly $5 a pop.

Chugalug.

TWO THOUSAND AND NINE

It struck me a few weeks ago that I can no longer really tell 1995 from 2005. Time is starting to bend back around like a sled rail, and the years are beginning to loop.

So welcome 2009. Or 1999. Or 1989. Whatever.

FF 2008

So, Pitchfork gave album of the year to Fleet Foxes.

I like foxes. They're cute.

I like fleet. The adjective. Not the naval formation or the enema so much.

But Fleet Foxes kind of bore me. Like The Band or honking something.

I can't claim to have a cinemascopic view of 2008, but I'm going to stick with Nouns by No Age as my top pick...

TRAILER-LA-LA-LA

Um, yeah, OK. So it turns out the “dudes getting' facials” song was not actually Gay-Porn Country.

I had to do some digging to figure this out, though.

See, the singer's name is Brad Paisley. Which is really a perfect name for a Gay-Porn Country star, when you get right down to it.

The title of the song? “I'm Still a Guy.” Again, Gay-Porn Country gold.

But then the rest of the lyrics give it away. I mean, here's the opening couplet:

“When you see a deer you see Bambi,
And I see antlers up on the wall.”

So it appears this is from the more familiar Dumbfuck White-Trash Redneck Country genre.

Apologies for the mixup, y'all.

MINI PEARLS

I was one lane over from a white pickup truck yesterday, when I heard this blarin’ from a cracked window: “There’s dudes gettin’ facials…”

The light changed before I could hear any more than this g-droppin’ snippet.

But my wonderin’ ears were delighted to have happened upon a genre that I ain’t never encountered before: Gay-Porn Country.

I mean, I am got-dagblasted proud to be livin’ in a nation that is so all-fire inclusive and open-minded as to welcome this particular style of music into its Fords and Chevys. I’m wipin’ a tear from my eye.

Bravo, ‘Merica. Bra-feckin'-vo.

LISTEN TO THE SILENCE

I shitcanned the Sirius today, after three years of service.

The display on my car receiver bit the dust several months ago. I found out that my unit was obsolete, and if I wanted to replace it, I'd need to install new rigging along with the new radio.

This sealed the deal for me. I'm not about to get stuck on a hardware upgrade/replacement merry-go-round, particularly for the sake of a pay service.

Things I liked about Sirius:
-Initial exposure to some good bands: Arcade Fire, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, No Age, etc.
-Genre/era immersion. In a 70s mood? Got you covered.
-Lack of commercials.
-24-hour Rolling Stones channel.
-Andrew Loog Oldham, for that matter.
-The artist/title scroll.
-2008 Dolphins football.

Things I didn't like about Sirius:
-Crap bands like Klaxons.
-Classic rock immersion. In a Kansas mood? Seriously? Are you? What the fuck is wrong with you, anyway?
-Heard Stereolab once in the entire three years. Neon Beanbag. Last week.
-24-hour AC/DC channel. That's 12 hours of AC, and 12 hours of DC. Sorry, the catalogue just does not warrant that kind of coverage.
-Bandwidth compression. They might as well be broadcasting in mono.
-2007 Dolphins football.

Things that left me nonplussed about Sirius:
-Mediocre bands, too numerous to mention.
-Disc jockeys. The discs don't need no jockeying when you got the artist/title scroll.
-24-hour Bruce Springsteen channel. I suppose.
-XM merger. Meh.

I'm enough of a milestone junkie to be a little saddened that it's over.

Good luck, satrad. I think you'll be needing it...

IN THIS EVER CHANGING WORLD IN WHICH WE LIVE IN

Why “I want to go to there” is not a catchphrase sweeping the nation, I just don’t know.

The asses who like to spout catchphrases should be exhausted by now with spouting this.

It’s like a prime-period Wings song: simpleminded and syntactically wobbly, but with an economical genius that will make it stick in your head for weeks on end.

Go to 4:15 here for an example...

D&D

Last week I downloaded the four Derek and the Dominoes songs that I like: Bell Bottom Blues, Why Does Love Got to Be So Sad, Little Wing, and Layla. That's a magisterially fecked up collection of tunes right there.

And as an added bonus, the iPod truncates the album title as follows: Layla and Other Ass.

Which might be a more accurate title, when you get right down to it...

HOLA

And forgive me if those 10 “chapter” entries were deca WTF. I was serializing the opening of my micro-novel, Halo.

The micro-novel is designed to be a quick jolt of a story-- maybe 50 to 75 chapters that you could take down in an hour-- with lots of silent spaces and nooks.

So, the disappearing telephone wires in Chapter 1 could bring to mind broken conversations. And the selected voice (“would stretch out”) could add to that sense of disconnectedness. And/or the scene could be meant to convey a dark, overcast early fall afternoon.

Mind you, I wouldn't argue with the position that the enterprise to date is a complete and abject failure.

But fuck, points for trying, right?

IT'S A MIGHTY LONG WAY DOWN ROCK AND ROLL

I just went from DC to Detroit, Detroit to South Bend, South Bend to Detroit, Detroit to Memphis, and Memphis to DC, with some driving from South Bend back into Michigan, and from Memphis into Mississippi. In the span of 36 hours.

Before I left, I dropped a certain song on my iPod. It was like filling a canteen with water.

So as the bell rang on board my last leg this afternoon, I plugged in my earphones and listened to All the Way From Memphis by Mott the Hoople.

I was slaked, and I made it home alive...

CHAPTER 10

[They stood in the wide entryway for a brief moment, coronal silhouettes.

Kin peeked over the edge of the carriage, and pushed a silent puff of air past his lips.

They walked into the garage.

-Motherfucker. Stupid motherfucker!

-What? I told you.

-Yeah, you told me. And that makes it better somehow?

-We still have 120. We'll get two with 120. I called before I left.

-So he's going to meet us?

-Yeah, in like an hour. In the sump.

-OK.

They dropped their Marlboro red boxes on the narrow concrete shelf that jutted out where the plasterboard wall ended.

This was Kin's older brother Ray, and his friend Sarge from over on Brown.

Ray flipped the top of a Zippo open with one hand, dropped it down to his side, then scraped it up along his pant leg so that it lit. Then he closed the top and did it again.

Sarge pulled a shuriken out of the soft, camel-brown wall and stepped back five or six feet. He released it quickly, the action mostly from his wrist, and the shuriken entered the wall with a powdery thud.

-To Oz?

-To Oz.

They collected their cigarettes from the shelf and walked back outside, bringing the garage door down behind them.

And it was once again dark.]

CHAPTER 9

-Not the moors again.

-Yup.

-Fuck.

-Tell me about it. I always think you're going to turn into Kate Bush or something.

-Or Emily Bronte?

-Yeah, or Emily Bronte. You know, raven tressed, storm tossed, consumptive...

-What is consumption, anyway? TB?

-Christ, I'm not sure really. But yeah, I think it's TB. Personally I like it.

-You like it?

-Not the disease-- the name. The idea of being consumed by a disease.

-Well, you're a sick fuck.

-And thank you kindly, ma'am.

CHAPTER 8

His name was not really Kin, but she thought it fit, and it rhymed with hers.

Her name was Gin, but not like the juniper-berry drink. She'd say

-Gin, same as “gun” except with an I instead of a U.

She liked how the vowels would masquerade as pronouns. It felt confrontational, even if she was the only one who ever noticed. Especially if she was the only one who noticed...

CHAPTER 7

-We are out on the moors, Kin. We are out on the moors.

-No, we're in the car.

-We are out on the moors. We are out on the moors. We are out on the moors.

-We are in the car.

-We are out on the moors. We are out on the moors. We are out on the moors, Kin. We are out on the moors.

-No.

And then she returned.

CHAPTER 6

[There was a baby carriage in the back of the garage, dark blue and canopied, with 5” wheels and a wobbly suspension. It was empty by then, but for years it had been filled with bundles of old newspapers, wrapped portrait and landscape in twine.

They huddled together bottomless in that carriage in the dark garage. Inside the house his father drank Champale and groped his mother's tits at the kitchen table. His mother practiced a Chopin nocturne on her knee in an effort not to notice.

-It looks like a little apple.

The garage door opened and bathed every corner in late afternoon light, and they didn't dare move an inch.]

CHAPTER 5

-Shit.

CHAPTER 4

-Crackers, cookies, crackers, cookies, crackers, cookies...

She tried to keep her mind busy.

Then she saw him reach. He was probably in his late 30s. Underdressed for the weather.

He was reaching to pluck something from an aluminum display tree adjacent to the Fudge Stripes. A Hot Wheels car. He ran a finger over the clear plastic shell, and raised the package up slightly to look at the undercarriage.

She dropped the bottle of soda, and a quick surge ran through her upper back. She waited for everything to turn red, she waited for the densified concrete floor to open and swallow her whole. But instead she just cried, low and quiet and shuddery.

CHAPTER 3

She turned and walked down the soda aisle. Only a few people there, which was good. She wanted to move. She wanted to move.

There was a little girl dancing lightly from Pepsi to Sprite. The stock clerk had the black dead eyes of a shark or an alcoholic. This would be easy.

As the neck of the bottle pressed against her thenar eminence she grasped and lifted, barely breaking stride.

Done.

CHAPTER 2

-Parmesan Goldfish and Mr Pibb.

He reached into his right pocket until his leg was completely straight, and his foot strained against the floorboard.

-Here's 5. You sure you want to?

-Yes.

She grabbed the bill and stepped out of the car onto a two-foot tall orange E. FIRE LANE.

He muttered to himself-- Shit-- and fiddled with the knob on the car stereo...

CHAPTER 1

October 19, 1:01 PM. And the telephone wires would stretch out against the sky and disappear.

KOOKIE, KOOKIE, LEND ME YOUR COMB

I was explaining to Taeko why I didn't have a comb.

“I dropped it in the toilet by accident a few days ago.”

“So. You wash it.”

“No, sorry. Strict rule: If it falls in the toilet, game over.”

“You'd never survive in a war.”

“A war? Is there some global combat imminent that's going to involve dunking my personal-grooming products in the toilet?”

Silence

“Because I think I have a right to know, dammit.”

Additional silence.

“But yeah, if those are the rules of warfare, I'm pretty much a dead man...”

I FOUND THAT ESSENCE RARE

Politics, huh? Well, OK.

I became aware of politics in the 70s. My grandmother was prominent in the local Republican woman’s club. I wrote derogatory grade-school limericks about Gerald Ford. In 7th grade, I stole a copy of The Doonesbury Chronicles from the school library.

In the 80s I felt mildly oppressed by first-round Reagan, and morbidly oppressed by second-round Reagan. The America of 1984-1988 was not my America.

Bush the First held the faintly unpleasant aftertaste of the Reagan years. I crinkled my nose and swallowed hard.

I forgave Clinton his peccadilloes in light of many of his policies, but I didn’t trust a word he said. I spent my time waiting for Cuomo… but Cuomo never came.

Gore seemed to possess a developed sense of fairness and decency, so I was satisfied when he was elected, Tipper notwithstanding. Then Bush the Second stole the consarnit thing, and we were condemned to four years of an Empire of Idiocy, then complicit in it for another four.

Yesterday we woke up. And for the first time in a long time, I can say that I am proud of this country.

Well done, America. Well effing done…

AC NEW MAN

I’m getting into Animal Collective bass ackward via Panda Bear, but if Feels is any indication, I won’t be sweating the port of entry.

Damn is this good...

THE STARS BEGIN TO TWINKLE IN THE SKY

I actually listened to Smoke on the Water all the way through yesterday, and it reminded me of everything I love about rock and roll:

An idiot can be a genius, and a genius can be an idiot. An idiot can be an idiot, and a genius can be a genius.

Any old way you choose it, my friends…

TIGER BEAT

Some random thoughts on the weekend's Deerhoof show...

• Flying and Experimental Dental School both had one fewer member than they did when the reviews were written for their respective 2008 releases. Looks like downsizing has hit third-tier indie rock, and hard…

• Satomi, Deerhoof singer/bassist, is tiny, but rocks large.

• Greg, Deerhoof drummer, is Keith Moon on a Chris Partridge kit. Careful with those sticks, Eugene.

• Greg endeared himself by introducing some acquaintances in attendance: the cousin who gave him his first album (Kiss Alive— not Kiss Alive II, fortunately), and three-quarters of his high-school barbershop quartet.

• Satomi trotted out a plush tiger mask for the encore. (The last song they played was “Basket Ball Get Your Groove Back” from the new album, so I’m not quite sure what was up with that.) It did remind me of my favorite quote from this weekend: Sebastian called to me from the dining room, where his mother was enforcing one household rule or another, and said “Daddy, I think you married a tiger!” I fell off the couch, and even Taeko found it fit to laugh…

IT'S A PRIMAL SCREAM!

Get literal, before it gets all codified and unfunny...

AGNOSTIC FRONTING

Conference today, and at some point I found myself making the following note: "Utilize precis in push?" Needless to say, 16 year-old me showed up at lunch break and kicked my ever-loving ass.

The phrase du jour (which I swear I heard five different people use)? "Content agnostic."

Don't worry 16 year-old me, I'm not going down that road...

ENGINE

That voice is still out there...

YOVNOC

C-razy!

I JUST GOT OUT MY LITTLE BLUE PILL

Geez, can't anybody sitting on their couch watching football/baseball get it up?

Because if I have to hear Viva Viagra one more time, so help me...

PS, I do still snicker at the solemn warning regarding an "erection lasting more than four hours." I'm only human after all.

COMMUTER BLUES

I tried to convince myself that traffic was moving slowly because we were all in awe of the same sunset sky, which looked like the salmon in a Zabar's case. But then I noticed in the distance a left lane clogged with police lights. I sighed and turned up the radio. Fuck, it's October again already, and the 21st century too...

LUCKY NUMBER

I have set up a tracking system at work that will reach its logical end in 73 years. As a result, if things are still being done the same way in 73 years, I have set in motion a potential problem for my robot successors.

So, to my robot successors in the year 2081: I knew damn well what I was doing, and I am laughing my ass off at you from across the years...

DON'T FORGET TO SAY GRACE

“And you tell meeee, over and over and over again…”
“………………….............over and over and over again…”

Lana was stunned when I started singing along.

“Dad! You said you didn’t know the Pessimist Song!”

“Huh?”

“The Pessimist Song. I asked you if you knew the Pessimist Song and the Optimist Song, and you said you didn’t!”

“Oh, that’s the Pessimist Song? Of course I know that—it’s Eve of Destruction. What’s the Optimist Song?”

“Last night I dreamed the strangest dream…”

Resolved: Lana’s teacher is a fecking hippie.

Anyway, I searched iTunes, and downloaded Eve of Destruction for her. We sat on the couch, and Lana sang along in a light lilting soprano that put Barry McGuire to shame…

AFTER CLASS

Random thoughts on the Chessie/Atlas Sound/Stereolab show last night:

-So, yeah, rhythm guitarist from Chessie. Um, I'm, uh, sorry that I tried to sell you my extra ticket out in front of the club. But really, how the fuck was I supposed to know?

-Chessie is an awww cute name.

-Atlas Sound is a dolphin. Doesn't look like one. Doesn't sound like one. He just is one.

-Atlas Sound coaxed some awesome noises out of this tangle of wires and diodes, a guitar, and a couple of mikes. Mesmerizing.

-Atlas Sound is a hero. Doesn't look like one. Doesn't sound like one. He just is one.

-Stereolab played a good bunch of new stuff, and just like when they were touring Fab Four Suture, they punched it up for certain.

-Stereolab were also getting all 1993 up in here, what with Lo Boob Oscillator, French Disko, Jenny Ondioline, and John Cage Bubblegum. Y'all got yr Lolla tix?

-Tim Gane busted a guitar string, and who retrieved the axe from the stage, replaced the string, and brought it back a song later? Atlas Sound, MF. Atlas Sound. Like I said: Hero...

EVERYBODY'S COMING DOWN

If you are a Mets’ fan to your core, you knew it had to end like this.

You knew that your team needed to say goodbye to Shea in a game that would see them dismiss the playoffs from their schedule on the final day of the season, for the second year running.

You knew the weather would be cloudy, and that the sun would break through, and you knew that it would rain.

I knew, because I learned a lot from Shea Stadium.

I learned early about the intimacy of failure.

I learned that men will fight like lions for meaningless things.

I learned that those same men will piss in the sink rather than wait for an available stall.

So farewell, Shea Stadium, you old son of a bitch. Farewell.

MATRYOSHKA ROCK

OK, apparently Billboard still has a top 100 singles chart.

And what's more, Paper Planes by M.I.A. is currently number 4 on that chart. It’s a wonderful song, and I’m happy for it. Plus, it’s built around a sample from Straight to Hell, so more cash for The Clash, which is good.

But it gets even better. The number 5 song is Swagga Like Us by Jay Z & T.I. Featuring Kanye West and Lil Wayne, which is built around—wait for it— a sample from Paper Planes. And I assume this somehow means even more money for The Clash.

Well, I’m pleased to announce that I’m working on a new project with Jay Z, T.I., Kanye West, Lil Wayne, Ne-Yo, T-Pain, Flo Rida, and Akon. It’s called “Uz” and it’s built around a sample from Swagga Like Us by Jay Z & T.I. Featuring Kanye West and Lil Wayne.

Because dammit man, The Clash must get paid…

BY AND BY

Dialogue from a fall festival:

“Where’s Lana?” I ask.

“Over there. They’re looking at the goat.” Taeko is ready to leave.

Six kids are sitting in a circle surrounding a very mellow goat, which is ignoring the empty wafer cones being shoved under its nose, and doing its goat-damnedest to sleep.

“Come on, Lana—it’s time to go.”

Six kids dissolve the circle in a slow wave.

“Aw, man, you broke up the goat circle.” I sound disappointed.

“What’s a goat circle?”

“It’s when you sit around in a circle and there’s a goat in the middle.”

“Is that a thing?”

“Um, yeah, it’s a thing. Goat circle? Hello?”

We Capricorns are a particular lot…

OH CANADA

This is the current greatest song ever.

My family came home tonight and found me dancing round the living room to it. Oops-- I forgot the quotes: "dancing."

Sing along now: "I spent the winter on the verge of a total breakdown/While living in Norway..."

INITIAL IT WITH LOVING CARE

I signed papers yesterday giving Taeko explicit instructions to shoot me in the head if I ever express a desire to have my shirt cuffs monogrammed.

It was a pretty easy decision, really, and I’d recommend that all you men out there designate a loved one to do the same for you.

Because it’s just the right thing to do…

UNDO THE COLLAPSE

Out, vile demons of September, 2007— the power of rap compels thee!

Strangely, George Foster (0:21) is a dead ringer vocally for the Average Homeboy.

Rafael Santana (2:09) though, is a wizard, a true star...

STLYER

There was never no such thing as an ugly Mel Stottlemyre card...

UNTITLED

Seven years...

AIRPORT, YOU'VE GOT A SMILING FACE

Dear Delta Airlines PA Announcer at JFK,

It's pronounced “Del-tah” not “Delter.”

“Delta” is the name of an airline; “Delter” is, I don't know, somebody who delts.

Thanks.

st

NO ALARMS AND NO SURPRISES PLEASE

This is just to say that I'll be continuing a brief hiatus that began last week. I hope to be back and posting in earnest (and in not so earnest, as the situation dictates) within a couple of weeks.

My mom had a stroke last week, and we are working out the details of what comes next.

Peace.

BACH SO NOT A

Today’s sliced tongue tip for avoiding social awkwardness.

If a 23-year old tells you she’s going to San Jose on vacation, do not respond as follows:

“Yeah, but do you know the way to San Jose?”

Because, really, it’s pretty much crickets and tumbleweed from there on in…

JU D'OH!

It was nice that Zhang Yimou let the writers from The Simpsons script the intro to London as the next host city during the closing ceremonies.

They had a double-decker bus morph into some teletubbyish terrain, out of which popped Leona Lewis to mime along while Jimmy Page pretended to play Whole Lotta Love. David Beckham stood awkwardly on a platform opposite them, and then launched a football into the crowd.

Hilarious.

The only thing that could've topped it would have been if the football had beheaded an unsuspecting Madonna, rather than simply landing in a pit of Japanese volunteers.

But we all know The Simpsons is not as sharp as it was once...

MERELY PLAYAS

I think I might be starting to like The Stage Names.

I didn’t give it much of a chance when it first came out. Liked the first track, then everything went meh. “Okkervil River,” said I, “Take yer emotistical song titles and overwrought vocals and stow ‘em in the overhead.”

But last night I was listening to Plus Ones, and damned if it isn’t cool, clever, and catchy. It’s all about the 97th tear, the 100th luftballoon, the 8 Chinese brothers, the 9 miles high, the TVC16, the cell 45, the 51st way to leave your lover, the 4 times a lady, and the 17 candles.

And I’m all about the 2nd chance…

SOME KINDA LOVE

Every so often a phrase of such grace and utility presents itself that you wonder how you ever lived a conversational life without it.

I met one such phrase today, courtesy of a friend making a passing remark about the town in which I live: “I've been kayaking on your lake.”

Genius. Gen-i-us.

Say it with a slight leer and it drips with innuendo: “Well babe, I've been kayaking on your lake, and it sure is nice.”

Say it with remorse when you've been sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, and it is the perfect apology: “I realize I've been kayaking on your lake, and I'm sorry.”

These are just the two uses I uncovered today, during my first 12 hours or so of exposure. I expect that the possibilities are endless...

STAND!

I had forgotten how much I love this frickin' mike stand...

ST. JOE STRUMMER

Some random thoughts on last night's Hold Steady show:

-Dear The Loved Ones,
Give the bass player a cookie.
Yours,
st

-The Hold Steady were not nearly as puppy-dog eager to please as they were last year, and the better for it.

-If my eyes/ears did not deceive me, I think there was an actual bona fide encore last night. As in, the crowd refused to leave after the air-quotes encore, and the band came back from wherever it is bands go when the show is over, to play one more song.

-Yeah, Craig Finn can turn a phrase, but brain coral's brother gets credit for the quote of the night, in reference to the Maryland Zoo in Baltimore: “They gots a baby elephant.”

PROTEST ANT

Visited my brother while I was on vacation in NY this past weekend...

Waspish

What font is that?
1961-1994.

The gray-flecked stone
Looks like dirty soap

inscribed
Ivory or Dove.

I lean in to take a picture
With my cell-phone camera:

The name of my brother.

From under the lip
Of the monument

A wasp appears,

Pushing
me
away...

VIRGINIA HAM

For some time now, this li'l music/memoir site has been the first hit if you google the phrase “sliced tongue.”

In your face, Zabar's!

So, in case you have stumbled upon the site accidentally, I should mention that I do have six or seven years of back-in-the-day experience handling deli meats. Which means that if I ever compare, say, Fleet Foxes to head cheese or Conor Oberst to olive loaf, I am uniquely qualified to do so.

sliced tongue: Come for the cold cuts, stay for the hot rock.

TUSH

The kids wanted something to drink.

We had the hatch lifted on the Odyssey, and there was half a case of water pushed up against the back of the second-row seats. Taeko slipped off her sandals and climbed onto the bed of the minivan.

She stretched over two bicycles and reached for the bottles. I watched her jeans bend and flex, and I marked every fold in the fabric.

As she backed out, she poked her left foot toward the pavement, searching for its sandal. She then looked down and noticed it was overturned in a small puddle.

“Ahhh! My sandal! Why weren't you watching?”

“Um, I was busy looking at your butt.”

“You don't need to look at my butt. You should have been looking at my sandals!”

“Hello,” I said, extending my hand in greeting. “I am a man. Perhaps you've never met one of us before...”

VOLUNTEERS

And by “burning shit down to the ground” I of course meant “celebrating the rousing success of a free-market economy.”

Now maybe the Flowers By Irene truck that's been parked outside my house all weekend will leave...

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

Good news! Looks like Exxon Mobil broke its own record for quarterly profits by a US corporation: $11.68 billion.

Can someone remind me again why we haven't taken to the streets and started burning shit down to the ground yet?

MONEY

There was never no such thing as an ugly Ernie Banks card...

RELATIVES

Good: Scoring a copy of Stay Positive with the three bonus tracks.

Not so good: Finding that those three bonus tracks are formatted as one 11 minute track.

Great: My family coming home tomorrow after a month in Japan.

I'll be back on blog late next week.

MUSICIANSHIP

Just out of nowhere, I’ve started listening to Ships by Danielson.

I let this one go by a couple of years back. I thought Ship the Majestic Suffix was Schoolhouse Rock for cool kids, but when I hit the line “When life's got your goat now/By his tail or by his goat throat” in track 2, I cut bait and never looked back.

But now I’ve been listening to the first four or five songs every night before I go to sleep. And that line is still absurd, but it matters less…

MAC LOVING

So yeah, I picked up a copy of Rumours when I was in Charlottesville. Figured it was about time.

The frisson of the various mangled relationships is right on the surface, but what really stands out is the pure strength of You Make Loving Fun. This song got me through as much pre-adolescent shit as the ice cream man, and I can still feel its gravitational pull...

EASY TO FALL

If you took a belt sander to Wild Gift, you'd end up with Rumours.

Assuming you were really good with a belt sander, that is...

HALO

It wasn’t there.

You might have seen me if you were in the Albemarle Square Plan 9 on Saturday afternoon.

I was the one in a blue t-shirt and tan shorts, with black Mets Crocs. I was rocking a nascent goatee, brown under the nose and gray on the chin.

I spent several minutes in the V used rock CD section, a few minutes more than you’d rightly think anyone would need.

But it wasn’t there. And I couldn’t believe it wasn’t there.

It appears that somehow, the last used copy of Teenage Symphonies to God by Velvet Crush has left the building.

Now I won’t go so far as to say that the point of my two-hour drive down to Charlottesville was to confirm the continued presence of the disc. That would be kind of nuts. But let’s just say it was a side attraction.

My breath quickened a bit when I realized it was gone. I was disequilibrated.

And just as suddenly, I felt a sense of calm. I might have even grinned.

Because I realized at that moment what it is that I left in Charlottesville. And I realized as well that it’s waiting there for me.

I’ll let you know someday if I have the sense to pick it up…

BRAFF BAG

The other night on National Geographic they were showing Aftermath: Population Zero, which the program guide describes thusly:

“Envisioning what Earth would be like if all 6.6 billion humans disappeared.”

When I flipped by, an unfortunate theoretical poodle was getting owned by a pack of theoretical German shepherds. I hit the FAV button on the remote to move on to the next channel, which was IFC. Garden State was on.

This led me to envision what Earth would be like if all 6.6 billion humans disappeared.

Because, hey, no Garden State...

SOME STUPID WITH A FLARE GUN

Forgive me, gentle reader, for the gross indelicacy of today's post, but I cannot let it pass without note that I farted the first three notes of Smoke on the Water this morning. That is all.

NMEeek

I went to Neiman Marcus for the first time in my life yesterday.

I was looking through a rack of t-shirts when a salesman popped up right in my line of sight. He was holding a $70 Juicy Couture tee with shiny silver accents on the front.

“This is a nice shirt. I had someone come in last week and buy this shirt. He went out to nightclub and the, how do you call it, was, was catching...” Here he made a motion with his free hand, outlining the silver design with his index finger.

“Disco ball,” I said.

“Yes, the disco ball. It was catching the silver and lighting up. His friend, he liked it so much, he brought his friend in the next day and he got same shirt.”

“That is quite a shirt,” I acknowledged. “Quite... a... shirt.”

YOU'VE BEEN ERASED

It's very rare that a video is exactly what it should be. But here's one...

BRIGHT AND SHINY PLATTERS

There are very few discs among my all-time favorites that I’d suggest are essential to you.

Sure, I could point out why I think you should like Dots and Loops or Haha Sound or Wild Gift, and you might very well be nonplussed. That’s fine.

But there are three that I think you ignore at your own peril.

I’ve prattled on enough about In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. Just live with it for a while, and your soul will be a better place.

Another one is Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space. It’s a bit harder for me to articulate the reasons why I think this is so essential. It’s visceral. That’ll do.

The third is Exile in Guyville.

Now, there was every chance that this one would not age well, that 15 years on it would feel like a relic of indie days gone by. But it still holds up.

It’s profane, and sometimes gratuitous. But so are you.

It’s sprawling and confused. But so are you.

It’s righteously pissed. But so are you.

It’s really kind of beautiful. But so are you...

ISM-SKISM GAME

Got cut off this morning by a black Prius with the following bumper sticker:

Relax; God’s in Control
Expect Miracles

First I was moderately pissed about being cut off.

Next I was angered more intensely by the shoddy application of the semi-colon. Forgive me, but it’s who I am.

Finally I was damn near enraged by the sentiment, which is pernicious bullshit...

CATAPULT

One day years ago I was playing stickball at my old grammar school. It was a nondescript summer afternoon, but for some reason a side door was open. I went inside.

I walked the hallways in a bit of a daze, as recollections both sharp and dim pinged my brain.

Of course, everything was smaller than I remembered. I stooped to get a drink from the water fountain.

Last night I was listening to “Is This It?” and, well, let’s just say I had to stoop to drink from the fountain…

HORNS

OK Rocknoceros, just stay the living fuck away from my kids. I swear, one step closer and I will give you a beat down you'll not soon forget...

BANDSTAND

Had a little listening party here at the ranch the other night, featuring Nouns by No Age and the Sun Giant EP from Fleet Foxes.

First impression: the difference between the respective discs is kind of like the difference between wanting to be like your cool uncle and dressing up in your daddy’s clothes.

Don’t get me wrong—the Fleet Foxes disc seems perfectly pleasant. I could imagine my good friend Tom the Classic Rock Fan (TCRF) digging it. But for now I'm with No Age.

Of course, my initial thoughts on OK Computer were that it was for TCRF only too, so you never can tell…

L-O-V-E LOVE, IT'S COMING BACK, IT'S COMING BACK

I bought this shirt a couple of weeks ago.

Now, as a teenage punk, I developed a considerable disdain for hippies. Not so much due to their blinkered idealism, but more for the way in which their attachment to sex and drugs overwhelmed their attachment to radicalism, and led in a straight line to discos, coke spoons, and The Love Boat.

But given the tenor of our times, I find myself in sympathy with the idea of a politicized youth movement.

The one peril that goes with the shirt? Conversations with real hippies, as I learned on a weekend walk through Georgetown...

PENDULUM

Quote of the day, from Supreme Court Justice Anthony M. Kennedy:

"The laws and Constitution are designed to survive, and remain in force, in extraordinary times."

Does this mean we can have our country back now?

Liberte, motherfuckers. Liberte...

PUNCTUATION ROCK

So the book itself was nothing to fear.

It was a fairly nuts-and-bolts description of the genesis of Neutral Milk Hotel, and the recording of “In the Aeroplane Over the Sea.”

There was one small interpretive section, for which the author nearly apologized.

The only thing that grated a little was an “alternative” reading of the opening to King of Carrot Flowers Parts 2 & 3. In case you’re not familiar, the song starts with a naked display of faith: “I love you Jesus Christ/Jesus Christ I love you, yes I do.”

The author offers a couple of commas to the atheists for whom this statement might present a barrier to engagement with the album, and turns Jesus Christ into an exclamation: “I love you, Jesus Christ/Jesus Christ, I love you, yes I do.”

Well, as an atheist myself, bear with me as I cozy up to my fellow atheists here for a second.

Hi, fellow atheists. So, um, how’s your atheism going? Been a while since we’ve spoken. How was your Generic Winter Holiday Celebration? Good, good to hear. So, anyway, about this King of Carrot Flowers Parts 2 & 3 thing. Yeah, uh, if listening to someone express their faith is a problem for you, I have a suggestion: Fuck off. Now I realize that’s not a particularly productive suggestion, but seriously, if hearing Jeff Mangum sing “I love you Jesus Christ” bars the door to your potential enjoyment of the album, then the album does not need you. You need it for certain, but I guess you’re kind of screwed there, huh? Well, take care, y’all.

EMPTY RINGS AROUND YOUR HEART

For my birthday back in January, I picked up a copy of the “In the Aeroplane Over the Sea” book from the 33 1/3 series.

And that, strictly speaking, was the last time I picked it up until this past weekend.

You see, I was a bit scared of the book. As much as I wanted to know more about “In the Aeroplane” I also didn't want to know any more than I already did.

It's kind of like how I felt about biology back in high school. I thought that to be alive is a startling and magical thing, and I didn't want that sensation to be corrupted by too detailed an understanding of taxonomies and nomenclatures.

But we grow older and recognize that willful ignorance has little to recommend it either, I suppose...