CARELESS MEMORIES

I try not to get too peevish here (I swear), but I've been chafed recently by a number of people who, upon hearing me drop some useless bit of pop-culture trivia, will share that they weren't aware of it because they “played outside” when they were kids.

OK people, I played baseball all day in the summer, then hide-and-seek from dinner to dusk. I played Nerf football in the snow, and mapped the craters of the moon in the subfreezing cold.

I caught fireflies, butterflies, garter snakes under planks at the lumberyard, and bullfrogs in empty peat-moss bags at a swampy pond a couple of miles from my house. To which I rode my banana-seat bike...

Hell, I rolled hoops and whitewashed fences and rafted down the ole Mississipp. Practically.

So don't deride me for being able to do all that AND watch TV, read books, and listen to the radio. And, heaven forfend, remember some of it in detail.

Y'all need to step off...

THE MYSTIC CHORDS OF MEMORY

So my absolute first thought about Titus Andronicus (that's the band, Poindexter) wasn't actually a thought at all. About two minutes into The Monitor, I just busted a big crooked grin.

But gosh, didn't we do the “tramps like us” riffing with The Hold Steady already?

And much like The Hold Steady, I've yet to work out whether there's more than some decent words and Clash/Pogues/Replacements/blah blah blah going on here.

I'm encouraged that they at least seem to recognize the second civil war when they see it...

AMERICAN HOT WAX

Three key demographics (collectors/cranky old dudes who think “everything was better back then”/hipsters) collide to give us this-- the top 10 best-selling artists on vinyl in the US for 2009, sourced from Record Collector (total sales in parens):

(1) Radiohead (45,700)

(2) The Beatles (38,800)

(3) Michael Jackson (30,400)

(4) Metallica (30,200)

(5) Wilco (29,600)

(6) Bob Dylan (24,500)

(7) Animal Collective (20,600)

(8) Pearl Jam (19,900)

(9) Bon Iver (17,100)

(10) Iron & Wine (16,600)

A PLACE FOR YOU IN BETWEEN THE SHEETS

I'll always remember my MLB bed sheet. It was cheap and thin and I wore it through.

I would pull the covers up past my chin on autumn nights and see all the team names on the underside written in reverse. Some were just meaningless strings of backward letters, but others seemed to be secret messages, dyed in the low-thread-count cotton.

“Boston” was “not sob”-- a fair state of mind for any New England baseball fan at the time.

The “Astros” were “sortsa,” which was sorta “sorta.” Which was sorta how I felt about the team.

The “Yankees” were “seek nay.” A quest for negation. How appropriate.

And the Mets. The “Mets” were “stem.” Like an apple's umbilical connection to the tree.

Like goddam Eden before the fall...

SAY IT AIN'T SO

This is a story about Joe Jackson.

No, not the shoeless one. The chinless, Gumpish New Waver.

During his transition from Elvis Costello-manque Joe to easy-listening Joe, he released a song called Right and Wrong, which contained this unexpected lyric:

“So what you think,
You like the Yankees or the Mets this year?”

This seemed to be less voice-of-Joe and more man-on-the-street, kind of like Mark Knopfler's loathsome Money for Nothing.

It sure was a sop to 1986, and guaranteed some extra airplay on contemporary New York radio.

Savvy bastard...

THE GIANTS AND METS WILL PLAY

I love it when my twin obsessions intersect, all the more so when it happens unexpectedly.

I don't think it's any surprise when a Simon or a Fogerty or a Springsteen drops a baseball reference into a lyric. But when a Scottish pop band does it-- and with a startling level of specificity at that-- I tip my cap.

Piazza, New York Catcher is a fine piece of Belle & Sebastian, baseball content aside. But then it drops in details like Piazza's lifetime batting average at the time (.318), and a great play on words regarding the Giants' statue of Willie Mays: “The statue's crying too/And well he may”...

That's a doubleheader sweep right there.

TALKIN' BASEBALL

My twin obsession to music is baseball.

I am a Mets fan. Have been since I was 4. Given my essential melancholia, there was never any other choice.

Because I think I knew even then that being a Yankees fan means living a lie.

And it's the worst kind of lie, I'm afraid-- one that tells you that the only thing worth celebrating is championships.

Being a Mets fan means that you learn to savor your own little victories. You will bear a 66-96 season if Craig Swan leads the league in ERA.

You learn to elevate the mundane to ridiculous heights and savor it beyond all reasonable measure.

And this is a valuable skill for those who would dare to enjoy life...

O MY SOUL

“Who's Alex Chilton?”

Even a small measure of grief can make it hard sometimes to speak with the unaffected.

“Alex Chilton. Singer for Big Star.”

“Big Star?”

Some are older, some are younger, so it's not just a generational thing.

“Big Star. They were like The Raspberries with a chemical imbalance.”

“Who were The Raspberries?”

OK, fuck y'all. Alex Chilton died. In 1973, he made music that I cared about in 1993. He didn't do too much that registered with me after that. But 59 is too young.

And December boys still got it bad...

COUNTING YEARS

I didn't do anything more profound to celebrate my Irish heritage today than listen to If I Should Fall from Grace with God.

Come to think of it, I guess I did plenty...

TIME HAS COME TODAY

Nothing better illustrates what an abstract concept time is than trying to explain DST to a 7 year old.

“You can't just change time!” exclaimed Sebastian more than once, as the clocks conspired to steal from him an hour of sleep again...

THE M-Z

By popular demand, here is the rest of the alphabet in songs that share titles.

And the "Strange Bedfellows" award goes to... Bananarama and Television! Take a bow, boys and girls...

Maria, Blondie
Maria, Leonard Bernstein

Modern World, The Modern Lovers
Modern World, Wolf Parade

The New World, X
The New World, Damon & Naomi

Old Man, Love
Old Man, Neil Young

One of These Days, Camper Van Beethoven
One of These Days, The Velvet Underground

Polly, The Kinks
Polly, Nirvana

Shine a Light, Apples in Stereo
Shine a Light, The Rolling Stones
Shine a Light, Wolf Parade

Ship of Fools, John Cale
Ship of Fools, The Doors

Silver, Echo and the Bunnymen
Silver, Pixies

Sixteen, The Buzzcocks
Sixteen, Iggy Pop

Special, The Mekons
Special, New Order

Spoon, CAN
Spoon, Cibo Matto

Surrender, Cheap Trick
Surrender, Elvis Presley

Take It Or Leave It, The Rolling Stones
Take It Or Leave It, The Strokes

Temptation, Heaven 17
Temptation, New Order

These Days, Joy Division
These Days, R.E.M.

Tonight, Iggy Pop
Tonight, Marnie Nixon & Jim Bryant
Tonight, TV On the Radio

Underwear, The Magnetic Fields
Underwear, Pulp

Valentine, Liz Phair
Valentine, The Replacements

Venus, Bananarama
Venus, Television

Victoria, The Kinks
Victoria, Shane MacGowan & The Popes

THE WHITE STAR LINER SANK IN THE DOCKS

This is... well, I have no fucking idea what this is.

Near as I can tell, it was intended to be part of the "songs of celebrities" series, like Thomas Pynchon, Gedde Watanabe, and Russ Tamblyn. But the wheels came off before the first ellipsis:

"The thin-lipped spawn of Suzy Amis and Jim Cameron
Was sipping a Corona down by Venice Beach..."

YOU CAN CALL ME A-L

It's spring cleaning time, so I'm going to clear out a few abandoned posts this week.

The ambition behind the first one was to catalog all of the songs I have in iTunes that share a title but are discrete entities, ie, no covers. Then, I wanted to determine through a complex Olympic-style scoring system just which title was the best, overall.

Then about halfway through the exercise, I got tired. So here's the list up to the L's (and I'd say the early leaders were Come Together, Good Times, Heaven, and Let's Go Crazy-- Lust for Life could be a comer):

Airplane, The Beach Boys
Airplane, Pizzicato Five

All I Need, Air
All I Need, Radiohead

All I Want is You, John Cale
All I Want is You, U2

All My Friends, LCD Soundsystem
All My Friends, Pavement

Beautiful World, Devo
Beautiful World, 宇多田ヒカル

Blue Moon, Big Star
Blue Moon, Damon and Naomi

Candyman, Cornershop
Candyman, カヒミ・カリィ

Cars, Gary Numan
Cars, To Rococo Rot

Changes, David Bowie
Changes, The Zombies

Clouds, Cibo Matto
Clouds, The Go-Betweens

Come Together, The Beatles
Come Together, Spiritualized

Contact, Big Audio Dynamite
Contact, Stereolab

Cool, Russ Tamblyn and the Jets
Cool, The Simpsons
Cool, Superchunk

Don't Stop, Fleetwood Mac
Don't Stop, The Stone Roses

Dreams, Fleetwood Mac
Dreams, TV On The Radio

Electricity, The Avalanches
Electricity, OMD
Electricity, Spiritualized

Emily, Joanna Newsom
Emily, John Cale

The End, The Beatles
The End, The Doors

Eyes on the Prize, Bruce Springsteen
Eyes on the Prize, M. Ward

Flower, Liz Phair
Flower, Sonic Youth

Flowers, Cibo Matto
Flowers, Chug

The Fool, Camper Van Beethoven
The Fool, Neutral Milk Hotel

Glass, Gang of Four
Glass, Joy Division
Glass, Robyn Hitchcock and the Egyptians

Gloria, Laura Branigan
Gloria, Patti Smith

Go, Moby
Go, Tones On Tail

God Only Knows, Cornelius
God Only Knows, The Beach Boys

Gone For Good, Morphine
Gone For Good, The Shins

Good Times, Jim O'Rourke
Good Times, The Rolling Stones
Good Times, Chic

Grass, Animal Collective
Grass, Robert Wyatt
Grass, XTC

Halloween, Dream Syndicate
Halloween, Sonic Youth

Harvest Moon, Jason and the Scorchers
Harvest Moon, Neil Young

Heaven, Robyn Hitchcock and the Egyptians
Heaven, Talking Heads

High and Dry, The Rolling Stones
High and Dry, Radiohead

I Believe, The Buzzcocks
I Believe, R.E.M.

I Don't Know, Chris Bell
I Don't Know, The Mekons
I Don't Know, The Replacements

I Should Have Known Better, The Beatles
I Should Have Known Better, Yo La Tengo

I Want You Back, Bananarama
I Want You Back, Hoodoo Gurus
I Want You Back, Jackson 5

Leave Me Alone, Altered Images
Leave Me Alone, New Order

Let's Dance, David Bowie
Let's Dance, The Ramones

Let's Go Crazy, The Clash
Let's Go Crazy, Prince

Liar, New Order
Liar, The Sex Pistols

Lies, The Knickerbockers
Lies, Thompson Twins

Little Bird, The Beach Boys
Little Bird, The White Stripes

Lust for Life, Girls
Lust for Life, Iggy Pop

SPARKLE AND FADE

MEOW MIX

And the difference between "Kissing cunt in Cannes" (Casino Boogie) and "I bet you keep your pussy clean" (Starfucker) is essentially the difference between Exile on Main St and Goat's Head Soup...

CAN OF TASTY FOAM

So, yeah-- “Star Fucker” (or, if you prefer, “Starfucker”; or, if you are prudish and prefer, “Star Star”).

It is really quite sad as it strains to offend.

The only saving grace is this, which sounds more like a cry for help than a cocksman's boast:

“Honey, I'm open to anything/I don't know where to draw the line...”

OK, OK, there are a few other saving graces:

-It's, um, catchy. However, you might not want to catch it, nor will you likely know what to do with it once caught.

-The sudden spasm of guitars in the last verse, which I assume are there to obscure John Wayne's name in the lyrics.

-And I swear that amidst all the “you're a star fucker”-ing Mick slips in an “I'm a star fucker” somewhere toward the end. Damn straight, you are...

WHEN WILL THOSE CLOUDS ALL DISAPPEAR?

I suppose that for the 70s Stones of the Month club to serve its educational purpose, I'm actually going to need to listen to the damn things.

I bought Goat's Head Soup last week, and tried one night to listen start to finish on my iPod.

But I was tired, and I fell asleep about halfway through. One minute Mick was whispering “Angie” and the next thing I knew he was bleating “Star fucker, star fucker, star fucker, star fucker, star.” Now I don't mean this priggishly, but that right there is not a pleasant way to wake up from a nap.

The weird thing about “Angie” the song is that there's another version floating spectrally right beneath the surface. This sounded intentional on the radio when I was 8, but now, listening through headphones, it's so pronounced that it seems like plain old sloppiness...

MERSH

It should not go unremarked that the current McDonald's filet-o-fish commercials, um, borrow from of Montreal.

I see three potential scenarios here:

(1) With the evidence of the Outback commercial in hand, McDonald's assumes that of Montreal are whores to be had for some filet-o-cash. Kevin Barnes rebuffs them, and they stick out their tongues and write a nonactionable pastiche.

(2) Someone in the McMarketing department is a fan, and decides to do a bizarre, sideways homage.

(3) The same theory that postulates that, given enough time, 100 monkeys with 100 typewriters would eventually produce Hamlet.

I'm not going to sweat the whys and wherefores, I'm just going to enjoy...

SUCKING IN THE 70s

I realized last week that the most-recent Stones album I own on anything other than cassette is Exile on Main Street.

So, seeing as I'm in a bit of a new-music dry spell, I've decided to start my own 70s Stones of the Month Club.

Each month, I'm going to buy one of the studio albums between Goat's Head Soup and Some Girls, chronologically.

Some Girls is the one I know best from front to back, so it will be interesting to get more familiar with the outer edges of things like Black and Blue...

DOES YOUR CHEWING GUM LOSE ITS FLAVOR ON THE BEDPOST OVERNIGHT?

I first encountered Trident gum as a kid, when I found it swimming between
bangle bracelets and Kleenex at the bottom of my grandmother's purse.

I picked up a 3-pack the other day, based more on price than Proustian
resonance.

And now I'm here to say that original flavor Trident is just damn refreshing...

GRANDPA'S THEORIES

Somehow, Danielson snuck a single by me back in November.

It's called Moment Soakers, and I have it now. It would not sound out of place on Ships, so you know what to do. (Um, buy or don't buy.)

The B side is an Abba song called Eagle, which serves to remind you that, hey, Abba made albums. For some reason...

MARKS THE SPOT

It’s amazing what’ll stick in your craw…

I have held a grudge against Ira Robbins for years, because he referred to X once as “appalling noise.” I assumed it was in an issue of Trouser Press, even though their old rekkid guide treats X generously.

Well, I was looking through the July, 1986 issue of Creem the other day, and there it was in a review of Green on Red/Rain Parade: “A reassuring antidote to even the appalling noise of X.”

And I was pissed anew. Watch where you’re casting those appallings, bitch…

WHITE PUNKS ON SNOW

I gave my car a reverse snowhawk...

A PUT ON

I had tickets to a Who concert once. Shea Stadium, 1982.

Thing is, I had no interest in seeing The Who. I liked their early mod stuff well enough, but in 1982 I was positively oppressed by Eminence Front, in the same way I was oppressed by In the Air Tonight: from the backseat of a black Z-28 with a custom Blaupunkt stereo pumping 100 watts, so I couldn't hear my thoughts think. And it got loudest when the driver really liked a particular section.

“Listen to the drums. Listen. You can practically feel them.”

I hated it like fuck.

So why did I have the tickets? Well, Scott and I were primed to see David Johansen and The Clash, who were opening the show.

After The Clash wrapped up, we made our way back through the bowels of Shea (and Shea did indeed have bowels, make no mistake), and headed for the exit gate. When we got there, we found it closed off with three or four guards sitting sentry.

They stopped us. “Show's not over. You can't leave.”

“But we're done.”

“Whattaya mean, done? The Who didn't even play yet.”

“We came for The Clash.”

After about 5 minutes of this, they finally let us leave, shaking their heads and clucking behind us.

People still shake their heads and cluck when I tell them this story, but they do so in a way that assumes I now recognize that this was all folly, and that I tell the story as a tale of regret.

But I don't regret it for a second...

AMPED

When I think about my 64GB iPod Touch I touch myself...

THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW

Aaaaaahhhh! The snowpocalypse is coming!

I'ma head to the Public Library and make Jake Gyllenhaal my full-flavored bitch...

EDITORS

Just finished reading Zeitoun, by Dave Eggers.

It's an important story, told artfully and with restraint.

I have to say, though, that the first edition I read was a bit sloppy.

Now, the old Copy Editor in me could bear the injury of the occasional missed space between punctuation. And that missed period that nearly stopped my heart? Over it.

But to see the Strait of Hormuz referred to as the Straights of Hormuz, particularly in the context of this book, and mindful of the events of 1988, well, that stung a little more acutely...

CURSIVE

The kids were talking about “bad” words.

“I know the 'S' word,” offered Lana.

Before she had finished her sentence, Sebastian had revved up his own.

“Oh, I know, I know! It's 'stupid'!”

“Yes,” continued Lana, “And we're not allowed to use it even though daddy sometimes does.” She said this in the melodic, lawyerly tone with which a ten-year old girl will say such things. It was fairly charming.

Sebastian had more to add to the conversation.

“I know the 'F' word.” I was prepared to be charmed again. “It's 'fuck'!”

I was... “Wait, what?”

“Fuck!”

I missed a beat, and Lana noticed I was off rhythm. “What does that even mean?” she said.

I asked Sebastian where he had learned the word. I asked more as a diversion than anything else.

Well, apparently one of his seat mates in kindergarten last year had access to the outer reaches of the “bad” word list, and had shared it with him.

I was actually pretty impressed that he'd sat on it for all this time...

WE PLAYED A SHOW AND NO ONE CAME

A couple of weeks ago, I got an e-mail from brain coral. I won't say it was frantic, because he doesn't do “frantic”-- let's say it was heightened.

And with good cause-- word had come through the wire that of Montreal was going to be playing a late-January show at the 9:30 Club.

I answered excitedly (because I do do “excitedly”), and within 5 minutes, we had our tickets.

As the days passed, I continued to check the status of the show, and tickets continued to be available. I was beginning to think that I was seriously overvaluing of Montreal's currency. Maybe 3 years on from Hissing Fauna, and a bit bewildered by Georgie Fruit, the indie kids had all moved on.

I checked again today, and it looks like it's finally sold out.

Not that it has much bearing on brain coral and me. You'd find us stage right in the rafters whether it was sold out or we were the only ones there...

TAKE OASIS

Reading the Murmur entry in the 33 1/3 series.

I'd recommend it highly if you've ever had a relationship with Murmur.

I'd recommend it even highly-er if you've ever had a relationship with a vintage cassette copy of Murmur...

NIC FIT

I sure hope that Vamp Weekend's Contra doesn't stir up any shit with my copy of Sandinista!

WHITE-WINGED DOVE

It's our wedding anniversary this weekend. I'll leave it to you to deduce from these ingenious clues the number.

I love you, dear...

CHK CHK CHK

Advising a ten-year old to use fewer exclamation points in her writing feels grammatically responsible but spiritually incorrect.

So listen to me, Lana.

But don't listen to me, Lana!

CONTRADICTION

If Vampire Weekend were a movement, I'd hate it for sure.

Got no particular beef wif them as a band, though...

ALL DOWN THE LINE

The Jersey Turnpike reminded me last week just how much I love Exile on Main Street.

Thank you Jersey Turnpike, you magnificent bastard...

HE WANTS TO LOVE AND HE WANTS TO CARE

Sebastian was sprawled across our new king-size bed this morning, which he had clambered into at some point during the night.

The boy has been tired these last few days. The collective weight of a recent birthday, the holiday season, and a quick whirlwind trip to New York has caught up to him and bowed his little shoulders a bit.

I looked at him as I passed through the bedroom. I dodged creaky floorboards, stifled a cough, then paused to watch his eyelids flutter in the gathering daylight.

“Hi daddy.”

If anyone ever comes to measure my success, let them start right here...

CARROT FLOWERS

Cable has taught me tonight that Carrot Top's Chairman of the Board is a better movie than the 2nd X-Files...

WHAT IS AND WHAT SHOULD NEVER BE

I was at BOOKOFF in Manhattan this past weekend, looking over the used CDs. A copy of the Led Zep Mothership collection caught my eye. Two discs, ten bucks.

I carried it around with me for a while, but ultimately I didn't get anything more than a $3 Beulah CD.

I have a burgeoning non-ironic interest in classic rock, but when push comes to shove, I'm not willing to pay for it.

Tom, you need to move down to NOVA and be my motherfucking classic-rock pimp...

GENESIS TO REVELATION

I'll close out the aughts with a quick dispatch from the "I am a dumbass" files.

I never paid much attention to the beginning of The Clash version of Police and Thieves. I assumed the lyric was just part of the Junior Murvin original, which I confess I've never heard.

But listen closer. What Joe sings is "They're going through a tight wind."

Yup. It's from Blitzkrieg Bop. A tip of the hat from Strummer to the brudders from Queens.

Here's hoping you generate some steam heat in 2010...

MATTER OF FACT IT'S ALL DARK

I still have my two dollars.

DO GOODY GOOD BULLSHIT

Amazon is selling Dark Side of the Moon downloads for $1.99 today.

I've never owned Dark Side, but I've been around it plenty.

I don't like its worldview, but I can't deny that the thing has some craft to recommend it.

The question of the day is whether that's worth two bills to me...

IN THE BEGINNING

Abacab in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?

Well, fuck no!

HERE IS WHERE THE STORY ENDS

ABBA in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?

Well, fuck yeah!

THE OLD LEFT HANDER

Not sure if it was a sign of incipient madness or a bit of undigested cheese, but last night I had a very vivid dream that I was stuck in a large ditch with Joe Nuxhall. The North Korean army figured in there, too, though I don't recall how exactly.

The thing that stayed with me was Joe Nuxhall's determination that we would get out of the goddam ditch...

IN THE NAME OF LOVE

Four-way stop signs in Virginia are a microcosm of society at its best.

Four-way stop signs in New York are a microcosm of society at its worst.

THIS IS SOMETHING MORE COMPLEX

I don't like to use too many of my music notes to purchase old stuff, but I plunked down $7 last night on Our Beloved Revolutionary Sweetheart by Camper Van Beethoven.

This was one of my favorite albums of the 80's, and I'll go out on a limb and say that She Divines Water was one of the top something something songs of that decade.

Don't know how often I'll actually listen to it, but it feels somehow essential to me...

DON'T DRINK THE BROWN WATER

Pretty sure I just heard Be Gentle With Me by The Boy Least Likely To in a Coke commercial during Monday Night Football.

Or it could have been one of my periodic Pepsi-induced hallucinations.

I tell you, I gotta stay away from that stuff...

THE UNDERGROUND IS COMING?

I suppose it's a little bit sweet that I still need to listen to The Super-It as a digitized version of my old 7", with hisses and pops and all, but come on Stereolab, I think it's about time for Switched On 4...

I WISH I WAS SPECIAL SPECIAL

Random Thursday thoughts...

-I never would have pegged Radiohead for any measurable future success based on the sub-Nirvana pabulum that was Creep. They seemed destined for Bush-hood or Blind Melon-dom for certains...

-Mid-period R.E.M. were basically dead to me, so while I got that they namedropped Wire (It's the End of the World as We Know It), I didn't realize until recently that they had covered Wire (Strange).

-And if Wire and R.E.M. ever collaborate on anything, you can bet your bippy they will call themselves WiR.E.M. Or at the very least, I will call them that...

-To my knowledge, only once did someone ever dedicate a song to me on the radio. The song was Kiss Me by Tin Tin. And I never did kiss her.

-I haven't bought the XX album yet, but am I right that it's just a re-release of Young Marble Giants?

PISS FACTORY

The end-of-year tributes to dead celebs are rolling in. Here is what R. Kelly had to say about working with Michael Jackson:

"It was like hope meeting faith, faith introducing hope to belief, and belief introducing them to love. They all became the best of friends and now hang out at a club called achievement."

Wow.

That's like batshit crazy meeting fucking insane, and fucking insane introducing them to delusional ranting. Then they all became the best of friends and hang out at a club called personality disorder.

Word.

THANKS GIVING

"You didn't have to love me like you did
But you did, but you did and I thank you..."

"Thank you
For lending me your hand,
For sharing time today,
For giving that idea
That made
It a nice and easy day..."

"Thank you falletinme be mice elf agin..."

And thank you Sam and Dave, and Danielson, and Sly, and all the others too numerous to mention. Thank you.

BE IT DEAD OR ALIVE

The distillation of everything that was right about The Who is in that performance of A Quick One, from 4:43 to 5:15 (yes, 5:15). I believe the lyrics are as follows:

Dang, dang, dang, dang, dang, dang, dang, dang, dang

Cello, cello, cello, cello, cello, cello
Cello, cello, cello, cello, cello, cello
Cello, cello, cello, cello, cello, cello
Cello, cello, cello, cello, cello, cello

And on top of that is the most clinking, clanking, clattering collection of caliginous junk you've ever heard.

It is the goddam choir celestial, and the essence of rock and roll in 32 seconds...

YOU ARE FORGIVEN

Ever since I heard Chris Michaels when I was half asleep a couple of weeks ago, I've been half obsessed.

So I took the next logical step last night and made a mix CD for my commute-- called it “Taco Lettuce Crunch Mix.” And of course, it led off with Chris Michaels.

The next song after was A Quick One by The Who (Rock and Roll Circus version). Because Chris Michaels is basically A Quick One writ sideways, in secret-twin language.

Like this:

“Plume bloom bloom blaby bloom
Cheep cheep beep bee-bee beep.”

Or, with a slightly more narrative bent, like this:

“But just now she’s angry came up
And said You’re so so stup’
It’s all disrup’
You’re blah blah this this that so now sh’up
You messed it up.”

And don't get me started on Tony of the Franklin Park hockey club...

Plain fucking genius.

HISTORY LESSON PART 2

Amazon is trying to guilt me into buying Double Nickels on the Dime by Minutemen. $5 for the month of November.

Problem is, I never really developed an affection for Minutemen. Liked them more than, say, Black Flag, but it just never clicked. But I liked what they stood for.

Is that worth 500 cents?

OHIO

OK, The Cleveland Show is just as scattershot funny/unfunny as Family Guy (only less scattershot), but I have to give it the edge in theme songs...

HI, HOW ARE YOU?

I don't know much about Daniel Johnston beyond M. Ward's cover of To Go Home from a few years back.

But what I do know from that is that this is genius:

“Dark night on a long highway,
Little lights in the houses say
There's somebody staying up late.”

Damn. That is like Proust in pill form...

NATIVE NEW YORKER

Many years ago, in one of our one-room apartments, I was listening to Lady Godiva's Operation. The part came up where Lou interjects a New York “sweetly” to finish John Cale's Welsh thought.

Taeko stuck her head around a corner and asked “Did you call me?”

And asked sweetly, I might add...

FOLK IMPLOSION

Album name of the day, courtesy of the early 70s British folk scene and a group called COB:

"Moyshe McStiff and the Tartan Lancers of the Sacred Heart"

Fuck yeah.

Betcha by golly wow and just fuck yeah...

BEEP BEEP 'M BEEP BEEP YEAH

I was designated driver for an office field trip yesterday. So yeah, I made a mix.

"Car and Driver"

Come On Get Happy-- The Partridge Family
Drive-- R.E.M.
Airbag-- Radiohead
Crawling From The Wreckage-- Dave Edmunds
Shut Down-- The Beach Boys
I Get Around-- The Beach Boys
Little Honda-- Yo La Tengo
Emperor Tomato Ketchup-- Stereolab
Cars-- To Rococo Rot
Cars-- Gary Numan
Car Song-- Elastica
Killer Cars-- Radiohead
Fast Cars-- The Buzzcocks
I Love My Car-- Belle & Sebastian
Car Wheels On A Gravel Road-- Lucinda Williams
Keep the Car Running-- Arcade Fire
Car Wash-- Rose Royce
Back Of A Car-- Big Star
Motor Away-- Guided By Voices
Gravity Rides Everything-- Modest Mouse
Keep On (Groovin')-- The Brady Bunch

The Stereolab/To Rococo Rot/Gary Numan part was my favorite stretch. Krautastic!

YOUR SCENT IS STILL HERE

In one of those only-on-cable moments, I found myself watching Nirvana play the 1992 Reading festival a few days back.

When I first heard Kurt had killed himself, I hurled my remote control. It helicoptored across the living room and smashed into the far wall, breaking the battery cover.

His suicide was inevitable and stupid and a waste. And I was as unsurprised as I was pissed.

So I clutched my remote tightly for the whole of the Reading show, and I never let it go...

RUN TO THE SEA

In one of those only-on-the-internets moments, I found myself reading about The Joshua Tree a few days back.

Fun fact: turns out that the sequence of the album was determined by Kirsty MacColl, then wife of Steve Lillywhite, and soon-to-be duet partner with Shane MacGowan on Fairytale of New York. (Bonus Pogues connection: her dad Ewan was a noted folk singer, and wrote Dirty Old Town, which the Pogues covered on their second album.)

The final running order is essentially her ranking of the songs, from favorite to least. I think she got it right, mostly-- I'd probably just flip Bullet the Blue Sky and One Tree Hill and be satisfied enough...

BOO!

WHEN I PAINT MY MASTERPIECE

My favorite vision of the moment is the skeleton of midrise construction strung internally with white incandescent lights, at dusk.

This replaces my previous favorite: the first 45 seconds of condensation on a shower door illumined by a globe of vanity light, viewed from a sitting position.

If I had any talent in the visual arts, I would paint these things to be as beautiful as they are in my head...

WRAPPED UP IN BOOKS

At a conference this week...

Today, someone referred in passing to the Federation of Kentucky Academic Libraries.

Or FKAL, as I like to call it.

Or FUCKALL, as I like to call it better still.

It's all about loving what you do, people...

PANDA LAB

I've decided to pretend that the new Atlas Sound album is a single:

Walkabout (w/ Noah Lennox) b/w Quiet Canal (w/ Laetitia Sadier)

So, have you heard the new Atlas Sound single? It's groovy!

I WOULDN'T BE WITHOUT MY TV FOR A DAY

You know, the ability to access my iTunes through the TV seemed initially like feature fluff.

But then I realized that with the convergence and the whatnot and the hoohah, the best speaker system in my house probably belongs to the TV at this point.

Well played, FiOS TV. Well played.

LOVE OF GENIUS

I designed to take a short nap the other day. Unusual behavior, but I've been fighting something, and I had a slot available.

I told iTunes to make a Genius list based on Valerie by Broadcast.

As I really began to nod off, it played Choci Loni by Young Marble Giants and Chris Michaels by The Fiery Furnaces. In my borderline state of consciousness, I would have sworn that these two songs together lasted about 4 hours. And I mean that in a good way.

Apparently, I was out totally for Keep It Clean (Camera Obscura), The Crying of Lot G (Yo La Tengo), and Some Things Last a Long Time (Beach House). Wire's Strange stirred me back awake.

It was short, yeah, but it was the best damn nap I've had in ages...

PICNICKING IN THE BRITISH COUNTRYSIDE

Sometimes when great bands



splinter, the pieces do things both wondrous



and mundane



And more often than not it becomes clear that the lead singer is a tosser...

SONGS ABOUT CHOCOLATE AND GIRLS

Sometimes when great bands



splinter, the pieces do things both wondrous



and mundane



And more often than not it becomes clear that the lead singer is a tosser...

WOLF LIKE ME

And yeah, Chronic Town came out in 1982 as well.

But I didn't get bit by the R.E.M. bug until Murmur a year later.

Murmur meant so much to me.

Most of my other teenage musical obsessions to that point felt borrowed, secondhand. The Clash, The Jam, The Beat were all going concerns when I became a fan, but they were in varying states of decay.

But then with Murmur (and things like Wild Gift and The Days of Wine and Roses) I felt like I had found something inchoate, something that was gaining its shape right before my very ears. Something that belonged to me...

WOLVES, LOWER

Another dispatch from the I-am-a-dumbass files, 1982 edition.

Back at the dawn of MTV, I caught the Hungry Like the Wolf video on the TV in Kenny's basement. Didn't have cable myself...

I was pretty excited. See, I had just recently discovered the New York Dolls, and I confused Duran Duran with the Dolls' guitarist Sylvain Sylvain. I think it took me a couple of weeks to figure out this all had nothing to do with the Dolls.

Anyhow, everybody knows that Duran Duran actually assassinated Bobby Kennedy. Or something.

On another lupine front, I was rightly excited to see my X and The Hungry Wolf on MTV that same year...

THE INVOICE IT DON'T QUITE FIT

The first thing I heard when I left the office today was the somewhat desultory demo version of Janie Jones that opens the Clash on Broadway box.

Best damn thing I heard all week...

LIKE SPINNING PLATES

Sometimes I think that old Virginny is trying to speak to me through its license plates.

But all too often, I have no idea what the fuck it's trying to say.

Take today for example. Within the span of about 90 seconds, I saw the following two plates:

2OSAS

2URSUS

So what's the message, Virginia?

“sliced tongue, watch out for them bears”?

WTF VA.

AND SHE'S GONE

Lucy in the sky died...

AND IN THE END

The people have gesprochen.

Here are the top 5 Beatles remasters in terms of first-week sales:

1. Abbey Road, 89K
2. Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, 74K
3. The Beatles (white album), 60K
4. Rubber Soul, 58K
5. Revolver, 46K

Not a bad week for a band that broke up 4o years ago. Well done, hype masters! Well done, remasters!

A THOUSAND PAGES GIVE OR TAKE A FEW (HUNDRED)

Much ink has been shed and many pixels have been sacrificed in the service of chronicling every damn thing The Beatles ever did.

One of the more compelling books you're going to find is Revolution in the Head, Ian MacDonald's detailed analysis of each song the band recorded. It is sometimes bafflingly music-geeky (“cyclic arpeggios” and “plain E Dorian melodies” anyone?), decidedly pro-Macca/anti-Lennon, and reactionary to a fault (stating as fact the “catastrophic decline of pop” after 1966).

That being said, it is also passionate, insightful, and incredibly detailed. It is the type of book that perhaps only The Beatles deserve...

GOOD NIGHT SLEEP TIGHT

Random thoughts on the remasters I bought:

-Tell Me Why is every inch as good as Heatwave, which it apes, and White Riot, which it begat.

-Next time you care to make fun of Ringo, listen to Ticket to Ride. I don't know shit about drumming, but that right there is brilliant drumming.

-I wish she was leaving home in pursuit of something more profound than “fun.” But I suppose the lack of profundity is what seals our sympathy for the middle-class mum and dad, which is a pretty extraordinary slant for 1967.

-”I used to be cruel to my woman/I beat her and kept her apart from the things that she loved”? Not cool, The Beatles. Not cool.

-On the other hand... I was taking my mom out shopping last Sunday. She's recovering from a mild stroke and battling arthritic knees, so it takes her 4 or 5 arduous minutes to get in the car. As she worked to pull herself across the back seat, she heard Getting Better playing on the radio. “I like your music,” she said, her face brightening. And here I let Paul carry the moment, and left John out of it...

-The guitar solo in I Should Have Known Better is just the damn dinkiest thing. Sounds like someone breaks a string at the end of it.

-Yesterday endures because it is 2:06.

-Glass Onion's obnoxious solipsism is one thing, but how about Savoy Truffle: “We all know ob-la-di-bla-da...” Um, yeah, we all know it, George... from aaaalllll the way back on fucking side 1. Sheesh.

CHASING PAPER

The fourth Beatles remaster I bought? Why, it's all there in that previous post.

Here's a hint: white text on a white background.

Now, go plant some acorns for peace, ya knuckleheads...

YOU ASK ME FOR A CONTRIBUTION

The last of the four Beatles remasters that I bought was the white album. That sprawling, bawling, yawing, hawing, mess of an album.

The thing is so schizophrenic that an actual schizophrenic heard in it messages to foment violent revolution.

Never mind that one of those songs was a slight but noisy ode to a fairground ride (Helter Skelter). Mind that one was a fairly vitriolic attack on middle-class values (Piggies).

And I have to say, whereas Helter Skelter always felt kind of cleansing to me, Piggies still just sounds nasty and condescending. I mean, that line about “clutching forks and knives to eat their bacon” (cannibalism, you see) is positively Swiftian—well, if Swift had been a moralizing, humorless prig, that is.

To indulge in some parlour games, here’s my version of the great single-album tracklist:

Side A
1. Back in the USSR
2. Dear Prudence
3. Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da
4. While My Guitar Gently Weeps
5. Happiness is a Warm Gun
6. I’m So Tired

Side B
1. Birthday
2. Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except for Me and My Monkey
3. Sexy Sadie
4. Julia
5. Helter Skelter
6. Revolution 1

FUN IS THE ONE THING THAT MONEY CAN'T BUY

Next up on the remaster parade is Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.

The album is at heart a confection.

Its weight, in the context of late 60's Romantic notions, is its weightlessness.

Right up until A Day in the Life, that is.

Don't get me wrong-- A Day in the Life earns all its due respect as a watershed moment in pop. But, really it just seems out of place here. Sgt Pepper proper would be a much tidier affair if it ended with the reprise.

And as a bonus, then we could all acknowledge She's Leaving Home as the best single song on the album without feeling guilty...

HEAD IN HAND

The next Beatles remaster I picked up was Help!

The drill here is essentially the same as with A Hard Day's Night: seven brilliant soundtrack songs, followed by, um, others (quick-- whistle You Like Me Too Much or Tell Me What You See). The line of demarcation is drawn in boldface when Ticket to Ride gives way to Act Naturally.

But in this case, “other” also includes I've Just Seen a Face and Yesterday. (Thanks, Paul.) Plus, the brilliant songs are “better” than the one's on A Hard Day's Night because they're more “mature.”

So, while A Hard Day's Night is the winner in the movie category, Help! has got it on songs...

I DON'T CARE TOO MUCH FOR MONEY

Depending on the angle of light on any given day, The Beatles can appear infinite.

But then you see the box set sitting there: 14 discs, 180 or so songs. And The Beatles seem as tiny as England.

The truth-- as always-- is somewhere in between.

I didn't gob up for the box-- too many middling early covers I'll never listen to, plus the Yellow Submarine soundtrack.

I started with A Hard Day's Night.

The first seven songs are from the movie, and are pretty much magic in a can: A Hard Day's Night, I Should Have Known Better, If I Fell, I'm Happy Just To Dance With You, And I Love Her, Tell Me Why, Can't Buy Me Love.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, and bang.

The back six is not quite as strong. There's a reason you probably couldn't sing I'll Be Back or When I Get Home if I dared you.

But if the whole thing doesn't tickle your spine, you might want to try breathing on a mirror...

FOR SALE

Boy, they have just marketed the fuck out of those Beatles remasters.

Not that The Beatles had too much fuck in them to begin with.

So, um, which ones did you buy?

I'll tell you about mine...

VOULEZ-VOUS

I was looking at my usage stats the other day, and saw that someone from France had stumbled upon this page last week, my 2005 “interview” with Rudolf Schenker of Scorpions.

And I had this vision of a guy for whom perhaps English is not a first language (OK, I call him Jacques—my visions are pretty fleshed out), mistaking this for an actual interview.

In my vision, Jacques is the editor of the premier French Scorpions fanzine (it’s called “Scorpions: Les Maîtres de Rock” and it’s a 64-page, four-color, A4 affair), and he decides to appropriate my piece for an upcoming issue.

And that way, all the Scorpions fans in France and the French-speaking world can enjoy what is my favorite phrase ever in the history of this blog: “the bras bloom like tulips.”

Or as the French say, “la fleur de soutiens-gorge aiment des tulips”…

SKIP A LIFE COMPLETELY

Man, did Adventureland ever knock me for a loop.

Let me count the ways.

1. Setting. I grew up a couple of miles from the Adventureland that “inspired” the movie-- spent plenty of time there as a kid. Apparently the filmmakers looked to shoot at the Long Island location, but it had been modernized out of the 80s, so they found a more vintage park and changed the setting to Pittsburgh.
2. Soundtrack. Husker Du. The Replacements. The JAMC. The Velvet Underground. Hell, the third-album Velvet Underground, specifically. That was my 1987, too.
3. The piddling job. I did my time at a Waldbaum's deli counter, slicing meat for the masses (see this blog, name of).
4. Romance. Heidi and I came together for a brief moment at the deli. She was a sophomore, a surfer, a Deadhead, adrift. I was none of those things...except adrift. She invited me to a party, and I asked if I could bring a friend. When I showed up with Kenny, she assumed I was gay. I assured her I was not, and we ended the evening with an involved kiss. I had never kissed someone who was as tall as Heidi. We spent time together for the next few weeks. I wrote her poems, we wrote each other letters, and we stayed on the phone into the after hours. She slept in my bed the night before she went back to Binghamton. The poems, letters, and phone calls continued long distance for another couple of weeks, until she was absorbed finally back into life in her dorm. And it was over.
   

So, yeah-- a loop.

And I tell you, I have never liked being upside down...

A GREAT LONGING

Llllllllllllllllllaaaaaaaaaaaammmmmmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaaaaasssssssssss!

WHITE LABBIT

Picked this shirt up in NY at Century 21:



I swear I'm not biting your style, brain coral. It's just a really cool shirt.

Let's call it a tribute...

CHIPS AHOY

The best material gift my family brought me from Japan was a jumbo bag of nacho cheese Doritos from Costco.

Japanese nacho cheese Doritos are the platonic ideal of Doritos.

They are smaller than American Doritos, and a single chip can be eaten reasonably in a single bite.

They are slightly thicker, and therefore have a more substantial crunch.

The flavoring is mild, as opposed to the overwhelming orange powder of their American counterparts. This allows for an appropriate balance between the cheese flavor and the corn flavor.

I ran through the whole bag in about a week and a half, and I don't typically snack too much.

Japanese nacho cheese Doritos put the lay in Frito-Lay...

SHADE TOO WHITE

I like that Amazon offers 50 albums for download each month at $5 a pop.

I don't like that such a large percentage of the albums suck pepperjack.

Like, if you think you need a copy of Kings of the Wild Frontier, I'm here to tell you that you don't. Not even for a fivver.

This'll do for that...

GOING OFF THE RAILS

You ever have one of those days where you wanted to grab someone by the lapels and just yell in their face “Be less crazy!”?

But (A) they don't have lapels, and/or (B) it wouldn't work?

Well, yeah, that was my Monday.

But it was balanced out by Sebastian telling me after dinner that he wanted to be a dad someday so that he could have “minions.”

Nothing crazy about that...

WHITE ROSE

A friend made me a couple of mix CDs, and disc one starts with Portland, Oregon by Loretta Lynn with Jack White.

These guys are like peanut butter and chocolate. That is, two great tastes that taste great together...

SAVE THE WHALES

I can see myself having the same sort of relationship with Bitte Orca that I had with Ships.

That is, initial arms-length admiration mixed with annoyance, followed a year or so later by devoted obsession.

Bitte Orca even has its own second-song line that's currently annoying the fuck out of me (a la “When life's got your goat now/By his tail and by his goat throat...” from Ships): “And what hits the spot, yeah, like Gatorade?”

Stop product placement in indie rock now, bitches.

If you tolerate this, your Toys R Us kids will be next...

HUSH HUSH

We have all at one point or another made an album purchase that in the light of time and reflection fills us with shamebarassment.

But, brother/sister, you'd be hard pressed to top the moment back in 1983 when I plunked down $5.99 + tax for a cassette copy of White Feathers by Kajagoogoo...

BACK TO THE GARDEN

Pictures of old hippies. That is all.

(I'll be back from vacation next week. In the meantime, watch out for the brown acid.)

THREE FEET HIGH AND RISING

The final of my four Classic Rock downloads from last week was Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me by Elton John.

From 1973 through 1975, Elton released three albums in quick succession: Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, Caribou, and Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy.

And apparently, Elton worked closely with England's National Health to have the covers designed by dangerous mental patients.

I'm telling you, that Caribou cover alone is going to give me cold-sweat nightmares for sure...

DON'T LOSE THAT NUMBER

My third Classic Rock purchase was My Old School by Steely Dan.

Back when I was a wee lad, I got a kick out of the way they used the words “oleanders” and “Guadalajara.” Had no idea until years later that the song retold events surrounding a pot bust at Bard College.

Even more obscure than the narrative was that opening line: “I remember the 35 sweet goodbyes...”

I'll give you a minute.

(Whistle whistle)

Still nothing?

How about if I told you that the original number in the lyric was 34.5, but they changed it because 34.5 didn't scan well?

(Whistle whistle)

OK, let's work with those numbers a bit. 35 is half of 70. And 34.5 is half of... 69.

So the “35 sweet goodbyes” is meant to represent half of 69, or more specifically, a blow job.

Just in case you forgot that Steely Dan were named after a dildo.

Randy bunch, that...

THE ROYAL SCAM

I almost bought two ELO songs, but I couldn't decide. Turn to Stone? Telephone Line? Sweet Talkin' Woman?

Damn you, Jeff Lynne.

So I did the next best thing, and split the difference: Somebody to Love, by Queen.

What I like about this is that it has moments of restraint. Sure, there's all that patented scaramouching going on, and it sounds like Freddie's voice box falls down a flight of stairs toward the end, but there are parts where genuine human emotion appears to be on display. Not too many, of course, because who comes to Queen for that?

Oh, and the guitar solo sounds like it's played by an astrophysicist. Cash!

I'M TAKING A DIVE

Increased my Classic Rock playlist by four songs last night, the first of which was Livin' Thing by ELO.

Now, the things that make ELO so absurd when considered in our dotage are the very livin' things that make them awesome when we're 10. The slipping and sliding vocals, the rhythmic strings, the echoes echoes echoes.

You know, the whole electric light orchestration of it all.

Well, you can bet that I sat straight back down in my seat when Livin' Thing came on over the credits to Boogie Nights. Wouldn't leave the damn theater until it was over...

BLACK CAT

I've been waiting forever for-ever-ever forever to see Broadcast in concert.

And now they're coming in October, with Atlas Sound no less, who was a superhero when he opened for Stereolab last year.

I left my browser on the Black Cat site for a week, waiting to buy tickets when they went on sale.

But in the interim I read that Broadcast were now a duo, and that the show would be "stripped down." Well dammit, I want my Broadcast stripped up.

I haven't bought tickets yet-- I think I'll wait to hear some reports when the tour starts...

TOUCH THE FLAME

If I ever get married, I want to make sure that the Pet Shop Boys medley of Where the Streets Have No Name/Can't Take My Eyes Off You is on the soundtrack.

And I want dry ice.

And lasers. Lasers that spell out "Happy Wedding" in elaborate script.

Plus I want to walk around the reception hall from table to table with a butane torch in my hand, lighting the candle in each centerpiece.

Then I want there to be a giant candle surrounded in a heart shape by smaller candles, which are connected by tissue paper. And I want to light one of the candles at the bottom of the heart and watch the flames travel up both sides until all of the smaller candles are lit.

And I want the giant candle to have a wick that burns all sparkly red when you first light it.

And then I want to hear someone talk about "the future world."

Kind of like these crazy kids...