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...

ONE GIANT LEAP

OK, it's a day late for this, I know, but... THE MOON IS FREE, BITCHES!

BOY IN A BOX

Boombox collectors (for yes, there is such a thing) call this their Holy Grail:




Well, slap my ass and call me Jesus— that’s my teenage box!

I went to the Walt Whitman Mall with Nancy one day, and bought it for $200 at Crazy Eddie’s across Route 110. Didn’t have a dime left after that purchase, so we had to scrounge around for change to make two fares on the N-79 bus. We begged from strangers, and dipped into the fountain in front of Macy’s for nickels.

I can still feel the tiny yet perceptible clicks as you pushed the volume slider up:

No future (click) No future (click) No future for youuuuu…

TO BE A ROCK AND NOT TO ROLL

I created a Classic Rock playlist in iTunes the other day.

So far, there are just two residents: Stairway to Heaven and Roundabout.

I listened to Stairway last night. Probably the first time in 25 years or so that I’ve listened to it all the way through. Definitely the first time I’ve ever listened through headphones. So my ears were relatively fresh.

Well, let’s just say my mind wandered. All the mock pomp and mock circumstance left me for-real bored.

Roundabout fares better. You really believe these cosmic warriors are invested in the mountains coming out of the sky and standing there. The dipshits mean it man, and commitment is half the battle...

ALWAYS BE TOGETHER

I got an e-mail today from someone on our office services staff. The subject was “Electric fun.”

Now, do I like me some electric fun? Fucks yeah.

I nearly sprained my pointer clicking to open it. The text was simple: “The fun will be here tomorrow.”

Again-- fucks yeah.

In a couple of beats, I remembered that I had ordered a table fan for my office.

Darn. A typo.

Anyway, I'm still holding out for some electric fun. Here's hoping you get some too...

TIME SLIPS AWAY

When I really want me some Comsat Angels, though, I turn to this, one of my favo(u)rite pieces of early 80s synth pop....

CS ANGELS IN AMERICA

Have a safe and happy 4th, 'Mericans...

THE IMAGE BREAKS DOWN

Man, assholes buy all the bumper stickers, don't they?

I'm looking at you, "Nobama."

You too "Marriage = One Man + One Woman."

NIGHT FALLS

Quote of the day, from Jens Lekman, who's laid up with H1N1:

"Summer is always best through a window."

I kind of agree, and feel better soon Jens.

I WANT YOU BACK

A few months ago I mentioned Michael Jackson in passing conversation. Lana crinkled up her nose.

“Ew.”

I understood. But I was curious. What had she heard?

“He's just a weirdo.”

“Well, it's not that simple,” I said.

I called up YouTube and played her the Billie Jean video.

Lana was silent for 4:54, watching with full rapt attention. I didn't need to say anything more.

Rest in peace, Michael.

Ah, but of course, it's not that simple...