A WORLD IN WHITE GETS UNDERWAY
Another new song, since I know you loved Thomas Pynchon to death.
Happy New Year!
GEDDE WATANABE
Long Duk Dong, At Toon
Oishi Kazihiro
Duncan, Hiroshi
Matty, Kuni, Max
Taki Mifune
Tran
Guru Prem
Mr. Takadachi
Mr. Katsuji
Takeo, Steve
Detective Onoda
Play-Tone Photographer
Mr. Oh
Enzo, Yoshi, Chan
Kuni, Ling
Asian Tourist
Ed
Waiter
Nobo Nakamura
Greg
Factory Foreman
Japanese Father
Ling
Ling
Principal Nakamura
Dr. Suzuki
Kenji
Cafe Owner
Japanese Proctor
Cyril
Professor Bob Chen
Dr. Phil Ling
Nurse Yosh Takata
Charlie
Wing
Ling
Art 'Papa Joy'
Milton
Ling
Mr. Yu
Eliza's Dad, The Doctor
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
O TREW OR WET WE ROT WROTE
OK, if you’ve learned anything about me, you’ll probably already know that I went back to Tower one last time. On the last day.
And I was there for last call, when they announced that all remaining stock was on sale for 50 cents or less.
These were my last puchases:
Morehappyness, The Aluminum Group
Instant Wigwam and Igloo Mixture, Go Kart Mozart
Tearing Up the Album Chart, Go Kart Mozart
The Greatest Hit, The Blue Orchids
Zeroes and Ones, Eleventh Dream Day
Tower of Love, Jim Noir
Snap, Crackle, & Bop, John Cooper Clarke
The capper was a CD called The Trip, a two-disc set compiled by Jarvis Cocker and Steve Mackey of Pulp. List price was $33.99, and dig that crazy track list:
Disc 1
Gassenhauer, Carl Orff
Release the Bats, The Birthday Party
Rubber Room, Porter Wagoner
Just Drifting, Psychic TV
Lady with the Braid, Dory Previn
Cool Summer, Bob Lind
24, Sycamore, Gene Pitney
Sock It My Way, Animated Egg
Feel Flows, The Beach Boys
Winter's Going, Bonnie Dobson
I'm Going Home, Arlo Guthrie
Don't Think Twice, It's All Right, Bobby Bare
Jukebox Babe, Alan Vega
Waiting for the Man, Liam O'Mdonlai, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark
Rock 'N' Roll/Night Clubbing, The Human League
King Wasp, Add N To (X)
Lost in Music, The Fall
Villain, Lieutenant Pigeon
Pastoral, Moondog
Disc 2
Jet Boy, Jet Girl, Elton Motello
John, I'm Only Dancing, The Polecats
Wop Doowop, ElectroniCAT
In Zaire, Johnny Wakelin
Anonymous Face, Quix*o*tic
Eqypt Reggae, Jonathan Richman & the Modern Lovers
Pour Man, Lee Hazelwood
Flashing Lights, Lord Sutch
Beasley Street, John Cooper Clarke
Rock On, David Essex
Les Visiteurs, Georges DeLaRue
Pammie's on a Bummer, Sonny Bono
I Wonder If I Care as Much, The Everly Brothers
Purple Haze, Dion
Going Nowhere, Neil Sedaka
Sailing By, Ronald Binge
OK, if you’ve learned anything about me, you’ll probably already know that I went back to Tower one last time. On the last day.
And I was there for last call, when they announced that all remaining stock was on sale for 50 cents or less.
These were my last puchases:
Morehappyness, The Aluminum Group
Instant Wigwam and Igloo Mixture, Go Kart Mozart
Tearing Up the Album Chart, Go Kart Mozart
The Greatest Hit, The Blue Orchids
Zeroes and Ones, Eleventh Dream Day
Tower of Love, Jim Noir
Snap, Crackle, & Bop, John Cooper Clarke
The capper was a CD called The Trip, a two-disc set compiled by Jarvis Cocker and Steve Mackey of Pulp. List price was $33.99, and dig that crazy track list:
Disc 1
Gassenhauer, Carl Orff
Release the Bats, The Birthday Party
Rubber Room, Porter Wagoner
Just Drifting, Psychic TV
Lady with the Braid, Dory Previn
Cool Summer, Bob Lind
24, Sycamore, Gene Pitney
Sock It My Way, Animated Egg
Feel Flows, The Beach Boys
Winter's Going, Bonnie Dobson
I'm Going Home, Arlo Guthrie
Don't Think Twice, It's All Right, Bobby Bare
Jukebox Babe, Alan Vega
Waiting for the Man, Liam O'Mdonlai, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark
Rock 'N' Roll/Night Clubbing, The Human League
King Wasp, Add N To (X)
Lost in Music, The Fall
Villain, Lieutenant Pigeon
Pastoral, Moondog
Disc 2
Jet Boy, Jet Girl, Elton Motello
John, I'm Only Dancing, The Polecats
Wop Doowop, ElectroniCAT
In Zaire, Johnny Wakelin
Anonymous Face, Quix*o*tic
Eqypt Reggae, Jonathan Richman & the Modern Lovers
Pour Man, Lee Hazelwood
Flashing Lights, Lord Sutch
Beasley Street, John Cooper Clarke
Rock On, David Essex
Les Visiteurs, Georges DeLaRue
Pammie's on a Bummer, Sonny Bono
I Wonder If I Care as Much, The Everly Brothers
Purple Haze, Dion
Going Nowhere, Neil Sedaka
Sailing By, Ronald Binge
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Thursday, December 21, 2006
TRANSLATOR
OK, this is the babelfish translation of a message a friend of ours sent to my wife in Japanese.
I'm having a hard time figuring out what my favorite part is, although I have to admit that the translation of "play group" as "plague loop" has a special place in my heart.
"T, Today the card two, it received also メールカード from T, was delightful at all is. As writing on the card, the fact that truly this year the opportunity which the variety meets is many in the family, can encounter with the family for us very was lucky thing. The sunflower the soldier/finishing garden does inside at March, but don't you think? in addition we ask also next year may with the opportunity which meets with プレイデイト and the like not to change. So, also birth meeting of the plague loop of セバスチャン met, it is, don't you think?. It is possible finally relieved with this, don't you think?. Because I finished the Christmas lapping swiftly, enormously in the rear end eye soaking in room, it increases M who is flurried. Today my mother arrives safely, my Christmas preparation ending, is the feeling that with this it will be relieved. By the way, it is case of 29 days, but thank you. There is one schedule during morning, but in the afternoon you think that it is all right. When time and the like and it becomes close, communication it will scramble? Don't you think? or it is Mami's schedule circumstance. Inside, while the mother is, you insert the reservation of the dentist with the notion that where you call, because the り which is what it has done, it meaning that 29 days are most convenient, it does, but if so you say, also 26 days have been less crowded. So returning home on the 25th, perhaps, inside Mami, schedule of the following day is busy, don't you think?. From Mami receiving message in absence electricity, increasing, when we can meet in winter vacation after all? Because with the っ which means saying it is, T and Mami and, in addition meeting soon, it increases the fact that story it is possible in the pleasure. To that, as for first impression it is funny the one which has settled, with each time sliced tongue's of the impression which is said image hears story and others and others to keep being broken bitterly, is. (It does not translate into English and the て well enough is) the tea eye sliced tongue properly doing future participating is expected. ' Please pass cute holiday in sliced tongue. Just the message which ' with is said may even from now on translating into English, please convey? . So with, please pass cute Christmas. ま ど?"
I'll be taking a little break from posting after today, so what more can I say than "Please pass cute Christmas"...
OK, this is the babelfish translation of a message a friend of ours sent to my wife in Japanese.
I'm having a hard time figuring out what my favorite part is, although I have to admit that the translation of "play group" as "plague loop" has a special place in my heart.
"T, Today the card two, it received also メールカード from T, was delightful at all is. As writing on the card, the fact that truly this year the opportunity which the variety meets is many in the family, can encounter with the family for us very was lucky thing. The sunflower the soldier/finishing garden does inside at March, but don't you think? in addition we ask also next year may with the opportunity which meets with プレイデイト and the like not to change. So, also birth meeting of the plague loop of セバスチャン met, it is, don't you think?. It is possible finally relieved with this, don't you think?. Because I finished the Christmas lapping swiftly, enormously in the rear end eye soaking in room, it increases M who is flurried. Today my mother arrives safely, my Christmas preparation ending, is the feeling that with this it will be relieved. By the way, it is case of 29 days, but thank you. There is one schedule during morning, but in the afternoon you think that it is all right. When time and the like and it becomes close, communication it will scramble? Don't you think? or it is Mami's schedule circumstance. Inside, while the mother is, you insert the reservation of the dentist with the notion that where you call, because the り which is what it has done, it meaning that 29 days are most convenient, it does, but if so you say, also 26 days have been less crowded. So returning home on the 25th, perhaps, inside Mami, schedule of the following day is busy, don't you think?. From Mami receiving message in absence electricity, increasing, when we can meet in winter vacation after all? Because with the っ which means saying it is, T and Mami and, in addition meeting soon, it increases the fact that story it is possible in the pleasure. To that, as for first impression it is funny the one which has settled, with each time sliced tongue's of the impression which is said image hears story and others and others to keep being broken bitterly, is. (It does not translate into English and the て well enough is) the tea eye sliced tongue properly doing future participating is expected. ' Please pass cute holiday in sliced tongue. Just the message which ' with is said may even from now on translating into English, please convey? . So with, please pass cute Christmas. ま ど?"
I'll be taking a little break from posting after today, so what more can I say than "Please pass cute Christmas"...
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
HAROLD ANGEL
Holiday malaprop, part 1
I was looking over some holiday cards that my wife was getting ready to mail, and my thumb stopped at one addressed to "Mr. Noir Strange."
"Do we really know someone named Mr. Noir Strange?" I asked, excitedly. "That's goth-tacular!"
Well, a quick trip to the address book revealed that we don't know anyone named Mr. Noir Strange. Just someone with a name that sounds kind of like Mr. Noir Strange.
And we are the lesser for it, I say...
Holiday malaprop, part 2
I took a bit of a long cut back from the market, so the kids and I could see some Christmas decorations.
"Look at that one!" my daughter enthused. "It's got a candy cane, and flashing lights, and a little Baby Genius."
Ah, Baby Genius. That's really what Christmas is all about, isn't it?
Holiday malaprop, part 1
I was looking over some holiday cards that my wife was getting ready to mail, and my thumb stopped at one addressed to "Mr. Noir Strange."
"Do we really know someone named Mr. Noir Strange?" I asked, excitedly. "That's goth-tacular!"
Well, a quick trip to the address book revealed that we don't know anyone named Mr. Noir Strange. Just someone with a name that sounds kind of like Mr. Noir Strange.
And we are the lesser for it, I say...
Holiday malaprop, part 2
I took a bit of a long cut back from the market, so the kids and I could see some Christmas decorations.
"Look at that one!" my daughter enthused. "It's got a candy cane, and flashing lights, and a little Baby Genius."
Ah, Baby Genius. That's really what Christmas is all about, isn't it?
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Monday, December 18, 2006
ENTHUSIASM FOR LIFE DEFEATS EXISTENTIAL FEAR
I don’t expect I’ll ever set foot in another Tower Records again.
One of our four local branches is now shuttered, and the other three are soon to follow.
Of all the items that I picked up there over the last month or so, this is probably my favorite:
It’s a CD single of The Flaming Lips' Waitin’ for a Superman b/w two tracks from Zaireeka-- a neat little gimcrack-tasctical thing that cost me 50 cents. I'll probably never even play it.
I almost can’t explain why I like it so much.
I almost can’t explain why it almost brings me to tears...
I don’t expect I’ll ever set foot in another Tower Records again.
One of our four local branches is now shuttered, and the other three are soon to follow.
Of all the items that I picked up there over the last month or so, this is probably my favorite:
It’s a CD single of The Flaming Lips' Waitin’ for a Superman b/w two tracks from Zaireeka-- a neat little gimcrack-tasctical thing that cost me 50 cents. I'll probably never even play it.
I almost can’t explain why I like it so much.
I almost can’t explain why it almost brings me to tears...
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
SING, ALL YE CITIZENS
For many of my boyhood years, I sang in the church choir.
I sang mostly because I liked to sing. I found the humorless practicing to be a chore, and I thought a lot of the songs were colorless and boring.
I did like sitting in the choir loft, though. It was a great location from which to pursue boyish daydreams of rescuing the congregation from some interloping force or another.
“And just then,” it would go in the retelling, “Just then he swooped down out of the loft, his red choir robe partially unzipped, and landed a staggering blow on the heads of the church robbers/marauding alien forces/zombie hordes. What bravery! And, you know, he’s also quite the alto.”
The one exception was Christmas Eve. I did not daydream on Christmas Eve.
Being up in the loft at night lent the whole experience a tinge of mystery that trumped daydreaming.
Plus we got to sing a whole range of cool songs: Silent Night, O Come, All Ye Faithful, Angels We Have Heard On High, Joy to the World, O Little Town of Bethlehem, It Came Upon a Midnight Clear, Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.
Man, Christmas hymns are the new punk rock...
For many of my boyhood years, I sang in the church choir.
I sang mostly because I liked to sing. I found the humorless practicing to be a chore, and I thought a lot of the songs were colorless and boring.
I did like sitting in the choir loft, though. It was a great location from which to pursue boyish daydreams of rescuing the congregation from some interloping force or another.
“And just then,” it would go in the retelling, “Just then he swooped down out of the loft, his red choir robe partially unzipped, and landed a staggering blow on the heads of the church robbers/marauding alien forces/zombie hordes. What bravery! And, you know, he’s also quite the alto.”
The one exception was Christmas Eve. I did not daydream on Christmas Eve.
Being up in the loft at night lent the whole experience a tinge of mystery that trumped daydreaming.
Plus we got to sing a whole range of cool songs: Silent Night, O Come, All Ye Faithful, Angels We Have Heard On High, Joy to the World, O Little Town of Bethlehem, It Came Upon a Midnight Clear, Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.
Man, Christmas hymns are the new punk rock...
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Monday, December 11, 2006
IT’S SUCH A GAMBLE WHEN YOU GET A FACE
Back when I was 17, I worked as a dishwasher at a Howard Johnson’s.
The chief benefit was that I was able to boost the occasional industrial-sized carton of cheddar Goldfish when I made my nightly Dumpster runs.
(OK, my conscience requires a brief PSA at this point: Workplace theft kills, kids. Don’t do it. Keep your eye on the sparrow. Thank you.)
Anyway, the night manager was a bit of a well-meaning tool. He was in his mid to late 20s, and intoxicated by the power that comes with managing the restaurant at a HoJo’s.
One night, I was cleaning up my area and listening to music on my JVC box. Suddenly, the manager slid into view, air guitaring and singing along, right near the top of his lungs.
“I’m waiting for my maaaaan!”
I had a look of horror stenciled on my face. “You like the Velvets?”
“Oh, yeah. Me and my frat brothers loved this album!” he enthused, still windmilling at the ether.
Needless to say I was troubled by the image of a whole house full of fratboys like this huckleberry swigging PBRs and listening to the Velvets. This was my music, damnit. My private music.
Well, this past Saturday morning I went to Hollywood Video to rent a copy of stop-motion Rudolph for that evening’s family movie night. I was greeted by a lone clerk, probably 17 himself. He was dressed in black from head to toe, except for the interruption of his moon-blue name tag.
And instead of the usual endless loop of promos for Failure to Launch and Barnyard, the clerk had Richard Hell cranked up on the store’s PA.
As I went to pay, I handed him the DVD and my membership card. “Richard Hell, huh?” I said, nodding in the direction of the ceiling.
And of course he shot me a look. “This is my music, damnit. My private music,” said the look...
Back when I was 17, I worked as a dishwasher at a Howard Johnson’s.
The chief benefit was that I was able to boost the occasional industrial-sized carton of cheddar Goldfish when I made my nightly Dumpster runs.
(OK, my conscience requires a brief PSA at this point: Workplace theft kills, kids. Don’t do it. Keep your eye on the sparrow. Thank you.)
Anyway, the night manager was a bit of a well-meaning tool. He was in his mid to late 20s, and intoxicated by the power that comes with managing the restaurant at a HoJo’s.
One night, I was cleaning up my area and listening to music on my JVC box. Suddenly, the manager slid into view, air guitaring and singing along, right near the top of his lungs.
“I’m waiting for my maaaaan!”
I had a look of horror stenciled on my face. “You like the Velvets?”
“Oh, yeah. Me and my frat brothers loved this album!” he enthused, still windmilling at the ether.
Needless to say I was troubled by the image of a whole house full of fratboys like this huckleberry swigging PBRs and listening to the Velvets. This was my music, damnit. My private music.
Well, this past Saturday morning I went to Hollywood Video to rent a copy of stop-motion Rudolph for that evening’s family movie night. I was greeted by a lone clerk, probably 17 himself. He was dressed in black from head to toe, except for the interruption of his moon-blue name tag.
And instead of the usual endless loop of promos for Failure to Launch and Barnyard, the clerk had Richard Hell cranked up on the store’s PA.
As I went to pay, I handed him the DVD and my membership card. “Richard Hell, huh?” I said, nodding in the direction of the ceiling.
And of course he shot me a look. “This is my music, damnit. My private music,” said the look...
Friday, December 08, 2006
COME INSIDE
I should note that Karn Evil 9 wins some kind of weird daily double, since it comes from an album that also bears one my least favorite titles ever: Brain Salad Surgery.
I mean, it’s no Tormato, but it’s pretty damn bad.
Turns out they nicked it from Dr. John’s Right Place, Wrong Time. Huh. Strange bedfellows...
Oh, and Tom? You sing like a stuck pig.
I should note that Karn Evil 9 wins some kind of weird daily double, since it comes from an album that also bears one my least favorite titles ever: Brain Salad Surgery.
I mean, it’s no Tormato, but it’s pretty damn bad.
Turns out they nicked it from Dr. John’s Right Place, Wrong Time. Huh. Strange bedfellows...
Oh, and Tom? You sing like a stuck pig.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
SEE THE SHOW
This “song title that sucks” brought to you by the good folks at Emerson, Lake, and Palmer. Personal injuries a specialty.
Karn Evil 9, ELP
The main thing to hate about this is that ELP clearly think it’s clever.
But really it’s just designed to give stoners pause while they clean the seeds out of their red.
“Karn? Dude, what’s karn? Is that, like, Australian or something?”
And then the moment of revelation:
“Oh, man. Karn-evil. I get it! It’s like, like, carnival, except it’s evil. These guys rock, progressively!”
I confess I’m not stoned enough myself to know what the 9 is for. Nor why they needed to break it down into 1st Impression, Part 1; 1st Impression, Part 2; 2nd Impression; and 3rd Impression.
Fecking proggers...
This “song title that sucks” brought to you by the good folks at Emerson, Lake, and Palmer. Personal injuries a specialty.
Karn Evil 9, ELP
The main thing to hate about this is that ELP clearly think it’s clever.
But really it’s just designed to give stoners pause while they clean the seeds out of their red.
“Karn? Dude, what’s karn? Is that, like, Australian or something?”
And then the moment of revelation:
“Oh, man. Karn-evil. I get it! It’s like, like, carnival, except it’s evil. These guys rock, progressively!”
I confess I’m not stoned enough myself to know what the 9 is for. Nor why they needed to break it down into 1st Impression, Part 1; 1st Impression, Part 2; 2nd Impression; and 3rd Impression.
Fecking proggers...
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
DECISION ROCK
Bad title. Bad.
Puncture in the Radax Permutation, Stereolab
OK, my Franco-Brit friends, you know I pledged my troth many years ago.
But this is just brutal.
I still don’t know what the hell “radax” is. A game for the Commodore 64? A prescription antidepressant? A really bitchin' guitar?
What doesn’t help matters is the fact that the lyrics read like a sketchily translated synopsis of episode 6 of Bubblegum Crisis. “Humble biped you’ve come undone/You detached the mechanical”...
But just to prove my love, here’s a compensatory list of Stereolab song titles that kick the collective ass of all comers:
Our Trinitone Blast
Pack Yr Romantic Mind
Lock-Groove Lullaby
French Disko
John Cage Bubblegum
Avant Garde M.O.R.
Ronco Symphony
We’re Not Adult Orientated
Three-Dee Melodie
Fiery Yellow
Pop Quiz
Heavenly Van Halen
Metronomic Underground
Cybele’s Reverie
Tomorrow is Already Here
Diagonals
Velvet Water
Bad title. Bad.
Puncture in the Radax Permutation, Stereolab
OK, my Franco-Brit friends, you know I pledged my troth many years ago.
But this is just brutal.
I still don’t know what the hell “radax” is. A game for the Commodore 64? A prescription antidepressant? A really bitchin' guitar?
What doesn’t help matters is the fact that the lyrics read like a sketchily translated synopsis of episode 6 of Bubblegum Crisis. “Humble biped you’ve come undone/You detached the mechanical”...
But just to prove my love, here’s a compensatory list of Stereolab song titles that kick the collective ass of all comers:
Our Trinitone Blast
Pack Yr Romantic Mind
Lock-Groove Lullaby
French Disko
John Cage Bubblegum
Avant Garde M.O.R.
Ronco Symphony
We’re Not Adult Orientated
Three-Dee Melodie
Fiery Yellow
Pop Quiz
Heavenly Van Halen
Metronomic Underground
Cybele’s Reverie
Tomorrow is Already Here
Diagonals
Velvet Water
Monday, December 04, 2006
IT AIN’T EASY BEING GREEN
Welcome to least-favorite-song-title week...
Skank Bloc Bologna, Scritti Politti
First things first: I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard this song.
I doubt that hearing it would improve my opinion of the title, though.
I mean, I’m sure the song is an urbane, witty, and caustic social commentary.
Or something. Sweet Jiminy Fuckit, for all I know it’s an instrumental.
But let’s diagram this.
OK, point one: Skank.
Skank is just an ugly word, independent of its meaning as a descriptor for an unwholesome woman.
And even if it’s being used more in the ska sense, it still hurts my brain.
I don’t have a connotative opinion about “bloc” but its use right next to skank only serves to bring out the ugly in it.
And then there’s “bologna”...
Yes, bologna— the most put-upon of all the pressed deli meats.
“Hey, Bologna, somebody named Tony called and wanted to know where the hell you get off rhyming with him, being spelled like that and all,” shouts Mortadella.
“Hey, Bologna, what’s your first name again?” taunts Salami.
And all the while, Head Cheese turns away silently and faces the German potato salad, weighed down with equal measures of guilt and empathy.
Bad choice, Scritti. Bad choice...
Welcome to least-favorite-song-title week...
Skank Bloc Bologna, Scritti Politti
First things first: I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard this song.
I doubt that hearing it would improve my opinion of the title, though.
I mean, I’m sure the song is an urbane, witty, and caustic social commentary.
Or something. Sweet Jiminy Fuckit, for all I know it’s an instrumental.
But let’s diagram this.
OK, point one: Skank.
Skank is just an ugly word, independent of its meaning as a descriptor for an unwholesome woman.
And even if it’s being used more in the ska sense, it still hurts my brain.
I don’t have a connotative opinion about “bloc” but its use right next to skank only serves to bring out the ugly in it.
And then there’s “bologna”...
Yes, bologna— the most put-upon of all the pressed deli meats.
“Hey, Bologna, somebody named Tony called and wanted to know where the hell you get off rhyming with him, being spelled like that and all,” shouts Mortadella.
“Hey, Bologna, what’s your first name again?” taunts Salami.
And all the while, Head Cheese turns away silently and faces the German potato salad, weighed down with equal measures of guilt and empathy.
Bad choice, Scritti. Bad choice...
Thursday, November 30, 2006
THE NEW WORLD
As Tower’s bankruptcy sale winds down, it is interesting to see what kind of merch continues to clog the racks even at near-giveaway prices.
The rows of Poison CDs speak of a store buyer too confident that hair metal was due for a comeback, and a hard comeback at that. Perhaps somewhere a Duane Reade is overstocked with Aquanet...
And apparently not even the most ardent jam-band fan needs a live CD of every show that the String Cheese Incident played in 2005. Imagine that.
But I do have to confess to a certain sadness and resignation when I see all the unsold copies of the first three X albums.
I want to get on the PA and make an announcement:
“Hello. Do you people realize that you can get a copy of Wild Gift, with bonus tracks, for $5.20? Back away from that David Gray CD very slowly, and meet me over here at the end of the alphabet.”
But still it remains the unheard music...
As Tower’s bankruptcy sale winds down, it is interesting to see what kind of merch continues to clog the racks even at near-giveaway prices.
The rows of Poison CDs speak of a store buyer too confident that hair metal was due for a comeback, and a hard comeback at that. Perhaps somewhere a Duane Reade is overstocked with Aquanet...
And apparently not even the most ardent jam-band fan needs a live CD of every show that the String Cheese Incident played in 2005. Imagine that.
But I do have to confess to a certain sadness and resignation when I see all the unsold copies of the first three X albums.
I want to get on the PA and make an announcement:
“Hello. Do you people realize that you can get a copy of Wild Gift, with bonus tracks, for $5.20? Back away from that David Gray CD very slowly, and meet me over here at the end of the alphabet.”
But still it remains the unheard music...
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
DADDY COULD SWEAR
OK, OK, under great pressure I’ve been forced to take the following oath:
I, sliced tongue,
I, sliced tongue,
Do hereby solemnly swear
Do hereby solemnly swear
That I will never again
That I will never again
Build a post
Build a post
Around something I did
Around something I did
While I was in the shower.
While I was in the shower.
And that means “never”
And that means “never”
As in “the twelfth of...”
As in “the twelfth of...”
As in “never say...”
As in “never say...”
OK?
OK.
Got it?
Got it.
I mean, seriously now.
I mean, seriously now.
Like, if something noteworthy does happen in the shower,
Like, if something noteworthy does happen in the shower,
For the purposes of this blog
For the purposes of this blog
I will pretend
I will pretend
It happened
It happened
Somewhere
Somewhere
Else.
Else.
OK, OK, under great pressure I’ve been forced to take the following oath:
I, sliced tongue,
I, sliced tongue,
Do hereby solemnly swear
Do hereby solemnly swear
That I will never again
That I will never again
Build a post
Build a post
Around something I did
Around something I did
While I was in the shower.
While I was in the shower.
And that means “never”
And that means “never”
As in “the twelfth of...”
As in “the twelfth of...”
As in “never say...”
As in “never say...”
OK?
OK.
Got it?
Got it.
I mean, seriously now.
I mean, seriously now.
Like, if something noteworthy does happen in the shower,
Like, if something noteworthy does happen in the shower,
For the purposes of this blog
For the purposes of this blog
I will pretend
I will pretend
It happened
It happened
Somewhere
Somewhere
Else.
Else.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
DO IT CLEAN
I wrote a song in the shower this morning.
Thomas Pynchon
Thomas Pynchon does not exist.
If you think you’ve read his books, you haven’t.
If you think you’re him, you aren’t.
And if you think this is a song
About Thomas Pynchon
You’re wrong.
I wrote a song about gladiolas
And Thomas Pynchon stole it.
He’s a drunken whore and you know it.
But if you think this is a song
About Thomas Pynchon
You’re wrong.
Because Thomas Pynchon does not exist.
His library card is made of chintz,
And your imagination is a magnet.
So if you think this is a song
About Thomas Pynchon
You’re wrong.
And if you think this is the end of the song
You’re wrong, you’re wrong, you’re wrong.
It is the beginning...
I wrote a song in the shower this morning.
Thomas Pynchon
Thomas Pynchon does not exist.
If you think you’ve read his books, you haven’t.
If you think you’re him, you aren’t.
And if you think this is a song
About Thomas Pynchon
You’re wrong.
I wrote a song about gladiolas
And Thomas Pynchon stole it.
He’s a drunken whore and you know it.
But if you think this is a song
About Thomas Pynchon
You’re wrong.
Because Thomas Pynchon does not exist.
His library card is made of chintz,
And your imagination is a magnet.
So if you think this is a song
About Thomas Pynchon
You’re wrong.
And if you think this is the end of the song
You’re wrong, you’re wrong, you’re wrong.
It is the beginning...
Monday, November 27, 2006
MR. SPARKLE
My good friend brain coral was talking the other day about Mark Linkous’ pre-Sparklehorse days, and he mentioned something that I damn sure should’ve known, but damn sure never did: Linkous was in the Dancing Hoods.
Now, the Dancing Hoods were a mid 80s Long Island band that received some local airplay on WLIR. What I remember most about them is that they sucked.
But wait, maybe they didn’t suck. Maybe my reverse provincialism colored my opinion to such a degree that I was blind to their inchoate brilliance.
Maybe their music was made of flowing ribbons of color, ribbons worn supple in a warm, rippling milkbath of sound.
Perhaps their music was informed by the melancholy of the ages, sung sweetly with a tongue forged of ice and fire.
Or maybe it was a future sound. The sound of gleaming crystal spires and the open synapses of biomechanical connectivity.
Nah, I think I’ll just stick with my original story: They sucked...
My good friend brain coral was talking the other day about Mark Linkous’ pre-Sparklehorse days, and he mentioned something that I damn sure should’ve known, but damn sure never did: Linkous was in the Dancing Hoods.
Now, the Dancing Hoods were a mid 80s Long Island band that received some local airplay on WLIR. What I remember most about them is that they sucked.
But wait, maybe they didn’t suck. Maybe my reverse provincialism colored my opinion to such a degree that I was blind to their inchoate brilliance.
Maybe their music was made of flowing ribbons of color, ribbons worn supple in a warm, rippling milkbath of sound.
Perhaps their music was informed by the melancholy of the ages, sung sweetly with a tongue forged of ice and fire.
Or maybe it was a future sound. The sound of gleaming crystal spires and the open synapses of biomechanical connectivity.
Nah, I think I’ll just stick with my original story: They sucked...
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
BEAT SURRENDER
That's entertainment, cassette style.
Setting Sons, Sound Affects, Snap! THE JAM
I picked up The Gift at the Tower flameout, but not these. I have a sentimental attachment to the disc that outweighs its general merits because it is where I hopped on with The Jam.
Little did I know that when I hopped on, they were just about getting ready to pull into the station. Which led to the gloomy sequence of breakups that dotted 82/83: The Jam, The (English) Beat, and The Clash.
I remember hearing about The Clash breakup on MTV. I was at my friend Larry’s house, and his punk cousin from SF was visiting. Right after the news, they played Spandau Ballet’s True video, and the cousin remarked on the negative connotations that song was sure to carry for me until the end of time.
Ironic then, that at the same exact time, about 8,000 miles away, the woman I would one day love was busy knitting a sweater for Spandau’s Gary Kemp.
Life can be gloriously strange, you know?
That's entertainment, cassette style.
Setting Sons, Sound Affects, Snap! THE JAM
I picked up The Gift at the Tower flameout, but not these. I have a sentimental attachment to the disc that outweighs its general merits because it is where I hopped on with The Jam.
Little did I know that when I hopped on, they were just about getting ready to pull into the station. Which led to the gloomy sequence of breakups that dotted 82/83: The Jam, The (English) Beat, and The Clash.
I remember hearing about The Clash breakup on MTV. I was at my friend Larry’s house, and his punk cousin from SF was visiting. Right after the news, they played Spandau Ballet’s True video, and the cousin remarked on the negative connotations that song was sure to carry for me until the end of time.
Ironic then, that at the same exact time, about 8,000 miles away, the woman I would one day love was busy knitting a sweater for Spandau’s Gary Kemp.
Life can be gloriously strange, you know?
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