I Am Leaving, I Am Leaving But The Fighter Still Remains

I have no idea why I'm back on this blog. I'm hungry, tired, and trying to kill time waiting for the dealership to finish with my car. Overdue inspection times wavy brakes plus recall has meant that I'm spending far more of my Saturday than expected sitting in the dealership waiting room and quasi-paying attention to the 'Good Times' marathon on the TV while other people buy cars. I've had exactly one lemon-lime Gatorade, one Monster Slim Jim, and one cup of passable dealership coffee and also a splitting headache. I expected to be on the road by noon and it's 1:30. Also also I'm killing time by and I have no idea why but I'm rereading both my blog and Drew Mackie's 'Back Of The Cereal Box'. Maybe that's why I unhid the Blogger app. I haven't felt like writing in I don't know how long. The link list was the only truly complete post I had handy so I just stuck it up there. And I'm obviously out of practice for this because I'm having trouble concluding this essay. 

It's been three years. I thought I'd finally given up on this. I can't tell anymore. 

Some Girls They Like Fried Green Tomatoes

Really? Fifteen years ago Kings' food was good. Not great, but good. Five years ago, it was kind of mediocre. These days it roils my stomach, and it all has the same aftertaste, which tastes like failure. I have no idea why my grandfather likes the place so much.

But this?

This is a new low. Is Kings' marketing department just whatever second-grade class is nearest? Is this an April Fools' prank that got lost in the shuffle until now? Why, oh why, does the placard say "Money Back Guaranteed" at the bottom? What a terrible restaurant. 

And If You Complain Once More, You'll Meet An Army Of Me

Ok, so sometime last year, I started getting into Björk. And even though I haven't yet picked up a copy of her 1997 album Homogenic, I did read George Starostin's review. What he thinks the album sounds like isn't important right now. No, I'm more concerned with the art. 

What.

Yeah, I have no idea. According to Wikipedia, the cover was designed by one Alexander McQueen, and he obviously was on some very 90's drugs. Björk describes the look she was going for as "a warrior who had to fight not with weapons, but with love." I will take that statement at face value (ba-dum-tish), thank you very much. 

But there was something else that I had gnawing at me when I saw the cover. It seemed (oh no) familiar somehow. And then it hit me like a 110-lb. lightsaber. 

These aren't the Star Wars movies you're looking for. Try 1977.

No less than two years later, the bodacious Natalie Portman would dress Björk-style for Star Wars: The Phantom Menace. The similarities are very interesting; one wonders if this was all a late-90's thing. It wasn't something I'd picked up on. The obvious question here is, was Queen Amidala's getup inspired, at least in part, by the Homogenic album cover? Google doesn't seem to have an answer for me, but I do kind of wonder. 

So All You Critics Sit Alone

I realize I've been posting a lot of music reviews, but I do read other reviewers as well. Sometimes it helps to consider a different point of view.

Probably my favorite reviewer would have to be John McFerrin. An insightful and thorough reviewer, he has convinced me to check out a number of albums I actually would not have thought of listening to. He's very clear about what he likes and dislikes, and can eloquently convey what he feels and thinks about a record. I find myself disagreeing with him rarely (qualifed by how little overlap there is in what we've both heard) but being able to understand why he holds his opinion regardless. 

Mark Prindle is a really unique voice among album reviewers, mainly reviewing a lot of punk and hardcore that I've never even heard of. I confess I disagree with Prindle on a lot of things, and his attempts to be funny can get really distracting at times. Also, he occasionally goes very off the rails with some of his reviews, but he does have some valuable insights. Okay, some of his stupidity can be pretty funny after all - see some of his Guided By Voices, Metallica and Sonic Youth reviews for an example. He seems to be in retirement as of 2011, but there's quite a bit to read on his site even so. 

Although it's been a long time since I've read him, George Starostin of Russia has long been an advocate of keeping music good. His original website, Only Solitaire, still remains a good archive of what makes rock and pop music good. I remember reading his Neil Young reviews back in college - critical, but constructively. Starostin had very good reasons for considering Neil a very good artist, but equally compelling ones for not considering him to be some king of phenomenal. He's got a new blog now, and he's just go so much material on there that I have no idea if I'll ever really get to read it all.

Robert Christgau is one of the legendary rock reviewers of the late 60s and on through the 70s. I can't consider him one of my major influences in record reviews because he and I disagree so widely - he can't stand The Black Keys or Guided By Voices, seemingly - but he does have some insights and makes some points to consider from his point of view. He's also keeping me in touch with some new stuff thanks to his Expert Witness column on Vice Magazine's music site, Noisey.

And of course I would be remiss if I didn't mention hipster tastemaker website Pitchfork. Like with Christgau, I think their reviewers have a tendency to miss the point of most of the records they review that I've listened to. But again, a contrarian voice can be helpful to consider.

They Just LOOOOOVE To Watch Her Strut

I blame that stupid civet coffee.

All I thought I was doing was telling my coworkers that I'd prefer to stick with my favorite coffee. And the one guy, who shall remain nameless, starts LAUGHING.

Let me start at the beginning. When I got to work on Tuesday, a couple of my coworkers were talking about that really expensive coffee that's reclaimed from some cat. It's horrible. Yes, after that cat has eaten the coffee beans. No, I'm not making this up. It's too dumb to be bullshit (as it were), sadly.

It's very costly coffee, wherever it comes from. There's maybe half a ton made every year going for $600/lb; that's in comparison to 2.6 million tons of ordinary coffee in a year from Brazil alone at around $3 to $6 per pound. When they started talking about who could afford to drink this crap, I mentioned that I'd not be tempted to give up the dark roast brewed up by the Beehive coffee shop on the South Side. And my apparently easily amused coworker starts cracking up, barely restraining himself. 

Now, such a thing would make sense had I expressed interest, rather than disgust, at the idea of fiendishly expensive cat poop coffee. But there was something else going on. He wasn't even thinking about the aforementioned coffee, but rather the name of my favorite coffee shop, and those of you who often drive US-22 between Delmont and Blairsville may see the problem. I had forgotten that there are two 'Beehives' in the area.

Yes, his first thought was not the funky little neighborhood coffee shop caddy-corner from Starbucks on 14th and East Carson; but rather the, shall we say... 'erotic venue'... just east of Delmont that shares the name. The one that I've been informed is not really all that great, actually. My coworker certainly derived quite the afternoon of amusement by imagining me drinking coffee while surrounded by scantily-clad ladies. It's pretty funny, actually, if you're not imagining the place as an utter dump. 

I Want To Touch You With The Feather Of Forgiveness

But If You Wanna Win You Gotta Learn How To Play

"It's the Ore Whore of the Hour!" said the Clock That Ended The Great Depression.

Welcome to Pen-And-Pencilvania.

Ladies, don't go half-assed and ask for 'one panty please'.

Top o' the morning, bottom of the ninth.

It's the difference between the numinous and the bituminous.

This Pistol Range Is Clothing Optional. You May Encounter Nude Recreators With Concealed Handguns.

"Mr. Spector, tear down this wall!"

Once you calm down, don't forget to leave yourself a Post-Snit Note.

Give me some aspartame, baby.

WARNING: The mind, heart and soul subsystems contain no user-serviceable parts. Please return to manufacturer for qualified service.

I think Ludwig Wittgenstein would be impressed. F.A. Hayek, not so much.

Who You Jiving With That Cosmik Debris?

THIS IS THE LEAST EXPLAINABLE PICTURE EVER

Got Mashed Potato, Ain't Got No T-Bone

One classic rock legend, and one future indie-folk legend: we're checking out Neil Young & Crazy Horse's Re-ac-tor and First Aid Kit's Stay Gold.

In 1981 Neil Young and Crazy Horse were working on Re-ac-tor, a rock followup to their monumental 1978 classic Rust Never Sleeps. The previous year, Neil had gone solo on a country-heavy release called Hawks And Doves, giving Crazy Horse a break. At the same time, Neil and wife Pegi were having difficulty with a program intended to help their son, Ben - the experience of which would inform Neil's next album, Trans, although it certainly seems to have had its effect on this disc as well. So what did they accomplish?

What I Liked:
Neil, 'Poncho', Billy and Ralph are always rocking as hard as they can. They never fail to pull out all the stops when they go to record an album. And here, on the hardest rocking tracks, it shows! Although a bit goofy, 'Opera Star' is pretty wild and nicely polished for the band; 'Southern Pacific' is as mournful and serious as it is loud; and closer 'Shots' nigh-upon flips out. The vocal hooks in 'Opera Star' kinda make me giggle, by the way. 'Surfer Joe And Moe The Sleaze' sees the boys playing it cool for a track, and they do it pretty well. The songwriting is on when it's on; 'Southern Pacific' is probably the best-written track of the effort, with that spooky refrain. 'Shots', for it's madness, paints an evocative picture. I swear, this song is like a car crash. It's messed up, but you can't look away. And you can feel the continuity between this album and Rust Never Sleeps; 'Southern Pacific' and 'Rapid Transit' especially feel like sequels to 'Hey Hey My My'.
Best Songs: 'Southern Pacific' without question; probably 'Opera Star', 'T-Bone', and 'Surfer Joe...' for the next tier.

What I Didn't Like:
Neil's voice shows some signs of aging here - he's a little more strained at times. It's most evident on 'Opera Star'; you can really hear him push his voice. If anything, 'Get Back On It' and 'Motor City' aren't so spectacular; they kind of feel like 80's-tinged filler. They're not quite as full throttle as the other tracks here. Hell, 'Motor City' is Neil tricking the rest of the band into playing a shitkicker's ode to the American automobile; and 'Get Back On It' wouldn't have sounded out of place on Everybody's Rockin' a couple of years later. The treatment of most of the material feels somewhat disheveled. I have seen this album described as 'Neil Young going slumming' or 'trash-rock'; and it does have a schlocky feel at times. 'Rapid Transit' has a vocal hook that seems uninspired; Neil hisses his way into each line, and the verses aren't consistently full thoughts. 'T-Bone' and 'Shots' seem interminable; the latter in particular having a maniacal streak that I've never heard before or since from Neil. It's actually disconcerting listening to Neil having a paranoid meltdown of sorts; which is offset somewhat by it's cathartic value. Meanwhile, 'T-Bone' is so repetitive that it almost could be a Zen mantra. I don't mind so much; but your mileage may vary, especially as the song ticks towards ten minutes. The quality of the songwriting being off may be the most visible sign of Neil's distraction with the effort he and Pegi poured into caring for Ben. Otherwise, there's really nothing else to give one any clue to the situation.

In Conclusion:
While not Neil and Co.'s most substantial album, it's got a few oft-overlooked gems (all these reviewers that praise the hell out of 'Shots' - did their copy mysteriously lack 'Southern Pacific'?). Neil diehards probably already have this; fans who prefer Neil's hard side should at least try it out; and punk fans, of all people, might get a kick out of some of the craziness.

Hailing from the Stockholm, Sweden suburb of Enskede, sisters Klara and Johanna Söderberg are the lead singers and songwriters of indie folk band First Aid Kit. But here's the thing - even the DJs on WYEP agree that they sound like they're from Nebraska or something! So how do they stack up?

What I Liked:
Oh my God, these ladies know how to create the most heartbreakingly beautiful harmonies. Their voices, and especially their voices together, make one of the most numinous listening experiences I've ever had the pleasure of understanding. Arrangements are lush, but still with a delicate feel; and the music is a very worthy background to their vocal performance. That is to say, vocal melodies tend to carry the songs; much of the music is there to set the overall mood, and the girls fill in everything else. Klara handles guitar, while Johanna takes care of keyboards and, on at least one track, autoharp. There's a lot of lost love and sadness in their lyrics; enough fading and ending - and fear of it - that I'm tempted to recommend this album to J.R.R. Tolkien. 'My Silver Lining', which starts the record, is probably the most affecting example; the contrast between the dark atmosphere of the music and the steely resolve of the lyrics gives the proper emotional punch. The title track has just the same impact; a wonderful lament of the passing of good things and good times. 'The Bell' is actually very similar; but seems more introspective, more subjectively focused - and also a little less dark. 'Cedar Lane' and 'Waitress Song' are both more wistful; but I personally prefer the clearer message of lost love in the former. Each side ends in a counterpoint to the previous songs; Side A ends with 'Shattered And Hollow', a reprise of the resolve and fortitude of 'My Silver Lining' with a more openly optimistic build-to-climax; while Side B builds more upbeat and hopeful until 'A Long Time Ago', the ultimate lament for love gone and never to return. Remember how I said heartbreakingly beautiful vocals? This is the song to think of. Speaking of Side B, 'Heaven Knows' is the song that introduced me to Klara and Johanna; and it's such an upbeat and country-folky jam I can't help but tap my toes and sing along. It begins so peacefully that when the girls stomp right into the chorus, it catches you utterly off guard after so much quiet and contemplative music that came ahead of it. It's a future classic, if you ask me.
Best Songs: Yes. Yes they are.

What I Didn't Like:
Aside from 'Heaven Knows' the album is uniformly languid and melancholy. For me personally, that's just fine; the depth which  their voices give the music makes it worth it. But for somebody not under their spell, it may be a bit of a downer.

In Conclusion:
I really like them! If you have a soft spot for new things in folk or really like wonderful vocal performances, you're going to like them, probably just as much as I do.

Breaking Rocks In The Hot Sun

Leedsworld, Upper Burrell, Pennsylvania, January 15, 2015.

There's Not A Hell Of A Lot You Can Do, It's Lights Out For You

Just before I started my week-long break from work, I dreamt of a power outage there. The worst part is that it was as complete darkness as could be without being completely unrecognizable. As though I could see five feet in front of me in black-and-dark-gray, and the rest was a vast bubble of nothingness. No emergency lights, no natural light from the skylights, no smartphone screens used as flashlights. Just oppressive, inky blackness and a mind-numbing panic.

Am I being sent a message?

He Says "What You Want This Time?"

Whiskey is liquid sunshine.

-George Bernard Shaw

I like to get hammered on Friday night
Sometimes I can't wait so Monday's all right

-Neil Young

'Mixologist' is a stupidly unnecessary word. 'Bartender' got along just fine for decades without any help, thank you very much - excepting the bouncer, of course.

-Unknown

...the solution doesn't involve watering down my every little idea and creative impulse for the sake of someday easing my fit into a mold...this is very important, so I want to say it as clearly as I can: FUCK. THAT. SHIT.

-xkcd

I've waited too long to have you hide in the back of me
I've cheated so much I wonder how you keep track of me

-Guided By Voices

He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire.

-Sir Winston Churchill

Maj. Strasser: What is your nationality?
Rick: I'm a drunkard.
Capt. Renault: That makes Rick a citizen of the world...

-from Casablanca

Alcohol is no different from a guitar amplifier - it just makes the music in your head louder.

-Unknown

I ain't seen my baby since I don't know when
I been drinking bourbon whiskey, scotch and gin

-George Thorogood And The Destroyers

I drank to drown my sorrows, but the damned things learned how to swim.

-Frida Kahlo

There is nothing dangerous about the merely mundane. It is just a kind of emptiness...

-Enklinobarangus

I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.

-from Harry Potter And The Prisoner Of Azkaban

I've been sittin' here drinkin'
I'm just as lonesome as a man can be

-Muddy Waters

Lord Hinjo: Nothing says 'Condolences on the loss of your uncle' like a ninja death squad in the night.

-from Order Of The Stick

You pour six jiggers of gin into a glass and then you drink it while staring at a picture of Lorenzo Schwartz, the inventor of vermouth.

-'Hawkeye' Pierce

All good drinkers write. 

-Unknown

She's whiskey in a teacup
She gives blondes a lousy name

-Tom Waits

Thanks to Whiskey & Misanthropy for the inspiration.

The Boys Are Back In Town

This sounds like a joke. To most comics readers, the premise of Archie Andrews and Frank Castle sharing space in the same comic - the same story! - sounds like a complete farce. One of the most violent anti-heroes in comics' history with the most wholesome teenager ever? Get real. Besides, Punisher's a Marvel character, and Archie has his own eponymous publisher. They'd never come to an agreement that would let this be printed, right?

It exists.

As the editor's pages clearly state, it began as a joke, but by the summer of 1994, Batton Lash, Jon Buscema, and Stan Goldberg had created the world's most bizarre comics crossover. The plot followed the Punisher, hot on the heels of an East Coast drug dealer known as 'Red'. The kicker is that 'Red's description is a match for everyone's favorite average teenager Archie Andrews - and the trail leads straight to Riverdale. (Hijinks ensue.)

If you still think I'm making this up, I can assure you I'm not.

Look out behind you, Frank! It's a teenager!

I own the damn thing. I ended up getting the Archie-printed cover, and until recently I didn't even know that there was a second, Marvel variant cover.

Apparently, this led to a minor trope of Archie crossovers, including meeting the Predator, KISS, the cast of Glee (which does make some sense), the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Archie Comics now owns the license to the current TMNT comics), and Jason of the Friday The 13th film franchise (under the title Archie at Crystal Lake). Better yet, while doing some reading, I found reference to other crossovers such as The Punisher Meets Eminem, an issue of The Avengers where the eponymous team appears on The Late Show with David Letterman, Superman Vs. Popeye, Groo The Wanderer Vs. Conan, and of all things, Superman and the Nesquik Bunny.

And I thought Archie Meets The Punisher was a spoof.

Climbing Up The Topsails, I Lost My Leg

This is why my favorite drinking holiday is Wednesday. Not this coming Wednesday, mind you, but Wednesdays in general. Mondays, too. Not many people out on those days. I don't have to worry about competing for a parking place or a spot at the bar, waiting long for post-drinks food, or squeezing through unruly, inebriated crowds while on my sober-up walk.

Of course, let the calendar plop a drinking holiday on a Tuesday and I'm sober for two weeks. Or would be, if I had thought this one through. I'm sitting at Dee's Cafe, listening to Rick Astley - of all people, Rick Fucking Astley* - and watching buzz-cut-headed bros sit on the covered pool tables in complete defiance of the notices placed by management. Amateur drunkards tend to clog the streets starting with the weekend before the holiday, and every night thereafter until the actual day after. That's what happened to me last Halloween - I decided to hit the bar on November 1st (unlike the previous Halloween, when I went down on the actual holiday, which was a clusterfuck in its own right) and was still greeted with dozens of goofballs in costume and having trouble holding their liquor.

Better yet, the ridiculous patronage means that the glassware Dee's is using has temporarily turned disposable and therefore contra-aesthetic, and I was hoping for a nice photo of my first drinks to head up a post I'm working on.

I consider myself one of those who approach their time hitting the bar with at least a little bit of reverence - ironically not unlike how the faithful among us seem to approach going to church on Sunday. I might even go so far as to say that going to the bar on a drinking holiday reminds me of my hometown church being bombarded with worshipers at Christmas and Easter services. I imagine that most Christians are glad to have so many willing to come worship (and simultaneously wondering how to persuade them to stick around the other 50 Sundays in the year); but for a reverent drunk a la Bogart's Richard Blaine, the swell of boisterous, Lite-swilling goofballs on drinking holidays can be vexing, to say the least. And they take up the pews - uh, I mean stools, that us regulars always, always claim when we arrive on normal visits.

It's rough watching amateur night at my favorite bars; if only 'amateur' still meant someone who does something out of the love of doing so. Perhaps they'd have learned something about drinking if they approached it that way. Inexperienced drinkers can be distracting at best and dangerous at worst - from their loss of spatial sense, indoor voice and personal boundaries to disregarding all the advice about getting behind the wheel while under the influence.

For those who want to enjoy drinking - who want to truly get good at it (as good as really is possible - I mean, seriously - drinking as a skill? Who could take the idea seriously, besides me and a few I know?), I would actually recommend drinking at home. If you want to drink on a holiday renowned for alcohol consumption, throw a party at your place and make sure you have enough room for people to crash. You're in a familiar place, with people you know, and if you or your guests aren't certain of their tolerance, spending the night there is your best option. It's safer. Besides, if you don't drive, more time to drink!

I also should lay out a few of my own ground rules for going to the bar. Proper reverence for a night out drinking and being merry starts with having a good idea of your tolerance. You do not want to blaspheme at the feet of the porcelain gods, as it were; or end up arrested for a DUI; or acquire the legit nickname of Duncan Drisorderly (I think there's a punk rocker who already goes by that anyway). Sure it rhymes, but it's no less true - beer before liquor, ever sicker; liquor before beer, never fear. If you arrived operating any motor vehicle with a steering apparatus (how you'd drive a GP30 to the bar**, I have no idea), you may even wish to avoid harder spirits altogether.

Once you start to feel it, stay calm. This might seem like a counterintuitive rule, but I grew up in a Presbyterian church and we're pretty placid in general, really. The last thing you want to do is get kicked out for being a drunken oaf, or piss off your fellow drinkers and the bartender. Just stay relaxed.

The last key rule is to tip well. You can tip every drink (i.e. 'keep the change') or wait until you head out, but never give a bartender a small tip. Be generous. You actually get better service when you tip well and regularly. Even better, thank the bartender as well. Sure, AC/DC says that money talks, but it's not really everything. A little human contact is always appreciated; bartenders are people first, not just alcohol dispensers.

I do have to admit that in the particular case of St. Patrick's Day, one detail that most people overlook, and does irk me, is some ignorance of the reason for wearing green. The symbolism of green does represent Irish republicanism, but all you have to do is look at the flag and learn why one-third is orange. Protestant followers of William III, King of England (who actually invaded England, deposed King James II, and won the crowns of England, Scotland and Ireland), took his heraldic color of orange as one of their symbols in the religious conflicts of the time. In the flag itself, green can be taken to symbolize Catholics, and as stated the orange represents the Protestant minority; with the white being an appeal for peace between the two factions. As for myself, I'm pretty sure there's no Irish ancestry in me, so if you ever spot a guy wearing a t-shirt with either the Scottish or Welsh flag, it's probably me.

I should probably get out of here before it gets any crazier, but I sure wish some of my fellow bar patrons would read this and take a few pointers with them. Maybe I'd be more inclined to hang out with them on the weekend, instead of having to be the only guy at the bar at the beginning of the week.

* The reaction is more aimed at 1) the blatant violation of Rules 1 and 2, 2) the fact that Astley is British rather than Irish - specifically a Lancashire lad, and 3) that there does in fact exist the possibility that someone here tonight may be a legit fan.

** In the UK, this becomes 'driving a Black 5 down to the pub'.

Darkness Taking Days, Nights Filled With Longer Hours

My mom said she needed a volunteer for dinner. I asked, not entirely joking, if she sought a volunteer to be dinner rather than cook it. As long as it seems it's going to take for spring to get here, being served doesn't seem so bad, really.

It's frustrating, though. It's cold, flakes of frozen water keep falling out of the sky with no end in sight, the driveway is a sheet of ice, and the car needs at least an inch of snow brushed from it - or will by tomorrow morning when I go to take care of all the errands I missed yesterday. Aside from yesterday's delightfully addictive reprieve from winter (which I took full advantage of - just ask Nikki, the bartender at Dee's), I don't know whether it's the boredom or hunger that will get me first.

More likely it'll be the combination of both that gets us all in the end.

Robot Minds Of Robot Slaves Lead Them To Atomic Rage

Well, that's cute. Another dream to report. This was over a week ago.

I was in a warehouse somewhere, and for some reason I was handling items removed from nuclear reactors (no apparent protective gear either).

There were two pairs of items. The first was a pair of dense metal plates, about the shape and size of an eight inch long chunk of yardstick. They were black with a red stripe, and I thought they were out of a German reactor.

The other two were plastic shells, black with blue highlights, shaped somewhat like a Tamagotchi (holy shit, remember those?), but about the size of the palm of my hand. There were magnetic tape reels inside, like you'd find in a cassette tape. One was damaged and the tape was trailing out. These seemed to come from a British reactor.

Why the shapes, and what purpose these... items had is lost on me. Equally strange is the association of the shape, color and apparent national affiliation of each pair. It's been a heck of a couple of weeks for dreaming.

Thrown Down To The Wolves, Made Feral For Nothing

I enjoyed Jack White's first solo album, Blunderbuss; so I wanted to see what he'd done for his sophomore effort. And I hate to say it, but Jack's vinyl nerdiness has gotten the better of him. It made listening a little problematic. In addition, this album seems to be all over the place sonically. Details? Keep reading.

What I Liked:
Jack White will always be able to rock. Anything on here that's rock, or at least half rock, is worth the time to pay attention. He's not too shabby at country either, as it turns out. He's got a rock-hard attitude that runs though the hard songs, and the countrified portion is classic country, thank heaven - with all the good things about it present. Meaty riffs, hooks, and even some fair melodies are all over this album. Calling the record 'Lazaretto' (and the title track too) was a very appropriate move; the record often feels like the introspective writings of a man released from long solitude. I guess White's had some time to think about what he wanted to say on this disc (I support this approach. It's worked!). I'll be honest, I was ambivalent about this at the first few listens, but I think after coming back to it, I get it. Best tracks: definitely rockers 'Would You Fight For My Love?' and 'Lazaretto', 'Alone In My Home' and 'Just One Drink' for the country-rock sound, and surprise instrumental 'High Ball Stepper'.

What I Didn't Like:
White goes all over for this record - a bluesy stomp in slot one, followed by a a wild post-rocker and a country-rocker, heavy on the country. It feels a little incohesive, but it's not quite so bad. A little readjustment of the tracklist might have helped. Oddly, 'The Black Bat Licorice' seems to have borrowed parts of the riff and hook from 'Alone In My Home'. Not helped by the fact that they're right next to each other on the disc.

An Observation:
I actually have to get technical for a moment here and explain why White's vinyl geekiness made this tricky to listen to. I've had problems getting the first side to play. Firstly, the first side plays from the center spiraling outward; and secondly, according to some reports, there are hidden tracks under the disc's labels. I haven't listened to them yet, as I'm wary of peeling the labels off. However, it looks like the lead-in grooves for the regular first side and the hidden track are fighting each other. I only got the thing to start playing by dropping the needle almost right on the beginning of the first track. Some other gimmicks that appear on the record didn't impress me either (locked groove sounds at the runouts and the pair of lead-ins - one acoustic, one electric - for 'Just One Drink').

In Conclusion:
Hmmm. While I like White's solo work, it was kinda rough trying to listen to the vinyl copy with all of the gimmicks. Seriously, they got a bit in the way. Pick it up, but stick with digital if you don't feel up to the challenge of listening or have a turntable with an automatic tonearm.

I've been looking for this album for a while now! The disc that gave 'Making Plans For Nigel' to us at the shed, I've wanted to check the whole thing out for quite a while now. On a recent trip to Jerry's, I happened across it in the alternative section's new arrivals. I think I even said 'yoink' out loud when I grabbed it.

What I Liked:
'Making Plans For Nigel'. 'nuff said. A brilliant, if subtle send-up of parental expectations for a child's future, it's a truly classic track. Bassist Colin Moulding knows how to write hooky and melodic, engaging pop, and most of the first side is testament to this fact. From the nostalgically upbeat 'Life Begins At The Hop', to the subtlety of 'Nigel' and 'Ten Feet Tall', and the hard-then-softness of 'That Is The Way', he's got a distinctly refined style that I find irresistible. I'd guess that a little more of the 'smart' in XTC's 'smart pop' formula is due to Moulding. Meanwhile, the rest of the disc is a showcase for guitarist/keyboardist Andy Partridge, whose songs have a bit more of a poppy bounce or drive to them, with a little New Wave-ish mania; some feel like caricatures ('When You're Near Me I Have Difficulty', 'Outside World'), occasionally a sinister undertone creeps in ('Millions', 'Complicated Game'), and a little bombast isn't unwelcome here and there (especially on 'Roads Girdle The Globe' with its choral backing). This is one energetic record as a result. If it isn't purely upbeat, it's interesting enough to keep you listening for one more track. It's more guitar-driven than I'd been led to believe (which is pleasant), thanks to Partridge and other guitarist/keyboardist Dave Gregory. Best tracks: without hesitation, 'Making Plans For Nigel'. Honestly, I can't say there's a truly BAD song on the album - with one exception.

What I Didn't Like:
Okay, I can't not say it: 'Helicopter' is a terrible song. For a band known for 'smart pop', they seemed to have played a nice long game of Hot Potato with the Idiot Ball while working on the track. It's too goofy, annoyingly bouncy, and doesn't fit the tone of the rest of the album. Other songs on the disc that sound similar, e.g. 'Outside World', have more of a message or meaning, and are somewhat more carefully crafted. 'Helicopter' is so over-the-top that it borders on self-parody. The overall bounciness of the record might annoy some; but it's generally upbeat enough to be redeeming.

An Observation:
My copy is an American pressing, with 'Life Begins At The Hop' substituted for 'Day In Day Out'. Also, the first pressing in the UK included a bonus 7" with the songs 'Chain Of Command' and 'Limelight'. The CD pressing from 2001 includes all fifteen songs. It might be a wise move to supplement the LP with this disc. EDIT: The digital version available on Amazon does in fact include all three as well. 

In Conclusion:
A classic album. It's an unusual sound, and it's definitely not the rock I tend to seek out, but it is engaging and more complex than pop-rock from the late 70's is expected to be. It's a keeper.

Normally, I blog about stuff I've enjoyed or at least have rationalized the hell out of my enjoyment; but I finally feel the need to talk about something I can't finish. It's terrible. Dave's Music Mine put this one on the curb, and for good reason. I should've trusted their judgement. It's the 12" single of 'The Men All Pause' from 80's girl band Klymaxx and oh, does it fail. It's stereotypically 80's and not in that charmingly hipster-endearing nostalgic way, either. It's almost abrasive. But the real trip-up for me was the monologue where the lead singer says she wants someone to hit her... Done! Done. That's all I need to hear. Under normal circumstances I'm all about girl-rock but this is as far from normal circumstances as you can get. If you see this, it should make a pretty good Frisbee.

The New Drunk Drivers Have Hoisted The Flag

I had a horrible dream the night before last. I dreamt I was eating used staples and paperclips. It was pretty bad, since it was very vivid. Hell, it was serious enough that it woke me up. That's not common for me until very early in the morning. I'm still a little freaked about it even though I remember very little about it. Sorry if I made you freaked too.

Flickr user Madbuster75

Then I had two different dreams this morning about being at the mall, of all places. In the first I was buying something that looked like gelato, then I was back for some kind of live music show. These weren't so bad. It seemed to be Monroeville Mall, actually. The second part actually felt like I was watching a performance for one of the late-night shows, come to think of it. There were two acts that played, but I don't remember anything else about them. Actually, I do remember one of the lead singers looking at me. I wonder if that means anything.

This Bulkhead's Made Of Fallen Brethren's Bones

Something that always confounded me - when you look at the word 'predecessor', you realize that it seems to mean 'the one who died before'. That's weird right there.

Does that mean I get to live forever?

But what really baffles me is that we use this word in everyday conversation to MEAN 'the one who came before'. As in, 'Oh, yeah, he's the guy who worked here before you and then DIED, and also I'm saying this as casually as can be.' Seriously, how awkward is that? It's not like everyone who's ever had to be replaced died first.

Here Comes Your 19th Nervous Breakdown

It's been a long couple of weeks. I need something to make me laugh, don't you?

(Settle in. You might be here a while. It's been a VERY LONG couple of weeks.)

I feel much better, don't you? Don't you!? DON'T YOU!?