3.30.2007
perhaps not the most thought-through design decision...
Here's an intriguing little object whose designer probably did not quite anticipate all possible interpretations of the positioning of certain functioning features. (Apostropher by way of Eddie.)
3.29.2007
Not Insane!
Truth is, I really hope this actually happens. Because about once a year, we fly out to visit friends who live in LA, and we typically pass almost directly over Las Vegas. Looking at the window of the plane and seeing a 50-foot tall Michael Jackson firing laser beams from his eyes would pretty much eliminate any need I might ever have felt to do acid.
3.28.2007
lookin' out the window, checkin' out the weirdos
I'm pretty sure everyone eventually ends up having their Favorite Band That Never Quite Made It. Despite its idiotic "friend"-mania and Rupert Murdoch ownership, myspace has the great virtue of allowing any someone's favorite band to put its songs out there cheaply and more or less permanently...whereby some other someone might someday stumble across them, tripping all kinds of obscure neural circuitry and basically causing that person to think, damn, how come I never heard of these guys?
In the late eighties and early nineties, though, all of that was science fiction. If a band could afford it, they might be able to release a single (and hope to hell the pressing plant understood that the hole needed to be exactly centered...) or, perhaps, a cassette (the poorer quality examples of which made bands sound as if they were recording in a huge swimming pool - underwater). Those cassettes disappear beneath the seats of elderly Chevy Novas, get tossed out the window during drunken arguments, or are found shattered and unspooled, washed up against the curb after a fall rainstorm. They're not, unfortunately, a sound source after all that.
Still, some of that music survives. I've written before (indirectly) about one of my FBTNQMIs, Wobble Test. I'd bought their sole official release, a cassette entitled trixienickybambibo (named after each band member's childhood dogs), and I'd managed to cadge a couple more cassettes' worth of material from Mike DeVogel, one of the band's guitar-playing singers and songwriters - but thanks to the generosity of Dan Franke (late of the fabulous Mighty Deerlick), who sent me two CD-Rs jammed full of Milwaukee bands' mp3s, I now have loads of Wobble Test stuff in a more durable - and virtually portable - format.
Which means I can share it with you. One of my favorite tracks from trixienickybambibo is "Verse Me." This one gives a good sense of the slightly off-kilter vocal chemistry between DeVogel and Tim Buckley (no, not that Tim Buckley), as well as their creative approach to twin-guitar parts. Sounds simple - but the chords go for quite a little walk before they return back home again - and the goofy little interjections after each phrase never fail to amuse me. Sort of equal part Replacements, Jam, and Raspberries.
The band recorded a full LP's worth of material, and it's really a shame it never came out, because nearly top to bottom it's a winner. I seem to recall it was going to be titled Tea Town (the stunningly lovely title track can be heard at V-Fib Recordings, along with another song from trixie..., "Rewind" - and I recommend pretty much every track at that site as well) - and it opened with a blast from the rocketing "Cadillac," which also showcases Tim and Mike's back-and-forth vocal interplay. "Bob" follows "Tea Town" (if you want to reconstruct the first three tracks of the LP) - and, yes, between the title, and "Gordon" and "Howard," it is about the classic Bob Newhart TV show... The band tosses that initial tricky rhythm bit around from instrument to instrument, and its somewhat unsteady agitation is nicely balanced by the slamming four-on-the-floor beat in other parts of the song. "Lola" (not the Kinks song) is one of the band's most structurally complex songs. I'm particularly fond of the way the low guitar part sets up a slightly odd harmony with the second guitar in the "deliver me..." bridge, and the way that section's chords lead back to the reprise of the opening instrumental section. Okay, I can't post the whole damned album (too little storage space) - but it ends with "On a Dress" (or at least, it does in my memory - too many years and I can't recall if I'm using Mike D's sequence or one I decided on at some point). One favorite bit is the diverging harmony vocals ("never ending..."). Also key is Tim Buckley's guitar solo: I wouldn't call him the most fluid guitarist ever or anything, but he had a certain raw intensity, a sense of hacking rhythmically through thickets to arrive at a sort of rough-hewn melody, and this solo's a fine example.
I could try to explain the tangled intersections of the various bands that led to and came from Wobble Test, but it'll be easier to reproduce Dan's clever illustration on the CD -
Got that? Anyway, Wobble Test broke up when Tim and John Daniels (the bass player) found that their Blow Pops side project with two members of another local band (Root Cellar) was attracting a goodly amount of attention (from the Cynics and their Get Hip! label, who eventually released two Blow Pops CDs), and so they moved to Boston, hoping for better luck from what they hoped would be a larger, more enthusiastic, and better publicized scene. Hoping to document a handful of unrecorded Wobble Test songs, however, the band recorded them in an acoustic session masterminded by eventual Sound of Music producer (and future Maki multi-instrumentalist: are you confused yet?) Alan Weatherhead. Some of these songs feel not quite finished, or under-rehearsed (and I think one of the vocalists had a cold that day) - but still, there's a nice intimacy and clarity to the recordings that demonstrates how well put together their best songs were. One of my favorites, "No. 1," was not recorded in its electric, rock'n'roll version, but here it is acoustically. Without the sound and fury of live performance, it's easier to hear the way Mike and Tim often created new, richer chords by playing two clashing chords simultaneously.
Anyway, Tim and John were part of a peculiar mass migration of Milwaukee musicians to Richmond, Virginia, sometime in the mid-nineties, where they formed Maki with Weatherhead and drummer Miguel Urbiztondo (f/k/a Mickey Rodriguez). That band is apparently almost finished with its follow-up to the wonderful Tears on the Blastshield.
Well, we're about out of time. I hope you paid attention - there will be a quiz.
Wobble Test "Verse Me" (trixienickybambibo cassette, 1989 or 1990)
Wobble Test "Cadillac" Tea Town (unreleased - 1990 or 1991)
Wobble Test "Bob" Tea Town (unreleased - 1990 or 1991)
Wobble Test "Lola" Tea Town (unreleased - 1990 or 1991)
Wobble Test "On a Dress" Tea Town (unreleased - 1990 or 1991)
Wobble Test "No. 1" (unreleased, 1992)
addendum: Okay, this is weird: I'm playing "Verse Me" in iTunes...and it brings up the cassette artwork! I didn't put it there...WTF? The recording doesn't appear to be available on iTunes... Odd!
In the late eighties and early nineties, though, all of that was science fiction. If a band could afford it, they might be able to release a single (and hope to hell the pressing plant understood that the hole needed to be exactly centered...) or, perhaps, a cassette (the poorer quality examples of which made bands sound as if they were recording in a huge swimming pool - underwater). Those cassettes disappear beneath the seats of elderly Chevy Novas, get tossed out the window during drunken arguments, or are found shattered and unspooled, washed up against the curb after a fall rainstorm. They're not, unfortunately, a sound source after all that.
Still, some of that music survives. I've written before (indirectly) about one of my FBTNQMIs, Wobble Test. I'd bought their sole official release, a cassette entitled trixienickybambibo (named after each band member's childhood dogs), and I'd managed to cadge a couple more cassettes' worth of material from Mike DeVogel, one of the band's guitar-playing singers and songwriters - but thanks to the generosity of Dan Franke (late of the fabulous Mighty Deerlick), who sent me two CD-Rs jammed full of Milwaukee bands' mp3s, I now have loads of Wobble Test stuff in a more durable - and virtually portable - format.
Which means I can share it with you. One of my favorite tracks from trixienickybambibo is "Verse Me." This one gives a good sense of the slightly off-kilter vocal chemistry between DeVogel and Tim Buckley (no, not that Tim Buckley), as well as their creative approach to twin-guitar parts. Sounds simple - but the chords go for quite a little walk before they return back home again - and the goofy little interjections after each phrase never fail to amuse me. Sort of equal part Replacements, Jam, and Raspberries.
The band recorded a full LP's worth of material, and it's really a shame it never came out, because nearly top to bottom it's a winner. I seem to recall it was going to be titled Tea Town (the stunningly lovely title track can be heard at V-Fib Recordings, along with another song from trixie..., "Rewind" - and I recommend pretty much every track at that site as well) - and it opened with a blast from the rocketing "Cadillac," which also showcases Tim and Mike's back-and-forth vocal interplay. "Bob" follows "Tea Town" (if you want to reconstruct the first three tracks of the LP) - and, yes, between the title, and "Gordon" and "Howard," it is about the classic Bob Newhart TV show... The band tosses that initial tricky rhythm bit around from instrument to instrument, and its somewhat unsteady agitation is nicely balanced by the slamming four-on-the-floor beat in other parts of the song. "Lola" (not the Kinks song) is one of the band's most structurally complex songs. I'm particularly fond of the way the low guitar part sets up a slightly odd harmony with the second guitar in the "deliver me..." bridge, and the way that section's chords lead back to the reprise of the opening instrumental section. Okay, I can't post the whole damned album (too little storage space) - but it ends with "On a Dress" (or at least, it does in my memory - too many years and I can't recall if I'm using Mike D's sequence or one I decided on at some point). One favorite bit is the diverging harmony vocals ("never ending..."). Also key is Tim Buckley's guitar solo: I wouldn't call him the most fluid guitarist ever or anything, but he had a certain raw intensity, a sense of hacking rhythmically through thickets to arrive at a sort of rough-hewn melody, and this solo's a fine example.
I could try to explain the tangled intersections of the various bands that led to and came from Wobble Test, but it'll be easier to reproduce Dan's clever illustration on the CD -
Got that? Anyway, Wobble Test broke up when Tim and John Daniels (the bass player) found that their Blow Pops side project with two members of another local band (Root Cellar) was attracting a goodly amount of attention (from the Cynics and their Get Hip! label, who eventually released two Blow Pops CDs), and so they moved to Boston, hoping for better luck from what they hoped would be a larger, more enthusiastic, and better publicized scene. Hoping to document a handful of unrecorded Wobble Test songs, however, the band recorded them in an acoustic session masterminded by eventual Sound of Music producer (and future Maki multi-instrumentalist: are you confused yet?) Alan Weatherhead. Some of these songs feel not quite finished, or under-rehearsed (and I think one of the vocalists had a cold that day) - but still, there's a nice intimacy and clarity to the recordings that demonstrates how well put together their best songs were. One of my favorites, "No. 1," was not recorded in its electric, rock'n'roll version, but here it is acoustically. Without the sound and fury of live performance, it's easier to hear the way Mike and Tim often created new, richer chords by playing two clashing chords simultaneously.
Anyway, Tim and John were part of a peculiar mass migration of Milwaukee musicians to Richmond, Virginia, sometime in the mid-nineties, where they formed Maki with Weatherhead and drummer Miguel Urbiztondo (f/k/a Mickey Rodriguez). That band is apparently almost finished with its follow-up to the wonderful Tears on the Blastshield.
Well, we're about out of time. I hope you paid attention - there will be a quiz.
Wobble Test "Verse Me" (trixienickybambibo cassette, 1989 or 1990)
Wobble Test "Cadillac" Tea Town (unreleased - 1990 or 1991)
Wobble Test "Bob" Tea Town (unreleased - 1990 or 1991)
Wobble Test "Lola" Tea Town (unreleased - 1990 or 1991)
Wobble Test "On a Dress" Tea Town (unreleased - 1990 or 1991)
Wobble Test "No. 1" (unreleased, 1992)
addendum: Okay, this is weird: I'm playing "Verse Me" in iTunes...and it brings up the cassette artwork! I didn't put it there...WTF? The recording doesn't appear to be available on iTunes... Odd!
3.25.2007
he's tidied up and I can't find anything!
I'm in the process of moving a lot of files from one place to another - I think I've caught them all, but if you run into a dead link anywhere (except, of course, for mp3s that are gone because I keep them up for only a few weeks), please let me know. I'll be using eSnips from here on out: I think I've figured out how to get files to behave properly in Firefox, so that when you right-click on links, the file will begin downloading (assuming you choose that option) just as files have always done. Again: let me know if you experience any difficulties. Go on: download those Future Clouds & Radar or John Cale tracks...you know you wanna...
UPDATE: Oops. Seems my brilliant plan didn't work. I'm working on it...
UPDATE: Oops. Seems my brilliant plan didn't work. I'm working on it...
3.21.2007
no hawwowed skein of staws, I twow...
I'm still working my way through Thomas Pynchon's Against the Day: my lack of time for sustained reading works against my comprehension of whatever overall plot there might be - but I'm certainly enjoying the bizarre little set-pieces Pynchon's so fond of - and in fact, they're crazed and manic enough that I sometimes imagine an alternate history, in which Pynchon was born ten or twenty years earlier and ended up working as a writer for classic Warner Brothers cartoons of the '40s and '50s. Such as this one:
"Wow! A Season Ticket, Elmer!" (1953)
Elmer Fudd finds out that he's inherited season tickets to the San Francisco 49ers' games from his late, wealthy Uncle Pierce, a famous bow-hunter - even though Fudd had not previously suspected he was even related to Pierce. Although Pierce's will assigns his 49ers' tickets to Elmer, and his executor (Penelope Pussycat) has mailed the tickets to Elmer, Bugs Bunny - in a series of escalating gambits, at first farcical but increasingly elaborate and diabolical - repeatedly prevents Fudd from getting the tickets while delaying, derailing, and defrauding the postal system. Elmer grows more frustrated and begins to doubt the tickets ever existed - a doubt that gradually spreads to encompass Uncle Pierce, the 49ers football team, Bugs Bunny, and even himself.
The cartoon's final scenes show Elmer opening his mailbox, in which an envelope care of Pierce's estate finally appears. As Elmer is about to pick up the envelope, an enormous white-gloved hand (it is, of course, Bugs Bunny's), gripping a "real" pencil eraser, suddenly appears and rubs out the envelope. Bugs pops his head through the "paper" of the animation, uttering his trademark "What's up, Doc?" line, and erases first Fudd, then the paper itself, then most of himself - except for his hand that grips the eraser, which then reaches out and appears to erase the viewer's TV screen. This, by the way, is the only Looney Tunes not to close with the famous "The Merry-Go-Round Broke Down" theme and Porky Pig's "Th-th-th-that's all folks!": instead, the screen goes black for a full ten seconds.
Audience reaction was almost unanimously negative. The episode was never rerun, and it has remained unseen to this day, its mere existence sometimes considered only a rumor.
Addendum 3/25: A local church suggests a curious connection: God = Bugs = Pynchon...
"Wow! A Season Ticket, Elmer!" (1953)
Elmer Fudd finds out that he's inherited season tickets to the San Francisco 49ers' games from his late, wealthy Uncle Pierce, a famous bow-hunter - even though Fudd had not previously suspected he was even related to Pierce. Although Pierce's will assigns his 49ers' tickets to Elmer, and his executor (Penelope Pussycat) has mailed the tickets to Elmer, Bugs Bunny - in a series of escalating gambits, at first farcical but increasingly elaborate and diabolical - repeatedly prevents Fudd from getting the tickets while delaying, derailing, and defrauding the postal system. Elmer grows more frustrated and begins to doubt the tickets ever existed - a doubt that gradually spreads to encompass Uncle Pierce, the 49ers football team, Bugs Bunny, and even himself.
The cartoon's final scenes show Elmer opening his mailbox, in which an envelope care of Pierce's estate finally appears. As Elmer is about to pick up the envelope, an enormous white-gloved hand (it is, of course, Bugs Bunny's), gripping a "real" pencil eraser, suddenly appears and rubs out the envelope. Bugs pops his head through the "paper" of the animation, uttering his trademark "What's up, Doc?" line, and erases first Fudd, then the paper itself, then most of himself - except for his hand that grips the eraser, which then reaches out and appears to erase the viewer's TV screen. This, by the way, is the only Looney Tunes not to close with the famous "The Merry-Go-Round Broke Down" theme and Porky Pig's "Th-th-th-that's all folks!": instead, the screen goes black for a full ten seconds.
Audience reaction was almost unanimously negative. The episode was never rerun, and it has remained unseen to this day, its mere existence sometimes considered only a rumor.
Addendum 3/25: A local church suggests a curious connection: God = Bugs = Pynchon...
3.20.2007
things to read
Encouraging you (and reminding me) to read two intriguing-sounding articles (both via Click Opera and its trailing cloud of commenters).
the amazon much wider
You know, I really wish there'd been as much readily available music flying around when I was in college as there is now. You know who's glad that wasn't the case? Several credit card companies.
Anyway, they're long since paid off, but the problem with free mp3s (and virtually free ones) is that there are just way too many of them. Really: sometimes I feel like I should just resolve to take in no new music for some period of time - say, six months - and content myself entirely with my existing, rather-too-large collection. But I never do.
My name is Jeff, and I'm a musicoholic.
One result is that sometimes I'll hear a song I really like (I mean one actually in my collection) but will forget to take note of whose song it is...which often means it fades back into obscurity, with its hook occasionally popping into my head to say to me, ha, you don't know my name, but here I am all the same! like some sort of musical Rumplestiltskin. (There's probably a band called that. They're probably terrible.)
So it's great when I actually rediscover a song, and realize hey - that's that track that's been rattling around my head in fragments for a while - I'd wondered where I'd left it. One such example (which - ssshhh! don't wanna ruin my cred - apparently was featured on The O.C. - not that I'd know, since I've never seen even a second of the show) is "Beretta" by Chicago-based band Manishevitz. I'd run into their first CD back in my days reviewing music for the late and lamented Milk magazine, and even before I'd listened to the CD, it had made my top-tier pile, based on the excellent font-geek -based artwork: the back cover track listing crunched the titles into a cube made up of six or seven fonts running everywhich way. (My surprisingly reliable CD-triage technique in those days involved sorting CDs into three piles: the top tier was for discs by people I'd heard of and discs with interesting artwork, the bottom tier was stuff with crap artwork or dumb band names or poorly written one-sheets, everything else ended up in the middle.)
Nothing on that first album Grammar Bell and the All Fall Down (an intriguing title put review discs in the top tier as well) really sounds much like "Beretta" (although it's not a bad record either). Vocalist Adam Busch has an instantly classic voice and delivery - a roundabout road from Buddy Holly by way of Lou Reed, with a lengthy layover at Bryan Ferry and maybe a brief stop at Lloyd Cole - such that it hardly matters what he's singing, or singing about. (The entire lyric of this song that I can remember? "hiccupHere she comes again...") That Bryan Ferry influence is even more audible in the arrangement, which begins with a spare guitar and handclaps rhythm, over which Busch drapes his nervous but somehow langourous vocal, but which gradually develops into a sort of arch, stylized rock'n'roll number, beginning with a reserved, architectural guitar figure and gradually building with Frippy sustained guitar, glockenspiel, synths, and a honking saxophone. My ears desperately want this to have been an enormous hit that everyone in the world knows and loves. Didn't work that way.
The band is apparently recording a new CD, and judging from the tracks debuted in live-in-studio recordings at the wonderful Daytrotter site (which also featured a nice take on "Beretta"), they're working similar territory this time round. Aside from two new tracks, there's also a cover of Eno's "Kings Lead Hat" - quite an appropriate choice. (You can hear all four tracks at the Daytrotter site.) The tootling bit at the beginning, though, reminds me of a particular song by the Fall...but I can't call it to mind right now. Something from the (first) Brix era, though...anyone help me out?
Manishevitz "Beretta" (City Life 2003)
Manishevitz "Kings Lead Hat" (Daytrotter session 2007)
Anyway, they're long since paid off, but the problem with free mp3s (and virtually free ones) is that there are just way too many of them. Really: sometimes I feel like I should just resolve to take in no new music for some period of time - say, six months - and content myself entirely with my existing, rather-too-large collection. But I never do.
My name is Jeff, and I'm a musicoholic.
One result is that sometimes I'll hear a song I really like (I mean one actually in my collection) but will forget to take note of whose song it is...which often means it fades back into obscurity, with its hook occasionally popping into my head to say to me, ha, you don't know my name, but here I am all the same! like some sort of musical Rumplestiltskin. (There's probably a band called that. They're probably terrible.)
So it's great when I actually rediscover a song, and realize hey - that's that track that's been rattling around my head in fragments for a while - I'd wondered where I'd left it. One such example (which - ssshhh! don't wanna ruin my cred - apparently was featured on The O.C. - not that I'd know, since I've never seen even a second of the show) is "Beretta" by Chicago-based band Manishevitz. I'd run into their first CD back in my days reviewing music for the late and lamented Milk magazine, and even before I'd listened to the CD, it had made my top-tier pile, based on the excellent font-geek -based artwork: the back cover track listing crunched the titles into a cube made up of six or seven fonts running everywhich way. (My surprisingly reliable CD-triage technique in those days involved sorting CDs into three piles: the top tier was for discs by people I'd heard of and discs with interesting artwork, the bottom tier was stuff with crap artwork or dumb band names or poorly written one-sheets, everything else ended up in the middle.)
Nothing on that first album Grammar Bell and the All Fall Down (an intriguing title put review discs in the top tier as well) really sounds much like "Beretta" (although it's not a bad record either). Vocalist Adam Busch has an instantly classic voice and delivery - a roundabout road from Buddy Holly by way of Lou Reed, with a lengthy layover at Bryan Ferry and maybe a brief stop at Lloyd Cole - such that it hardly matters what he's singing, or singing about. (The entire lyric of this song that I can remember? "hiccupHere she comes again...") That Bryan Ferry influence is even more audible in the arrangement, which begins with a spare guitar and handclaps rhythm, over which Busch drapes his nervous but somehow langourous vocal, but which gradually develops into a sort of arch, stylized rock'n'roll number, beginning with a reserved, architectural guitar figure and gradually building with Frippy sustained guitar, glockenspiel, synths, and a honking saxophone. My ears desperately want this to have been an enormous hit that everyone in the world knows and loves. Didn't work that way.
The band is apparently recording a new CD, and judging from the tracks debuted in live-in-studio recordings at the wonderful Daytrotter site (which also featured a nice take on "Beretta"), they're working similar territory this time round. Aside from two new tracks, there's also a cover of Eno's "Kings Lead Hat" - quite an appropriate choice. (You can hear all four tracks at the Daytrotter site.) The tootling bit at the beginning, though, reminds me of a particular song by the Fall...but I can't call it to mind right now. Something from the (first) Brix era, though...anyone help me out?
Manishevitz "Beretta" (City Life 2003)
Manishevitz "Kings Lead Hat" (Daytrotter session 2007)
3.19.2007
footsteps on a gravel drive
John Cale has a new release, Circus Live, a box set with two CDs documenting live European performances last year, and a DVD containing footage from rehearsals for that tour (including five complete songs for an acoustic set, and excerpts from another five electric tracks, along with studio chatter, coffee-fetching, etc.), plus a creepy video for a new track "Jumbo in tha Modernworld" (Gollum-like critters devouring everything in sight), a remix of "Gravel Drive," and a rerecording of "Big White Cloud." Unfortunately, as far as I can tell there are currently no plans for a US release, so you'll have to spring for the import. Fortunately, it's reasonably priced: my copy originally cost me $28, including shipping (not bad for two CDs, a DVD, and an extensive booklet). The live CDs are pretty fine, spanning Cale's career and showing the depth of his catalog (as well as his respect for Lou Reed as a songwriter - he covers "Venus in Furs" and a massively reworked "Femme Fatale" in a medley with his own "Rosegarden Funeral of Sores" - despite their everpresent interpersonal tension). The DVD is a fine document, showing Cale in a surprisingly cheery mood amongst his bandmates: at one point, he wanders out of the studio only to return wearing a "Jason"-like goalie mask to perform "Ghost Story." Cale is capable of being quite frighteningly intense in live performance: never mind the infamous chicken story, I recall seeing him in the early '80s, utterly coked out of his mind, playing "Leaving It Up to You" with such intensity that the audience collectively stepped back several feet as he lurched toward the microphone, growling that line about taking someone apart, "right now - you fascist!" But here, when "Ghost Story" is done, Cale removes the mask, and he's grinning like a mischievous schoolboy, perhaps having spooked the camera crew.
Curiously, given two full CDs of live material, the DVD tracks are among the finest songs in the set. A warning to Americans (and denizens of other nations using NTSC format): the DVD's in PAL format, so unless you have a DVD player that's both region-free and capable of converting PAL to NTSC, you're out of luck. (Fortunately such players are readily available for as little as thirty bucks.) At least two of them deserve a wider airing as songs than they're likely to receive as DVD exclusives, so here's my bit to help that happen.
During his career, Cale's recorded "Heartbreak Hotel" multiple times (another version is on the second CD in this set), each recording increasingly deconstructive of the best-known Elvis version, to the point that on this live rehearsal take, the song's nearly as gone as "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" was in the hands of the Residents. Brilliant stuff, if you ask me.
Nearly opposite in musical and emotional terms, the acoustic rehearsal yields this lovely extended version of "Gravel Drive." While I think there are some electronic effects being triggered by the drummer, that drone is bassist Joseph Karnes bowing harmonics on adjacent strings of an upright bass.
John Cale "Heartbreak Hotel" (Circus Live - DVD 2007)
John Cale "Gravel Drive" (Circus Live - DVD 2007)
Curiously, given two full CDs of live material, the DVD tracks are among the finest songs in the set. A warning to Americans (and denizens of other nations using NTSC format): the DVD's in PAL format, so unless you have a DVD player that's both region-free and capable of converting PAL to NTSC, you're out of luck. (Fortunately such players are readily available for as little as thirty bucks.) At least two of them deserve a wider airing as songs than they're likely to receive as DVD exclusives, so here's my bit to help that happen.
During his career, Cale's recorded "Heartbreak Hotel" multiple times (another version is on the second CD in this set), each recording increasingly deconstructive of the best-known Elvis version, to the point that on this live rehearsal take, the song's nearly as gone as "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" was in the hands of the Residents. Brilliant stuff, if you ask me.
Nearly opposite in musical and emotional terms, the acoustic rehearsal yields this lovely extended version of "Gravel Drive." While I think there are some electronic effects being triggered by the drummer, that drone is bassist Joseph Karnes bowing harmonics on adjacent strings of an upright bass.
John Cale "Heartbreak Hotel" (Circus Live - DVD 2007)
John Cale "Gravel Drive" (Circus Live - DVD 2007)
3.18.2007
take the load off...
Gregg Gillis, better known as Girl Talk, has some interesting comments on The Band's song "The Weight" in this week's Onion AV Club "Random Rules" column. Gillis begins by noting that he wasn't really familiar with the song or the band, and then goes on to note that "because it was recorded...in the '60s...it didn't match up exactly in beats, so I had to go back and edit each drum hit to make everything fit..." And given the genre he's working in (mashups that use a lot of contemporary tracks, that is to say, tracks slaved to a digitally accurate and relentlessly steady beat), it's certainly necessary to alter the original track's rhythm if he was going to layer it with samples from multiple songs (his typical procedure). What's worrisome, though, is that it's not clear whether he thinks the rhythmic irregularity is intended or a mistake.
Now anyone who's listened to a significant amount of pre- drum-machine music should know that drummers, however steady their time might be, will push and pull the beat depending on what the song demands. That, in fact, is one of the chief distinctions separating average or even good drummers from great ones. (And Levon Helm's performance on this track is pretty regularly cited as one of the best recorded drum performances in rock.) That pushing and pulling takes place on at least two levels: at the level of pulse (that is, the frequency of the beat might increase or decrease, i.e., the song speeds up or slows down) but more subtly, at the level of placement: the beats (or subdivisions of the beat) might be placed slightly ahead or behind of strict metronomic time. That elasticity is what gives a lot of old-school dance beats their distinctive feel: listen to somebody like Tom Ardolino of NRBQ, and there are times when the offbeat eighth note is nearly a full sixteenth-note behind - sometimes even if the rest of the band is playing straight eights.
As for "The Weight": one of the worst performances I've ever heard involved some long-forgotten band covering this track. They were opening for a Robyn Hitchcock show in Madison years ago. Everything seemed competent enough, but the band's drummer played the beats rigidly straight...and the song was utterly lifeless as a result. But I should be thankful to this band: I was trying to figure out why their version was so lame, and I was puzzled for a while, because they weren't a terrible band in many ways. Nobody played egregiously wrong notes or sang out of tune; the musicianship was sound...but not really solid. Once I realized what the deal was, the light went on in my head: I'd never really thought how important a good drummer is to a band.
Now anyone who's listened to a significant amount of pre- drum-machine music should know that drummers, however steady their time might be, will push and pull the beat depending on what the song demands. That, in fact, is one of the chief distinctions separating average or even good drummers from great ones. (And Levon Helm's performance on this track is pretty regularly cited as one of the best recorded drum performances in rock.) That pushing and pulling takes place on at least two levels: at the level of pulse (that is, the frequency of the beat might increase or decrease, i.e., the song speeds up or slows down) but more subtly, at the level of placement: the beats (or subdivisions of the beat) might be placed slightly ahead or behind of strict metronomic time. That elasticity is what gives a lot of old-school dance beats their distinctive feel: listen to somebody like Tom Ardolino of NRBQ, and there are times when the offbeat eighth note is nearly a full sixteenth-note behind - sometimes even if the rest of the band is playing straight eights.
As for "The Weight": one of the worst performances I've ever heard involved some long-forgotten band covering this track. They were opening for a Robyn Hitchcock show in Madison years ago. Everything seemed competent enough, but the band's drummer played the beats rigidly straight...and the song was utterly lifeless as a result. But I should be thankful to this band: I was trying to figure out why their version was so lame, and I was puzzled for a while, because they weren't a terrible band in many ways. Nobody played egregiously wrong notes or sang out of tune; the musicianship was sound...but not really solid. Once I realized what the deal was, the light went on in my head: I'd never really thought how important a good drummer is to a band.
3.16.2007
retro-drone neo-nostalgic post-coffeeism
I think someone should start a band whose members dress like late-eighties office workers and whose instruments are that era's office equipment as sound sources: outmoded copy machines, fax machines, modems, etc. They can also do an unplugged set with staplers, scissors, Scotch tape, and so forth.
3.11.2007
their before and after
One of the very best post-Beatles guitar-pop albums of the last ten years is Cotton Mather's Kon Tiki. It's always an interesting trick to me, how to write clearly in an idiom without being a mere homage or flattened imitation - in that, of course, the original was original, and new to a degree, whereas the imitation is the opposite. Still, just because the parameters of a musical style have been established, does that mean all music createable within that style has been exhausted? For some reason that question gets asked more acutely when the style is older - as if, for instance, there's a statute of limitations, and violators need to be sentenced to some sort of musical parole.
So for me, the reason Kon Tiki is successful isn't because it sounds "just like" anyone's favorite Beatlesongs circa 1966 (even though, well, it does kinda). It's successful because the best songs here sound like brilliant songs that are best served by arrangements (and production, to an extent) that evoke Beatlesongs circa 1966. The fact that they weren't actually written in 1966 shouldn't be held against them. That's 1966's loss - it shouldn't be ours.
When Kon Tiki was released, one reviewer (a very hip guy - at least for a 35-year-old) wrote that "the band also avoids the mistake, all too common among guitar pop bands, of assuming that the musical clock stopped immediately after the recording of Big Star's Radio City. Some of Pavement's offhand, clumsy grace, Guided by Voices' gnomic fragments, and the Loud Family's obscure sonic wit decorate moments of this disc; while your average guitar-pop band would [predictably] deliver a Beach Boys tribute with a song entitled 'Church of Wilson,' Cotton Mather brings an offering for the altar of Black Francis." Another, subtler example: the steady eighths of the bassline in "Password" gives the track a bit more propulsiveness than a more typical vintage bass part might have done. On the other hand, the way the heavily compressed drums are squished into the right channel, later to be balanced by tambourine on the left, and of course the very McGuinn guitar lead, do pay tribute to another of Cotton Mather's key influences. But would you have expected the sweet'n'sour strings near the end, or the bell-like percussion that complements that part? (Note: the track fades sooner than I'd like - in that if you listen closely, you'll hear that the chord sequence subtly changes right near the end. Always something new to hear - even ten years on.)
"My Before and After" might be my favorite track on the CD, although I'm not entirely sure why that is. I do like the lower-register piano part on the chorus (see the bridge to "Radio Free Europe"), and the high vocal harmonies held way back in the mix.
After a couple more albums, good but to my ears not quite as successful as Kon Tiki, Cotton Mather faded away. Not much was heard for a while - until last year or so, main Matherite Robert Harrison resurfaced with a new band, called Future Clouds & Radar. As the name might suggest, this band is a little more wild and open than Cotton Mather (whose records, however excellently arranged, might have benefited from just a little more air). "Drugstore Bust," the first track I heard from Future Clouds & Radar (three tracks are downloadable from the band's website, linked above - the band's double-disc debut is available for purchase via PayPal), begins in deconstruction mode, then gradually rebuilds its elements to become, by its end, a fairly straightforward pop song. But its beginnings don’t fade in memory, and it’s interesting to me that by now, it sounds like pop music, whereas the first time I heard it, I thought it was quite strange. Engagingly strange, but strange.
"This Is Really a Book" works a similar trick, in a way, built upon the world’s most slow and subdued reggae beat, but Harrison’s melodicism has the ability to shine in any setting. A word, too, about his lyrics, which manage to balance between obscure and intriguing without becoming precious – or, for that matter, very cogent – but cogency is overrated, particularly in pop songs, which are really about sounds and melody.
Finally, "Quicksilver" is spacier and more psychedelic, with that stoned backbeat and a wheedling orbital synth, but it's grounded in a fine acoustic guitar rhythm track. This is the first time I heard this song, which was part of an enormous torrent the SXSW folks distributed featuring selections from bands appearing at this year's annual Austin music bash.
Cotton Mather "Password" (Kon Tiki 1997)
Cotton Mather "My Before and After" (Kon Tiki 1997)
Future Clouds & Radar "Drugstore Bust" (Future Clouds & Radar 2007)
Future Clouds & Radar "This Is Really a Book" (Future Clouds & Radar 2007)
Future Clouds & Radar "Quicksilver" (Future Clouds & Radar 2007)
So for me, the reason Kon Tiki is successful isn't because it sounds "just like" anyone's favorite Beatlesongs circa 1966 (even though, well, it does kinda). It's successful because the best songs here sound like brilliant songs that are best served by arrangements (and production, to an extent) that evoke Beatlesongs circa 1966. The fact that they weren't actually written in 1966 shouldn't be held against them. That's 1966's loss - it shouldn't be ours.
When Kon Tiki was released, one reviewer (a very hip guy - at least for a 35-year-old) wrote that "the band also avoids the mistake, all too common among guitar pop bands, of assuming that the musical clock stopped immediately after the recording of Big Star's Radio City. Some of Pavement's offhand, clumsy grace, Guided by Voices' gnomic fragments, and the Loud Family's obscure sonic wit decorate moments of this disc; while your average guitar-pop band would [predictably] deliver a Beach Boys tribute with a song entitled 'Church of Wilson,' Cotton Mather brings an offering for the altar of Black Francis." Another, subtler example: the steady eighths of the bassline in "Password" gives the track a bit more propulsiveness than a more typical vintage bass part might have done. On the other hand, the way the heavily compressed drums are squished into the right channel, later to be balanced by tambourine on the left, and of course the very McGuinn guitar lead, do pay tribute to another of Cotton Mather's key influences. But would you have expected the sweet'n'sour strings near the end, or the bell-like percussion that complements that part? (Note: the track fades sooner than I'd like - in that if you listen closely, you'll hear that the chord sequence subtly changes right near the end. Always something new to hear - even ten years on.)
"My Before and After" might be my favorite track on the CD, although I'm not entirely sure why that is. I do like the lower-register piano part on the chorus (see the bridge to "Radio Free Europe"), and the high vocal harmonies held way back in the mix.
After a couple more albums, good but to my ears not quite as successful as Kon Tiki, Cotton Mather faded away. Not much was heard for a while - until last year or so, main Matherite Robert Harrison resurfaced with a new band, called Future Clouds & Radar. As the name might suggest, this band is a little more wild and open than Cotton Mather (whose records, however excellently arranged, might have benefited from just a little more air). "Drugstore Bust," the first track I heard from Future Clouds & Radar (three tracks are downloadable from the band's website, linked above - the band's double-disc debut is available for purchase via PayPal), begins in deconstruction mode, then gradually rebuilds its elements to become, by its end, a fairly straightforward pop song. But its beginnings don’t fade in memory, and it’s interesting to me that by now, it sounds like pop music, whereas the first time I heard it, I thought it was quite strange. Engagingly strange, but strange.
"This Is Really a Book" works a similar trick, in a way, built upon the world’s most slow and subdued reggae beat, but Harrison’s melodicism has the ability to shine in any setting. A word, too, about his lyrics, which manage to balance between obscure and intriguing without becoming precious – or, for that matter, very cogent – but cogency is overrated, particularly in pop songs, which are really about sounds and melody.
Finally, "Quicksilver" is spacier and more psychedelic, with that stoned backbeat and a wheedling orbital synth, but it's grounded in a fine acoustic guitar rhythm track. This is the first time I heard this song, which was part of an enormous torrent the SXSW folks distributed featuring selections from bands appearing at this year's annual Austin music bash.
Cotton Mather "Password" (Kon Tiki 1997)
Cotton Mather "My Before and After" (Kon Tiki 1997)
Future Clouds & Radar "Drugstore Bust" (Future Clouds & Radar 2007)
Future Clouds & Radar "This Is Really a Book" (Future Clouds & Radar 2007)
Future Clouds & Radar "Quicksilver" (Future Clouds & Radar 2007)
3.10.2007
time bandits
In four or five hours, as I write, I'll get to find out if the tiny little gnomes inside my computer have managed to handle the three-weeks-early switchover to Daylight Saving Time. If - in a Pynchonesque twist - actual daylight were somehow being stored in secret caverns underground, to be accessed in case of emergency shortages, it would be wonderful (and great, too, if you could withdraw small amounts of daylight to use in looking for small objects batted by cats into dark corners beneath couches), but as it is, it strikes me as a thoroughly outmoded notion, and the extra four weeks added this year (three now, one at the end of the season) are typical Bush, a cheap, dim flashlight shone against the full glare of opposing sunlight.
The argument is that DST will save energy by shifting daylight consumption of energy forward an hour to take advantage of longer summer days. That might have worked in the nineteenth century, when the solar day was pretty much the workday - but it makes almost zero sense now. Presumably, the chief energy consumed during dark hours rather than light hours would be energy for lighting - but in order for that one hour to make a difference, the amount of lighting used would have to vary with the available light - as if we used electric light variably to make up the deficit of daylight, more during twilit hours and less at noon. But of course, except for extremely sophisticated lighting systems, that's not true: lights are either on or off. And few buildings are designed to take advantage of daylight - so in most homes and offices, lights are on when anyone's occupying them, full noon sun or not.
The other potential energy source whose usage varies with light levels (but only indirectly) might be air conditioning - but DST does nothing to reduce a/c usage during the hottest hours of the day.
Offsetting the purported benefits of DST are clear costs associated with changing its beginning and ending dates: how many hours, and how much money, have been and will be spent by IT and other personnel making sure that computer and other systems are compliant with the new dates? Some studies suggest that people's difficulty in dealing with the time shift (in any year, not just this one) accounts for several billion dollars in lost economic efficiency, as people groggily adjust to the sleep deficit and that feeling of being slightly "off" as clock time no longer corresponds with their biological sense of time. All the joys of jet lag with none of the rewards of travel.
Finally, starting DST three weeks early may also cost more energy in northerly climates, because we're still in a heating season. So rather than beginning work, or waking hours at home, after the sun has warmed temperatures a bit, heat is cranked up earlier, using more energy than if standard time were kept.
The argument is that DST will save energy by shifting daylight consumption of energy forward an hour to take advantage of longer summer days. That might have worked in the nineteenth century, when the solar day was pretty much the workday - but it makes almost zero sense now. Presumably, the chief energy consumed during dark hours rather than light hours would be energy for lighting - but in order for that one hour to make a difference, the amount of lighting used would have to vary with the available light - as if we used electric light variably to make up the deficit of daylight, more during twilit hours and less at noon. But of course, except for extremely sophisticated lighting systems, that's not true: lights are either on or off. And few buildings are designed to take advantage of daylight - so in most homes and offices, lights are on when anyone's occupying them, full noon sun or not.
The other potential energy source whose usage varies with light levels (but only indirectly) might be air conditioning - but DST does nothing to reduce a/c usage during the hottest hours of the day.
Offsetting the purported benefits of DST are clear costs associated with changing its beginning and ending dates: how many hours, and how much money, have been and will be spent by IT and other personnel making sure that computer and other systems are compliant with the new dates? Some studies suggest that people's difficulty in dealing with the time shift (in any year, not just this one) accounts for several billion dollars in lost economic efficiency, as people groggily adjust to the sleep deficit and that feeling of being slightly "off" as clock time no longer corresponds with their biological sense of time. All the joys of jet lag with none of the rewards of travel.
Finally, starting DST three weeks early may also cost more energy in northerly climates, because we're still in a heating season. So rather than beginning work, or waking hours at home, after the sun has warmed temperatures a bit, heat is cranked up earlier, using more energy than if standard time were kept.
3.09.2007
three unfunny jokes
"Knock knock..."
"Who's there?"
"Control freak - and then you say, 'Control freak who?'"
----
"Knock knock..."
"Who's--"
"Premature interlocutor. Damn! I'm so sorry honey..."
----
"Knock knock..."
"Who's there?
"The."
"The Who?"
(drum kit kicked over, guitar smashed, computer full of suspicious "research")
"Who's there?"
"Control freak - and then you say, 'Control freak who?'"
----
"Knock knock..."
"Who's--"
"Premature interlocutor. Damn! I'm so sorry honey..."
----
"Knock knock..."
"Who's there?
"The."
"The Who?"
(drum kit kicked over, guitar smashed, computer full of suspicious "research")
3.08.2007
I can't hear you...
I've been thinking about Lala.com's stated policies regarding digital copies of discs its members trade: they state that upon shipping a disc, a member should delete any digital copies of the disc they might have. (A word about Lala's trading model: you specify which CDs you want, and which you have available for trade, but you can't specify which disc comes when, nor can you make direct trades with other members. You get roughly as many CDs as you ship out. For each CD you get, you're charged a buck plus a shipping charge - which varies depending whether you also receive artwork or just the CD in a clamshell. You pay no other postage.)
My guess is this (totally unenforceable) provision exists entirely to placate the RIAA. It makes no sense on any other level. First absurdity, of course, is the notion that rights a CD-owner possesses can be retroactively taken away: when I first bought CDs in 1986, there was no such thing as readily available digital replication for the consumer, so I could not possibly have agreed to such a limitation in my rights as purchaser. (I suppose there could have been - but wasn't - a clause attempting to cover any new technologies that might be developed...) If I buy a CD, and I make a second copy of it to keep in my car stereo, it's absurd to suggest that suddenly I no longer "own" the copy if I trade the original.
The main reason such a restriction plays ball with the RIAA is that it discourages an obvious use of Lala's trading system: so-called "rip & ship" trades, wherein CDs are traded solely to rip a digital copy, which is then exchanged for another disc, which is then ripped, etc. etc. This is the sort of thing that the RIAA feels would really cut into sales of new CDs (and therefore into its member labels' profits).
But would it? In fact, for everyone except the label, rip & ship is a benefit. It benefits Lala members, obviously: the "ripper" gets more music, and more music is put into circulation for other Lala members. It benefits Lala itself for the same reasons. Lala also pledges to dedicate 20% of trading revenue to musicians. So in fact, ripping & shipping increases benefits to the musicians, since every time the same CD is passed along to another member, that's another ka-ching of the trading register, and another 20% of that trading revenue for musicians. What are the alternatives? Lala members otherwise could (a) keep the CD (so there's only the one trade to funnel revenue to musicians); (b) toss it in the trash if they don't like (no revenue - and bad for the environment); (c) sell it to a used-CD store (no profit to musicians); or (d) donate it to a charity like Goodwill (again, no profit to musicians...but a trivial tax deduction for the donee).
The RIAA assumes that rip & ship harms its members because if ripping weren't possible, consumers would otherwise purchase a new CD (or, more directly, that having ripped a digital copy, consumers will not purchase a new CD). Is that true? Lala's a good test - since it also sells new CDs (at quite low prices, I might add). Here's where the random nature of Lala's trading model comes into play: since you can't specify which particular CD you'll get in trade, if you really want a particular CD right now, you have to buy it from the Lala store (or one of those quaint bricks-and-mortar places, of course). To me, then, the real bulwark against rampant ripping & shipping isn't the absurd idea that people don't have the right to make copies of CDs they own; it's the fact that Lala (a) gives you an item at random from a list you choose, and (b) also runs a store that sells new CDs, in case you don't want to wait for a particular title to show up by chance.
The problem, of course, is that sales of new CDs profit labels; sales of used CDs do not. (Incidentally, I'm rather surprised that at some point, the industry never tried to regulate the sale of used records, mandating that used-record stores give back a portion of income to labels...) But musicians have nothing to lose: given the sharkish nature of most record-label contracts that ensure that everyone else besides the musician gets paid first - and because Lala actually has a mechanism for paying musicians on sales of used, traded CDs - such sales are much better for the musician than any other use of the once-sold CD. (And frankly, it wouldn't surprise me - assuming Lala survives and trades occur at high enough volume - if musicians made more money from Lala's trades than from their labels.)
The huge irony of this whole thing is that CDs were, for several years, a godsend to the recording industry, as people re-bought titles to upgrade their collection from ratty old LPs and cassettes. And, of course, different divisions of the same megaconglomerates that own major labels developed and sold the very technology used to make digital copies of those CDs. But you can't put the digital genie back in the bottle: the RIAA's running around wild-eyed with a hatchet lawsuit and poison copy-protection schemes, threatening its own best customers, is a pathetic act of desperation. And it's the industry's own fault, for not accepting (and figuring out how to profit from: hello iTunes) the inevitable changes that any number of people saw coming from years away.
My guess is this (totally unenforceable) provision exists entirely to placate the RIAA. It makes no sense on any other level. First absurdity, of course, is the notion that rights a CD-owner possesses can be retroactively taken away: when I first bought CDs in 1986, there was no such thing as readily available digital replication for the consumer, so I could not possibly have agreed to such a limitation in my rights as purchaser. (I suppose there could have been - but wasn't - a clause attempting to cover any new technologies that might be developed...) If I buy a CD, and I make a second copy of it to keep in my car stereo, it's absurd to suggest that suddenly I no longer "own" the copy if I trade the original.
The main reason such a restriction plays ball with the RIAA is that it discourages an obvious use of Lala's trading system: so-called "rip & ship" trades, wherein CDs are traded solely to rip a digital copy, which is then exchanged for another disc, which is then ripped, etc. etc. This is the sort of thing that the RIAA feels would really cut into sales of new CDs (and therefore into its member labels' profits).
But would it? In fact, for everyone except the label, rip & ship is a benefit. It benefits Lala members, obviously: the "ripper" gets more music, and more music is put into circulation for other Lala members. It benefits Lala itself for the same reasons. Lala also pledges to dedicate 20% of trading revenue to musicians. So in fact, ripping & shipping increases benefits to the musicians, since every time the same CD is passed along to another member, that's another ka-ching of the trading register, and another 20% of that trading revenue for musicians. What are the alternatives? Lala members otherwise could (a) keep the CD (so there's only the one trade to funnel revenue to musicians); (b) toss it in the trash if they don't like (no revenue - and bad for the environment); (c) sell it to a used-CD store (no profit to musicians); or (d) donate it to a charity like Goodwill (again, no profit to musicians...but a trivial tax deduction for the donee).
The RIAA assumes that rip & ship harms its members because if ripping weren't possible, consumers would otherwise purchase a new CD (or, more directly, that having ripped a digital copy, consumers will not purchase a new CD). Is that true? Lala's a good test - since it also sells new CDs (at quite low prices, I might add). Here's where the random nature of Lala's trading model comes into play: since you can't specify which particular CD you'll get in trade, if you really want a particular CD right now, you have to buy it from the Lala store (or one of those quaint bricks-and-mortar places, of course). To me, then, the real bulwark against rampant ripping & shipping isn't the absurd idea that people don't have the right to make copies of CDs they own; it's the fact that Lala (a) gives you an item at random from a list you choose, and (b) also runs a store that sells new CDs, in case you don't want to wait for a particular title to show up by chance.
The problem, of course, is that sales of new CDs profit labels; sales of used CDs do not. (Incidentally, I'm rather surprised that at some point, the industry never tried to regulate the sale of used records, mandating that used-record stores give back a portion of income to labels...) But musicians have nothing to lose: given the sharkish nature of most record-label contracts that ensure that everyone else besides the musician gets paid first - and because Lala actually has a mechanism for paying musicians on sales of used, traded CDs - such sales are much better for the musician than any other use of the once-sold CD. (And frankly, it wouldn't surprise me - assuming Lala survives and trades occur at high enough volume - if musicians made more money from Lala's trades than from their labels.)
The huge irony of this whole thing is that CDs were, for several years, a godsend to the recording industry, as people re-bought titles to upgrade their collection from ratty old LPs and cassettes. And, of course, different divisions of the same megaconglomerates that own major labels developed and sold the very technology used to make digital copies of those CDs. But you can't put the digital genie back in the bottle: the RIAA's running around wild-eyed with a hatchet lawsuit and poison copy-protection schemes, threatening its own best customers, is a pathetic act of desperation. And it's the industry's own fault, for not accepting (and figuring out how to profit from: hello iTunes) the inevitable changes that any number of people saw coming from years away.
3.07.2007
and that about says it all...
Word.
(Via ¡JESTAPLERO! If I had more time, I might explore the relevance of the fact that Jean Baudrillard just died...and that his notion of a simulated reality utterly overtaking actual reality has come shudderingly true with this administration.)
(Via ¡JESTAPLERO! If I had more time, I might explore the relevance of the fact that Jean Baudrillard just died...and that his notion of a simulated reality utterly overtaking actual reality has come shudderingly true with this administration.)
3.05.2007
!?
For some reason, four of my last five entries' titles have ended in exclamation marks (the fifth had a question mark). Apparently I'm feeling emphatic these days.
3.04.2007
not insane!
They say that cat Cheney is the Vice Pre- SHUT YOUR MOUTH!
But I'm talkin' 'bout Dick! SENIOR ADMINISTRATION OFFICIAL!
But I'm talkin' 'bout Dick! SENIOR ADMINISTRATION OFFICIAL!
3.02.2007
3.01.2007
killer snack food packaging!
In my never-ending quest to fill my mouth with things that prevent me from yapping alla time, I found a package of "poppadums" (so-spelled in this instance) made by some outfit called Kitchens of India. They're little mini-papadam chiplets - they're okay, but they come in a Pringles-style container. Apparently the preferred method of consumption is to pour the chips into your mouth by upending the can - because if you stick your hand in there and rotate it even slightly, you will discover that inner rim at the top of the container is very sharp metal. I am now trying to avoid bleeding on my laptop.
Now where did I put my lawyer?
Now where did I put my lawyer?
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