the sticking point

Thursday Dispatch

Rented a car today to drive to our car and remove the license plates and all our personal belongings. The whole process took about two hours and it sucked.

It was weird to see the vehicle, with no obvious damage visible to the eye, and think that it could be "totaled." But that's the fact. The water got in pretty high. (If anyone had been sitting in it, the water would have reached the bottom of the kneecap.) It ruined a lot of the electronics, wiring, and crept through the transmission line into the car's mechanical nethers. The insurance adjuster put a big sticker on the rear side window, that was like a checklist of what was "good" and what was "damaged." Looking at it, I could sense used parts dealers or junkyard owners squatting in the bush, waiting to pounce. Waiting to pull it apart like carrion. Each tire was listed individually. The "good" box was checked for each. There were about 20 items on this list, and the score was fairly even between good and bad. However, the radio/cd player was marked "damaged," which I know to be incorrect.

Anyway, it was saddening to walk away from that car. We drove it off the lot on 11-20-05, and the rain killed it on 8-8-07.

* * * * * *

I have been working out hard and quite efficiently in the last month-plus. I devised a new periodization cycle for myself and I've stuck to it with religious dedication. It's based on ten days of workouts and four days of rest every 14 days. That's the length of the cycle. I keep my max-effort, overload days heavy; but more importantly, I keep the weights low on dynamic effort (speed) days.

It's still powerlifting training, so my focus is on the big three: squat, deadlift, and bench press. Anything I do outside of these exercises is done for the sole purpose of improving my technique and increasing my strength for those three. I do a lot of grip work (DL), abs (all 3), neck (S, DL), and hips (S, DL) solely for their benefits for squatting, deadlifting, and benching. That's all I care about. Not cuts or muscle size or any of that crap. I don't do biceps, or any other vanity exercise. All I care about is strength. Moving heavy weight.

Today was heavy squat day. My favorite. (Until recently, my fave was heavy DL day. But that's been getting crazy-nauseating.) I went to the gym with nothing in me, I thought. I'd had a disappointing workout yesterday -- even though I felt good walking in -- so I didn't expect much today. I did well. After a few warmup sets, I kept raising the weight and doing singles. I felt good. I had a good spotter. I kept increasing the weight. I didn't use wraps, but for the last two sets I wore the belt.

I managed a new personal best in the squat. Within two weeks, I believe I can finally break the 400# mark for sets. I've been training toward that magic number for a couple years, but something (illness, injury, work schedule, travel) always seems to get in the way of the training and set me back. I've never been this close.

One very weird thing happened during this session today. Four or five people stopped their workouts and came over to watch. After my final set one young man approached me and, even though he'd just watched me double-rep it -- with his own eyes, asked, "Did you lift that?" I sat on the floor for a couple minutes talking to him and his friend. They tried to lift it up off the pins together and giggled their asses off when it didn't budge. I asked if they did squats and said it is one of the best exercises anyone could do for themselves. In broken English, he asked, "Why do you do it? Can't you break a muscle?"

Awesome.

Tomorrow is the hardest workout of all. I'll run, do hundreds of crunches, do neck work, and work with my flex bands and Blast straps. I will not pick up any weight, that's what makes it so hard. But that's psychological, an ego thing I have to get over.

[posted with ecto]

On iTunes right now: Kamera from the album Yankee Hotel Foxtrot by Wilco

Liquid Launch

Yesterday, a friend told me he was spit on while sitting in a cab with his girlfriend last week. Their driver had just pissed off a guy trying to cross the street on a DON'T WALK, so the guy crossing fired a lung-nugget at the vehicle. Unfortunately for my friend, poor aim and a slight westerly breeze brought the phlegm through the open rear window and onto his chest. He told me it had heft to it, he felt it.

As the taxi drove off, he did what any of us would do; he sat there stunned and silently listing all of the violent, self-righteous ways he could respond to this attack. He so badly wanted to get out and run back to the guy for a confrontation. Of course I knew the feeling. It's that part of your brain which demands that wrongs be righted, and even for a second, the a-holes of the world contemplate their stupidity. When they see the crazed dude running at them, we want to see the look of terror and "Oh, shit. What did I just do?"

Never happens, though, does it? Forget about that. It's all another reason to stay in the car and suck up the rage into something more productive.

My friend didn't get out of the car, and I'm happy for that.*

His story got me thinking of the times in my life that I've been spat upon, and how I responded.
1) Age 7. At Tibbetts Pool in Yonkers, NY. My mom, my friend Suzanne, and me were on a blanket against a wall. Spit landed on my head and neck. A cheer and teenage laughter erupted from the top of the wall above.
Response: I ran into the pool and scrubbed and scrubbed. When I was back at the blanket, after I'd ranted so hard tears came from my eyes, and after the rage-tears dried off, Suzanne deadpanned, "I knew they were gonna do that." Might have told me!
2) Age 10. On Altamont Place in Yonkers, NY. I was playing punchball or kickball with my neighborhood friends, Jimmy, Chris, Debbie, Brian, and Sal. Joey LaValle rode over on his bike. Joey was my best friend in grade school, but now that we went to different middle schools we were like strangers. He kept riding his bike through our ballgame. I ran at him as he figure-eighted between third base and home plate. His spit hit me in the cheek and eye. Joey rode off.
Response: I lamely wiped off the mess with a tissue I had to borrow from my crush, 17-year old Valerie.
3) Age 19. At Nathan's arcade in Yonkers, NY. JCC and I were there to feed not our hunger, but our addiction to 720. Some guys were playing it when we got there. I don't know if anything was said between us and them, but I doubt it. Me and JCC parked ourselves at a nearby pinball machine to wait. Three or four guys approached. One of them took a long sip from his cup and straw and spat a mouthful of fruit punch onto my shirt. The crew walked out the arcade door.
Response: I wasted at least 20 seconds trying to answer who and why. JCC and I ran out after them. (Through the restaurant door -- we'd seen too many ambushes start this way.) We did recon on the entire parking lot, inside and between every car. They were gone.

Yonkers is a real shithole, isn't it?

*Which reminds me of something I wanted to tell you all: remember last week's Friday 10 preamble/tirade, titled "Big Knowledge, Part One"? I've got the second installment percolating in my brain, and it will probably kick off this week's F10.

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When It Rains, It Sucks Dept.: Our car, flooded out in the Great 60-Minute Storm of 8-8-07, was declared a "total" today by the insurance adjuster. I'm bummed. A car's a car to me, but I bought that car with my wife; it's the one I drove my family, my sons around in. I am too sentimental, too nostalgic for my own good.

[posted with ecto]

On iTunes right now: Dizzy Boogie from the album Vout For Voutoreenees by Gaillard, Slim

Photo/art credit: "Spit #2" Liz Magic Laser; lizmagiclaser.com

Dispatches from the Eyeful Tower

Our old pal StereoMic was up early yesterday, documenting what our neighborhood looked like when the rains came.

Here's the view from his balcony. Those cars across the street weren't sideways when the drivers parked them.

And also? When I walked past that white car later in the day, it had a parking violation ticket on the windshield. Must be illegal to have your car swept away by a flood. Know what that is? One of Forest Hills' weak-ass parking cops thinking, "what the fuck? I'll be one ticket closer to my quota, and this will be a bitch for this poor sucker to defend in court."

On that note, I want to mention what I saw out my own living room window this morning. A car pulled out of the parking garage underneath the apartment building across the street, and the driver drove against the one way and jetted through the intersection. My blood boiled. Anyone crossing at that corner would have had no chance. Nobody would have looked in that direction for a car. But this fucker, this sack of rotting shit, whose time is so important to him that he can't follow the most basic rules of the road, puts everyone else's safety in jeopardy to shave 45 seconds off his commute.

I will not forget that car. I live right across the street. I'll see it again. And when I do, I will calmly tell the driver what I've seen him do, and if I ever see him do it again I'll pull him out of that vehicle by his throat.

On iTunes right now: Hirnsäge from the album Kollaps (reissue + bonus) by Einstürzende Neubauten

[posted with ecto]

The Perfect Storm

This morning was mine to wake up with the boys, H Himself & W Himself. My wife and I alternate days, hoping that the other one of us might get to "sleep in." Like, as late as 0800. For the one who gets up at the sound of the first awakened child, it's a crapshoot. The days can start anywhere between 0430 and 0700.

This one began after sunrise. The boys chose to sleep in. H is still asleep as I write this, sprawled across mommy's and daddy's bed like a hobo in a boxcar. And I've no work to get to today. A simultaneous occurrence of conditions which, taken individually, would be far less powerful than the result of their chance combination. A perfect storm. I was able to bang out a Friday 10.

01 K-hole - Coco Rosie: I haven't given the Noah's Ark disk as much attention as it deserves, I think. I usually go back to La Maison de Mon Rêve. I really dig their work; there are always nice melodies and smart lyrics tucked into the strange atmospherics of the songs. I used to think the Cocos weren't for everybody, but the more I listen to them the less challenging the music becomes. I guess that makes obvious sense. Or it's just a ridiculously stupid thing to have written. What I meant is the music not hard to get to.

02 Paid Vacation - Circle Jerks: Not the best song from the legendary Group Sex album, but hey -- that there is Keith Morris. He brings everything he's got to the vocal, every time. This is a very old album, but it never sounds that way to me.

03 Hybrid Moments - Misfits: One of my top three Misfits tracks. How cool is this song?! This version is the Static Age mix. The band used to mix and remix their session tracks all the time for singles and EPs and all the comps (it gets very confusing - this site helps). There are four distinctly different mixes of "Hybrid Moments" from one 1978 session. Who cares? I do!

04 Crater Lake - Liz Phair: I can't remember if the Whip-Smart album was well received. I'll go on those Internets and check the reviews from back then. I reckon that after Girlysounds and Exile, there was probably a battalion of sack-less writers and reviewers waiting armed behind the tree line, to fire off a backlash against ol' Liz.

05 Miniskirt Blues - Cramps: Iggy Pop! Lux Interior! This song was the only thing to get excited about from the Look Mom No Head disk.

06 Get Busy - Sean Paul: Really. I don't know which year it was. My wife and I were down in Miami working a job, and the only performer who really brought it, who was actually exciting, was Sean Paul. I respected him for that. I don't have anything else by him but this track, not even a B-side. But I'd listen if it came along.

07 School's Out - Alice Cooper: I was at the Beacon Theater in NYC one night in 1986 or 87 for a Replacements show. Got there about a half hour before opening act (Johnny Thunders) went on. The place was still practically empty. Tommy Stinson came out and sat next to me and my friend, and wanted to talk about music. He started with the song that was playing through the house PA, "Under My Wheels," by Alice Cooper. Why am I telling you this? I know very little about Cooper, but I like a lot of what I've heard.

08 Genetic Engineering - Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark: Can never seem to bring myself to abbreviate such a great band name. Of the whole glut of bands that made music like this from that era, Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark is one of the two or three I'd still listen to. This track is the 7" mix.

09 If 6 Was 9 - Jimi Hendrix Experience: "I'm gonna wave my freak flag high!" First time I'd ever heard a freak flag reference was in this song. This is from the Axis: Bold As Love album, the follow-up to Are You Experienced. I think Hendrix was trying things out on this one, adding some bells and whistles that stepped in front of the music a little too much, but still a fine album. A few years ago, there was a vinyl-only release of Axis in mono. I'd love to get my hands on that, or a cdr burn of it.

10 Stop The Clock - Blasters: If you talk about good music for only a little while, of course The Blasters come into the conversation. Check out everything they've made, I say. These are incredibly talented guys who crafted great songs, and they were ferocious onstage. "Stop The Clock" is from the classic first album. Out of print, but all the songs are included on the Testament set

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To leave you on a happy note, Kurt Waldheim is dead. "Where do bad folks go when they die? They don't go to heaven where the angels fly, they go to a lake of fire and fry."

[posted with ecto]

On iTunes right now: Seasons in the Sun from the album Son of Sam I Am by Too Much Joy

Sculpture by Allen Linder, "Man Waking Up" (2005)

We Are Repairs

I found this official notice posted in the elevator as I went downstairs to do laundry. "Boiler is Broken Not. Hot water we are Repairs."

Good to know.

[posted with ecto]

On iTunes right now: I Am A Poseur from the album Peel Session 03.06.78 by X-Ray Spex

Can I Get Some Recognition Around Here?

This weekend, on TV and in a magazine, young H found two men he identified as "Daddy!"

These are the guys.

[posted with ecto]

On iTunes right now: Mercenaries from the album Beach Blvd by Rik L. Rik

Leave the Poetry to the Pros

I'm a proud father. My not-yet-three-year-old son H was on my lap last week when he got a ponderous look on his face. He cocked his head and looked toward the ceiling for a couple seconds. Then he looked at me and spoke:
"Birthday star, sunshine eyes."

A poem. I believe it's his first.

Today's Friday 10 is in Iambic Pentameter.

01 A Long Way From Home - The Kinks: From one of my top three all-time favorite Kinks albums, Lola Versus The Powerman and the Moneygoround. The last time I had a Kinks track come up on one of these Friday 10s, I wrote, sincerely, about how much better than the Beatles they are (and always have been). I thought for sure that would stir a little bile from the Beatles fans among you. Nothing. Nary a comment about how John and Paul invented the modern day pop song or any of that nonsense usually spouted as if it were fact. (Or even provable!) So today, I'm trying a different approach, just a little poke in your bread oven to see if you're still with me: The Kinks are better than you.

02 Wasserturm - Einstürzende Neubauten: This was a bonus track on the re-released version of Drawings of Patient O.T. The Neubauten guys play a water tower on this song, behind lyrics that Blixa Bargeld has said were inspired by a dream he once had, in which he was hammering spaghetti and music came out. I like all the Neubauten stuff, but Kollaps and O.T. are the serious business.
Impertinent Personal Info Dept.: When I go to have baby W's name and birthdate tattooed below his brother's on my leg, I'm going to stay in the chair for the EN logo. Don't yet know on which patch of skin, though.

03 Suzie is a Floozie - The Lurkers: I miss the Lurkers... I haven't listened to God's Lonely Men in more than five days!

04 Smothered - Die Cheerleader: It's a crime that the Son of Filth album is out of print, and a shame that so few rock fans have ever heard about this great band. Three gals, with a guy on drums. The lead singer, Miss Sam Ireland, has one of the most powerful voices you'll ever hear. Die Cheerleader is melodic and solid like Jane's Addiction was melodic and solid. Get it? If you find Son of Filth around -- eBay, GEMM, etc. -- grab a copy. (I just checked Amazon... you can find it used, starting at .01. Easily worth 2,000 times that!)

05 Mony Mony - Tommy James & The Shondells: I don't know too much about TJ, but I've always loved his songs. At first, they'd show up on comps that I'd buy, and ultimately I went and tracked down a few solid TJ&tS records. (Crimson & Clover is packed with great songs, and it's not even a greatest hits.) You can sneeze into the H-I-J section at any CD store and soak about 25 disks that have "Mony Mony" on them. There was, of course, that well-known version by the guy from Generation X, and another cool one by The Stranglers backing up Celia and the Mutations.

06 London Dungeon - Misfits: From the very hard-to-find Misfits album 12 Hits From Hell. The record was recorded at Master Sound Productions in NYC on 08-07-80, and was original known as the MSP Demos. They were demos for what became the Walk Among Us LP. The 12 Hits tracks were remixed in July 2001 for release on Caroline Records that October. Just before it was about to hit stores, the band had a change of heart and pulled it. (There are too many reasons floating around and no real answers why.) A very few promo copies had already made it out into the real world, and it's from these promos that lucky collectors have shared the wealth. If this thing ever landed in the bins, it would have made a lot of Misfits fans awfully happy. (I'm sure some band members are seething over the existence of this CD. I've written before about how common it is for Cease & Desist letters to land in the hands of eBay execs every time some cool and rare Misfits product is on their site.) There are some amazing tracks on 12 Hits From Hell. You know all the titles, as they've all found release on other records and singles, but these are all significantly different mixes, and in most cases they're better than the ones we already know and love. One interesting thing to note about these 12 Hits recordings is that original guitarist Bobby Steele was kicked out of the band during these sessions, but after he'd recorded all the guitar parts. Then Doyle, Jerry Only's brother, joined the band and added additional guitars. So what you have here is a document of a five-piece Misfits lineup that never actually played together. You can read boatload of information on this rarity at this URL. And here. Today I heard "London Dungeon" from 12 Hits. I have a playlist on iTunes that I built so that I can listen to the original version of the songs followed by the 12 Hits version; I like to A-B them like that to hear the differences. "Dungeon" is a truly stellar song, proof that Danzig could hang with the best American songwriters, and the arrangement is so pure. The original, single mix of the song used to annoy me a bit, though, in that the vocal always sounded like they were shot through a tube, compressed to high heaven. The 12 Hits mix is far superior. (But you knew I'd say that.) The vocal is warmer and has its midrange back. The drum sound is much fuller and wider, with the snare nestled nicely inside the pocket.
Talk About Hi Tek Dept.: I finally got my hands on a vinyl copy last fall. I went upstairs to Stereo Mike's apartment and ran the turntable through a mixer and into his computer, where we ripped WAV files. We burned the WAVs onto a DVD, and I ripped those files off the DVD, through the Audacity software (minus EQ) and outputted them to MP3s and into iTunes, where I later burned off an audio CD. Caveman style and clunky, but hey -- at least I've got the thing!)

07 12XU - Minor Threat: I love it when one band I love covers a great song by another band I love -- and does it SO well. It happened right here, with Minor Threat's pass at the classic Wire song from Pink Flag. I'm not a huge fan of cover songs, especially when they tend to be more of a one-off novelty than anything else, but when all the parts are in place, it's fucking magical. It's Minor Threat paying great homage to the masters. Of course it's on the Complete Discography.

08 Raisans - Dinosaur Jr.: The You're Living All Over Me album came out in '87, and if put your ear to it today, it still sounds so fucking cool. What a mix -- it's frightening, the sounds coming off those songs. "Raisans" is great, as is "Tarpit," but "Little Fury Things" is unmatched, I think.

09 Sex and Dying in High Society - X: The three X shows I caught last year were three highlights for me. They landed on those shows like a ton of bricks. Amazing! This phenomenal song is from the must-have sonic bible, Los Angeles.

10 Down on the Street - Stooges: Did you know that the original version Iggy wrote was called "Down on the Beach"? The first line, "Down on the beach where the faces shine" makes a lot more sense knowing that. You all know this is from Fun House, another essential record if you're thinking about calling yourself a music fan.

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Now you: Put your mp3 player or digital jukebox on "shuffle all songs," and let us know the first ten random songs out the chute.

[posted with ecto]

The Cactus Where His Heart Should Be

Electro-convulsive therapy must be changing me.

A few hours ago, one of those awkward things happened where, by pure coincidence, I saw the guy who lives in A21, the apartment next to mine, several times in a few hours. I usually go weeks without seeing him at all. When we see each other, there’s usually little more interaction than a hello or an eyebrow raise and nod. In the 14 months or so that I’ve lived in the building, we’ve spoken less than 50 words to each other. Until today.

After running into him several times today, I guess he decided, what the hell – why don’t I ask him about adoption. He stops me on the front steps of our building and starts – “You’re a family of four now? Congratulations.”

Nice start, but this episode went real bad real quick. He proceeded to ask every inappropriate question you can pose to an adoptive parent. And when he wasn’t asking rude questions, he was spewing the most offensive bullshit I’ve heard in a long time. Most people let slip with just one wrong question or rude comment, and I strike back with a well-rehearsed, “Are you rude… or stupid?” But this guy was a pro. He had a routine.

“You’re kids are obviously adopted. What did you think of adoption?”

“Why did you adopt?”

“My wife and I, we considered adoption a long time ago, but – thank God – we had a child of our own. Which was good for us.”

“Oh, Korean? Is that what they are?”

“And what did you do? Did you ask for them, or say ‘Just give us what ya got’?”

“This is a great neighborhood for them. Great schools. And a lot of Koreans, too. In some neighborhoods they would stick out like a sore thumb.”

“It was a good idea to go to a foreign country, because in this country, it’s a mess. A lot of times the mother comes out of nowhere years later and wants the baby back.” (Years later? Baby?) "Any problem with that in Korea?"

“Why did you pick Korea?” This isn’t an inappropriate question, per se. My wife and I had our reasons and we don’t mind explaining them. It’s fine for friends and family to ask. But not the guy from next door whose name I don’t know. And when he learned that the Korean program places babies in families younger than many other country’s programs, he told me, “That’s good. Why should you have to break someone else’s bad habits. This way you can teach ‘em yourself, young.”

He then said something that a lot of people say, friends and strangers, after I describe the agency and the Korean program. And while it is not offensive or rude, it is incredibly stupid: “So, you guys did your research!”

No. It was kind of a half-assed plan we hatched one afternoon while drunk. We got the idea from Oprah! I don’t even remember how it worked, but here we are four years later with a couple East Asian kids in the house. Weird, huh?

I showed no outward anger during this little “conversation.” I can’t understand it. The Tommy Himself that I’ve known all my life would have reacted with either a hard punch to this guy’s throat, or at least a minute-long torrent of verbal assaults. I did nothing but tell him I’ll be letting him be on his way and said goodbye. I don’t get it. When I came upstairs, even my wife wanted to know why I didn’t let him have it. (Though I’m sure the meant a verbal attack.) I don’t really have a clever way to button this story up at the end here, I’m just writing this and trying to figure out why I didn’t feed this guy his own Adam’s Apple. I was telling myself that because he lives in the apartment next door, I might have let him off the hook for the reason that I don’t need a hassle with neighbors. But that sounds like rationalization. The fact is, the guy was stupid, insensitive, misinformed, offensive, and racist and I had him right in my sights and I did nothing to correct him. The more I walk among the animals, the more it breaks me down. I have failed myself. Again.

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Postscript: My nextdouche neighbor also commented that our building is an expensive one, and presumably because my apartment is larger than his, "I don't even want to ask what you're paying!" Yes you do. You asked me the day I moved into the building, and you're nosing for an answer again today, 14 months later. Fuck off, grow a dick, get a life, and keep your goddamn questions out of my business.
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[posted with ecto]

On iTunes right now: Big Gringo from the album Gods & Sods by Too Much Joy

So... That Happened

My wife and I had just been discussing whether to give our building's superintendent a Christmas tip this month when we saw him (and several other building workers) dash into the side door the other day. Remember, this Super is the primary reason we had to get rid of our family dog in February. (The whole Jackson backstory is on this page.)

In 2006, the Super's two interactions with us, as tenants in his building, were thus:
1) The aforementioned forced-removal of beagle-dog Jackson.
2) A visit to our apartment to tell us we are not allowed to keep a doormat outside our apartment door.

Every single time I see our fellow tenants walking their four- and five-month old puppies through the hallways and on and off the elevators, I wonder why the Super had to make an example of us.

Anyway, I don't want to rehash all that. But it's important to remember as I tell you what happened on Wednesday, after we saw all the guys running into the building. We were waiting at the basement elevator (because building rules forbid bringing baby strollers through the lobby) when the Super, I'll call him Elfer, comes out of one of the many doors in the catacomb-like basement. Behind him, we can hear water gushing onto the floor. Elfer shuts the door, says hello to us, and trots down the cinderblock corridor. As he comes to the first left turn, we see him slip and WIPE OUT on the painted floor. There's a sickening thud. (In the histories of both literature and reportage, there are indeed only two types of thud: sickening and regular.)

From our vantage point, all we can see are his legs. He was flat-out. We could tell he was face down, and we heard him let out a little moan. It didn't sound good. As we watched for another second, we see the legs slide forward across the floor, like Elfer is doing a sort of crawl with his elbows. My wife glances at me as I decide to treat the guy like a human being and go help him.

When I get to him, he looks pretty bad. Face down, moaning, writhing in pain, and holding the side of his face. He is not getting up. I put my hand on his back, bend down, and say, "Can we get our dog back?"

No, of course I didn't say that to him as he lie there in pain and all fucked up, but it occurred to me. Along with: "These painted floors get slippery, no?" "See, there ARE roaches on the floor down here!" and "Settle a bet: How much Christmas bonus does a mean, dog-hating, do-nothing Super get?"

I lifted him to his feet and leaned him against the wall, and suddenly I was a corner man and my boxer's head was swirling. He was well on his way across goofy street. After a minute of actually swooning, he thanked me and said "A pipe burst." I asked, "Did a dog cause that?" (In my head, I asked.) Off he went, dizzily bouncing off the walls of the basement like a pinball.

Here's this week's Friday 10, and a new type of thud.

01 Private World - New York Dolls: You know the band, you know this song. It's been available on vinyl or CD for the last 30 years, and still sweeps the floor with most of what's come in its wake. What can I tell you here that you don't already know? Perhaps nothing, but I'll give it a shot: The new album... no matter what your preconceived notions or anti-nostalgia-record prejudices, is damn good. It's worth a listen.

02 A Pretty Girl is Like A... - Magnetic Fields: The answer is simpler than you think. A pretty girl is like a pretty girl. Stephen Merritt is an amazing songwriter. And that's that. (Get it on 69 Love Songs.)

03 The Sound of The Sinners - The Clash: Strummer is the voice of God on a superb track from Sandinista! that rarely gets a mention. I always thought that the Clash tried to do something a little different on each of the six sides of this album, and I quite liked side 3 (on which this song appears), because it seemed to speak to music's power to heal, inspire, and incite. Of course, that's my opinion; I could be talking out of my ass. Anyway, if that was their intention, it was lost once this came out on CD. (On later editions of Sandinista!, like the 1999 remaster CD, the song is re-titled "The Sound of Sinners," without the second article the in there. This was probably a proofreader's error, because I think the band was making a sly self-reference in the original song title.)

04 Butterfucker - Butter08: I don't know if this is pronounced "butter eight" or "butter oh-eight," but I know it's Miho from Cibo Matto and Russell Simins of JSBE, and the shit is fun. I've always loved Miho's voice, it never mattered to me that she was usually singing about chicken, ice cream, and other edible delights. The other band members include the graphic designer (but not REM bassist) Mike Mills, and Skeleton Key's bassist Rick Lee. (Which reminds me: I've got to clear up some megabytes on the the iPod and add some Skeleton Key. THERE was a band ahead of its time!) You can find this cool song on Butter08's self titled disk, but mine came off a Grand Royal comp called A Sampling of Our Prestigious Pedigree that I got at a show. I think I wrote about it a few months ago, after hearing a Kostars track on an F10.

05 Love Song - The Damned: A classic off the Machine Gun Etiquette album, which I've been listening to since I was in high school with Theodore Roosevelt. If you like this record, you probably know that Big Beat (Chiswick in the UK) released the 25th anniversary edition a couple years ago, with all the b-sides, the single versions of this song and "Smash It Up," and the (once) dreadfully rare alt version of "I Just Can't Be Happy Today."

06 After The Lovin' - Englebert Humperdinck: Oh, no he didn't! Yes. I DID just type that. Random song number 6 today was this "gem" from Englebert. It's on my iTunes because -- for years -- I'd jokingly sing this song to my wife, and she never believed me that it actually existed. So, I had to download it illegally to prove that yes, there is a song about singing to a woman immediately after intercourse, and ol' E.H., was just the crooner to bring it. Hard to believe there exists a tune in the American musical canon which includes lines like "So I sing you to sleep / After the lovin' / I brush the hair from your eyes / And the love on your face is so real that it makes me want to cry." But indeed there is. (And, um... that's not love on her face, pig, get a towel.)
And More On That Subject, Dept.: I saw Englebert Humperdinck in concert.
It Gets Much, MUCH Worse Than That, Dept.: It was dinner theater, actually. And my "date" was my grandmother. And I wore an actual, no bullshit, corduroy leisure suit. I shit you not, Sticking Point readers. I saw Humperdinck at dinner theater, with my Grams. I wore a wide-wale cord tan leisure suit over a black, superwide-collared shirt, and I had the veal. It was around 1976, I suppose. I was nine years old, and all I can remember from the show (apart from the toughness of the veal) was that the guy could hit some high notes, and that I spent most of the time wishing he'd stop talking dirty. He billed himself as the King of Romance, but all he kept talking about was sex. He even made weak and inappropriate wordplay on the last syllable of his name. All this made me cringe in my seat because, even at age nine with a limited understanding of what the Humper was talking about, I knew I didn't want to be hearing it next to my Grams. So, thanks, E.H., you pathetic, ghetto-brand Tom-Jones douchetard.

07 Teenage Warning - Angelic Upstarts: Nice way to cleanse the palate, with some (late) first-wave UK punk, don't you think? Their Teenage Warning album was produced by Sham 69's Jimmy Pursey, and he got a real good sound out of it; not like many other punk records of its time, it sounds almost mainstream.

08 Come Back To Me - X: A great one from the great ones. The album it's on, Under The Big Black Sun, is a solid record, and I wouldn't trade it in or anything, but for me, Wild Gift, Los Angeles, and More Fun in the New World are... the business.

09 Out of Step - Minor Threat: Ian MacKaye is a chapter of rock and roll history all by himself: Teen Idles, Minor Threat, Embrace, Egg Hunt, Fugazi, and now The Evens. No two of these bands are alike, and they are all so consistently good that Ian may be the Elvis, Lennon, and Dylan of indie music. Minor Threat was Lyle Preslar, Jeff Nelson, Brian Baker, and MacKaye, and I always thought of them as a sort of perfect musical storm: fans like me are lucky that those four guys got together to make that music. Their importance cannot be understated. "Out of Step" is from the legendary album of the same name -- the only real "album" the band ever released. You can get it, combined with all the singles, on the Complete Discography comp. That one's like the Gideon's Bible -- you knock on any punk rock fan's door, and you'll find a copy inside.

10 Simply Irresistible (L) - Rilo Kiley: Robert Palmer did a shitload of coke and then he died. But before he did, he wrote and recorded this song. And then after he did all that, Blake and Jenny of the great Rilo Kiley played an all-acoustic show at SUNY Purchase (01.21.04) and did a sweet, sweet version of it. This is on a boot I got off the RiloKiley.net site.

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This... was a fucking great Friday 10. But why should I have all the fun? Put your mp3 player or digital jukebox on "shuffle all songs," and let us know the first ten songs out the chute.

[posted with ecto]

Metropolitan Vitriol

The New York Times has a weekly section that you all know, called Metropolitan Diary. And what a pile of horseshit it is! It's a collection of short, supposedly reader-submitted, slices of life in New York City, but I don't really know on what astral plane these fucktard contributors are living. It seems the whole point of this stupid column is to bring a New York City brand of Leave It To Beaver-ism home to the shut-in segment of the Times readership. It describes a city I don't know, teeming with people I'd never want to meet. And each "contribution" begins DEAR DIARY.... How quaint.

The typical entry is something like this -- "DEAR DIARY: I was getting out of a cab on Park Avenue the other day, when a father approached with his son, about 6. As I stepped out of the taxi, the father held the door open for his son, saying, 'Let's see if this lady left some hard candy on the back seat, Trevor.'"

Or, believe it or not, something even more trite, like "DEAR DIARY: A new, hand-printed sign in the window of my corner bakery reads: 'You can have our cake...and eat it!'"

Har har. I think this shit is written by monkeys, for purple-haired ladies with white gloves, liver spots, and bed sores.

But, this morning something happened to me, and now I've got my own contribution to the Metropolitan Diary. And I think if they published it, it would mark a smart, new direction for that column. A direction that more of us New Yorkers can get our over-stressed, over-caffeinated brains around.

DEAR DIARY: This morning, during my habitual visit to the Pax on 57th and Broadway, I noticed an angry man at the front of the line. He was holding a cup of tea at brow-level and yelling at the kind people behind the counter. He looked like Lou Reed, but with more gray hairs. As I removed my earphones (the EM3 by Future Sonics*), I heard angry Lou Reed guy telling the young lady at the register, "I'm going to kill you." His accent sounded Middle Eastern, maybe Lebanese or Syrian. He was complaining, at high volume, about the quality of his just-purchased cup of tea. The counter help, two men and the woman he threatened to kill, were being very nice, smiling, speaking calmly, but not giving in to whatever angry, violent Lebanese Lou Reed's demands were. One of them began a sentence with, "Every day, you come in here and..." so I now knew the fellow was a regular. Just like me, Diary! By the time I got to the front of the line, he was still yelling. When I heard him say, "I'm going to kill you" to the woman a third time, a few things dawned on me: I had been in a foul mood already, I had not been feeling very good about myself lately (maybe bad biorhythms or something) and I had had just about enough of this guy, his voice, and his threats to the nice woman who sells me coffee every day.

"If I hear you threaten this woman one more time, I am going to break you in half," I said. He seemed, for a moment, shocked that he didn't have allies on the customer-side of the counter.

He said, "You go outside with me, right now, and make this finish?" Which is a pretty nice return volley, I'll admit, even if the English was not of much correctness. But he was taking me on; literally calling me out. I sized him up and figured him for all bark, no balls. (Do not try this at home. I shouldn't have. Because you don't want to get it wrong, which I've done a few too many times for my insurance provider's liking.)

I told him, "I'm going out there anyway. You're welcome to wait for me." He left. I got my coffee and told the register woman to have a great weekend, to which she reacted like that was the most welcome piece of happiness in her entire morning. Then I walked out. Thankfully, I didn't find my man, or anyone who looked like angry former members of the Velvet Underground, waiting for me.

I know this is anti-climactic, my dearest Metropolitan Diary, but life in gotham can be that way sometimes. Don't eat the hard candy on the taxi seat.

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Yesterday my wife logged on to IM, sent me the message "I just got peed on" and -- before I got the chance to type "me too!" -- logged off.

I don't know what that has to do with anything, apart from it being another great MetDiary entry, but I thought it would be a nice segue into the writeup for the first song that poured out of today's Friday 10.

01 Standing in the Rain - Hüsker Dü: It must have been a weird time in the studio, recording the album this song comes from, Warehouse: Songs and Stories. Major label pressures, plus Bob Mould going in one direction while Grant Hart was heading in the other. Warehouse never really felt right to me. Can't put my finger on why, but it just didn't seem to work its way into my psyche the way most of their other records did. It got solid reviews when it came out, but I can remember listening to it once and putting it aside.
Who Do I Have to Fuck, Dept.: When is Hüsker Dü going to get the full-on, box-set/outtakes/alts treatment?! They are inarguably one of the ten most important American bands of the last 25 years.

02 Can't Hardly Wait - Replacements: Hey, look at that! The two all-time best Minneapolis-area bands, back-to-back and belly-to-belly on today's Friday 10!** The version of this song that came up today is the so-called "Tim Version," from Nothing For All, not the album track from Pleased To Meet Me that we all know well. It's hard to imagine this track on the earlier album, but who knows; this one is so obviously unfinished. The lyrics are different in the first and third verses, but the "Jesus rides beside me" part has the same lyrics. (It's better here, I like the way Westerberg pitches the words out.) When you A/B the two versions of the track, you hear how Jim Dickinson's shiny, echoey production differs from Tommy Ramone's heavily compressed mix. (Though TR obviously hadn't yet set Mars and TStinson to click track on the Tim version.)

03 Disco 2000 - Pulp: I am a huge fan of the Different Class album. The songwriting and arrangements really came together on there. What a cool record! When it came out, I was working in London, and I would hear it all the time. The gym I'd go to off Camden High Street (really just a 20X20 room with some free weights, a bench, and a treadmill) had two cassettes that you can pick from to put in the player: Different Class, and a mind-numbing comp of songs from the "pop charts." I chose the tape with 100% less Boyzone.
When we were still just a-courtin', my wife and I would exchange mixed tapes. I don't have to tell you what that's all about it, because you've all made those tapes for the guy or girl or whatever it was that you were trying to kiss or date or bed or whatever it is you wanted to do with him, her, or it. But anyway, on one of her great tapes, she included this album's "Bar Italia," and on another, she put "Pencil Skirt." That woman, she knows her stuff.

04 She's So Cold - Rolling Stones: Emotional Rescue deserves another look. When it came out, everyone dismissed it as a pale imitation of the great Some Girls album. Probably because track one on both records featured 4/4 dance rhythms. There are hardly ANY similarities between the two albums, and ER stands up just fine. I just wish my iPod could have shot out one of the eight or nine better songs  from it. "Send It To Me"? "Where The Boys Go"? "All About You"? All great. Whenever I hear Stones songs from this period, I remember Kerry F, who was my girlfriend from '78 to '81. This girl was insanely, unhealthily jealous of my natural teenage lust for Blondie's Debbie Harry. Kerry would hide my Blondie records, and with an eraser she'd rub Debbie's face out of all my rock magazines. She even tore up my favorite photo: this one of DH wearing a tight red-and-black striped sweater and a pair of Ray-Bans. She was leaning slightly forward in the shot, and the pose and the wardrobe appealed to me in ways I couldn't fully understand then and can't explain now. It was sublime. It got all shredded up after hockey practice or something. Of course, the more Kerry would behave like this, the more stuff I'd collect and the more I would fawn over the singer -- just to show Kerry that she could NOT keep me from my Debbo. It would get under her skin something fierce. I know this sounds juvenile, but we were 12, 13 years old. Anyway, by 1979 while I was still the self-proclaimed Biggest Stones Fan in the World, Kerry found a new way to get back at me. She started lusting for Mick Jagger. She went all out, too: kissing photos, writing his name on her notebooks, all that stupid shit girls do because they're 12. It was pretty transparent, though. She hardly listened to the music! I knew she was into Jagger only to spite me; that she was trying to take MY rock hero away.

05 High School Confidential - Jerry Lee Lewis: The Killer! JLL is hammering the keys on this track, one of my favorites of his. From Orby Records Spotlights Jerry Lee Lewis Sun Masters.

06 Death Is Not The End - Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: From the great Murder Ballads, a CD I love to recommend, but it's just not for everybody. Some harsh stuff on there ("Stagger Lee," "O'Malley's Bar"), though the songs are all amazing, every last one of them. Listening to Murder Ballads is like walking through carnage. But in a good way. This song's a Dylan cover, done very well, with guest vocals from Shane MacGowan.
Also: Cave's Abbatoir Blues / Lyre of Orpheus double DVD comes out next month.
Here's a good one: It's been 10 years since he wrote that letter to MTV.

07 Burstedman - Mike Watt and the Secondmen: The man of the song title is Watt himself. The bursting was an infected perineal abscess. The Secondman's Middle Stand is a sort of Inferno-esque concept album about his illness and recovery. It's some good stuff, recorded with an all-San Pedro band (on B-3, drums, and bass).
Wikipedia has a comprehensive page on Watt, with plenty of stuff I never knew.
You can check out the video for "Burstedman" on director Mike Muscarella's webite. (It offers yet more fuel to the argument that rock stars shouldn't act in videos.)

08 Blue Moon Baby - Dave "Diddle" Day: I can't write with any authority about Dave Day, but I love this track, off the second volume of the Born Bad comps. That series is worth tracking down; a lot of cool raunchabilly stuff, the kinds of songs you'd hear the Cramps do covers of. You can almost always find copies on Gemm.com and eBay.

09 Sad Cinderella - Townes Van Zandt: (from High, Low, and In Between / The Late Great Townes Van Zandt.) I have to think Jay Farrar and Jeff Tweedy have spent some time listening to this guy.

10 Sea Cruise - Frankie Ford: This is one of those songs I can remember my dad singing along to, coming out of the radio of our family's 1964 Chevy Nova. I like this one. For some reason, the chorus sticks in my head enough to just start me humming it every now and then, apropos of nothing. The CD I have the song on is called 15 Greatest Hits on Ace Records, which is a really solid comp of some cool songs on that label. Frankie Ford is known as the "New Orleans Dynamo" and he's still at it. He lives in Gretna, Louisiana, these days, but still hits the road for tours. He's even got a suitably "dynamic" website. (Take Dramamine before clicking the link.)

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Now you! Set your mp3 player or digital jukebox to "shuffle all songs." Let us know the first ten songs you hear.
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* Because I think product placement will nudge this column into the realities of 21st century media.

**Are The Trashmen and Babes in Toyland 3 & 4?

[posted with ecto]

On iTunes right now: 'Til the Stars in his Eyes are Dead from the album Buzzkunst by Shelley / Devoto