Here's "Silver Lining," the second video from Rilo Kiley's Under The Blacklight. That lick at the beginning reminds me of Cowboy Junkies' "Anniversary Song," which itself reminded me of the Mad About You theme.
Under The Blacklight:
I disliked it at first.
I like it quite a bit now.
My hunch is I won't listen to it very much after another couple months or so.
___ ___ ___ ___
If there's a Friday 10 tomorrow -- and I believe I could probably hammer one out early in the AM -- I'm going to try something different. Think of it as "added value." See you here tomorrow.
I've been enjoying Human Weapon on History Channel. Of the two hosts, I prefer Bill Duff (the ex-football player / bodyguard / wrestler / stunt double) over the mixed martial arts champion Jason Chambers, who seems a bit arrogant and cocky around the masters with whom they are training. Chambers also tries to sneak in mentions of his fighting résumé too often, so he comes off like a tool. But beyond those minor annoyances, it's a cool show that combines geo-historical documentary with martial discipline and the infliction of pain. And that's all I ever ask of my entertainment.
-- -- -- --
Speaking of combining things that entertain me, a couple of the newest Yankees have chosen good songs for their at-bat "entrance" music. Shelly Duncan's got the White Stripes' "Icky Thump," and Wilson Betemit steps to the batter's box to "Better Man" by Pearl Jam. (That one's pretty funny, especially if he thinks it sounds like "Can't find a Bete-mit.") There's a pretty solid list of MLBers' theme songs here.
I would probably change my song every other day, but I can't find anything better than the Blood Brothers' "Set Fire to the Face on Fire." That... is... the... fucking... best. (Unfortunately, the "Listen" features at Amazon and the iTunes Store don't play the song from its incredible starting point. Download it for free -- my gift to you -- here.)
So here's a question... You've knocked the donut off the bat, tossed the pine tar onto the circle, and you're heading to the plate. What song is on the stadium P.A.?
Here's this thing I tried. I took one of my favorite Einsturzende Neubauten songs (from the dazzling Halber Mensch record) and pasted the official lyrics into Google's translation tool. Below are the two "proper" texts, then the Google version at the bottom.
Ich bin die umstürzlerische Liebe
der Gegensex
Jeder Tag kostet mich Wunden
dabei bin ich schon jetzt
zerschunden und völlig blutverschmiert
Du fängst im Taxi an zu heulen
bloss weil ich sage
dass ich bei dem Konsum
in zwei Jahren tot bin
Alle Idole müssen sterben (Lachen)
meine Seele brennt
Ich versteck mich, sitz in meinem Loch
und warte auf die Träume, die mich retten (Kommen nicht)
Liebe ist ein Scheiterhaufen
auf dem ich langsam aber sicher
von innen her zum Rand verbrenne
Ich hab gekostet
bin zu weit gegangen
werd den Geschmack nicht los
Vielleicht ist nur entzündet
vielleicht ist nur entzündet, was da brennt
An Stelle meiner Seele
an der Stelle meiner Seele
meine Seele brennt!
English translation from the official E.N. website
Soul Burning
I am the subversive love
the counter-sex
every day costs me wounds
though I’m now already
wrecked and festooned with blood
You start crying inside the taxi
Just because I say
that I will be dead within two years
consuming these amounts
all idols have to die (laughter)
…my soul is burning
I go and hide, sit in my hole
and wait for the dreams to save me
(they don’t come)
slowly but surely
I burn at the stake of love
from deep within to without
I have savoured
have gone far too far
can’t get rid of the taste
perhaps it’s just inflamed
perhaps it’s just inflamed what’s already burning
instead of my soul
in the stead of my soul
my soul is burning!
English translation from Google
Soul Burns
I am the umstürzlerische love
the Gegensex
Each day costs me to wounds
am I already
zerschunden and completely blood-smeared
You begin to howl in the taxi
only because I legend
that I with the consumption
in two years are dead
All Idols must die (to laugh)
my soul burns
I hiding place me, seat in my hole
and wait for the dreams, me save (do not come)
Love is a heap of failure
on which I slowly however surely
to the edge burn ago from the inside
I cost
too far went
do not become loose the taste
Perhaps is only ignited
perhaps is only ignited, which burns there
In place of my soul
in the place of my soul
my soul burns!
Final score:
Although there are some nice alternate phrasings assembled by the Google brain ("All idols must die," "I, with the consumption, in two years are dead"), and one great line that doesn't even have a seed in the original ("Love is a heap of failure"), this is way off mark. It sounds like an American tourist in an Idstein Kaffeehaus armed with a English-to-German dictionary and an extra chromosome. The most potent line in the entire lyric ("I go and hide, sit in my hole and wait for the dreams to save me") is made a convoluted mess by the Googlebot.
Furthermore...
Here's an abbreviated (1:14) live performance of the track from 1990.
There's a Friday 10 at the end of this thing, I promise.
In 1994, I was dating a girl who worked night shifts; sometimes the midnight to 0800, and sometimes 1600 to midnight. Usually I'd pick her up after work and drive her to her place in Brooklyn or mine in Yonkers. One night, we stopped for takeout at the Raceway Diner on Yonkers Avenue. It was around 1 AM, and we were walking back to my car when we passed a guy standing in the middle of the parking lot taking a piss. We glanced at him long enough to notice what he was up to, then looked away and kept walking. Then the pisser guy called out to me, "Hey, dude, sorry to disrespect your woman like this."
Here was a man with honor and great consideration for his fellow human being. Obviously.
After I let girlfriend K in the car and walked around to the driver's side door, I shouted a friendly reminder to the guy that there was a bathroom right inside the diner, not 50 yards away. I got in the car and before I'd even turned the ignition, pissboy arrived at my car door. Of course you know what he said.
"What the fuck did you just say?! Are you a fucking wiseass?!" I noticed that a girl he was with had stepped out of his Camaro and was telling him to come back and get in the car. He stayed where he was, right outside my car door.
What did I do? I got out of the car. Stupid, right? You have no idea.
Did I at least open the door real fast and hard, and knock him on his ass like they do in the movies? No. I stood up and immediately took two steps at him. I made a mental note that he flinched and moved back. I saw this as a good sign. I was exhibiting what some call "command presence," and maybe I could get out of this without a punch thrown.
He repeated his first question, so I reiterated: "I said there's a bathroom right inside. Hot and cold running water. A toilet that flushes. Everything you'd want." I was sizing him up, and I saw he was doing the same. I tried to watch his eyes while keeping his hands in my peripheral vision.
And then his friend (what?!) appears from nowhere. He's on my left side and wants to know what's going on. I never got a good look at this friend, because the very nanosecond I moved eyes left to look at him, pissboy clocked me in the center of my face. Nose shattered. At first, everything got really bright and then things went dark. My knees went out from under me and I tried to recover my eyesight, which was coated with warm blood.
I couldn't see a thing, I was down on the cement, trying to get up, and taking kicks to the head, face, and chest. I was completely at their mercy, and they didn't have any. One of them jumped on my chest and started hammering me in the face. I didn't feel anything anymore, couldn't tell up from down. I heard a girl yell, but it wasn't K. It was probably Miss Piss from the Camaro. Then I heard footsteps running toward us and hoped it was someone who could get these guys off me fast, because they didn't seem ready to quit.
The footsteps got closer and, without a single word spoken, the force and frequency of kicks and punches increased. Fresh troops had joined the fight against the poor, bleeding fuck on the parking lot cement. It got ridiculous. I was rolling from one foot to another like a soccer ball. I bounced off of parked cars, setting off all their alarms, and back into the hands and feet of the mob. I could only try to shield my face and groin.
But hold on.
I am going to share something with you now that I wish I didn't have to write. Not because it's painful or embarrassing, but rather stupid. When you read this, you will think, "Oh, come on; you had me believing the story until that part!" Trust me. This next part happened. As stupid as it sounds. As pathetically reminiscent of bad 1960s action films as it seems, it happened in real life. Mine.
One of the attackers said, "Let's finish him."
I know, I know. But remember what I said above. It happened. This was Yonkers, after all, and Rambo theatrics like that were the coin of the realm.
I don't really dwell on how close (or not) I came to being "finished." I just never wanted to go there. I just let it sit in a little place in my brain where I can pretend that a-holes like those guys weren't going to finish shit. It's better to leave it there.
Finally they went away. K came to peel me off of the ground. I was at least 50 feet from the spot where that first sucker punch dropped me. (Hey, you know what? I shouldn't weasel out like that. It wasn't a sucker punch, per se. No, I was not looking at the guy when it was thrown, but I did have some sense that a fight could happen; so I'll redact that description.) Annnywaaay, when I could finally wipe the blood out of my eyes, I could see that I was way away from where the thing started. I could also see all the diners at the window booths watching my tragedy unfold. I'm sure they saw it all. They might have heard all the yelling, but six or seven car alarms shrieking at once surely got their attention. To them, it was dinner theater. Thanks for the assistance, homies.
I remember K helping me into my car. She was trembling. Then and now, I think of how terrifying that must have been for her. I would rather take the pummeling every time rather than be the girlfriend in the car watching it all. God damn. I asked her what happened, how many guys was that? She told me there was the original two, then another of their friends came out from the back seat of the Camaro. And then four guys ran over from across the street, near the racetrack. They said, "Get him!" and joined in on the winning side of the battle. (Thanks for the assistance, homies.) Seven guys.
We went to the Lawrence Hospital ER, and hey -- they took me right away. Thinking back now, I wonder why I wasn't questioned by a cop. Maybe I was, and just can't remember. It just seems some sort of report should have been filled out or something. They would never catch the dudes, of course, but I would at least be able to read the account of it in the Police Blotter section of the Herald Statesman newspaper. That'd be a gas.
Good people in that hospital. They took great care of me. Cleaned me up, gave me pills, ice packs, heating pads, and a dark room to sleep in until the maxillary orthopedist arrived to fix my nose. I slept soundly.
Around 0900, the bone doctor walked in with my X-Rays and gave me a poke and pinch examination. He said, "Wow... someone was really trying to hurt you." (Oh? You think?) "Your nose is broken... up... and cracked back," he said, demonstrating both of these directions with the palm of his hand.
In the days of recuperation that followed, I felt less pain and more stupid. What did I do? I stepped up to a guy over nothing and got myself smeared all over a diner parking lot while my girlfriend cried, my face got broken, and my takeout got cold. Stupid. And not just because I got the snot beat out of me. On the flipside, if I'd have thrown that guy a beating instead, what would that have been for? Because he was pissing? Because he threatened me? Because he was an asshole? Jack Henry Abbott said, in short: "You are what you kill." If you waste the asshole, you're nothing but an asshole yourself.
I was a loser whichever way the blood flowed. I was a loser the instant I got out of my car. As I lay there in bed, waiting for cuts to close, bruises to fade, nasal bones to re-fuse, hospital bills to arrive, and my self-respect to return, I obsessed over my getting out of that car. A scene in one of my all-time favorite movies kept resonating in my mind.
In Apocalypse Now, Captain Willard has just listened to E2C "Chef" Hicks rant about the dangers of leaving the "safety" of their patrol boat, and he seconds the notion in a classic internal monologue: "Never get out of the boat. Absolutely goddamn right."
Today's Friday 10 loves the smell of napalm in the morning.
01 Speedy Marie - Frank Black: This is off the Teenager of the Year album, and if you don't have it, you are missing out on an amazing batch of music. It gets me every time -- how a near-perfect record like this one can be so largely unknown. This is Frank freakin' Black for god's sake! He can do no wrong and you know it. He goes in the studio and hammers everything out live with a live mix.
02 Smash It Up (Parts 1 & 2) - The Damned: There aren't many songs I listen to more than Smash It Up. In fact, if you look at my iScrobbler tracks chart, there are NO songs I've listened to more in the last two years. I've been playing this album, Machine Gun Etiquette, since I was in high school with Teddy Roosevelt. It's their third album, and marks the point where Captain Sensible took over lead guitar (after Brian James bailed) and handled a lot more of the songwriting. With MGE, the Damned made a shift in style from a dangerous-sounding, almost Stooges-like band to one that was more rowdy, kick-out-the-jams rock n' roll. This is raucous material, and this album was a big part of my teenage Friday nights.
03 The Perfect Me - Deerhoof: One of the best musical discoveries I made this year was Deerhoof's Friend Opportunity album, which this is song came off of. I have that one, and The Runners Four (from 2005) and there's not a bad track on either. Their work is hard to define and won't fit neatly into any typical genres, it's simply a treat to listen to what they do. Find them here.
04 Slow Motion - Blondie: From one of my two favorite Blondie records, Eat to the Beat. It was released in October 1979, right at the height of my pre-pubescent crush on Debbie Harry. She does things with her voice on this album that made me horny before I even knew that feeling had a name. The CDR copy I have is burned off my vinyl, like a lot my old stuff is. It's probably time to get one of the remasters on CD.
05 You're Not Blank - The Dils: The Dils were Chip and Tony Kinman from Carlsbad, CA. They released just three singles from 1977-79, and that was it. The brothers went on to form Rank and File. I like these Dils singles. I don't have the original vinyl releases, but between the Dangerhouse Records comps (1, 2) and assorted post-breakup releases I have a good handful of their output. Good left wing punk rock from SoCal.
06 The Way You Walk - Papas Fritas: Thoughtful pop music written under mostly sunny skies. I need that sometimes, and Papas Fritas is the band I turn to. The first I'd heard of them was somewhere online, when I read that Dean Wareham was a fan. So I checked into Buildings and Grounds, and was hooked. Hooked by the hooks. That one came out seven years ago. There's been nothing since, but they aren't broken up. Here's the PF website.
07 No Money - The Evens: Just the other night, I had a dream where I was allowed to be a sort of "guest DJ" in a reading lounge-type place in my apartment building. The first record cued up was a 45 by The Evens. "No Money" is on their sophomore release, last year's Get Evens. (Wow, I think I just channeled a music critic with that last sentence! <shudder>) I like them both, but I connected with The Evens a lot when it came out in 2005, and it remains my favorite. You know the backstory by now, I'm sure. The combined résumés of the two members of this band, Ian MacKaye and Amy Farina, include Minor Threat, Teen Idles, Fugazi, Embrace, Pailhead, Egg Hunt, Skewbald, The Warmers, Lois, and The All Scars. A lot of punk and indie rock history from two people.
Dept. of Sidebars: I don't know if the band name has anything to do with the people of the Russian Far East.
08 Hip Priest - The Fall: From one of the best records any music fan can own, The Fall's 1982 Hex Induction Hour. It contains some of Mark E. Smith's best, most vicious lyrics, and the band really cuts loose. The record's been all spiffed up with a remaster recently and a second disk of bonus tracks including some Peel stuff, single mixes, and live versions. If you don't order it with Amazon's 1-Click, you're taking too much time. Hurry up and get one!
09 Bloody Jack - Serge Gainsbourg: From the Initials B.B disk, a collection of duets Gainsbourg recorded with his then-girlfriend Brigitte Bardot. She's the B.B.A couple weeks ago, with a lot of other things to do, I was ambushed by my A.D.D. and found myself typing "infamous" into the YouTube search box. One of the cool things I found was this 1986 clip of Serge Gainsbourg on live French TV with Whitney Houston.
"No. I said I want to fuck her."
10 Blue Spark - X: Great song from the great ones. That riff just blows by like a freight train. I have my Selachimorpha-obsessed three-year-old son convinced that the lyric is actually, "Blu-u-u-e sha-arrrk... shark!" So now we listen to it together all the time. It is from, of course, the got-to-have-it-in-your-collection, Under The Big Black Sun.
.
I give and I give and I give to you people... Now give back: Put your mp3 player or digital jukebox on "shuffle all songs" and let us know (in the comments section) the first ten random songs out the chute.
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
.
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."
Interesting phenomenon at the show I worked Saturday. A lot of the acts (or, more precisely, their DJs) used painful, very low-frequency tones on their tracks. It went beyond that familiar feeling you get in your chest near a loud bass amp or kick drum; this was severe. I asked the front-of-house guy, Tony, where he estimated that frequency was and he told me it was around 25 or 30 cycles. The volume itself was agonizing: our Line Producer said OSHA measured the dB level above 125 and demanded it be brought under 114 dB. (I don't imagine that ever happened.)
At such volume, the vibration from those low tones was punishing. Where I was positioned on stage right, it didn’t just thump my chest, it made my windpipe quake. There were times I had to close my mouth because the force of the air pulsing and pushing into my sinus cavity made my face seem about to tear open. Staffers and posse members covered their ears and their chests. The stage manager and I were getting dizzy, because the force of those rumbling notes vibrated our skulls enough to make our eyesight blur. Veteran touring and sound folks I spoke to about this said they’d never felt anything like it.
These effects combined to make me feel nauseated. Every internal pipeline throbbed: trachea, spinal cord, arteries. Colon.
I started thinking about things I’ve read and documentaries I’ve seen describing how low frequencies are sometimes used in torture, or as a system of non-lethal weaponry. They will cause all the internal organs to shudder, painfully. A prisoner will share what he knows; an enemy will turn heel and retreat to escape such sound.
I remembered some of the disgusting details and, some time around the middle of either Busta’s set or Young Jeezy’s, I became convinced that even though every one of us was suffering through this… that I was sure to be the guy who shits himself.
I can’t say for sure if anyone did soil their armor but, happily, I didn’t.
Ultra-low frequencies will nauseate and disorient most people under the right conditions (that is, if the sound can easily couple with their bodies, which it does under water or in a high-pressure chamber).
There are notable cases of people encountering low-frequency sounds under such conditions. In one case, Walt Disney and his team of cartoonists slowed down the 60-cycle tone of a soldering iron in a short cartoon. At a low-frequency 12 cycles, they became sick for days afterwards. The inventor Nikola Tesla experimented with low-frequency vibrating platforms that he motored using simple "eccentric" wheels. He found that standing on the platform for a minute created a pleasant buzz through the body. Remaining on the platform for any longer than a minute aggravated his subjects' hearts and dangerously raised their blood pressure. His friend Mark Twain [Samuel Clemens] once got on the platform and refused to descend. As the author Gerry Vassilatos writes, "Tesla's concern was drowned out by both the vibrating machine and Clemens' jubilant exaltations and praises. Several more seconds and Clemens nearly soiled his white suit."
* * * *
Later that night, back at the hotel bar, I had quite a killer fan-boy time, feasting on the tour stories of Tony and our lighting designer, Simon. Between them, they’ve toured with some greats, like Iggy (1979), Sex Pistols, Buzzcocks, Stones, etc. Great stories to tell.
Funny moment earlier on, after Simon had been telling me about Iggy’s pre-show and pre-encore cocaine usage and how he’d (Iggy) fuck girls on the bus in the first row directly behind the curmudgeonly driver: I asked who else he’s toured with and he said, “Oh, some obscure British bands.”
I said, well, try me.
“A band called Magazine… Wire… the Undertones… Stiff Little Fingers….”
Poor bastard had no idea he was in for a couple hours more of telling me stories. You can imagine how wide-eyed I got as I said, "Fuck! Are you kidding me? I love those bands! I listen to Wire every day every day every day!"
I found out last week that Tess has left Deadboy & the Elephantmen, and I'm bummed. That band name has been dissolved, and any newly written music by Dax Riggs will be released under his own name. I'm eager to hear what he does next, because I'm nuts about that We Are Night Sky record. I've listened to it almost every day for about a year and a half.
I'd like to find out where Tess lands. Goddamn, I love how she hits.
I went to two doctors the other day. I don't like to go for checkups and things, so when I have to visit for some reason, I like to kick out the jams and hammer out two in a day.
The first guy, the M.D., he took blood pressure, listened to my lungs, and checked out my throat. He found nothing wrong down there that might have been causing 10 days of soreness. (Now 13.) He swabbed for strep and told me to gargle with saltless water as hot as I could stand and take some ibuprofen or acetaminophen.
I drove home, ditched the car in a nice "Tuesday spot" (city drivers know), and walked to the second guy, the optometrist on Austin Street. He's right next door to the Gap (where I usually browse for clothes I'll later buy from OldNavy.com), two doors down from my gym, across the street from Starbucks and Barnes & Noble. I liked this optometrist’s office, so that a pretty good block, I’d say.
I liked the doc, too, he was alright! And the women working the front of the office/shop were nice, helpful, efficient, and attractive.
I explained to him why I was there: in the last two or three months I've found it necessary to hold reading material an extra inch or two away from my eyes. He asked how old I am. He laughed, and said I am right on time. He told me the eyes begin to deteriorate at 40 years old, and chuckled again, adding, “They’re only going to get worse. I promise you.” I liked this guy.
I was in one room for some machine tests, and then moved to the special chair in his office for all the lens-dialing and chart reading stuff. After a few rounds of “which looks clearer, the first one… [click]… or this second one?” I realized I needed glasses and that’s what this game was all about.
Doc confirmed this at the end of the “which one” game, when he said, “You need glasses.” He handed me the little printout thing that had all the details of my exact prescription and had me hold it about 11 inches from my eyes. I could see it just fine! The numbers were printed out so it looked like a receipt and it wasn’t hard to read at all. Glasses? Come on!
Then the doc pulled two lenses out of his drawer, lenses which match the script I need, and all of a sudden… bam. The numbers and letters snapped into tight resolution. I actually said, “Wow!”
I had no idea how unclear things have been.
I moved to the in the front of the shop and sat with a nice, helpful, efficient, and attractive woman who patiently tracked down and placed before me about a dozen frames similar to the description I gave her of what I wanted.
I picked the frames I liked best, and she cinched it for me when she told me to look at her again. I stared into her eyes and she said, “Yeah, you can really pull these off. They go with who you are. I mean, I don't know you, but... your look!”
Then she described to me all the reasons I needed to pay more for special versions of the lenses: scratch resistant fronts and backs, no glare, ones that let more light in, glass that is lighter, etc. I get the things in two weeks. I am to use them for reading, writing, web surfing; anything that requires my focus at an 8-24 inch distance.
Today's Friday 10 won't make passes at guys who wear glasses.
01 Hepar - Diamanda Galas: The album this is on, Schrei X, contains a live version and a studio version of every track; I heard the studio version of "Hepar" today. What a start to a Friday 10. If you know anything about Galas, you'll know that her voice is an instrument of divine horror. I'm a fan. I don't know why it is that I've always been interested in the fringe stuff, the work that's a little more difficult to "get at." In college, I was accused of listening to "weird music for the sake of being weird," so I stopped telling people what I listened to.
I met Galas several times, she was always pleasant and warm and obviously an intellectual superpower. Around 1987, I had a chance to sit in on a couple of her rehearsals for shows she was doing in New York. Her vocal coach was with her. (I want to say it was Katie Agresta, but I'm probably wrong, probably confusing things a bit. Possibly, it was Agresta who was Phoebe Legere's coach.)
Anyway, I recently dropped a Galas track onto mixed disk I gave friend SO'C. For the last track on his disk, I used a portion of "Wild Women with Steak-Knives (The Homicidal Love Song for Solo Scream)" from her first record, Litanies of Satan. The part I used (the whole piece is more than ten minutes long) is the playful part, that includes Galas saying "I'm not talking about meatballs, I'm talkin' about steak!" (That seems MUCH more playful on the written page, than it does assaulting your amygdala from one's iPod.) Wonder what ol' SO'C thought of that one when it came on?
02 The Vanishing Spies - Frank Black: It's hard to speak of how great the Teenager of the Year album is. It's got one of my all-time fave Frank Black/Pixies/Black Francis songs, "I Want to Live on an Abstract Plain," and the sound of it all, from beginning to end is spectacular. Makes sense, Black co-produced with the great Eric Drew Feldman, who's been in Beefheart's Magic Band and Pere Ubu, and he's produced a couple great Polly Harvey records. When Teenager of the Year came out, I was a tad removed from what was happening in popular culture, so I'm not too sure if it went over big. Do people know how great this disk is?
03 Chase The Dragon - Beasts of Bourbon: Great song from mid-career, off the mighty Low Road album. The lineup on that one was Tex Perkins (The Cruel Sea) on vocals, Kim Salmon (The Scientists, The Surrealists) and Spencer Jones (The Johnnys) on guitar, Brian Hooper (The Surrealists) on bass, and Tony Pola (The Surrealists) on drums. I think Low Road is criminally out-of-print, I can't even find you a copy on Gemm.com, but Amazon has the live album and a greatest hits. It's definitely worth owning as much Beasts stuff as you can if you're interested at all in one of the greatest influences on what became grunge here in the U.S. The Beasts are in New York next Tuesday and Wednesday at Fontanas and Crash Mansion, respectively. The venues have websites. This tour part of something called the Australian Music Collective, and it's in Austin tonight with a lineup that includes the Beasts, the Hoodoo Gurus, I Heart Hiroshima, and You Am I.
04 I Wanna Be a Drug-Sniffing Dog - Lard: I came late to the Lard party, as it were. When I finally got my act together last year, I downloaded as much as I could and I'm happy with all the songs I found. Lard is basically Jello Biafra and Al Jourgensen, plus a rotating slew of rhythm sectioneers, often other members of Ministry. "Drug-Sniffing Dog" is great. It's from Pure Chewing Satisfaction.
05 Germ-Free Adolescents - X-Ray Spex: I still listen to the Germ Free Adolescents album often. I think it's near perfect and great fun. This song has spent many days atop my personal charts. Listen to it. I think it ranks right up there with the pop perfection of "California Dreaming," "Be My Baby," and "Will You Love Me Tomorrow." The Spex gang was WAY ahead of their peers, lyrically and musically. The use of vibrato guitar here, and saxophone all over the album is genius.
Big question: The refrain of this song is "He's a germ-free adolescent / Cleanliness is her obsession / Cleans her teeth ten times a day / Scrub away scrub away scrub away / The S.R. way."
What's the S.R., and what is its "way"?
06 Back in Black - AC/DC: Side two, track one, and we all remember the first time we heard it. It starts with that high-hat and muted guitar chords that, hit together, sound almost like a small snare; the guitar drops out for two beats (and you can hear the "3...4" count in on headphones), and then the heavy articulation of two guitars, bass, and drums come in. Phil Rudd's snare is tuned down low, so it chimes with his kick drum. It is unbelievable. This song, (this album) is a medical prescription for everything that's happening in a thirteen year-old boy's life. I bought this album in August 1980, and my friend John V and I couldn't get out of Sam Goody and onto the #25 bus fast enough to get back to my room and listen to it. We sat with our fucking jaws dropped wide open for 45 minutes. It was the sound of something we felt like we already knew, or maybe something we'd been waiting for. What a great feeling, to come home with a new record and have it knock you for a loop, and exceed your expectations. Imagine that! It doesn't happen a lot. (Especially in the compact disk era, when you get two singles surrounded by 13 tracks of filler.) When I'm in CD shops or records stores, sometimes I lift some of the great ones (like Back in Black, first Dolls, Life Time, Pink Flag, Another Music) out of the racks, and try to remember that feeling of the day I bought it. Sometimes I just want to buy them again, just to feel that.
07 Stand By Me - Ben E. King: I could probably use about ten years before I hear this song again. Good song, for sure, but I've heard it one (hundred) too many times.
08 Real Wild Child - Jerry "Ivan" Allison: Most of you would know this song from Iggy's version of it in the late 80s. It was written and first performed by an Australian named Johnny O'Keefe (& the Deejays) in 1958. That same year, "Ivan" (a.k.a. Jerry Allison) recorded it. Allison played guitar for some guy named Buddy Holly. I doubt any of you have ever heard of that guy, but I'm sure you know Allison co-wrote "That'll Be The Day" and "Peggy Sue." There's this website that has a bit of information on the various cover versions and performers who've done this song, and it says that Allison's affected vocal was taking a poke at Ricky Nelson. Christ, I should turn these Friday 10s into podcasts, because you really need to hear this version.
09 Blood of the Wolf - Hamell on Trial: I dig this guy. I didn't know much about him until a friend mentioned him a few months ago. The downloads started trickling into my computer for a few days, and then came the flood. I'm still just trying to grab everything I can. Just one guy and an acoustic guitar. He's a clever songwriter and he just rips. I dropped by his website this morning and discovered that Hamell O.T. is shooting a new DVD (called The Terrorism of Everyday Life) here in NYC on Tuesday at 20:00. The venue is called Comix. Who's going with me? ("Blood on the Wolf" comes from his Live at the Living Room.)
10 T.V. Love - Simpletones: From Rodney on the ROQ. One of my favorite early L.A. punk rock tracks. Last week, Rodney Bingenheimer got a star on Hollywood Boulevard. I think those star things are bullshit, but I'm sure R.B. was happy about it, so I'm happy for him. That guy can use all the joy he can get, and he sure deserves it. He was the first guy to drop a radio station's needle on records by the Ramones, X, Germs, and a lot more of our favorites. I'm guessing the Simpletones owe a great debt to him as well. They have a myspace page, check out the song "California." Hopefully you'll like it enough to seek out more from this great band. The Beach Blvd. comp is a great place to start; trust me.
.
Can Your P**** Do The Dog?: Put your mp3 player or digital jukebox on shuffle all songs. Listen to the first 10 random tracks. Type them in the comments below.
All web site text, as well as the selection and arrangement thereof, and adjunct performances ("Pointcasts") are copyright 2003-2008 by Tommy Himself and The Sticking Point. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Any use of materials on this web site, including reproduction, modification, distribution or republication, without the prior written consent of TSP and Tommy Himself, is strictly prohibited.
Recent Comments