Cabin Fever...

...is a slang term for a claustrophobic reaction that takes place when a person or group is isolated and/or shut in, for an extended period. Symptoms include restlessness, irritability, forgetfulness, laughter, and excessive sleeping. Another one is complete madness.

As the plows and gravel trucks continue to tirelessly fight the mounting snow and ice, Multnomah county has declared a state of emergency in an effort to obtain monetary assistance from the state (not likely) and the federal government (somewhat likely). Tri-met has now canceled all but its busiest routes, effectively stranding anyone without a chained-up four-wheel-drive or a Subaru.

Reading the comments on news sites and other blogs, the general consensus seems to be anger. Anger at the city, county and state that each respective municipality hasn't budgeted enough for inclement weather.

To reiterate yesterday's post, times are tough economically--you can't ignore that fact. Folks complain about tax hikes while our schools and public works still suffer. In an area where snow and ice of this scale are so rare, it seems silly to horde precious money for situations like these.

My suggestion: embrace it. Big kids need snow days too.

LISTEN TO "FLYING" BY THE BEATLES

REDRUM

Precipitation in Portland is a familiar occurrence and something to which the citizenry is entirely expectant. However, this past week's weather has turned the populace on its ear and once again proved that the city is unprepared for snow.

While many states and cities make room in their budgets for snow and ice control, Oregon and Portland see it so infrequently that it doesn't make sense to set much money aside. Governor Ted Kulongoski was recently forced to slash all spending due to the troubled economy. Further compounding Portland's financial predicament, Mayor Sam Adams said today that the city has spent nearly $1 million over the past week in an effort to clear roadways.

The television stations have forgone their regularly scheduled programming in favor of round-the-clock redundant news coverage that consists solely of weather reports and in-the-field correspondents shivering as they report that "yes, it's still snowing" or "yes, there is still snow on the ground."

Though it's only day two of the second phase of what KGW is calling "Arctic Blast," I've been welcoming the inclement weather. After enduring the playful blame game that I brought the snow back with me from Alaska, I haven't been to work. My office (like many others in the city) has closed its doors until things let up.

My house isn't quite snowed in but there's about a foot of snow piled up and even more blown up against the fence. But if I absolutely had to get somewhere, I probably could.

Still, staying in has been awesome. After countless busy weekends, the lady and I have been able to work on household projects and relax. We've suited up and walked to the grocery store. We've been burning fires and drinking lots of wine. She's been baking too, which works out well for me.

I imagine that cabin fever will soon be setting in; I'll start seeing strange things and scrawling REDRUM onto the walls. For the time being though, I'm just happy to be comfortable and warm, peacefully watching the delicate snow color my neighborhood white.

LISTEN TO "SKATING" BY THE VINCE GUARALDI TRIO

thisiswhereIis

I'm in Anchorage, Palin-Land! See the tall group of buildings just left of center? The third tallest structure in the city? Well, that thar orangey tower is where I'm staying. The features across the water, almost from where this photo was taken, are just as rugged as those pictured.

I'm not gloating, I'm just stoked to see and soak up another part of this country.Look how big this state is! Even though it's giant, there are hardly any people here--they're all clustered. Come to think of it, governing this state for a little bit would be a great experience; maybe a great enough experience to qualify one for the second highest office in the nation!

LISTEN TO M.I.A.

Dead Confederate

Just listening to these guys, you can bet they have long greasy hair and bitchin beards. They probably wear soiled flannels and denim that smells like your hippie uncle. It should come as no surprise then that the tunes they churn out are as ragged and slow-rolling as the whiskey and weed-influenced guys who made them.

Their debut album Wrecking Ball has the air of a hangover, cloudy and disconnected but with the awareness that it’ll soon pass. One moment your eyes are half-shut, coasting on the vaguely alt-country groove of “It Was a Rose,” when you’re suddenly startled to attention by the throbbing pounds of the bombastic rhythm section. The heavily distorted and atmospheric thrashing that colors much of the record provides more storm than shelter for the singer, who whines woefully in a voice reminiscent of Kurt Cobain’s grungy howl. The spirit of Cobain lives on “Start Me Laughing” which sounds like a preacher wrestling the devil to the ground while “All The Angels” smolders slower than dripping pine sap before exploding into a brushfire.

It's cool stuff that probably translates better in a live setting than on record. And even though the group is starting to get a little buzz going, I don’t hear anything compelling enough to put them over the edge and get them to full-tilt party mode.

LISTEN TO GONER OR THE RAT

turn on the bright lights

Interpol is a New York band that’s been putting out consistent albums since 2002. Their brand of dark post-punk has been compared to Joy Division and the Cure; it is tight, sharp and anything but free-wheeling. Drummer Sam Fogarino plays complex beats with computerized robotic exactitude while Paul Banks sings in a cold monotone. Though the vocal can be off-putting and the lyrics uninspired, there still exists a transcendent beauty in the music itself. The shimmering guitars, precisely layered and wasting no opportunity to add a counter melody, the deep-in-the-cut bass at times providing more atmosphere than rhythm, and the progressive drumming meld seamlessly to cultivate a feeling of detail that is almost angular in its sound. Songs like “Obstacle 1” with its stabs of reverb, the hook-laden “Slow Hands,” and “Say Hello to the Angels” with its lonely bounce all pulse with a living quality. It’s heaven and hell all rolled into one—a sublime assault on the senses.LISTEN TO PDA, OBSTACLE 2, NOT EVEN JAIL, REST MY CHEMISTRY

yee-hoo!

Saddle up, partner! It's high time to get country!

in the doorway

Despite the misguided devotion of Hot-Topic-mall-punk kids that just like the theatrical look and campy lyrics of the Misfits, I’m still a big fan. But instead of feeling rebellious or counter to the norm singing along to the baby-killing and mother-raping lines of “Last Caress,” I just feel cool shaking to the simple rock.

The band’s sound is full of mirth and malice. Directly influenced by the simple chord progressions and vocal stylings of 1950s rock and pop but injected with a heady dose of doom and gloom, it ups the distortion and changes the lyrical content to something more sadistic than saccharine.

Though the Misfits’ contemporaries regarded them as KISS wannabes (New Jersey meatheads who wore weird costumes and makeup to make up for their lack of talent), audiences were a little more forgiving. While the mainstream ignored them, they soon gained a small but loyal following that was eventually dubbed the Fiend Club by singer and chief songwriter Glenn Danzig.

With a revolving cast of musicians, the band played shows in NYC and embarked on short tours around the Northeast. They recorded an album’s worth of material in 1978 that was sporadically released as a series of singles and EPs but didn’t see the light of day as an LP until 1997. Their first official album Walk Among Us was released in 1982 and made use of horror and sci-fi film-inspired themes and imagery. It’s the kind of music that might upset your parents if they heard you listening to it. With song titles like “Mommy, Can I Go Out and Kill Tonight” and lyrics like “hack the heads off little girls and put them on my wall,” it’s clear that the band was really trying to separate itself from the pack. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, nobody really took notice and the Misfits remained under the radar before Danzig left in the mid-1980s.

LISTEN TO THE STATIC AGE ALBUM. LISTEN TO THE SIMPLE COOLNESS OF THE ONE-NOTE GUITAR SOLO ON “WE ARE 138.” LISTEN TO DANZIG’S TRADEMARK BELLOWING CROON ON “SKULLS.” LISTEN TO THE POP SENSIBILITY OF “ANGELFUCK,” “HYBRID MOMENTS” AND “SOME KINDA HATE.”

"Stuck Inside of Mobile with The Memphis Blues Again” by Bob Dylan

One of my favorite Dylan songs, this sprawling word-fest strings together a series of images and symbols to sew a lyrical coat of many colors. Not to be overlooked, the music also envelops listeners in its warm folds with the reticent organ and modest lead guitar serving the verses well by being jauntily unobtrusive and thoroughly complementary. While the backing track takes care not to draw attention away from the words, Dylan sings nine verses identical in meter and melody that culminate in the exasperated recitation of the title lines. But just what he’s singing about is anyone’s guess.

Perhaps he’s commenting, in his cleverly roundabout way, on a sort of purgatory he found himself in after switching from the traditional acoustic folk that characterized his early years to the more mainstream electric sound that turned off (and turned on) some fans. Maybe the song was just an excuse to spout seemingly deep lyrics to an audience of analytical hop-heads that were all too eager to read into the arcane and esoteric words of a poetic genius. I think, perhaps wrongly, that the song is told from the perspective of a somewhat overwhelmed, possibly aimless, person in an existential tug-of-war, maybe Dylan maybe not, who is just watching things unfold through the distorted lens of a chaotic, surreal and hazy high. But at just over seven minutes, the song certainly isn't short on interpretation fodder. Get some!

LISTEN TO BLONDE ON BLONDE

mike aho

LISTEN TO MERLE HAGGARD

all I have to do is dream

I don’t really put much stock in the dream world. I don’t really buy into the kind of analysis that tells us what dreams may mean either. The other night however, and this was right before the election, I had a telling dream that hinted at the changing of the political guard. Whether or not my dream had anything to do with recent events is, of course, totally debatable. Either way, the coincidence is noteworthy.

Perhaps signaling the departure of a Republican from the Oval Office, the dream showed the death of a baby elephant. And while I’m glad to see Bush’s reign come to an end, I admit that the dream was a total nightmare. I watched helplessly as a giant snake deliberately constricted the little elephant, squeezing its poop and guts out its butt and causing white junk to leak out its pores like the agonizing popping of a thousand zits. The poor pachyderm moaned pitifully as his eyes bulged and color changed from a healthy grey to a hideous, lifeless grey. It was a slow death, disturbing and deeply troubling, met with little resistance.

So if I’m to take the death of the elephant as symbolic of the Republican party’s descent into the minority and ultimate decline in power, then what does the snake represent? Certainly not Obama and my fellow Democrats, right? Right?

LISTEN TO THE EVERLY BROTHERS

David Foster Wallace

A self-described “semi-agoraphobe,” David Foster Wallace was hailed as a literary genius, and prestigiously honored as such, before hanging himself in September of this year. I recently read an article on him, his writing and the lifelong bout with depression that arguably fueled his creativity, powered his pen and ultimately led to his death. I’ve yet to read Infinite Jest, the book that solidified his reputation as a beautiful mind, but I just finished a journalistic piece he wrote for Harper’s Magazine in 1996. The essay, in a word (well, two): totally awesome.

It finds Wallace describing and commenting on the tourist experience, the trifling minutiae and the uniquely American excess exhibited during his one week trip aboard a luxury cruise ship in the Caribbean. From Wikipedia: “His ironic displeasure with the professional hospitality industry and the ‘fun’ he should be having unveils how the indulgences of the cruise turn him into a spoiled brat, leading to overwhelming internal despair.”

Wallace writes “Shipping Out” as an unedited camera, taking in everything with little regard for cuts. Neurotic attention is paid to the smallest of details, not necessarily for the sake of adding to the glut of information already provided in the piece, but if only for the special joy that comes from observing and recounting such trivialities. His prose is long-winded, heavily punctuated but not overly complex, and peppered with the kind of specific vocabulary that characterizes a rabid reader. Nouns like “appurtenances,” verbs such as “brazed” and “instantiating,” and perfectly descriptive adjectives like “glaucous,” “uterine” and “methamphetaminic.” Too, the content is so dense, though certainly not exhausting, that Wallace is forced to use extensive footnotes, unable (or unwilling) to cram even more information into the actual text of the piece. His writing is eloquent and pedantic but still retains a conversational quality that shines through in frequent colloquial phrases and exclamations. Whether measuring his cabin in units of “size-eleven Keds” or extolling the virtues of his overachieving shower and “fascinating and potentially malevolent toilet” (“a harmonious concordance of elegant form and vigorous function”), no stone is left unturned. I’m looking forward to reading more of his work.

http://www.harpers.org/media/pdf/dfw/HarpersMagazine-1996-01-0007859.pdf

I read the news today, oh boy

The American people have spoken and elected Barack Obama as their 44th President. As a relative newcomer to the topsy-turvy and scandalous world of politics, I’m filled with pride, happiness, relief and faith in the future through which our new leader has pledged to guide us. And while Obama’s campaign was run on the platform of hope and change, I hope that Americans, first-time voters and other converts to the political process don’t slip back into apathy with the expectation that government and the new guard will change things for the better, dutifully take care of them and ask little in return. The President-elect even said in his acceptance speech last night, “This victory alone is not the change we seek – it is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were. It cannot happen without you... So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism; of service and responsibility where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves, but each other.”

Obama certainly has his work cut out for him; the situation he’s inheriting is indeed daunting. Though his message resonated with the majority of voters, he still made some big promises that, if he intends to keep, will require considerable patience, sacrifice, and investment on our collective part. Change won’t come easily and instantly, but it will come.

LISTEN TO SAM COOKE’S “A CHANGE IS GONNA COME”

whispering pines

Though I’ve been exposed to their hits over the years, the appeal of The Band’s music has always eluded me. Lately though, I just can’t get enough of them. Their unassuming songs place more emphasis on cultivating a groove and a feel than on impressing listeners with their musical complexity. The members, all multi-instrumentalists who shared vocal duties, each brought something different and equally valuable to the table. Capably getting down on pianos, guitars, bass and drums in an old-timey fashion, The Band made folksy, gripping music that appealed to those with an inclination to unfettered roots rock and an aversion to overblown and long-winded jams. The fragility of the vocal on “Tears of Rage” and the slow build on “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down” speak to both the frailty and the grandeur of their sound. Too, most of the songs foster a sense of community (as evidenced by the film The Last Waltz), bringing people together for a good old-fashioned swig-n-snort sing-along.

LISTEN TO JAWBONE, THIS WHEEL’S ON FIRE and WHEN YOU AWAKE

musing

Why are smoky, working-class bars predisposed to blues music? It seems that every blue-collar drinking establishment that I visit is playing the blues. Maybe it's just good drinking music.

LISTEN TO CREAM

do you remember Walter?

Do you remember your earliest musical memory; the first time you heard and recognized music as more than just some organized sounds? I remember being confused as to how melodies worked and why the A-B-Cs sounded better sung than read. Of course at the time, I had no idea what a melody even was, but the fact that I was hearing and thinking about what made a musical hook catchy made me realize that music was something that I wanted to hear more of.

Like many others, I got started down the path to musical enlightenment by my parents. My dad listened to music at home and in the car. If I was around, I listened too. While he always had his stable of classics, I was enthralled by the cheesy adult-contemporary hits that were in heavy rotation on his radio. I recall being fascinated with how the sounds were arranged to make an affecting piece of music. I didn’t think too hard about it but, I knew what I thought sounded good, even if I didn’t know why.

By the time I made it to third grade or so, I was listening to pop radio on my own and jamming to Casey Kasem’s American Top 40 show. So at that point, whether or not I knew why I liked what I liked, my tastes and preferences were dictated by whatever chart-topping songs were being played on the radio. It wasn’t until I reached middle school that I began forming my own tastes and preferences, playing a more active role in seeking out music that I liked and finally, knowing why I liked it.

The big breakthrough and the spark that ignited my fiery passion for music in general came in sixth grade. We had a unit in choir class devoted entirely to the Beatles. This was my first real introduction to the Fab Four and I ended up getting in pretty deep. Their music was undeniably catchy; I could bob my head, tap my feet and sing along—it was a revelation.

Soon after, a friend and I both started exploring our dads’ old record collections and saturating our psyches with classic rock and oldies hits. As the years wore on, I continued to straddle the line between past and present, finding pleasure in the old music that influenced the new and appreciating truly original work. I just dig music—that’s all there is to it.

evolution of an idea

The Bowery Hotel is in New York. I've never been there but I thought this guy on their coaster looked cool. I liked his stance and the simple style in which he was drawn. I thought he'd make a good lumberjack.

I enlisted my friend Coco, a talented artist, to make some quick changes. She drew this up for me in a minute.

I took the drawing to Aaron at Icon here in Portland and he made a couple changes before sticking it on my side. I really like how it turned out and though I don't think my great-grandpa and his daughter, my grandma, would approve of it, I think it's a fitting tribute that I'm happy to keep to myself.

Great-grandpa was a nature-lover, a dedicated outdoorsman with a great appreciation for natural beauty. He had to take a job in the timber industry during the great depression in order to support his family. I never really talked to him about it before he died, but my grandma and her sister are full of engrossing stories about growing up in logging camps.

Ever listen to that song "Tattoo" by The Who? It's a real cool cut from their early days on which they sing about being a man and getting your arm inked. The chorus finds Roger addressing his new tattoo, “I expect I’ll regret you…you’ll be there when I die,” and commenting on what many believe to be a senseless lark. Think what you will about the sacred art of tattooing--its permanence, its fad status and the undeniable stereotypes it generates--I still think the whole affair can be pretty cool.

That’s not to say that I like all tattoos, oh no. There are some horrible examples out there, tattoos that tell the world how foolish someone was or is and tattoos that demonstrate someone’s impaired decision-making process. I like to think that my tattoos are pretty tasteful. Not only that, nobody can see them (and judge me) unless I take off my shirt. The tattoos are for me and I'm not trying to show them off. My body’s still a temple, it’s just got some decoration on it now.

election fever

It’s getting ugly out there, folks; people are at each other’s throats. I think I echo the candidates’ sentiments when I say that I can’t wait until November. Mud is flying, some of it’s even sticking. Things are heating up and right-leaning Fox News and left-leaning MSNBC are fanning the flames. The power of the blogosphere is becoming explicitly evident as fiction is being passed off as fact and vice versa. Youtube, only three years old and enjoying a newfound importance as a destination for more than funny clips and amateur movies, is littered with bogus campaign ads and misinformed homemade videos. Though I think it’s great that citizens are passionate about the particular candidate that represents their values and ideals, I also think that it speaks to the devolution of American culture when people get so worked up that they start getting violent with both their actions and their words. Shouting the N word at a McCain rally when Obama’s name is mentioned has prompted gentle rebukes from the Republican candidate. Conversely, when a deafening roar of boos greets the mention of McCain at an Obama rally and drowns out the speaker, the Democratic candidate too has to quiet his supporters. How is a voter to muddle through this mess to determine the candidate of their choice? Answer: turn off your television and examine the issues. The following are but a few of the ones that matter to me.

A lot of people choose who to vote for based on the candidate’s tax policies. I’m with just about everybody in this country when I say that I don’t want to pay more taxes. I do, however, recognize that everything costs money. The Bush administration squandered the biggest surplus our country ever held and now we’re in the deepest debt we’ve ever been while facing the most tenuous economic situation of our lives. Infrastructure is crumbling, crime rates are climbing and many people are finding their cupboards bare. There are times when our streets and highways are free of police because the department doesn’t have enough money to pay its officers. Imagine a policeman calling for backup and getting no assistance; the implications are unsettling. And we can’t complain about ‘kids these days’ if we aren’t giving them the tools they need to succeed. That means investing in education and improving schools. Many school districts in this country are so strapped for cash that they’re cutting school days out of the year, not to mention vital programs that keep our students healthy, stimulated, and off the streets. How do the Republicans expect the next generation to eventually take the reins of this nation if they don’t appropriate more tax dollars for education and invest in the future? ‘No new taxes, we want tax breaks;’ people, you can’t get something for nothing. Let it be known, I’m a firm believer that money doesn’t fix everything--but it certainly helps if it’s spent wisely.

On that note, and especially here in Portland it seems, many people complain about the homeless. What they don’t seem to understand is that the government-run mental health system is so under-funded that it can’t take care of many of society’s most vulnerable people. They end up on the streets, much to the dismay of the civilized citizenry who unrealistically expect these ‘crazies’ to shape up and get jobs or get the hell out of town. These people are ill and require help, not ignorance.

Abortion is a polarizing issue, but it’s still a choice that must be left to the woman. The Republican candidates have made their opinions painfully clear. To them, it’s a black and white issue. But who are they to decide what a woman chooses to do with her own pregnancy? If an expectant mother is unprepared to raise a child, what good would it be to burden her with a supposed ‘blessing?’ Criminalizing abortion could also lead to desperate women seeking dangerous operations free of government safety regulations while crippling the system that might end up having to support mother and child. By overturning Roe v Wade and effectively forcing women to have the baby for whom they are ill-prepared to care, the Republicans would really be ruining two lives: that of the mother and that of the child.

Humans evolved. We weren’t -POOF- created. It’s irrefutable science. Often a tough pill to swallow, science has been blowing minds since the world was determined to be round, not flat. I don’t think it’d get this far, but imagine the precedent that would be set if school curriculum included a unit on creationism (which the Republican vice presidential candidate advocates). Too, stem cell research is necessary to understanding how our bodies work and to finding cures to some of the horrible diseases that plague humanity. Ignoring these studies and calling for their abolishment on religious grounds is not only foolish, but dangerous. The fact that some of our Republican (and Democratic) leaders can comfortably refute scientific fact still troubles me. Go ahead and have faith in the religion of your choice, just keep it out of public schools and policy decisions.

I don’t know too many folks who want to spend their dying days unconscious and connected to life-support machines. But the conservatives, and the Christian right that make up a huge percentage of their base, would have you rot in a vegetative state, draining your bank account instead of dying with dignity. If the doc’s prognosis can be trusted, pull that plug and spare a family the pain of helplessly watching their loved one die slow.

Both Republicans and Democrats agree that this nation needs to end its dependency on foreign oil. What they disagree on is how we’ll accomplish it. Though the continued exploitation of the world’s cache of fossil fuels will get us nowhere fast, “drill, baby, drill” has been a popular chant at McCain-Palin campaign events. Ignoring the fact that the mantra makes people sound like morons at a monster-truck rally, the Republicans want to tap American oil reserves (until they’re dry (there’s hardly even any in there anyway)) and begin offshore drilling. The problem with that plan is that, in order to even get the oil, it will take nearly a decade to get the drilling and pumping machinery (not to mention all the infrastructure associated with it) operational. In the meantime, no progress will have been made on transitioning to alternative energy sources. If we really want to clean up our homeland and this planet, the US needs to take the lead and get the ball rolling on renewable energy. It will not be easy or cheap and it will require sacrifice but, in the long run, it will pay off and set a good example for the rest of the world. The preservation of natural beauty, the new jobs this movement will create and the improvement of the wellbeing of all living things are reason enough for me.

Nuclear proliferation concerns both parties. Worrying about Iran, North Korea and their allies getting the bomb is one thing, but keeping our nukes and telling the rest of the world that they’re not allowed to have what he have is quite another. It's hypocritical and sends them an ominous message. The fact that we’ve got enough nuclear weapons to destroy humanity as a whole can be perceived as menacing to other nations, regardless of our purported peace-keeping intentions and their rogue tendencies. If we’ve got our finger on the trigger, policing those who seek to level the playing field by developing weapons of their own, everybody on this earth feels threatened. Clearly, Iran and North Korea should not have the capability to wage nuclear warfare. However, threatening them will only encourage them to speed up their weapons development programs. “People the world over have always been more impressed by the power of our example than by the example of our power,” said Bill Clinton awhile back. With that, a process of negotiation and joint disarmament is necessary to improving our international reputation as well as putting at ease the minds of concerned leaders and citizens by making the world a safer place. If however, the rogue regimes continue undaunted and refuse to disarm with us, I’m afraid that the consequences will have to be more severe than economic sanctions…and that’s a very scary thought…but at least we’ll have tried.

I understand that there are other pressing matters at stake, not to be overlooked or taken lightly. There are wars and other foreign policy issues, immigration debates, a crashing economy and uninsured citizens getting sick and going untreated. I won’t pretend to understand the ins and outs of those very broad subjects because I don’t know all the specifics. I do know however, that I’m very comfortable with what Barack Obama is saying about them.

John McCain is a smart man with a lot of experience who has actually been a fairly moderate voice in the Senate, something I can admire. But in being the President, and especially in campaigning for the office, partisanship seems to become more of a requirement and I just don’t like where his party stands on many of the issues. While seeking the presidency, McCain’s had to shift his own personal politics further to the right in order to appeal to the Republican base. He used to be pro-choice and he used to champion immigration reform, stances and actions that align more with the democratic position. Now he's anti-abortion and against immigration reform. Standing up for what you believe in and not caving to party ideology is what I call strength of character, something that many conservatives argue he exhibited in Vietnam and something that’s earning him their vote. This campaign has shown McCain to be more of an opportunist than a maverick, sacrificing his integrity and rolling over just to get more votes. That's not very maverick-y. Basically, I can’t abide by the decisions McCain is promising to make if he wins the presidency. Moreover, I have no confidence in Sarah Palin and I don’t think she is experienced or knowledgeable enough to serve as VP or to assume the position should something happen to McCain.

This, of course, brings up an example of the conservative criticism of Obama: his own lack of experience. Though I’m quick to criticize Palin for the same thing, I think it’s important to make the distinction that Obama’s campaign isn’t about experience as much as it’s about his embodiment of resolve, tolerance, intelligence, and patience with the notion of compromise and negotiation. Meanwhile, Palin is quick to tout her limited (and marred) experience as mayor of Wasilla, Alaska and governor of a state with a population comparable to that of my hometown of Portland, Oregon. She’s doing her best to convince voters that that experience is not just enough, but extremely valuable. Does she really think voters are dumb enough to buy that crock? Sadly, there are a good many that will continue to be sold on the ‘hockey mom’ posturing and her ‘regular gal’ characterization while overlooking the fact that she’s grossly under qualified for the office. To make matters worse for her and the Republican ticket, the McCain camp has been granting super-limited press access to her, for reasons obvious to Democrats, and unrealistically expecting the public to see her as an effective, capable leader.

Regarding Obama’s age and experience, I think that a young, eager politician will have smart, experienced people clamoring to serve in his cabinet and hitch their wagon to his star while the ‘maverick of the senate’ may find that he’s burned too many bridges over the (many) years and find himself hard-pressed for good, willing help.

As with all things, time will tell. Until then, educate yourself and decide on the candidate whose vision and values align most closely with yours. Vote.

dig this

Last week was Old Soul Week at the new GimDang, featuring classic cuts from the likes of Otis Redding, Sam Cooke and Joe Tex. Tune in for more themed weeks to come!

Taibbi on Palin

Even though I tend to agree with him, Matt Taibbi can be kind of a tool sometimes. I think he takes it too far on purpose though, just to get a rise out of readers. Here's an excerpt from his latest piece in Rolling Stone:

"Sarah Palin is a symbol of everything that is wrong with the modern United States. As a representative of our political system, she's a new low in reptilian villainy, the ultimate cynical masterwork of puppeteers like Karl Rove. But more than that, she is a horrifying symbol of how little we ask for in return for the total surrender of our political power. Not only is Sarah Palin a fraud, she's the tawdriest, most half-assed fraud imaginable, 20 floors below the lowest common denominator, a character too dumb even for daytime TV — and this country is going to eat her up, cheering her every step of the way. All because most Americans no longer have the energy to do anything but lie back and allow ourselves to be jacked off by the calculating thieves who run this grasping consumer paradise we call a nation."

fightin' mad over here, man

While the Republicans cry foul every time a legitimate assertion is made against them, claiming that the ‘liberal’ media is out to smear them with that ‘gotcha’ journalism, they neglect to understand that the bastion of conservative craziness, FoxNews, has a right-wing stance that borders on total subjectivity. Journalism is built on a foundation of objectivity, not personal opinion and bias. When a network is populated by rhetoric-spitting boobs like Bill O’Reilly and Sean Hannity, there can be no hope and no expectation for unbiased, honest journalistic integrity. Moreover, even though said claims against the republicans are substantiated by reputable, non-partisan organizations, they still refuse to concede truth and somehow find a way to spin it and soften the blow. Their fellow party members nod in solemn agreement, seemingly accepting the bullshit they’ve just been fed. The republican base it seems, is conditioned to believe what they’re told rather than thinking for themselves.

whatserface

So all three of the artists featured here are totally rad. Mel Kadel gets buck with the inky pens and illustrates in a style all her own. Millard is her dude and though the medium is the same and his style is similar, the subject matter is more fun and juvenile. Sieben's hecka tight and is starting to get paid lately, doing limited edition work for Adidas as well as Volcom. I have no idea if the pieces they're showing are new or old, but I'm still stoked. Check it out if you're in the neighborhood and avoid the toothless guy with the eye patch--you don't want what he's selling.

abandon ship?

Have you checked out the new GimDang? http://gimdang.tumblr.com/

humanize the vacuum

A dude named Chris Ervin wrote the following. Dig it:

I feel a mixture of sadness and envy when I think of people who don't feel deep, inarticulable truth when they listen to their favorite bands. My favorite bands create a sort of connectedness to the universal commonalities of human life, and an empathy for the particularities of the musicians contributing to the unconscious stream of universal commonalities I perceive in the music. I'm sad that there are people on this earth who don't feel the awe and revelation I do - sad that people can't access all the wonderful, empyreal feelings that I can. And I'm envious because it feels a bit silly, sometimes, to feel such overpowering emotions at the sound of guitar strums and Wuhrlizter wheezes. I'm envious of the people who never have to deal with any sadness or pain when they play their favorite records, of people who don't have to change the radio station when ""Wild Horses,"" by the Rolling Stones, comes on the radio, of people without raw, exposed nerve endings.

Dr. Dog at Portland's Doug Fir

I had been anticipating last night for weeks, trying not to get my hopes up or set my expectations too high. Thankfully, and delightfully I might add, Dr. Dog did not disappoint. Nor did the opening bands--two relatively unknown groups called Hacienda and Delta Spirit, the latter of which has a very bright future.

Working up the crowd into a state of simultaneous awe and rapture, Delta Spirit won over the room and sent people flocking to the merch table after their set. They’re a five-piece from San Diego with a profound, stirring sound and a recent debut album that’s getting lots of attention. One song, “Children,” was particularly rousing and almost felt like a deathbed confession or a reminder to not go gentle into that good night. The guitar player hit the switch on his Rickenbacker and set loose a reverb-laden chord progression with an echoing delay that sounded and felt like a transformative journey to the other side of consciousness. The rest of the band soon joined in, the drummer simply pounding, the singer exorcising some pent-up demon and woefully sucking on his harmonica. It was a spiritual experience and one I won’t soon forget.
I soon snapped out of the Delta Spirit spell, excited by the prospect of seeing and hearing Dr. Dog. I hit the bar and got one for my hand and one for my pocket before finding a spot near the middle of the floor. When they came out, they received a warm welcome and immediately launched into “The Old Days” off Fate, their new album. The song and, subsequently, the show, became an instant party when, about halfway through, it sped up and went to space-circus-land, taking the audience along for the ride. Their music is layered, artfully constructed pop with the unmistakable influence of bands like The Beatles and The Band, at once solemnly heartbreaking and jubilantly whimsical. As fans swayed and sang joyously to “Ain’t It Strange” and “The Breeze,” the Dog reveled in the excitement, tearing through faster versions of “My Old Ways” and “The Girl” while dancing happily and testing the limits of the small stage. Sharing lead vocal duties, the bass player and one of the guitarists sounded great, replicating their respective chord-shredding shout and delicate pitch live and proving that they weren’t just studio flukes. Too, the instrumentation was spot-on--not one of the five missed a beat; this might have been most noticeable on the slow-burning, somewhat intricate rocker "The Beach," which really shook shit up. Whether you dig the songs or not, you can’t deny the musical talent these guys possess. When it came time to end the show, they closed with “Die, Die, Die,” an acquiescent song about giving up built on pervasive percussion. As it grew in intensity, members of the supporting acts slowly began filing onstage with tambourines, maracas, extra drums, even the lid of an old trashcan, and joined the band for one last hurrah. The whole affair was just too damn cool and I suggest anybody reading this heed the following as advice, not as warning: BEWARE OF DOG. The flash on my camera broke too.

none more black

Did you know black computer screens use less energy than white ones? You can thank me later.

SMELL THE GLOVE. CONSERVE.

The Greatest White Liar

Upon first listen, you might be mistaken to assume this album was released in the mid-sixties when in fact, it came out in 2005. Armstrong and his band jump out of the speakers like time-portal troubadours, leaving a trail of earnest sweat and lo-fi fuzz in their wake. The heir-apparent to the British invaders that came before him, he covers the bases with pitch-perfect versions of the white-boy blues, sophisticated pop finery and four-squared songcraft that put his forefathers on the map. I’ve never seen the band live--I don’t think they’ve even toured the states--but I bet it’d be awesome; ears ringing with remnants of the Kinks, Stones and Yardbirds smoldering on the scuffed stage. It is however, important to note that Nic Armstrong & The Thieves aren’t just shameless imitators or slaves to the past. Though they use blueprints that have already proved pleasing, their songs brim with energy and passion and, if not originality, then a dedicated commitment to garage rock revivalism. The guitars sound pure, like a pair of wild and unruly mods popping pills and egging each other on in an effort to prove their fearlessness while the drums are simple and discreet, bolstered by tasteful handclaps, tambourines and maracas. Armstrong’s voice is a versatile instrument as well, morphing easily and imparting a range of impressions; he can sound cutting and zealous on the rockers but light and bouncy on the ballads. Par example, “Mrs. Moraliser” and “Broken Mouth Blues” are stomping romps that showcase his raw howl, calling to mind a certain John Lennon. Conversely, “In Your Arms On My Mind” finds him whispering sweetly over a sleepy acoustic chord progression and rim taps while “Too Long For Her” is just the sweetest slice of English charm this side of the Mersey.

LISTEN TO FINISHING TOUCH and SHE CHANGES LIKE THE WEATHER

DONOVAN...

...was a Scotsman. From the land of Scotland.

With his penchant for vague protest tunes and poetic folk songs, he was sometimes regarded as Dylan lite. Too, his haphazard harmonica playing and unremarkable acoustic strumming were good but not great and certainly lent to the characterization. Pigeonholing an artist though, is an impossible task, and Donovan defied categorization by finding inspiration in world music, rock and jazz, as well as folk. As the 1960s wore on and, perhaps due to the types of chemical stimuli favored by hip young artists, he started mixing ingredients and getting psychedelic, man. Reflecting these influences are tracks like “Season of the Witch” and “Atlantis,” among others, that flow and breathe with a living quality and make use of an array of unusual instruments and strange effects. The harpsichord, compressed reverb (which were fairly typical in the freak-folk scene of that day) and lyrical content on “Epistle to Dippy” are particularly far out. I always liked “Hurdy Gurdy Man” with its dark and stony sound. It’s a creepy song and it’s been used well in films to convey a sense of tense uncertainty and/or impending turmoil. At one point, the crunchy guitar resounds in a manner consistent with a sitar and at another, it thrashes chaotically in a mire of fuzzy distortion (listen closely at 2:03--probably the heaviest 40 seconds in his entire catalog) while the vocal echoes as if it was recorded close-up with a super-sensitive mic in a dank cave. The song is eerie and unsettling, almost like a bad dream. And like a bad dream, it sticks with you long after ending.

LISTEN TO WEAR YOUR LOVE LIKE HEAVEN

nine eleven

Today is September 11, the seventh anniversary of the terrorist attacks that claimed 2,975 lives at the World Trade Center in New York City, the Pentagon in Washington DC and a field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. I think the event will be remembered by my generation, and all others who witnessed it, much as JFK's assassination is remembered by our parents' generation: as a tragedy that united the nation in shared grief and common disbelief.

Do you remember where you were when you heard the news? I do. I was at home getting ready for work, finishing out the final days of a summer job before heading back to college. My mom told me that something was happening in New York; she'd heard as much on the radio. There was a lot of confusion as different sources were trying to piece together what was going on. Out of curiosity, we turned on the television just in time to see the second plane crash into the other tower. We watched as New Yorkers panicked, completely shocked, and TV news anchors found themselves at a loss for words. I remember being awestruck, almost numb in response to what was playing out before my eyes. The scale of the building in relation to the plane blew my mind and it took a minute to register what that explosion meant, how many people had died in that instant. I felt kind of powerless, detached and removed from the whole episode because New York has always seemed like it was a world away from me and my home. Even though those people and I shared a common bond as Americans, I still had trouble relating and identifying with what they were going through. It felt unreal, like a dream or something. Did you ever see the footage of Bush getting the news at some storytelling event? He kind of sits there and you can see the little gears turning in his head, slowly and cautiously. That, I can actually relate to because that’s almost how I felt: confused, unsure and partially paralyzed (reactions that are fine for a citizen but certainly not what you’d want from your president). I then drove to work, glued to the radio as a barrage of stories and explanations were offered. When I got there, we gathered around a television and watched as the towers fell, the Pentagon burned, another plane crashed in a field, and the news media sorted through conflicting reports in an effort to make sense of it all. Too, the citizens of this country were engaged in an effort to do the same.

Benches, one for each of the lives lost, are part of the new memorial at the Pentagon. Aren't they cool? I admit that once I saw the photo, I immediately thought how skateable they could be. The edges are stainless steel and the possibilities are endless. Not only could you launch off it like a ramp, you could grind up it, off it or down it. With all the technical progression in skateboarding these days, the benches offer tantalizing opportunities to switch up grinds and slides and even get some flip-out and 180-out combos going. Couple that with the fact that the ground is smooth and that there are 184 of these benches and you've got a vertiable wonderland of options for lines. Some of the sure-footed pros and hungry ams could go buck on these things. That though, would be treading on very delicate ground. It'd be pretty disrespectful to skate them and even if you tried, you can bet that somebody would be incredulously angry at you. So I say they're off-limits.

The Love Language

Prior obligations and general busyness forced me to miss MusicfestNW again this year. Though there were few big names in the lineup that appealed to me, I was more interested in checking out some low-brow bands and maybe finding some local dudes to latch onto--‘our band could be your life’ style. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. But other people went, and if it weren’t for my friends, whose musical tastes more or less align with mine, I wouldn’t have learned of The Love Language. Seriously, my buddy Mike can’t shut up about them.

The band is based in North Carolina and their sound can be almost as grand and ambitious as the Arcade Fire’s. “Providence” is a good example with its succinct parts that build into an anthemic, spectacular whole. “Lalita” is more Strokes meets Modest Mouse, built around excited acoustic strumming, ass-shaking tambourine and a euphoric guitar phrase that wouldn’t sound out of place in a jubilant power-pop hop-along whereas “Graycourt” is a pretty piano song complete with softly wistful singing, shuffling drums and an affected vocal track that doubles as a guitar solo at one point. The Ricky Nelson cover, “Hello Mary Lou,” is harsh, full of feedback and static squall that serves as a marked contrast to the polished sheen of the original. And while bright, insistent guitars and fuzz-filtered vocals layered with dense harmonies propel the short “Sparxxxxxxxxx,” the fleeting slide break in the middle begs to be extended.

The band, a six or seven-piece I was told, seems pretty versatile, moving comfortably between styles and moods. They’re signed to an indie label, Bladen County Records, which is also home to a couple notable Portland bands, but they’ve yet to release anything. Translation: keep your ears peeled!

http://www.myspace.com/thelovelanguage
http://bladencountyrecords.com/index.php/the-love-language/

kill your television

Cable TV is a wasteland. Tonight I had access to the more than five channels that I'm accustomed to and it blew my simple mind. How is anybody supposed to cope with that many choices? As the availability of those 250+ options forced me to cycle mindlessly through the digital TV guide, I still felt that I had to decide on something. Why spend an hour watching bits and pieces of ten different programs when there are far more better things to do (such as complaining about the evils of the TV to my small audience)? Maybe if I knew what I wanted to watch before I set out on my television adventure, it'd be easier to find something satisfactory. Making that decision though, is tough and almost unbearable for a dude like me. There were music videos, classic movies, series' that I've read about, extreme clips of cop chases and people getting hurt, documentaries, nature shows and biographies, as well as a litany of entertaining paid programming. Perhaps the skills of channel surfing have eluded me. Even so, I still have trouble understanding why that many channels and options can be more appealing than a good book or a great record or, for that matter, quality time spent with the ones you hold dear. I guess the choice is up to the holder of the remote control and even though that choice can be easier for some than it is for me, it still leaves me completely overwhelmed. LISTEN TO FUCKING DR. DOG's NEW ALBUM

The Economist on Sarah Palin

The Economist is a weekly news and international affairs magazine based in London. Though it often takes editorial liberties, I find its content to be witty and informative while retaining the objective quality of a trusted publication. According to its editors, it aims "to take part in a severe contest between intelligence, which presses forward, and an unworthy, timid ignorance obstructing our progress." At issue is McCain’s VP pick; I’m still trying to wrap my head around it—what was he thinking? The following is excerpted from an online piece that someone showed me.

Mrs. Palin, who has been the governor of a state with a population of 670,000 for less than two years, is the most inexperienced candidate for a mainstream party in modern history. Inexperienced and Bush-level incurious. She has no record of interest in foreign policy, let alone expertise… This not only blunts Mr. McCain’s most powerful criticism of Mr. Obama. It also raises serious questions about the way he makes decisions.

Mr. McCain had met Mrs. Palin only once, for a 15-minute chat at the National Governors’ Association meeting, before summoning her to his ranch for her final interview. The New York Times claims that his team arrived in Alaska only on August 28th, a day before the announcement… The contrast with Mr. Obama’s choice of the highly experienced and much-vetted Joe Biden is striking.

The article takes a particularly interesting turn when it states and explains that “the Palin appointment is yet more proof of the way that abortion still distorts American politics.” Check out the full text at http://www.economist.com/world/unitedstates/displayStory.cfm?source=hptextfeature&story_id=12066224.

SHUFFLE, ROUND 5: ROAD TRIP EDITION

I’m off! I’m hopping in the car and hitting the road with my faithful companion for the long weekend at Lake Tahoe. The trip promises to be full of both action and relaxation. In preparation for the 9+ hour drive, I’ve loaded the CD booklet with mixtapes past and present and some choice discs to while away the hours and keep me stimulated as the landscapes drift by…

The Cribs, “Mirror Kissers”
This literal band of brothers work their British fingers to the bone and shred their vocal chords in this ode to…well, mirror kissers I guess. I’m not quite sure if it’s about narcissism or snorting that booger sugar but I do know that the ragged guitars, bassless breakdown and the spot-on chorus shouting is enough to keep my ears happy as I kiss Oregon goodbye. Note: I saw these guys live a couple months ago and they were horrible--stick to the records if you’re interested.

The Remains, “Don’t Look Back”
This song makes me wanna drive fast until 1:05 when it deviates from its original course and changes up to a call and response preacher-man rant. Not to worry, the band returns to form at about 1:55, kicking into high gear and bashing away on the simple riff and title line.

The Tammys, “Egyptian Shumba”
This old girl-group tune is really strange but, it’s totally awesome pandemonium. These chicks wanna dance Egyptian style (whatever that means) and though I can’t see their dance, I imagine it as sort of an uninhibited shaking with no real sense of form or style--a glorious, liberated mess oblivious to any and all consequence. Shrieking in joy, like sexed-up monkeys over a calliope-style keyboard phrase, they go bananas and take this willing listener along for the ride. It’s their party and they’ll scream if they want to. I might do the same.

The Rolling Stones, “Monkey Man”
Some say that Let it Bleed was the high point of the Stones’ career, the creative and cultural culmination of their sound. With the passing of Brian Jones a couple months before the album’s release, that argument is valid. Exactly what this song is about is anyone’s guess, but what’s undeniable is the shift at 2:32 in which the band unites around an infectious groove and lays back as Keith Richards works the slide on his guitar and sets up Nicky Hopkins for a beautiful piano solo. This is one of those moments that defies explanation; it is what it is.

Charlatans, “Codine”
A dragging sense of lo-fi fatigue is communicated by the fuzzy, echoing guitar and the wearily sung words on this old tune. I’m picking up what this dude’s putting down and when he sings “I feel like I’m dying, and I wish I was dead,” I believe him.

The Groupies, “Primitive”
Like a creeping cad peering through squinted eyes, the singer on this song skulks across the track and claims to ‘love and live’ in a primitive manner. The way he says it, in a leering whine, is cool enough. But if it weren’t for the discreetly magnificent guitar work, unobtrusive harmonica, shaking percussion and inconspicuous bass (with a treble-laden laxity), the song would be decidedly unremarkable.

two sides of the same coin

This is rock and roll. The New York Dolls played simply; they played fast and loud. Their rock was a spectacle, rife with fanfare and showmanship. LISTEN TO VIETNAMESE BABY This too is rock and roll. Neil Young and his Harvest-era band played in a barn. They played loud, heavy music that pinned listeners with its visceral weight. LISTEN TO ALABAMA

DNC day two

Hillary Clinton, in what was said to be the most important address of the Democratic National Convention, seemed genuinely sincere as she spoke about the grave stakes in the upcoming presidential election. Within seconds of the start of her speech, she made her intentions clear by advocating Barack Obama and encouraging her delegates to back him. "If you want a taste of freedom, keep going!" said Clinton, reiterating Harriet Tubman's statement while traveling the underground railroad. Appealing to a key group of her supporters who were on the fence about whom to vote for once the nomination escaped Hillary, she diverted the attention away from herself and outlined the issues that rallied followers around her campaign in the first place. She spoke about universal healthcare, equal rights, foreign policy, domestic policy and a green economy and turned them into democratic issues in an effort to unite the party into one right-railing unit. Wisely, she spoke directly to the die-hard faction of women who have said they’d rather vote for McCain than Obama now that Clinton is out of the running, a group whose votes McCain is aggressively pursuing and a group that’s shaping up to be a deciding factor in crucial battleground states like Ohio, Michigan and Pennsylvania. She talked about the suffragette movement and the obstacles that women have had to surmount before exhorting these backers to remember who was most important in this campaign. ``I want you to ask yourselves: Were you in this campaign just for me?'' she said. The democrats have also learned a lesson from the 2004 election. No longer pulling punches in regards to the opposition, they’ve come out swinging. Clinton honored McCain’s service to the nation but was quick to attack his congressional voting record and campaign tenets, likening him to the maligned George W. Bush. She closed her speech the way she opened it--by espousing the importance of this election and championing Obama and the democratic cause:

…We have to get going by electing Barack Obama president. We don't have a moment to lose or a vote to spare. Nothing less than the fate of our nation and the future of our children hang in the balance. I want you to think about your children and grandchildren come election day. And think about the choices your parents and grandparents made that had such a big impact on your life and on the life of our nation. We've got to ensure that the choice we make in this election honors the sacrifices of all who came before us, and will fill the lives of our children with possibility and hope. That is our duty, to build that bright future, and to teach our children that in America there is no chasm too deep, no barrier too great -- and no ceiling too high -- for all who work hard, never back down, always keep going, have faith in God, in our country, and in each other.

I'M CONFIDENT THAT WE CAN CLEAN UP THE MESS THAT BUSH MADE AND RESTORE OUR INTERNATIONAL REPUTATION WHILE IMPROVING THE LIVES OF AMERICANS BY VOTING OBAMA/BIDEN.

PRIDE

I'm an American--a happy American, but not necessarily a proud American. The neglect of many of my civil rights, the secrecy of my shady governing body and the blatant disregard it has shown to our countrymen and other people of the world have certainly dampened my pride. That's not to say I don't like it here though; no other place feels like home. Every four years, however, I feel such a swelling of pride that nearly all is forgotten. Is it strange that competetive athletics make me more proud of my homeland than the other accomplishments that my nation has made in my time? Seeing American athletes dominate, excel and persevere to overcome odds while competing on the world stage in such a variety of disciplines makes me more proud to call myself an American than any other instance in recent memory. Maybe my memory just isn't good enough, but every time they award the medal, raise the flag and play the anthem, I'm proud to be an American.

I also LISTEN TO JOHN MELLENCAMP sing songs about the heartland.

the dark side of the pizza

Michael Sieben (on whom I like to fan out) has a new skateboard company called Roger. If this ad is any indication of the creative output to come, I might have to buy some boards to hang up.Did you know I have a tattoo of one of his paintings? It's true. Check these older posts, http://gimdang.blogspot.com/search?q=sieben, for some more stuff. This one is about one of his peers: http://gimdang.blogspot.com/2008/02/travis-millard.html. Just throw his name into google images and separate the wheat from the chaff!

LISTEN TO BIG STAR's ALBUM #1 RECORD

On the Beach by Neil Young

This is an interesting album that happens to be one of my favorites. Neil Young was in a weird state in 1974 and this collection of songs finds him paranoid, pissed off and worn out. Railing against Nixon, cliquey scenesters and the consumer culture that was beginning to take shape, he sounds like a lost man who is finally starting to find his way in a world gone mad. Side one is mellow and almost optimistic, if only for a moment, while side two paints a haunting picture of a dismayed man on the verge of giving up. The last three songs are so lonely and submissively angry that they’re depressing to hear; he sounds powerless. Though the album didn’t sell well and wasn’t even released on CD until recently, I like to think that it gave a voice to other disaffected 20-somethings that were fed up with the way things were going, even if they weren’t about to do anything about it.

LISTEN TO AMBULANCE BLUES AND SEE THE SKY ABOUT TO RAIN

Blow Up

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jSJGEn4FDys

This video’s a trip, eh? It’s from a 1966 movie called Blow Up that was filmed in London and ended up getting nominated for some Academy Awards. Isn’t it weird that everybody, save for a mod chick and some dude, is standing around at a rock show? And why are the lights on?
I read that the director initially wanted the WHO to be in this scene but something kept them from doing it. Instead, the Yardbirds got the gig and played “the train kept a-rollin.’” It looks like Jeff Beck was told to do what Pete Townshend was known for at the time and destroy his guitar, which appears to be a cheap breakaway prop. It's weird that the listless crowd finally comes alive only when he throws the broken neck into the crowd, causing a near riot and calling to mind a pack of wild animals getting thrown a piece of meat.

avedon

I was reminded today of Richard Avedon's amazing work as a portrait photographer. Example:

LISTEN TO LOU REED

Debunking

Sgt. Pepper's came out in 1967. Supposedly, John Lennon had all the animal noises in “Good Morning Good Morning” put in the order of a food chain. That is, each following animal was capable of consuming the one that preceded it. Thinking this strange, I listened more closely before concluding that the whole thing was a crock—BOGUS! From what I could tell, it goes crowing rooster, singing songbird, meowing cat, yipping little dog, barking big dog, neighing horse, bleating sheep, roaring lion and trumpeting elephant. Some of it makes sense but when has a sheep ever eaten a horse? Or an elephant eaten a lion?

Stokes

Colleen Stokes is a local artist. Her oil paintings are divine. Subtle colors and spare strokes make for expressive portraits that are at once arresting in their simplicity and awe-inspiring in their detail. Largely self-taught, she's making a name for herself and tonight, she'll be showing some pieces at Cha on 21st. Be there! Bring your checkbook!

SHUFFLE, ROUND 4

T. Rex, “Jeepster”
T.Rex-tasy was in full effect when this tune hit the airwaves in 1971. It’s not the coolest track on Electric Warrior but it’s the first song I’d play for someone who’d never heard them before. The corrosive guitar part is sonic simplicity, allowing Marc Bolan to really get into the glam act when singing and playing live. Have you ever seen footage of him playing? He apes around like a sexy rock and roll palomino with all the wound-up strength of a crouching tiger and the youthful looseness of a prancing foal. Plus, he makes funny rock faces.

Ricky Nelson, “Stood Up”
One of the first teen idols, Ricky Nelson used his television star privileges to pursue a rock and roll career. This is the 1950s though, before rock and roll really came into its own and left behind some of its country inclinations. As a result, the rockabilly feel on this tune is as thick as a side of beef smoking on a grill. Legendary guitarist James Burton is smoking as well, letting his Telecaster slather some sweet and spicy sauce all over the track.

Dr. Dog, “The Beach”
Striking a balance between new and old, this song finds the band channeling the spirits of the fifth and third Beatles, Billy Preston and George Harrison. It begins with an eerie soundscape--monotone, desolate and lonely--that is harshly interrupted by simultaneously struck guitar and snare notes. A sense of understated heaviness pervades the song when, in a blink, it morphs into a vicious tête-à-tête between a bleeding-finger guitar solo and a wrath-of-god church organ. The vocal part acts as a beacon of light in the eye of the storm throughout but still follows suit and assumes the coarse quality of the other instruments, making for a truly leaden rock song.

Townes Van Zandt, “Don’t Let The Sunshine Fool Ya”
Townes was a deeply troubled man with an engaging body of work that provided a revealing glimpse into the beleaguered mind of a tormented soul. Though much of his work could be characterized by dark lyrics and ruminations on death, he still found solace in writing beautiful love songs. This spare 1972 tune pads comfortably down a gently winding road of free-and-easy feelings. I can’t help but smile when he sings, “get yourself a piece of that rainbow pie/no reason in the world that you can’t get by.”

The Leaves, “Funny Little World”
Perfect for holding hands and sharing a milkshake to, this G-rated song about young love would be considered too cheesy for almost any taste but mine. In fact, I insisted that our band include the 1966 tune in our set for a tribute event. The dudes groaned about it for a good while (they had their reservations) before being consumed by its irresistible hooks and sing-along verses. Soon enough, we were all smiling widely and playing merrily, swaying to the rhythm and reveling in the goofiness of the whole thing.

in memoriam, 1942-2008

So you’ve probably heard by now that Isaac Hayes died Sunday. While the bulk of the obits fail to mention that he was a gifted multi-instrumentalist and instead focus on the fact that he voiced Chef on South Park and was responsible for the theme to “Shaft,” they also neglect to note that among his greatest contributions to music was “Walk on By.” The song is a heartbreaker, complete with a tear-jerking string arrangement and Hayes’ distinctive, deeper-than-the-sea baritone. The distorted guitar, spitting hot licks to emphasize the burning pain, and the solemnly urgent background vocals all join the gravely bellowing organ to underpin the gravitas of the song.The song was later sampled by the RZA for the Wu-Tang Clan, who featured Hayes on it and titled it “I Can’t Go To Sleep.” It finds him and Ghostface Killah in typical form, capably trading rhymes and spinning another ghetto yarn about the plight of the black man and the futility of violence. This time however, it’s different. Hayes’ arrangement, which already lends to a saddening sense of loss and hoplessness, adds a new dimension to the Wu’s sound and gives them the freedom to tap into a well of emotions once deemed too ‘soft’ for hip-hop music. Ghostface’s lyrics, spoken in a wavering voice that’s one step away from full-blown, broken-down sobbing, ride the stirring melody rather than the bass and drums, echoing the heartache of the weeping strings and setting up Hayes for a reprisal of the role he played in his original version. This time however, it sounds as if he’s matured since his last dejected outing in “Walk On By,” now playing a wizened sage instead of the burnt and hurt lover. He sings advice, as only he could, that everyone would do well to heed: “Let’s love each other…Use your head…The power is in your hands/stop all this cryin’ and be a man.”

Soul Love

The best rock and roll album of all time is not Exile on Main St., it’s not Revolver, not Highway 61 Revisited, and it’s not Zeppelin II, which are all fantastic and monumental works, revered, and rightly so, to say the least. The best rock and roll album of all time, in this dude’s humble opinion, is The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars.

With the release of his self-produced masterpiece in 1972, David Bowie made an irrefutable statement that music could be anything you made it to be, thereby reinforcing (in a roundabout way) the fact that art, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.

The album is a thematically ambitious venture based around the vague story of Ziggy Stardust, a space alien who comes to earth to liberate humankind from banality. Taking the concept a step further despite the fact that he tells the story from different perspectives, Bowie became Ziggy, messianic martian styling and all, and toured in support of the album. The character is the definitive rock star, focused almost entirely on sex, drugs and the rock and roll music that serves as the medium to tell the story.

Perhaps mirroring Bowie’s own rise to stardom, the album finds Ziggy dreaming of becoming a rock and roll star and attaining superstar status before being swallowed by the trappings of fame and ego-mania. The music rides a cascading torrent of feelings and emotions: optimism, unease, wanton greed, vanity and resignation before climaxing with the acquiescent (and triumphant) “Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide.”

Displaying his influences (styles ranging from pop, rock and British music hall to jazz and classical) like a badge of honor, Bowie and the album influenced countless others, availing the glam sound and placing him at the forefront of the scene. Though he continued to reinvent his sound and image over the years, Ziggy Stardust remains the impetus for his cycle of change.

The tunes vary; some rock wildly, others are insistent, demanding attention with a contradictory undertone of ambivalent coolness and a ‘take it or leave it’ indifference. It’s like glam showmanship and sneering callousness rolled into one multi-faceted mirror ball of glorious majesty. Through it all, Bowie stays in character, howling and purring androgynously while Mick Ronson turns it up to eleven to unleash some severely piercing solos and crushing rhythm riffs that bassist Trevor Bolder and drummer Mick Woodmansey hold down.

There exist better musicians and better bands, even better songs, but as a singular piece of work, Ziggy Stardust is unmatched.

get outside

LISTEN TO LEE HAZLEWOOD

The Hoople

Mott the Hopple were glam to the max; maybe not as flamboyantly or outrageously maxed as Bolan, but still pretty glam. After David Bowie resurrected their career by handing them "All the Young Dudes" and producing the album of the same name in 1972, the band enjoyed a newfound notoriety. This was short-lived however, as they soon returned to their old ways and again began the infighting and personnel changes that would ultimately lead to their dissolution. Through it all, singer and songwriter Ian Hunter maintained creative control and never ceased to amaze. The Hoople from 1974 is a fine example of their work.

Side one begins with a theatrical introduction that opens the gate to "The Golden Age of Rock and Roll." The whole affair, as you can imagine, is pretty campy. The rock though, kicks serious ass. Guitarist Ariel Bender slashes some savage, street-swaggering riffs and Hunter belts it like a true believer throughout. Piano and organ play a big role in "Alice" but the acutely piquant lick on the fade-out is sweet enough to draw a smile from even the most zorched of lude-loaded glitter kids. "Marionette" meanwhile, is overblown, complete with a blaring horn section, squealing guitar solos and dialogue interludes. "Crash Street Kidds" even has machine guns! All this mayhem is tempered with "Trudi's Song," a breezy love song with a standout solo that sounds like it came courtesy of Mick Ronson. "Through the Looking Glass" is awesomely grandiose, exploding in symphonic ecstasy that reeks of dramatic excess in the best possible way--it always reminds me of the emotional rollercoaster that is the E.T. score. "Roll Away the Stone" was the single, and rightly so; it's wholly accessible while revealing the secrets to Mott the Hoople's appeal: keen lyrics, hooky song structures and adept instrumentation. Dig it!

pass the salt

PLEASE KILL ME should be required reading for any fan of rock music. It's an oral history that tells “the full decadent story of the American punk scene, through the early years at Andy Warhol’s Factory to the New York underground of Max’s Kansas City and later, its heyday at CBGB’s.” Anyway, there’s this Iggy Pop quote about Mick Jagger that struck me as funny, “he can only sing one note, there’s no tone, and he just goes, ‘hey, well baby, baby, I can be oeweowww…’ Every song is the same monotone, and it’s just this kid rapping.” He’s actually not too far from the truth.

READ THE BOOK

Hoyt Axton

Making a name for himself as a folk singer in the early sixties and penning songs for other groups (his credits include “Joy to the World,” “Greenback Dollar,” “The Pusher”), Hoyt Axton soon started boozing and snorting and eventually took the country road in the mid-seventies.All country music, to my undiscerning ear, sounds almost the same. With similar rhythms and meters, the use of typical instruments and sounds, and often the same subject matter, the only thing that distinguishes one artist from the next is their style of singing. In Axton’s case, his voice sets him apart from not only his country contemporaries but much of the pop, folk and rock world too. His earthy baritone has an organic feeling to it that rumbles as smoothly as rolling fog, fostering both a sense of comfort and foreboding. On 1976’s Fearless, the album that finds his flexible lower register deeper than a bullfrog’s, he sings with a wry warmth and optimism as he croaks through road-weary laments, sly come-ons, and tough-guy threats. But on “Snowblind Friend,” from the album of the same name, you can hear the longing and regret in his voice as he woefully tells the cautionary tale of the ills of cocaine addiction. Indeed, the malleability of the instrument with which he was born and his engaging style of songwriting have left an indelible mark. Though he died in 1999 and the record companies have yet to properly reissue his material on CD, you can still find it on vinyl.

LISTEN TO HIS COVER OF TOWNES VAN ZANDT’S “PANCHO & LEFTY”

Two dead in Tennessee

A man responsible for a shooting that killed two people and injured seven at a church in Knoxville, Tennessee reputedly targeted the congregation because of its liberal social stance. A letter found in Jim Adkisson’s car spoke of his frustration over being out of work and had a stated hatred of the liberal movement. Adkisson is charged with murder in the first degree after entering the Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church during a children’s performance on Sunday and opening fire. No children were hurt. The church is known for its espousal of women’s and gay rights and the founding of an ACLU chapter.

This is a completely senseless act. How close-minded do you have to be to realistically believe that going on a shooting spree will solve or suppress anything, let alone your problems and/or the liberal movement? Even though this reinforces what I perceive as the short-sightedness of right-wing America, I recognize that lumping in all conservatives with this guy is unfair. Still, I guess this is part of the reason why they like gun rights, so they can have the freedom to shoot people with whom they don’t agree.

LISTEN TO NEIL YOUNG

SHUFFLE, ROUND 3

The Beatles, “Happiness Is a Warm Gun”
Equal parts past-recalling doo-wop and ahead-of-the-curve future-rock, this song is a personal favorite and a sing-along classic that a friend and I must tag-team whenever the opportunity presents itself. It’s got four separate pieces (and even more time signature shifts) that somehow fit together to complete a debatable jigsaw puzzle. Is it about heroin? Is it protesting war? Should it be taken literally? Think what you will, just remember to close your eyes and give in when Lennon digs in and goes to his (and my) special place at 2:21.

Elton John, “Bennie & The Jets”
I love that this song is so simple to just lay back and dig on. I’d heard it a thousand times over the years but never really heard it until recently. Recorded in a studio, the crowd noises were added in post-production for whatever reason; I couldn’t imagine the song without them.

The Smiths, “Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others”
An unremarkable track that doesn’t really go anywhere, it serves as a vessel for Johnny Marr to repeat a scintillating finger-picked phrase on his guitar, over and over again. Morrissey tosses off some lyrics without much thought, always returning to the title refrain. I don’t exactly know why, but this is easily my favorite Smiths song.

The Yardbirds, “Shapes of Things”
In an apparent effort to capitalize on the fascination with Eastern philosophy that the Beatles were popularizing at the time, this Yardbirds jam has a kind of Indian drone to it and some raga-inspired soloing that somehow translate into a rock song. East meets West on the 1966 single as Jeff Beck achieves nirvana at 1:35, playing a pseudo-Indian descending passage drenched in controlled feedback and fuzztone. Far out!

New York Dolls, “Human Being”
Employing the tried-and-true blues scale that formed the basis to many of their songs (mired in muddy distortion on this track), the Dolls kick out a nearly six-minute jam that drips with attitude. Johnny Thunders gets his licks, David Johansen rants about artificiality, and the rest of the Dolls sweat to keep up, hoping their makeup doesn’t run too much.

in the yellow no. 3

African Elephant, Loxodonta africana