M.I.A. Has Got It All!

In a very short time, about three minutes, I have become a big M.IA. fan.  I love the music, the videos, the woman.  She's of Sri Lankan descent, lives in Britain.   And she's saying something ("I'm armed and I'm equal.") in her own kitschy musical way. 

Now I'm not exactly reading it all literally, instead I'll go with - armed with intelligence, armed with love, armed with heart, armed with beauty, armed with musicality, armed with solidarity, armed with justice, armed with truth, armed with forgiveness...

Anyway, kind of reminds me of Burning Spear with the cheesy horns behind a funky beat updated with more of a hip-hop feel.  Plus she's got the charisma of a Marley!  Now that's a world beating combo!

FIGHT THE POWER Brothers and Sisters!

To A Greener World!

I used to work for clueless folks in an energy related business who once told me, "energy is dead." That's got to be one of the dumbest, most meaningless statements ever said to me in a long line of dumb and meaningless statements.  

Anyway, I was involved in a great biz meeting yesterday, where all things energy were on the table of discussion.  It is an amazing world of opportunity, one that I've been knocking on with a few trusted compadres for a while now.  I think it is all coming to fruition, and not a day too soon.

I do believe we can pull ourselves out of the unquenchable fire if we apply our smarts and know-how to the task at hand. 

Think Green - sustainable, renewable, energy-efficient.  Recycle.  Love more, consume less. Ditch your car.  Take public transportation.  Become a vegetarian.  Plant a garden.  Give the Streetwise guy a buck (just for the hell of it).  Smile.  It won't kill you.

Swaggering Heroes - So Old World

OK I hate to give this guy the time of day, but I do think he is dangerous.  In a weird, out of touch, Bush-style way.  Remember this guy is supposed to be the "straight talker." If he's not a flip-flopper, is he just flip? No more swaggering heroes!  Please!

The Heavy

Someone must be writing this guy's lines.  He must be a fictional character.  He rivals Dr. No, Dr. Evil, Darth Vader.  He truly is trying to outdo them all.  So far, so good.  

Come on, he can't be real.  He must be someone's invention.  Ian Fleming must still be alive.  No one could be that dastardly, that stupid, that arrogant.  

I suppose he is marching to a different drummer.  Is it an oil drum?  And what is the sound of one oil drum drumming?  

What happens when the little blue planet becomes a blow torch?  Does The Heavy rejoice and rub his greedy little reptilian hands in glee?

"We just said fuck it and got cheap guitars and screwdrivers and turned the amps up to ten." Thurston Moore, Sonic Youth

"Life, It Is a Beautiful Thing."

I took two trains to visit my mom yesterday.  Some other relatives were there, folks I haven't seen for years.  It's funny how you look in another's eyes and you see yourself too.  Our genetic entities, our genetic destinies run deep.

There is no perfect human being.  We all succumb to time.  Even if time is an illusion, that illusion is our lives.

And as Stuart Smalley liked to say (boy I hope he is the next Senator from Minnesota!), "That's Okay!"

Words are spoken, but of course, it's not what is said that is important, it is the known, unspoken words that secretly resonate like a note plucked on a mystery string. 

We all exchanged smiles and hugs.  And then I verbalized it, even if it sounded kind of trite or sappy, especially knowing all the pain and suffering that makes up so much of existence, but you know, I felt it zing through my being like an arrow of truth:

"Life, it is a beautiful thing."

Clarity

It's no coincidence that clarity came to us at the open mic at our local coffeehouse.  The prime substances there heighten the senses, sharpen the mind.  At least that's how it felt yesterday.

We played music at the Brothers K coffeehouse.  One of our favorite and most difficult places to play.  Favorite because it's such a friendly vibe - our neighborhood, the folks we see everyday. We all know each other.  Even if it's just from the friendly nod of the head, the welcoming smiles.

Difficult, because we are so exposed.  Naked voices, lone guitar, in a large and cold room.  Every one there to watch and listen.  Really listen.   No matter how many shows we've done, this type of setting is still a little frightening.

There is nowhere to hide.  And our songs are honest and heartfelt.  No theater, no illusion, no masks.  Although, really, there's always a mask, right?

We did four of our original songs.  We really did them.  For some reason, every note rang out with clarity and conviction.  We never sounded so good.  And the audience took it in.  All of it. So exhilarating.  The best feeling in the world.

I had a couple of glasses of wine afterwards, chatting with friends.  The wine had no effect. None.  Playing had opened a door to a new clarity.  I still carry it with me this morning.  And it is good.

The Ghost of Bob Marley

Yesterday I went for a long meandering run on the lakefront.  It was alive with activity. Suddenly, somehow, the world had conspired to become BARBECUE LAND.  Folks were unpacking grills, tents, lawn chairs and more charcoal briquettes than there are stars in the sky.

Everyone getting ready for a big day ahead of charred burgers, hot dogs and chicken wings - and all leading up to the grand fireworks spectacle to be conducted out over the lake at sundown.

So I huffed and puffed my way through the hordes.  

Towards the end of my trek, on a lone patch of territory, a deep, musical voice called out behind me: "ONE LOVE coming through!"  I glanced back and there was a friendly looking, dread-locked Rastafarian dude on his bike. He passed me with a smile.  A moment later, another just as musical voice called out: "One HEART coming through!"  It was another dreaded, friendly Rastafarian - another bike, another smile.  

Of course, I also know the song.  

As they pedaled out ahead of me, I sang out in my somewhat musical voice: "LET'S GET TOGETHER AND FEEL ALL RIGHT!"

Rest My Brain

A holiday in America.  As opposed to a holy day.  We don't have many of those anymore.  Here's to a renewed holiness.  The kind that takes care of the air, the water, the land - and each other.

The days have kind of blended together lately.  Broken by patches of sleep.  It's weird to think, and I know it's not a unique thought, we spend a big portion of our lives with eyes closed, laying in bed.

It's funny, lately, I've been out in the world a lot, playing music, staying out late, watching people really trying hard to have fun.  I think I've said it before (deja vu?) that fun isn't always what it's cracked up to be.  It's the trying too hard that doesn't sit right.

Playing music is just about the best thing to do in the world.  It's the playing, not what comes before or after that's the thing.  I mean, I know it's probably been said before...

In fact, now that I think about it, it's all probably been said before by somebody who was once alive and is now dead, or maybe by somebody in a different language, in a completely different part of the world.

And that's alright.  It's a holiday.  Maybe I can just ride on someone else's thoughts today.  Rest my brain.

Torture Me!

Andrew Sullivan asks a pithy question:  

"Is it not a rather fantastic historical irony that the torture techniques that the North Vietnamese used against John McCain that forced him to offer a videotaped false confession...are now the techniques the Bush administration is using to gain 'intelligence' about terror networks.  How is it possible to know that everything John McCain once said on videotape for the enemy was false, because it was coerced, and yet assert that everything we toture out of terror suspects using exactly the same techniques, is true?"

Easy Living

How does that old song go?  

"Summertime, and the living is easy, fish are jumping, and the cotton is high, your daddy is rich and your mama is good looking, so hush little baby, don't you cry..."

Our Band Could Be Your Life

And now for that really good book.  It's called "Our Band Could Be Your Life."  A book by Michael Azerrad about some bands you may know:  The Minutemen, Sonic Youth, Black Flag, Fugazi, Husker Du, The Replacements, Dinosaur Jr, and some you might not, Beat Happening, Minor Threat, Mission to Burma, Mudhoney, The Butthole Surfers.

Even if you don't know any of these bands, it's still a very good read.  The book is really about the 1980's Indie movement that sprung up post punk - some called it Hardcore.  Most of these bands shunned the mainstream, and they built an alternate reality.  They founded their own record companies, they drove their own vans, they schlepped their own equipment.  Sometimes they'd play to a handful of people in a dingy club somewhere in the heartland.

Almost all of them had small, devoted groups of fans.  Actually many of them, especially Black Flag, the Minutemen, Fugazi were leaders of a community with it's own code of honor.  Their shows were intense, communal. Almost all of them were inspiring.  They were inspirers.

You will meet some really cool characters: Ian MacKaye of Minor Threat and Fugazi, Henry Rollins from Black Flag, Thurston Moore from Sonic Youth, Mike Watt and D. Boon of the Minutemen.  These guys, (it was primarily a guy thing - but there were a few women, for instance Kim Gordon of Sonic Youth) were charismatic, pragmatic, idealistic.  They believed in DYI - and you didn't need to sell out to a higher power.  You could find power by touching the people right in the same room.

By the way, most of these bands can be found on YouTube.  Above is Fugazi in their prime.  It's not easy listening - but it has it all - these guys are the definitive example of the movement - they played all ages shows (no discrimination against youth), charged no more than $5 bucks, wrote songs that the audience could sing too.  Cathartic!

The Bubble People

I was gonna blog about a great book I just finished, (maybe tomorrow), but instead, I was sipping some coffee looking over the Sunday NYT Business section this morning and came across some numbers that kind of knocked me off my chair.  I of course, can't really vouch for them, and I know the mischief that can be had by narrow-casting on certain numbers in certain years, but, just for the heck of it, I'm gonna assume that they are correct.

Supposedly between 1947 and 1973 (from Truman to Nixon) real hourly pay for non-government workers rose by about 40 percent.   Now get this...since then, from 1974 to 2008 real wages for workers have fallen by 5 percent!

Is is possible we've all been living in a fake bubble for all these post Nixon years?  A bubble of denial?  I mean our government lives on deficit spending, how many households live on deficit spending too?  How much is our wealth tied up in the bubble in real estate, the bubble in the stock market, the bubble in bubbles?  

How many of us are floating on Plastic and our crazy mixed up dreams of affluence?!

I've been out and about recently and I've marveled at how fat we've all become.  We are a flabby, bloated, massively huge people.  America must be one of the fattest nations ever to walk the planet.  Is it all empty calories? Have we all just become the BUBBLE PEOPLE?!  

We make less, consume more - defy gravity - now that's amazing!

Real World - Freak Show

I've been reading about some indie bands making cross country treks to do shows.  The high fuel prices suddenly make the economics even trickier.

We've been doing some local shows and we do seem to have the schlepping factor down to a manageable level.  Last night we took two trains and a bus to get to the show and back.  

What with the Cubs/Sox game, and Taste of Chicago (Stevie Wonder was the big draw), public transportation was packed with customers.  One can already see the days of burning fossil fuels in a big old automobile is becoming a yesterday kind of thing.

I have a classic little Pignose amp which I can carry in a bag slung over my shoulder, a gig bag for my electric guitar and a handy carrying case for my acoustic.  The Lovely Carla carried a tambourine, a magical egg, a microphone and a music stand all in one kit bag.

We were a smooth, efficient outfit.  The show was great.  Wicker Park on a Saturday night is a carnival.  We plugged into the PA at the Pontiac and filled the room with sound.  We came off the stage very pleased.  One of WWSP's best shows so far.  Banana Street also was in fine form. The audience really responded.  

It really is the good work. 

Made it home late, the Red Line train at 1:00 a.m. is one of the great freak shows - not to be missed.  We were on a rollicking car, folks were drunk and giddy.  It was almost like being on some weird Reality Show.  

Oh yeah, I guess that was the Real World!  I wonder if it will be renewed?

The Bountiful Splendor of Soy!

This thought just occurred to me this morning as I opened the fridge, grabbed the container of soy milk and poured a healthy serving into my waiting coffee cup: If it later turns out that soy (soy milk, soy sausages, soy burgers, soy cheese, soy hot dogs) is NOT good for you, I am toast!

UPDATE:  By the way, WWSP is playing in the heart of Wicker Park tonight at the Pontiac Bar & Cafe.  Not sure how my brother snagged this prime time gig, but we open for his incredibly intense outfit, the Banana Street Band.  We do one set, they do two.  I'm actually sitting in on guitar with Banana Street.  If you're in the neighborhood come on and check it out.

R & R Thursday

I played with the Telepaths last night at a hipster place called The Spot.  A Thursday night and it was hopping.  Early in the evening there was some kind of comic burlesque show, women in black leather, feather boas, beehive hairdos and tattoos.  The place was packed for that show.

I arrived early and got shuffled to a side bar where Peter Special the opening musical act was cooling his jets.  Peter sort of looks like Tom Waits.  He's got a nice worldly demeanor.  He used to be in a band called Big Twist and the Mellow Fellows.  Peter was one of the main Mellow Fellows.  I actually saw those guys play way back when.  Peter played with Big Twist for 17 years. The band fell apart when Big Twist gave up the ghost in 1991.

Anyway, Peter followed the burlesque show with a superb set, some originals, some Dylan covers.  He did it all with an acoustic guitar and a voice that reminded me of Dylan as he sings now, also, Waits, Louis Armstrong and Dr. John.  It was sublime.

A tough act to follow.  And the Telepaths had not rehearsed as a full band in a long time.  But you know, we blazed through our set, and filled that room with unholy noise.  I think I kind of pissed off the sound guy, my Bassman Amp was cranked up and my Telecaster sounded monster - it's the same set-up Keith Richards uses - and I thought it sounded great.  I may have been the only one in the place that loved it.  But you know what?  I loved it.

Peter V. our drummer matched me with massive sonic blasts from his drum kit.  That kid is a heavy hitter, not so much about technique but more like an amazing physical graffiti!  It was a long set, a long night.  The band got paid in free Pabst Blue Ribbon Tall Boys -  and I ended up quaffing my fair share.  Home late, up early.  

Rock and Roll!

These Assholes Work For Us!

Okay, this post from Kevin Drum takes the cake.  The Bush Administration isn't even pretending to try anymore.  I'm thinking this has to be the end of the Republican Party as a serious political alternative.  

I mean, it's been a long time coming, but now they don't even bother to pretend.  If you are thinking of voting Republican this November, I have one word of advice: Please get your heads out of your asses people!

All Clowns are Not the Same!

There's nothing like working with people you like to work with.  I mean, it's rare when you find cool, intelligent, honest people who inspire respect and trust.  They are out there people!  

I've been in other situations, where all the vast, bottomless pool of human flaws comes to the fore.  Much of our lives seem to be some weird, pernicious clown show.  If you guest on a pernicious clown show long enough, you too become a pernicious clown!  That's one of the inevitable laws.

So here's to the best of us!  And if you find yourself in a sitcom gone wrong,  Get Out Now!  You will thank yourself later!

Sort of Amish

John McCain doesn't use a computer.  Doesn't know how?  Is that a disqualifier?  Even my father, bless his soul, became a computer jockey in his later years.  It says something right?  It kind of emphasizes how we are all walking around on the planet, but depending on when we were born and what we've been through, we are very different from others who were born earlier or later and went through other shit.

I guess that's obvious, it's a generational thing, but still, sometimes it sort of whaps you upside the head.  I will probably never play a video game, I mean I did play Pac Man and Space Invaders in the Disco Years, but video games will never be my primary mode of entertainment. And that probably dates me and disqualifies me from something too!*

And not long ago, I was on the train with my Walkman, popping old silver discs into the spinning mechanical device.  I looked around and felt so old world in the land of IPOD.  Sort of Amish in my own way. Weird.

By the way, if the End of the World as We Know It is really coming, maybe The AMISH WAY is coming back in our future!

* I could be wrong.  Maybe there is a video game out there now, or one in the future that will change my life.  If we live with eyes wide open anything is possible.

He Made Us Laugh

The Pop culture, celebrity world is weird.  You sort of think you know people you don't really know.  And some of those people you don't really know have a great effect upon you.  It's another way to remind us all that we really are all connected.  Even if  we can't really trace the connections, except in the invisible strings of the Pop Culture Ether.

George Carlin died yesterday.  He was one of those people that opened my eyes.  He defined (along with Richard Pryor) stand up comedy.  He emerged out of the cocktail, Vegas world of Henny Youngman, Milton Berle, Buddy Hackett, Joey Bishop.

He became a real counter-cultural voice in the 70's.  There was no one else like him.  He was closer in age to my father than to me, but he was closer to me in his long hair, pot-smoking demeanor.  He spoke for both of us when he got up onstage and questioned all of our assumptions.  

And he made us laugh.

Eyes Wide Shut!

This is a  superb article about the end of the American Empire.  It's the end, because our empire was built on cheap oil, and those days are over.  I know people right now are focused on gas prices, you hear stories on the radio where people are asking:

"When are gas prices going down?"  

I think that sums up our general clueless-ness.

I've followed James Kunstler's various doomsday scenarios over the last few years.  But Sara Robinson really wraps it all up in nice overview.

Our empire was made on oil.  We swim in the stuff, we owe our affluent lifestyles to the black gold - fuel, plastics, fertilizers, my beloved cds, wonder drugs, etc.  We've become a cheap oil behemoth.  Car culture is our most pervasive religion in the land.

And what about the FUTURE?  Check this out:  

"It's never happened that an empire that built it's wealth on one energy resource also succeeded in dominating the next resource that supplanted it.  Human nature being what it is, societies that are deeply invested in the current energy regime tend to fall into denial when that regime comes to it's natural end - either because it simply runs out, or because it's superceded  by something even more efficient and versatile.  People can't believe things won't go on as they always have, or imagine that life could be any different.  They shut their eyes to looming trouble, ignore the signs of impending doom, and refuse to make any reasonable plans to navigate the coming changes."

That kind of sums up our energy policy.  That and unleashing "wars of choice," upon the playgrounds of other's people's miseries - the lands where the big pools of oil still sit.  No blood for oil?  You must be joshing!

The Only Question

The Torturers in the White House.

This is extraordinary.  Antonio Taguba, the retired Major General who investigated the Abu Graib abuses, tells us: 

"There is no doubt that the current administration has committed war crimes.  The only question that remains to be answered is whether those who ordered the use of torture will be held to account."

Road Trip

I drummed up a really cool business opportunity.  So yesterday, it was "take care of bizness, mister bizman!"  Everything went perfectly.

I had to take a road trip to Indy.  Chicago to Indy is about 400 miles round trip.  7 or so hours in a car. I needed music, lots and lots of music.  I grabbed a bunch of cds (remember those old spinning silver discs?), some I haven't played in forever, piled them in a paper bag. Loaded up on soy lattes and hit the road.  Perfect road day, blue sky, a long flat road trip into "subliminal mind-fuck amerika."

Somewhere on 65 there's a big billboard, white block letters on a black background:  HELL IS REAL.  I'm thinking, "yes it is," and it's probably located somewhere near Gary (the only town on the route that still makes stuff - see the belching smoke stacks!) or it's hidden in the cellar of some desolate farmhouse amidst the fields of corn and soy.

Anyway here's the discs (with a little contemporary commentary) that I played at maximum volume, the windows down, car flying like a magic carpet across the land.

1. Chris Whitley - Din of Ecstasy - not sure why I grabbed this one and popped it in first.  A great expressive guitar player, in love with heroin.  Every song seems to be an ode to "H."  I switched it off about half-way through.  Whitley ended up dead - overdosed on his love.

2. MC5 - Kick out the Jams - White Panthers, the "high society," in the heat of police riots and Vietnam protests.  Great garage band from Detroit recorded live.  Wayne Kramer guitar pyrotechnics. The last song on the disc (Starship) is unlistenable.

3. Led Zeppelin III - one of my favorites.  Jimmy Page on electric Les Paul and acoustic twelve string.  No one plays better. Robert Plant sings on Hats Off to Roy Harper - "ain't no monkey, can't climb no tree." Robert you are lying!  This band did not make a bad album.  Sounds even better today?!

4. Smashing Pumpkins - Gish - what a great debut album!

5. Neil Young - Tonight's the Night - I always play this one.  Over and over.  Neil Young in a very dark period.  Live, raw in the studio.  Killer band of musicians.  Exhilarating!

6. The White Stripes - Elephant - if somehow Robert Plant and Jimmy Page could have a boy child it would be Jack White. "Be like the squirrel."

7. Nirvana - Nevermind - Still sounds like a world changing album.  Kurt Cobain - r&r genius.  He found the formula and perfected it.  Plus what balls out charisma.  He brought his pain over with pure sonic energy.  Still stunning!

8. Radiohead - Amnesiac - maybe the best band today.  Not sure if you can call it rock and roll.  Beautifully realized, complex soundscapes.  Not one hummable tune or memorable chorus.  Great, profound.  I envy these guys - they have a following, with no compromises, and they seem to just follow their own artistic impulses.

9. Green Day - American Idiot - really hard power pop perfectly realized.  Maybe Billie Joe Amstrong's finest creation?  Some great lyrics.  Holds together as a complete piece.  Surprise!

10. The Who - Who's Next - they kind of opened the door on this kind of power pop.  Maximum Rock and Roll.  This is definitely their best studio album.  But I think their live albums are even more impressive - Live at Leeds, Live at Isle of Wight - listen to them rip through their catalog at the height of their power.  Take your breath away!

11. Pearl Jam - No Code - I think these guys might be the best rock and roll band in America.  Eddie Vedder is a charismatic vocalist.  Superb musicianship.  No compromise.  I don't play this often but it is exquisitely realized music.  I need to get more Pearl Jam!

Its a Hard Hit!

I love when it happens...

We sat in the park last Saturday (a sunny, blue sky day) and wrote a song.  I was working on a chord progression, the Lovely Carla had written some words.  I started playing, she paged through her notebook and found the page, and starting singing.  

The words found the chords.

It came together then.  She wrote the line: "Its a hard hit, when you remember you forgot."  I started singing and it came out: "Its a hart hit when you remember it."  A few times through and we knew we had it.

We tracked it Sunday in the home studio.  Home studio =  1. Mac 2. Garageband 3. Condenser Mic

Two voices, one guitar, live in the studio.  Simple, immediate.  We posted it here: "Its A Hard Hit."

The Zen of Ouch!

If you were rooting for the Lakers to extend the NBA championship series last night against the Celtics, well, you were disappointed.  The young Lakers, a team made up of a Frenchman, a Serb, a dude with enormous ears (Farmar), a guy with a great name (Lamar Odom) and of course, the best basketball player on the planet (Kobe Bryant) went down in flames in Boston.

They were eviscerated, decimated, gutted, drawn and quartered, flagellated, disemboweled, devitalized, pummeled,  trounced, flogged, lashed, blitzed, drubbed, thrashed, burned down, killed, walloped, whipped, slaughtered, whacked, etc.

The Celtics just romped and stomped up and down the court, and even Kobe was marginalized. One great player does not a championship make.  

They play the regular season for one thing: Home Court Advantage, and last night was a good example of what a hyped up home crowd can add to the mix. Pandemonium!

Hat's off to Kevin Garnett, Ray Allen, Paul Pierce.  Those guys have worked and sweated for years and years without getting to the big dance.  At the end you couldn't help but be happy for them.  There was no doubt who was the better team -  Zen Master or no Zen Master.

Drug Wars

Once in awhile you get the message that everything is connected.  You see the threads.  We watched "Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle" on DVD recently.  If you haven't seen it, I can certainly recommend it.  It's funny.  I mean sometimes it's not, it's stupid too.  But the genuinely funny parts outweigh the genuinely stupid parts.

Overall it's an enjoyable ride.  Harold and Kumar follow in the great marijuana clouded steps of Cheech and Chong, Bill and Ted, Wayne and Garth.  Two likeable dudes (one Chinese- American, one Indian-American), toking and blundering their way about in the world.

This brings me to a headline I read in the Saturday NYT.  "Legal Drugs Kill Far More Than Illegal, Florida Says."  I think this is something we all suspected.  Turns out the shit those drug companies are making a ton of money on, the ones the doctors are pushing (being on the payroll don't cha know?), the ones those pharmacists are doling out so kindly, can kill you dead.  

According to the Florida study the legal stuff: Vicodin, Oxycontin, Valium, Xanax killed more people than the illegal stuff: cocaine, heroin, methamphetamine.  

Alcohol was the most commonly occurring drug in dead people.  Bud Light is the true "gateway drug."  

And how about Harold and Kumar's favorite?  What about DEMON WEED?  Zero.  No deaths. None.  I mean, I'm sure there were plenty cases of the munchies, probably a lot of spaciness and uncontrollable giggling, but NO ONE DIED FROM SMOKING POT!  And how crazy is it that we won't even let people smoke weed to help them deal with their cancer treatments?  

And what about hemp shirts and skirts?  

Insane Madness.

Inspired by the Frog

  

Jim James of My Morning Jacket talks about his influences when it comes to vocalizing.  He mentions Richard Manuel of the Band, Bob Dylan, Neil Young.  But who tops his list?  The great green wonder, Kermit the Frog.

"I remember Kermit sing and then finding out that that was actually a real person singing.  That kind of blew my mind."  - Jim James (A man with two first names - one wonders does his birth certificate read  James James?).  

Anyway, I was looking for some My Morning Jacket music to post and came across this clip from the Darjeerling Limited.*  Great flick.  Nice match of music and image for a Monday morning.

*I love Wes Andersen movies.  My favorite is Rushmore, about an overactive, underachieving, playwright who falls is love with his teacher.  It features one of Bill Murray's finest performances.  And really, all of Andersen's movies have something to offer.  The Royal Tannebaums, Bottle Rocket, and even the one with Billy Murray in a speedo (The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou) are all worth seeing.  The Darjeerling Limited impressed me when I first saw it, and a second viewing made me love it even more.

UPDATE:  I guess it's not enough to say, that I love Wes Andersen movies.  I have my reasons.  Andersen is a master at setting up beautiful images and matching them with great music which for me leaves indelible impressions on my consciousness.  He primarily uses music from British bands from the Sixties.  Which is always a little other-worldly, in my book, and kind of hints at a lost idealism.  Also, all of his movies deal with ambition and desire, loss, broken dreams, forgiveness and reconciliation.  There's the family stuff.  Fathers and mothers and all the different paths we must walk.  All the most important stuff, dealt with a light knowing hand, always a little whimsical and funny and sad too.

Stuck

Sunday morning.  The black clouds are moving through the sky.  The rain is pouring down.  John Fogarty of all people is singing, "Stuck in Lodi again..."

The Lovely Carla: "Hang in there Jimmy."  Jimmy: "I'm hanging."

UPDATE:  Here's David Byrne, famous singer and bike-rider, talking about $10 per gallon gas!

Jumpin Jack it's a gas and not all doom and gloom! 

Did anyone say "RENEWABLES?!"

The Money Eats Itself

I was speaking with someone I know and respect.  She was unhappy with the "bail-out" of stupid people who got stupid loans on over-inflated houses.  She did not think the government should bail them out.  She reminded me that other people, (the non-stupid ones) including her own family, worked hard, played by the rules, scrimped and saved, and made sure that they would not default on their 30 year mortgages.   Nothing was coming their way to help them out.

I (with no dog in this fight - I'm a renter) reminded her that already the Feds are bailing out the Money Boyz on Wall street, and that it was a little unseemly, to be making those guys whole, while letting the little guys flounder.  But then I hedged and said, but you know "it's complicated."

It is.  John Robb at Global Guerillas tells us that foreclosure and violent crime go hand in hand.  So if this trend continues we may end up with roving gangs and militias sprouting up across the land, driven by "a volatile mixture of wealth/expectation destruction, neighborhood decay (due to empty and abandoned properties), and a visceral sense of economic betrayal/abandonment..."

Mad Max sprouts up from abandoned housing developments!

I don't know why all this is sort of interesting.  I've been fascinated by the whole "sub-prime" debacle, and amazed at the billions and billions of dollars that was made and lost.  Everyone was riding the money train, and now the train hits an immovable force.  Money is vanishing before our eyes!  

I do believe it's one of the signs of the apocalypse when the Bankers don't know how to responsibly lend money. Or no maybe they knew exactly what they were doing - it's apocalypse when Bankers start acting like Crack Dealers!   Finally the last stage of decadence: the money just eats itself!  And the people? They're pissed off and just want to Kick Out the Jams!

The Puppet Speaks Up!

I spotted my all-time favorite tabloid headline a few years ago at the local 7-11 (since deceased), "Ventriloquist in Coma, Dummy Still Talking."  I actually had to buy a copy.  Ended up using some of the text in one of my plays.

So, anyway, yesterday, the Puppet (referred to in yesterday's post) decided to speak up for itself.   Turns out Iraq is not playing ball with Bush.  How bush league you might say, but it is good to see that the audacity of atrocity does have limits in the real world!  

Darth Vader Won't Die!

They are telling us this is a change election.  And both candidates are running on "change."  Since neither candidate is George Bush, I guess this is sort of true.  But the more one sees and hears our fine Senator from Arizona, the more one wonders what freaking planet those commentators are from?

The man now tells us that being in Iraq forever is okay, as long as our guys aren't dying.  This is the perfect logic that tells us "if things are going bad we can't leave, and if things are going good, we can't leave."  

Bush is actually trying to negotiate with the Iraqi puppets we've planted there to let us keep 58 permanent bases in Iraq.  Plus we'd control the air space, and we'd get to decide if Iraq has been "attacked."  Sounds like Bush's way of making an end run around Congress so he can strike Iran before he runs the string.

Turns out John McCain thinks all this is just great.  Also, he's quite impressed with the superb job Dick Cheney has done over the last eight years.  He thinks Dick might fit perfectly fine in his administration too (I was thinking Mr. Cheney should be making a visit to the World Court in the Hague!).  

Now that's change you can believe in.  

The Fat and Skinny

There used to be two guys, the fat one, the skinny one, the big guy, the little guy.  They lived in a cartoon world.  They were always together.  Getting into jams.  And all kinds of pratfalls and comic mayhem would ensue.  That was Old World comedy gold.

But you can take that kind of thing to the edge and it isn't funny anymore.  For instance, now, Rick Dutrow, the flop-sweating, orotund trainer for Big Brown, is blaming ("It was the ride that did him in.") the little guy, Kent Desormeaux, the tiny jockey, his regular rider, for Big Brown's poor showing in the Belmont.*

No class.  That's all I can say.  Every time a jockey gets up on a big horse, and gets in the starting gate, every time that bell rings and race goes off, every time those little dudes try to navigate through the thundering herd to the finish line; that horse, that jockey is risking life and limb.  The fat guy shouting from the stands?  Maybe he should chalk it up to a bad day and move on.

*Big Brown did have a difficult trip in the Belmont, he got bumped, he looked a little feisty, and in trouble.  Kent D. brought him to the outside to give him a clear path to victory.  When he asked for acceleration, Big Brown fizzled.  Was it the track, the oppressive heat, a bored horse, the gods of fate pulling a fast one?  Who knows?  And Big Brown ain't talking.  It happens all the time - that's why a long-shot bettor sometimes goes home with a roll of cash in his pocket and smile on his face.

Staying Alive - A Surrealistic Experience!

"Cause we're not sure where we're going, but we've managed to linger through a period where now things are changing so quickly that it's become novel in a way that Salvador Dali and the Dadaists predicted.  They said that at some point the future will bring, moment by moment, a surrealistic experience just by staying alive." - Billy Gibbons

Free NIN

There's a profile of Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails in the Sunday NYT.  He's a one-man head-case, and one man band.  He's getting ready for a big arena tour.  Nine Inch Nails latest release is called "The Slip" (go here to download it for free!)

Reznor is no longer on a record label, and just like RadioHead, he is now a true independent force.  He's seems very tech friendly.  Free is good.  I just downloaded it to iTunes, the process was a breeze.  I haven't heard it all, but what I'm listening to now is quite hard and noisy, which is kind of the Nine Inch Nails aesthetic.  Drive those nails in your head!

No Sure Thing!

I don't know if you followed the hype leading up to the Belmont horse race run yesterday afternoon in New York.  If not, I followed it for you.  One horse, Big Brown, was trying to complete the "triple crown" - a three year old winning the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness and the Belmont in a two month marathon.

Didn't happen.  I didn't bet on the race, (I watched on TV!). Big Brown was the prohibitive favorite, (1-4 odds) which means you'd have to be a real idiot to bet on him.  There was a shit-load of idiots betting on him yesterday (over 5 million dollars to win at the track alone).  

Big Brown is owned by a Hedge Fund.  Which is fucked up.  Haven't the hedge fund managers done enough harm?  Do they have to fuck up horse racing too?  What happened to the country gentlemen owners?  Big Brown's trainer (Rick Dutrow) is a real loudmouth, an arrogant dude who has been in hot water before for doping up horses - the guy's all bluster, no humility.  He talked like the other horses might as well not even show up for the race.  Yes, he was running a good horse, but good horses lose races all the time.

The ABC commentators were ridiculous too.  I mean, have any of them ever actually been to a horse race?  One guy actually said they should have suspended betting and just run the thing as an exhibition, since it was a foregone conclusion that Big Brown was gonna just bury the field and coast home a champion.  Does the stupid just burn?

So a 38-1 shot Da' Tara went to the lead early, and never looked back.  Big Brown finished dead last.  And that's horse racing ladies and gentlemen.  The long-shot, the underdog can beat the odds, can vanquish the money men, the big talkers - there ain't no such thing as a sure thing. I'm sure of it!

Chicago is an Obvious Town

I'm gonna write about the weather. Which is sort of pointless. Except in this case, I have a point. We recently went from unseasonably cool, to unseasonably hot.  An aside: maybe really both states are completely seasonable!?  Today it's gonna be hot and humid - there's a certain beauty in that - the exquisitely change-able nature of the weather here in the Windy City.

Change is the thing.  That's what Zen tells us.  Chicago is a Zen Town.

And today is hot, and we're gonna sweat, and it seems like it's always been hot, and we've always been sweating, but it's not true.  Not long ago, I found myself at the Howard Street El stop, freezing my ass off.  It was cold, and it seemed like it was always gonna be cold - it was cold forever.  And that wasn't true either.

That's the thing here.  Weather-wise - nothing lasts.  Weather is our teacher.  So sometimes it gets better, and sometimes it gets worse, and sometimes it stays the same, neither better nor worse, and in fact it always just is - but no matter what, it's not for long (even when it seems like forever).  

It's the same everywhere, or not the same, but different by degrees, but living in other places maybe it's just not so obvious.  Chicago is an obvious town.

A Voice in the Pines...

The story goes that a young Buckminster Fuller, mad scientist inventor, famous for the Geodesic Dome, was depressed, nearly bankrupt, had no job, no prospects, with a young wife and daughter, walked by Lake Michigan one morning in 1927, and he considered "offing himself."   

Suddenly, he found himself  suspended several feet about the ground, surrounded by sparkling light.  Time seemed to stand still, and a voice spoke to him.  The voice said: "You do not have the right to eliminate yourself, you do not belong to you.  You belong to Universe." 

Now that's the kind of pep talk we all could use!  I wonder what kind of music Kurt Cobain would be making now, if that same voice would have visited him in that Seattle attic.  Of course, there was still the "Courtney factor," to take into account, but it's hard to deny the SPARKLING LIGHT!

I've always loved Kurt's version of this Leadbelly song...

Zen Again - Hit Me!

We did the Zen thing again last night.  There were three (count em!) three Zen priests in the house, so the vibe was alive.  I had run earlier in the day, so I was relaxed and in the moment.

One of the priests did a little talk and he said that we were to be like "shining mirrors."  We reflect the world, register moments of our lives, but cling to none.  And that shining-ness, does it come from inside or outside?

One of the other priests talked about the "stick of compassion," it's an actual stick that is used to "wake up" a dozing meditator.  I guess in long sessions, when a lone pilgrim is zoning out, they can request a couple whacks from this stick to bring them back to the present.  I've not seen anyone request this stick yet!  

Anyway, I'm sitting on the black cushion, staring at the wall and then here comes Ian Dury and Blockheads.  Forget the stick of compassion, "Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick."

Iraq Attack

As Atrios reminds us, and the MSM seems to willfully forget, Barack Obama is now the Democratic nominee* primarily because of Iraq.  His candidacy rose up from the streets of pre-war protest.  Iraq was his major policy difference with Hilary Clinton.  Without that difference there was no reason for Obama to run.  

The willful ignorance and silence on the part of the Washington Establishment on this is quite amazing.  As Baghdad Bob (oops I mean Scott McClellan) reminds us, the White House lied us into an unnecessary war that has destroyed our country.  A lot of people have died or live in misery because of that lie.  And it did not make us a safer, better people.

Can we pick up the pieces and make a new Union?  That is still to be seen.

*Here's Matt Yglesias on "the greatest upset in the history of American presidential politics."

Exercising the Brain Matter

John Robb at Global Guerillas is always forward-looking.  Trying to see beyond the next bend in the road.  If I understand him right, he believes that the global system of trade and intelligence that has settled over our planet, is actually too large, too complex and too unwieldy for us to control and make work for us.  Instead it's an overly large complex system with no master - well beyond nature - and it will foster major disruptions to our ways of life.  Changes will continue to come fast and furious.   Speed will feed speed.  Is that the endgame for the whole she-bang?

Maybe thinking and acting "globally" and can be a positive new paradigm, but maybe not.  In the short term maybe our brains and worlds will just go "haywire" - too much information, too much acceleration, too many choices, a large planet reduced to a small playground.  

Robb is sort of predicting some kind of "black swan" event (a meteor?  an Alien Invasion? maybe the avian flu?) that blows a hole in the fabric of the new thing, upsets the apple cart and brings us back down to some more sustainable (reasonable) existence. 

And then there will be some kind of retrenchment.  In the pain, the tumult, the chaos a smaller scale, sustainable mode of existence will emerge - whether we want it or not.  Then again maybe all of this is poor crystal gazing.  Thinking about the future, trying to read the day and making guesses about what's gonna happen is sort of a "mug's game."  Still it does exercise the brain matter.

The Simple Life

I know it has been said before, it is probably a tired cliche, and it is almost certainly true:  the best pleasures are the simple ones.  New day, blue sky, warm breeze, friendly smile, quiet conversation, good cup of joe.  Nice tunes playing on the box.  No worries, no expectations.  A long, languid, lingering moment...

"Open your eyes, look up into the skies and see..." - Freddy Mercury

I realize this is a little "Wayne's World-ish" but last night while the Lovely Carla was watching old seasons of Gilmore Girls, I was surfing YouTube and came across this video from the Freddy Mercury Tribute concert in the 80's (it was actually in 1992!).  

Was "Bohemian Rhapsody" one of the most improbable Top Forty hits ever?  Check this out - Elton John and Axl Rose give it a big-time rock star performance.  Kind of mind-boggling - is Elton wearing a toupee, did Axl ever take off that bandanna?   Is there a cooler guitarist than Brian May?  I mean the guy also has a degree in Cosmology or something (actually ASTROPHYSICS!) and he designed and built his own guitar from scratch.  Do the Fandango!

Bus Stop

I don't own a car.  Which means I use public transportation quite a bit. Trains and buses.  It's not a bad way to get around Chicago.  I recommend it.

I discovered this ad for Canadian Club at a bus stop.  For some reason it really resonates.  It made me laugh out loud - which is a good way to get your space at a bus stop.  

The ad is a window into an era that I vaguely remember - it's supposed to be around 1965 - no, I mean, as a kid, I remember that era vividly, I just rarely conjure up the picture.  Whoever came up with this got the details right!

This does not make me want to start drinking Canadian Club.  That kind of hard liquor just makes me go into a Linda Blair-like convulsions - spinning bed, green projectile - but this did bring me back to another time, another place - there was a generation of people living like this, an upwardly mobile business class that built the suburbs.  Those guys and gals are pretty much gone.  They laid down the gauntlet - one we never needed to pick up.  

This is just nostalgia. It's an advertising gimmick.  There ain't no going back, and drinking that rotgut will only give you a headache.  Still, this is a world I knew.  I was there - wondering what the fuck it was all about - was this really the world?

Chuck D. Tells It

The title of Public Enemy's latest release tells it all with a pithy little question addressed to all of us biding our time in the Terrordome.  Rhetorical or not, it cuts to the chase:  

"How to Sell Soul to a Soulless People Who Sold Their Soul?"

ZaZen Wednesdays

Back in the old days, when I was just a little tot, there was an ad campaign for Prince spaghetti. They put forth the idea that Wednesday was Prince spaghetti day.  Not sure how many families actually adopted that idea, I know we had spaghetti frequently, but I'm not sure if it was always or ever on Wednesdays.

Lately, Wednesday has been Zen meditation day.  So yes, it was back to the black cushion and the blank wall for us.  I'm sort of getting into this pursuit, or really non-pursuit of nothingness, which as they say is the same as something-ness or maybe not.  So there really is no pursuit of anything. And that's what we seek by not seeking.  Or something like that.

Anyway, my take away from the session last night: the real world is our teacher.  Even if  reality is not real and it teaches us nothing.  Got it!

Light, Shadow and Movement - What else?

Calvin Tompkins writes about art.  I read his biography of Marcel Duchamp a number of years ago, and ever since I've appreciated his sensibility.  So I was very intrigued by his write-up of the video artist Paul Chan.

And then of course, even if you live in the hinterlands, you can find something on YouTube that gives a little glimpse of what Chan does.  I especially like the idea that the technological junk we have created somehow rises up to some higher realm, whereas the humans, well we just fall.

Death Cab for Cutie

Peter V.  drummer in the Telepaths writes about Death Cab for Cutie.  He got me interested in these guys, love their name, and I finally checked them out on YouTube.  Their new disc is Top of the Pops, so they probably don't need anymore exposure, but I think this  8 minute opus is quite good.

Trickster Makes the World Go Round

We've been working on new music.  We finally posted a new song at the WWSP site.  It's called "Tricks on the Brain."  That's Sara on bass and backup vocals, Carla wrote the lyrics and sings lead, and I play guitar and percussion.  The working title for our next digital download - Shadow of the Marigold.  We're only about 10 new songs away...

Same Old

"The same old questions.  The same old answers." - Samuel Beckett - Endgame 

Friendly Tribes

Just remember, you are not alone.  Even when you are alone.  There are the 6 tribes in your inner elbow, and 2 in your gut.  According to the Scientists, (man are they a kooky lot!),  the bacterial cells resident on and in our bodies out-number our human cells 10-1.  Without them we'd be a hell of a lot more lonely and dead too.  Without them we just couldn't digest the world.  Does that make you feel dirty - sharing life with tiny bacterial micro-organisms? It's okay -  you are dirty. That's life.

Why does Superman get up in the morning?

I just purchased my next Klosterman "Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs," but I'm still digesting his Led Zeppelin inspired "IV."  According to the great Kloster Man the secret to success is not good looks, good luck, or smarts; no the key to success is having an ARCH ENEMY!  

Of course, he is absolutely right.  Think of any Superhero and the Arch Enemy looms like a shadow, the doppelganger - a dark presence who is always spurring the hero on to greater heights of Super-ness.  How many celebrities and Superstars are driven on by their unthinking tormentors from their high school days?

I think Chuck's right.  My own personal Arch Enemies (Sniveling Weasel and Big Chief Totem Pole), have spurred me on to great new successes. So I suppose a "thank you" is in order. But of course, the Arch Enemy is the last person in the world you would ever thank!  And as Dark Man likes to say - "So much to do, and so little time!"

The All Zen Channel

The last two Wednesdays we went to a Buddhist temple and did the Zen thing.  A black cushion and a blank wall.  I'm not new to meditating, but I found the Zen way difficult at first.  My half lotus was more like a full pretzel, and usually I meditate eyes closed, but the Zen way requires eyes open, turned to the wall.  Reminded me of Catholic grade school, that's what happened when you were "too excitable."

Last night, it was all so much better.  I knew the drill, found that the "Burmese style" (kneeling with cushion support) more to my liking.  The two hours sort of flew by.  Finding the stillness, the emptiness, what a strange pursuit - it's contrary to everything else we know and do.  

Then it was back home to watch the second half of the Lakers/Spurs game.  If you just saw the result in the paper this morning, nothing special, Lakers won a close game.  But if you watched the drama unfold, it was mind-blowing - the Lakers were down 20 points in the third quarter, and then Kobe Bryant emerged.  

I'm thinking in the rush of the game, in those moments of pure concentrated action, Kobe is totally there in the moment, it is a pure Zen of the highest degree.  That's why it's fascinating to watch him play.  There's the blank wall, the black cushion, and then there's Kobe Bryant floating to the basket like some Zen butterfly.  Perfect.

Appetite for Destruction?!

Blogger is acting sort of weird this morning.  Sometimes technology is not our friend.  That's kind of the story of the modern world.  The machines we have made are making hash of the natural world.  There must be a balance - but not sure if we've found it yet.  In the meantime, our sleek inventions hum along, gobbling up everything in their path.  Appetite for Destruction!

R.E.M. - Living Well's the Best Revenge

  Love those glasses Michael! First it was Arcade Fire in an elevator, now REM in a car, what next, the E Street Band in a phone booth (do they even have phone booths anymore?).

"It's Getting Heavy." - Wayne Coyne, Flaming Lips

Went to the Green Festival Saturday over on Navy Pier in Chicago.  Listened to some smart people talk about the dire straits we find ourselves in at the moment.  The planet is in crisis. Too many human beings running around the planet acting as if they own the place.  Wasn't it Sitting Bull who told us that a man can't own the land, the sky, the air, the plants and animals?

No one listened to that wise old Indian at the time.  Maybe some folks are starting to listen now. Anyway, there are glimmers of  hope.  We are clever monkeys.  Maybe self-preservation will motivate us to live more responsibly?  I'm not holding my breath on that one.

Major changes need to happen in a short amount of time.

The Lovely Carla is hoping for some great transformative consciousness that will propel us to a new era.  I like the vision, but I'm unsure of how you get from here to there.  Maybe we can somehow channel the greed, the selfishness, the ego - to trick ourselves into doing the right thing in spite of ourselves?

Anyway, it was a necessary trip.  No one man or woman is gonna solve this one.  It's gonna take a lot of really smart people to kind of carry this through, and then everyone else is gonna have to jump onboard to try to make this work.

Otherwise, I guess our legacy will be that we overran the place, trashed it, killed everything on it, and split.  Not very inspiring. 

Picture Worth a 1000 Words

Ornette Coleman.  Free Jazz.  The Quarter Tone Pitch.  Harmolodic.  Sound Grammar.  Something Else!!! Change of the Century.  The Shape of Jazz to Come.  

Maybe a Cartoon World is Better?!

Takashi Murakami has a retrospective at the Brooklyn Museum.  He lives in a cartoon world.  His work has been derided by some as representative of "infantile capitalism."  He has been influenced by Warhol's consumerism.  See also - Japanese Manga & Anime.

Anyway, I found this to be a telling detail about him:  "His mother impressed upon him that he owed his existence to the chance that the sky above her native city, Kokura was overcast on  August 9, 1945, thus diverting the B-29 to its secondary target, Nagasaki."

Pirate Mics

I play in two bands. Who doesn't? And last night I sat in with a third. My brother's wacky outfit, The Banana Street Band. They hole up over at the Flat Iron Arts Building in Wicker Park. Third floor. What a show. I plugged in my Telecaster and jammed with these guys. Talk about intensity. My brother is channeling the ghosts of Leadbelly and Allen Ginsburg, their guitar player is channeling some Polish gypsy poet from a century or two ago, and their drummer is channeling some hipster beat master from god knows where. I got to kind of ride the storm, playing lead lines around their torrent of sound. 

My brother's latest obsession is building microphones.  He's assembled these vintage parts from the 40's and 50's and made totally unique mics - he calls them Pirate Mics, (you might find one on Ebay!), they even have a skull and crossbones logo.  We all used these little crappy amps, (you could fit the lot of them in a small closet) and somehow it all sounded exactly right.  I mean this was rough, totally unpolished, pure and spontaneous, all feeling and intensity.  What a trip.  The sounds swirled around that big drafty old building conjuring ghosts and laying down some kind of sonic map.

Magician

Robert Rauschenberg cashed in his chips at 82. He and Jasper Johns defined for me what an artist was and could be. Rauschenberg did it all - sculpture, painting, photography, printmaking, performance. As someone commented - "he made something from nothing." That's magic. A great magician decamps.

8 Years Flashed Before Our Eyes!

Were they divine, were they crappy, were they otherwise? The "Bush Era" is croaking to a close. Took us all down a notch or two. At least.

Here's one pop cultural historian's take:

"In November 2000, the United States held a presidential election and nobody knew who won, so we just kind of made up an outcome and tried to act like that was normal. Less than a year later, airplanes flew into office buildings and everybody cried for two weeks. And then Enron went bankrupt and then the U.S. became a rogue state, and then The Simple Life premiered, and then gasoline became unaffordable, and then our Olympic team lost to Puerto Rico, and then we reelected the same unqualified president we never really elected in the first place. Later there would be some especially devastating hurricanes and the release of a horrible movie titled Crash." - Chuck Klosterman - April, 2006 from his collection of essays titled IV.

UPDATE: I found this via Glen Greenwald quoting G.K. Chesterton's Heretics, and, well, I don't know for some reason it seems apropos:

"It may be said with rough accuracy that there are three stages in the life of a strong people. First, it is a small power, and fights small powers. Then it is a great power, and fights great powers. Then it is a great power, and fights small powers, but pretends that they are great powers, in order to rekindle the ashes of its ancient emotion and vanity. After that, the next step is to become a small power itself."

Catch the Wind

Nothing stands still. For instance, this country (if you can talk about countries as if they are one thing) isn't what it used to be. Sometimes it's hard to tell. All you see is what it was, can't quite tell what it is, and certainly don't know what it's gonna be. So there's hope and wonder and a sort of dread all mixed up in that.

So knowing what I know, and having seen what I've seen, I sometimes doubt whether things could work out as well as I sometimes conjure up. Then again, I can sometimes get carried away, and I know for sure that because some things are so bad, that change is in the air, and things could actually be so good. Destiny like a pinball game.

I have to try not to let what I know, get in the way of what is, and what could or will be.

And then what happens happens and then we all decide what happened and what it means - and already we are behind the times just trying to catch the wind.

The Chicago Blues

I grew up in Chicago Land at a time when Chicago Blues was still alive. I mean, it's alive today too. Buddy Guy is still keeping the flame going, but when I was in my late teens and early twenties most of the Chicago originators were still alive. I had a great friend, I'll call him Poppa John who was a lilly-white, red-haired, long drink of water, who was an absolute blues fanatic. He was also an amazing blues harmonica player in his own right. We used to go to clubs all over the city chasing after the blues legends. Sometimes Poppa John even got up and jammed with them too.

Some of the great blues cats we saw include: Willie Dixon, Muddy Waters, Hound Dog Taylor, Howling Wolf, Otis Rush, Koko Taylor, Son Seals, Carey Bell, Furry Lewis, Bukka White, James Cotton, Junior Wells. Also this guy - J.B. Hutto. I caught him at a Wise Fools show. I'll never forget him - he played an old Airline guitar, a crappy Montgomery Wards model (later made famous by Jack White of the White Stripes), he was wearing one those funny hats you see Shriners wear. He was quiet, friendly, but had a sort of other-worldly thing hanging about him.

Anyway, I thought about him this morning and well of course there's a YouTube! Unfortunately, he isn't wearing the hat.

Singing about the Abandoned Ones

Awhile back, I read an article about the broken friendship between Jean Luc Godard and Francois Truffant. I then wrote a blog post about it.

And then, well, surprise, surprise I couldn't let the thing go, or maybe it wouldn't let me go, so yes, I wrote a song about it, which I called "Godard." You can find it over here. Check it out. It's kind of catchy, and also kind of silly, and well, maybe that's why I'm happy with it.

By the way, the cigarette is just a prop. I do not encourage anyone to take up that nasty habit! Stunts your growth, don't you know?! But the hat is another matter altogether. I highly recommend you go out today and buy a hat just like that one!

Hail, Hail Freedonia!

Matt Yglesias kind of sums up the latest twist of the worm in our never-ending, soul destroying, Iraq debacle: "Now our guns are aimed at the Sadrists because they want us to leave. And naturally, we can't leave until we've achieved "victory" defined as killing everyone who wants us to leave."

Got it?

And then there's this from Atrios: "Watching Bush speak you realize he's a really dumb person who thinks everyone in the room is even dumber than he is."

Question: Is it possible these two things are somehow related?

A Thin Line!

Chuck Klosterman writes about music and Pop Culture. He's a funny and perceptive dude. I just read his profile of the speed-metal band Metallica in the wake of their very funny documentary, "Some Kind of Monster," which was made and released a couple of years ago now. The movie is a real hoot. Enjoyable all around. A nice companion piece to "Spinal Tap." My favorite line from Klosterman: "But sometimes the difference between self-actualization and self amusement is less than you think."

New Years Day

"The job of art is to chase away ugliness." - Bono of U2

U2 is so big, so successful, so good, I sometimes just forget about them. I mean, their music is burned deep into my my cells, my chromosomes, my DNA by now. I used to play some of their records - yes, the original vinyl kind - over and over at top volume for years and years.

I'll never forget, I once owned a Pontiac Fiero, probably one of the worst cars ever made, it had a mid-engine design, which meant that if you hit a patch of ice at high speed, it would tend to spin clockwise, it would literally start spinning like a top. It happened to me twice, high speed, on different highways.

Anyway one time the Lovely Carla and I are cruising, we hit a patch of ice on an overpass and nearly careen over onto another highway. Instead we hit the guardrail, hard. And come to a smoking stop on the side of the highway. We were both wearing seat belts which probably saved us. But Carla was literally knocked out (when she came to, she remembered nothing of the accident). Her head had bounced off the passenger side window. I hit the steering wheel, my chest got the worst of it, I was stunned, but with all my faculties in tact.

Anyway, it was one of those times where everything was in slow motion. I could see we were out of control, spinning, hitting, bouncing. We came to a dead stop and the only sound is a buzzing in my head, my synapses crackling, and U2's album "War" is blasting out of the cassette player, the music just washing over us. It was like a movie. Carla is out, I'm stunned, and the music is filling up the universe.

They way I remembered it, the album just played over and over, for hours? Couldn't be right. Until the police came. A cop finally turned the music off. And then our lives started up again.

Global Warming, Evolution and Condoms!

Don't fret Democrats. It's all going to be fine. We've got the Super Delegates coming to the rescue. And there is no Kryptonite in sight. And as Kevin Drum reminds us, we have global warming, evolution, and condoms on our side!

No kidding - the story of our lives!

There's a new book about Roxy Music called "Re-Make/Re-Model."

Here's Andy MacKay talking about the early days of the band:

"We all thought we were doing something different to the end result."

California Dreaming

My favorite sport to watch is basketball. The NBA version. I played the game as a kid, and briefly in high school too. I was kicked off my sophomore team because I wouldn't get a haircut. So it goes.

I usually skip the regular season. 82 games is way too many. I'll keep up on what's going on via the newspaper, but I go out of my way not to watch games on TV. Until playoff time.

My LA friends may be surprised to learn that my favorite team is the LA Lakers. Phil Jackson is my favorite coach of all time. I mean, any time, any sport. I don't think anyone else comes close. Maybe Vince Lombardi? I love Jackson's cannabis-clouded, Zen Master demeanor. Obviously, Jackson left his mark in Chicago. All those championships with Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippin.

Jackson has done another great job this year. He's got Kobe Bryant, the closest thing you can get to Jordan. Kobe is certainly the best player in the NBA today. But what is amazing about Jackson is how he is able to get 15 players all contribute to the cause. The triangle offense is a thing of beauty. Watch the team when Kobe sits down - that's when Jackson's approach shines.

I watched the game between the Lakers and Jazz yesterday. Should be a great series. It was a home game for the Lakers and the joint was rocking. Jack Nicholson got a lot of screen time. He's always court side, grinning like an over-stuffed Cheshire cat. I'd love to sit and chat with that dude.

How come no one ever mentions the other guy sitting right next to Jack? He looks like someone's crazy uncle. That's Lou Adler. Lou is a giant in the music industry - managed Jan and Dean, the Mamas and the Papas, Spirit, Carole King. Plus the dude directed Cheech and Chong's "Up in Smoke," - the stoner movie of stoner movies! Lou is a king. Can you imagine kicking back with those two guys, just chilling? Go Lakers!

Lost Hands and Lost Bands

Big Brown did me in. My Derby tickets turned to confetti. He made it look easy coming from the far outside post. My pick Pyro was lost somewhere in the crowd. The filly Eight Belles broke down.

My trek to the betting parlor in the bowels of the Windy City felt like an anthropological expedition. Early on the red line, there were the Cubs fans, gearing up for a day of beer and baseball. Then at off track betting, it was all wise guys and lone wolves, looking to score.

The big change, No Smoking! There were constant waves of bettors making for the exit to cop a smoke. So at least we were all breathing easy.

I was lost in my own little world of odds and combos. Trying to come up with just the right formula. No luck.

On the way back I read Simon Reynolds "Rip it Up and Start Again" - all about Public Image Limited, Gang of Four, New Order, Joy Division, Echo and the Bunnymen, Rocket from the Tombs, Television, Pere Ubu, Devo - a land of lost hands and lost bands. The promised land.

Strong Finish, Fog

Ah, the life of a broken down horse player. Driving rain and thunderstorms in Kentucky yesterday. Could be a sloppy track for the Derby today, or then again, maybe not. Just another factor to take into account. Is it just arrogance to think that by looking at past performances, by weighing what we think are the relevant, critical factors, we can somehow "dope out" the winning pick?

So, what if there are waves of mud today? From my in-depth studies, only one pony has won on a sloppy track - Visionaire. It happened at Aqueduct in March. 1/16 miles. The grade 3 Gotham. He started out 9th and then somehow finished first by a nose. No more details in the Daily Racing Form because I guess visibility was down to zero. Here is the description of the winner's trip: Strong finish, fog.

Now that sounds like a a way of life too - and of course, it would take a Visionaire to find their way to the finish line in the fog!

The Amazing Karnak!

Tomorrow, the first Saturday in May, means the Kentucky Derby. This is the 134th run for the roses. It's kind of an insane race. I've never actually been there except via the TV or racetrack remote. Usually there's a bunch of real good horses, I mean way too many, tomorrow if there are no scratches, there will be 20 contenders. I don't know if running thoroughbreds is a decadent thing. I don't know if the horses actually like to run or not.

I do know that all the horses running will be on lasix and bute and that's probably not a good thing. It used to be that drugs were not part of the equation, but over the years we've continued to drug up ourselves and everything around us, including perfectly healthy horses. They've been breeding these horses for many, many years, trying to combine speed and stamina, and lots of folks wonder if we've made a much more fragile breed. The track record for the Derby is still held by Secretariat in 1973. Every quarter clocked for Secretariat was actually faster than the last, which is really unique, usually horses go slower the longer they run, Secretariat ACCELERATED!

Anyway, the Derby is also the race that made Hunter S. Thompson's career. His famous dispatch in 1970 from the Derby, propelled him into Pop consciousness, it was his first collaboration with Ralph Steadman, and well, as they say, "the rest is history".

So I just downloaded a free copy of the past performances of the field from the Daily Racing Form (it is amazing what you can get from the net!) and at first glance it all looks like Greek or Egyptian hieroglyphics. There's lots of homework to do. I actually picked the winner in the last two Derbies (Street Sense and Barbaro), but really, that's kind of like tossing heads two times in a row. It just happened!

The horse that really jumps out is Big Brown, he's never lost, he's really fast, great speed figures, kind of likes to run on the front. But he is coming from the far outside, which is a real disadvantage. He will probably be the favorite, but with so many horses you'll still get pretty good odds. Still, I'm thinking I'm gonna take a pass on Big Brown.

Okay, damn the analysis - first thought, best thought --- I'll take Court Vision!

UPDATE: Okay, after my in-depth analysis, I'm changing my pick. There is a new factor to take into account - synthetic dirt! Yes, Virginia, synthetic dirt! It seems some tracks around the country now have a new type of dirt, supposedly designed to be easier on the horses. Not sure if it's all another American boondoggle or what. Since Churchill Downs in Kentucky still has the old regular kind of dirt - I'm going with horses who have won on that type of surface. So forget Court Vision, my picks in this order - 1. Pyro 2. Tale of Ekati 3. Eight Belles. I might throw Big Brown in on some gimmicks too. I like to dance the dance. Of course, I'm not recommending any of these picks to anyone. Gambling is a vice. I just want to be on the record - you know, posterity!

Shine On Dr. Hoffman!

Dr. Albert Hoffman died Tuesday at his "hilltop home" in Basel Switzerland. He was 102 years old. Now that's a ripe old age. Good job Albert. It is fitting that he lived on a hilltop. The good doctor was the man who synthesized the compound lysergic acid diethylamide (from ergot) in 1938. His first trip happened a a couple years later when he inadvertently absorbed some of it through his fingertips. He then intentionally tripped on a bicycle ride home. Must have been quite a bike ride.

I wrote a play a couple of years ago now that featured Albert Hoffman as a sort of mystic force in Pop Culture. Certainly much of the Sixties (and all that came afterwards) as we know it probably would not have been the same without LSD. Would Ken Kesey's "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" ever been written? Would the Beatles "Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band" ever been recorded? Would Jimi Hendrix have worn so many scarves and blasted the radio waves with "Purple Haze?"

It turns out the CIA used LSD as a truth serum and used real people as experimental guinea pigs. Plus the promise of some kind of trippy utopia gave way to burn out and drugged out cul de sacs. There were many drug casualties along the way - think Brian Jones, Syd Barret, Peter Green, Jimi Hendrix - Timothy Leary was the P.T. Barnum of "turn on, tune in and drop out." Was there a continuum from that to Peter Townsend's "teenage wasteland?"

Was one man's transcendence another's dead end?

Anyway this is what kind of grabbed me reading the obit in the NY Times yesterday:

"He (Hoffman) then took LSD hundreds of times, but regarded it as a powerful and potentially dangerous psychotropic drug that demanded respect. More important to him than the pleasures of the psychedelic experience was the drug’s value as a revelatory aid for contemplating and understanding what he saw as humanity’s oneness with nature. That perception, of union, which came to Dr. Hofmann as almost a religious epiphany while still a child, directed much of his personal and professional life.

It was during one of his ambles that he had his epiphany.

“It happened on a May morning — I have forgotten the year — but I can still point to the exact spot where it occurred, on a forest path on Martinsberg above Baden,” he wrote in “LSD: My Problem Child.” “As I strolled through the freshly greened woods filled with bird song and lit up by the morning sun, all at once everything appeared in an uncommonly clear light."

So the great insight (the oneness of the universe) that later John Lennon and George Harrision so famously promoted after they took LSD, came to Albert Hoffman when he was child, long before his first trip. Beautiful. Shine on Dr. Hoffman!