Ping Pong

Our ethically-challenged Prez is in Bejing lecturing the Chinese about human rights. Human Rights? I wonder why this seems incongruous? Bush lecturing anyone on anything is kind of laughable in a totally unfunny way. Is this all just some kind of media driven torture?

I don't have Olympic fever yet. I am interested to see if the air quality of Bejing brings any athletes to their knees. I'm hoping the scrutiny of the world doesn't make one large, up and coming, nationalistic country "lose face." I don't care what any one says, vegetable chop suey is truly a gift to mankind and I'm so glad Ping Pong is a sport of Olympian proportions.

"I Don't Want to Spoil the Party" - Lennon & McCartney

Back to the subject of cover songs. I've been looking for songs for my band WWSP to cover. Not easy. Yesterday I went through the complete Beatles chord book and realized that there is really no song in their catalog worth covering. Nothing worth adding or subtracting. They did those songs so definitely (I mean, definitively!) - there's just no point. I think it's pretty much the same with the Stones and the Who.

I know a few Dylan and Neil Young songs, but I play them mainly for the hell of it, I love their songs so much, it's okay with me if I do them sort of lamely. But our band will not be adding them to our set lists any time soon. I'm on the hunt for some obscure gem that we could give new life.

Anyway, I'd like to add another one of my all-time favorite covers to my previous list. It's Jeff Buckley doing Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." Buckley makes the song his, completely. It's absolutely beautiful. Here's a stunning live version that will make your heart skip a beat.



Now for a contrast. Here's Leonard Cohen doing the same song (he wrote it) on a European TV show sometime in the late sixties or early seventies. Unintentionally (I think) hilarious.

Everything That Happens Will Happen Today

David Byrne and Brian Eno have a new album of music coming out soon. It's called "Everything that Happens will Happen Today." Eno composed the music, David wrote the lyrics and sings. You can download a free track from their work here. It seems like a pretty good deal. Nice song. Easy to download. Free.

Imaginary Chihuahua

I guess I'm like a lighthouse. A beacon for all those lost ships. Or maybe I'm just an easy mark. A sympathetic ear. A kindred spirit. Whatever.

Anyway, it seems the people, the strangely gifted ones, the ones the Lovely Carla affectionately refers to as "the nut jobs," are always attracted to me. I could be standing in a crowd and they will zoom in right on me. Pick me out of the herd. Maybe I look like the weak one. Easily devoured.

I guess I sometimes like the feeling of camaraderie. Maybe they will impart some kind of wack wisdom. The Lovely Carla tells me there's no telling where the answers may lie.

Yesterday, one them came up to me on the Red Line train and started up a long rambling rant. I listened, nodded. Acted as if every word was a pearl.

The gifted one, the nut job, looked down at my shoes and then this came out: "You should get a chihuahua. You need a chihuahua. There's all that blood around your shoes. You need protection. Get a chihuahua."

Blood? I looked at my old running shoes. They were kind of ragged, torn and frayed. But no blood.

I de-trained thinking something important just happened.

There's blood and then there's blood. We could be talking about another dimension, another realm. And if there's imaginary, invisible blood, well what's wrong with an imaginary, invisible chihuahua?

Maybe I'll call him Ray...

Mind is a Battlefield - Who Wins?

I heard this story on the radio over the weekend about epilepsy patients who for some reason had their brains severed into two parts. It was some kind wack experiment.

At first, no one noticed any obvious effects. Then it became clear that the two hemispheres of the brain were actually in conflict. A patient would open a book to read, and then they'd slam the book shut. One side of the brain wanted to read, the other didn't.

The conclusion was that this kind of conflict is always with us. But a normally functioning brain is able to sort of referee the conflict between the two hemispheres. Now as I write this, I think, "Did I really hear this story on the radio over the weekend?"

One side of my brain says "Yes you did." The other says, "This is total B. S. you are conjuring a tale!"

I could probably Google it - and in fact one hemisphere is lobbying to Google it right now, the other is saying "Forget it. Get yourself another cup of coffee and move along."

I opt for the coffee.

Does this explain that bi-polar phenomenon everyone talks about? Maybe, maybe not. Is there a pattern here or is everything disconnected?

Yes, no, whatever, nevermind.

A Song

When I first saw this guy, on Austin City Limits, I just thought he was the long time missing member of the Band. He sort of looks like Richard Manuel or Rick Danko. I'm thinking he would have fit right in at that old house in Woodstock, Big Pink.

Anway, Ray, just reminds us that it comes down to a song. A voice, a guitar, a song. It's kind of eternal. Men and women will come and go. Songs will come to us and fade away.

But sitting down with an instrument and expressing something alive will be with us even on the day the sun burns out, or the planet spins out of orbit, or whatever big time fate awaits us.

Dreaming of Iceland

August. The dog days. I'm dreaming of Iceland. Our little air conditioner is over-matched. Friday afternoon, how to beat the heat?

I end up over at the coffeehouse, with an iced coffee, sitting in the shade in the sidewalk cafe out front, strumming my guitar with another player, an old-timer named John. John is 67 but you'd never guess it, his Chinese Leopard tattoo, bright colors, fine detail, is just a little over a year old, and his little silver ear-ring flags him as a hipster of the first degree. John is not an old guy.

John has a dog named Homer and he sits quietly at John's feet. If someone told me Homer wrote the Iliad and the Odyssey I wouldn't be surprised. Homer is a totally mellow, supremely dignified little critter. He doesn't call much attention to himself. He looks at you with those bright, world-weary brown eyes and tells you with his self-contained silence that he has seen it all.

John has brought a pile of songs with him. Most of them are written by Johnny Cash, but there are a bunch of songs by Hank Williams, June Carter, Waylon Jennings, The Kingston Trio, Bob Wills too. Most of them are in the key of E or C. All major chords. The lyrics are specific and funny, and all so human.

These songs, even if you took each page and burned every one, or took every recording and tossed them in the ocean, these songs would live. They are burned into us. This folk music, these country and western tunes, these funny sounding songs are inside us. John does most of the singing, he sings low, kind of whispering to the strings, his voice is kind of sweet. Not at all what you think would come from this gruff dude.

We play for a couple of hours. I mean it seems like we're sitting for a few minutes and later I look at my cell phone and realize the afternoon has flown the coop.

"Now I taught the weeping willow how to cry, cry, cry
And I showed the clouds how to cover up a clear blue sky.
And the tears that I cried for that woman are gonna flood you Big River.
Then I'm gonna sit right here until I die." - from Big River by Johhny Cash

Anywhere in Albion

Hey I read newspapers. And in the papers, this guy over in England, Peter Doherty is just a wreck. Always being picked up for drugs. In and out of rehab. Hanging out with Supermodels. The same old hum-drum cliche rock and roll story. Blah, blah, blah.

Doherty used to be in a band called the Libertines, (they were and are quite good) and now he fronts a band called Babyshambles. What I didn't know is that Doherty is quite the lyrical singer-songwriter. He may be a wreck, but he's got an undefinable something. Nice voice, a doomy, poetic sensibility. Here's a beautiful song called "Albion." I kind of like the way the guitar goes badly out of tune at the end of the song, I like the rough edges. Nice.

"We'll go to Bedtown, Oldham, Nunthorpe, Rowlam, Bristol Aaa-nywhere in Albion Anywhere in Albion Anywhere in Albion Anywhere in Albion Anywhere in Albion..."

Al Gore does the only thing left to do! Godspeed Kal-Al!

Yes, it was inevitable...

Crooked Timber

It is Wednesday. Who says I can't quote Kant? Actually no one. dumps or sunny do not seem to care either way. So I can quote Kant. Can't I?

"Out of the crooked timber of humanity, nothing straight was ever made." - I. Kant

For a good example of what old Immie was talking about, check out Godinla's "The White Hat."

Beware the straight shooter, beware still waters, beware the holier than thou brigades. We are made of angles and shadows. Dig it, my crookedly, non-straight brothers and sisters.

Next Time You are at the News Stand

Remember:

"Rock 'n roll magazines are written about people who can't talk by people who can't write for people who can't read." - Frank Zappa

Kool Thing

In this alternate universe (not far away) there is this guy Obama who is too cool, too tall, too smiley, too intelligent, too articulate. His speeches are just too damn good. He seems to have a bunch of too good answers to all our crazy ass problems. People seem to like him way too much. Everywhere he goes people really respond way too enthusiastically.

It's all just so unfair. Everywhere he goes he comes across as some kind of great man or something. He's starting to make people uncomfortable. I mean, that's not the kind of guy America usually has in mind for the top job.

Folks start to wonder, do we really want someone who is smarter, more charismatic, more together than the next guy? Is that really what we want for America? Is that patriotic?

Is he gonna explain himself? Can he defend his actions? How is he gonna answer for this? Thank god we have the media gods working hard to bring this guy back to reality. His campaign is just way too good, the media seems totally bummed out.

Maybe he could put on a couple of more pounds? Smile a little less? Dumb down his speeches a little? Promise to conduct more, bloody pointless foreign conflicts? Be a little more close-minded and cranky? Start chewing tobacco? Act a little older? Pretend to have a limp? Something!?!

By the way, apropos of nothing, here's Sonic Youth playing their would-be hit Kool Thing:

"The red light was my mind..." - R. Johnson

Robert Johnson never wore glitter and spangly pants. He didn't have the silver or the gold. He never played Madison Square Garden. He did not have a long and successful career.

He may or may not have met the Devil down at the crossroads. He did somehow learn to play blues guitar like a demon from another realm. He did record a couple handfuls of blues tunes.

He died early, some say, poisoned by a jealous husband.

Anyway, Johnson not only left us with an extraordinary catalog of tunes. He inspired generations of guitar players and singers. These people are not "shredders." They are not overly concerned with technique. They are people searching for that elusive quality we call "soul." They all revered "the blues," and many of them, no matter where they came from, found something in Johnson's work that took them to a place they never knew existed.

Or maybe they just found a human place.

They are musicians and singers like Keith Richards, Mick Jagger, Eric Clapton, Mick Taylor, Jimi Hendrix, Bob Dylan, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Peter Green, Mike Bloomfield, Jimmy Page, Johnny Winter, Buddy Guy and Duane Allman.

Here's Mick Jagger and company from 1972 performing Johnson's "Love In Vain." It's one of my favorite blues songs of all time, brought to you by a band of boys from London. It's a perfect example of how music binds us. A slow blues. No blistering scales. Beautifully rendered. The spangles and glitter don't really get in the way. I'm thinking Robert Johnson wouldn't have minded at all.

Shredders

If you play guitar and read guitar magazines like I do, you are aware of shredding, shredders, those who shred. It's a weird sub-genre of guitar world lust. Shredders are guitar players who play guitar scales very, very fast. Almost super-human fast. It isn't the most musical thing in the world to witness. In fact, I think much of shredding is un-listen-able, but maybe that's just me.

Shredding is an example of taking technique to an extreme where music (and melody, and passion, and soul) becomes almost beside the point. Still there is something fascinating about the whole thing. And if you watch shredders you will be amazed at how fast and accurate these guys (yes, it's mainly a guy thing) fingers fly across a fret-board.

It's kind of like the fascination you might have for someone who can juggle, or spin plates, or do a back flip, or lift a car, or eat more than 50 hot-dogs in one sitting. There is the physical-ness of the whole thing, the concentration, the hours of practice, the discipline, and then the result almost looks otherworldly. Plus many of the most famous shredders are just over the top weird dudes.

Some people attribute the whole shredding thing to Eddie Van Halen, he being one of the first players to just take technique over the top, playing like no one else before him. Two of my favorite examples are Yngwie Malmsteen and Buckethead.

Here is Yngwie (this is his real name) doing "Arpeggios From Hell!"



And here's Buckethead (hat tip to my L.A. Angels Kris and Noel for turning me onto this guy!) who wears a mask and a KFC bucket on his head. I own one of his discs called "Colma" which is actually quite stately and beautiful. Here he starts out pretty mellow and ends a little shred-like - it's actually not a very good example of shredding but it gives you an idea of how good Buckethead plays.

Buckethead is the kind of character you meet in the world of shred. And really this guy has the whole celebrity thing knocked. No one knows who lives beneath the mask (Brian Carroll). He speaks only thru a sock puppet. And he plays guitar like a super-hero. I'm thinking there's a lesson in there for us all, but I'm not sure what it is.

Citizen of the World

Now that's more like it. An American in Berlin. Proclaiming a shared responsibility. Stunning. I don't want to totally blow it all out of proportion, (although I'm gonna do just that!), but for me this has great resonance. When Barack Obama stands in front of 200,000 cheering Berliners and declares that he is a "citizen of the world," it makes me think - "right man, right time."

I do think he's riding a wave. It's bigger than him. Bigger than us.

It is not "Change we can believe in," it is "Change we desperately need - NOW!"

Kind of makes me think of John, Paul, George and Ringo getting off that plane in New York for the first time. Or Michael Jordan lacing up his Air Jordans and getting ready to take the court in Chicago for the first time. Or Madonna appearing in one of her first provocative music videos. Or Nelson Mandela walking out of prison and into the Presidential suite in South Africa. Or Jimi Hendrix strapping on his white Strat and taking the stage at Monterey.

Or really, it's not like any of the above.

Just one of those moments where it all crystalizes. A new moment unlike the one before it. And then everything is different.

Non-scientific causal reasoning

And then when all else fails, one must turn to magical thinking.

Confidence Games

Hey, here's an easy game you can play. It's called Lie or No Lie. Just turn on your radio or TV. Or go out and about on your daily rounds. Listen carefully to the words spoken either to you, or to others. Then silently ask yourself - "lie or no lie?" You may be surprised by the results. Repeat and enjoy.

Be Like the Worm

One of the things that came out of our soul-searching weekend (see previous post) was a long rambling discussion of worms. Our friend Masha works at a greenhouse and worm farm where worms do the work of transforming garbage into "rich, dark, earth-smelling soil conditioner." The Lovely Carla is just itching to start a worm composting system at our lovely abode. The Lovely Melissa has one going in her place in Queens (I was unable to locate her post on the subject).

Since humans produce garbage at an alarming rate, I do believe worms could be the next IPOD!

We need to be like the worm - take the things of the world into ourselves and transform them. To bring something inside of us, submit to it, surround it, engulf it, and by doing so, change it, turning the garbage of the world into gold (or in this particular case worm shit, which is the same thing!). I know, the worm output seems so lowly, so worthless, but in fact it is an essential step forward in a new cycle of life, birth, creation.

Now that's amazing!

So yes, Shakespeare talked about Conqueror Worm - to the worm, the pauper, the king, are the same. I think we have a visceral dislike of worms because we know that if and when we are planted in the ground, we too will be food for the worms. But take heart dear Pilgrim, being consumed by worms is just the first step in our next evolution. Traveling through the guts of a worm is like going through a WORMHOLE! We enter as one thing, and exit as another thing. Life after death Sweet Thing!

And that's how we conquer time! So it's time to embrace the worm, to be like the worm. They aren't just worms, they are little elongated doorways to new worlds!

The Sensitive Kind

Hard times. The last eight years, just to take a slice, have been hard. For all of us. Planet-wise. War is in the air, even if it doesn't live on your street. Torture is in the air, even if it isn't happening to you. There is hunger, disease and poverty. A world of suffering. And we are more connected than ever, or at least, one can choose to be more aware of the world then ever before. So if you are aware, there is so much more pain to absorb. Kind of overwhelming.

Then there's the planet-wide crisis of disappearing species, changing climate, ice melting, the world heating up, human populations exploding, pollution and garbage filling up the air, water, land. The problems just seem so damn enormous. I guess we can choose to tune out. But that seems the coward's way. How to be aware, how to live a good life, how to enjoy the moment, knowing all that we know?

Maybe that has always been the trick.

We spent the weekend with some really cool artist friends. People who paint paintings, make pottery, make music, make theater. These are all intelligent, perceptive, sensitive people. They are aware of the world, they are alive, engaged, they can see the world is in pain, and it hurts. They want to help. They want to do good work. They want to make a difference.

And that is some kind of answer in itself. These are the folks that can change the world. Just by being who they are. They are just like all of us. Or they are like the best of us, those who haven't succumbed to the numbness. Those who haven't embraced the stupidity, those who refuse to utter those deadly words: "I don't care."

If there is a way of out the pain and darkness, it's gonna be one small step at a time. Planet a garden. Start a worm farm for composting. Create a work of beauty. Smile. Reach out to the person next to you. Write a song. Put on a puppet show. Be alive, be aware, be positive. That alone is a powerful choice that can inspire others too.

If we are to be saved, maybe it will be the worms,the algae, the mushrooms that will help us do it. The meek and humble will assert themselves, in simple organic ways. I know so many cool, engaged, artistic, sensitive people. They keep me going. They inspire and I want to inspire too.

The problems seem so enormous, the solutions seems so little, puny, paltry. That is an illusion. We can remake the world one smile, one good work at a time. I'm sure of it.

"Happiness can make you cry..." - W. Coyne

Of all the great bands out there today in the r&r firmament, one of the best and most improbable has to be the Flaming Lips. These guys started out in the early 80's as a pretty raw and punk-ish band from Oklahoma. They are funny and creative, true American originals. When they steal, they steal from the best too. They have evolved over the years with various lineups. What they are today is quite remarkable.

Wayne Coyne is just one of the most like-able, quirky singer/lyricists out there. Wayne is a r&r wise man, a showman, a shaman in a shiny suit. Now that is rare. And Steven Drodz (who sometimes plays ALL the instruments in the Studio) is some kind of musical genius. Their last three or four records are just freaking amazing. Here is one of their best songs off of "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots." Beautiful.

Written on Wet Cocktail Napkins

I miss Warren Zevon.

One Big Show

Some days it's all nails and thorns. And then there are days where everything is sunshine and rainbows. I had a great day yesterday - business was clicking, the creative juices were flowing. Everything seemed to be in it's place. Late in the day, I was out and about in the big city. I found myself sitting on a bench waiting for the Damen bus in the middle of Wicker Park, and it was like suddenly the Universe conspired to entertain me.

The whole shooting match was one big show, just for me.

It was a hot, muggy, July afternoon, but for some reason I was cool and chipper. I was forced to sit down and pay attention. A stream of cars and bikes and people walking down the avenue. The Human Parade. So much energy, so many variations on a theme. I just kind of took it all in. I was an energy attractor, an energy concentrator.

The bus finally came and it whisked me off to another part of the thriving metropolis. I ended up at Silivies Lounge, one of my favorite haunts. A strangely laid out little tavern with a pretty nice sound system all set up for me and my cohorts in the Telepaths (minus our drummer). We played an "unplugged" set of tunes. We could actually hear each other - three voices, two acoustic guitars. I debuted a cover of Neil Young's "Roll Another Number." I dedicated it to Harold and Kumar.

I had some flubs, I broke a string - you know, my highs are high, my lows are low, that is just me. I was so happy to see the sound guys watching us and cheering us on. Now that's a nice tribute. Those guys see everything.

I capped off the evening with a nice cold Stella Artois. If there is a heaven, that's where that particular beverage is brewed.

2018!

Al Gore's Moon Shot. This is oh so necessary. No one has been talking the talk on this one. At least Al Gore, Man Who Would Be President, lays down a marker.

This is a tremendous challenge for the human race.* First, we need to get our heads around the concept of thinking as human beings first - with a common purpose. If we do nothing it seems clear we will kill this lovely little planet - we will burn up - the end of the world will be fire and flood and probably a rain of angry frogs too.

So yes, a decades worth of effort led to Neil Armstrong playing golf on that desolate rock up in space. We did it! Now how about taking care of business here? Seems like a much more worthy goal. Plus the alternative really, really sucks.

*Lately I've seen first hand how thinking about energy has changed dramatically. It's kind of like suddenly the fish started to notice the water in the aquarium. There is a tremendous market of innovation ready to emerge. The forward thinkers are there already.

Playing into the Ignorance

Yeah, David Remnick and the New Yorker have got to be freaking kidding...

I mean, even if they were, sorry, not fucking funny. Nothing like playing right into the ignorance...

For some great commentary check out Who Got the Gravy and Atrios...

M.I.A. Redux

I am totally infatuated. Or is it captivated? Head over heels? Whapped upside the head?

M.I.A. is my latest musical obsession. This is quite a feat because usually to get my attention I need to hear some cool guitar stylings in the mix.

Not required here my friends.

Here's another great M.I.A. video called "Jimmy." Or is it "Jimi?"

I'm wondering is she singing about dumps or sunny? OK, who am I kidding? It is sunny for sure.

Favorite Covers

My favorite Radiantly Militant, NY Librarian, Melissa blogs about her picks for great cover songs and tosses me the gauntlet. I love her choices, especially the Cowboy Junkies version of "Sweet Jane." The Cowboys kind of made that Velvets classic their own.

There are so many great covers to consider, Janis Joplin doing Kris Kristofferson's "Me and Bobbie McGee." The Who's version of Mose Allison's "Young Man Blues."  Elvis Costello's version of Nick Lowe's "What's So Funny About Peace, Love and Understanding." Ike and Tina Turner's sizzling version of John Fogarty's "Proud Mary."  

Anyway, here's my stab at four great covers with my trenchant commentary:

1. Joe Cocker's version of the Beatles "With a Little Help from My Friends." This was kind of a throwaway for Ringo on Sgt. Peppers. Cocker channels the great Ray Charles on this spittle-flinging version at Woodstock. It's a classic example of taking a song and making it something else. VP Spiro Agnew thought it was all about the illicit drugs - and maybe he was right.

The Beatles were big fans of Motown but when they tried to emulate that sound it came out as what Paul McCartney dubbed "Rubber Soul." Joe is all grit, spit, blood and beer. The music hall meets some kind of gospel apotheosis.  By the way, Jimmy Page plays lead guitar on Cocker's studio version of the song.

This YouTube is captioned so you can see Joe actually re-wrote the lyrics. Who knew? No wonder I always loved his version best. Hat Tip to my favorite L.A. Artist/Clairvoyant Kris for alerting me to this closed captioned version.



2. Patti Smith's cover of Van Morrison's "Gloria." Patti adds some of her own lyrics.   You can't keep a good poet down! Her version starts with maybe the greatest first line ever written in a rock song: "Jesus died for somebody's sins, but not mine." 2000 years of bible-thumping up in smoke. Certainly for me 7 years of indoctrination at St. Joseph's couldn't hold a candle to the burning flames of unbridled rock and roll ecstasy. Lenny Kaye's trashy, garage punk guitar is a weapon of mass destruction.

This clip is from a film called the Blank Generation. The images and words don't match up but it's all in glorious black and white, so what the heck. Nice shots of a young gum-chewing, leather-jacketed Smith. 



3. Bob Dylan wrote a powerful little song for Sam Peckinpah's excellent outlaw epic, "Pat Garret and Billy the Kid," called "Knocking on Heaven's Door." You must check out the movie just to see Slim Pickens walking out to a little lake with a bullet in his gut, breathing his last, to the strains of Dylan's superb, understated masterpiece.

This cover version by Guns and Roses at the Freddie Mercury tribute basically takes that delicate little song and murders it. They make it into a great big arena sing a long - about giving up the ghost! There is something exhilarating about it all. Slash rips off one his best lyrical guitar solos, wielding his double-barreled Gibson guitar like a howitzer. There's a bank of Marshall stacks cranked to 11, Axl Rose with his bandana wrapped just a little too tight, the hot spandex-clad backup singers shaking and shimmying. A stadium full of crazed rock and roll fans going berserk. Rock and Roll Theater.



4. And my last pick is Joe Strummer singing Bob Marley's "Redemption Song." This clip is from Julien Temple's BioPic about Strummer "The Future is Unwritten."

This is it. Really. Nothing else to say...

Hell Boy The Golden Army is the Shit

The Super Hero Scorecard:  

Spider Man (1,2,3) - don't think so.  

Batman -  lost interest long ago.  

Superman - those silly red shorts just don't cut it. 

The Hulk - boring!  

Fantastic Four - missed it!  

Iron Man - anything with Robert Downey Jr. can't be all bad.  

Hellboy - Hell Yes!  This is my guy.  The new one is pretty good.  He's big, he's red, he's confident, he wants to be loved.  Drinks Tecate.  Loves candy bars and TV.  Shaves his horns. He and his buddies are paranormals - beyond normal.  And that is something we can all relate to.  I don't know exactly why I love Hellboy, (maybe it's because he keeps a guitar next to his bed.) Anyway, I just do.

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!