The Big Green House

Fate, up against your will

Something I noticed while watching MTV this weekend… yes, that’s right. Might’ve been MTV2. I wasn’t paying that much attention, frankly. Aren’t you being as little anal about this? I mean, what difference does it really make, in the big scheme of things, which idiotic music video channel we were watching? The point is, it was one of the MTV thingies and not CMT or BET, OK? Now settle down and let me finish my story.

…um…

Oh, yeah. So, when did the New Wave/Post-Punk revival start? (OK, I know, it goes back at least to Elastica in the mid-90s or so, and includes The Strokes and blah de fuckin’ blah. Do you have to be such a pedant? What’s your problem today, anyway?) We saw videos by the following, not necessarily in this order but all within maybe 20 minutes of each other: The Zutons; The Concretes; Franz Ferdinand; Razorlight; and the truly unfortunately-named Dogs Die In Hot Cars. (Yes, dogs do die in hot cars. Babies die in washing machines, too, yet I’d never even think about naming a band after that fact. Please, consider a name change.) None of which sucked outright; I actually like The Concretes’ woozy, bummed-out pop, but I really have to be in the right mood. The others? Meh. Honestly, none of them are really bringing anything new to the table, are they?

Now, I realize that pop culture cannibalizes itself every twenty years, but this is the first time it’s snatched up something from my early adulthood in its bloody maw and started spitting out the sounds of my twenties. It’s an eerie and unsettling experience. You might want to start preparing yourself for the day when the loop catches up with you.

Papa ain't no Santa Claus, and Mama ain't no Christmas tree

Well, as it turns out we didn’t go to either show. Nor, for that matter, did we go see Neko Case, who also played this weekend. Truth be told, neither one of us has been sleeping terribly well of late; it just made more sense to stick around the house and relax a bit. We did manage to build a simple cold frame for the geraniums yesterday, and just in the nick of time, too. It was down below freezing for most of the night, and it’s supposed to do the same tonight.

Not a very interesting post, is it?

By way of redeeming myself, let me say this: If you’re looking for some seasonal music that’s not just the same worn-out thing, you could do much worse than to check out Where Will You Be Christmas Day?, a collection of both sacred and secular Xmas tunes originally recorded  between 1917 – 1959. It runs the gamut from Rev. J.M. Gates’ musical sermon “He Was Born in a Manger” to the hard blues of Leroy Carr’s “Christmas in Jail- Ain’t That A Pain?”. And it’s not just all American material, either – there are a couple of Caribbean numbers, one in Spanish, one in French, a Ukrainian fiddle tune… I like it a lot, but then I’m allergic to, say, this sort of thing. Take that under advisement.

Ice Cream for Crow

Well, I hope y’all are having a fine Thanksgiving. Me? I’m here at work, of course. Not my first choice, believe me, but A) somebody’s gotta do it, and B) I’m getting double time, so that lessens the sting a little.

Science Girl was making the traditional meal while I was getting ready for work. I gotta tell ya, it smelled really good. She’s said she’d bring me a plate around break time, so I’m not missing out. Much.

It’s a slow day here, so basically I’m waiting for dinnertime to roll around. And thinking about food. Being who I am, that got me thinking about songs about eating, food, or with food items in the title. Here’s what I’ve got so far:

Slow news day

I just got a hit from this search, from this ISP.

You’re just lookin’ to get expelled, aren’t you?

Torn between two lovers bands

We have a dilemma. Well, it won’t actually be a dilemma until this Saturday night, so there’s still time to sort things out.

See, here’s the deal: Ozomatli is playing The Showbox this Saturday, with Slow Motion Reign opening. Science Girl and I were flipping channels one weekend recently and came across the episode of Austin City Limits featuring Ozomatli. I’d heard them on the radio, briefly, but this was the first chance I’d had to get a real sense of their sound – a glorious mish-mash of latin, hip-hop, indie rock, and some vaguely middle-eastern undercurrents. We both agreed that we’d like to see them if they came to town. Lo and behold, here they are. (SMR I’ve never heard, nor heard anything about. If you know anything, kindly clue us in.) So far, so good.

Then, this morning, I got an e-mail from SG’s friend Brian. He’s producing a series of shows at The Comet on Saturday nights. This coming Saturday, it’s The Evaporators. Oh, dear. Now you see the dilemma. We already know they put on a wild show. Also on the bill are The Leather Upppers, Head, and Thee Goblins – don’t know anything about them, but if Brian vouches for ‘em, they’re probably OK.

Why does this happen? Why do the music gods torment me so? It’s not bad enough I missed Guided By Voices last week and will miss Mofro this week. (Stupid job! Stupid need to pay bills!)

I suspect we’ll probably end up seeing Ozomatli, simply because we haven’t seen them before. But oh, the agony.

The ones that mother gives you don't do anything at all

Hi. How was your weekend? Our went something like this:

Ragged glory

I have nothing to say at the moment. It’s a shame, because work is pretty quiet tonight. I’m just sitting here with “Like A Hurricane” playing inside my head at maximum volume. I wish I could hear it for real, but my employers and clients probably wouldn’t appreciate that.

Neil Young was very important to me during my last couple of years of high school. I spent the summer of 1977 working for the Youth Conservation Corps; some people there turned me on to him. Many’s the night I lay in bed with my headphones on, listening to Decade and waiting to get sleepy. (I’m not sure why they decided to release that new greatest hits disc, since it’s all on Decade already, aside from “Rockin’ in the Free World” and “Harvest Moon”. Neil does what he wants to do.)

“Like A Hurricane” has stuck with me from the first time I heard it. The lyrics… well, they’re not much. It’s the music, and specifically the solos, that make that song work for me. I’ve never asked her opinion, but I think Science Girl would probably call it wanky. And who knows, maybe it is. To me, though, the guitar work on that cut has always evoked a very real sense of longing, of wanting that which cannot be had. Which would explain it’s appeal to a shy 16-year-old without a girlfriend. Listening to it as an adult (which I do every couple of months – not something I can say for any other music I was deeply into from that time), it’s almost as if Young is telling the story of the end of a relationship with his guitar. Seeing that written out on my monitor, it sounds incredibly dippy, but it’s also the truth. Reading the new Uncut tonight, I found out that that it was recorded on the fly, in one take. Amazing.

October 22, 1978, found me and my friend Lisa (not, sadly, a girlfriend, just a good pal. Where are you now, Lisa Peak?) at the Cow Palace, waiting to see Neil & Crazy Horse. (You can hear that very show on Live Rust. It was also filmed; I haven’t seen it yet, but the DVD of  Rust Never Sleeps is now available, for anyone looking to pick me up an Xmas gift.) I’ve lost track in all the intervening years, but I think that was probably the second or third show I’d seen. I was absolutely floored. It was beyond anything I could have expected, to say the very least. And LOUD. My God, it was loud. The only thing I’ve heard that approximated the volume of that show was seeing Motorhead in a small club.

I kinda lost touch with Neil around the time of Re*act*or and Everybody’s Rockin’, but I still prick up my ears when I hear that he’s got something new coming down the pike. I may not always go for it, but I'm still glad to know he's out there, being Neil.

O holy night

Dave Vanian and Captain Sensible of The Damned have been chosen to switch on the Xmas lights for the city of Cambridge. Apparently, that’s controversial: "It is not appropriate for Christmas," said Reverend Stephen Leeke, of St Martin's Church in Cambridge. "They are a punk rock band with very doubtful lyrics."

Well, I can see where he might not like “Antipope”. Still, they’re just turning on some lights, which would seem to be fairly secular in nature. It’s not like they’d be saying Mass or anything.

Via Boing Boing

They're smoking cigars

Today is Science Girl’s birthday. Yay! Since it’s the middle of the week, we kept it kinda low-key. I did make lunch, though: leftover chicken (actually, Science Girl cooked the chicken last night; I just re-heated it) and mac & cheese from a box. Because nothing is too good for my gal!

Oh relax, we’re going out for dinner on Saturday. Or maybe I’m cooking; she hasn’t made her mind up yet. Either way, the festivities have only begun.

Sorry, ladies, I'm spoken for

How long will we tolerate this travesty? It’s time for the world at large (and People magazine in particular) to acknowledge that I am the Sexiest Man Alive. I, and no other.

What’s that? You doubt me?

Can it be possible?

Take a gander at that fine cartoon of my noble likeness, up there in the left-hand corner of this page. Note the scruffy black hair. (OK, in real life it’s actually dark brown with, um, lotsa grey in it. Just because there’s a little snow on the roof doesn’t mean the Furnace of Love isn’t still burning hot, baby. That’s right.) Gaze into the beady green eyes, like unto a pair of Lesueur peas peas floating in pools of cream of tomato soup. Dig the crazy bags underneath those heavenly orbs; yes, I’m packed and ready to go! Swoon over the Emmett Kelly nose, the lips like cherry-flavored gummi worms, the devil-may-care soul patch (guaranteed to be mostly free of food crumbs and/or vermin). Add to my ragged rugged good looks the sartorial savoir-faire of Curly Howard, the speaking voice of an inebriated Larry Fine, and the grace and tact of Moe Howard, and you will have no choice but to agree: I am the Sexiest Man Alive Or Dead!

Truly, Science Girl is the most fortunate of women.