I can’t decide how to process this one-hundred-percent true statement: “Me & Magdalena”, the best track from Good Times!, the new album from The Monkees, which is ill fitting in a sonic sense but still superior to all the other songs on the album, was written by Ben-Ass Gibbard. I gotta just walk around a bit. It’s bad when all you can smell is burnt toast, right?
So, long story short: I’m handcuffed in the back of a patrol car and the officer puts on the local Classic Rock Radio station. And, being a Tuesday, federal law dictates that it is a Two-fer Tuesday on every Classic Rock Radio station in America.
We’ve been having a friendly conversation, but whenever a song the officer likes comes on, he turns up the radio just a bit. It’s been a mixed bag of rockers and duds, as per Classic Rock Radio usual.
But when the double dose of THE POLICE comes on, he turns it up juuuuust a bit more than usual. Is it because he really likes them? Is it because he knows that this is just some weird mistake and I am cool enough to find the humor in the situation? Regardless, well played, sir. Well played.
They announced a block of Judas Priest right before I left. If they would have played “Breaking The Law”, I have a feeling we would have disturbed the neighbors with the radio and I would have choked to death trying not to laugh.
Me and my partner are in bed. It’s the first night we met. We hit it off instantly because we felt like we didn’t belong in the bar we were in; didn’t belong to cliques, didn’t partake in the stereotypical things that “being gay” sometimes forces you to do to meet people. When I got to his house, I saw he had a nice Kenwood stereo system, big speakers and a five-cd changer. We hadn’t talked much about music, other than the fact that I studied classical music, but when he fired it up for the first time and Out Of The Blue came on, I thought it was a good sign.
Anyway, there we are in bed, sinking into that awesome after-sex sleepiness. I hear the whir and the click of the cd changer engage; what would the Random Music Gods pick for this moment? “Believe”, by Cher.
I didn’t leave. Almost 14 years now. Love is weird.
LAPD is currently looking(and by “looking” I mean “killing random people similar in build, color, or vehicle occupancy”) for Christopher Jordan Dorner, ex cop and psychopath. I say he is a psychopath because of the manifesto he left for the world as a bon voyage to Crazy Island. Especially this part:
“Hanz Zimmer, William Bell, Eric Clapton, BB King, Bob Marley, Sam Cooke, Metallica, Rob Zombie, Nora Jones, Marvin Gaye, Jay-Z, and the King (Louis Armstrong) are musical prodigies.”
Killing people is one thing, but Nora Jones? Hans Zimmer? That shit cray.
This is brilliant; an album made up of words found in a lost spiral notebook.
You should pay a little bit, but you can stream it for free.
Also: the spirit of Buttsex lives. Word, word, Alabama word.
Alicia Keys has told MTV that she’s excited about doing the Star-Spangled Banner “her way” during this year’s Super Bowl. I’ve mentioned my opinion on this sort of thing before. Still, here are a few things I would rather have done in a deep-felt, personal, and unique way:
Paula Deen’s version of a home enema kit
A meth-addicted hummingbird’s version of calm, deep breathing exercises
Alex Jones’ version of “the birds and the bees” talk
The Cowardly Lion’s version of a Brujeria album
Loretta Lynn’s version of a Brujeria album
Garrison Keillor’s version of erotic incest fiction
Tofu’s version of a giraffe femur
Elmo’s version of “Bathtime is Naked Funtime”
Hank Williams Jr.’s version of a Le1f remix
King Kong’s version of a discreet elevator fart
Alicia Keys’ version of another song
This happened, but I don’t care that much about Jerry Cantrell. Also: fuck Nickelback.
But this? For real? Good Lord, guys, you can’t do this to me…