Dear Nico, Your mom usually chastises me for editing too much, so for her sake I’m just gonna write. It is spring again in the place your mom used to live. The oak bark, still soaked black, contrasts with the green-gold of the first leaves all the way up the hill on 170. Even this early a […]
[Please note: this conceit is totally ripped off from the finest minds of the Internet, Every Day Should Be Saturday. Please read them often.]
In our essay, “The Pirate George Advent Calendar: Day Six”, we described the guitar sounds of David Bowie’s “Heroes” as “Adrian Belew squonk.” The guitarist on that song was actually Robert Fripp. We regret the error.
The names of Arthur Brown’s cats were listed as Hesherpuff and Prissyfist in our lifestyles feature, “LSD:ASPCA”. Those are actually the names of the unicorns that live in Brown’s left and right ear, respectively. His cats are named Frank and Beans. We regret the error. Continue reading “Corrections”
Nobody cares about the Grammy Awards, right? Or Tonys, or Ocsars, or Peabodys even? I’m sure these sort of media awards mean something to someone. My true love is music, though, and the Grammys are usually the worst of them all in terms of artistic merit being a factor; yes, Eminiem has an Oscar, but that’s more an exception and not a rule. Not so much for the near farcical Grammys. I’ve given my own awards to some of this year’s nominees. Continue reading “Saluting The 2010 Grammy Nominees”
No one ever said you needed to know the words to sing along with your favorite band, right? Good thing. Because in these three albums I love, the singer doesn’t either. Continue reading “Now Let Me Get Ridiculous Again. . .”
This video started me thinking, so you should watch it first. Go ahead. I’ll wait. HOLY SHIT DO NOT WATCH IT AT WORK. Continue reading “The Angle of Rap’s Dangle”
I’m adding a post that I did on a more depressing website a few years ago, and I’m doing it because I saw some Facebook comments from Henry Runkles recently and thoughts of the man warm my heart. I hope he is doing wonderfully and injecting his great personality into the lives of other young adults like he did mine. Continue reading “CC: Zappa, Frank; Runkles, Henry”
Dear Heineken, Peter Cetera is bullshit, and all the world’s pussy will rot first.
Full disclosure: It is possible for me to be objective in this review, because Brent Miller knows that my dude-love for him transcends what I might have to say about his band, Trashed On Fiction. So, clear your mind of the fact that, through musical and academic endeavors, Brent Miller and I have shared beds across this great nation. In our underwear. And my piss smelled like shrimp. Don’t ask.
I can say, with all integrity intact, that I like Simple Sun. Some of the tunes sound a bit incomplete, and maybe the songs are too few and too different to make a totally cohesive album, but the better songs on the album are truly pleasing. “The Fifteen” adds some good ol’ fashioned squonk to an alt-rock tune. “By The Buried”, a country tune with an occasional chord flourish, is my other favorite. Those songs match the timbre and the temperament of the “Alt-Country” catalog of my collection, so my ears were pretty much prepared for this ep.
Read that last sentence again, because here comes the bad news. Continue reading “Unblissfully Aware”
Eventually the question, “what kind of music do you like?”, comes out of my mouth and into the ears of all of my employees. I can’t help it. When Jim Randall said, “I really like smooth jazz”, I wasn’t sure if he was bullshitting me or not. Nobody really likes smooth jazz. Not even the musicians that play it for the various Muzak outlets. He might have seriously liked it; he told me he liked its relaxing qualities, the same with classical music.
Then he told me that he loved The Beatles. And hated The Beach Boys. Our music conversations really got interesting after that. Continue reading “Remembering Jim Randall”
“Kokomo”, The Beach Boys: