Nite Owlz All Night Blog Spot

Coffee Grinds #7: Gingerbread-Peppermint-Eggnog Twist Flavored Grinds - YUM!

2011-12-21T18:10:00.000-05:00

Some seasonal scrapings from the burnt bottom of our coffee pots. Enjoy!

• Please, please stop trying to give old Christmas carols "hip" and "cutting edge" arrangements. I'm not a purist, it just sounds like crap and never works.

• I'm really tired of indie bands all trying to look like lumberjacks. DUDE. You play a mandolin and you sing about tea cups. You're NOT a lumberjack.

• Q: What' determines if a song is considered "dated" or "definitely of its time"?
A: Whether the person you ask likes the song.

• Definition of frustration: When you go to buy a personalized keychain or mug, and they have every name under the sun, even the oddball ones, but they don't have yours. "What? They have Glenniford and Glenncort but they don't have Glenn??? What the HELL!"

• Most people believe their intelligence is "above average," which is a statistical impossibility. Also, smart elitists annoy me because I keep thinking that, metaphorically speaking, even the smartest ant on the anthill is still pretty freakin' stupid.

• Last night, my seat on the bus was broken and wouldn't recline, so I asked the bus driver to "pop-a-wheelie" the whole way home.

• Never listen to mean-spirited critics. Most of them have no vision to speak of, and since they can't see yours, they only want to tear it down.

• Dear TV and internet: Please stop asking for my "comments" or "feedback" and acting like you care what I think just because some marketing guru told you that you need to be more "interactive" in the era of social networking. You don't care what we think; I don't care what I think; and I CERTAINLY don't care what Joe Blow down the street thinks.

• Definition of irony: Michele Bachman said she wanted to return "character" to the White House. When asked twice (TWICE!) if she meant to suggest that President Obama lacks character she dodged the question while basically insisting she's a straight shooter of character who "says what she means." Okay, so if you're such a straight shooter who "says what she means" why the hell doesn't she ANSWER THE QUESTION?

• Which reminds me, candidates constantly saying that "people are sick of politics as usual" IS politics as usual.

• 2012 is almost here. Hey Def Leppard! That "Armageddon It" song ain't SO FUNNY NOW is it? IS IT?!?!?!?

Going My Way? We're All Going the Same Way...

2011-12-15T18:10:00.000-05:00

Here's the Skye vocal mix of Glenn Page's tune, "Life Goes Past." It's a bit different from the previous versions, and I think the overall mix is a bit better. Let us know what you think!

Imagine...

2011-12-13T18:18:00.001-05:00

Somewhere, in an alternate universe, The Beatles stuck it out for one more album. They spent all of 1970 recording, and in 1971 they released the album "Far From the Tree" with this disjointed, but excellent, track listing...

Side 1

1. What Is Life?

2. Jealous Guy

3. It Don't Come Easy

4. Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey

5. My Sweet Lord

Side 2

1. Maybe I'm Amazed

2. Imagine

3. Mother

4. Isn't It a Pity?

5. Photograph

6. Happy Xmas (War Is Over)

... JUST IMAGINE!!!

"Life Goes Past" - Glenn Vocal

2011-10-31T18:04:00.001-04:00

I'm Surprised if These Don't Exist

2011-10-26T18:12:00.001-04:00

Here's a list of things I made up without checking on the internet. If most of them don't exist somewhere in some form, I'd be very surprised. Some of them I think should exist, if they don't already. Some of them are probably just pretty bad ideas all around.

* A retro 80's metal band called "Snake Oil."

* A cheap knock-off of Eternity Perfume named "A Really Long Time."

* A super-hot hot sauce called "Tongue DEPRESS-er"

* A brand of flat soda sold in an 8 oz. can called "A-Cup"

* A skinhead punk band named "Extreme Prejudice."

* A brand of condoms named "Carrier Barriers."

* A brand of shaving razors called "WHOA! That was CLOSE!"

* A super-caffeinated beverage for students staying up all night to study called "Cram!"

* A comic book about a former member of the military who becomes a superhero and fights for justice using the moniker "Colonel of Truth"

* A series of buttons above your car stereo which, when pushed, dispenses all kinds of snacks and hot or cold beverages in the area by your armrest. It's called "Dashboard Concession-ALL"

* A "deliciously addictive" sugary breakfast cereal named "Crack of Dawn!"

You're a Poet, and You Didn't Even Realize It!

2011-09-29T18:19:00.003-04:00

Have you ever stopped and thought about the way certain words - ones with no apparent etymological connection or shared background - sometimes end up in close proximity to each other over and over mainly due to the fact they just happen to rhyme and both relate to some shared aspect of our experience? I don't mean words that share a root word or words like biology and anthropology which are both fields of study ending in "ology."

I'm talking about words which rhyme AND, through fate or luck or chance, relate closely to the same concept. Pairs like "danger" with 'stranger" (the former is something the latter is likely to be); "float" with "boat" (the latter hopefully does the former); "fire" with "desire" (the latter can rage out of control like the former); and "pestering whore" with "festering sore." (Well, you get the idea.)

What happy accidents these were! How serendipity! No one ever set out - as far as we know - with the intention that vessels that travel on water would rhyme with the thing they need to do. It just worked out that way! And it gave rise to sayings like, "Whatever floats your boat!" I find that pretty damn interesting, myself. Of course, if somehow boats had come to be called "borts" or something like that, we wouldn't have that nifty expression. We'd have to find some other expression to fit the thought, maybe with totally different objects. Or maybe we'd find a different word to rhyme, like "whatever supports your borts!" Similarly, we might use our alternate words for expressions that didn't have (readily apparent) rhymes before. A simple saying like "Ships are safe in harbor," for example, could easily be supplanted with something along the lines of "Keep borts in ports."

Think about how different music would have been if the word for "heart" was "heet"! Instead of "start" and "apart," every damn song would have rhymes like "sweet," "beat" and "when we meet." Obviously, this would become just as annoying as all the "apart" and "start" songs, but I like to imagine these alternate scenarios. Actually, you don't have to imagine - it seems reasonable to assume that different languages have given rise to different cliched rhyming couplets.

What if the English word for "heart" was "orange"???!!! Then what would we do?!! Would we all suddenly turn into Rush and only write about stuff like free will and Tom Sawyer and "AWWWW salesman!" because nothing freakin' rhymes with "heart"? Even Rush would have to change their song to "Closer to the Orange," and that just doesn't have the same ring to it. As it is, we only get two ordinary words that rhyme comfortably with "love" ("glove" and "above"), so we can't really afford to lose "heart" too!

It's also interesting how certain eras bore certain rhyming expressions. For example, no one in the 1800's would have said, "Be cool, stay in school!" because "cool" had not come to be regularly used that way until well into the 1900's. But once it DID happen, we got really COOL rhymes like, "Be cool, fool!" and "Cool is the rule!" Back in the 1800's (if people even cared about rhyming phrases in everyday parlance) we probably had to say stuff like, "Verily, act merrily!" and, man, that's just not cool. Maybe people had to say things like, "Stay temperate, always be a gent" and that's kind of lame. Plus, it's not a very good rhyme.

Thank god someone started using "cool" as a slang word! Do you think he (or she) stopped to think about all the potential rhymes 'cool" would spawn? Maybe he was leaning toward "icy" instead of "cool" but his more forward-thinking buddy said, "Hey, I rule, you drool, so use 'COOL' instead of 'ICY'!" This guy was so prescient that "cool" even rhymes well with slang no one could have anticipated, like "tool" as a pejorative term! Or maybe the person who pioneered the use of "tool" as an insult was equally rhyme-conscious? Either way, how lucky we were to have these amateur Frosts in our midst.

What does this all mean? Not much, I suppose. It's just intriguing how the cosmos played out with regards to language and how easily things could have been different. A little something to chew on the next time Bon Jovi rhymes "fight" with "right" for (seemingly) the one trillionth time.

Later, amphibious reptiles.

Life Goes Past...

2011-09-26T15:22:00.000-04:00

American Songwriter Magazine Honorable Mention

2011-08-29T14:33:00.002-04:00

Glenn Page is pleased to announce that "My Life in Pictures" won an honorable mention in the September/October issue of American Songwriter Magazine's Amatuer Lyricist contest. This is something they run every other month and we're told they get tons of entries, so let's all congratulate Glenn on his accomplishment! Here are the chosen lyrics:

My Life in Pictures

Verse 1:
I saw your face in a picture frame
Turned around and the scene had changed
One fleeting vision come and gone
I boxed you in and tried to make it last
Spent my days living in the past
Why can’t this river be a pond

Where water portrays an image so clear
Untouched by the waves unbroken by tears

Chorus:
My life In pictures
That's where I long to be
Everything’s perfect
And nothing ever dies
My life in pictures
I'm watching the scenery
And somehow it’s worth it
‘Cause you never say goodbye
Oh, but this ain’t the way I pictured My life

Verse 2
Holding on to a photograph
Wondering what it was that made you laugh
Was it derision? I don’t mind
‘Cause in my head I told a joke
Made you smile with the words I spoke
And we went walking for awhile

Oh, then you took my hand and said you would stay
I can almost believe it happened that way

(Repeat chorus)

Bridge:
They say a picture’s worth a thousand words
Sometimes the words aren’t really true
And even though the camera doesn’t lie
Why’s it telling me / I belong with you?

(Repeat Chorus)

This ain’t the way that I pictured our life

Lyrics Copyright 2008 by Glenn Page

Check out more from Glenn here!

Grinds, #1: The Transparent Bid to Boost Sales with a Pointless Reboot and a Snappier, Shorter, "Cooler" Name

2011-08-25T18:10:00.005-04:00

* I want a car that's shaped like a blue triangle - so it'll match the little pointer thing on my GPS.

* Speaking of the GPS, when it hasn't been updated and it doesn't know there's a road where I'm driving, I like to look at the little arrow spinning around on a black screen and pretend I'm either (a) 4-wheeling though the woods while campers scream and run for their lives, or (b) on a lost spaceship travelling through the negative zone where there are no stars for millions of light years.

* Newsflash: After issuing a statement that this month's cover photo of Michele Bachmann is not unflattering, Newsweek released a sneak preview of next week's cover, which seems to feature an ailing Alan Greenspan. Oops, sorry, it's Heidi Klum.

* I'm glad that no one has those "baby on board" signs in their car windows anymore. Now I can slam into people with gleeful abandon safe in the knowledge that no infants will be harmed.

* You know things are getting out of hand when Woody Allen movies start getting released in Imax 3-D.

* My plan as a musician is not to create anything meaningful or lasting or important; my plan is that 25 years from now a sudden surge of random nostalgia will kick in and everyone will think I'm alot better than I am, just because they heard me while out on their first date or the first time they made french toast or something. THEN I'll cash in on the never-ending parade of boxsets and deluxe remasters!

* I'm angry, because the salesman SAID he was selling me the whole kit and kaboodle, but when I got home I discovered it was only the whole sha-bang. At least it wasn't the whole 9 yards, then I would have been really mad. Especially since I was buying rulers.

* Saw a commercial this morning in which 2 cheerleaders (via bad special effects) literally catapult a third cheerleader over an orbiting space shuttle! A tiny disclaimer at the bottom said - I'm not lying - "Do not attempt." Thank god they stopped me. ‎"I think we can make it this time guys... if we try just a LITTLE HARDER... here we GO... HUMMMMMMMMMMMMPH!!!!! Ah, damn. Still a few million miles short."

* Here's a game I never understood: Flashlight tag. How do you win? I don't think Carl Lewis in his prime could have done it. "HA HA! I GOTCHA!" "Aw, sh*t! I couldn't outrun a beam of light... I suck!"

Summer Hiatus: An Original Joke

2011-08-04T15:40:00.000-04:00

"Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

"Doorbell repairman."

Instrumental Dance Version of "The Face"

2011-07-19T18:07:00.000-04:00

Coffee Grinds Part 5: A New Beginning (More Random Gunk Scraped from Our Coffee Pots)

2011-06-27T09:52:00.000-04:00

* My idea for a detective show: A mother who has a hit cooking program and her chef daughter who runs a restaurant get involved in murder cases and decide to open a detective agency on the side - It's called "Hard Boiled." (as in "hard boiled detectives.") Okay, it's not the best.

* Aren't you tired of people walking around at work with (just) t-shirts, shorts, sneakers and no socks? Okay, I dress "casual," but there's a difference between "casual" and DRESSED LIKE YOU'RE GOING TO A GODDAMN PHISH CONCERT.

* If someone at Nick Jr. or Cartoon Network or Disney isn't developing an animated series called "Baby Gaga - The Young Adventures of Lady Gaga" then someone's not doing their job.

* I just traversed the fabled "Perilous Gauntlet of Trying to Avoid Eye Contact with Strangers" - otherwise known as the excessively narrow hallways at work.

* ‎THE PERFECT SONG: After years of research - across hundreds of cultures and social strata - a top team of MRI specialists, biologists, neurologists, psychologists and physiologists have scientifically proven that the human brain recognizes one series of pitches as the perfect melody - and it belongs to "Tarzan Boy" by Baltimora. After announcing their findings, they killed themselves in a mass suicide pact.

* Modern-Day Afflictions, #478 - Acute Green-Recyclo-Complex:- The paralyzing fear that someone will spot you putting your empty carton of apple juice in the wrong recycling bin because you can't figure out which of 46 garbage cans is the right one to put it in to, or, even worse, that they'll spot you giving up and running into the bathroom where the cannisters have no marking for recycling.

* Here's an argument that never seems to persuade me: "Well, they said the same thing when we were kids, and LOOK AT ME, I turned out FINE!!!"

* Which do you suppose is ugliest: a face that could stop a clock, a face made for radio, or a face only a mother could love?

* 311th Law of Pop Music, sub-dictum k: Approximately 47.6 percent of all pop songs you hear and immediately go, "GOD! This song SUCKS!!!" are the same songs that, in three weeks time, you will be telling anyone who'll listen, "You KNOW, this song has REALLY grown on ME!" as you play drums on your steering wheel and crank it loud enough to render people deaf three counties away.

* Just think - 5 years ago, before I had a facebook account, I would have had to make it through the entire day WITHOUT knowing what that guy I worked with at Pizza Hut for three weeks in 1986 is having for lunch today. I shudder just thinking about it...

* Actually, THIS is the alternate universe.

10 Types of Open Mic Performers You're Sure to Encounter

2011-06-21T18:22:00.005-04:00

1. OVERPLAYED CLASSIC ROCK GUY - Sure, Neil Young, Bob Dylan, James Taylor and Van Morrison are legends. But enough is enough! You might think you've heard "Brown Eyed Girl" or "Carolina in My Mind" enough to last you 889 lifetimes and a few millennia into your final death, but this guy sure as hell doesn't think so - you need to hear them a few thousand more times! Who cares if there are literally thousands of well-known, phenomenal songs in the history of Western music? Let's break out "Ohio" or "Knockin' on Heaven's Door" one more time! Yes, when you hear those wailing, plaintive harmonica notes, you know yet another rendition of "Heart of Gold" is on the way, tempting you to dunk your face directly into your scalding-hot, overpriced coffee drink.

Performing Skill: 6 out of 10
Creativity: 2 out of 10
Crowd Approval: 8 out of 10

2. WAILING, JAZZY, SUNDRESS GIRL - Holy crap! This girl can really sing! This open-mic performer is blessed with an amazing set of pipes and, by god, she's not afraid to use 'em. Her pitch is dead on, and she effortlessly belts out standards like "At Last" and "Unforgettable" LOUD ENOUGH to blow down the back wall of the coffee house. She's humble and sweet and makes you want to slit your wrists for ever thinking you could warble your way through any song with more than a 3 whole-step range. You won't mind the loud singing, but you may not hear the oncoming traffic as you walk home later in the evening.

Performing Skill: 9 out of 10
Creativity: 6 out of 10
Crowd Approval: 10 out of 10

3. RAMBLING, QUITE POSSIBLY MENTALLY ILL GUY - This is the "musician" that gets up and "sings" three "songs" which are completely atonal - and not in an experimental avant-garde sort of way. In fact, the words sound more like someone reading the local paper's editorial section backwards. Come to think of it, there's a good chance that's what it is. This fellow is the single most powerful argument against the democracy of the open mic, but no one will say anything because, well, they're scared sh*tless.

Performing Skill: 10 out of 10 - in creeping people out
Creativity: Maroon out of Chimpanzee
Crowd Approval: N/A - More like abject terror mixed with a singular desire to avoid eye contact.

4. THE BAD CHECKS - Three self-involved musicians and/or singers (x, y, and z) who arrive together and, by going up individually AND in every possible combination (x plays guitar while y sings; y and z both sing with no x; all three go up together, etc. etc.), manage to keep coming back, thereby turning the three-song-per-artist limit into a four-hour (albeit spread-out) Springsteen-final-night-at-the-Garden-length extravaganza.

Performing Skill: 5 out of 10 - but only when you add the three together.
Creativity: 3 out of 10
Crowd Approval: 7 for the first set, plummets to 2 by the time they hit the stage for the 6th or 7th time.

5. AMERICAN IDOL WANNA-BE - Her friends told her she should be on Idol! Her mom told her she should be on Idol! Her teachers told her she should be on Idol! There's only one small problem: She sucks. And you're the only one who knows it, so you get to listen to her bleating "Jesus Take the Wheel" heinously off-key to a grand total of 8 people (three who are her relatives).

Performing Skill: 1 out of 10
Creativity: Negative 8 out of 10
Ego: 578 out of 10
Crowd Approval: 7 out of 10, except for you

6. DEADHEAD OUT-OF-TIME - He's a young man of only 17, decked out in flip-flops, cargo shorts and a tie-dyed t-shirt. He sports trendy, barely-there facial hair, smells vaguely like oregano, and while he does enjoy more recent jam-band Phish, his heart truly belongs to the Dead. How this is possible, no one knows, considering the band passed their artistic zenith almost 25 years before he was born, but there he is, trotting out such chestnuts as "Casey Jones," "Ripple" and "Uncle John's Band." No "Shakedown Street," though.

Performing Skill: That's not what it's ABOUT, MANNNN
Creativity: Depends on what sort of a night he's having
Crowd Approval: 10 if they had some, er, "oregano" earlier that evening. 4 if not.

7. THE POET - Ah, yes, we DO all try to indulge the poet, don't we? Haha! That cute little limerick about coffee was sort of cute, but uh oh, now he's doing his magnum opus... oh no... he's got reams and reams of pages... how long does this thing go on? Are we going on 10 minutes for one poem here? Is this supposed to be profound? I guess that part was important, he just used a really bad curse word... oh, there it is again. Maybe it's the name of the poem. Sigh. What's all this stuff about birds in maple syrup? Man, I really need to read more poetry... maybe I'd appreciate this stuff more...people are laughing, I guess THEY get it. Damn it!

Performing Skill: 7 out of 10
Creativity: 8 out of 10
Crowd Approval: 8 out of 10, because we don't want to look like idiots

8. MEGA-MONSTER-EXTENDED -VERSION GUY: Closely related to The Bad Checks (See #4), this is the cat who was told there's a "three song limit." (as opposed to a time limit) so he's going to turn every song into "Inna Gada Davida," even if it kills him and you. Sure you'll be sitting there thinking, "I could have sworn `Take It Easy" only has 3 verses, not 27," but that's your tough luck.

Performing Skill: 5 out of 10
Creativity: 2 out of 10
Crowd Approval: They're usually on the verge of rioting by verse 22

9. INSTRUMENTAL GUY - With rapturous intensity and a nuanced touch, he executes beautifully sculpted and tender lead lines on his classical guitar, breathing new life into vintage melodies. With each delicate note, some say it's as if this virtuoso is channeling the gods of music themselves. In other words, bathroom break.

Performing Skill: Off the charts
Creativity: 10 out of 10
Crowd Approval: 6 out of 10, the philistines

10. THE SENSITIVE SOUL - He trots out every top 40 love song (or quasi-love song) from the last 10 years - stuff like "You're Beautiful", "Your Body Is a Wonderland", and "Apologize." If things get really rough, he'll whip out a "She Will Be Loved." Anything with the wavering, aching falsetto in the chorus will do, really. As long as it gets him laid.

Performing Skill: 9 out of 10
Creativity: 1 out of 10
Crowd Approval: 10 out of 10 (women) 0 out of 10 (men)

Photo by: Brian Richardson

"Mr. Small" by Glenn Page (Live at the Algonquin Seaport Theater, 5/28/11)

2011-06-01T18:46:00.000-04:00

New (Sort of) Music by Glenn Page Music

2011-05-25T11:23:00.000-04:00

Special Guest Blog: Leo Zaccari Reviews "Crows and Doves" by Rabbit Velvet

2011-05-10T18:26:00.001-04:00

Track Listing:

Right Now
The Sun Rose Grey
Flying Over London
Haarlem Haunt
Beautiful Things
Love Everlasting
Miles
Blue Waves
Out of the Rain
Twilight to Sunrise
Anything Else
Pearl Diver
Maybe

Rabbit Velvet is the newest project by Danielle Kimak Stauss, formerly of the band The Lost Patrol. A word of caution: this is not an album that you throw on and listen to while you clean your room or balance your checkbook. No, this is a well-crafted masterpiece that demands your undivided attention. The album unfolds like a psychological thriller; like imaginative faeries from some aquamarine universe constructing a lush heavenly daydream filled with shimmering rain storms and ruled by a stunning muse.

“Crows and Doves” opens with a blaring klaxon which creates a sense of urgency that is offset by the relaxed sweet rhythms of “Right Now”. Stauss spells out C-A-R-P-E –D-I-E-M juxtaposed with an up tempo drum beat that suggests a carefree attitude but belies a darker hidden tone. Why are we living for today? Is it because something bad is about to happen tomorrow? And did that shadow just move?

The album slithers on to “The Sun Rose Grey”, a surreal blend of Lalo Schifrinesque spy guitar entangled in a cocoon of synth and driven by relentless staccato percussion. It’s one of the many songs that you will want to enjoy again and again.

The horns of “Flying Over London” signal a departure of sound and tone. One gets the feeling of absolute freedom while soaring over a sleepy London at daybreak before the city awakens to the quiet desperation of every day life.

Another standout is “Haarlem Haunt”, a dark love song where Stauss’ vocals are a wraithlike delicacy that nimbly lure you deep into a fever dream from which you will never want to leave.

“Twilight to Sunrise” sounds like the angelic lost companion to “Days of Future Passed”, happily nestled between “Forever Afternoon” and “Time to Get Away”. Although this album does not quite have the magnificent scope of “Days”, the creative energy and the sheer opulence of Stauss’ voice makes up for the lack of an orchestra. Her vocals are pure shadowy liquid passion, like a thing alive; haunting, seductive and elusive.

There is so much to enjoy on this album. Stauss has created a brilliant work that harkens back to a time when people sat and listened to an album. So if you are looking for an album to listen to, and I mean really listen to, the way people used to sit down and listen to a vinyl record; then this album is for you.

More About Rabbit Velvet!

-Leo Zaccari teaches History at Brookdale Community College, Kean University, and Ocean County College. He once knew someone who once knew David Bowie. In his spare time he writes. A lot.

Gee, That Sounds Familiar... (The Four Songs)

2011-04-18T18:04:00.002-04:00

Speaking as an amateur musicologist, I'd like to share with you a fun little piece of music knowledge. In fact, not a lot of people know this, but every song ever written - EVER - is basically a variation of four songs that already exist. They are (in no particular order) as follows:

* Maple Leaf Rag - Scott Joplin
* Symphony #40 in G Minor (Molto Allegro) - Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
* Disco Duck - Rick Dees
* Greensleeves - Traditional

Yes, it's true. Any song you can name can be traced directly to one of these four songs. "Ramblin' Man" by the Allmans? Greensleeves with a little hick attitude. "Too Shy" by Kajagoogoo? It's clearly the Maple Leaf Rag with spikier hair and nifty synthesizers. AHHHH, you hear it now that I've pointed it out, don't you? It's so obvious in retrospect.

It should be noted that some esteemed music theorists have argued that "Missing" by Everything But the Girl needs to be added to the list, but those people are major sh*theads, because that song is really just Mozart's Symphony played backwards (badly) with dumb lyrics.

Now that you know this amazing fact you can whip it out at your next party to stun and amuse your friends - instead of whipping out what you usually do to stun and amuse them.

Review: Duran Duran, "All You Need Is Now" (What's the Date Again? 1981 or Thirty Years on?)

2011-04-08T18:22:00.006-04:00

AWWWWWWWWWWWW YEAH!!!! Look out you post-grunge-lovin' mother-f**kers, because Duran MOTHER-F**KING DURAN are back, and you better SAVE A PRAYER because they're breaking out the blue eyeliner and their big, billowy, new romantic shirts just so they can ride gigantic new-wave YACHTS straight through your indie-music-addled mother-f**king BRAIN!!!!!!!!!

EYYYYYEAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, maybe I'm getting a little carried away here, especially since Duran Duran themselves are now technically an "indie" band (LeBon has even grown the de rigueur beard). However, after listening to their 2011 album, "All You Need Is Now," I'm left with the vivid impression that the original wild boys feel like they've got something major to prove this time around. Not that they don't always try to kick a little musical booty, but with the release of "All You Need Is Now" they seem like a band with a renewed sense of purpose who - dare I say it? - sound HUNGRY. (Get it? Hungry? GET IT?????)

From listening to recent interviews, this newfound focus appears to be the direct result of the band - with the additional guidance of producer and avowed DD fan Mark Ronson - playing to their core songwriting strengths while muting the label-mandated trend-chasing that all but sunk recent efforts like 2007's "Red Carpet Massacre." Ronson's stated intent going into this project was to craft an imaginary follow-up to the album that, for many, remains Duran Duran's commercial and artistic zenith, "Rio." (I think he also went out and beat up Justin Timberlake for good measure.)

So the question is, did Ronson succeed in his goal? Well no, not exactly, but you know what? It doesn't even matter because "All You Need Is Now" is an album that sounds less like the imaginary sequel to "Rio" ("Circus Circus"?) and more like a bunch of songs written specifically FOR "Rio" or the debut album. A lot of the musical DNA is the same; you've got beautiful minor-key chord progressions swathed around melancholy melodies. You've got semi-cryptic lyrics from Simon. You've got weird-ass s**t burbling out of Nick's synthesizer. You've got John's bass going BOINK!!! Da-BOINK!!! BOINNNNK!!!!!!!!!! every three seconds like it's threatening to f**k Roger if he gets too close. And baby, this is all good news. Well, maybe not for Roger, but you get the idea.

At least half the songs here call to mind specific tracks from the band's early years: "Girl Panic!" echoes the hedonistic pulse of (naturally) "Girls on Film," right down to the dramatic synthesizer blasts and tribal drum fills; "The Man Who Stole a Leopard" and "Before the Rain" recall the eerie creep of "The Chauffeur"; "Being Followed" and "Blame the Machines" mirror the sci-fi-ish dread of "Planet Earth"; "Runway Runaway" and "Too Bad You're So Beautiful" race along on the same currents as "Rio"; and "Leave a Light on" is the obvious love-child of the one-night-stand in "Save a Prayer."

What saves most of these tunes from being mere knock-offs though, is the sheer kick-assed-ness of the Durans' songwriting chops, which Ronson has shoved squarely to the forefront here. "Being Followed", for example, is quite possibly the coolest song Duran Duran has written in, oh, 5,000 new moons. "Before the Rain" is downright haunting, teeming with sadness, loss and regret (even if I don't know what the frig it's about exactly - death? depression? a long line at the drive-through?). These aren't some wishy-washy watered-down rewrites; these are modern-day counterparts that stand proudly on their own.

(Indeed, Duran Duran could always write great songs - even back in the day - but that fact was often "glossed" over or underappreciated by idiots - er, I mean CRITICS - who were suspicious of the band's Roxy-Music-ish passion for style, art, models, glamour and fashion. Of course, the band certainly didn't help matters by going on to release some dodgy records in the following decades.)

Granted, one could argue that "All You Need Is Now" does lack a certain thematic cohesiveness, with the feel of each song vacillating wildly from track to track. Hell, "Other People's Lives," which comes immediately after the dreamily seductive "Man Who Stole a Leopard," (one of the album's highlights) is practically PUNK ROCK, for Christ's sake. (Well, as close as Duran Duran gets to punk rock, that is. We're not talking the Exploited here.) And while some may see this as a negative, I firmly believe the album's eclecticism works in the band's favor.

Duran Duran's 1981 debut consisted of icy waves of claustrophobic new-wave noir while "Rio" sustained a quasi-religious exoticism over the course of nine songs (translation: it's about chasing hot chicks through the jungle). The new album, on the other hand, while ostensibly about "living in the moment" and coping with the modern world (the lyrics cover everything from the internet and social networking to tabloid journalism and post-9/11 surveillance), functions as more of a Duran Duran smorgasbord. In other words, whatever they sacrificed in terms of consistency of mood and color they made up for by letting us gorge ourselves on a big, messy sampler platter of their tastiest home-cooked recipes and treats. And there is definitely A LOT to dig into on this album. (Man, this review is making me hungry. Is anybody HUNGRY???)

Okay, so what's NOT so good here? Hmmmm...well, while there are no outright stinker-oo's on the album, I do have a few minor quibbles. For one, I'm not that crazy about "Safe (in the Heat of the Moment)," which sounds like one of those tunes that Simon and company whip out whenever they're trying to prove they're the world's most awesomest dance band, or something. It features Anna Matronic (of the Scissor Sisters) doing a cute little rap that she intones like the McDonald's Filet-O-Fish singing bass ("What if it were YOU hanging on this wall? What if it were YOU; you wouldn't be laughing at ALLLLLL...") and kind of feels like a late 80's outtake with more cutting edge production. That said, I know there are a lot of fans who enjoy this sort of thing and the song is inoffensive enough. I suppose the next time I'm dropping E at a club in Ibiza at 4 in the morning it'll do just fine.

"Mediterranea," another track that never quite clicks for me, is the one song on the album which probably hews a little TOO closely to the early Duran Duran formula. For whatever reason, I just can't stop thinking of "Save a Prayer" whenever it comes up in my player. In fact, it vaguely reminds me of one of those production CD's where musicians emulate popular bands just so the owners of Jimmy's All-You-Can-Eat Crab Strip Cafe can crank tracks like "Hungry Like the Coyote" (i.e., "Hungry Like the Wolf" with the chords turned upside down) in their latest batch of television ads. "Mediterranera" isn't bad, per se; it just never really "burns the ground" and it's one of the weaker cuts here.

But screw that! Let's not dwell on a few minor missteps when we've got almost an hour's worth of awesomely revitalized Duran Duran music. YEEEEE-HAAAAAAAAA! You can tell the guys put a lot of blood, sweat and runny mascara into this one, and it makes for a seriously rewarding listen that stands up to multiple plays. You seriously got to hand it to them; despite the naysayers and critics calling them empty-headed mannequins and trying to get them to lay down and die for THIRTY YEARS, Duran Duran keep swinging, keep fighting, keep trying to prove their artistic worth and relevance. And I say more power to them. F**k the critics.

Besides, mannequins never really DO die, do they?

*** ½ (three-and-a-half out of five stars)

Notable Tracks: "Being Followed," "Girl Panic!", "The Man Who Stole a Leopard," "Runway Runaway," "Before the Rain."

Coffee Grinds, Part IV (In Which We Fight the Russian Coffee in a Taste Challenge)

2011-03-28T08:23:00.002-04:00

Another generous serving of random gunk scraped from the bottom of our ever-brewin' coffee pots!

* Things that Puzzle Me, #237: The filmmakers who think a dubious pedigree will entice me to rent their latest lame movie... "From the Co-Producers of 'Furry Vengeance' and one of the writers of "Sorority Boys 2" comes... TOTAL S**TFEST!!!!" Yeah, I'm all over that.

* There will never be a "next Beatles" (or Michael Jackson, or Elvis, or whoever) until people realize the "next Beatles" wouldn't sound LIKE the Beatles.

* I love the pitter patter of the rain on the windows... It means the neighbors won't hear me stealing stuff from their toolshed.

* If we were all brains in jars, people would start worrying who had the biggest, shiniest jar and wondering if they could have work done on their saggy frontal lobe.

* I'm sorry, but this is is what we'll be doing for the time being. I always do things for the Time Being, because I'm afraid he'll cast us back into ancient Rome where we'd have to fight to the death like gladiators or something.

* I was thinking today how awesome it would be if obituaries were honest: "Marty Shnookmeyer died today. He was a real a-hole and most people won't miss him. And he owes me 50 bucks."

* You know you're old when you go to complain how bad music is "nowadays" and you single out bands that hasn't even been considered "nowadays" since like 2004, at the latest. "GOD, THESE KIDS WITH THEIR... THEIR... SUM 41 AND EVANESCENCE!! WHAT ARE THEY LISTENING TO???!?"

* Laws of Work, #786, AKA: "First Rule of Ironic Inverted Response to Workload": Someone asking you to do 100 things when you're busy ALL DAY is 100 times LESS annoying than someone asking you to do ONE tiny little thing when you're completely bored and looking out the window. "OH COME ON!!!! THIS GUY WANTS ME TO BRING HIM A FILE!!!! RIGHT WHEN I WAS ABOUT TO GET MY FIFTH CUP OF COFFEE!!!! COME ON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

* Regarding the bathroom stalls at work: I'd love to know who the geniuses are who keep leaving their ten page "book reports" (or whatever the hell they are) in the slot for disposable toilet seat covers. (A) I don't want to read that garbage and (B) They can't carry it five feet to the garbage can when they come out of the stall?

* Have you noticed that whenever someone else starts singing "Happy Birthday" and you try to join in that it's always in some insane key you would never sing it? "What the hell is this? A Flat??? Come ON!!! I'm a C sharp man..."

* 16th Law of Pop Music Irony, subset axiom f: Every huge band that suffers a backlash and is decried as supremely uncool will eventually (after a period that is 9.5 times the length of their chart reign) be re-evaluated and hailed as "cool" again by hipsters and original fans alike.

* ‎100 % true story: My girlfriend and I just had a fierce debate over whether OJ should have no pulp or a little bit of pulp. I was on the side of no pulp, and it went something like this: "No pulp!" "A little bit of pulp!" "No pulp!" "A little bit of pulp!" Finally I had to say, "What we have here is clearly a case of pulp friction."

* Culinary Mysteries: (1) Cereal tastes better when cold milk dribbles down your chin. (2) PB&J sandwiches taste better cut in half. (3) Yogurt tastes better in a single-serve cup rather than scooped from a tub. (4) Revenge is a dish best served cold, maybe with a side of lightly steamed veggies, and preferably a red wine.

The Critics Are Raving: "HOLY CRAP!!! This Guy is TERRIBLE!!!!"

2011-03-08T18:15:00.000-05:00

Press Release from Glenn Page Music, for immediate release:

All 27 of Glenn's Albums have been digitally remixed and remastered and are READY TO BE LAUNCHED on an unsuspecting and unreceptive public!!!!

The critics (especially those coprorate whores over at Rolling Stone)cried,"NOOOOOOOO! GOD, NOOOOOOOO, YOU SADISTS!!!" - but we did it anyway! That's right; all 27 of Glenn's Albums have been digitally remastered and are going BACK INTO PRINT!!!!

Our "Glenn-storians" have been working tirelessly around the clock (Hey, we're in a recession, people take whatever work they can get) to complete this comprehensive (but musically incomprehensible) deluxe remixing, repackaging, and re-issuing of Glenn's TWENTY-SEVEN legendary albums! WOO-HOOO!!!

Yes, even the cruddy out-of-print ones that really sucked or the ones Glenn recorded when he was SUPER high and thought he was turning into a giant golden bird are all HERE!!! Remember when Glenn thought it was a good idea to cover the sweet ballad "Waterloo Sunset" and turn it into some unholy crunk-techno-fusion thing??? YUP! It's here, and thanks to the miracle of digital remastering it's even more noxious and in-your-face than ever.

Mark your calendars, because you won't want to be anywhere NEAR a record store or digital downloading service when All 27 of these babies flood the market this summer and then clog up your local bargain bins for years and YEARS to come. Yes, these are dark, dark days for the music industry, my friends; it's really come to this.

Here's a full list of Glenn Page albums getting the royal re-issue treatment!

Albums:
1. Meet Glenn Page! (1965)
2. It's That Crazy Glenn Glenn Sound (1965)
3. Here's Glenn Page! (1965)
4. Ding! Time for Glenn (1965)
5. Glenn, Glenn, GLENN! (1966)
6. Groovin' with Glenn - Again (1966)
7. Surfy Wurfy (1967)
8. Glenn Page: Sorry, You Can't Get a Restraining Order to Stop Me from
Releasing Albums (1967)
9. Glenn Page: Babe, I Feel Like Wearin' a Tuxedo on the Album Cover (1968)
10. Flaxen Flute and the Coconut Carnival of Love Bursts (1968)
11. Glenn Page: One Non-Charting Single and 14 So-So Album Tracks (1969)
12. Glenn's Revenge (1970)
13. LIVER THAN LIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (1970)
14. Smoke Signals from the Weeping Valley of the Wounded Wolf: Songs from a
Higher Consciousness (1972)
15. Bored Waitress Refilling My Coffee in a Dusty Brown Cafe (1973)
16..GLENN-ZY! (1975)
17. Hey, I Was Born by the Gritty Part of the Jersey Shore Too, Ya Know (1976)
18. Glow Stick (1979)
19. Robot Crying Nuclear Tears (1981)
20. Sharkz at the P-a-a-a-a-a-rty! (1985)
21. Maturity (1988)
22. Glug (1993)
23. Paging the Hits: 30 Years of Glenn Page (1995)
24. Torn from the Pages: Unplugged and Way Too Talky (1998)
25: Can't Do Anything Else at This Point (2002)
26: A Page of History: The Overblown and Unwarranted Anthology (2005)
27: i-Phoenix (2008)*

And don't forget, ALL these albums feature liner notes jam-packed with revisionist musical history that makes Glenn second only to The Beatles, plus a buttload of BONUS tracks culled from the original masters (masters which Glenn would surely have tried to burn in the street back in the day if he'd known anyone would have had the utter audacity to tack them onto the ass-end of his albums, thereby tilting the overall quality balance from "passable" to "pretty freakin' dire.")

In the meantime, if you absolutely can't wait for these 27 smoking hot re-issues to hit the stores and burn them down with the SHEER FORCE OF THEIR BLAZING AWESOMENESS, well, you can always stop by Glenn's channel and groove to some of his more recent tracks like "Doggy Lullaby," "Cosmic Orphans," "The Face," or "Run."

But buy the reissues too! Glenn's 5000-cookies-a-week lifestyle isn't cheap, ya know.

And don't forget, Glenn has even MORE new music on the way in 2011! (This guy doesn't know when to quit.) So tell your friends! Tell your mom! Tell your dealer! Tell your mom's dealer! And SUBSCRBE (If you haven't already) to Glenn Page's music channels:

Glenn's YouTube Channel

Glenn's Facebook Channel

Please?

Sincerely,
Glenn Page Music and Chloe the Chihuahua Industries, Inc.

New Version of "Time to Sleep" Produced and Arranged by Neil Ebanks

2011-02-03T18:29:00.000-05:00

A brand new version of Glenn Page's "Time to Sleep" lullaby. Dig it!

A Quick Swim in the Sea of Music with Nick "Sea of Otters" Ciavatta

2011-02-01T18:12:00.000-05:00

* Borrowed from sister blog, Tune Tipster! *

If you only know Nick Ciavatta from his many appearances in bars and clubs throughout New York and New Jersey, you could certainly be forgiven for thinking that the singer/songwriter's speaking voice is as booming loud and in-your-face as his performing voice. In truth, the impressive way Ciavatta has, for over twenty years, utilized his industrial-strength vocal cords to belt out sardonic songs about prima-donna-ish rock stars and lawn-obsessed misanthropes belies the soft-spoken and gregarious personality lurking beneath the surface.

Talking to him in person, one quickly realizes that Ciavatta is about as friendly and down-to-earth as they come, and it's easy to hear why people are eager to recruit his rich, warm tone for everything from Sears and Clear Eyes commercials to voiceovers for the Charlie Rose show. He is, however, an artist first and foremost- one who's not only out there performing his own stuff, but also playing midwife to other up-and-coming musicians by interviewing them on his website or featuring them at his weekly open-mic show in Jersey City.

In the spirit of that generosity, we asked Nick to share some of his songwriting methods and insights with Tune Tipster. Here's what he had to say:

Tune Tipster: Your songs have been described as a mix of folk and punk. Is that blend intentional? Do you find that to be an apt description?

Nick Ciavatta: I’m not sure if anything about my songs is intentional-they are all just happy accidents, as far as I’m concerned. As far as a label for my music goes, it’s been described as Folk/Punk, Alternative Funk, and even Alt Pop. I like to think of my style as “Experimental Uptown Jugband Stomp.”

TT: OK, that's one I've never heard - definitely sounds like a niche genre. (Laughs.) Okay, well, how about your lyrics? They seem to be far more thought-provoking and satirical than the average rock song. Where do most of your lyrical ideas originate?

NC: Thanks. To be honest, I really wish I knew where they came from. Not to sound mystical or anything, but after I write a song I often wonder where the hell it came from. I ask myself, “Did I really write that?” I wrote a song called “Disclaimer” years ago and didn’t realize until relatively recently that the song was actually about myself and this phase in my life. Pretty freaky, huh?

TT: Very freaky! So, do you write your lyrics before the music, vice versa, or both at the same time?

NC: That’s a great question, and it varies. For the most part, I mess around with a musical theme and then write the lyrics-usually in a 20 minute session. But, I’ve also written entire songs in my head before I even pick up an instrument, which sounds more impressive than it actually is. I’ve also set my poetry to music as well, so I guess the short answer is that it varies.

TT: Have you ever had to throw away or re-work words you really loved simply because they weren't gelling with the music?

NC: Absolutely-I’ve actually had to scrap entire songs because I didn’t think they were any good, or perhaps they sounded too much like another song. I’ve probably scrapped as many tunes as I’ve kept. I find that I am more focused now than I was when I was younger and tend to only write when I really feel that I have something interesting to say.

TT: With that in mind, how do you know when you've written a good song? What do you consider the finest song you've ever written, and why?

NC: Wow-that’s a tough one. I’d like to say that I judge a song by audience response, but there’s more to it than that. When I debut a song at a gig and I don’t get fruit thrown at me, I consider it a win. Other than that, it really just goes by the way I feel when I play it. If it feels good to me, it’s a keeper. I think, and some may disagree, that the finest song I’ve ever written is “Anti-Social Butterflies” because I think almost anyone can relate to it, and it feels really good when I play it.

TT: Do you set aside time to write, or is it pretty much whenever inspiration strikes?

NC: I wish I could be so organized, but it really is whenever inspiration strikes. Unfortunately my muse keeps strange hours.

Find more artists like Nick Ciavatta at Myspace Music

TT: While I agree that "Anti-Social Butterflies" is your finest moment, I think "Dressing Room" is probably your "poppiest" song - in the best possible way. Did you make a conscious decision to write a more accessible tune, or was it merely a happy accident, as you say? Do you ever set out to write a "hit" song, for lack of a better word?

NC: Believe it or not, I actually wrote “Dressing Room” in the actual dressing room at CBGG’s in NYC many years ago. There was another band in there that was going on before us and they spent about an hour doing their hair and makeup; yes, it was at the tail end of the hair metal days. They looked very glam, but forgot to tune their instruments, and thus sounded like crap. I wrote that song about them and other musicians who care more about fame and getting laid than their music. I don’t think I’ve ever set out to write a “hit”, but I would be thrilled if one of my songs achieved such status. I think the closest song I have to a hit would be “Life Without Pills” which everyone seems to love and request.

TT: Lots of your songs have unusual chord sequences and unique chord configurations. Is that the Frank Zappa and Captain Beefheart fan in you, or is it something else?

NC: Another great question! I suppose I am influenced by Zappa, who was brilliant, but I was writing songs before I really got in to Zappa or Beefheart. I was influenced by bands like Queen, King Crimson and the Beatles and Stones as a young guitarist. I would have to say the two biggest influences on my guitar style would be my Uncle, Ren Selvaggio, who was my first guitar teacher and mentor as a child. He was a jazz player in the style of Django Reinhardt or Les Paul, and I think that’s where I first learned about strange and wonderful guitar chords. My other mentor as a child was Buzz De John, who helped me refine my style. I owe a lot to both of them, and learned a lot, not just about music, but life in general from them.

TT: You used to play a lot of shows on the Jersey shore, but now you're primarily based in New York and Jersey City. Do you find a difference in the feel of the crowds? Has it forced you to alter your material or your playing in any way?

NC: I did play a lot on the Jersey Shore and in NYC and Hoboken back then and I love all the crowds. The great thing about the NYC, Jersey City, and Asbury Park music scenes is that the crowds are so open-minded and accepting of original music. I haven’t had to change a thing about the way I play, and wouldn’t even if I were asked to.

TT: Will Sea of Otters (Ciavatta's band before he went solo) ever "swim" again?

NC: We actually are currently swimming under the name “New Otter Review” these days, which features Pat Lally, my cousin and partner in crime on guitar and vocals. Pat was in Sea of Otters and we have thought about doing a Sea of Otters reunion show with former members in the near future. Keep checking Friggin Fabulous Radio Dot Com for updates!

TT: Don't worry, we've got it in our favorites. (Laughs.) Finally, what's the best advice you can give up-and-coming songwriters?

NC: My advice is to network, network, network! Use My Space, Facebook, YouTube and Linked In to your advantage and find someone that is dedicating to constantly updating your social networking status. It’s also helpful to hook up with a great publicity firm such as Cyber PR, who will work really hard to get your name out there. Oh, and get your music on a Ford or Campbell’s Soup commercial as soon as you can!

Find out more about all things Ciavatta here!

A Very Un-P.C. P.C.

2011-01-11T18:07:00.000-05:00

Beware the Ancient Curse of the ENDLESS FUN...

2011-01-03T18:32:00.000-05:00

"Time to Sleep" to Appear on Mystonic Records Compilation

2010-12-10T18:19:00.001-05:00

Glenn Page's "Doggy Lullaby" recently beat out a slew of up-and-coming artists to win a slot amongst the fine indie artists gracing an upcoming Mystonic Records compilation. Glenn thanks everyone who voted, while Chloe (his chihuahua) just yawns and goes back to sleep.

Visit Mystonic Records here!

New Song: "Lost July"

2010-11-10T08:28:00.002-05:00

Reflections on Songwriting, #2: Destroy All Instruments!!!

2010-10-27T18:15:00.002-04:00

Okay, that title might be a little extreme, even though I know a lot of people would like me to destroy MY instruments, but there is a certain wisdom to be found in those words. In fact, it reminds me of some of the best songwriting advice I ever heard, which came from none other than Barry Gibb of The Bee Gees. (Not directly, mind you, it's not like Barry and I sit around shooting the sh*t about how to groom your chest hair, or anything.)

Now, I know some people might scoff at The Bee Gees for their disco tunes, but those people are sorely misguided because The Bee Gees are, in fact, extremely gifted songwriters who have written some of the most diverse, enduring and popular tunes of the last 40 plus years. Not only that, they can wear the sh*t out of white pants suits.

Anyway, what Barry said, and I agree with from personal experience, is that songwriters should, from time to time, write away from their instruments. What this means is it's a good idea to get away from your favorite composing tool and try to come up with melodies, rhythms, and harmonies in your head, if possible.

While this may sound difficult - especially if you're in the early stages of songwriting - it does help to free you up from learned or ingrained patterns of behavior and keeps you from falling into a rut. For example, if you write on the piano, you may find yourself always starting with an a minor chord and then going to a G major chord immediately after. If you write in your head, you may surprise yourself and shift to a g minor chord or something equally adventurous. Or, you might do six bars of a melody before changing the harmony, instead of your usual four or two.

Similarly, you can try writing on a different instrument than you're accustomed, if you are able to do so. Hell, sometimes it's more exciting to write on another instrument that you DON'T know how to play because it often takes you places you would never go once you get a little theory in you.

So try stepping away from your instrument to write; don't let it be a songwriting crutch. Try writing in your head riding the bus to work one day or late at night lying in bed (quietly of course, so you don't disturb your significant other). You may actually surprise yourself and come up with something innovative that you really like. Plus, you can always go back to your instrument of choice and fill in the blanks if you get stuck. That is, unless you took the first line of this blog to heart and threw your guitar in the fireplace or something...

Coffee Grinds, Part 3

2010-08-11T18:08:00.000-04:00

* It's rumored that there is actually a man in Halifax, Nova Scotia, who DOESN'T like Sara Lee. However, sources say he died last week under "mysterious" circumstances involving 784 pounds of icing and a cake beater.

* It's official: There are now more FB "fan pages" (or "like" pages) than there are protons in the known universe. I think even "I like to mix my shampoo with water to get more out of the bottle" has a page. (I'm afraid to check.)

* Speaking of Facebook, I think we should have "like" and "dislike" buttons in real life. "Hi, would you like to go out with me?" DISLIKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! "Hi, would you mind working a few extra hours tonight?" DISLIKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

* Here's a tip: Whenever you see excessive question marks in a youtube video title (e.g., "Hot chick makes out with my girlfriend??"), the answer is always a resounding "NO - she didn't."

* I was watching Paul McCartney playing at the White House on TV last night, and I was thinking that for every single song in the Beatles catalog, there's a band who built a whiole career out of imitating that ONE SONG.

* I'm like "The Situation" on "Jersey Shore" - from now on, I want to be called "The Predicament" because my feet are "the predicament." (Hell, it makes as much sense as naming yourself "The Situation" after your abs.)

* Do you think that when the guitarist playing on the "Law and Order Theme" plays the slinky, BEYOOOOON-BEEEEEHHHHHNNNN part that his face get all scrunched up and contorted - you know, the "blues" face?

* I cursed one candle rather than light the darkness.

* Classmates.com is one step away from coming to your house and begging you to log on to their site.

* I really think that Taco Bell should streamline things and just have you order based on what kind of bathroom experience you're going to have 6 hours after you eat. "Let's see - I'll have one 'porcelain roller coaster' ... and uh, let me have a '5-flusher Fiesta'... and, hmmmm. OH! I'll also take a side order of 'OH MY GOD, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!' and let my wife have an 'Are you all right in there?' special. No, that'll be all... thanks!"

* Someone tell Jesus to stop eating all the damn Doritos. I don't care if he can heal the blind, they're my damn Doritos.

Song Demo: "Send Me a Sign"

2010-08-06T18:16:00.002-04:00

Demo: Gabrielle (She's an Angel)

2010-08-02T18:09:00.000-04:00

2010-07-14T18:08:00.000-04:00

BP's All-New Top Secret Slogans and Ad Campaigns!

2010-06-29T17:04:00.001-04:00

In the wake of the massive oil leak in the gulf, we here at NOANBS were fortunate enough to get our hands on top secret BP documents itemizing some of the slogans and ad campaigns the company is reviewing for a forthcoming bid to "clean up" their image. Which one they'll choose is still kinda murky, so here's the whole lot of 'em. Check 'em and tell us what you think while we go and wash the oil off our hands.

* BP - We're not evil, just kinda clueless.

* BP - Scary? This ain't scary. Think about the shark from "Jaws." Now THAT shit is scary.

* BP - Why travel? We're bringing the "Black Sea" to YOU!

* BP - Remember, for pelicans, swimming in oily sludge is kinda like Jello wrestling. Think of it as "Pelican Spring Break."

* BP - We didn't want to have to tell you this, but we're actually trying to kill a ferocious sea monster.

* BP - Keeping the "evil corporation" stereotype alive in ALL your favorite Hollywood movies!

* BP - Shit, can the moon just blow up or something, so we can get off the front page already?

* BP - ...Even a Paris Hilton wardrobe malfunction would bump us to page 8 or so.

* BP - Seriously, we'll take a Larry King nip slip at this point.

* BP - Doing our part to make the Book of Revelations seem less silly everyday.

* BP - Hang on, this is the Book of Revelations? I thought it was our corporate manual...

* BP - Yes, we DO care about the "little people." You know, the ones who only make like 500k a year.

* BP - Hey, we're British! We've got those cool accents and we brought you "Dr. Who" and Emma Peel - that should count for something, right? RIGHT?

* BP - We are so f*cked.

New Song Demo by Glenn Page: "The Face"

2010-06-16T18:48:00.000-04:00

"Time to Sleep" Demo (Starring Chloe)

2010-05-26T18:45:00.000-04:00

"Love Is a Spider" Slideshow

2010-05-18T18:13:00.001-04:00

New Social Networking Improvements from FateBook

2010-04-25T17:01:00.002-04:00

Important: This is a social networking alert, brought to you by the good folks at FateBook.

Great news guys. Starting today, for your increased convenience, we here at FateBook will be sending your Social Security number, a photocopy of your driver's license, close ups of that identifying birthmark, and the current addresses of your last four lovers to the owners of any websites you happen to visit, as well as all the people who have visited those sites in the last 6 years and their yorkshire terriers.

We will also be automatically forwarding all incriminating photos (online or not) of you getting inebriated to any and all prospective employers, so they can see what a fun-loving person you are. Hell, in fact, any sites you just THINK about clicking on are gonna get your info.

We hope these ongoing "tweaks" will streamline and enrich your FB experience. If you want to be a little bitch and opt out of these defaults, simply go to "settings" then punch "options," before clicking on the smaller-than-a proton "opt out" tab and the "I'm a little bitch" button.

Then, frantically un-click as many of the 8,475 boxes as you possibly can before your PC freezes up (conveniently) and you have to try and re-do the whole damn thing, only so we can override your selections anyway when we roll out the next batch of privacy invas--- er, improvements.

Remember, our goal here at Fatebook is to facilitate your online experience and make it more rewarding for YOU! (while trying to figure out some damn way to make this furshlugginer thing profitable already - Krist! You think we give a crap you just ate a ham on rye sandwich???)

Sincerely, FateBook

(P.S. Click here to tell us how much you "like" these improvements!)

(P.P.S. Come on, you KNOW we're gonna get that info somehow - why don't you just give in now and make it easy on all of us?)

A Chat with Songwriter/Musician Andy J. Gallagher

2010-04-21T19:05:00.002-04:00

Borrowed from our sister site, Tune Tipster

If you're one of the many who've completely given up on rock and roll, truly convinced that the days of aggressive but melodic songcraft are well behind us, then I strongly recommend you check out Andy J. Gallagher.

Weaned on a well-balanced diet of 70's glam and punk rock, Mr. Gallagher, armed only with his new CD, "Helicopter, Dolphin, Submarine," (out now on Waga Waga Records) seems hell-bent on rescuing the masses from whatever boring band your hipster friends are all raving about this month.

Tune Tipster was fortunate enough to land this short Q&A with the up and coming rocker, who graciously allowed us to pick his brain about songwriting, recording, and how David Bowie keeps nicking all the best ideas.

TT: Hello sir! Very nice to speak to you. We've been listening to your music for months and enjoying it immensely.

A: Cool, cool. Thanks for your support.

TT: The first thing I'd like to ask, does songwriting come easy to you, or is it hard work?

Andy: Songwriting, it comes easy to you at times, other times i just can't do it. I seem to go in 3 song spurts; in two days I sat down and wrote "The Rocks," "Faster and Faster," and "Another Craze."

TT: And what's the quickest you've ever written a song?

Andy: The quickest songs I've ever written are "Helicopter, Dolphin, Submarine" and "Faster and Faster." They both took roughly ten minutes. For "Helicopter, Dolphin, Submarine," I maybe actually had to add lyrics later on - I was singing the same verse twice - but the song was pretty much in place and I just added the lyrics later on.

TT: What was the particular inspiration for the title track, "Helicopter, Dolphin, Submarine"?

Andy: I wrote HDS at a flat in the west end of London. I was fairly drunk one night, strumming around on an acoustic guitar and I had this melody in my head and I couldn't remember if it was a Radiohead melody or not...and I decided it wasn't so I wrote a song around it! That was that; it just went together simply.

TT: That is annoying when you think you've written someone else's song.

Andy: I've done that millions of times. Anything Ray Davies writes, I've written four times.

TT: (Laughs) You always, think, "OH I've GOT IT! I've got
the biggest song of all time!" and then you think, "Oh...Ray beat me to it."

Andy: By about 40 years or so... it's kind of
annoying!

TT: Bastard!

Andy: (Laughs) Indeed. David Bowie normally beats me. Another one of my best ideas turned out to be a section of a Bowie song from "Hunky Dory" or something... They get kind of ingrained, don't they?

TT: Which brings me to the next thing I was going to ask: If you were pushed into a corner and had to pick one songwriting hero who would it be?

Andy: I really, really, REALLY like - from your neck of the woods - the Ramones. They're probably my all time favorite band. Dee Dee Ramone was obviously the main songwriter, and Joey wrote some as well. My favorite ARTIST is David Bowie, but I also like Lou Reed, from the Velvet Underground through to maybe the Berlin album... Favorite all-time songwriter if I had to name one... (pauses) David Bowie.

TT: I can definitely hear how you mix those influences. There's an intellectual leaning to the lyrics, but you still have the primal quality of someone like the Ramones...

Andy: When I originally wrote "Faster and Faster" it was a lot slower... It was going to be the main track from MY "Low" (David Bowie) album. So I gave it to my drummer, and by the time he was done revving it up, there was no chance it was gonna be on "Low." It was gonna be on "Rocket to Russia" (Ramones) instead!

TT: I would imagine the arrangements change a lot from when you start to the finished product. You worked with Roman Jugg (former guitarist/keyboardist of the Damned) for this album, were there any situations where he wanted to change the arrangement of a song, or...?

A: When you let someone like Roman produce you, you've got to let him produce you. Whatever they say they want to do, however much you think, "That's gonna ruin my song!" you have to let them try and do it. And I think Roman has some real flashes of genius in terms of the structures. For example, in "Something Else" there was a whole load of choruses going on at the end. And he said, "Look, you need to get rid of those, 'cause it's going on too long." He took 'em out, and just threw in a key change... originally the outro was in b minor and he changed it to e minor and then cut about a minute off the song. I think that arrangement just made the song work. Also, Roman co-wrote "The Men in Suits." The little "A" bit, the lead guitar bit, was just a whole key change... that's his. He wrote that. And while that doesn't make the song necessarily, it really lifts the song at a crucial moment. Some of the stuff Roman told me… Roman's a very, very clever man. You don't spend 10 years in the Damned and not learn anything, do you?

TT: I would think not. Were there any other songs you had to streamline for the album?

A: The only song anything came off in terms of length was "Something Else." Everything else is as I write it. When I'm writing, I've got to say what I've got to say, and once I've said it, there's no point in saying anything else. The song's finished. If you look at "Faster and Faster" for example, it's one minute and 28 seconds, and yet, it's got 4 verses and a lead break. I mean, how much more can you cram into a song? I don't get all this... like Fleetwood Mac... going on for 25 minutes stuff. That's not for me for me. I'm probably not a competent enough musician to do that anyway.

TT: Well, I don't know about that! The last thing I want to ask you is, are you ever surprised by which songs connect with people? Was there ever one that you loved that didn't really resonate with people, or vice versa, something that you said, "Oh, this isn't the best thing I've ever written" and people went gaga over it?

A: Normally, MY favorite song is the last song I wrote. I play it for people and go, "I want you to hear this! I've just re-invented rock and roll!" And they listen and go, "No, that's rubbish, Andy. It's terrible! Get back to the drawing board!" (Laughs) When [I] VERY first hear them, [I] think, "That's amazing!" …There's such a long period between when you actually record the songs to when you actually get the physical CD that by the time you listen to them you're kind of underwhelmed. When you get the finished version, you're kind of not happy with it, because you had this idea in your head of how it's going to sound. But then you get the enthusiasm of people that are hearing them maybe for the first time, and people tell me how wonderful this song is or how cool that song is, rather than me telling THEM which is how it starts. When I write 'em, I tell everyone else how cool they are, and then six months down the road when they're finally ready people tell me how cool they are!

TT: After playing it so many times I would imagine it's hard to be objective about anything.

A: Yeah. My favorite song on the album changes from day to day. I don't listen to it every day, but whenever I listen, I've had a different favorite song. Probably the one song that is most surprising is "The Brightest Star." That's my drummer's favorite song, and I thought it was kind of weak, that one. As you know, my drummer's quite a powerful drummer...

TT: And that song is more ballad-like.

A: Yeah, and that's his favorite song! I kinda prefer the more uptempo ones.

TT: So what would your favorite be right now?

A: There's always two…"Faster and Faster" or "The Men in Suits."

TT: Nice. I see you're playing gigs through May, so hopefully some of our readers will get a chance to hear those tracks live. Well, we really appreciate you taking the time to talk to us, Andy, and best of luck with the album. Have a great night.

A: And you too mate. Thanks very much.

*
Check out Andy J. Gallagher's website by clicking here!

Attacked by a Swarm of Bees!!! (Well, One Bee.)

2010-04-01T18:05:00.000-04:00

Rough Demo: "Live"

2010-03-30T18:01:00.000-04:00

Reflections on Songwriting, #1: Chatting Up a Bird, AKA The Ray Davies Songwriting Method

2010-03-18T18:12:00.000-04:00

Whenever I'm working on one of my songs I'm often reminded of the way Ray Davies of the Kinks described his first major hit, "You Really Got Me." On more than one occasion he has likened the structure of "You Really Got Me" to the way someone tries to "chat up" a woman (or man) in a club or bar.

What did the head Kink mean by that? Well, simply put, when it comes to pop music, you quite often only have two or three minutes (if you're lucky!) to make a good impression on the listener, and you damn well better have a GREAT opening line.

That is exactly what "You Really Got Me" has - a punchy opening riff that demands your attention and makes you curious about what's coming next! Think of it as meeting an attractive member of the opposite sex and starting off with a great joke. You wouldn't launch into a long, rambling tale about where you grew up and how your parents didn't love you enough. That would be crazy!

There will be plenty of time for deep stories LATER if everything goes well. The same goes for songwriting, metaphorically speaking. If you have a song with a long, moody two-minute intro that you passionately feel needs to be heard, you can put it on your first full-length effort, because whoever's listening is probably already interested in what you have to say. (Just like your wife has to listen to all your ceaseless rambling about bullsh*t like your boss at work. She's trapped!)

However, when you're a relative unknown, you want to grab people's attention quick and give them a reason to STICK AROUND for the deeper stuff. And none of this is meant to suggest your "opening line" has to be goofy, shallow, slick, or stupid. There are many simple, direct jokes (and many simple, direct musical hooks) which belie their depth and hint at greater complexity to come. That's the type of opening salvo you want to strive for: something that "really gets" the listener going and hungry for more.

But you gotta get someone's attention first.

Bloopers with Chloe and Glenn

2010-03-12T18:02:00.000-05:00

What's on the Menu?

2010-03-05T19:03:00.001-05:00

Yesterday, a co-worker handed me a glossy take-out menu for the "healthy" cafe across the street from our office. The place has all kinds of low calorie dishes, like salads and grilled chicken. How thoughtful! I really appreciated the gesture, because now I have something colorful to pour french fries on that won't let grease seep through to my desk.

Coffee Grinds, Part 2

2010-03-02T18:04:00.003-05:00

Some more tasty sludge scraped from the bottom of our constantly brewing blog-POTS.

• The internet: Helping local a-holes be globally annoying for over 15 years.

• I keep wondering about the street preachers handing out pamphlets and yelling incoherent gibberish at me as I walk through the subways. It seems like such an inefficient use of their time. What is the cost-benefit ratio of this behavior? Does anyone ever really stop dead in their tracks and go, "You know, that's actually a pretty good point - the one about how I'm going to burn for eternity because I wear neckties."

• Somewhere along the line I went from being "young" to being "relatively young." Boy, what a cop out that is, huhn? Anything can be "relatively" young. My great grandfather is "relatively young" when compared an old dead guy. Hell, even Larry King is "relatively young" when compared to, oh, I don't know, the sun.

• I love when the major networks start a news segment by saying things like, "People are talking about Tiger Woods a lot today…" This is basically shorthand for, "WE'RE talking about Tiger Woods a lot today, because it got easy ratings last time, and we're gonna keep talking about Tiger Woods so you can't possibly think too hard about stuff that really matters." It's also a great way of letting yourself off the hook for shirking your journalistic standards so you can pander to the lowest common denominator. Hell, people are "TALKING ABOUT IT!!!!" They HAVE to cover it, don't they? Well... don't they?

• I heard recently that Bernie Madoff was on suicide watch because he's "depressed" in prison. And LORD KNOWS we wouldn't want anyone to be depressed in prison.

• I have lots of idiosyncratic behaviors. For example, I like to listen to crappy songs on the radio while my car is warming up. Then, after the vehicle is nice and toasty, I turn on my favorite CD or my favorite song. Weird, huhn?

• I don't care if you're texting, first person in the elevator pushes the button! I ain't your "lift" operator, d-bag.

• Life's way too short for regrets. So be sure to jam in as many as you can.

• If you really took to heart every warning the nightly news gives you about "the thing in your medicine cabinet that might kill you" or the "one thing you need to know about car safety" you'd lose your freakin' mind. At a certain point, I'm gonna have to live on the edge and take a chance that the "secret killer" under my bed is gonna do me in, if only for the sake of my sanity.

• The internet has effectively turned "discuss" into "dis" and "cuss."

The Comics That Time Forgot #2

2010-02-22T18:09:00.000-05:00

Here's one from 1993 or so, when "Star Trek: The Next Generation" was near the height of its popularity. God forbid I use a ruler for the borders, right?

The Comics That Time Forgot #1

2010-02-16T18:00:00.002-05:00

I was rooting around in my old papers this weekend and I came across some comic strips I had drawn in the early to mid 90's. Some of them were funnier than others, but unfortunately many of my favorites also contained a good number of inside jokes. So, in the interest of accessibility, I decided to post a couple of the more "audience friendly" strips online. Maybe eventually I'll post some of the more esoteric stuff as well, or excerpts from them, if people are curious enough.

The strip below was originally envisioned as an ongoing strip with me and my buddy Jon commenting on various tv programs. Notice the obvious Reg Smythe ("Andy Capp") and Don Martin (Mad Magazine) influence on the characters, most notably exemplified by the large, bulbous noses. There's also a touch of Gary Trudeau in the "watching tv" format and static scenery, even though I'm not a big Doonesbury fan.

5 Things Not to Talk About on a First Date

2010-02-11T18:00:00.006-05:00

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• Ex-boyfriend/ex-girlfriend

• Views on marriage

• Best way to cover up smell of decomposing corpses

• Most effective treatment for an Abraham-Lincoln-shaped rash which started out as a young Abe, but is now sporting the full top hat and beard combo

• Politics

Original Song Demo: "Tell Me" by Glenn (Featuring Chloe)

2010-02-04T18:04:00.007-05:00

Hey, it's a "new" demo from Glenn Page Music! This time Glenn goes into the vaults and pulls out a little ditty called "Tell Me." This baby goes back to 2000 or so, and features some blood-curdling falsetto notes that would make Roy Orbison jump out of his grave and come after Glenn with a machete. (Thank goodness he's dead and all!) Meanwhile, Chloe the Chihuahua once again provides excellent accompaniment on the "silenceaphone," a very rare and small norwegian wind instrument.

Listen and watch here:

Retro-Cool: How Marketing and Advertising Send You on a Bad Trip, Daddy-o

2010-02-03T18:01:00.008-05:00

Yes, the retro marketing craze continues unabated! We as a culture continue to concede that no one has come up with any good original ideas in the last, oh, 20 years or so, and as a result nostalgia for stuff we barely had time to forget is currently all the rage.

Take, for example, "Pepsi Throwback," which Pepsico is currently offering for a limited time only (unless it makes boatloads of money, I'm sure). It features the "old school" Pepsi logo and is made with REAL honest-to-goodness sugar! Woo-hoo! Man, you know it's a sad state of affairs when we're nostalgic for the good ol' days when we were only being poisoned with diabetes-inflicting cane/beet sugar, as opposed to the super-high-octane super-concentrated high-fructose corn syrup that infuses everything now.

That's right folks! Hop in our time machine and travel with Pepsico as they "throw you back" (isn't that something you do with a bad fish?) into the mists of yesteryear and rot your teeth the old-fashioned way! Yes, it was a simpler time back then, when no one dared to challenge their corporate masters' concern for the public's "well-being."*

More importantly, I think this trend speaks to a pervasive human weakness - one from which I am sadly not immune. That is, our tendency to romanticize the past regardless of how crappy that past may have actually been. It seems that things we associate with a younger, more innocent time (perhaps a healthier and safer time as well) always end up enshrouded in a glaze of rose-colored nostalgia, regardless of the truth of the situation. It matters not that we eventually learn Pepsi is dreadfully bad for us (or that our favorite TV show actually sucked, or our favorite music is sub-par). The important thing is we were awash in those pop culture symbols at a key point in our development, and hence we still have positive feelings for them.

Most well-socialized Americans will always have a strong affection for SOME token of consumer culture. We try to distance ourselves from these feelings as we get older by using intellectual weapons like irony, but their hold on us will always remain pretty powerful. Coca-Cola, for example, has always trounced Pepsi around the holidays because of the strong connotations Coke has forged between holiday imagery and the sugary beverage.

This is what makes corporate America so insidious and disingenuous: they try to downplay the role of branding and consumer culture in our lives (especially when someone calls them to task on their questionable marketing practices), but not only are they fully aware of the seductive power they wield, they're actively COUNTING on that power in lieu of being allowed to physically force us into buying stuff! You think they spend billions of dollars on PR, marketing and advertising every year because they think they CAN'T unduly influence us?

In other words, Pepsi (as well as the filmmakers who plunder bad TV shows, or the music exec's who keep re-selling us the same music in different packages) know exactly what they're doing when they try to push our nostalgia buttons; they're exploiting an evolutionary glitch that bestows virtue upon whatever sneakers we were wearing the night we first got laid (or whatever).

Even worse, we now live in a "savvy post-modern era" so marketers feel compelled to try and convince us that they're all "in" on the joke by using irony and self-awareness in the same way we do. It's almost like they're saying, "Haha! Yeah, we know this stuff is cheesy crap, but don't you love it? Haha! 20 dollars, please." Hell, as long as we keep buying whatever junk they toss our way they don't really care how we relate to it psychologically.

A particularly egregious example of this trend is the "Enzyte" (male enhancement) commercial. Although it is a recent product, the company's commercial exhibits the worst traits of Madison Avenue's many attempts to co-opt both nostalgia and post-modernism. Ostensibly a spoof of old-time advertising, television, and 50's "lifestyles", the makers of this commercial clearly missed an important lesson: Irony originally gained popularity in the mainstream as a means of subverting, questioning and commenting on the crap our culture constantly feeds us. (And let's not even get started on the type of vanity and insecurity that an ad like this is pandering to in the first place.)

Irony and self-awareness are used to greatest effect when someone is satirizing or undermining some aspect of the subject at hand, not when they're trying really hard to promote that thing! In other words, an exaggerated, cutesy spoof of 50's media works better as a critique of the messages media sends us; why the hell would someone want to buy a product from a commercial that effectively reminds us advertising can't be trusted and needs to be subverted?**

Simply stated, the answer is that all this stuff is just too overwhelming for any of us to think about on a regular basis. Corporate America hopes we'll just be so exhausted by them that we'll "go with the flow" just for the sake of our own sanity. The marketers' goal is to tap into the zeitgeist and then expertly exploit it; they're hoping they can hit a few of the "right notes" (be it nostalgia, irony, self-parody or whatever) and that'll be enough to send us scurrying for the malls. Unfortunately, it seems to work more often than not.

Excuse me one second.... what's that???? Target is selling Pac-Man pajamas??? COOL!!!!!!!!***

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*And by the way, "natural sugar"? Yeah, I know sugar is a natural ingredient, but the connotation of the word "natural" is that it carries some kind of wholesome-y goodness. Is Pepsi health food now? Not sure if belting back 40 grams of the sweet stuff in one sitting really fits the bill of "healthy." I wonder if this is Pepsi's token attempt at "going green" for the year 2010? After all, corporate America has never witnessed a movement they didn't see fit to exploit.

** I'm aware the makers of Enzyte would probably argue their ad is merely a playful "parody" or "affectionate homage" designed to get idiots like me talking. Well, parody or not, the commercial is poking fun at a long-gone era, and as such, it reminds us - however unwittingly - that pop culture and the media should always be viewed with a suspicious eye.

***What a lame cop-out ending. Wakka-wakka, game over.

Bed Bugged (Or: I Survived My Sleep Study, and All I Got Is This Lousy CPAP Machine)

2010-01-14T18:12:00.004-05:00

So I went for a sleep study last week. For those of you who don't know what a sleep study is, you may be surprised to learn that it's not the term used to describe my old method of studying back in college (that is, passing out with my face in the textbook at 5am the night before an exam and hoping the material will somehow magically seep into my brain via osmosis).

No, a "sleep study" is when you're having trouble sleeping properly (or having trouble staying awake during the day without mainlining lattes) and someone decides the best way to cure this is to glue cumbersome electrodes and wires to your every appendage, then stick you in an unfamiliar bed and watch you all night with an infrared camera ala' Ted Levine stalking Jodie Foster in "Silence of the Lambs." In this way, they can observe you in your "natural" sleep state and hopefully figure out what-the-freak your problem is.

Needless to say, this approach doesn't generate the most, er, "organic" results. I can be quite nervous and restless to begin with, and it doesn't exactly send me spiraling into a state of Calgon-like zen when there's an unknown member of the female persuasion peering at my supine form and drooling cake-hole all night. Krist, I have a hard enough time with people looking at me in the daytime after I've primped myself obsessively for hours on end; there's no way I'm going to chill out while being scrutinized on a bed-sized microscope slide overnight.

At any rate, I reluctantly went for my sleep study, where the technician hooked me up to about a thousand color-coded wires and a hundred various devices that perform god-knows-what to tell them who-the-hell-knows about my sleep patterns. (Stop me if I get too technical at any point.) In fact, I had so much damn apparatus draped over me that I started to feel like a Borg on Star Trek, but without all the bad-ass leather or ability to assimilate alien races. Now if only I could have teleported the hell out of there like they do on Star Trek, I would have been golden.

No such luck! She finished hooking up my jumper cables and I managed to clamber into my appointed lair for the evening. At this point, the sleep technician - let's call her "the sleep technician" - vanished into an adjoining room, leaving me to contemplate if her boyfriend was going to show up so they could spend the evening watching movies, making out, and occasionally taking a break to laugh at the idiot on the monitor. However, that thought didn't have a chance to fully form because her voice suddenly filled the room, blaring out at me from a set of hidden speakers like a very aggressive McDonald's drive-through clerk. "ARE YOU OKAY IN THERE????" she queried, effectively boosting my systolic blood pressure well into the triple-digits and leading me to wonder if they were getting kickbacks from the cardiologist next door.

After a series of "calibrating" procedures - code word for "Simon Says" with breathing, coughing and snoring sounds - I was told it's "time to go to sleep." Well, I'm glad they cleared that up; I thought the purpose of a SLEEP STUDY was to play a little shuffleboard with the staff. Regardless, I did my best to dutifully "go to sleep," as requested.

As I lay there all kinds of thoughts plagued me: What if I scratch my crotch in my sleep? It could happen you know - I can't control where and when an itch will strike. I'd be half-asleep and people would be watching! I could easily forget my usual amount of discretion and end up doing something pretty unseemly. Normally, during the day, I just yell "LOOK! IT'S BALKI FROM PERFECT STRANGERS!" and then give myself a good scratch in the ensuing chaos. Unfortunately, I knew that wouldn't really work in this situation. (Or would it?)

Even worse, I thought, what if I were to break wind in my sleep? Jeezuz Krist, the horror! Mind you, this isn't normally an issue for me, but with all the stress I was under… well, anything could happen. I wondered just HOW sensitive the electrodes all over my body were; would I end up blowing out some poor lab tech's ear drums with one ill-timed toot? What if she turns up the monitor at the precise wrong moment; would it be like a sonic boom going off in her headphones? Would she run from the lab screaming and clutching the sides of her head, then burst through the emergency exit and fall to her knees in the freshly fallen snow? You gotta think about this kind of stuff, folks.

Despite my nagging concerns, I did manage to eventually drift off to sleep. And, based on the 14 minutes or so I slept (by my generous estimation), I was informed the next morning that I needed to start using a "CPAP" machine, or what's commonly referred to in the literature as a "vacuum cleaner on your face." I was actually really happy to receive this news, because, as my closest friends know, it's always been my lifelong ambition to look like I just stepped off the cover of Black Sabbath's "Never Say Die" album.

In short, the function of the CPAP machine, which comes with a long tube and a face mask you wear to bed every night, is to make you look both extremely frightening AND incredibly ridiculous to your mate at the SAME TIME, which is no small feat. (Oh yeah, it's also supposed to help you breathe better, or something.) So I've been making a good faith effort to use this, er, contraption, but so far, the results have been less than stellar. It's quite discouraging really; I mean, what the hell is wrong with me!??! I can't even sleep right?!!? Man, you know you're really a failure when you can't even lie down and be unconscious correctly.

But I won't go gently into the night! I'm going to press on with the CPAP machine a little while longer, Snuffleupagus comparisons be damned. Maybe after a few more nights, I'll get the hang of this whole "sleeping" thing and begin to reap the benefits of my unwieldy bedside companion. Rest assured, I'll probably let you know how it goes, provided I don't dream the air tube is a large boa constrictor and wake up screaming and flailing, inadvertantly tangling the tube around my neck, and then crashing backwards through a second story window so they can find me dangling with my feet 4 inches off the ground the next morning. (What are the odds of that, anyway? Gotta be at least 10 to 1.)

In the meantime, take my advice: If you're gonna have a sleep study, don't eat Mexican food for dinner that night.

2010: I Give Up

2010-01-07T18:08:00.001-05:00

Hey, we all know there's no better way to kick off a new year than immediately looking back at the past and coasting on your past accomplishments. Why go out and create something new, vital, and topical when you can just as easily plunder the archives, then punch out early and go down a cold one? With that in mind, we proudly present the 1995 classic "Jerry's Dead," by Jonathan Shaloum and featuring at least one familiar face...

Cry Uncle

2009-12-28T18:18:00.001-05:00

The other day, my friend and I were comparing holiday loot when he decided to show me the mug he received from his young nephews. The mug says "#1 Uncle" on the side. You might think that's a nice gesture, being the big ol' soft-hearted pansy that you are. But it got me thinking: So my friend's the number one uncle, huhn? Well, doesn't the number one uncle deserve more than just a coffee mug testifying to his superlative status? Wouldn't something like - oh, I don't know - a new Mercedes Benz be a bit more fitting???

After all, he beat out ALL THE OTHER UNCLES!!! He's number one, for pete's sake! I've never actually done the math, but believe you me, there are a lot of freakin' uncles out there; it's no small feat to place first. You think you could do it? I think that such an accomplishment at least deserves a snazzy luxury vehicle with comfy leather seats designed to warm the buttocks on chilly winter mornings. It's the least one could do in recognition of my friend's ability to successfully exist and be a male sibling to someone who sired several small children.

Ok, so maybe the "Benz" is a little out of the kids' holiday-buying budget. I understand that! But STILL… a little effort would have been nice. I'd bet dollars to donuts they didn't even go to the dealer and check the prices or see if they could pay in installments. Barring that, did they maybe consider rewarding their uncle's efforts with a less costly alternative, like, say, a night with a high-priced call girl? Nope! Right to the mug! BANG! FIVE DOLLARS! NUMBER ONE UNCLE MUG, PLEASE! Real nice, kids. Real f***ing nice.

Secondly, I don't even remember anyone holding a competition for "#1 Uncle," do you? I'm an uncle, did I even place? How come no one ever gets a "#56 Uncle" mug? I still think that's pretty respectable, considering the amount of fierce competition out there. I suppose it's another testament to the toxic "winner take all" mentality fostered by our capitalist society. The #1 uncle gets all the babes and the mugs, while number 56 has to drink his coffee out of a cheap paper cup which can barely protect his digits from its scalding hot contents. It's almost like American Greetings is telling me, "Tough luck, ass munch. Maybe next time you won't be such a douche to your nephews. Enjoy your finger burns."

The whole thing got me so depressed that yesterday I actually went to the Hallmark Store to take matters into my own hands. That's right; I wanted to buy a "#1 uncle" mug for myself. (The Benz is a bit out of my price range too.) I'm not proud of myself, but it had to be done. The fact is, I'm not going to let anyone deny me the personal validation that can only come from an engraving on the side of a white ceramic cup. So I tried to purchase the mug, and in an effort to be stealthy I slipped it between a stuffed Woodstock doll and a little man made out of metal wire (I'm actually not sure if he was playing piano or dancing the Watusi with an oversized platypus).

Unfortunately, the clerk was not fooled by my clumsy tactics and chastised me severely: "That'll be 28 dollars and… hey, waitaminnit… What the hell do you think you're doing buddy? You think you're number one uncle material? That's your FRIEND! You're number 45,678,992! Now get the HELL OUT OF MY STORE before I beat you over the head with that little man playing the piano - er, either that, or cleaning out a pool filter with a misshapen golf club, one or the other."

Needless to say, I scurried from the premises, dropping my blue and tan "casino money" bank in the process. On the bright side, I DID finally learn my ranking in the great pantheon of uncles - 45,678,992! Hmmmm. That's pretty weak, I have to say. Well, maybe with a little hard work and dedication - or a couple of extra Milky Ways for the nephews around Halloween time - I could boost that number to 45,632,724 in no time at all.

Ah, screw that. Truth be told, isn't this whole "#1" thing contrary to the vaunted self-esteem movement that's running rampant in this country? Isn't everyone supposed to be praised, whether they achieve "#1" status or not? I say no more "#1" mugs for uncles, aunts, moms, dads, grandmothers or grandfathers. I don't care if you're Bill Huxtable meets Bill Bixby on "The Courtship of Eddie's Father." From now on, the mugs should reflect our true cultural ethos - I wanna see mugs printed with stuff like: "Good Try, Grandma"; "Nice Mothering, Mom!"; "Above Average Job, Grandpa"; and "Thanks for Not Showing Up Drunk, Hitting on the Neighbor's Wife, and Falling Down Ass-backwards in the Snow Like Last Year, Uncle!" (You might need tiny font for that last one.)

Okay, so maybe that's not such a good idea. What do you expect from the guy who's number 45,678,992, anyway? Happy Holidays!

Chloe the Chihuahua: "I'm Your Owner, Not Your Lover"

2009-12-23T21:48:00.000-05:00

Top Band Names That Sound Like Crossword Puzzle Clues

2009-12-21T18:08:00.002-05:00

Hey everyone! Nite Owl here. If you live in the Northeast (like I do) you may have been hit with a buttload of snow this weekend. As a result, you probably spent about 20 + hours scraping and shoveling. In my case, that means scraping up whatever measley bit of food is left in my house and then shoveling it in my face while I look out the window and wait for the snow to melt.

Either way, the end result is I'm completely exhausted - much too exhasuted to pen a witty, incisive blog this week. Or any other week, for that matter. But don't you worry; I've got you covered! I've invited Gerry Schramm, Renaissance man, to be our special guest blogger! Woo-hoo! (That's Renaissance the hotel, not the era, by the way. Don't ask; you don't want to know.) Some of you may by familiar with Gerry from his short stories on the now legendary "Topless Review," as well as his work as the writer or co-writer of awesome online strips "Blood Culture" and "Cockroach Comix." (The rest of you may know him from hanging around the Renaissance Hotel parking lot.)

Take it away, Gerry...

*************************************************************

Let's face it, folks. Some band names suck. Some of them suck so bad that they make no sense at all and only make sense if they were crossword puzzle clues. That's why Nite Owlz All Night Blog Spot is proud to present:

Top Band Names That Sound Like Crossword Puzzle Clues

* Of Montreal

* Therapy?

* Death Cab For Cutie

* Minus the Bear

* Her and Him

* Jane's Addiction

* Panic! At the Disco

* Creed

* When People Were Shorter and Lived Near the Water

* Supertramp

* The Postal Service

* Pixies

* Funeral for a Friend

* The Carpenters

* White Stripes

*************************************************************

Visit Gerry here:
http://bloodculture.blogspot.com/

or here:
http://unnamedroad.blogspot.com/

or here:
http://www.renaissancehollywood.com/

Years: The Lost Years

2009-12-15T18:13:00.000-05:00

I think when this decade is finally over, you won't hear people talking about it very much, because no self-respecting individual wants to say, "Hey, remeber back in the NAUGHTIES when we...?" It sounds stupid, and you'd probably get your ass kicked for saying it. (Other names for the decade haven't really "stuck" either.)

The only viable alternative is to say, "Hey, remember at the turn of the century when...?" but that's too damn wordy, especially in the age of obnoxious, incessant texting. (Maybe we can condense it to "TOTC"?) Plus, it makes you sound like you're about 110 years old, wear a red and white striped jacket, sport a handlebar mustache and ride a tricycle with a front wheel that's 30 times bigger than the ones in the back.

No, it's clear there will be nary a word uttered about this decade, because it never found a suitable (let alone catchy) monkier. People still talk about the roaring 20's, the fabulous 50's, or the swinging 60's, but no one really refers to the (19)00's or (19)10's much, a phenomenon which I believe has more to do with nomenclature than actual passage of time.

So, if you did something really amazing and revolutionary this decade, you're pretty much screwed. No one's gonna want to talk about it because no one wants to say (for example), "Boy, the NAUGHTIES were incredible - remember how that panel of top scientists cured cancer, AIDS, SARS, and heart disease all in one week??? MAN! What a decade!!!"

Nope, doesn't matter. Hell, they could invent a better type of silly string in the 2020's and it would get talked about more, simply because it's easier to say "Those Toy-filled Twenties!!!!" than "The Age of Medical Advancement and Disease Vanquishment." SNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!!!!!!!! Save it for the history books, daddy-o!!!!! Pass the silly string!

Ah, it's just as well, I suppose. Looking at the world around me, I think the less said about the "naughties," the better.

(Footnote: Have you ever considered the fact you will probably never get to live in a decade which is numerically 10 years before the one you're born in? So, if you're born in the 70's, you'll most likely never get to live in "the 60's" (of the next century, of course). If you're born in the 80's, you probably won't get to live in "the 70's." Never thought about it, did ya? Kind of a bummer, huhn? Whaddayamean, "NO"???")

Dumb Luck

2009-12-08T18:16:00.000-05:00

It kind of bothers me that the people who work in casinos wish everyone "good luck." They can't really mean it, at least not every time, because if EVERYONE had good luck, then the casinos would obviously go bankrupt. Nevermind the fact it's a statistical, if not a logical, impossibility for everyone to have good luck.

Think about it; if everyone had "good luck," wouldn't we have to redefine what is lucky? After all, the norm for what is an ordinary amount of "luck" will have shifted. Soon, it won't be enough for everyone to hit the lottery... the people with "good luck" will have to hit it TEN times!

The casinos should be a little more forthcoming with their patrons. Next time I'm in Atlantic City I want the staff to say, "Hey, try not to lose so much money you end up working the streets later just to get cab fare home, ass-wipe - you know, like last time."

I think I could respect them for that.

New Demo "Run" Available for Free Download

2009-11-27T09:34:00.002-05:00

Here's a link to a free download of Glenn Page Music's latest pop confection, "Run"...

Free Download of New Demo, "Run" by Glenn Page Music
(The download button is a couple of inches to the right of the profile pic.)

The words and music are by Glenn Page; the performance/production is by our good friends over at demomysong.com. (No, that's not Glenn singing on there!)

Please feel free to listen, download, put it on your ipod, play it at your sister, play it at your dog, pipe it into major league baseball stadiums, hum it at the DMV, whistle it while having sex, and play it on the kazoo while tobagganing down the Swiss Alps at 250 mph. Wheeeeeeee!

Or, you could just ignore the link, click off of this page, and get back to looking at videos of Lady Gaga dressed like a mummy on crack. Now, which would you rather do, honestly?

Wait, don't answer that.

Why'd the Owl Cross the Road?

2009-11-19T18:58:00.003-05:00

The other day in the city I got hit by a car. For some reason, I thought the flashing red hand at the crosswalk was the universal "high five" symbol for crossing the road successfully. "YO! High FIIIIVE MAN! You're crossing the STREET!!! WAY TO GO BABY!!!!"

I wasn't sure why it was flashing red, of course, but then I figured I was being alerted to dangerous sidewalk congestion in the area. "Emergency! Get off the curb NOW!!!! You're blocking other pedestrians!"

After all, pedestrians have HANDS don't they? "LOOK OUT FOR THE PEDESTRIANS!" If someone wanted to warn me about high-speed vehicles, wouldn't they flash an image of a red CAR instead of a red HAND? You would think, wouldn't you?

Anyway, lesson learned on that one.

Coffee Grinds, Part One

2009-11-11T18:09:00.007-05:00

You know what it's like when you're drinking a nice, hot, soothing cup of java and then suddenly you get a big old mouthful of greasy, nasty coffee grinds? And you know what it's like when you end up spitting the coffee out all over the place because you're completely revolted? And then the coffee gets on your boss' shiny 5000 dollar Armani suit, and he gets so mad that he tosses you out of a plate glass window from 30 stories up, causing your body to tumble like one of those oh-so-obvious movie mannequins, but it's not a mannequin, it's really you, and you end up smashing headlong into the hood of a taxi cab driven by someone who just made a pithy comment about things falling from the sky, and then the taxi's horn starts blaring endlessly as horrified onlookers scream and scramble at the sight of your crumpled, useless, heap? You know what that's like?

Yeah, you know how much that sucks.

Well, that's what this new ongoing entry is all about (the coffee grinds part, not the smashing into a cab part); this is all the nasty sludge, coffee residue and left-over stuff that we found at the bottom of the NiteOwlz pots after a long day of brewing up the finest blogs anywhere on the web. In other words, these are some of the random odds and ends that we couldn't fit anywhere else and so we deicided to dump them here.

We know that many of you are accustomed to the finest "coffee" we have to offer, but who knows? SOMEONE might enjoy this stuff. After all, aren't there people who drink coffee out of a civet's ass? Hey, one man's nasty, oily grinds is another man's delicious cup of wild-animal feces.

So, here it is: part one of the stuff we scraped off the bottom of the cup... YUM!

• Why don't they make saliva-flavored gum? Then it would never run out of flavor.

• Whenever my friends think I'm daydreaming they say, "Hello, Earth to NiteOwl, HELLO??? EARTH TO NITEOWL!" I never answer though, because I know they don't work for NASA.

• Sometimes the operator asks me for the "correct spelling" of my name. Huhn? Did someone tell her I have a history of misspelling my own name? Just for kicks I like to put the phone down and yell, "Hey BOB! How do you spell my name again?"

• When people get "drawn and quartered," I'll bet the percentages don't usually work out.

• Why does the trouble-shooting guide seem to have only two categories of suggestions: (a) so-obvious-you'd-have-to-be-an-utter-moron-not-to-think-of-it-yourself, and (b) PHD in engineering from Starfleet Academy.

• News Flash: Satirical newspaper makes headline out of mundane activity that's kind of silly but people do it everyday without thinking.

• Lesson learned: Never use an electric razor on a beard made of bees.

• Have you ever been at a rock concert and everyone's bopping their heads like they're REALLY into the music? And then a second later you think, "I can't be the only one here who realizes this band really sucks, can I?"

• Commericalitis: A rare disease often portrayed on medical dramas, this dreaded affliction causes inpatients to suddenly manifest new and disturbing symptoms that signal an impending commercial break.

• I had a really bad nightmare: I dreamt my dream-catcher was trying to kill me.

*A little piece of your soul dies the first time you see an ice cream truck filling up in a gas station. That's when you first realize they actually run on gas, not fairy dust and flower petals thrown into the tank by elves. For me, that moment was last week.

*Enough with "Cheers." If you're not British, I don't wanna hear it; it doesn't confer an aura of class upon you. In fact, it only makes you sound like a pretentious "arse." Sort of like the word "confer."

• It's weird to think that the entire animal kingdom is completely and utterly oblivious to the way they've been used as characters in thousands and thousands of cartoons.

• Speaking of which, do you think real ducks would be pissed if they knew about Donald Duck and Daffy Duck? I'll bet real ducks aren't all assholes, and many of them probably have perfect diction. For a duck, that is.

*Facebook, circa 2017: A frightening, bleak, post-apocalyptic future where all the good quizzes and "gifts" have been done... leaving only stuff like, "Which Pauly Shore Movie Are You?"; "How Well Do you Know 1930's Lace Doilies?" (CanYou Beat NiteOwl's Score of 0.0???); and "NiteOwl sent you some coasters with Paul Stanley's face on them. Click here to see!"

*I'm getting tired of the media trying to promote corporate product by telling me someone has "made a comeback" before they're actually, you know, MADE a comeback.

• The universe is completely indifferent to our pain and suffering. On the other hand, reality TV producers are not.

Cosmic Orphans Slideshow

2009-11-02T18:17:00.000-05:00

Mom's Blazing Sandwiches of Death

2009-10-28T18:08:00.001-04:00

The flyer for the over-priced lunch café I go to in the city has an entry for "old-fashioned tuna sandwich." It's served on "cracked whole wheat wrap" and has slivers of organic carrots in it.

Uh, WHAT???!!? Old-fashioned??? Yeah, because back in the day, mom ALWAYS used "cracked wheat" when she made our fat-globule-enriched tuna on bleached-white slabs-o-death. Forget cracked wheat, I think the people who made this menu were on actual crack.

We didn't have any of this pansy "wrap" stuff back then! Krist, before 1988 or so "rap" was just a type of music made by those nice boys in Aerosmith. No, if you wanted tuna the "old fashioned" way, it was served up HARDCORE SYTLE with tons of artery-busting mayo and sugar-spiking Wonder Bread, baby!

Type 2? HA HA HA! We laughed in the FACE of Type 2! We didn't know what the f*ck it was, but we sure as hell laughed in its face! We were kids, dammit, and we took it like men.

Oh sure, mom gave us carrots from time to time, but she was never so sadistic as to put 'em in our freakin' TUNA, for crying out loud. We'd have probably kicked her ass, or something. And none of that "pieces of celery" stuff either, although I know some poor bastards whose moms DID try to smuggle that crunchy crap into their otherwise blissful mercury-enhanced fish parts.

And in ye olden days, did we have to pay mom 10 dollars and 25 cents per sandwich? Or 11 dollars and 20 cents if you wanted the "sandwich and small bottle of water" combo deal? Hmmmm. Strangely, that magical part of my youth seems to have receded into the mists of yesteryear. Maybe that's because we didn't have (pseudo-healthy) spring water either! Nope, we drank it straight up: right from the tap. (That's why they call it "tap" water by the way; drink enough of it, and they'll be playing "taps" for you.)

I think the lesson here is quite simple: The good old days weren't always good, and tomorrow ain't as bad as it seems, YAAY-YAAAAAAAAAY-YAAAAAAAAY!!!!!! You learn stick ball as a formal education! Doo-deee-dooo-dee-doooo-dee-dooooo…

Woops! Sorry, I was channeling my inner Piano Man for a second there. Well, it doesn't matter because that's not really the lesson to be learned here at all. I suppose, more accurately, the lesson to be learned is this: Yesterday sucked; today sucks; and you can't escape the satanic corporations which will eventually grind us all into a fine-white powder and make calcium-fortified bread with our bones.

But mom did make one hell of a kick-ass sandwich, didn't she? Love ya mom!

A Real Cut-Up: Practical Jokes for Halloween, #1

2009-10-22T19:08:00.001-04:00

Well, it's almost that time of year again: the time when creepy creatures of every kind crawl out of the woodwork and threaten to eat your brain and DEVOUR YOUR SOUL!!!! Yes, that's right; I'm talking about Thanksgiving dinner with your in-laws.

HA HA! No, everyone knows I'm talking about Halloween, of course. And this year, I've got an extra-special treat for you paganistic cats; here's an asphyxiatingly hilarious prank you can play the next time you're being chased through the woods by a chainsaw-wielding maniac on Halloween night. This one's a real knee-slapper, folks.

First, of course, you need to wait for a homicidal maniac with a chainsaw to come after you, which is trickier than it sounds, believe it or not. Hence, you might want to go camping near a graveyard or an abandoned asylum just to help accelerate the process. For good measure, maybe bang some pots and pans and yell stuff like "HEY YEAH, I THINK I JUST ACCIDENTALLY DUG UP SOMEONE'S MURDERED FAMILY, BUT I'M NOT SURE." More often than not, I've found this usually does the trick.

Once you've attracted said maniac's full attention, start running away screaming at the top of your lungs like you're really scared he's going to get you. Let this go on for about 30 minutes or so, so he can work up a good sweat lugging that big ol' power tool around.

Now here's the tricky part: When the killer's about 10 feet behind you (give or take), turn and run right towards the chainsaw. Then, when you're about a foot or two away, lunge directly onto the churning chainsaw's teeth at top speed. You want this part to be extra effective, so make sure you get right in there and get your guts cut up pretty good. (Note: This is also a good time to flail your arms, whip your tongue around wildly, and make lots of "killed by a chainsaw" noises like "BLEHBUDDDEY-BLAH-DEEEEH-BLLEEEEEHH-DEEHHBLLLUB!!!!" If it helps, practice beforehand by making silly noises for a small infant.)

The great thing about this gag is that now you've successfully turned the tables and your would-be vicious mutilator will never see it coming! HA HA HA! Of course, you'll be completely eviscerated within 4-6 seconds of doing this, but trust me, the look of complete surprise on the serial killer's face right before you see the glowing tunnel of light is PRICELESS.

Okay, well, have fun with this prank and be sure to write in and let me know how it goes. (For safety reasons, always wear bright, reflective clothes so you're clearly visible to passing motorists.) I'll be back in a few weeks with some fun holiday pranks, like telling your 5 year old daughter that Santa committed suicide because she only got a B+ in Kindergarten. Good times!

Review: Andy J. Gallagher, Helicopter Dolphin Submarine (Waga Waga Records)

2009-10-19T17:28:00.001-04:00

A lot of people incorrectly think that rock and punk rock are about mindless bluster or aggressive noise. However, the best rock, like the best music in general, often has an emotional subtext simmering crucible-like just beneath the surface. This tension between the artist's passions and the music that can barely contain them serves to bring an added depth and urgency to the apparent chaos.

If you're wondering what the hell I'm talking about, check out Andy J. Gallagher's latest, "Helicopter Dolphin Submarine." On this, his full-length solo debut, Gallagher (formerly of The Shopkeeper Appeared) harnesses volatile emotions like anger, regret and longing to fuel and add moments of sublime beauty to 12 seriously cracking rock/mod-punk tunes. More specifically, Gallagher seems to be ruminating over a recent breakup, and this palpable sense of loss informs the vast majority of the album, taking his songs to an even higher level.

Roman Jugg (formerly of the Damned) is seated in the producer's chair for HDS, and while the tunes are all Gallagher's, I assume Jugg is at least partially responsible for the feeling of "windswept anarchy" that propels much of the album forward. That feeling is so pronounced, in fact, that it often threatens to consume the listener whole. Of course, many of Jugg's rollicking proclivities were hinted at during his tenure with the Damned, but 80's production values presumably held him in check. Here, he's finally let "off the chain" and it's quite the revelation.

Gallagher and Jugg work well together: Nifty tracks like "Something Else", "Faster and Faster", and "Another Craze" gallop along at a breakneck pace with reverb-drenched guitars and riffs that oscillate like a demented ambulance siren. The arrangements are tight and punchy, and most of the songs are super-short, leaving the listener feeling like he just got out of the rumble seat: breathless and ready for more.

Gallagher's singing has that boozy, loose quality that’s somewhere between pugnacious swagger and wounded heartbreak. To put it another way, listening to this disc feels like the aural equivalent of a bloke having a row with his girlfriend, then blowing off steam by throwing on his leather jacket, riding down to the pub at 100 mph, and getting into a friendly punchup with his mates. Later, he buys them all a round while he gets misty and tells them a thing or two about life.

If the pub metaphor isn't cutting it for you, here's a partial list of the influences that crop up on HDS: The Buzzcocks, David Bowie, Mott the Hoople, The Kinks, The Ramones, The Beatles, Bauhaus, The Clash and The Damned. Gallagher draws upon these artists (and many more) to create a unique sound that feels like the best parts of classic rock, 70's glam rock, britpop and punk distilled down to their rawest, most potent elements.

That said, the finest moments on HDS are probably the more subdued ones. Don't get me wrong, the faster songs are absolutely smashing, but things REALLY kick into high-gear (ironically) when Gallagher slows things down for tracks like "The Brightest Star" and "Helicopter, Dolphin, Submarine." On the prayer-like "Star", Gallagher, over music reminiscent of Rod Stewart's early-70's/acoustic phase, looks to the night sky and dreams of an ex-lover. It's definitely one of the album's highlights, and the solemnity of the track is made even more poignant by its stark contrast with the off-the-rails rock that comes before it.

Even better than "Star", though, is the title track, which mines similar lyrical territory. "Helicopter, Dolphin, Submarine" starts off with a languid intro that channels the Manic Street Preachers at their most dreamy, then moves into an aching verse melody with some lovely falsetto notes. Finally, the chorus hits and electric guitars flood the scene as Gallagher sings accusingly, "You don't need me, and you probably never did."

Cleverly, the percussion evokes memories of the Beach Boys, which matches the "west coast" imagery perfectly. Overall, the song has a rather spacious, cinematic feel; you can almost see the sun setting on the pacific coast along with the protagonist's love affair.

Above all else, I need to point out that this album is extremely hooky; Gallagher is an excellent songwriter with a keen sense of melody. As a result, you'll probably be crooning these tunes for days on end. Of course, this does have potential drawbacks; it's bad enough to be walking around singing "Weirdo, weirdo," at the top of your lungs ("Another Craze"), but you're really taking your life into your own hands if you get "Something Else" stuck in your noggin. That's because the catchiest lyric from this ditty is, "Go f*ck yourself," which I, unfortunately, have been singing on the crowded streets of New York for five days straight. It's amazing I haven't been killed yet.

However, listening to an album as good as "Helicopter, Dolphin, Submarine" makes me think it might be worth the risk.

**** (four out of five stars)

Notable Tracks: "Helicopter, Dolphin, Submarine"; "Brightest Star"; "Something Else"; "Another Craze"; "The Rocks"

http://www.andyjgallagher.com/

Worst Strip Club Names of All Time

2009-10-06T12:28:00.025-04:00

• SAGGERS

• THE DIRTY POLE

• WARTS 'N' ALL

• THE VAGUELY DEPRESSING INN

• CLUB VACCINATION

• EYE SOREZ

• MOM'S

• THE VAPORIZED PAYCHECK

• PENIS!

• BOB'S TOTALLY NUDE REVUE & ALL-YOU-CAN-EAT SALAD BUFFET AND FINGER FOODS

• SKANKY'S

• DEAD EYES

• SHREWS

• KINDA PATHETIC LOUNGE

• DOLLAR FURNACE

• MILDRED'S OLDE TIME STRIPPY CLUBBE

• RESTRAINING ORDERS

• VD ZONE

• PUKEY'S

• THESE CHICKS ARE DUDES

• SHUFFLERS

• DELUSION FACTORY

• THE FAINT, BUT DEFINITELY THERE, WEIRD ODOR CABARET

• RELICS

• PHALLUS PALACE

• THE PIERCING STARE CLUB

• STRETCHMARKS

• PETRI DISHES

• HOT ASS: A SOPHISTICATED GENTLEMAN'S CLUB

Roxy Music: Where Are You When We Need You?

2009-08-20T10:59:00.021-04:00

Oh man! Is the new Roxy Music album ever going to happen? If I do the Strand while standing on my head will Ferry, MacKay and Manzanera finally get it together for a new CD? I know we were promised this bad boy about 5 years ago, and while part of me is overwhelmed with excitement at the prospect of new Roxy Music songs, there's a part of me that says they should just leave history alone. Inevitably, the former part of me always wins out. After all, a good Roxy album (I doubt they would release it if it wasn't at least good) is better than no Roxy album at all. But what's that you say? You don't know who Roxy Music are and couldn't care less? Well, turn off the Rob Thomas and let me bend your ear for a moment so I can tell you why you should care…

I live in the U.S. and in my experience most people here either know very little about Roxy Music (and its lead singer/chief songwriter Bryan Ferry) or nothing at all. Sadly, many people only regard them as "that poofy band that sang that poofy 'Avalon' song." Only the last part of that assessment is true; they did sing "Avalon," but, to paraphrase one of their better-known numbers, they were much more than that.

In its infancy, Roxy Music was one of the most important rock/pop bands on earth, creating and/or pioneering all sorts of trends and sensibilities, while simultaneously drawing upon the previously-established conventions of Western popular music. Here is a partial list of the reasons why Roxy Music mattered so much then and continues to influence and inspire so many people today. This is true even if you've never heard them, other than "that poofy 'Avalon' song."

(I'd like to stress here that I owe an enormous debt to Paul Stump. Many of the ideas presented here are distilled versions of arguments he makes in his extensive book about the band, "Unknown Pleasures: A Cultural Biography of Roxy Music". I'd also like to point out that some of these arguments for the band's importance are closely related, but I feel they are worth itemizing separately.)

1) Roxy Music was the first band to successfully use a "pop art" approach to rock/popular music.

Obviously rock and pop music are forms of popular entertainment. However, what Roxy Music did is actually bring the "pop art" sensibility (pioneered by people like Richard Hamilton) to rock music, applying an almost collage-like approach to their early music and lyrics. In fact, the use of the word "pastiche" probably shot up 100 percent after the debut album came out in 1972. Roxy used elements of 50's rock here, a snatch of classical music there, and "futuristic" tape effects (provided by Brian Eno) elsewhere. Beyond that, they also took their cues from the world of fashion and cinema, which, at the time, was anathema to all "serious rock fans." On the first few albums, these various sounds and visions were all woven together into a unique and completely new kind of rock tapestry.

2) Roxy Music was the first rock/pop band to successfully use irony on an ongoing basis, and anticipated the overall tenor of pop culture heading into the 21st century. (Yup!)

It was not unheard of for a rock band to evoke other genres or quote other styles (sometimes quite ironically) before Roxy Music. However, what Roxy Music did was really elevate irony to a new high. On the early records, you were never quite sure how much of the heartbreak, for example, was earnest and how much of it was a big campy put-on. The truth seemed to lie somewhere in the middle, and that was almost definitely the point; Roxy Music blended the romantic sincerity of a bygone era with the knowing self-awareness of the post-modern era. Elements of irony, tribute, reverence, camp and parody were all being seamlessly juxtaposed in a way that had never been done before. And it's never been done quite as well since.

3) Roxy Music was the first band to successfully combine "high art" with "low art" while deliberately blurring those distinctions.

Reflective of an increasingly ambiguous consumer-driven culture, Roxy created music that drew upon "high art" influences while clearly designed to be "poppy" and accessible at the same time. The lines were never clearly delineated, and this free-floating blend of high and low culture seems deliberate. This, along with their pop-art approach in general, made Roxy Music the first rock band to tap into the "post-modern" attitude as it is commonly understood (i.e., the deeper meaning of symbols and signifiers like music and language are not inherent or set; they are culturally relative and in flux). This mixing of high and low gave Roxy a populist appeal that still exuded a high-class air: anyone could enjoy Roxy Music, while fans got to feel like members of an exclusive club. (See also #5 and #7.)

4) Roxy introduced the world to Brian Eno.

While I will always be a bigger fan of Bryan Ferry than Brian Eno, I'm sure there are people who could stuff a couple of books writing about the importance of Brian Eno. For now, suffice it to say that Eno was a key player on the first two Roxy albums. He later went on to pioneer "ambient" music; release a boat load of experimental solo works; collaborate with David Bowie on the legendary "Low" album; and produce a bunch of famous artists, including U2, Talking Heads and Devo. Roxy Music is where it all began for Eno.

5) Roxy Music immeasurably influenced punk and new wave (and probably a lot of goth and alternative bands as well).

Roxy Music may have had a classically trained musician in Andy Mackay, but they were by no means prog-rock. In fact, their approach was decidedly NON-musical, with more of an art school background. They weren't interested in wanking or being virtuosos, they wanted to make clever noise. In this sense, they were really an "art band" with pop ambitions (and some glam rock trappings). This potent blend of dark cacophony and intellectual, artsy leanings helped lead the way for many and created a template which later bands, both amateur and pro, strove to emulate. For example, ask trail-blazers like Siouxsie Sioux of Siouxsie and the Banshees, producer Nile Rodgers of Chic, or Steve Jones of the Sex Pistols who their biggest influences are, and Roxy Music always comes up. Roxy's influence stretched right into the 80's, (often unseen, and often poorly imitated) and it continues to this day, with artists like Moby, Scissor Sisters and Franz Ferdinand still citing the band as an important spiritual forerunner.

6) Roxy Music was the first band to run with the concept of "band as brand."

There is a big difference between marketing yourself successfully and knowingly turning yourself into a brand. Lots of bands have marketed themselves by promoting their albums and selling tons of merchandise. Similarly, there have always been "pre-fabricated" bands that are ruthlessly marketed by shrewd business people. However, I maintain that before Roxy Music, there was always a clear separation, even if it was only conceptual, between the band and the marketing of the band. What Roxy (and specifically Ferry) did flawlessly was MERGE the concept of band WITH brand, by which the name comes to represent a specific product that resonates with a certain type of consumer. This is not to say that Roxy Music flooded the market with Brian Eno buttons or Bryan Ferry hair mousse. What I am getting at is the band's ability to tap into the psychology of branding; they employed a flurry of symbols culled from Hollywood and Madison Avenue (as well as art and literature) and then created an inexorable link between the band and the abstract concepts these symbols represent. We now know that successful branding can actually trigger the same parts of the brain used for fervent religious belief; I would argue that Roxy expertly exploited this fact. As Bryan Ferry said, "Roxy Music was, above all, a state of mind."

7) Roxy Music bridged the gap between the romantic worldview and the emerging post-modern one.

While Ferry was continuously obsessed with creating the Roxy Music "brand" (thereby raising the ire of earnest, dyed-in-the-wool, rocker purists everywhere), he was also interested in repositioning the attendant cultural symbols in new and bizarre ways. As a result, Roxy's albums served, by virtue of their existence, as meditations on the nature of artifice, surface, meaning and depth. Their songs forced us to question what role, if any, Romanticism has in a world that was becoming too smart for its own good. They created a kind of reflexive rock and roll which commented on the history of pop music as well as the various signifiers employed. This might seem commonplace today, but it was quite revolutionary back in the early 70's. In this respect, Roxy Music was arguably the first rock band to successfully anticipate the savvy attitude which has practically become de rigueur for the intelligent, 21st century individual: self-aware, detached skepticism with a loose commitment to relative "truths." (It is worth noting that Bryan Ferry is still ahead of the curve, having already returned to the more "timeless" and "honest" expression of decades like the 30's, for example. His album of standards by people like Cole Porter pre-dated Rod Stewart's hokey hack job on the same concept by a solid three years.)

8) Roxy Music rocked balls.

Many people dispute this, especially after hearing a track like "Avalon," but the record is clear: when they wanted to, Roxy could rock like possessed lunatics on acid. For proof, check out songs like "Remake/Remodel," "Editions of You"(especially the solo), "The Thrill of It All," or the first two minutes of "Mother of Pearl." Plus, it should be noted that even the mellower songs (e.g., "Stronger through the Years") never lapse into pina-colada-ish yacht rock territory; Roxy was usually too creepy, sinister or just plain weird to fully go that route, even when they wanted to. From my perspective, that's a good thing.

Ok, now you have eight dyn-o-mite reasons why Roxy Music is one of the most important rock bands to leap out of the 20th century (as dubious as that honor might be) and we've only just scratched the surface - no pun intended. However, some of you may be a bit apprehensive; perhaps all this talk of post-modernism has you thinking that Roxy Music made impenetrable math rock for PhD's, or even worse, sprawling, over-ambitious concept albums drawn from Celtic mythology.

Well, breathe easy my friends, because nothing could be further from the truth. As I already discussed, Roxy Music was nothing if not accessible, and Bryan Ferry's limited musical training prevented him from writing anything TOO complex. As a result, most of the songs are pretty straightforward with five or six chords tops; the listener doesn't have to wend around for hours trying to "appreciate" intricate melodic lines set to 11/4 time signatures. It's all four on the floor and hooks out the ass, baby!!! Well, usually.

Still, the question lingers like a haunting refrain: will any of us live long enough to see a new Roxy Music album? I certainly hope so. Promisingly, there is some evidence that Ferry is burrowed away right now working on new material. Of course, it must be daunting to have to compete with your own legacy, and I'm sure the band members realize this. My personal feeling is the boys should forget about living up to their glorious past and just focus on making solid, well-written songs. Most likely, they aren't going to come up with something revolutionary at this stage of the game (although I wouldn't rule it out), so their best bet is to create an album that alludes to various moments in their career while simultaneously demonstrating the sophistication of their craft. In other words, they may have lost some of the creative spark that drove the early years, but they've surely gained something in terms of expertise, so let's see more of that. *

And, if for some reason a new album doesn't materialize, I will still be content with what we have: five legendary albums (and three pretty damn good ones) from a seminal band who heralded a new age in popular music and society at large, even if most people still don't realize it.

*For the record, Ferry seems to vacillate between extremes: he either takes eons (or would that bed "Eno's"?) refining and perfecting his albums, or he bangs them out quickly to preserve the loose, spontaneous feel. He says he prefers the latter method, but tends to fall back into the former when left to his own devices. Perhaps the new Roxy album could be a mix of both? They could record a couple of tracks like lightning, and then let Ferry agonize for a few months over the next one. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Bibliography:
Remake, Remodel: Becoming Roxy Music, by Michael Bracewell, 2008.
Roxy Music: Both Ends Burning, by Jonathon Rigby, 2008
The Thrill of It All: The Story of Bryan Ferry and Roxy Music by David Buckley, 2005.
Unknown Pleasures: A Cultural Biography of Roxy Music, by Paul Stump. 1999.
Roxy Music, by Johnny Rogan, 1982.

Review: Cy Curnin, Solar Minimum (cycurnin.com)

2009-07-01T10:24:00.012-04:00

"New wave" bands sometimes get a bad rap, but anyone who put his or her wine cooler down for 5 minutes back in the 80's knows there was a lot more to The Fixx than skinny dudes running from barking Dobermans in a white tunnel while singing "One Thing Leads to Another." No, these guys had some heavy-duty stuff on their collective brows, from nuclear annihilation to self-alienation to the struggle to find inner peace - and they did it all while dodging models in red dresses falling through the skylight.

More than 25 years later, the Fixx are still at it, and while they may not be as prolific as they once were or enjoy the same level of chart success they once did, they have defied the naysayers and remained true to their artistic vision of funky rock songs as the ongoing soundtrack to man's search for enlightenment and serenity in a seriously f'ed up cosmos.

Meanwhile, Cy Curnin, lead singer and chief lyricist for the band, has vented some of his excess creative steam by releasing a series of superb solo albums over the last few years. His latest, "Solar Minimum," could be his most intimate and personal to date. Whereas early Fixx songs always grabbed the listener by the scruff and tried to whip him into shape, the songs on "Solar Minimum" seduce the brain with gentle piano chords, lilting strings, and conversational melodies that unfold at their own pace.

While such an approach results in an album less immediately accessible than, say, "Reach the Beach," the overall experience may be more gratifying as a whole. Tracks like "Other Side of the Story," "Sail," and "Better Luck Next Time" find Curnin in uber-reflective mode, a modern-day troubadour on an endless mystical search for the meaning of "Life" (with a capital "L").

Curnin has always been an emotive singer, but on "Solar Minimum" he ups the ante by serving up some of his most haunting vocals to date. On the aforementioned "Story" he starts things off by exploring his affecting lower register (and when I say low, I mean he's like subterranean, baby), before harmonizing with his own "Fixx-like" persona by song's end. Likewise, on the moody, minor-keyed "Simply Complicated," he's so overcome with emotion that words begin to fail him and he lapses into a mournful "LO, LO, LO, LO" chorus. You can almost picture the French Café and guys in berets nearby.

Other highlights include "It Finds You," with its decidedly funky, Fixx-ish vibe, "My Sweet Life," on which words of regret ultimately give way to reggae-tinged gospel, and "The Weight," a confessional piece of prose set to Curnin's tender piano figures.

Listening to me describe "Solar Minimum" you might think you're in for a whole bunch of hokey emotional bombast. Quite the contrary, Curnin's production is so restrained and the delivery so sincere that the overall effect is never anything short of pretty damn moving. And while this isn't a Fixx album proper, Fixx-o-philes will be pleased to know that a couple of Cy's bandmates pop in for a visit, with a certain surname-hyphenated guitarist lending a little electric muscle to tunes like "In the Palm of Our Hands."

In short, if you're looking for a CD with 12 carbon-copies of "One Thing," then pass this by and simply pick up a Rhino "Just Can't Get Enough" 80's comp instead. However, if you're looking for a richly rewarding and thoughtful work by an artist trying to lend aural comfort to his fellow "travelers," then you might want to check out Cy Curnin's latest. It's called "Solar Minimum," but Curnin definitely gave "the max" on this one.

*** ½ (three-and-a-half out of five stars)

Notable Tracks: "The Other Side of the Story," "My Sweet Life," "Simply Complicated," "Better Luck Next Time," "Sail"

Review: The Damned, So Who's Paranoid? (English Channel)

2009-06-10T14:57:00.049-04:00

Hey there music fans! This month, in honor of my being a big ol' lazy-ass, I'll be taking a break and turning over the reviewing reins to our special guest critic, the editor of "Real Punk!!!" magazine, Dickie "Mashpit" (???) Moroney. Take it away, Dickie!

Ever since Green Day single-handedly invented punk rock way, WAY back in 1994 (thereby giving skateboarders something to listen to at the mall and obliterating boring, corporate rock bands like The Pixies and The Dead Milkmen), it really ruffles my hoodie when some new, loser no-talents come along and try to mess with the seminal templates put forth by the great-granddaddies of punk: Offspring, AFI, Good Charlotte, and the all-mighty Blink-182. For example, take these jokers, THE DAMNED, and what I believe to be their first album, "So Who's Paranoid?"

OY! Where to start? First of all, let's take the name, "The Damned." Yeah, real original guys. It kinda makes me wanna ask these fakes, "Hey you posables, haven't you ever heard of "Damn YANKEES? Or the "DamnWELLS?" Sheeesh, maybe they should have checked allmusic guide before trying to steal some of Ted Nugent's muted thunder. But don't be fooled! There's nothing on this CD that sounds ANYTHING like "High Enough" by Damn Yankees (who, I believe, invented heavy metal and strip clubs, according to Wikipedia).

No, instead of something cool like that, or anything approaching PURE punk rock like the kind Bowling for Soup do so well it's like they just pulled it out of their collective asses, we get an hour or so of some wretched PUNK-GOTH-PSYCHEDELIA-ROCK bullcrap I can barely listen to, let alone describe, but god help me, I'll try.

First off, what is with the singer? Instead of singing in a nasally, super-cool-cause-it's-slightly-flat voice, this guy - Dave Vivian Vance or something - is actually SINGING at times! Yeah, you heard me right; he's doing a weird croony thing and singing melodies that actually sound inventive and different from one song to the next. I mean, what the F**K??? I don't know about you folks, but I'm not happy if my punk songs don't all have identical, interchangeable, shouty vocals, especially in the "we-must-get-this-song-played-on-corporate-radio-at-all-costs-so-screw-musical-integrity" chorus.

Not only that, but this "Dave" guy doesn't randomly scream from time to time like he's literally trying to tear his vocal cords in two and generate some artificial punk "intensity." Oh sure, he shouts, but he only does it when - get this - he has a reason to! This lame-o actually has a theatrical/campy goth vibe, like someone who's watched too many b-grade horror films. And when I say "horror films," I mean the old black and white crap with people like Boris Carlott, Peter Cushion, and Dick Chaney Jr.; I'm not talking about the totally rad new stuff like "Hostel 2" or "Turistas."

Anyway, I could almost bear the gothic thing D.V.'s got going, but the dude goes about it all wrong. Instead of sounding all super-serious and overly-important when he sings (like he might off himself or the listener at any moment), this tool actually has a sense of humor about what he's doing, like he's in on the joke. WHAT??? NONONO! That's ALL WRONG!!! If you're gonna go dark, you gotta make sure you're dangerously close to lapsing into unintentional self-parody at any second.

I could swear this "Dave" fellow thinks that punk rock is about crafting your own eclectic style, rather than following the iron-clad rules laid down by cool trailblazers like Fall Out Boy. Damn, at least Fall Out Boy have a wide assortment of bad-ass t-shirts and backpack pins down at Hot Topic, which means they must be good.

However, even worse than the singing on "So, Who's Paranoid?" is the horrendous music underneath it. For the most part, this stuff is like hooky garage rock and tripped-out psychedelia performed with raucous punk energy and delivered with a slightly dark edge. I know, SOUNDS TERRIBLE RIGHT??? GAKKK!!! Who wants to listen to clever chord patterns when Green Day has just re-released "Dookie" (renamed "21st Century Breakdown") for the 8th time in a row??? Who wants songs stuck in their head for days on end??? Man, I've got to clear out any extra cerebral space ASAP so I have room for the 75 or so rocking new tunes the record companies want me to download this week. Now you know why these "Damned" guys ain't on a major label, like all great punk bands.

Seriously, track after annoying track on this CD just reeks of tunefulness and cool, fuzzed-out guitar riffs. Not only that, but there's all kinds of weird sounds that should never be on a "punk" album (according to my friends), like rock organs and bells and handclaps and Brighton-gay-men's choirs, and HELL, if I didn't know better, I'd swear these guys are trying to expand their musical palette by even listening to classical from time to time!!! I think they need to put away anything from the "Romantic" period and spend a little more time listening to My Chemical Romance, if you know what I mean.

So, there you have it: "So Who's Paranoid" by this week's flash-in-the-pan punk band "The Damned" is a total misfire. Hummable and catchy, yes, but, COME ON! There's literally not ONE song on here that, with a little bit of tweaking to the arrangement, could be turned into a full-blown top 40 hit for Pink. And that's just not punk rock, man.

And what's with the guy in the red beret? What a winker.

Zero Stars!

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Nite Owl note: Despite what our guest reviewer thinks, my own personal ranking of "So Who's Paranoid" by punk legends the Damned is:

**** (four out of five stars)

Notable Tracks: "Under the Wheels," "Dr. Woofenstein," "Shallow Diamonds," "Danger to Yourself," "Perfect Sunday"

Faux News Flash: Desperate for Inspiration, Bruce Springsteen Attempts to Burn Down Recently Revitalized Asbury Park When No One's Looking

2009-05-26T17:27:00.006-04:00

(Asbury Park, New Jersey) Citing a depressing dearth of metaphor-inspiring abandoned buildings, as well as the staggering failure of his latest CD, "Sunrise over the Sand," rock mega-star Bruce Springsteen claimed he was driven to desperation this past weekend when he attempted to burn down the newly rejuvenated Asbury Park boardwalk and convention hall.

"Man, y'all don't understand. I need inspiration! I just can't sing about burgeoning businesses and artists making an economic comeback on their own terms," croaked Mr. Springsteen as he was taken into custody near the Stone Pony Rock Club, where he was found brandishing a full can of gasoline and a Zippo brand lighter at 3:48 am Sunday morning. "I mean, first there was Obama giving us all hope for the future, and now we've got nice, clean storefronts on this formerly run-down and desolate strip of Ocean Avenue? Man, that's just freakin' depressing."

According to sources, Springsteen, who has made billions of dollars using Asbury Park's poverty-stricken streets as a creative springboard for writing hundreds of infectious, hummable, rock-and-roll tunes, had been recently overheard bemoaning the infusion of cash into the long-suffering shore town. In a recent interview published in Cigar Aficionado magazine, Springsteen stated, "I can write about the way Christine and Danny's once-promising relationship has decayed and faded like the walls of the [recently demolished] Palace Amusements. Or I can compare a down-on-her-luck stripper to an old, beat-up tilt-a-whirl.

"But Jesus, what am I supposed to say about that upscale sushi joint on the corner?" Springsteen continued. "I guess I could write about their inability to provide a decent wasabi paste, or their failure to bring the cocktails in a timely fashion… er, not that I would know about that, of course. Heh."

When pressed further, Springsteen, whose songs have propelled him to god-like icon status while arguably fomenting learned helplessness and a fatalistic mentality in the working class by romanticizing their plight, ennobling questionable life choices, and mythologizing shitty economic circumstances, went on to say, "I guess I could write about how garish everything is now and how it all lacks integrity… ah, let's face it, I'm gonna bitch no matter what this place looks like."

Adding to Springsteen's growing dismay in the last few months was the resounding flop of his latest single, "Yacht Town." Moreover, a close friend revealed that "The Boss" was angered when someone pointed out that "My Lucky Day" sounds a bit too much like the chorus to [80's rock band] The Cutting Crew's ill-fated second single, "One for the Mockingbird."

Springsteen was released on 5 million dollars bail early Tuesday afternoon. In a surprising turn of events, the songwriter was reportedly in good spirits, having quickly penned 53 songs for a planned triple-CD about the injustices of the Asbury Park penal system, which, for two nights straight, denied him access to his favorite brand of red wine and forced him to use a pillow with a thread count of less than 500.

No date has been set for Springsteen's trial. When questioned about his immediate plans, the Jersey rocker smiled and whispered in his trademark gruff voice, "I've got this new album of prison songs I need to record. And while Asbury Park is doing ok right now, I think we can all agree that the U.S. economy at large is still pretty much f---ed. People are out of work, down on their luck, and struggling just to get by. So things are definitely looking up."

The Death of Music, Part 7: "Nothing Songs"

2009-05-08T12:04:00.005-04:00

As an amateur songwriter, I can honestly say I've written some bad tunes in my day. You know, the kind of song that's so ripe that fish wrapped in newspaper say, "WHOA, what the hell's that smell?" However, one thing I can honestly say I steadfastly resist at all costs is writing the "nothing song."

For those of you who don't know what I mean by the term "nothing song," I mean something that's even worse than bad: a nebulous ball of chords and notes with no compelling reason to exist, other than (usually) financial gain. The nothing song, as I define it, isn't bad OR good; it's just… THERE.

You've definitely heard nothing songs even if you think you haven't. Nothing songs can be competent, tuneful, pleasant, and even catchy. They often go down pretty easy. However, they also tend to be depressingly generic and nondescript. They tend to follow in the wake of hundreds (if not thousands) of songs with a similar sound before them. Simply stated, a nothing song is inoffensive enough, but you have to ask yourself while listening, "Did this REALLY need to be written? Is this adding anything important or significant to the already billions and billions of songs out there?"

And they don't have to be love ballads or soft rock songs, either. Even songs with loud, angry guitars or surly, wailing vocals can qualify for nothing-hood by virtue of their inconsequential nature.

I know what a lot of you are thinking: "You're talking about POP songs man! It's supposed to be disposable fun! Lighten up!" To which I reply, with a derisive snort, "PURE BUNK!" (Heh.) There are plenty of disposable "pop" (or "rock") songs which are fun and catchy as well as smart, unique and innovative. Just because something is classified as a "pop song" doesn't mean it gets a free pass to be non-inspiring, derivative dross.

And seriously folks, I honestly don't think my standards are THAT high. When I hear a song, all I want is some sort of sign - however muted - that the artists involved might have actually gotten worked up or cared about the notes they were laying down, and that they didn't bolt from the studio 5 seconds later and make a beeline for the bank deposit window.

This is why a nothing song can truly be worse, in a sense, than a flat-out BAD song. At least with (some) bad songs you get the distinct impression that someone really cared about what they were doing. At least with (some) bad songs you feel the passion and effort that went into making it, however atrocious the final result may be. And sometimes, amidst all the utter awfulness of a bad song, you can still catch glimmers of inspiration and creativity that nearly carry the tune and save it from outright suckiness.

Not so with a nothing song! Nothing songs are far, far more insidious than that. They usually have no personality, charm or vitality to speak of, because they tend to be homogenized within an inch of their commercialized lives. Any and all impurities are methodically distilled out of them, and they have no real spice or spark propelling them along. Hell, they have no real reason for being at all!!! And, more often than not, the producers of nothing songs try to hide the nothing status behind immaculate production, tried-and-true chord changes or a clear, powerful singing voice. But don't be fooled! These songs are sheer black holes of sound, sucking up precious vibrations in the air.

Basically, the goal of the nothing song is to be as innocuous and inoffensive as possible while simultaneously appealing to as many people as it can reach. The end result of this delicate balancing act is usually a reasonable, but ultimately unsatisfying, aural concoction which most people describe in terms like "not bad," "is what it is," "gets the job done," or "pleasant enough." Think about it. Do those sound like good reasons for any song to exist?

I personally respect my pop and rock music more than that, and so should you.

New Song: Love Is a Spider

2009-04-24T05:38:00.000-04:00

Hey folks... if you get a chance, check out the new song over on
www.myspace.com/glennpagemusic called "Love Is a Spider." This one was written about a year ago but recorded last week. The melody and chords have a somewhat exotic feel to them, or at least I think they do, and that's why the lyrics turned out sort of dark and noir-ish. Or are they? Maybe I'm just imagining things. Either way... stop on by and let us know what you think.

Thanks for listening...

Misunderstood Monkees

2009-04-13T13:41:00.020-04:00

Recently, a petition to induct the Monkees into the Rock and Roll "Hall of Fame" has been making the rounds on the internet. Why is such a document necessary? Well, I would hazard to guess that pretentious, self-proclaimed arbiters of taste like Rolling Stone editor-in-chief and Hall co-founder Jann Wenner (who appears to have the Hall of Fame by the short hairs and who, I suspect, still listens to "Born to Run" alone in his living room with the lights off) have made it their life-long mission to keep Mike, Micky, Peter and Davy out.

As far as I can tell, members of the "rock intelligentsia" (snicker) have a mad-on for the Monkees because, oh, I don't know, they didn't wear enough denim. Or, who knows? Maybe it's because the Monkees were actually involved in the creation of some tuneful, catchy, well-loved music back in the 60's. (Gasp! Choke!) In light of all this, my brother and I just had an extended conversation about the Monkees, and together we arrived at a very simple, but profound, conclusion:

The Monkees were freakin' awesome.

"But," I already hear some of you sputtering in feeble protest, "The Monkees aren't COOL! They weren't even a REAL band maaaaan! They didn't play their own instruments or write their own songs, and they didn't sing about "real" things like Bob Dylan! Plus, they were just a watered-down version of the BEATLES!"

Sigh.

In my experience, the people who make these types of pronouncements are either a) self-important musicians or wanna-be musicians who take themselves WAY too seriously, b) rock snobs and "rock journalists" who buy into a dubious dichotomy of what constitutes "real" and "fake" music, or c) people who don't know much about music to begin with and just accept the received "wisdom" about the Monkees.

Well, I hate to break it to these people, but the truth is this: most secure, well-rounded musicians and music-lovers are neither threatened by nor upset at the existence of a band like the Monkees. On the contrary, many of these musicians actually LIKE them quite a bit. For example, it's well known that The Beatles took the Monkees in stride, and even claimed to be fans of the television show. The Beatles, of course, were so amazing that it makes sense that they wouldn't be threatened by the Monkees. However, I also suspect they were wise enough to appreciate the band members' respective talents for what they were and smart enough to appreciate the amazing confluence of quality singing, songwriting, musicianship and production on The Monkees' records.

Let's take look at the most common myths about the Monkees one-by-one.

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* Myth #1: The Monkees weren't talented (other than Mike Nesmith).

This one started with the initial backlash against the group, when it was first revealed they didn't play the instruments on their first two albums (and only played fitfully on albums thereafter). However, no one other than the most recalcitrant of individuals still clings to this myth. In fact, the individual Monkees brought a wide array of talents to the table, from acting to singing to songwriting and musicianship. In hindsight, it's clear that the show's producers considered these factors when the "band" was chosen, even if they wanted to wield ultimate control over how those talents would be utilized.

Mike was a talented songwriter and producer, as well as an idiosyncratic vocalist with a dry sense of humor. And yes, he did later sell the concept for a 24 hour video channel to Time Warner, thereby becoming instrumental in the genesis of MTV. Micky was a former child actor and a gifted singer (it runs in his family) with a unique voice that alternated between warm and raucous depending on the needs of the song. He was also an amateur guitar player (he only learned to play drums for the show) who showed occasional spurts of songwriting inspiration. Peter was an accomplished instrumentalist (he played eight instruments) who wrote, among other things, the closing theme for the show. Davy, like Micky, was also an experienced actor who brought a Broadway and music hall flavor to the proceedings.

Oddly, many detractors will concede some of the aforementioned talents to the Monkees while still slagging them for not being as talented as their albums would suggest. In their minds, since the Monkees weren't the genius masterminds who single-handedly brought all those wonderful pop confections to life, they should be regarded as no-talent hacks. Sorry, but it's not an either/or proposition.

* Myth #2: The Monkees weren't a band.

The original marketing of the Monkees, while I can find no instances of outright lying, did seem to blur the lines regarding who played what and just how "real" the band was. People like Micky Dolenz have always maintained that "The Monkees" was, first and foremost, a show ABOUT a band, but there are still some (shades of) gray areas surrounding the way the band was marketed initially. However, what IS clear is this: while the Monkees may not have totally been the band they represented, they WERE undeniably the lead vocalists on everything, and they eventually did become a fully functioning, touring band. People with lesser qualifications are dubbed "bands" every day of the week, and people who do nothing more than sing are often hailed as full-fledged "artists" (and rightfully so).

But these types of arguments are fruitless when wielded against the eternal guardians of the most holy rock canon. The bone of contention for people like Jann Wenner (I'm guessing) is the misrepresentation of the Monkees in the media, and an alleged attempt to dupe the music-buying public. Nevermind that people like me were able to recognize the Monkees weren't all they appeared to be when I was a wee lad of 8 years old. Maybe Jann's a little slower on the uptake.

Still, even if we allow that the Monkees weren't really a "band" in the normal sense of the word, I believe they represented (and represent) something much more important, which I will return to in a moment.

* Myth #3: The Monkees only sang bubble gum pop, or Beatles rip-offs.

Well, I don't really have a problem with (good) bubble gum pop, per se, but even if I did, the Monkees weren't really a bubble gum band. Unlike some bands, the songwriters, musicians and producers working on the Monkees' material were just too damn talented and diverse to be easily dismissed as "bubble gum." Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart, Carole King, Harry Nilsson, Neil Diamond, Mike Nesmith, Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil, John Stewart, Jeff Barry - all these writers and many others were arguably at the top of their game when they submitted songs for The Monkees, and the quality of songcraft on display is undeniable.

Any arguments based on the "cynical intentions" of Don Kirshner (or anyone else) is either trumped or deemed irrelevant when one looks at the sheer caliber of talent the Monkees had at their disposal. After all, who cares about the "co-opting" of rock and roll (which was seldom as pure as it seemed, anyway) when the songs are this damn good?

Likewise, the criticism that the Monkees were just a watered-down version of the Beatles holds very little banana puree upon closer inspection. Yes, "Hard Day's Night" was the original inspiration for the TV show. However, if you actually take the time to listen to the Monkees, you would have a tough time (for the most part) finding any direct similarities between the two bands, other than some superficial parallels that lots of 60's bands shared.

Ok, so maybe the riff on "Pleasant Valley Sunday" sounds like a distant cousin to "I Want to Tell You." And yeah, lots of Davy's tunes sound like they were cut from the same music-hall cloth Paul was using at the time. But overall, there is a lot of stylistic diversity in the Monkees music, and very little of it mirrors the Beatles, who were all over the map themselves by 1966. This makes complete sense when you consider the wide range of songwriters the Monkees employed. Not only were their songwriters inspired by The Beatles, but by lots of other 60's bands, such as The Rolling Stones, Love, and the Dave Clark 5. The Monkees' writers also brought unique styles of their own to the table, many of which pre-dated the Beatles.

By way of comparison, think about how much the average Nickelback song sounds like a watered-down version of Pearl Jam, Creed or Fuel. Now think about how much the "average" Monkees song sounds like the "average" Beatles track. When weighed against the blatant mimicking some bands do, the Monkees aren't even in the same universe as their mop-topped forefathers.

Sure, most of the Monkees' songs don't have the "artistic gravitas" or experimentation of the Beatles' best songs. However, keep in mind that the Monkees songs (at least in the beginning) were not meant to be profound statements of artistic intent. They were meant to be aural moments of pure rock/pop bliss. And to that extent, they succeeded. Not only that, but there really is something to be said for the "art" of crafting a perfect pop song.

*************************************************************

Okay, now that the most common arguments against the Monkees have been dispatched, let me return to my earlier point about what the Monkees represented to me, and probably to a lot of other people as well.

Beyond the superficial pleasure of just listening to a bunch of good songs, the Monkees were inspirational role models for many aspiring musicians. The way this worked was on two levels: On one level, you could relate to the fictional characters on TV because they were always struggling to make it "big" like the Beatles. Plus, if you knew the story of the real actors, you could identify with the struggle they felt to prove themselves creatively.

On another level, the Monkees (on the TV show) WERE the idealized band they longed to be, who just cranked out one great song after another. Yes, it was designed behind the scenes by expert songwriters, producers and sessionmen. But so what? That almost makes it better. All dreams are illusions or fantasies, so why wouldn't a budding musician watching the show want to hear and aspire to a great one? Who wouldn't want to sing/play/write something on par with Carole King (mainly because it IS Carole King) and then be able to switch gears and toss out 10 equally great, but diverse, follow up songs?

Not to get too philosophical about it, but the Monkees represented the tension between the artist who struggles to be more than he already is, and the idealized fantasy of what he hopes to become. And, from time to time, the Monkees actually DID become a great band, showing glimpses of genius and inspiration, even though the carefully constructed fantasy was (of course) always slightly out of reach. And that's not too far off from any of us, really. We all have an idea of how great we'd like to be, even if we seldom hit those heights.

So, you may ask, why not just induct the recognition-worthy individuals behind the scenes (like Boyce and Hart, for example) on a case-by-case basis, rather than induct "The Monkees" collectively? Simply put, the Monkees - Mike, Micky, Peter and David - were the living embodiment of the inspirational fantasy I described above, as well as the voices on some of the most well-crafted and enduring songs of the 60's. * If nothing else, the naysayers have to admit they were the stars of a beloved show that brought rock music into many children's lives for the first time, and into many people's living rooms week after week for two years.

If that alone doesn't qualify them for induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, then I'll be a monkey's uncle.

*For further listening, I recommend the following songs (beyond the obvious hits):
The Girl That I Knew Somewhere
Sometime in the Morning
She
While I Cry
Words
Shades of Gray
You Just May Be the One
Tapioca Tundra
Porpoise Song
Love Is Only Sleeping
You Told Me
Zor and Zam
Early Morning Blues and Greens
Daily Nightly
I'll Be Back Upon My Feet
The Door into Summer
Sweet Young Thing

How to Be a Bad-Ass Magician, Part One*

2009-03-25T14:01:00.005-04:00

So, you want to be a bad-ass magician (or “illusionist” as the kewl kids like to say) but you don’t have a 10-year contract on the Vegas strip or a cold, steely stare that seems to pierce the souls of ordinary men and expose their deepest, darkest secrets to the harsh light of day? Well, fret not! I’m here to show you how you can easily bemuse and baffle your friends and family, all without having to get rip-roaring drunk and then falling into your cousin’s swimming pool, which seems to be the approach you favor most when it comes to bemusing and baffling people.

Let’s get started immediately on some amazing tricks you can do right at home or in the workplace!

Our first astounding illusion is the ever-amazing and oh-so-popular “Elevator Summoning Trick!” What’s that you say, you never heard of it? Well, we can’t just jump right to making Mount Rushmore disappear, ya know. That’s advanced stuff. Gonna be at least a week or so before we get to that level. We gotta start with SOMETHING a little less mystifying.

Anyway, the way THIS trick works is quite simple. But first, let me describe the illusion: While standing in an elevator lobby packed with innocent bystanders (soon to be your unwitting and unwilling audience), you will appear to make one of many elevator doors fly open by sheer will alone. You know, because you’re so bad-ass and a magician and stuff. Then, while the crowd stands there gasping and select members of the opposite sex doff their clothes with lightning-fast urgency (don’t forget, bad-ass and all that), you will stride unfazed into the open elevator, turn and cross your arms swami-style, and then proceed to be whisked away to your sanctum sanctorum in the sky. Or your boring desk job, whatever the case may be.

So how is this confounding bit of astonishing mysticism accomplished?

Spoilers!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The secret to the stunning “Elevator Summoning Trick” is simple law of averages. Stand in front of enough elevators long enough and you’re bound to be right once in a while. Heck, even monkeys could type out the Complete Works of William Shakespeare if they had enough time, and most magicians are at LEAST as smart as the average monkey.

So, while the crowd is still waiting for the little elevator lights, all you have to do is pick an elevator… any elevator… and go into your shtick. But you want to be believable, so really lay it on thick… start grunting, groaning and hyperventilating like you’re literally giving birth to the Buddha child out your tukus. Augment the “summoning” effect by motioning toward the elevator doors with both arms outstretched and facing upward. Also, be sure to scream like a possessed banshee; you want it to seem like every muscle and sinew is literally being rent right from the bone. Come on! You want to be a magician don’t you? Half the effect lies in the theatrics.

Now, whenever the correct elevator door flies open you get to stand there all high-and-mighty like you knew it all along, and yeah, Criss Angel can eat your shorts and all that good stuff. It might also help the overall effect if you pipe in some Korn-like music to blare through the lobby at the precise moment the doors open and maybe run up and put your mouth on the elevator’s dirty security-cam for good measure. YES! Now you are a magician.

Oh, right. What do we do about the other seven or eight times when the elevator that you’re “summoning” DOESN’T fly open? Ok, well, this is where it gets a little tricky, so to speak. The long and short of it is you’re going to have to kill anyone and everyone who witnesses an unsuccessful attempt. That way, no one can go blabbing your “magician’s secret” and ruin all the fun for the next potential audience.

Consequently, you’ll need to keep a small concealed weapon like a revolver or a long blade on you at all times (magicians should know how to keep things up their sleeves anyway), and wait until you guess the wrong door to pull it out. Fortunately, that will only be about 80 to 90 percent of the time, if you get really good at guessing. As the incorrect doors slide open somewhere behind you, slowly turn to the by-now-mesmerized crowd, give them a big, toothy, sh*t-eating grin and bellow, “SURPRISE!!!!!” at the top of your lungs before dispatching every last one of them quickly and efficiently.

Be sure not to leave any DNA, then wash up silently and throw all the heavy duty trash bags in a nearby dumpster. Sadly, these are much less honorable times we live in, and you can’t trust most people to not blow a good magic trick by posting it on YouTube or something. Trust me, it’s better this way. Best of all, after you’ve made short work of each “failed audience” you’ll be ready for yet another (hopefully) more successful performance!!!

And there you have it: the secret to the amazing “Elevator Summoning Trick” revealed. I know, I know, it seems too simple to be true, but that’s all there is to it!

What’s that? You’re gonna wuss out on me NOW? Show a little dedication to your craft, buddy…

* A tip of the magician’s hat to Al Jaffee for additional inspiration on this one.

Keep off the Void

2009-03-04T17:39:00.005-05:00

Sometimes when I’m out and about in public places (like parks) I’ll see large, abstract, modern sculptures that seem ideal for people like me to climb on and take pictures by. Naturally, I do so every chance I get, laughing and giggling and having the time of my life while engaging in such tomfoolery.

That’s when I like to imagine the artist as a tortured soul who was desperately trying to represent the existential emptiness that is mankind’s existence, spiraling ever downward into an icy, unforgiving abyss. I also envision the artist visiting the park to show his peers the culmination of 8 years of sweat, toil, and careful aesthetic deliberation only to find an uncultured boob like me using “Pain: A Study in Marble” as my own personal jungle gym. He then chases me from the park as I shriek like a giddy schoolgirl the whole way home.

The last laugh’s probably on me though, because I think it’s more likely the artist was simply trying to create an abstract representation of coitus, and I’ve been unknowingly pressing my face against a large man’s marble ass cheek the whole time.

Review: April Smith and the Great Picture Show, “Live from the Penthouse” (April Smith Music)

2009-02-09T11:14:00.008-05:00

Let me preface this review by mentioning I just finished reading “Why We Hate Us” by Dick Meyer. Meyer’s objective is to detail the various reasons Americans seem to be mired in a culture of self-loathing, isolation, and detachment. His main culprits are the usual suspects: media, the breakdown of communities, government betrayal, intellectual trends like relativism and postmodernism, the “me” decade, consumerism, materialism, vanity, and suburban sprawl. The book is rather lightweight, but it’s a brisk, entertaining read.

What does any of this have to do with April Smith though? Well, two of the qualities Meyer extols in his book are authenticity and the pursuit of excellence. He argues that years of exposure to hipster irony and “phony” people (who are either too afraid or too jaded to commit to anything), has created a widespread thirst for authenticity and excellence. Simply put, people are tired of the attitude that it’s “not cool to care about anything.” It’s not that people need to be super-serious or crave constant earnestness; they just want to hear something “real” which has the guts to say what it feels and truly aspires to greatness.

I’m here to tell you that April Smith’s music is the real deal, folks.

On “Live from the Penthouse,” April and her bandmates are not afraid to embrace trends and styles from earlier in the 20th century (most of the tunes on “LFTP” have a vaguely 30’s and 40’s jazz or blues vibe about them) but – and here’s the amazing part – there is not a single “wink wink, nudge nudge” moment on the whole disc. That is, the retro stylings are merely incorporated into the seamless fabric of the music. There is no attempt by Smith or her cronies to distance themselves from what they are doing by using quotes or acting like it’s all a clever put-on.

Similarly, they don’t carry on (at least not audibly) like jazz-o-philes who intend to slay us with their killer chops and reverent recreation of a bygone era, nor do they want to force “important music” on us, or anything cloying like that. The music simply is what it is, no more and no less. And the music on this disc is damn good enough to stand on its own merits without additional layers of subtext. Ironically, this approach makes “Live from the Penthouse” sound less dated than some CD’s that came out last week: Smith’s sound is both timeless AND cutting edge.

If you doubt me, throw this disc into your player and cue up “Beloved,” a piano-backed torch song on which Ms. Smith professes her devotion to a recently deceased lover, telling him she’ll “gladly settle” for his ghost if she can’t “have the real thing.” Sounds goofy right? On paper it probably IS goofy to anyone who hasn’t seen “The Notebook” 16 times (including twice on opening night). But I’ll be DAMNED if Smith and her band SELL this song.

“Beloved” is very tastefully done, never going over the top or trying to force emotion out of the listener. Smith’s voice – tender, aching AND powerful throughout – ascends to the highest notes of her register like she’s literally trying to reach into the ether and pull her lost lover back to earth. In fact, “Beloved” is one of those songs that’s SO intense in the raw emotion being conveyed that I found it nearly uncomfortable to listen to. And yeah, that’s a compliment, folks.

Most singers/musicians/songwriters could never pull off a song like “Beloved.” Given the basic premise, they’d probably opt for maudlin bombast or possibly clever self-awareness and still come off badly. April Smith inhabits every note of the song without fear, imbuing each word with just the right amount of passion and emotional nuance. It’s the kind of performance that stems from excellence, and the kind of artistic bravery borne of authenticity. Yes, “Beloved” is just a song, but it’s a damn great song, and April Smith accords her composition the respect it deserves.

However, lest you think “Live from the Penthouse” is all moody paeans to ghost lovers in the sky, let me assure you there are quite a few jaunty numbers here as well, like the playful “Wow and Flutter” and the sea-shanty-ish sing-along “Colors.” The latter boasts an ebullient kazoo solo (!) and casts April Smith in the role of modern-day, morale-boosting Andrew Sister. It is quite refreshing to hear, in 2009 no less, someone who writes a (non-ironic) song dedicated to U.S. troops while at the same time eschewing mawkish sentimentality and/or bitter, protesting lyrics.

That is not to say Ms. Smith doesn’t have a political viewpoint – I think it’s safe to assume she does – but any politics one might glean from a track like “Colors” are made all the more potent by Smith’s artistic decision to take the high road and “play it straight.” Imagine if such a song were written and performed by, say, Nellie McKay. Do you honestly think McKay could resist the temptation to throw in a couple of lines about the horrors of war (as if we don’t already know them), or knowingly wink at the audience while she delivers her “faithful ode”? I could be wrong, but my guess is no. Smith gives herself, and her audience, much more credit than that.

It’s also important to note that while Smith does play characters in her songs, she never lapses into caricature or sounds affected. While there are some sultry tones here and there, Smith never resorts to pussycat growls or high-pitched “Betty Boop” vocals (for example) in a dubious attempt to sound sexy or to “send up” someone’s antiquated idea of female sexuality. Instead, Smith simply uses her god-given vocal prowess to sing the living hell out of everything she writes.

The vocals on LFTP are so good, in fact, that one hopes Smith’s vocal chops don’t one day end up overshadowing her formidable songwriting skill. I say this because some of Smith’s tunes are so well-crafted they damn-near qualify for “standard” status. (“Bright White Jackets” from her debut CD is a prime example.) You might think that’s hyperbole, but pound for pound, ounce for ounce, there is no discernible difference in quality between some of Smith’s tunes and many of the “timeless classics” I’ve heard over the years. Am I an uncultured slob, or is April Smith just THAT good? Maybe both.

Yeah, April Smith and the Great Picture Show are the real deal folks. And much like obscenity, I may not be able to fully define “real,” but I know it when I hear it. “Live from the Penthouse” is so good, it’s obscene.

**** (4 out of 5 stars)

Don't Dis the One-Hit Wonder!

2009-01-15T15:49:00.008-05:00

I have to be honest; I’ve never quite understood the mentality that disses a one-hit wonder. You know what I mean by one-hit wonder: a band or artist primarily defined by one well-known, often irritating (and usually chart-topping) song. For some odd reason, these musicians - some of whom are actually quite talented - are the object of ridicule, derision, scorn, spontaneous street pantsings, and, from time to time, unprovoked drive-by’s with acid-filled super-soakers.

But seriously, what’s the point of making fun of a one-hit wonder? That’s one more hit than most of us will ever have. Krist, at least the one-hit wonders have accomplished SOMETHING with their lives, even if it’s just giving dads everywhere an excuse to get drunk and wipe out on the dance floor at weddings. I have literally heard guys who live in the subterraneous cavern below their mom’s basement mock on one-hit wonders for being “losers,” right before they enter their 348th straight hour of playing Guitar Hero: Pretending Aerosmith Is Still Relevant Edition.

Isn’t mocking on a one-hit wonder sort of like saying, “Awww, dude, you only had hot, sweaty, all-night sex with Halle Berry ONCE??? You’re so LAME!!!” You might as well tell a lottery winner, “What, you only hit the 100,000 dollar New Jersey Powerball once in 1986? How come you haven’t won the lottery since then? Are you some kind of LOSER?!!!” Or, why don’t you just tell the doctor who ends up curing cancer, “Yeah, that’s nice. Now let’s get cracking on AIDS, big brain!!!” (Ok, that last one might be stretching the analogy a bit.)

My point is simple: If your greatest accomplishment in life is knowing when to pull the nachos out of the 7-11microwave before they burn, or remembering the names of every actor to ever play Doctor Who (and the years they played him), then you should probably think twice before razzing the guy who got a pretty sweet payday for singing “Rock Me Amadeus.” (Besides, that guy’s dead. Hasn’t he got enough problems without worrying about you?)

Heck, even if you’re amazingly successful in your field, you should back off the one-hit wonder. All you’re doing by mocking these pop culture punchlines is revealing your own insecurities and petty jealousies. Look, we all KNOW you’d give biker Satanists handwritten directions to your mom’s nursing home if you could somehow be the guy who sang “We Don’t Have to Take Our Clothes Off,” so don’t even try to deny it! What’s that? You’re denying it??!?. You f&#%ing liar.

Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying that we as a culture shouldn’t strive for rapturous strokes of transcendent artistic achievement and BLAH BLAH BLAH all that happy horse pucky. I’m just saying we should appreciate the one-hit wonder for what it is and be brave enough to admit that we kinda dug A-ha’s “Take on Me” long before it became all ironic and hipster cool to do so. Also, we shouldn’t assume that a band has no musical value just because their record company made them put out one cheesy single way in the day. In other words, respect the one-hit wonder!

Except for “Break My Stride,” of course. That song blows.

*Note: I reject the definition that classifies legendary rock bands or famous cult bands as one-hit wonders based on their failure to crack the top 40 charts more than once. A true one-hit wonder’s song should almost be “bigger” than they are. For example, Right Said Fred is a one-hit wonder. Jimi Hendrix is not.

Come, They Told Me, Rumpa-pum-pum, Rumpa pum-pum, Rumpa-pum- Bappity-bappity-BIPPITY! Crash! Crash ! CRASH!!! Boppity-boppity-BOP-bop-BOP-bop-BASH!!!

2008-12-22T15:56:00.005-05:00

Early this morning I was walking around silently warbling “The Little Drummer Boy” like some kind of Bing-Crosby-possessed lunatic and I eventually got to wondering: Is it me, or is drumming NOT really something you’d want to be doing for a newborn messiah? I really have to question the wisdom of this timeless classic.

There he is, sleeping all peacefully with sparkly blue light beaming down on his cherub-like little head, and then suddenly YOU come busting in and go all Neil Peart 2112 on his most-holy baby butt. Does that sound like a good idea to you? You ever wake a NORMAL baby up with some loud noises like drums? He doesn’t smile approvingly at you; he wails his damn fool head off.

And why does the little drummer boy say, “I have no gifts to bring”? He’s got the drum, doesn’t he? What, you’re not willing to give up your most cherished instrument for your LORD and SAVIOUR made flesh??? I can see it now: “Oh, yeah, I know you’ve come to save me from my sins and grant me eternal life, but this is ONE WICKED DRUM!!! I can’t part with this baby; Carl Palmer signed this bad boy during the Brain Salad Surgery tour!!!” I think God might be a little unhappy with that. To be frank, incensed is a better word.

Hey, enjoy playing your drums little drummer boy…IN HELL!!! HO HO HO! Merry Christmas! And take your rhythm section of satanic, cloven-hoofed barn animals with you. Yeah, maybe next time, you’ll be more willing to part with the skins. Not that God is a vengeful god, or anything. He’s just not down with the prog rock and all.

Happy Holidays folks. Rock on in 7/16 time!

Review: Kaiser Chiefs, Off with Their Heads (B-Unique)

2008-12-03T11:13:00.005-05:00

What the…? Another Kaiser Chiefs album? Wasn’t the last one like three weeks ago? What are these guys trying to prove? ARE THEY TRYING TO MAKE ME LOOK BAD??!!?!? Hmmm, let me check…holy crap. OK, “Yours Truly, Angry Mob” actually came out way back in February 2007. That’s almost two years! Well, that’s still relatively quick compared to most bands, but hell… I must be getting older because 21 months seems like 21 nano-seconds these days.

Anyway, enough about my daunting mortality; let’s talk about the album. First off, let me say that it IS refreshing to have a band pump out albums with Woody-Allen-like regularity when every other band outside of country music seems to take their pansy-ass time between discs.

What the Kaiser Chiefs seem to be doing here is harkening back to a more “innocent” time (the 60’s) when quartermaster-like record companies treated musicians like their own personal b-words and forced them to generate a full album’s worth of product every few months or so, or at least until the artists went batsh*t crazy and suffered career-crippling nervous breakdowns. (Ah, good times!) This pressurized approach generated both some of the most startlingly inspired and drop-dead brilliant music ever created by man and some of the most disposable throwaway crap to ever foul up a turntable. So, which camp do you think the Kaiser Chiefs and their abbreviated time-table approach land in?

Well, I wouldn’t call this the most brilliant music ever made by man, but YEE-HAW it sure is hooky fun, in a mod-rocker, new wavey sort of way. Sadly, you wouldn’t necessarily know it from the lead-off track, “Spanish Metal,” which, quite frankly, stinks. This song bursts out of the gate all blustery and shrill before meandering into a so-so melody and almost non-existent chorus. I’m not exactly sure why this track is first on the album; maybe the Chiefs wanted to trick everyone into thinking they suck real bad so the next track would seem even more uber-awesome by comparison.

If that was the strategy, it pays off big time because uber-awesome is what the next track is! “Never Miss a Beat” (the first single) is everything “Spanish Metal” should be: big, boisterous fun with a slightly menacing edge and hooks galore. The throbbing, vaguely terrifying intro quickly gives way to a pressure-cooker melody before eventually erupting into Kim-Wilde-ish glee in the chorus. At that point, huge, swirling keyboard lines threaten to devour your brain as Ricky Wilson bellows, “Never miss a beat! Beat! BEAT! BEAT!!” like it actually means something.

Ironically, the riot-inducing maelstrom of music on “Never Miss a Beat” belies some kind of thinly-veiled but cheeky message (I think) about being cool, staying in school, and not doing drugs. It’s sort of like Nancy Reagan (or Margaret Thatcher) telling you to “just say no” before she mercilessly tramples you to death with her Doc Martens. Seriously though, I’m totally fine with this more “polite” approach to rock music. The Kaiser Chiefs wisely eschew tired, played-out “RAAAAWK” clichés in favor of huge dollops of melodic British drollness. Hmmmm. Okay, maybe they’re both pretty played out at this point, but I’ll take the latter over the former any day, unless we’re talking about some pretentious crap from Morrissey, of course.

After “Never Miss a Beat” ends its crumpet-crushing reign of terror, we’re treated to nifty tracks like “Like It Too Much,” which reminds me of Gary Numan in the verses, but quickly morphs into a quirky XTC number in the chorus. “Good Days and Bad Days,” which you’ll be doomed to sing for weeks (or until someone shoots you in the face), is like The Kaiser Chiefs doing Howard Jones’ chipper new-wave optimism shtick without the little shirtless ball-and-chain dude. And yeah, while it’s easy to make these kinds of comparisons, “Off with Their Heads” never feels derivative or (god help us) ironic thanks to the up-to-date production and seamless songcraft on display.

Other highlights include the happy-go-lucky (!) chorus of “Addicted to Drugs” and the strum and drang coda to “Half the Truth.” Honestly, there are no real naff tracks in the lot, although “Can’t Say What I Mean” seems to be trying to convince me it’s a lot more exciting than it really is, and oh, yeah, “Spanish Metal” is ready for the scrapheap, as we’ve already discussed. So, even though this album is pretty damn good, I can’t really give it classic status, for a couple of reasons.

First of all, while the Kaiser Chiefs are above-average songwriters - and that fact alone is enough to distinguish them from many of their peers – they don’t really have a unique enough vision beyond banging out the hookiest rock songs they can (with some clever wordplay thrown in the mix). “Well, what’s wrong with that?” you may ask. (Or you may have already stopped reading this review and are now 12 porn sites away.)

While there’s obviously nothing wrong with cranking out super-catchy pop/rock nuggets, history tells us those bands always need a little extra “something”- a sensibility, a gimmick, a subtext, a flavor – that helps set them apart from the pack and give them longevity. Hell, even Cheap Trick had that dude with all the wacky guitars. Whatever it is, people just need that little extra “x” factor which makes the whole greater than the sum of its parts and an album more than a collection of really good songs. I haven’t seen that emergent property in the Kaiser Chiefs yet, but it could still be there. I’m definitely willing to give them a little more time based on “Off with Their Heads.”

The second reason I can’t give this album classic status is a result of the band’s efforts to rush it out so quickly. No, there are no sloppy performances. The problem is the disc only runs 35:40! And two minutes of that is spent on “Spanish Metal.” Sure, way back in the 60’s thirty to thirty-five minutes was fine for an LP. Since the advent of CD’s, I just can’t see any album being less than 45 minutes, even if that means having to wait an extra few months for the final product.

If you think I’m being unfair, you’re probably right. But shortening your disc so you can get it our quicker seems like a cheat to me. Yeah, I’d rather have 35 minutes of solid material as opposed to 70 minutes of pointless jams and crappy filler songs, but can’t we meet halfway (across the sky)? I’ll endure a little Trey-Anastasio-ing if it means I’m getting my full 12 bucks worth. I don’t want those a-holes at Best Buy thinking they got one over on me (especially that jerk who says “Hello” every time I walk in the damn door).

Look, either way, I’m recommending the album, so don’t get in a snit over it. “Off with Their Heads” is pretty damn good and hopefully the Chiefs’ next one will be even better…and longer.

*** (three out of five stars)

Signs That You and Your Band Blow, Part 1

2008-11-21T14:55:00.011-05:00

Does your music suck? If you’re a serious musician, you’ve probably asked yourself this question at least once in your life. That is, unless you’re an arrogant tool like the dudes in Oasis or something. (They don’t have to ask that question because they know the Beatles and the Kinks don’t suck.) With that in mind, I’ve taken it upon myself to draw up a handy-dandy cheat sheet for determining whether you are flirting with musical suck-osity. See that? I’ve got your backs, folks.

I would like to stress, however, that these signs are not across-the-board or conclusive. It is possible to possess one or more of these qualities and STILL be in a good band. So please don’t send me angry missives trying to prove that you - or famous band X – are utterly awesome and really do rule the cosmos despite an unhealthy predilection for zebra striped codpieces and WhiteSnake covers (or whatever).

Consider this a general guideline! If you find yourself nodding your head and chuckling, “That’s sooooo me” to more than two things on the list, you may want to take a moment to gaze pensively in the mirror, look deep within your soul, and honestly ask yourself, “Do I suck big ass?” If the answer is a resounding, “Yeah, you kinda do, a-hole,” then it may be time to seriously rethink your career path.

So, without further ado, here are some of the more glaring signs of suckiness to watch out for, if you can see anything at all looking through those silly fake emo glasses you’ve been wearing.

1) When people ask what type of music your band plays, you answer (more or less), “We play good old-fashioned, no-holds-barred, back-to-basics rock and roll.” For some odd reason, “no-holds-barred, back-to-basics rock and roll” always seems to sound like crappy Kiss outtakes.

2) Someone in your band smells like an odd mix of SlimJims and patchouli and has actually “followed” another band around the country for more than four shows on one tour. Extra points if he had a parent dying in the hospital at the same time.

3) You appear on the cover of Rolling Stone with your lead singer lunging at the camera while making a screaming face. The headline proclaims, “Real Rock Is Back…Honest! We Mean It This Time!” As usual, no one is convinced.

4) The words “astronomy,’ “dilettante,” or “extrapolate” are featured prominently in the chorus of your first single. Extra points if you try to rhyme the word “dilettante” with “boysenberry croissant.”

5) More than one out of every 100 of your songs in your repertoire is in a time signature other than (straightforward rock rhythm) 4/4. Corollary: If you have less than 5,000 songs total and more than even one of them is in the tricky 7/4 time signature (and you don't have the word "Combo" or "Trio" in your band name) you’re teetering dangerously close to wearing an invisible sign that says, “I need to be taken out back and beaten with a rusty pipe.”

6) Your band photo consists of four portly dudes decked out in black clothes and scowling at nothing in particular. At least one band member’s arms are firmly crossed because he’s pissed off about something (either the impending fiery Apocalypse or he’s gotta pull a double shift at KFC). Extra points if your band features a “hot chick” (hot relative to the rest of the band, that is) looming in the foreground and decked out in an all-leather bodice she bought on sale at Hot Topic. Extra, extra points if any of these words appear within the first 5.6 seconds of every song you play: dark, black onyx, swords, bloodletting, tormented, or Elizabeth Bathory. In fact, it’s probably a safe bet that I just named the first 6 songs on your debut CD.

7) Your band name is cloying, twee, or trying WAY too hard to be clever. If your name is anything like “Planes Have Left the Aquarium,” “The 16th Century Basket Weaver Convention,” or “Does Mirabelle Adore Meringue?” you’re way overdue to rethink your strategy. If you read this and immediately started wondering if those are fake band names you might be able to use, it’s time to hang up the instruments forever.

8) Your album was made after 1999 and it boasts (ironically or otherwise) the 50’s/60’s “retro look.” That is, all the songs are listed on the cover along with the words “in glorious hi-fidelity stereo.” Likewise, the band members are all wearing tacky bowling shirts and piled in a phone booth with hula hoops around their necks (or something). This was really cute and clever for awhile there in the 90’s, but isn’t it sort of overdone at this point?

9) During rehearsal, you’ve actually reprimanded your guitarist for sounding “too much like the Clash, and not enough like Nickelback.” Earn extra points if no one busts out in convulsive fits of laughter after these words are uttered.

10) You’re a female pop star who seems hell-bent on telling your ex how you don’t need him, and you’re gonna key his car, or blow up his house, or engineer a bio-virus to kill every last descendant of his loins, and oh-boy-oh boy-he-BETTER-be-sorry-he-messed-with-you! Like anything else, the “spurned female anthem” was kinda novel at one time, but now it’s way played out. My reaction whenever I hear these songs is “Me thinks thou doest protest too much!” After all, nothing sounds more needy than someone who has to loudly announce she doesn’t need her ex, right? If you were really over it, wouldn’t you spend your time singing about something else, like floor tiles? Trust me, that guy you’re so mad at isn’t ruing the day he met you. More likely he’s taking some perverse delight in the fact he messed you up so bad you’ve gotta sing a “revenge” song on the radio while he practices getting it on with his new girlfriend in time to the chorus.

11) You still think flipping the bird to photographers makes you “edgy” and “rebellious,” something it clearly hasn’t been since, oh, November 1979. You’re not Johnny Cash or a member of the Sex Pistols; move on. (Avril Lavigne, are you taking notes?)

12) People say you sing “real country” and epitomize what “country is all about,” and yet somehow your latest single sounds like an over-blown Diane Warren/Chicago power ballad from 20 years ago, albeit sung with a Southern accent and featuring an extremely obnoxious lap steel guitar.

13) Your record label re-releases your first CD before your second one has even hit the shops. Nothing screams “Let’s milk this cash cow one last time before the public wises up and realizes that he sucks big time” like the cynical reissue that materializes before most people have even gotten past track 5 on the original CD. Of course, the only bonus material on your “deluxe” package is a crappy demo-that-should-have-remained-a-demo and a lame video that everyone has already watched a billion times on youtube.

14) Your “indie” sound is so anemic and whispery that even Starbucks has to pass on it as being “too soft.”

15) You think Nirvana “saved” rock and roll.

16) You and your band spend roughly 2 hours fixing your hair and about 2 seconds tuning your instruments. (Thanks to our friend Nick over at http://www.frigginfabulousradio.com/ for this one.)

17) You’re appearing at venues that hold a maximum of 12 people – as long as everyone is anorexic and holding their breath – and you’re still smacking the hands of people in the front row like you’re Radiohead playing their final encore at MSG. You and your “fans” (aka friends who got roped into coming) are all gonna be standing at the bar 5 minutes after the show anyway; if you really want to touch their hands I’m sure you can do it then.

18) You think that making anything “lo-fi” automatically gives it a DIY charm that can overcome your same-two-chords-every-time songs, ironically monotonous singing voice, and painfully “clever” lyrics that compare love to shopping in a thrift store, or some such bullsh*t.

19) You write overwrought, melodramatic lyrics about spiritual longing and man’s isolation in the universe. Extra points if you mention dolphins. (Oops.)

20) You’ve put out 5 albums and they all sound exactly the same (and your name is not The Ramones or AC/DC). However, on your most recent album, you added a 5 second string intro to one track, a backwards guitar solo on another, and 10 seconds of yodeling to the final song. Other than that, it’s musically identical to everything else in your oeuvre. As a result of your superficial additions, the major critics have hailed you as “expanding your sound,” “growing by leaps and bounds,” and “exhibiting a startling new maturity.” In reality, the Beatles grew more between writing lines 1 and 2 of “Love Me Do” than you’ve grown in the past 25 years.

Mind you, these traits are not exhaustive… so don’t breathe a sigh of relief just because you don’t recognize yourself on the list! There’s still a chance you’re dangling directly above the gaping maw of musical mediocrity and it’s hungrily waiting to slurp you down, pseudo-goth eyeliner and all. However, after reading over this list you will hopefully begin to glean a general sense of what constitutes full-blown awfulness (basically, anything I don’t like, it would seem) and strategically avoid those pitfalls in the future.

Or don’t. Hell, you’ll probably be more successful if you DO posses all these traits. Look where it got hacks like Chris Daughtry and Green Day. I guess you need to ask yourself, what’s more important: making billions of dollars and having millions of adoring fans, or winning the approval of some curmudgeonly online a-hole with a blog no one reads?

I think the choice is clear.

Phrased Out, Part 6: PERverted Language

2008-11-09T17:29:00.012-05:00

Time for yet another installment in our never-ending examination of words/expressions that need to be banned from the English language, at least for a couple of millennia or so. Today we'll be looking at the word "per” (or the phrase “as per”).

I’m sure you all know this one. This is the one corporate toadies whip out every time they want you to do some petty job for them (usually something THEY should be doing), but they’re deathly afraid you’ll realize how pointless the request really is. So, instead of just ASKING you to do them a favor, they’ll try pulling rank and invoking the name of some higher-up in the vain hope you’re as scared of Joe or Jane Muckety-Muck as they are.

For example: “Per Mr. ScaryBossMan, stop working on that multi-million dollar project for our highest paying client and start scanning in pictures of me playing softball at the company picnic. Did I mention it’s per Mr. ScaryBossMan?”

Trust me, 99 out of 100 times the alleged superior isn’t even AWARE he’s being namechecked in a futile attempt to make it sound like the company’s imminent collapse or booming success is singularly dependent on whether or not you color-code the pointy cup receipts from 1978.

Basically, the boot-licker who exploits the word “per” knows his/her request sounds weak or trivial to begin with, so he/she feels the need to prop it up a little – you know, give it that extra “oomph.” A little memo Viagra, as it were. If the request really carried any weight, it would speak for itself and not need any help. For example, you’ve never seen a memo that said, “In the event of an all-consuming fire rapidly tearing through floor after floor of the office, all employees should get the hell out of the building as fast as their little feet can carry them…as per the CEO.”

Hence, to include the word “per” in a memo is pretty much the same as (a) implying the recipients are too freakin’ stupid to discern what merits their immediate attention, or (b) trying to force co-workers into wasting their time on really dumb, unimportant stuff by hiding behind the guise of sweeping, mandatory, executive edict. Either way, it's pretty lame. As per me.

In my view, a person either has authority over someone or he doesn’t. If he does, he shouldn’t need to bandy about words like “per.” If he DOESN’T have the authority, then he should just ask nicely for whatever he needs. He shouldn’t try to sound all bad-ass by throwing around the names of people who don’t know he exists and would be pretty pissed if they knew what he was up to.

In the rare (VERY rare) instance that an underling DOES need to disseminate orders from Mount Olympus – the urgency of which cannot be immediately apprehended – I think the best course of action is to simply say, “Mr. VaguelyTerrifying asked that we handle this project next. Would you be able to do that for me?” Sure, it’s not as impersonally obnoxious as slapping a “per” in there, and yes, it saps the requester of precious seconds that could be used kissing backside or texting annoying abbreviations, but it is more - dare I say it? - POLITE.

Sadly, "polite" is a word that seems to have been banned a long time ago.

Sweet Nothings

2008-10-30T15:36:00.008-04:00

Some random thoughts and observations on that most fattening of holidays, All Hallows' Eve...

*I’m really disheartened by what people have done to Halloween. It’s just too commercialized these days. I mean, Halloween is meant to be a serene and reflective time. The air is getting colder, the leaves are changing color, and the dead are rising up to terrorize the living and feast on their flesh. Meanwhile, Satanists are having ritualized orgies to honor their overlord and master, the dark beast. And all Hershey’s cares about is selling more candy? Man, that just makes me sad. I really feel like we’ve lost something.

*Remember when you were a kid, and you wanted to dress up as Batman or Wonder Woman or Aqua-man or Spider-man (or whoever) and you’d have to settle for one of those lame-ass store bought costumes with a picture of the hero ON the chest? What the hell was THAT crap? Everyone knows the real Spider-man didn’t have a picture of HIMSELF on his costume! I think Dr. Octopus would probably pee himself laughing if he ran into Spider-man wearing his own picture on his torso. That is, right before he pummeled the webslinger to DEATH for being such a freakin’ pansy! I wouldn’t be caught DEAD in one of those get ups. Damn it, if I couldn’t look like the REAL Strawberry Shortcake, then forget about it, know what I’m saying?

*Speaking of costumes, what about that time you dressed up as Scooby Doo in the official Scooby Doo costume and you were all psyched because you begged your mom to get it for you, and you thought you looked totally bad-ass? And then you walked to the first house and some lady goes, “OH MY! There’s a wolf at the door! HENRY! COME LOOK AT THE WOLF!” Didn’t you just want to grab the clueless old crone by the collar and go, “HEY! GRANDMA! I’m SCOOBY DOO! GET IT RIGHT!!! SCOOBY DOO!!! What, you never seen a HANNAH-BARBARA cartoon??? SCOO-BEE-FREAKIN’- DOO!!!! Like it says on the FRONT! NOW GIVE ME THE DAMN SNICKERS BAR!!!!”

*One more thing about costumes: I think it would be a kick to dress your kids up in totally anachronistic characters, and then insist they picked them out themselves. You know, dress your 5 year old daughter up as the 1920’s comic strip heroine “Winnie Winkle” and insist that YOU were pushing for “Sharpay” from High School Musical. For extra points, get REALLY pissed if anyone mistakes her for “Tillie the Toiler.”

*Halloween is the perfect time for fears and phobias. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking: You’re thinking how could an unbridled, testosterone-fueled he-beast like myself possibly be afraid of anything? Er… what’s that? You weren’t thinking that at all? Well why not? Ah, go eat some Mary Jane candy bars, why doncha. Anyway, it’s time for a confession. Ever since I was little, I’ve kind of had an irrational fear of giant squids. Yeah, you read that right. Squids. The giant kind. I don’t know what it means, so don’t ask me. I suspect it’s probably some kind of weird sexual thing, like every other phobia and fear out there. Hmmm. Maybe I shouldn’t have had sex with that giant squid back in the day.

*I loved that feeling of danger I would get when I went trick-or-treating in the suburbs as a kid. The sun would start going down, and we had already hit up everyone in our neighborhood for candy. Some of them twice. So we would start venturing over into the OTHER neighborhoods... It was never spoken, but there was always a clear line separating "home turf" from the "strange and alien worlds" of the suburbs we didn't know. We felt like we were really taking our lives into our own hands by crossing the "line," even though we were probably less than a quarter of a mile away in reality. The air would start getting colder and there was something very forbidden about it all. You never knew if the weird people who lived in the giant brown house at the end of a cul-de-sac no one ever went down were going to ax you to death and feed you to that dog barking its ass off in their backyard. And then, inevitably, you'd stay out too damn late and have to start making your way back in the dark. Sometimes, you'd knock on people's doors and you could barely find the way up to their house because they had the audacity to turn off their lights!!! Having a young, undeveloped noggin we didn't understand this was courtesy-speak for "It's time to stop trick-or-treating, kids." We were undeterred!!! How dare they turn off their lights at 10:30pm? Didn't they know Halloween officially runs until Midnight on All Saints Day!!??? Hey, spare the candy corn lady! I don't care if you gotta work in the morning. Bastards.

*The coolest person in the neighborhood back in the day would give out Marathon bars. They were like 19 feet long, I think. You could work on one of those a month or two, easy. Anything after the house giving out Marathon bars was truly anti-climatic. Snickers??? The "fun size?" They should have just called it the "lame size," for a little truth in advertising. And they're getting smaller too! I think nowadays they're roughly the size of, oh, an electron particle. The worst part of that is, the candy bar both exists and DOESN'T exist until you actually open your candy bag and look at it!!! That's quantum physics humour, kiddies.

Now get out there and invoke the wrath of evil spirits by emulating their form!

Coffee Calamity

2008-10-20T15:57:00.008-04:00

My god, what is this world COMING TO?

Earlier today I went to purchase my morning coffee and the sign CLEARLY advertised vanilla, hazelnut and amaretto flavors. Having always been partial to the almond-tinged spirits, I asked the server to brew me up a cup of amaretto-flavored java and he had the utter temerity to inform me - get this - “No, we only have the vanilla and hazelnut.”

Naturally, my response was swift and unmitigated. “WHAT THE …??? No amaretto? What are we, philistines? NO AMARETTO??? That’s downright barbaric!!! Are you suggesting I ONLY drink the hazelnut, or even worse, the REGULAR coffee? What’s next, sacrificing virgins to the volcano god while TALKING TO PEOPLE FACE TO FACE instead of texting them???”

After a moment of palpable silence, which I’m sure was spent in ruminative penance for his barista-based sins, the server ever-so-contritely asked me, “So you want the vanilla or not, buddy? You’re holding up my freakin’ line here.”

Excuse me, VANILLA? HOHO! Can you imagine anything more plebeian? “Good LORD MAN!” I exclaimed. “That’s what the book-sniffers down at BARNES AND IGNOBLES drink, for heaven’s sake! SURELY you’re not suggesting I imbibe that swill? Do you honestly think I can sit in a meeting with the aroma of common VANILLA beans wafting from my mug? I’ll be laughed right out of the room!” Oddly, he seemed singularly unmoved by my fervent argument.

Then the server – by sheer accident, I’m sure - reached over the counter, knocked my blackberry out of my hands, and proceeded to spill a full pot of piping hot hazelnut coffee all over it. I know he immediately regretted his error because he loudly announced, “OOPS! SORRY!” while looking me straight in the eye. Sadly, he must have been having a bad day because he somehow managed to grab a SECOND brimmin’ pot of coffee (praline flavored) and likewise spill ITS contents all over my helpless “berry.”

Wow. Talk about clumsy! I almost felt bad for the poor schlub. Can you imagine being that clueless?

Consequently, my feet and lower legs are now are scorched with disfiguring third degree burns from the coffee splashing off the counter and soaking straight through my clothes. However, that indignity is but a trifling when compared to the social shame that comes from being forced to drink a rather pedestrian blend of medium-roast coffee beans.

Never mind that throwing some fancy flavors into a pot of coffee hardly makes it the epitome of refined living. The important thing is that I FEEL enlightened and cultured while continuing my endless descent into being a mindless tool. I’ll tell ya, it’s not easy being an upwardly-mobile pretentious a-hole in today’s fast paced society. You can’t even get a decent cup of overpriced amaretto coffee when you want one!!!

I have gazed into the inky black bottom of the coffee pot, and I have seen non-flavored coffee staring back at me.

The horror, the sheer horror of it all.

New Jersey and Me: Weird Together

2008-10-15T12:12:00.003-04:00

So a couple of weird things to report this month, which makes sense since you all know what month this is…

That’s right: It’s ROCK-TOBER!!! (Insert tasty electric guitar lick here)

Sorry, I was having a lame classic rock radio flashback… (shudder)

Anyway, the first weird thing to report is that there’s actually a new song up at www.myspace.com/glennpagemusic ...Check it!

The second weird thing is that there’s a picture of yours truly in the latest issue of Weird New Jersey. It’s the most god-awful likeness of me ever committed to film, so be forewarned. No, seriously, I'm not kidding.

See ya soon.

Whole Foods, Semi-Nuts

2008-09-02T15:35:00.008-04:00

I ventured into an organic food store this weekend – I won’t say the name but it rhymes with WHOLE FOODS – and it made me wonder about a few things, like how anyone can shop at Whole Foods on a regular basis without ending up wholly broke. Personally, I was only there to buy some super-powered probiotics, because it’s hard to maintain optimal levels of bile and venom unless you reinforce your stomach with mega-doses of amicable bacteria from time to time. At any rate, here are a couple of my random musings, with the maximum dosage of CSC units (cynical, snarky comments) per observation.*

First of all, does every stray herb, mineral, plant, fruit, vine, weed, berry, thorn, bacteria, bean, and clump of dirt to ever grace Gaea’s green earth have "miraculous" healing properties that some remote tribe has utilized for "thousands of years?" It seems that even the ones that look like they could kill you deader than my site traffic (stinging nettle, anyone?) possess amazing "regenerative and healing" properties. Wow! Fancy that.

You would THINK there would be at least one or two herbs that just f*ck your ass up and don’t have much to recommend them, but health food stores give me the distinct impression that every herb does something beneficial, if you look hard enough. What, none of them are just inert? You know, they don’t do a damn thing one way or the other? Apparently not. I think when all else fails, they just slap the old "refreshes your spirits" on the label. I normally leave that to my bartender, but hey, who can argue with "refreshes your spirits?"

Also, why is it always "thousands of years" of health benefits? I guess "cooked up by our marketing team a few weeks ago" just doesn’t have the same ring to it. Can’t you just see the research team at Eden’s Natural Garden of Bountiful Organic Harvest coming up with their latest "miraculous" product? "

*************************************************************

R&D Guy 1: Hey, what the hell are these berries?

R&D Guy 2: I don’t know, but they taste like ass.

R&D Guy 3: That means they’re bursting with anti-oxidizing properties.

R&D Guy 2: Tastes more like pro-ass-tasting properties.

R&D Guy 1: If this is anti-oxidizing, I am definitely pro-oxidation. Go oxidation!

R&D Guy 4: Those are heineyassa berries. They’re extremely rare.

R&D 1: Thank god.

R&D 2: So what do they do?

R&D 3: Well, nothing is proven, but several studies suggest heineyassa berries may increase the tensile strength of one’s nostril hair by as much as 3 percent.

R&D 4: Ok, it’s not much, but I guess we can work with it. What kind of dosage are we talking in order to achieve the desired effect?

R&D 3: Six hundred and sixty eight billion grams a day.

R&D 2: Six hundred and sixty eight billion grams!!!

R&D 3: Roughly equivalent to filling a ’73 Gremlin with heineyassa berries. Including the trunk. And the glove compartment. Maybe a couple strapped on the hood.

R&D 4: *Sigh* Well, can we do a concentrated form? You know, one one of those nasty drinks that never mixes properly?

R&D 1: You mean the ones that leave a mound of purple sludge at the bottom of the glass, even if you stir it until your arm comes out of its socket? And then you have to take our overpriced glucosmaine supplements until your arm heals?

R&D 4: Yeah, those.

R&D 3: We could do that. Then you’d only have to drink about 2 oil drums of heineyassa juice a day. However, you WILL have the strongest, thickest, and most manageable nose hair on the block.

R&D 2: By 3 percent.

R&D 1: Literally by a nose hair.

R&D 3: One other problem: They’re grown in Florida.

R&D 2: So?

R&D 4: Yeah, that’s bad. Florida is too pedestrian. We need to come up with some exotic sounding locale where the natives are shrouded in a mystical aura simply because they’re not American.

R&D 2: People who wouldn’t be caught dead eating heineyassa berries, but can be safely exploited from a distance.

R&D 1: Right, and make sure the label has a lot of "spiritual" looking symbols like birds and people dancing. Or some crap like that. I’m telling ya, people eat that sh*t up.

R&D 2: They sure do. Hell, if they’ll eat heineyassa berries they’ll eat anything.

(Everyone laughs as they pile into an SUV and then drive over to McDonald's for Big Macs. With extra large fries.)

*************************************************************

Can't you just see it? Can't you? Huhn? What do you mean "No?" Ah, go eat some heineyassa berries, why doncha.

Another thing: it always gives me pause when I see products which have supposedly been in existence since the dawn of man, yet amazingly no one has heard of them. You know, ones like "Raphael's Toenail Tonic" or "Trenton Tom's Backwater Soda Pop." These are the guys that proudly broadcast their longevity on the label with phrases like "Since 1543," "Family Owned and Operated Since 1102," or "The Trusted Name in Ear Lobe Ointments Since 5,648 B.C."

Now, I'm all for the little guy and privately owned small businesses. Not every cookie (for example) has to be tasteless mega-conglomerate paperboard like Chips Ahoy! On the other hand, doesn't it strike you as a little curious that some dude's family has been making anise flavored tea biscuits since before the Salem witch trials and yet they've remained relatively anonymous? Wouldn't an impressive feat like that seem to demand some national attention?

How have they managed to fly under the radar so long? Is there a cookie conspiracy with "Big Cookie" operatives who systematically eliminate anyone who threatens to bring "Andy's Anise Delights" to the masses? Are the owners of Andy's consciously keeping their business "small" and resisting larger forms of distribution, or do their cookies just suck? Most small businesses are lucky to last a year or two, and yet somehow the unknown biscuit guys from Hoboken have been semi-flourishing for half a millenium. How does that work?

And don't forget the obligatory, self-congratulatory "Our Story" which has to appear on the back of EVERY single organic, "homemade" product out there, with the squiggly lines that look like they were drawn by a two year old riding a bronco and the half-ass pictures of cows strewn throughout the borders. Nevermind that we've got cows on a bag of licorice or a jar of coconut oil. Cows are organisms, you know, and therefore "organic."

Is it possible, and I know this is a crazy thought, that some of these companies aren't quite as small, folksy, and "quaint" as the packaging would suggest? Is it possible that some of the "organic" imaging is just a little bit cynical and calculated? Are all these companies really motivated by "lifting your spirits and purifying your mind?" More to the point, can the "down home community values" embodied by such products exist comfortably with the capitalist/consumer mentality and the demands of being a publicly traded company in corporate America?

Hey, I just ask the questions; I don't have the answers, folks.

* These statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration, because they can't hear anything lodged way up Big Pharma's backside.

Is It Dark in Here, or Is It Ladytron?

2008-08-26T16:42:00.012-04:00

Music Review: Ladytron, Velocifero (Nettwerk)

Just like the cover of their latest studio effort, Velocifero, electro-pop purveyors Ladytron just keep getting darker and darker. At this rate, you’ll need infrared goggles just to listen to them soon. Where past tracks like "Evil" were almost deceptively poppy, Velocifero finds Ladytron painting a relentlessly glossy black canvas.

Opening track "Black Cat" sets the nocturnal scene with synthesizer notes twinkling like distant stars, only to be quickly eclipsed by grinding guitar chords and pounding drum beats. After that, Mira Aroyo emerges from the swirling mix like… well, a black cat. Eerie Bulgarian vocals round out the picture, accentuating Ladytron’s icy European image and foreboding aura.

Unfortunately, I don’t speak Bulgarian, so I have no idea what’s being sung. The lyrics could be "My feet smell like Combos," and it would still sound exotic and deep to an uncultured boob like me. It probably doesn’t matter though, because specific lyrical content seems to take a backseat to the overall mood of Ladytron’s songs.

Once "Black Cat" has caught the listener’s attention, Velocifero proceeds to pull the listener deeper into its inky vortex. Minor keys and off-kilter chord changes abound - I don’t think there’s one song here that starts off with a major chord - and Ladytron draws upon a variety of influences to weave a velvety tapestry of electro, new wave, pop, rock, psychedelia, and even industrial.

"Ghosts," the first single, comes hot on the high-heels of "Black Cat" and boasts a smooth, infectious chorus, as all first singles worth their weight in ectoplasm should. For some reason, it sort of sounds like "Destroy Everything You Touch" turned on its head, but hey, that was a great song and we all like trying new positions from time to time, right? The militaristic drumming and creepy soloing don’t hurt things, either.

After that, it’s time for "I’m Not Scared" (of ghosts and black cats, presumably) which comes barreling out of the speakers like their previous single "Sugar" with a bad-ass new engine mounted on its hood. Why this song was not chosen as the second single as opposed to the decent, but rote and over-long "Runaway" is beyond me. "Season of Illusions" has a distinctly Roxy Music vibe (think "Chance Meeting" or "Sea Breezes"), while "Burning Up," sounds like Nine Inch Nails trying to give Tears for Fears some much-needed balls.

The only real misstep here is "Predict the Day" with its X-Files-ish whistling and a thumping beat which makes me desperately want to fight the future.

But wait! Saving what is arguably the two best cuts for last, Ladytron hits us with the one-two punch of "Tomorrow" and "Versus" before calling it a day and hightailing it back to their ice-beds, or wherever it is they go at night. "Tomorrow" features an enchanting chorus brimmin’ with lots of reverb and retro-80’s goodness. It’s almost enough to make you pull out your old Pet Shop Boys albums. Still, as good as "Tomorrow" is, it’s merely a warm up (ice up?) for what comes next…

"Versus" is clearly meant to be the epic closer. Impassive female vocals counterpoint fragile Andy-Partridge-ish male vocals and give the track an added sense of melancholia and depth. Meanwhile, dreamy "ooo" vocals drone away in the background and nervous organ licks skitter across the mix. It’s a sublime moment, and possibly a herald of even better things to come from these guys.

Thank goodness darker doesn’t always mean oppressive and depressing; by going "darker" on Velocifero, Ladytron’s future just got even brighter.

*** ½ (three-and-a-half out of five stars)

For more insightful musings, great music and exclusive interviews, check out http://www.frigginfabulousradio.com/

The Death of Music, Part 6: iPod Is Dead

2008-08-06T16:24:00.012-04:00

You know what you never see anymore? You never see a guy (without any gadgets) just walking along humming a song to himself, or whistling a little tune. At the very least, you don’t see anyone born after the release of “The 10 Commandments” engaging in that kind of musical self-entertainment. What ever happened to that?

And I’m not talking about an insane guy belting out “Love Is in the Air” while wearing yellow footie pajamas in the middle of Times Square. I’m talking about regular joes and joe-esses like you and me, just bopping along happily to our own private soundtrack in our heads.

Nowadays, you’re more likely to see people gliding silently around with those omnipresent earbuds growing directly into their heads like parasitical vines, presumably rocking out to their favorite tunes. Strangely, their faces are almost always ashen and lifeless, as though they’ve been listening to an endless loop of “The Complete History of Carpet Tacks, Volume Five” as read by a heavily doped up Alan Greenspan. And they’re hardly, if ever, singing.

Oh sure, once in a while you’ll still see a lone subway rider jamming out to Joe Satriani like he’s having some kind of freak-a-delic hard-rock meltdown, but more often than not the iPod legions move in stealthy, icy silence.

You would think the technology that allows us to listen to a steady stream of music would enhance our ability to appreciate the stuff, and maybe even make us more artistic, creative individuals. However, the iPod seems to primarily serve two functions: (1) turning music into a totally passive, background experience, which requires little imagination, attention or exertion, and (2) locking us inside our own heads and making us oblivious to the world around us, so we can continue living on our own insular “islands” without engaging the world in any meaningful way.

While it is true that music has always been used to varying degrees as background fodder (in the car, for example) the iPod has made the “background” experience the PRIMARY way many people listen to music. Instead of focusing on music, they’re engaging in all sorts of other activities: they’re texting; they’re talking on cell phones; they’re buying crappy overpriced coffee; they’re getting in everyone else’s way. Basically, people are doing a jillion and a half other things while allegedly “listening” to music. I’ve experienced music this way, and I can tell you there is a big difference in how much you get out of a song playing on your car stereo vs. a song coming out of your iPod as you cross a busy city intersection with a taxi cab bearing down on you.

Don't get me wrong: it’s fine if you want to chill out with some music on a long bus ride, or listen to your favorite band while you jog on a lightly traveled back road. There’s also nothing wrong with using music to relieve stress, and no one doubts that music can, under certain conditions, benefit human cognition. However, people who spend their whole lives plugged into an iPod diminish both their experience of music and (sometimes unwittingly) the world around them.

If you’re constantly listening to an iPod, you can’t pay enough attention to actually glean any meaning from your music. Likewise, you can’t engage the world or avoid looking like an annoying, self-absorbed fool if you’re always cutting off 1/5 of your sensory input. (People who wear iPods inside crowded buildings are particularly irritating.)

All of which brings us back to our singing/whistling friend. When you see someone singing or whistling (who isn’t mentally deranged), you know you could say “Hi” to him and he would hear you. He wouldn’t raise a finger as if to say “Hold on” and then spend 10 minutes tugging at the intricate network of musical diodes protruding from his noggin. He’s at least semi-aware of the world around him.

Not only that, but I strongly suspect he is more mentally active than the the average iPod addict. At least the lone hum-man is using some part of his brain to recall the melody and recreate it through his lips. He's not just passively listening, letting a steady stream of meaningless notes erode his consciousness like waves slapping lazily against a mushy, pliable shoreline.

In short, people need to turn off the iPod's, turn on their brains, and get back in the real world already. Hey, if I have to live on this ridiculous planet we call earth, then they should have to live on it too.

You Know What We Need? A Peppy Pop Song About Existential Nothingness!

2008-07-22T11:35:00.008-04:00

I’m very pleased to add a new demo to my MySpace page, "Cosmic Orphans," which has always been one of my very favorite original compositions. I wrote this song back in the 90’s, during a somewhat darker time in my life. The driving force behind the lyric was that feeling we all have eventually when we wonder if we really are alone in the universe and ask if there’s a deeper meaning to it all. It’s about that moment in your life when you realize we can really only depend on each other, but even then we have trouble bridging the gaps between us. Or some such happy horse-**** like that.

"C.O." has always been a sad, reflective song, but I thought it might be nice to also have a more "rocking" demo, since not everyone is as moody as I am! (Hard to believe, I know.) Fortunately, Payton Stiles and the good folks at Music City Studios stepped in to produce and perform the version you hear on MySpace. Their patience and skill helped bring this demo to life and I am greatly in their debt. I hope you like it as much as I do.

Find it here:
www.myspace.com/glennpagemusic

News Flash: Spielberg Refuses to Concede

2008-06-04T11:09:00.003-04:00

SPIELBERG REFUSES TO CONCEDE AFTER “SEX AND THE CITY” TOPS “INDIANA JONES” AT THE BOX OFFICE

In a shocking turn of events (although not as shocking as what Miranda’s husband did, OMFG), Steven Spielberg gave a vague yet impassioned speech early this morning thanking everyone who went to see Indiana Jones this past weekend, while failing to concede Sex and the City’s box office triumph over the aging archaeologist.

Speaking in Johnny Funkmeyer’s mother’s basement to a room full of zealous, equally-aging fanboys, some decked out in full Indiana Jones garb, Spielberg made a series of triumphant statements about the box office success of “Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull,” even though it got pulverized in its second week by the debut of a movie actually featuring Sarah Jessica Parker in a prominent role.

“A man came up to me yesterday,” Spielberg solemnly intoned as a somber hush fell upon the crowd. “Well, actually, he was more of a man-child, but nonetheless, he came up to me with tears in his eyes,” Spielberg continued. “He said, ‘Mr. Spielberg, what are you going to DO to ensure that I don’t have to watch four shallow women shrieking about nothing for two hours, while they rhapsodize for the umpteenth-billionth time about the way sex is like buying shoes? What are you going to do to ensure that I get to see Harrison Ford punch the fear of God into some Commies this weekend?’

“My friends,” Spielberg whispered, “that is an America I do not want to live in. You know, the one where people can actually approach me on the street and talk to me.”

“Sex and the City” made 57 million this past weekend, while “Indiana Jones” slipped to second place with 46 million. Despite the final weekend tally released on Monday, Spielberg continued to speak as though the numbers were still rolling in. “I say we will not stop until every ticket stub is counted,” the acclaimed director exclaimed to the frenzied crowd. “What about the art theaters which have to show a big blockbuster now and then just to keep themselves from being turned into an IHOP? Did we count all those stubs? You can’t keep a theater in business when all you show is ‘La Bonne (The Maid)’ for God’s sake.” Spielberg’s comments prompted the crowd to raise their fedoras in approval and chant, “Indiana! Indiana! Indiana!”

Ultimately, Spielberg left the door open to a double-bill featuring both “Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” and “Sex & the City,” which some analysts have dubbed the “dream ticket,” especially for every aging nerd who somehow managed to con a woman into marrying his pathetic ass.

Rain Spotting: A Field Guide to New Yorkers on a Rainy Day

2008-04-29T14:05:00.007-04:00

So it was raining in New York today, and of course, that brings the pointy-head brigade out in full force, even more so than usual, if you can actually imagine such a thing. Every time it rains in New York, you get to see all different varieties of human silliness on full display, and I’ve taken the trouble to break them down for you, so the next time you’re in NYC you can have fun spotting and avoiding them all. It’s sort of like bird-watching, but with less attractive plumage. Here is a short breakdown of the different species you will encounter on the average rainy day in New York:

1) Vlad, the Impaler: Whenever the droplets begin to fall, this single-minded creature of the night tends to run at you full force when the pointy-end of his umbrella angled right at you for maximum injury. It’s almost like Vlad just came from a rousing exhibition at Medieval Times, and now he wants to do a little jousting of his own with any and all hapless passerby. His blood thirst is insatiable, so don’t get in his way; you could be the next unwitting victim of his endless reign of carnage.

2) Mr. Super-Size-Me Umbrella: This commonly sighted fellow likes to run around town with an umbrella twice as tall as he is, and wide enough to keep a couple thousand Mogwai from getting even remotely damp. His umbrella is so big that you have to wonder if it got pelted with a b-movie dose of radiation at some point. Watch out for this breed, for he is usually quite oblivious to his surroundings and will plow down all would-be challengers to his presumed umbrell-ic awesomeness.

3) Sponge Bob Dumb-Ass: An umbrella-less species, this is the guy who struts around like he’s impervious to H20 and it’s not even raining out. This is true even when there are monsoon-like winds buffeting his frame and the rain is turning hot dog carts into makeshift gondolas floating down Third Avenue. This guy doesn’t want you to know he’s affected by the rain, SEE? So, in addition to walking around umbrella-less, he often wears nothing more than jeans and a t-shirt. Yes, this aqua-male has a clear message for us all: it’s US who are the sissies, running around trying to avoid hypothermia like a bunch of little girls! Either that, or he’s just an ego-maniac who’d never dare admit he left his umbrella at home.

4) Marathon Man: It’s bad enough the rest of us have to be out in the rain trudging to our jobs; this cretin is just out “for a jog” in the middle of a rainstorm of Biblical proportions. No one knows for sure if this fool works for a living, but you’ll usually spot him (or her) dashing across the windswept streets decked out in the obligatory silver and red spandex uniform. Marathon Man is always plugged into an iPod as well, just to remove any remote chance he might actually hear the bus bearing down on him at 50 MPH. Some people believe this is a built-in genetic disposition to keep Marathon Man’s population numbers down, while others believe it’s a learned behavioral trait scientists like to call “being a self-absorbed tool.”

5) Lot’s Wife: She’s completely made of salt, so she whips out the umbrella while the rest of us are still trying to figure out if that even WAS rain we felt on our left arm for half a millisecond, or just a very nimble sex offender. Lot’s Wife is also well-known for her persistent habit of leaving her umbrella up while passing through extremely dry stretches of sidewalk covered by awnings and scaffolds. As a result, she is constantly jeopardizing innocent passerby with the threat of impromptu, un-anesthetized head removal surgery. She also likes to keep her umbrella open while moving through revolving doors and hotel lobbies, even though no rain has ever been known to fall inside a well-constructed hotel lobby in the history of recorded man. Not outside a Stephen King story, anyway.

6) Mr. Never-Say-Dry: He absolutely REFUSES to get a new umbrella, even though his umbrella is falling apart with dangerous phantasm-ball-like projectiles sticking out at every possible angle. In fact, his umbrella hardly even looks like an umbrella anymore, but more like Spider-Man’s nemesis Venom in mid-transformation after getting blasted with sonic waves. Still, he bravely soldiers on, futilely propping a pathetic wad of torn fabric and dangerous metal spikes high above his head. Ironically, he always ends up getting soaked three times worse than those with no umbrella at all. See also: Mr. Floppy Umbrella.

7) Benny on Broadway: A close relative of Mr. Super-Size-Me Umbrella, in the same way a dope is a close relative of a dolt. This is the guy (or gal) who couldn’t scare up a semi-normal umbrella, so he ransacked his summer supplies for a beach umbrella. You half expect this clown to be walking around with a dollop of sunscreen on his nose and a picnic basket under one arm. Large, dichromatic colors (usually white combined with red, blue or black) are the tell-tale sign of this exotic breed, as well as a care-free, lumbering gait more suited to staking out a sunny spot on the beach than navigating a crowded, rain-drenched avenue.

8) The Free Spirit: She looks like she should be plastered on the side of a package of Morton’s Salt rather than walking a city street, this term applies to any of the giddy young females you see whisking around in neon-pink and bright yellow raincoats and protecting themselves with nothing but frail, petite umbrellas. Likewise, these umbrellas are usually adorned with some kind of artsy-fartsy pattern like ladybugs, leopard spots, Betty Boop’s, Van Gogh’s self-portrait, or Andy Warhol cows. While these fun-loving, impish sprites can sometimes bring a smile to one’s world-weary face, they can also make you wish the city would just grind them down and pulverize their souls into dust already.

And that’s it for this week, kiddies! Stay dry!

The Death of Music, Part 5: No One Likes "All Kinds of Music."

2008-04-24T14:46:00.007-04:00

Hey there music mourners! Put away your tear-stained hankies, ‘cause it’s time for yet another installment in our bile-filled series devoted to the never-ending public execution of music. Which makes me wonder, couldn’t we just get this over with already? I mean, why don’t we just grab music from behind, strangle it with an iPod cord, and bash it over the head repeatedly with the latest Fall Out Boy CD until its lights are snuffed out for good?

Do we really have to keep protracting this grisly murder with near-fatal blows (and new releases) by Madonna, Weezer, Mariah Carey, The Raconteurs, White Snake, The Rolling Stones, Ashlee Simpson, Louis XIV and many others? Do we need to stand by helplessly as yet another musical “savior” shows up, trots out some semi-competent but derivative melodies, and then promptly slips into obscurity within a year or two? (By the way, this week’s semi-competent contenders are Vampire Weekend, with their English Beat/Joe Stummer-ish rock/Caribbean sound. And if you’re sitting there thinking “Vampire Weekend is so 2007!” then that just kind of proves the point, doesn’t it?)

Sadly, it looks like we enjoy torturing music’s once-vital and robust form way too much, so music won’t be COMPLETELY dying off anytime in the foreseeable future. With that in mind, I’d like to offer a little friendly advice in case you ever find yourself in the awkward position of actually having to DISCUSS the damn stuff.

If anyone ever asks you, “What kind of music do you like?” Never, EVER answer (with a playful toss of your bountiful locks) “Oh, I like ALL KINDS of music!!!” unless you want to immediately slay a conversation deader than the buzz surrounding the Arctic Monkeys. In fact, it is better to profess your undying devotion to the complete works of L.A. Guns before you utter something as mindlessly tiresome as “I like all kinds of music!”

Why? Well, first of all, nine billion out of nine billion-and-six times it’s patently not true. A lot of people think their musical proclivities are the metaphorical equivalent of a Save the Children necktie just because they groove around to both the White Stripes AND Led Zeppelin on their iPod shuffle. Either that or they view themselves as “audiophiles” because they have the audacity to listen to melodic, whispery rockers like Snow Patrol back-to-back with anthemic, blow-hard rockers like U2. You heard right; not even a Travis cut between them to buffer the blow. Holy god, I almost had a massive coronary just contemplating the chocolate-in-peanut-butter-lunacy of it all.

In truth, there is an infinite number of styles and sub-genres of music on this planet and Western pop music only comprises a tiny fraction of that music. The music that is aggressively marketed and made available to most Westerners is an even smaller amount, as you are no doubt marginally aware. So when someone says, “I like all kinds of music,” he usually means all the music currently in “hot” rotation on his favorite radio station.

Unless you actually ARE getting down to French film scores in the evening, atonal 20th century classical in the morning, free-form jazz in the afternoon and meringue dance mixes on the weekend, it’s better to just admit your unhealthy fondness for bleating Diane Warren-ish pop ballads or tepid southern-rock-boogie and be done with it.

Which brings me to the second reason you should never say “I like all kinds of music!” In my experience, there is nothing more dish-water dull than a person who can’t get fired up about one type of music, at least once in a while. Mind you, there is nothing wrong with EXPOSING yourself to many styles of music - in fact, I highly recommend that you do - but if you’ve never been moved enough to feel “loyalty” for one type of music, then I believe you’ve never fully experienced the power of music.

While there ARE definitely people who can glean profound meaning from a myriad of musical forms, I believe these true musical connoisseurs (and I am not one of them) are few and far between. More often than not, the people who listen to a large variety of music and then profess to dig “all kinds of music” are really pretentious Paste-subscribing poseurs who want to impress people with their mind-blowing cultural acumen. Their listening may be wide and varied, but their “hearing” tends to be cursory and superficial. Sorry, not impressed.

Similarly, I have a hard time taking seriously any band that lists more than 600 other bands as major influences on their sound. Are they really that non-discriminating? Because I have a hard time believing ANYONE could be that diverse, or immerse themselves fully in that many bands without losing something along the way.

For god’s sake, man! If you’re listening to THAT much music (and you’d have to have it wired into your head while you sleep, if you believe these guys) you should be riled up enough to single out SOMETHING!!! Does nothing jangle your ganglia or make your limbic system want to do the limbo? There’s no style, genre, or artist that makes you want to profess your undying allegiance from the highest mountain top? No? Then you, my friend, have never really been moved by music.

So, let’s review: On the one hand, it’s not a good idea to say you like “all kinds of music” when Clear Channel’s hot AC consultant has your musical knowledge in a triple-head lock, or you own exactly 3 CD’s, and at least one of them is “The Eagles’ Greatest Hits.” On the other hand, it’s a sad state of affairs when you seek out every obscure beat ever committed to digital media and then claim to love them all because you can’t FULLY appreciate any of them, or you don’t want to risk looking like a musical philistine.

Take a stand! Have a viewpoint! Feel the passion! Don’t be a poseur! When someone asks you what kind of music you like, don’t just toss out some nebulous non-committal non-answer. Instead, have a thoughtful response ready to go. Trust me, if you’re trying to flirt with someone you just met, he or she will respect you more if you express your opinions and stick to your guns.

Yes, even if they’re L.A. Guns.

Phrased Out, Part 5: "Soonest"

2008-04-03T16:03:00.005-04:00

It’s time for another entry in our ongoing series “Phrased Out,” in which we try in vain to disabuse people of their irritating linguistic habits. Ironically, I suspect there are people who would say MY linguistic habits are a tad bit annoying, but those people simply lack panache and imagination. Either that, or they're just poopy-heads. Simply stated, I like to garnish my speech with the occasional seasoning or two; I don’t pour salt all over everything like a demented fry clerk trying to give someone a stroke.

The latest word that’s giving ME a stroke is “soonest.” Why, you may wonder, would such a seemingly benign word raise my blood pressure so? Well, it’s not the word itself but the way it has been twisted and perverted in the name of pretentious corporate-speak. In this instance, I’m annoyed by people who use “soonest” to mean “as soon as possible, and make it snappy, salmon-breath.”

The last time I checked, at least here on this toxic blue and green ball, the word “soon” meant within a short span of time or in the near future. Of course, what that period of time actually IS can be relative to a lot of factors; what seems “soon” to a Galapagos turtle or someone waiting for a Kate Hudson movie to end may not be the same as what is “soon” to you or me.

Similarly, the SUPERLATIVE form of “soon” always meant (roughly) “coming before all others in linear time.” For example, “Matt will be here soonest,” USED to mean “Matt will be here before Joe, Roy, Sally, and Stevie the one-armed drug dealer.” If you wanted your copy of “S&M TODAY" to arrive “soonest,” you wanted it to show up in your P.O. Box BEFORE the leather masks and whips you ordered. Or, at the very least, before your frail old mother found it and suffered a massive coronary.

Now consider “ASAP,” which, of course, is shorthand for “as soon as possible.” You would think the corporate mannequins would adore a term like “ASAP.” First of all, it’s compact and concise. Secondly, it conveys the image of someone who needs to conserve every available nanosecond for blackberry’ing, cell-phoning, power-lunching and screwing-over. In other words, someone who is MUCH too busy (and much too good) to waste .0004 seconds typing out the words “as soon as possible.”

But not so fast (fastest?)! “ASAP” has lost a lot of its pretentious cache over the years due to indiscriminate overuse. It appears in everything from greeting cards to love letters to everyday conversations. That’s DEFINITELY no good for corporate climbers who pride themselves on being as trendy, cloying, and obnoxious as possible. Their goal is to create a self-perpetuating system of masturbatory corporate-speak that reeks of self-importance and presumed superiority.

Exit: ASAP. Enter: Soonest.

Why is “soonest” so annoying? Well, if by “soonest” you mean “first,” then you should just say “first.” “Please do this first” is a perfectly acceptable request. However, you better be the boss if you’re gonna go around issuing such demands. If by “soonest” you mean “before all other tasks coming up” (a legitimate use of the word) you should also be the boss, and not some schlub who thinks his latest vanity project supersedes the 9,678 other menial tasks I’ve been given today.

However, even if you ARE my boss, there’s usually no good reason to say “soonest” instead of “first.” I suppose if you wanted to acknowledge that I’m probably in the middle of a project you could use the word “soonest” (read: after my present task) but even then the word “next” seems much more appropriate.

All of which brings us to the most annoying use of all. If you are using “soonest” to mean “as soon as possible,” then just SAY “as soon as possible! "Soonest” DOESN’T TRANSLATE TO “AS SOON AS POSSIBLE” any more than “best” translates to “as good as you can possibly be.” “Soonest” sounds cutesy or precious at best; obnoxious and demanding at worst.

So, if you’re a co-worker and you send me an e-mail that reads, “Can you dub my home movies for my personal website? Please handle soonest,” you had better be prepared for a long, long wait.

Simply put, if you want your requests handled in a timely fashion, the words “soon” and/or “quickly” are sufficient. “Please handle soon,” is all you need to say; you don’t need to throw an unwarranted “-EST” on the end to try and create the illusion of urgency. That is, unless you actually think you ARE my boss and you’re telling me to encode your home movies before I do anything else.

If that’s the case, I would kindly ask that you please go to hell soonest.

She Sells by the Seashore: the SI Swimsuit Issue

2008-03-20T16:34:00.006-04:00

So the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue came out this month. I personally haven’t picked it up, probably because I don’t want to get a double hernia from its sheer mass. However, over the past few days I have walked past several newsstands with extra-large pallets piled high with the SI swimsuit extravaganza. Are they trying to tell me something?

Anyway, when I see the cover, it invariably gets me thinking. Usually I start thinking something like, “How do the necklaces and hair always fall right where they’re supposed to when the models emerge from the ocean? That never works for me.”

After I mull that over for a couple of hours (or 6 or 7), I begin to muse nostalgically about how far we’ve come from ye olden days of yore. My, how things have changed since the innocent wide-eyed early days of chicks in see-through mesh bikinis!

Back when I was growing up in the 70’s and 80’s, the SI swimsuit issue featured a paltry 8 or 10 page supermodel spread in an otherwise regular, boring, mind-numbing issue of Sports Illustrated. I actually felt sorry for the “regular” athletes who were featured in a swimsuit issue back then. Something tells me not many readers were flipping the pages furiously to get to the all-star backgammon spread on the opposite side of Christie Brinkley’s latest tensile-strength experiment in the emerging field of nano-fiber technology.

Of course, the situation gradually changed over the years. After realizing that the swimsuit issue sold about, oh, 50 ga-jillion times better than the rest of the year combined, SI had a startling epiphany: men like pictures of backgammon tournaments. Ha! I’m kidding of course. The editors realized they could fill a WHOLE magazine with pictures of bikini-clad nymphets, and men would gladly plunk down a shekel or two for leering rights.

Meanwhile, back in prehistoric times, if you were an ardent bikini fan you were forced to suffer further hardships like some kind of voyeuristic Job. Not only did Sports Illustrated limit your bathing suit fun to a measly 8-10 pages per year, but you had to actually purchase your issue well within the standard seven days allotted for weekly publications. If not, you were S.O.L., buddy boy.

Nowadays they leave millions of copies of the swimsuit issue on the stands well until December, but back then it was just another regular issue ready to be replaced in seven days’ time. There was nothing more soul-crushing as a 13 year old boy than riding your bike a grueling 2 miles to the nearest 7-11 and running directly to the magazine section, only to be greeted by a frighteningly tight close-up of Wayne Gretzky’s face contorted in agony and replete with thousands of glistening mircobeads of sweat.

And that’s because Wayne Gretzky had made the trip to 7-11 and was pissed he missed the swimsuit issue too!!! If somehow you managed to dodge Gretzky’s wrath, you could pick up the latest copy for yourself only to find an “action” shot of some dumb-ass tennis player on the cover. I mean really. Who cares? But that’s how it went if the precious seven-day window elapsed before you wrangled up your own copy. (To tell the truth, I never lived through the harrowing ordeal described above; my older brother had a subscription to SI.)

Another thing I wonder about the swimsuit issue is if they’re ever in danger of running out of cute titles for the pictorials. You know the ones I mean: “California Dreamin’,” “Kissed by the Sun,” “No Strings Attached,” “Throwing in the Towel,” “Bahama Mamas,” and stuff like that. Surely after 30 years of this silliness they must be running low. Do they ever have to recycle? It’s not like the target audience looks at the words for more than .0006 milliseconds anyway.

I suspect they’re going to be scraping the bottom of the title-barrel soon, and it won’t be long before we see pictorials with names like, “More Locals on Boats Gawking at Models,” “Stuff You’ll Never See a Woman Wear on a Real Beach, Ever,” “Caught in a Fishing Net… Again!” and “Lots of Lots of Sand Strategically Glued to Lots and Lots of Butts.” Hell, I think I like those titles better anyway. At least they’re honest.

Speaking of the guys on the fishing boats, I always think they’re poor locals who really want to beat the hell out of the camera men and chase all the models away. After all, I’m sure they’re thrilled by the presence of these “Sirens of the Surf” who make about as much on a bad day as they made all last year.

I think the models and photographers are at least tacitly aware of this, and that would partially explain why they relentlessly try to convince the public what hard work it is being uber-glamorous. They lead sickeningly charmed lives and deep down they feel they need to justify themselves to people like you and me who work real jobs. How many times have you heard these models on TV blathering on about how “freezing” the water was when they did a recent photo shoot on the beach of (for example) Puerto Rico?

Really? Puerto Rico? Isn’t it like 80 degrees there year round? Nope! If you believe these guys, it never inches above 18 degrees Fahrenheit the day the SI swimsuit models are there. And they’re always forced to stay in the water for 67 hours straight! With NO FOOD or bathroom breaks!!! Then, after we hear about that, we always get treated to some obligatory footage of someone rushing over to swaddle a model in a blanket ‘cause she’s so “cold” from being in the water. Man, I’ll bet the workers down at Wal-Mart are relieved they don’t have to do THAT job.

To be fair, I suppose the supermodels have to portray themselves as put upon, because let’s face it. If you really knew how much one of these cuties makes for rolling around with a starfish taped to her ass, you’d want to blow your brains out.

Hmmmm. I guess we haven’t really come so far after all.

The Death of Music, Part 4

2008-03-06T19:08:00.004-05:00

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McDonald's: They've Got Your Number

2008-02-21T12:38:00.008-05:00

In theory, I have no problem with McDonald’s “extra value” meals (read: twice the death at half the price) but that does not mean I ALWAYS want an extra value meal. Call me crazy, but (whoa, that was fast) sometimes I just want a hamburger and a Coke. And maybe a mouth-scarring apple pie as an after. Sadly, this seemingly simple desire seems to cause great difficulties wherever I go. I am beginning to think I would gladly do away with the extra value meal concept if it meant avoiding this conversation:

Nite Owl: “Hi there, how’s it going?”

Clerk: *GRUNT*

Nite Owl: “Ok, then, I’d like to place an order TO go, but not an extra value meal…”

Clerk: A number TWO? Extra value meal? (pushes some buttons)

Nite Owl: Uh, no… TO GO, but NOT an extra value meal.

Clerk: *GRUNT* (pushes some “undo” buttons, disgustedly)

Nite Owl: Right then, I’d like a hamburg… (barely gets to finish the word)

Clerk: ONE HAMBUGER! ANYTHING ELSE?
(Sound of final receipt printing: CHA-CHUNK-CHA-CHUNK-CHA-CHUNK-BING) 95 cents please!!!

Nite Owl: Uh, yes. A couple more things actually.

Clerk: GRUNT! (Rips up receipt)

Nite Owl: So I’d like one hamburger…

Clerk: A number one extra value meal?

Nite Owl: (Grits teeth to avoid smashing a napkin-holder into the cash register)
NOOOOOOO… just a hamburger and…

Clerk: With cheese?

Nite Owl: What?

Clerk: Do you want cheese on your hamburger?

Nite Owl: (Fighting back urge to tell clerk that a hamburger with cheese is actually a cheeseburger, until he realizes that some idiot costumers probably DO complain that they wanted their “hamburger” with cheese after the fact.)
No THANKS, just a HAMBURGER.. with uh, just plain, I guess. Nothing on it. And a small Diet Coke… (again, barely gets to finish sentence)

Clerk: HAMBURGER AND A MEDIUM DIET COKE. ANYTHING ELSE? (starts printing receipt: CHA-CHUNK-CHA-CHUNK-CHA-CHUNK-CHA-CHUNK-CHA-CHUNK-CHA-CHUNK-CHA-BING!!!)

Nite Owl: Wait… wait!!! A medium Diet Coke? I said a small.

Clerk: We don’t have small anymore, just medium, large, and oil tanker size.

Nite Owl: You realize that makes no sense right? You realize that you can’t have “medium” if there is no small, right?

Clerk: (Eyes glaze over, like grease-coated McDonald’s fries glistening in the sun)

Nite Owl: Forget it! Medium is fine. I also want an apple pie FOR dessert.

Clerk: A number FOUR? Extra value meal?

Nite Owl: NO! Not a number four! A hamburger, a Diet Coke, and an apple pie! Can’t I say anything that phonetically resembles a number without your extra-value sensor going off???
I’ve got to get home by FIVE, you know?

Clerk: What did you say?

Nite Owl: I said I have to get home by FIVE!

Clerk: What?

Nite Owl: Five. FIVE!!!

Clerk: OH! He’s our shortstop!

So you can clearly see my lack of fondness for the “extra value” concept. It’s enough to almost (repeat, ALMOST) scare any sanity-loving man off of artery-obstructing sodium-enriched food for life.

And for what it’s worth, the first time this happened, when I got home I discovered that my “plain” hamburger (with no cheese) was SO plain that it had no ketchup, pickles or shredded onion either. It was just a lonely, forlorn beef patty stranded on a McDonald’s bun.

Apparently, if you don’t walk into McDonald's and simply shout, “NUMBER THREE! LARGE! TO GO! WITH A COKE!” then you are seriously jeopardizing your chances of getting anything that even remotely resembles what you asked for. Of course, you’re still going to get a stale fish fillet or two that you didn’t want, and a couple of items will be missing completely… hell, that’s a given… but at least your order will be in the BALLPARK, and you’ll avoid the long, drawn-out vaudeville routine with the counter help.

It’s not that McDonald’s workers CAN’T take an order properly, it’s just that many times they’re either disinterested or rushing because they’ve got so many damn people to serve. I worked in fast food for eight years, and can tell you it’s not a pleasant job; it can really wear you down. Believe it or not, I’m a bit more patient than most customers when it comes to fast food service. But come on. Even I have my limits.

If things keep going this way, I may end up recruiting a bunch of my friends to dress up in costumes that represent my order. You know, like the old “Let’s All Go to the Lobby” guys from the movies, only with a McDonald’s theme. Steve can be the burger, Jon can be the hot apple pie, and I’ll be the Coke, and we’ll all just dance in the door and sashay right up to the counter. Who knows? Visual aids could be just the ticket to getting me what I want. Either that, or we'll end up getting our teeth kicked in by both the staff and customers. I say it's worth the risk! Besides, Jon dresses up as a hot apple pie on the weekends, so it wouldn’t be a big stretch for him anyway.

I don’t WANT to go to such extreme lengths, but it may ultimately come down to that. After all, trying to get a burger and a Coke isn’t supposed to be so stressful it clogs your arteries more than the meal itself.

Life: So Good, They Named a Prison Sentence After It

2008-02-20T13:26:00.006-05:00

Life on Earth, I think we can pretty much all agree, is a royal suck-fest. If you think otherwise, then you haven’t been paying close enough attention. War, pestilence, disease, famine, poverty, racism, sexism, John Mayer videos… yeah, it’s pretty much an all-around open-all-night pain-rodeo. This is not to say there aren’t smatterings of pleasure and meaning to be had, like rainbow-colored sprinkles on a turd-filled cupcake. But let’s face it folks. This planet and all its inhabitants, by and large, pretty much blow.

And we really don’t know what to do about this dire situation in which we find ourselves, do we? As a result, we often catch ourselves aping the same empty platitudes and clichés that everyone else says, even though we know it’s all a crock. When was the last time you told someone, “Cheer up, it’s not so bad, things are going to get better” when you knew deep down things WERE that bad and they WEREN’T going to get better? You knew your words were empty, and yet you said it anyway because you didn’t know what else to do. Even worse, everyone knows that these expressions are just things people say and no one ever takes them to heart, which makes them even more pointless.

In this sea of human heartbreak and woe, I find myself alternately peeved and amused by the new-age-happy-bots who want me to find joy and beauty in EVERYTHING, be it the luminescent glow of the impending brake lights on the car three inches in front of me, or the enveloping feeling of warmth right before drowning, or the relief of being homeless and not having to worry about falling out of a nice, soft bed every night. These nutters genuinely believe that if the rest of us would only adopt the correct perspective (and walk around in a state of constant mental disconnect) we could really convince ourselves that the world's a pretty spiffy place afterall, where pink unicorns romp and frolic and there's a bonanza sale at Whole Foods every day. These are the same loonies who read "Real Simple" magazine, drink kiwi-flavored tea and need to de-toxify their bodies every six days.

Don’t get me wrong: I can certainly understand the value of being optimistic in certain adverse situations. Perhaps being fired from my job would be a good thing, because it would allow me to pursue my dream of playing the bongos on the streets of Pango Pango in a leather speedo for the rest of my thigh-chaffed days. On the other hand, what does it say about our existence that we feel so compelled to search for vestiges of “transcendent beauty” in everything from the ordinary to the mundane? Is reality SO sucky that we need to front-load our battered psyches with delusions of omni-present beauty and goodness in EVERYTHING? I guess we do.

And please don’t hit me with the gratitude routine. I’m extremely grateful everyday that I wasn’t born blind or deaf, among other things. But if you want me to find meaning/beauty in life by comparing my “fortune” to the misfortune of others, then count me out. If the best thing one can say about life is “At least I’m not that poor sucker” or “Thank god life didn’t kick me in the ‘nadz THIS go-round,”… well, that’s not exactly a glowing recommendation for the whole existence-hootenanny is it?

However, since existence on this planet is currently the only game in town, I guess it makes sense to hope for a couple of straights and flushes along the way until it's time to cash out. But please don’t kid yourself into thinking that somehow you’re ultimately in “control” of the game just because you’ve won a few hands. Sure, you can better your odds if you work on your strategy, but in the end the house always wins, and the game is always rigged against you.

And admiring the pretty lamination on all the pretty playing cards is never going to change that.