This is going to sound stupid, but I’ve got to rant.
America has gone to the fucking dogs and I now know when it began. Three simple words: “Paper or Plastic?” Remember when you used to have a CHOICE? Now it’s ALWAYS plastic and it’s killing America.
I went to Albertson’s for supplies and the bored girl scanning my $ 75 worth of grocieries is putting things in the bags as she goes. In one bag, two ham steaks. In another bag, quart of milk and two jars of spaghetti sauce. In the next bag, two bags of lunch meat and a cheese [which would have gone nicely on top of the ham steaks]. In one bag, two cans of soup, jar of peanut butter and a small stand up box of Kleenex. In another bag, a box of pasta and two cans of Spam and Tylenol and Q tips.
You don’t get it yet? There’s no pizzazz in packing the bag. There’s NO THINKING about it. Just drop them in the bag willy nilly, try to keep meats and cheeses together bread in one bag by itself, eggs in a bag by themselves, buns in a separate bag from the bread… And of course, you have to loop 12 bags around your hand [if you don’t stand in the parking lot and combine like I do] to carry them up to your apartment.
I know, I’m getting old, I am getting cranky about things like the little red Corvette [I am not kidding] that came charging up behind me as I am doing 70, whipped into the lane next to me and cut between me and the car I was moving up in with two feet of space and the fucker NEVER LOOKED UP to see me giving him the finger with both barrels. I am tired of people four feet off my bumper at 70 miles and hour on in the passing lane next to the concrete barrierand two other solid lanes of traffic that I can see talking on the cell phone that’s growing out of their ear. I want to just give the brake a hard shove, but I know that would tie up the freeway and me for hours, because it wouldn’t scare them; they would never see the brake lights becauase they’re too fucking close, they’d just see the airbag blowing up in their face. Probably wouldn’t even drop the phone.
I was in a bar with some folks the other night, crowd watching. And people sitting at the bar with their cell phones. What’s the sense of going “out” if you’re constantly on your cell phone? Great, you can sit at the bar and eat and have your meal interrupted by the cell phone. You can get into a good sports discussion and have it interupted by your cell phone. If there’s two of you, how fucking RUDE or annoying is it to the other person to sit there while you have a five minute conversation that they are totally out of the loop on?
WHAT THE FUCK DID WE DO BEFORE CELL PHONES AND ANSWERING MACHINES AND ALPHA PAGERS AND LONG RANGE WALKIE TALKIES?
Oh yeah, we missed calls. We missed people calling while we were at dinner to say “I’m bored, what are you doing?” We went to bars and talked to people and actaully finished thoughts without interuption other than someone saying “Bullshit.” We didn’t run to the pay phone to check our voice mail. Before caller ID and answering machines, we had to take a chance that the person calling was someone we weren’t in the mood to talk to or a salesman and we made up excuses like “My mother’s here, I’ll call you back” or “I’m about to get in the shower.”
I know, I’m raging against the machine, but if I don’t say it who will? My nieces will not know what a paper grocery bad looked like and how great they were for carrying school projects. They will only know flimsy fly away paper bags that litter the freeway like eerie disposable boneless birds. They will only know what a rotary dial phone is from the movies. They will never know what it’s like to NOT be in touch.
What scares me is that part of this is facinating. They will be used to internet and 100 channels of TV and totally instant communication. On the other hand, what will it take to keep their interest when they’re teenagers? When all I had was books and 7 channels of TV and I got a video game, it was easy for me to fall into that. [And remember how easily amused we were by the Atari 2600 games like Slot Racer and Night Driver and Pac Man.] What will it take to keep their interest when the characters in games really look and play and act like people? I am not even going to address the ultra-violence of The Matrix. What will it take to shock these kids when they’re growing up with Marilyn Manson, Pink, Madonna, people with pierced eyebrows, split tongues and tattoed faces… I mean I was disturbed at times by Alice Cooper and movies like Natural Born Killers. What will it take to culture shock these kids? What will they come up with to culture shock US? [I hope it’s not the kids running around with pacifiers again… that was just fucking DUMB.]
That’s all I’ve got that I want to post tonight. Replies, discussions, counter rants to post: chaz66@earthlink.net
Tuesday, June 24, 2003
I was taking my evening constitutional [that’s a walk] through Bear Creek Park tonight, just as I was getting dark. It’s cool enough to still be able to enjoy the weather. Anyway, it’s also a bit muggy with the recent rain, which makes the place a little musty. And that musty aroma always makes me a bit nostalgic.
I was walking the back part of the trail through the woods when I noticed the lightning bugs. And honest to God, I could not remember the last time I saw lightning bugs. I am sure they are there, I have just been too wrapped up in everything else to notice them. It all just reminded me of carefree summers twenty or twenty five years ago, spent chasing lightning bugs in my grandparents’ field down below the house. I wondered to myself if my nieces will have memories like that of my mother’s house. Shelby may be old enough now to have some fragmented memories like mine of days spent ‘up north.’ Memories of green grass you can run barefoot through without stepping on stickers; vague memories of great aunts and great uncles and my grandfather’s basement workshop; the sound of the trucks winding their way through the curves and up and down the hills at night.
I stopped at my usual spot just off the road where Bear Creek winds over some rocks. It’s a nice place to stop and catch your breath or rest aching legs for a minute or so and just listen to the water rolling over a little rapid. Unfortunately the dusk had muted all the colors in this shaded area a kind of grey. I want to hit it about 15 minutes earlier tomorrow and check out the colors before the sun burns everything out for the summer.
Anyway, I walked back around the playground finishing my lap. I saw some kids going up the hill in front of me, a couple pushing bikes, talking rapidly with Spanish accents. They were carrying a soccer ball. “In my day we played baseball,” I thought to myself. “ You don’t see kids playing sandlot ball or street ball on side streets.” When we first moved to Texas, the boys my age spent summer evenings bashing tennis balls in the one clear area at the apartment complex we lived in until the sun sank behind the last row of buildings and it was too dark to see the ball. “Up North” at dark, at the place my Dad’s mother lived [that's right, Grandma Galupi], the mothers would poke out kitchen doors at dark or shortly after and whistle or yell for the kids to come in for the night. The one lady at the end of the building had one of those cutting voices that you could hear all across the hill; “DIIIIIIII- AAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNE!!!!” and we knew it was time to head in. [She also had a teenage boy, Bruce, who played his Black Sabbath and Deep Purple records at a volume that could be heard all across the hill. We could also tell time by the steel mill whistles from down by the river: the shrill eleven o’clock lunch whistle and the three o’clock end of shift whistle, then the deep throated second shift whistle at three fifteen or three thirty (yeah, I forget).] Down in Texas, at least in the apartments, there was little of this. Generally, my sister and me would have to be in shortly after dark, though some nights several kids would sit around the big green electric boxes and bullshit. I tried to remember what I’d do after dark in the summer. I guess I spent a lot of nights just listening to the radio until I fell asleep.
Do the kids play sandlot ball anymore? I used to live for those informal games, four or five guys a side. And we played just for fun, though occasionally someone would get mad and punch someone. Kids did that then. I know that once “fat Ed” came in hard and I got up mad, but I don’t think I really even hit anyone. Once in a while we would go across to the little league fields at Vandergriff Park, but we usually played in the lot in the complex. In Charleston West Virginia, many summer days were burned up playing whiffle ball in the parking lot. But during the summer in Texas, it was just too damn hot during the day to do much. I would occasionally go across Matlock Road on my bike just to screw around. Of course this was 1977 and Matlock was a two-lane blacktop road then that just melted in the summer heat, too. Or sneak a couple of quarters out of the family change jar and ride up to the little grill that was at Matlock and Arbrook to play a couple games of pinball. Or walk around the back of the complex to the KOA campground for baseball or Star Wars cards and a soda.
I think back and I notice the move to Texas was when I started losing my interest in baseball. My team was now 1200 miles away. I was excited when the Rangers picked up Al Oliver and Richie Zisk and ‘Doc’ Medich [who is from my Dad’s hometown, Aliquippa, Pa.] and John Matlack. These were at least guys I knew. I got to know a few Rangers guys like Toby Harrah and Mike Hardgrove and ‘Bump’ Wills and Jim Sundburg. But it wasn’t the same. There was no “hated Reds” rivalry here. In Charleston, I was the lone Pirates fan, surrounded by devotes of “The Big Red Machine.” Don’t get me wrong, I liked Johnny Bench and Dave Concepcion, but I was a Willie Stargell, Renee Stennet, Richie Hebner, Al Oliver, Richie Zisk, Manny Saguillen lovin guy [I was too young to remember Roberto Clemete]. It didn’t hurt that Charleston’s triple A team the Charleston Charlies [a team modeled after the Charlestown Chiefs of Slap Shot if ever there was one, but I loved going to the ballpark with the wooden bleachers on the baselines (and no outfield seats because the B&O railroad tracks were 25 feet behind the outfield fence)] was the Pirate triple A team. So I got to see the teams play and intrasquad game once a year [Once we almost caught a Renee Stennet foul ball]. I saw some guys on their way up that would help the Pirates win the 79 Series: Kent Tekulve, the sidearmed reliever, John Candalaria, Tony Armas [Sr. who was the MVP in 1975 and I have his autograph still] and Frank Tavaras. I saw Mario Mendoza of the infamous Mendoza line [the lowest average at which a player can hit and still be in the major leagues… somewhere around .210] in and out of town. I saw the hero of the ’71 Series, Steve Blass pitch in Charleston. He was my hero for a couple years and I wanted to part my hair like Steve did. Anyway, after the Pirates won the ’79 Series and my Pirate heroes were traded or retired, I lost interest.
Hmm. “strange memories this night…” I remember the red glow of my stereo, A JC Penny turntable/ AM-FM / 8 track player and how it would fill my room as a played Frampton Comes Alive or The Best of BTO in my headphones again.
It probably didn’t help that I was a mediocre baseball player myself. What I could do at practice was one thing and playing in a real game was something else. I never swung the bat and I was afraid of the ball. Perfect American League pitcher material, eh? I played a lot of outfield when in Little League the ball rarely gets out of the infield. I did play some second base and I know I caught some, too, but I don’t remember anything other than bored minutes in the outfield, afternoons at practice shagging flies. Sandlot ball I could be good at: no pressure. A couple of my cousins were sports studs, one a good pitcher and QB his college football team for three years [AA school, but at least he did it], the short one a running back in high school. He also joined the Marines. Short man syndrome? I don’t know. My sister was a cheerleader. I was happy locked in my room with the Doors, Led Zep, and Jefferson Airplane. Writing the stories after the game. See where it got me?
I was walking the back part of the trail through the woods when I noticed the lightning bugs. And honest to God, I could not remember the last time I saw lightning bugs. I am sure they are there, I have just been too wrapped up in everything else to notice them. It all just reminded me of carefree summers twenty or twenty five years ago, spent chasing lightning bugs in my grandparents’ field down below the house. I wondered to myself if my nieces will have memories like that of my mother’s house. Shelby may be old enough now to have some fragmented memories like mine of days spent ‘up north.’ Memories of green grass you can run barefoot through without stepping on stickers; vague memories of great aunts and great uncles and my grandfather’s basement workshop; the sound of the trucks winding their way through the curves and up and down the hills at night.
I stopped at my usual spot just off the road where Bear Creek winds over some rocks. It’s a nice place to stop and catch your breath or rest aching legs for a minute or so and just listen to the water rolling over a little rapid. Unfortunately the dusk had muted all the colors in this shaded area a kind of grey. I want to hit it about 15 minutes earlier tomorrow and check out the colors before the sun burns everything out for the summer.
Anyway, I walked back around the playground finishing my lap. I saw some kids going up the hill in front of me, a couple pushing bikes, talking rapidly with Spanish accents. They were carrying a soccer ball. “In my day we played baseball,” I thought to myself. “ You don’t see kids playing sandlot ball or street ball on side streets.” When we first moved to Texas, the boys my age spent summer evenings bashing tennis balls in the one clear area at the apartment complex we lived in until the sun sank behind the last row of buildings and it was too dark to see the ball. “Up North” at dark, at the place my Dad’s mother lived [that's right, Grandma Galupi], the mothers would poke out kitchen doors at dark or shortly after and whistle or yell for the kids to come in for the night. The one lady at the end of the building had one of those cutting voices that you could hear all across the hill; “DIIIIIIII- AAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNE!!!!” and we knew it was time to head in. [She also had a teenage boy, Bruce, who played his Black Sabbath and Deep Purple records at a volume that could be heard all across the hill. We could also tell time by the steel mill whistles from down by the river: the shrill eleven o’clock lunch whistle and the three o’clock end of shift whistle, then the deep throated second shift whistle at three fifteen or three thirty (yeah, I forget).] Down in Texas, at least in the apartments, there was little of this. Generally, my sister and me would have to be in shortly after dark, though some nights several kids would sit around the big green electric boxes and bullshit. I tried to remember what I’d do after dark in the summer. I guess I spent a lot of nights just listening to the radio until I fell asleep.
Do the kids play sandlot ball anymore? I used to live for those informal games, four or five guys a side. And we played just for fun, though occasionally someone would get mad and punch someone. Kids did that then. I know that once “fat Ed” came in hard and I got up mad, but I don’t think I really even hit anyone. Once in a while we would go across to the little league fields at Vandergriff Park, but we usually played in the lot in the complex. In Charleston West Virginia, many summer days were burned up playing whiffle ball in the parking lot. But during the summer in Texas, it was just too damn hot during the day to do much. I would occasionally go across Matlock Road on my bike just to screw around. Of course this was 1977 and Matlock was a two-lane blacktop road then that just melted in the summer heat, too. Or sneak a couple of quarters out of the family change jar and ride up to the little grill that was at Matlock and Arbrook to play a couple games of pinball. Or walk around the back of the complex to the KOA campground for baseball or Star Wars cards and a soda.
I think back and I notice the move to Texas was when I started losing my interest in baseball. My team was now 1200 miles away. I was excited when the Rangers picked up Al Oliver and Richie Zisk and ‘Doc’ Medich [who is from my Dad’s hometown, Aliquippa, Pa.] and John Matlack. These were at least guys I knew. I got to know a few Rangers guys like Toby Harrah and Mike Hardgrove and ‘Bump’ Wills and Jim Sundburg. But it wasn’t the same. There was no “hated Reds” rivalry here. In Charleston, I was the lone Pirates fan, surrounded by devotes of “The Big Red Machine.” Don’t get me wrong, I liked Johnny Bench and Dave Concepcion, but I was a Willie Stargell, Renee Stennet, Richie Hebner, Al Oliver, Richie Zisk, Manny Saguillen lovin guy [I was too young to remember Roberto Clemete]. It didn’t hurt that Charleston’s triple A team the Charleston Charlies [a team modeled after the Charlestown Chiefs of Slap Shot if ever there was one, but I loved going to the ballpark with the wooden bleachers on the baselines (and no outfield seats because the B&O railroad tracks were 25 feet behind the outfield fence)] was the Pirate triple A team. So I got to see the teams play and intrasquad game once a year [Once we almost caught a Renee Stennet foul ball]. I saw some guys on their way up that would help the Pirates win the 79 Series: Kent Tekulve, the sidearmed reliever, John Candalaria, Tony Armas [Sr. who was the MVP in 1975 and I have his autograph still] and Frank Tavaras. I saw Mario Mendoza of the infamous Mendoza line [the lowest average at which a player can hit and still be in the major leagues… somewhere around .210] in and out of town. I saw the hero of the ’71 Series, Steve Blass pitch in Charleston. He was my hero for a couple years and I wanted to part my hair like Steve did. Anyway, after the Pirates won the ’79 Series and my Pirate heroes were traded or retired, I lost interest.
Hmm. “strange memories this night…” I remember the red glow of my stereo, A JC Penny turntable/ AM-FM / 8 track player and how it would fill my room as a played Frampton Comes Alive or The Best of BTO in my headphones again.
It probably didn’t help that I was a mediocre baseball player myself. What I could do at practice was one thing and playing in a real game was something else. I never swung the bat and I was afraid of the ball. Perfect American League pitcher material, eh? I played a lot of outfield when in Little League the ball rarely gets out of the infield. I did play some second base and I know I caught some, too, but I don’t remember anything other than bored minutes in the outfield, afternoons at practice shagging flies. Sandlot ball I could be good at: no pressure. A couple of my cousins were sports studs, one a good pitcher and QB his college football team for three years [AA school, but at least he did it], the short one a running back in high school. He also joined the Marines. Short man syndrome? I don’t know. My sister was a cheerleader. I was happy locked in my room with the Doors, Led Zep, and Jefferson Airplane. Writing the stories after the game. See where it got me?
Monday, June 23, 2003
Random Notes [Since It's Been A While]
The Pittsburgh Penguiins move up and take the goalie of the future in the NHL Draft this weekend. Too bad they'll be the Portland Penguins when he saves the franchise.
Pens name former player/broacaster [with no coaching experience] Ed Olczyk coach. Why not hire Mike Milbury as coach and Gm so he can hire and fire himself a dozen more times, passing his own record with the NY Islanders? What are the fucking owners thinkig this summer? I undertsand Robbie Ftorek lost the team in Boston last year, but Laviolette didn't deserve the axe on Long Island. I guess NOT having been an NHL head coach means more that having skins on the wall. Just because Tony Granato had success with an underachieving Avalnche that was bound to turn around sooner or later, Mike Babcock got an underachieving Mighty Ducks to play over their heads, and Dave Tippet has the second best team in the West in spite of having Pierre Turgeon and his underachieving dead ass and sub par seasons from Richard Matvichuk and Daryl Sydor... He did have the goalie who put up the best Goals Against in 30 years... remember how mediocre things looked when Turco went out and Ron Tugnutt was aked to carry the ball for 20 games? Who had more success with less than vetaran Laques Lemaire in Minnesota? There's a conspiracy keeping former Sabres coach [and 1996-1997 coach of the year, the ONE YEAR he coached in the league] Ted Nolan out of the league. GOD DAMN I wanted to see him in Pittsburgh where he could stick it to Buffalo 5 times a year!!!!! Tell me again how Mario wants th fans in Pittsburgh to be excited enough about the team to vote for a new arena? He's biding his time and waiting for his payday, especially now that he's seen what the Buffalo Sabres, Ottowa Senators and Atlanta Thrashers just changed hands for.
Dallas Stars NOT offering Derian Hatcher a contract before the free agent period starts. Hope Hatch likes New York or Detroit or Philly [back with Hitch? You bet!]. If Hatch signs with Detroit, Dallas fans should burn their Stars jerseys and season ticket renewals should plunge. You don't just let your captain walk away, unless you're the NY Rangers dropping Brian Leetch. If Tom Hicks would quit pouring his money into the pit known as the Texas Rangers, he could have another Cup. Tell Doug Armstrong he shoould have moved Matvichuk and/or Sydor at the draft and signed Hatcher!
Dallas Stars shopping Bill Guerin. Why? He was injured for the last qaurter of the season and the playoffs. Dallas lost in the playoffs because their rookie head coach didn't exploit his team's size advantage and press hard and get traffic in on JS Giguere. Payroll? If you let Hatcher walk when he was asking for 6 mill and you paid him 4.5 last year [reportedly the sticking point is time... Hatch wants 5 years, the team is offering 3] and you buy out Turgeon according to the CBA, you've saved 6-9 million a year, more than enough to keer Guerin, and give Marty Turco and Niko Kapinen and Jere Leihtenen all the raises they deserve and lock them down for a few years. I REPEAT: If Tom Hicks would quit pouring his money into the pit known as the Texas Rangers, he could have another Cup. Tell Doug Armstrong he shoould have moved Matvichuk and/or Sydor at the draft and signed Hatcher!
Not that I dislike the album, but The Thorns, the new supergroup of Matthew Sweet-Shawn Mullins-Pete Droge owes more to Crosby-Stills-Nash and the Beach Boys than any other supergroup, though one hears a soft Andy Patridge like pop touch sometimes. Gloden Smog [Dan Murphy-Kraig Johson-Gary Louris-Jeff Tweddy-Marc Perlamn-Jody Stephens, couple of Jayhwaks and Wilco's Tweedy] sounds like theyre having more FUN. {[nd you all know how much I want to put the fun back into rock and roll.] Still, it's a good album, but not one to rush out and get.
Does the world need a No Doubt cover... excuse me "Tribute" band all ready? There's one running around Dallas... now I can understand Queen and the Beatlesand the Stones and sometimes the Grateful Dead [though not much anymore] or a Neil Young or an Elvis Costello and maybe even an AC/DC [Bon Scott only, though], but No Doubt???
I am still mad that NRBQ at Yankee Stadium wasn't recorded at Yankee Stadium. Isn't that false advertising?
How long before the boy in the White Stripes shaves his head and admits "I did it all and the chick is my bondage mistress..." [or something like that] ala Billy Corrigan of Smashing Pumpkins. Heard them on VH1... do not color me impressed.
What's news about Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley of Kiss doing solo albums? Christ they're on the second "This is Really It" tour. They did the reunion, then the farewell tour that ended with Peter Criss quitting again, now they want to tour summer sheds with Aerosmith, another "Had It" band. With a twin bill like that. how long 'til we get the Jimmy Buffett/ Santana/ Steve Miller triple bill? Anyway, I say "If the band is over, ya gotta do solo records." Here's hoping they're better than the 1978 solo records, but I doubt it...
Are there any bands you can trust to buy the album on the first day before hearing them anymore?
Doing a taste test with beer left in my fridge from Saturday, Bud Light in bottle vs Bud Light in cans [hope you weren't in trouble, Henry]: CANS TASTE FLAT. BOTTLES TASTE CRISP. Any Questions?
I still have things to learn... "My angels my devils, thorn in my pride."
That's all I got... questions comments, lists of last five things on your turntable or CD player or top 10 albums of all time: chaz66@earthlink.net
Peace.
The Pittsburgh Penguiins move up and take the goalie of the future in the NHL Draft this weekend. Too bad they'll be the Portland Penguins when he saves the franchise.
Pens name former player/broacaster [with no coaching experience] Ed Olczyk coach. Why not hire Mike Milbury as coach and Gm so he can hire and fire himself a dozen more times, passing his own record with the NY Islanders? What are the fucking owners thinkig this summer? I undertsand Robbie Ftorek lost the team in Boston last year, but Laviolette didn't deserve the axe on Long Island. I guess NOT having been an NHL head coach means more that having skins on the wall. Just because Tony Granato had success with an underachieving Avalnche that was bound to turn around sooner or later, Mike Babcock got an underachieving Mighty Ducks to play over their heads, and Dave Tippet has the second best team in the West in spite of having Pierre Turgeon and his underachieving dead ass and sub par seasons from Richard Matvichuk and Daryl Sydor... He did have the goalie who put up the best Goals Against in 30 years... remember how mediocre things looked when Turco went out and Ron Tugnutt was aked to carry the ball for 20 games? Who had more success with less than vetaran Laques Lemaire in Minnesota? There's a conspiracy keeping former Sabres coach [and 1996-1997 coach of the year, the ONE YEAR he coached in the league] Ted Nolan out of the league. GOD DAMN I wanted to see him in Pittsburgh where he could stick it to Buffalo 5 times a year!!!!! Tell me again how Mario wants th fans in Pittsburgh to be excited enough about the team to vote for a new arena? He's biding his time and waiting for his payday, especially now that he's seen what the Buffalo Sabres, Ottowa Senators and Atlanta Thrashers just changed hands for.
Dallas Stars NOT offering Derian Hatcher a contract before the free agent period starts. Hope Hatch likes New York or Detroit or Philly [back with Hitch? You bet!]. If Hatch signs with Detroit, Dallas fans should burn their Stars jerseys and season ticket renewals should plunge. You don't just let your captain walk away, unless you're the NY Rangers dropping Brian Leetch. If Tom Hicks would quit pouring his money into the pit known as the Texas Rangers, he could have another Cup. Tell Doug Armstrong he shoould have moved Matvichuk and/or Sydor at the draft and signed Hatcher!
Dallas Stars shopping Bill Guerin. Why? He was injured for the last qaurter of the season and the playoffs. Dallas lost in the playoffs because their rookie head coach didn't exploit his team's size advantage and press hard and get traffic in on JS Giguere. Payroll? If you let Hatcher walk when he was asking for 6 mill and you paid him 4.5 last year [reportedly the sticking point is time... Hatch wants 5 years, the team is offering 3] and you buy out Turgeon according to the CBA, you've saved 6-9 million a year, more than enough to keer Guerin, and give Marty Turco and Niko Kapinen and Jere Leihtenen all the raises they deserve and lock them down for a few years. I REPEAT: If Tom Hicks would quit pouring his money into the pit known as the Texas Rangers, he could have another Cup. Tell Doug Armstrong he shoould have moved Matvichuk and/or Sydor at the draft and signed Hatcher!
Not that I dislike the album, but The Thorns, the new supergroup of Matthew Sweet-Shawn Mullins-Pete Droge owes more to Crosby-Stills-Nash and the Beach Boys than any other supergroup, though one hears a soft Andy Patridge like pop touch sometimes. Gloden Smog [Dan Murphy-Kraig Johson-Gary Louris-Jeff Tweddy-Marc Perlamn-Jody Stephens, couple of Jayhwaks and Wilco's Tweedy] sounds like theyre having more FUN. {[nd you all know how much I want to put the fun back into rock and roll.] Still, it's a good album, but not one to rush out and get.
Does the world need a No Doubt cover... excuse me "Tribute" band all ready? There's one running around Dallas... now I can understand Queen and the Beatlesand the Stones and sometimes the Grateful Dead [though not much anymore] or a Neil Young or an Elvis Costello and maybe even an AC/DC [Bon Scott only, though], but No Doubt???
I am still mad that NRBQ at Yankee Stadium wasn't recorded at Yankee Stadium. Isn't that false advertising?
How long before the boy in the White Stripes shaves his head and admits "I did it all and the chick is my bondage mistress..." [or something like that] ala Billy Corrigan of Smashing Pumpkins. Heard them on VH1... do not color me impressed.
What's news about Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley of Kiss doing solo albums? Christ they're on the second "This is Really It" tour. They did the reunion, then the farewell tour that ended with Peter Criss quitting again, now they want to tour summer sheds with Aerosmith, another "Had It" band. With a twin bill like that. how long 'til we get the Jimmy Buffett/ Santana/ Steve Miller triple bill? Anyway, I say "If the band is over, ya gotta do solo records." Here's hoping they're better than the 1978 solo records, but I doubt it...
Are there any bands you can trust to buy the album on the first day before hearing them anymore?
Doing a taste test with beer left in my fridge from Saturday, Bud Light in bottle vs Bud Light in cans [hope you weren't in trouble, Henry]: CANS TASTE FLAT. BOTTLES TASTE CRISP. Any Questions?
I still have things to learn... "My angels my devils, thorn in my pride."
That's all I got... questions comments, lists of last five things on your turntable or CD player or top 10 albums of all time: chaz66@earthlink.net
Peace.
Monday, June 16, 2003
Signs I am on the right road:
I had some folks over the other night to drink beer and play cards, all of them young protoge types who I am trying to light the fire of real rock and roll and next generation music snobbery in. I had been reading Lester Bangs' Psychotic Reactions and Carbeurator Dung at work and I gave it to one of the lads to read. So we were sitting around taking a smoke break and he asks about "that song that guy was writing about." I had to think for a minute, but I remembered I loaned him the book. But I don't have the Count Five's Psychotic Reaction [the song] so I play the Yardbirds' I'm a Man. Really, the two aren't as similar as Bangs make them seem, except the solo... He also put on some early Steve Miller Band, Living in the USA and Space Cowboy... gives me hope!
I had some folks over the other night to drink beer and play cards, all of them young protoge types who I am trying to light the fire of real rock and roll and next generation music snobbery in. I had been reading Lester Bangs' Psychotic Reactions and Carbeurator Dung at work and I gave it to one of the lads to read. So we were sitting around taking a smoke break and he asks about "that song that guy was writing about." I had to think for a minute, but I remembered I loaned him the book. But I don't have the Count Five's Psychotic Reaction [the song] so I play the Yardbirds' I'm a Man. Really, the two aren't as similar as Bangs make them seem, except the solo... He also put on some early Steve Miller Band, Living in the USA and Space Cowboy... gives me hope!
Monday, June 09, 2003
A World Without Heroes
I’ve been reading Transmetropolitan again. For those who are not in the know, Transmet is a graphic novel [i.e. adult themed comic book] starring a tatooed bald headed journalist in the Hunter S. Thompson mode, who makes Gary Treaudeau’s Uncle Duke look like a boy scout. Even the early Duke cartoons with the blatant drug references and halucinations. There are things you can get away with in a comic that one CERTAINLY can’t get away with in the daily comics page. Anyway, it’s very well written and I recommend it highly for anyone who like HST. It’s put out by DC/Vertigo, the same folk who brought you Sandman, Hellblazer and Preacher. Sometimes it’s a bit more political than I like, but it says a lot more about our society today than a simple ‘comic book’ should.
So I have been reading this comic and it’s got me thinking about HST himself, which in turn makes me consider ‘heroes.’
When I first read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, it had the same impact that On the Road must have had on so many people. I was just knocked sideways. This was before I was taking any drugs and had any clue about what the effects were. Of course I had also read The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test by Tom Wolfe at a friend’s insistence and while it made me curious, I didn’t jump right out and experiment. [Together, they did give me a point of reference though when I did, along with the John Lennon Rolling Stone interview from 1971.] Even realizing that F&L was a highly exaggerated semi autobiographical piece, Thompson used language so well and nailed the essence of all the paranoia and hallucinations and the realities that can be just as weird.
And then you look at Thompson’s last few books: two collections of letters circa 1955-1975 [I could say for sure, but someone, against my better judgment, borrowed the second while I was struggling through it and has yet to return it.], The Rum Diary, which has been kicking around since the very early 60s, and Kingdom of Fear [2002], which is a poor rehash of 1990’s Songs of the Doomed, based largely on the Gail Slater Palmer rape case and surrounding circus. It’s sad to see your heroes deteriorating the way HST is. The really sad part is that he put out the still sharp Better Than Sex covering the Clinton election and the death of Richard Nixon. It wasn’t ear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail ’72 Revisited, but it was still pretty good writing. One could assume that it was inevitable that Thompson would begin to slide downhill after the tortures he’s put his body through over the last 30-40 years. I saw him recently on PBS’ Charlie Rose and he seemed lucid, maybe a little slower, but just as sharp as always.
Maybe time has just passed Hunter by, much the way Thompson’s former major outlet, Rolling Stone has been left in the dust. Think about that. When I was in high school journalism, 1983, at the tail end of Rolling Stone’s glory years [“All the News that Fits” and the HIP magazine of the subculture, ya dig], all I wanted was a byline in Rolling Stone. Now that was not due to HST, but because Rolling Stone was [still] cool. Anyway, by 1985 Rolling Stone was glossy covers and day glow lettering and Tina Turner, the Bangles, Go Gos and Billy Joel on the cover. Jann Wenner reached out for the next generation and ruined his magazine, left them with nothing the old readers wanted but the yearly interview with Jerry Garcia.
Thompson by then had cashed his check.. Without a regular outlet between, oh 1976 and the present [minus a run doing columns for the San Franciso Examiner in the 80s, collected in Generation of Swine and his current stint online at ESPN’s Page 2, which is not breaking much new ground but living on past glories of heavy betting on football with occasional end runs into politics], Thompson lost his edge. I guess we all will someday, but it seems Thompson should have cart wheeled over the edge to total madness or crashed and burned rather than just faded away into obscurity, or worse, self parody.
Or take another hero of mine, Mario Lemieux. Mario shoudn’t have retired the first time. If he’d have kept playing the Pens might have had another run in 1998, before losing Ron Francis to free agency.We also might be talking about him passing Gordie Howe for second on the scoring list. But he did retire. Then like Michael Jordan [or Gordie himself], he unretired. And like Jordan, Mario didn’t embarrass himself upon his return. Well, not right away. Last year, he tried to play through injury, played in the Salt Lake Olympics and got his gold medal, played one game for the Pens, then missed the rest of the year. That might have been okay IF he hadn’t said at the end of the year that the gold medal was the important thing for him this year, not playing for the team and fans who pay his salary. Well, any normal owner might have been pissed, but Mario IS the owner. I am sure that rasied some eyebrows in the Pens locker room and did not help Mario’s quest for a new areana in Pittsburgh. And all this time I thought Jagr was the selfish one. As a fan, that’s got to make you think. How do you vote yes to line the pockets of a man who cared more about playing for his country where he no longer lives than the fans in the city who have welcomed you and supported you for the last 18 years.
So now begins the whining. ESPN reported June first that Mario was interested in playing for a championship again, but to do so, he would have to divest himself of his ownership of the Pens, as Michael Jordan did in Washington. Mario denied this, but today [June 6] ESPN.com’s NHL page reports:
“Lemieux said he feels "betrayed" by the lack of support city and county leaders have given efforts to build an arena to replace 42-year-old Mellon Arena -- the oldest and second-smallest venue in the National Hockey League. The franchise, which has had to slash its payroll and unload most of its big-name players because of escalating costs, has been trying to secure financial backing for a new $270 million arena.
Raising the specter of the team leaving Pittsburgh, Lemieux said the targeted 2006 opening for a new arena is "pretty much gone unless something happens in the next 30 to 60 days."
"This franchise is a free agent in 2007. I hope they understand that," Lemieux said. The Penguins' lease at Mellon Arena will have expired by that time. "Time is running out."
In response to Lemieux's comments, Pittsburgh Mayor Tom Murphy's office issued a statement saying the mayor has worked hard to keep the Penguins in the city but that there is no tax money available for financing a new arena.”
This from a team that traded anyone that wasn’t nailed down [exception: injury plagued Martin Starka and goalie Johan Hedberg] at the dealine this year. The Pens say trading Alexei Kovalev was a money decision; I say hogwash. Kovalev’s value was probably higher during the season, but he still could have been traded at the draft. Mario knows there was no champonship coming to Pittsburgh in the near future and so he kicked the rebuilding process into high gear. It will be too bad when the team moves, another footnote of economic decline. Maybe one of those guys offering to buy the Buffalo Sabres or Ottowa Senators can keep the team there.
It’s too bad, too, that Lemieux, who became the games reigning ambassador when he unretired suddenly reverted to his “I me mine” personality.
The great ego, Gene Simmons of Kiss, once sang “A world without heroes/ Is like a world without sun/ You can’t look up to anyone…” Fleetwood Mac has offered that “Heroes are hard to find.” Someone else once advised that “A Hero Ain’t Nothing but a Sandwich.” Maybe I am taking things too personally. Nobody’s perfect. Not eben the Beatles. [What’s any good on Magical Mystery Tour? Penny Lane, Strawberry Fields, I Am the Walrus, All You Need Is Love, Baby You’re A Rich Man… ALL singles added to the US release to make a full album. Own the Yellow Submarine soundtrack?] So your favorite author throws out a stinker and your favorite singer issues his new direction: psychedelic christian bluegrass. Jophn Cusak makes Serendipity and America’s Sweethearts.
I guess I am just wondering why do we let ourselves get too wrapped up in our sports heroes and favorite singers and actors? How do we handle it when our heroes let us down?
Don’t get me wrong, I have REAL PEOPLE in my life I look to for role models. My grandfather, uncles, my Dad [although, thinking back, none of them ever taught me how to shave or had “The Talk” with me… Well, Uncle Rich told me some things, but no one else. So maybe I DO need new role models.] People who taught me to do it right the first time, measure twice and cut once, cutting grass in the Texas heat builds character, let an older woman teach you everything you need to know, make sure you have the right oil filter; you know, the important stuff. Granted, I have been let down sometimes by my real role models too. They’re human and sometimes it’s easy to forget that. And I guess I have it pretty easy that I can worry about one of my favorite writers going down the tubes, or the owner of a hockey team trying to hold a city I don’t even live in up for ransome. I don’t have to worry about where a meal or rent is coming from [unless I finally get the one stupid caller that pushes me over the edge and I go postal… every day is another test, eh?].
I don’t know. It was just a thought I was chasing down, getting ready for my annual post Stanley Cup letdown period, although the games have been okay most of this year. [Boy I though Dallas had it wrapped up when Detroit and Colorado went out in the first round… shows what I know even though I was 1 of 11-2 of 12-3 of 12 and 1 of 7 in my leagues. [Yes, Patrick Roy retiring caught me off guard. He may be the best goalie in history, though I think Martin Brodeur may have a run at several of Patrick’s records.]
Anyone got any thoughts to add? email: chaz66@earthlink.net
I’ve been reading Transmetropolitan again. For those who are not in the know, Transmet is a graphic novel [i.e. adult themed comic book] starring a tatooed bald headed journalist in the Hunter S. Thompson mode, who makes Gary Treaudeau’s Uncle Duke look like a boy scout. Even the early Duke cartoons with the blatant drug references and halucinations. There are things you can get away with in a comic that one CERTAINLY can’t get away with in the daily comics page. Anyway, it’s very well written and I recommend it highly for anyone who like HST. It’s put out by DC/Vertigo, the same folk who brought you Sandman, Hellblazer and Preacher. Sometimes it’s a bit more political than I like, but it says a lot more about our society today than a simple ‘comic book’ should.
So I have been reading this comic and it’s got me thinking about HST himself, which in turn makes me consider ‘heroes.’
When I first read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, it had the same impact that On the Road must have had on so many people. I was just knocked sideways. This was before I was taking any drugs and had any clue about what the effects were. Of course I had also read The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test by Tom Wolfe at a friend’s insistence and while it made me curious, I didn’t jump right out and experiment. [Together, they did give me a point of reference though when I did, along with the John Lennon Rolling Stone interview from 1971.] Even realizing that F&L was a highly exaggerated semi autobiographical piece, Thompson used language so well and nailed the essence of all the paranoia and hallucinations and the realities that can be just as weird.
And then you look at Thompson’s last few books: two collections of letters circa 1955-1975 [I could say for sure, but someone, against my better judgment, borrowed the second while I was struggling through it and has yet to return it.], The Rum Diary, which has been kicking around since the very early 60s, and Kingdom of Fear [2002], which is a poor rehash of 1990’s Songs of the Doomed, based largely on the Gail Slater Palmer rape case and surrounding circus. It’s sad to see your heroes deteriorating the way HST is. The really sad part is that he put out the still sharp Better Than Sex covering the Clinton election and the death of Richard Nixon. It wasn’t ear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail ’72 Revisited, but it was still pretty good writing. One could assume that it was inevitable that Thompson would begin to slide downhill after the tortures he’s put his body through over the last 30-40 years. I saw him recently on PBS’ Charlie Rose and he seemed lucid, maybe a little slower, but just as sharp as always.
Maybe time has just passed Hunter by, much the way Thompson’s former major outlet, Rolling Stone has been left in the dust. Think about that. When I was in high school journalism, 1983, at the tail end of Rolling Stone’s glory years [“All the News that Fits” and the HIP magazine of the subculture, ya dig], all I wanted was a byline in Rolling Stone. Now that was not due to HST, but because Rolling Stone was [still] cool. Anyway, by 1985 Rolling Stone was glossy covers and day glow lettering and Tina Turner, the Bangles, Go Gos and Billy Joel on the cover. Jann Wenner reached out for the next generation and ruined his magazine, left them with nothing the old readers wanted but the yearly interview with Jerry Garcia.
Thompson by then had cashed his check.. Without a regular outlet between, oh 1976 and the present [minus a run doing columns for the San Franciso Examiner in the 80s, collected in Generation of Swine and his current stint online at ESPN’s Page 2, which is not breaking much new ground but living on past glories of heavy betting on football with occasional end runs into politics], Thompson lost his edge. I guess we all will someday, but it seems Thompson should have cart wheeled over the edge to total madness or crashed and burned rather than just faded away into obscurity, or worse, self parody.
Or take another hero of mine, Mario Lemieux. Mario shoudn’t have retired the first time. If he’d have kept playing the Pens might have had another run in 1998, before losing Ron Francis to free agency.We also might be talking about him passing Gordie Howe for second on the scoring list. But he did retire. Then like Michael Jordan [or Gordie himself], he unretired. And like Jordan, Mario didn’t embarrass himself upon his return. Well, not right away. Last year, he tried to play through injury, played in the Salt Lake Olympics and got his gold medal, played one game for the Pens, then missed the rest of the year. That might have been okay IF he hadn’t said at the end of the year that the gold medal was the important thing for him this year, not playing for the team and fans who pay his salary. Well, any normal owner might have been pissed, but Mario IS the owner. I am sure that rasied some eyebrows in the Pens locker room and did not help Mario’s quest for a new areana in Pittsburgh. And all this time I thought Jagr was the selfish one. As a fan, that’s got to make you think. How do you vote yes to line the pockets of a man who cared more about playing for his country where he no longer lives than the fans in the city who have welcomed you and supported you for the last 18 years.
So now begins the whining. ESPN reported June first that Mario was interested in playing for a championship again, but to do so, he would have to divest himself of his ownership of the Pens, as Michael Jordan did in Washington. Mario denied this, but today [June 6] ESPN.com’s NHL page reports:
“Lemieux said he feels "betrayed" by the lack of support city and county leaders have given efforts to build an arena to replace 42-year-old Mellon Arena -- the oldest and second-smallest venue in the National Hockey League. The franchise, which has had to slash its payroll and unload most of its big-name players because of escalating costs, has been trying to secure financial backing for a new $270 million arena.
Raising the specter of the team leaving Pittsburgh, Lemieux said the targeted 2006 opening for a new arena is "pretty much gone unless something happens in the next 30 to 60 days."
"This franchise is a free agent in 2007. I hope they understand that," Lemieux said. The Penguins' lease at Mellon Arena will have expired by that time. "Time is running out."
In response to Lemieux's comments, Pittsburgh Mayor Tom Murphy's office issued a statement saying the mayor has worked hard to keep the Penguins in the city but that there is no tax money available for financing a new arena.”
This from a team that traded anyone that wasn’t nailed down [exception: injury plagued Martin Starka and goalie Johan Hedberg] at the dealine this year. The Pens say trading Alexei Kovalev was a money decision; I say hogwash. Kovalev’s value was probably higher during the season, but he still could have been traded at the draft. Mario knows there was no champonship coming to Pittsburgh in the near future and so he kicked the rebuilding process into high gear. It will be too bad when the team moves, another footnote of economic decline. Maybe one of those guys offering to buy the Buffalo Sabres or Ottowa Senators can keep the team there.
It’s too bad, too, that Lemieux, who became the games reigning ambassador when he unretired suddenly reverted to his “I me mine” personality.
The great ego, Gene Simmons of Kiss, once sang “A world without heroes/ Is like a world without sun/ You can’t look up to anyone…” Fleetwood Mac has offered that “Heroes are hard to find.” Someone else once advised that “A Hero Ain’t Nothing but a Sandwich.” Maybe I am taking things too personally. Nobody’s perfect. Not eben the Beatles. [What’s any good on Magical Mystery Tour? Penny Lane, Strawberry Fields, I Am the Walrus, All You Need Is Love, Baby You’re A Rich Man… ALL singles added to the US release to make a full album. Own the Yellow Submarine soundtrack?] So your favorite author throws out a stinker and your favorite singer issues his new direction: psychedelic christian bluegrass. Jophn Cusak makes Serendipity and America’s Sweethearts.
I guess I am just wondering why do we let ourselves get too wrapped up in our sports heroes and favorite singers and actors? How do we handle it when our heroes let us down?
Don’t get me wrong, I have REAL PEOPLE in my life I look to for role models. My grandfather, uncles, my Dad [although, thinking back, none of them ever taught me how to shave or had “The Talk” with me… Well, Uncle Rich told me some things, but no one else. So maybe I DO need new role models.] People who taught me to do it right the first time, measure twice and cut once, cutting grass in the Texas heat builds character, let an older woman teach you everything you need to know, make sure you have the right oil filter; you know, the important stuff. Granted, I have been let down sometimes by my real role models too. They’re human and sometimes it’s easy to forget that. And I guess I have it pretty easy that I can worry about one of my favorite writers going down the tubes, or the owner of a hockey team trying to hold a city I don’t even live in up for ransome. I don’t have to worry about where a meal or rent is coming from [unless I finally get the one stupid caller that pushes me over the edge and I go postal… every day is another test, eh?].
I don’t know. It was just a thought I was chasing down, getting ready for my annual post Stanley Cup letdown period, although the games have been okay most of this year. [Boy I though Dallas had it wrapped up when Detroit and Colorado went out in the first round… shows what I know even though I was 1 of 11-2 of 12-3 of 12 and 1 of 7 in my leagues. [Yes, Patrick Roy retiring caught me off guard. He may be the best goalie in history, though I think Martin Brodeur may have a run at several of Patrick’s records.]
Anyone got any thoughts to add? email: chaz66@earthlink.net
Thursday, June 05, 2003
So we're sitting around in a bar last night talking hockey and music and the subject of favortie albums comes. up. I knew my top three, but after that, the Wild Turkey was keeping my thinking cells down. So I revisited my list of a few years ago and ammended it to this. Dedicated to a girl who will remain nameless because she doesn't want any internet discussions about whether she likes being hog tied or not..
Revised Top 25 Albums List
1. Let It Bleed – Rolling Stones
Though Exile On Main Street is widely considered the Stones masterpiece, they couldn’t keep it up for four sides. Bleed is the Stones functioning as a lean mean dangerous machine.
2. London Calling – The Clash
Where the Stones couldn’t keep up their energy for four sides, the Clash certainly could. Four sides with a little of everything, punk reggae, funk and rockabilly.
3. Revolver – The Beatles
The last of the Beatles real rock and roll records. While their experiments on Sgt. Pepper and later albums were interesting at times, but this is them on the cusp of redefining rock and roll and redefining rock and roll again.
4. Led Zeppelin
The ultimate power trio [no apologies to Cream or the Who] with Robert Plant’s powerful vocals over the top. Their first is the rawest and still the best.
5. Rocks – Aerosmith
Aerosmith at their sleazy gritty greasy best.
6. Being There – Wilco
2 CDs of brilliant shimmering country-ish rock.
7. Talk Is Cheap – Keith Richards
The best album the Stones never made; shows why Keith is the heart and soul of the Stones.
8. Back In Black – AC/DC
While I prefer the Bon Scott years for extended listening, this is an album you could give to an alien spaceship landing and say “This is rock and roll.”
9. Stereo / Mono - Paul Westerberg
Another two CD masterpiece, alternately sad and retrospective and joyful rock and roll.
10. One by One – Foo Fighters
Crunchy ballsy pop.
11. Pleased to Meet Me – The Replacements
Young loud and snotty done right.
12. Badmotorfinger – Soundgarden
More spiraling and heavy than anything Black Sabbath ever imagined. Chris Cornell’s pipes worth the price alone.
13. Amorica – Black Crowes
This is to the Crowes what Rocks is to Aerosmith; the Crowes at the height of their greasy strutting powers.
14. Dirt – Alice In Chains
Depressing but brilliant.
15. Sketches of Spain – Miles Davis
Brilliance
16. Tones – Eric Johnson
Fiery and mercurial guitar playing from a master.
17. Wish You Were Here – Pink Floyd
Beats Dark Side of the Moon and The Wall by miles. Great showcases for Gilour’s tasty guitars and Rick Wright’s keyboards.
18. Strangers Almanac – Whiskeytown
Another country flavored album that shines from top to bottom. Ryan Adams best work so far.
19. Burgers – Hot Tuna
Bluesy funky offshoot of the Jefferson Airplane. Who would have thunk adding a violin to a blues band could be so interesting?
20. The Rise & Fall of Ziggy Stardust & the Spiders from Mars – David Bowie
Mick Ronson’s brilliant guitar playing and 10 of Bowie’s best songs [It Ain’t Easy is by the Kink’s Ray Davies.]
21. Shut Up N’ Play Yer Guitar – Frank Zappa
All instrumental, all built around Frank’s most interesting guitar solos.
22. The Cars
New wave at its best, no apoligies to Talking Heads [Television only made 2 albums, one great, one so-so.]
23. Come Pick Me Up – Superchunk
The best band you never heard in your life, the ‘Chunks 7th album finds them brilliantly treading a line with power chords and almost whispered or spoken vocals.
24. As Falls Wichita, So Falls Wichita Falls – Pat Metheny
Abstract 20 minute title cut and four shorter pieces brilliant showcase for Pat’s great guitar work and Lyle Mays’ ethereal keyboards.
25. This Year’s Model – Elvis Costello & the Atractions
Equal parts venom and pure pop sensibility [Elvis was punk only in a Do It Yourself kind of mode.]. The Attractions make this record!
Revised Top 25 Albums List
1. Let It Bleed – Rolling Stones
Though Exile On Main Street is widely considered the Stones masterpiece, they couldn’t keep it up for four sides. Bleed is the Stones functioning as a lean mean dangerous machine.
2. London Calling – The Clash
Where the Stones couldn’t keep up their energy for four sides, the Clash certainly could. Four sides with a little of everything, punk reggae, funk and rockabilly.
3. Revolver – The Beatles
The last of the Beatles real rock and roll records. While their experiments on Sgt. Pepper and later albums were interesting at times, but this is them on the cusp of redefining rock and roll and redefining rock and roll again.
4. Led Zeppelin
The ultimate power trio [no apologies to Cream or the Who] with Robert Plant’s powerful vocals over the top. Their first is the rawest and still the best.
5. Rocks – Aerosmith
Aerosmith at their sleazy gritty greasy best.
6. Being There – Wilco
2 CDs of brilliant shimmering country-ish rock.
7. Talk Is Cheap – Keith Richards
The best album the Stones never made; shows why Keith is the heart and soul of the Stones.
8. Back In Black – AC/DC
While I prefer the Bon Scott years for extended listening, this is an album you could give to an alien spaceship landing and say “This is rock and roll.”
9. Stereo / Mono - Paul Westerberg
Another two CD masterpiece, alternately sad and retrospective and joyful rock and roll.
10. One by One – Foo Fighters
Crunchy ballsy pop.
11. Pleased to Meet Me – The Replacements
Young loud and snotty done right.
12. Badmotorfinger – Soundgarden
More spiraling and heavy than anything Black Sabbath ever imagined. Chris Cornell’s pipes worth the price alone.
13. Amorica – Black Crowes
This is to the Crowes what Rocks is to Aerosmith; the Crowes at the height of their greasy strutting powers.
14. Dirt – Alice In Chains
Depressing but brilliant.
15. Sketches of Spain – Miles Davis
Brilliance
16. Tones – Eric Johnson
Fiery and mercurial guitar playing from a master.
17. Wish You Were Here – Pink Floyd
Beats Dark Side of the Moon and The Wall by miles. Great showcases for Gilour’s tasty guitars and Rick Wright’s keyboards.
18. Strangers Almanac – Whiskeytown
Another country flavored album that shines from top to bottom. Ryan Adams best work so far.
19. Burgers – Hot Tuna
Bluesy funky offshoot of the Jefferson Airplane. Who would have thunk adding a violin to a blues band could be so interesting?
20. The Rise & Fall of Ziggy Stardust & the Spiders from Mars – David Bowie
Mick Ronson’s brilliant guitar playing and 10 of Bowie’s best songs [It Ain’t Easy is by the Kink’s Ray Davies.]
21. Shut Up N’ Play Yer Guitar – Frank Zappa
All instrumental, all built around Frank’s most interesting guitar solos.
22. The Cars
New wave at its best, no apoligies to Talking Heads [Television only made 2 albums, one great, one so-so.]
23. Come Pick Me Up – Superchunk
The best band you never heard in your life, the ‘Chunks 7th album finds them brilliantly treading a line with power chords and almost whispered or spoken vocals.
24. As Falls Wichita, So Falls Wichita Falls – Pat Metheny
Abstract 20 minute title cut and four shorter pieces brilliant showcase for Pat’s great guitar work and Lyle Mays’ ethereal keyboards.
25. This Year’s Model – Elvis Costello & the Atractions
Equal parts venom and pure pop sensibility [Elvis was punk only in a Do It Yourself kind of mode.]. The Attractions make this record!