A Cocksure Slant

In Amongst The Millions.

Almost as to add insult to injury of a very long week, and overall, a very long year, Vic Chesnutt left us all tonight.

I won’t pretend to be the cool guy that has loved Vic’s music forever.  Actually, the first time I listened to him was with his album ‘Left To His Own Devices.’  It felt mournful yet hopeful at once.  One track in particular that really hit home on that album was “In Amongst The Millions.”  It had a refrain of the line, “people can’t die anymore.”  For some reason or another, that line always stuck with me.

After listening to that record over and over I started to research him a little deeper.  Found out he was wheelchair-bound because of a car accident from when he was 18.  This made his music become so much more clear to me, because everything I listened to by him always sounded incredibly fragile, yet very powerful.

In the last couple of years he released five different records, two of which were recorded with members of Godspeed You Black Emperor, one with Elf Power, and one with Jonathan Richman, which was basically a very intimate, stripped down performance of Vic in the studio.  All of these records were important to me for a number of reasons.  But the main reason was that they all had the feel of a musician who had been playing for many years, yet could manage to always stay vital and interesting.  Hell, I would argue that ‘North Star Deserter’ is one of the most important and vital records of the past 10 years.

While all of this is good and well, Vic left no illusions through his music that death was a reoccuring theme, at times almost sounding as if he had been to the other side already, and his songs were nothing more than a very detailed description of what he had witnessed.

I won’t get into speculation of anything, as that is a matter that only Vic and his family knew.  I will say, however, that we are very lucky to come away with the output of music he left us with.

Let us hope that his pain will be taken away wherever he rests now, and remember that people cannot truly be saved in the end.

Nothing Changes.

I’m pretty sure that to a certain extent, everyone is a tad protective of their exes.  It doesn’t really matter how long you were together, it just happens.

Tonight I found out that one of my exes has been dating a friend.  Normally, I wouldn’t have any concern with this.  In fact, I would be quite happy for both parties.  But this, this was something different.

How should one react when they found out what I did?  Well, me being the sad attempt at an alpha-male freaked out.  Wouldn’t you freak out if you found out someone that you wanted to marry had been dating someone you admire?

Let me explain.  Mark Mallman is one of, if not my favorite local musicians.  I love his music.  I always have since that ill-fated night I first heard it.  It spoke to me.  It still does.  I’ve fought my way through many a tough time in my life with the music of Mark Mallman by my side.  But now, NOW, that seems to all be over.

Every song has seemed to take on a new meaning.  When I hear certain lines, all I can think of is my ex.

Now, you could, and probably will argue that this has more to do with my ex than with Mallman.  Not True.

Personally, I think Mark is a super-sweet guy.  I would do anything for him, and deep down, I believe he would probably do the same for me.

But, HER?  WHY?  Nicole is a good person in her own right, I’m almost sure of it.  But the simple fact that she felt she could and SHOULD share this all with me just pisses me off.

It doesn’t matter how many years pass, sometimes there is just shit you should never know about.  Unless they were to be together forever, I should have never known about this all.  Given the recent events with Allie, I’m at a point in the first place where I didn’t need another blow.  This was the blow I didn’t need.

I can now see myself just sitting inside my apartment for years.  Hanging out with my cats and being paranoid about anytime I hear anyone at the door.

Thank you, “friends.”  You’ve both managed to make my craziness even crazier.

America’s Next Top President

Sure, 2012 is still a few years away, but I think it’s high time we start planning for our next election now.

I’m sure everyone could agree that voting needs to be made more simple in this country, be it by e-mail, phone or some other modern technology.  Well, I might have the solution.

The real way to get everyone out voting is to make it into a reality show!

Hear me out.

Instead of the regular process we go through of debates and primaries, you know, shit no one cares about, turn it into a weekly television show.  Call it “America’s Next Top President” or “Who Wants To Be A President?” or “Prez Or No Prez?”  Something catchy to keep everyone interested.

There would be dancing, talent contests, grudge matches, bobbing for apples, the window is literally wide open for this.

Not to mention, this would be the perfect way for more than just the two big parties to get involved!  You would finally get the know the candidates from all the scary, unknown parties, and see if maybe they are really for you.

The kicker would be getting a host that would captivate everyone enough to keep watching.  My money is on an ill-informed, booze-addled David Hasselhoff.  They could wheel out the Hoff with a drink in one hand, and cheeseburger in the other, strap a microphone to his chest and just let him ramble in between all the events.

This could be a 13-week show.  At the end, the winner would be voted in via phone call or online votes.  The losers would be ushered to a backstage area, whereupon they would all be shot in the back of the head, so we never had to watch them on another season.

Now, I know this all has some (quite obvious) kinks that would need to be worked out.  Having said that, overall I think this plan could work out.  And, if anyone out there has the connections to make this work and believes in it like I do, please, make that phone call.

Everybody Have Fun Tonight.

I was recently defriended on Facebook by someone I’ve known for years over an argument about the Beatles.

Let me explain.

First off, we need to establish the fact that you will always have a friend that obsesses over the Beatles.  This is only one of the true facts of life besides the fact that you will get old and die.  You might be able to avoid this until you are in your golden years, but without fail, you will encounter someone that is also knocking on death’s door, and they will tell you about how the Beatles changed music forever.  Fine.  You may not like it, but you will have to accept it.

Secondly, they will argue with you until a deathmatch about how great the Beatles are.  It doesn’t matter what your rebuttal is, they always win.  And the reason they always win is because they are out of their goddamn minds.  They have built up what was, essentially the first boy band, in their head to be the single greatest catalyst in their experience with music.  Don’t bother arguing with them over this.  The Beatles are the beginning and end of music to them, and no one else will ever matter as much.

But, for arguments sake, let’s say that you have a far differing opinion.  You can like the Beatles.  Fuck, you can even love the Beatles.  But, because you don’t hold them in the same regard that they do, they will wind up hating you.  They will think that you’re being difficult, or trying to dismiss the social and cultural importance of the Beatles.

This leads me to my story.

Do I like the Beatles.  Of course.  Do I think that they get far too much credit?  Absolutely.

The Beatles were, are and will be, important for popular music.  They were responsible for setting off a phenom with music that had yet to be witnessed until they arrived on the scene.  And yes, they had a limited amount of output, yet succeeded with all of it, which makes them even more important in most peoples minds.

With that being said, I don’t care.

There are a great number of bands that have existed since the Beatles that have changed everything.  Sure, they always wind up being compared to the Beatles, but it’s usually just because the people talking about them are only casual music fans, and have no better point to reference anything to.

Which brings me to Wang Chung.

Wang Chung may have appeared to have a couple of top 40 radio hits and then disappear, but I would argue that they are far more worth obsessing over.

For one, they are still performing today.  Yes, I know that Ringo and Paul are still doing shit, but I DO NOT CARE.  Ringo had a number of solo albums that were far better than anything McCartney put out, and McCartney is still performing Beatles songs as if he was the gatekeeper, but I don’t care.

If you are able to look at it objectively, Wang Chung could have been the Beatles of the 80’s.  They presented a new-ish sound to the masses.  They, from the beginning, had a much deeper meaning with their name and philosophy.  The Beatles name came about because of many unfounded origins.  The simplest version is that Stuart Sutcliffe used the name “Beetles” as a play on Buddy Holly’s “Crickets.”  Lennon later changed that because of the “beat” or if you’re nuts, because of a dream he had.

Wang Chung was based on, depending what you believe, a Chinese philosopher, or the Chinese meaning of “perfect beat.”  Already, far more intellectual than the “Beatles.”

Now, I might be losing some of you here, but stay on board.  It might be worth it.

I’m not a Wang Chung fan like I am of the Beatles.  But when you do the research of Wang Chung, they are far more interesting.  The Beatles were four guys that got together from Liverpool to play music and get pussy.  When you break it down, they were no more respectable than Weezer is.  Wang Chung at least had a deeper, philosophical side to them.

Am I saying Wang Chung are better than the Beatles?

No.

What I am saying, is that why not have an unnatural obsession with Wang Chung?

Why not get into bizarre, unfounded arguments over the validity of Wang Chung?  They obviously had more integrity, and probably still do than the Beatles ever did, (that is, until they started taking themselves too seriously.)

From now on, if anyone puts on “Revolution” and can’t shut up about it, I’m going to put on “Dance Hall Days” and regale them with the importance of Wang Chung.  Because at the end of the day, “I Want To Hold Your Hand” lives on the same level as “Everybody Have Fun.”

Blues For A Loathsome Princess.

In 45 minutes, Gretchen had to be at work.  Usually by this time, she was what one could easily refer to as “bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”  But today, she couldn’t move.  It was if someone had sucked the marrow of life from her.

So, she lay, motionless.

Suddenly, she realized she had 15 minutes to be to work.  She sat up, and laughed about a lame joke she made in her head about everyone having their 15 minutes.  Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all.  Really though, there was no truth behind that.  It was going to be just as bad as every day had been since she moved here, and since he was gone.

Everyone was gone.

She was the last of her kind.  Gretchen was alone in the world.  But then, so are the consequences of one who continuously turns their back.

Best Of 2009, Part One.

My taste in music is not perfect. Nor is yours or anyone elses. We like different shit, and for different reasons. So as I write this list and you read it, keep in mind this is not to rub any sort of elitism in your face whatsoever.
Simply put, these are records I have dug on this year, and the reasons I do said digging. Agree or disagree, it doesn’t matter, I like them, so there. Got that out of the way? All good? Alright, let’s get to the list…

Mastodon - ‘Crack The Skye’ Not only one of my favorite metal records of the year, but probably of all time. If ‘Blood Mountain’ was amazing, ‘Crack’ is untouchable. Fifty minutes of fluff-free genius. It can jump from metal to prog to jazz-like time signatures without a blink of an eye. Mastodon have been one of the most important metal bands to arise in the last 10 years or so, and this record drives the point home with a nail between your eyes. Ranked #1 this year for me overall, as I played, and continue to, the shit out of it.

Flight Of The Conchords - ‘I Told You I Was Freaky’ It’s probably hard for most to justify a “comedy-music” record as one of the years best releases. I get it, but if you fall into that category, get over yourself. The Conchords could have easily been written off as a one-trick pony with their 2008 release that coincided with their HBO series, but ‘I Told You I Was Freaky’ proves they have more than just jokes in their songs. Razor-sharp wit combined with beats that bump and ballads that could bring tears to your eyes makes this record something to listen to over and over again. As a bonus, these guys could give up the comedy side, and STILL put out some great fucking music. Lady Gaga might be everyone’s favorite dance-floor diva this year, but “Too Many Dicks” makes her look like a zero.

David Bazan - ‘Curse Your Branches’ As someone that was a big fan (still am) of Pedro The Lion, this record was great on many levels. For one, the lyrics deal with Bazan’s abandonment of his faith, which was what Pedro was largely centered around. Secondly, this record sounds like the Pedro record he was always on the verge of making, but just falling short of doing every time. The result? Some of the catchiest pop music written in recent memory. “Please, Baby, Please” is a clear standout for me as to why this record is so good, as I could throw this track on, get in my car and drive until I run out of gasoline. That isn’t to say that the rest of the record doesn’t stand up well, because every track is great. It truly warrants many replays, which can be rare these days.

Vic Chesnutt - ‘At The Cut’/’Skitter On Take-Off’ In the last two years, Vic Chesnutt has released three albums. Two were recorded with members of Godspeed You Black Emperor, and the other with Jonathan Richman. The two GYBE-related records have had similar feels, though I would argue ‘At The Cut is the stand-out of the two. It crawls along from beginning to end like a death-march written for the end of days, but with a smile on the narrator’s face. It’s dark, yet hopeful, and musically dense like syrup.
‘Skitter’ on the other hand, is stripped down to it’s purest form possible. With little more heard the entire record than just Vic and his guitar, it’s an exercise in polar opposites as far as two releases could come. The songs on ‘Skitter are beautiful, heartbreaking and funny all at once. I couldn’t just go with one or the other, they belong together, and should be listened to one after another.

Girls - ‘Album’ The perfect soundtrack for the end of the summer. Love songs about boys and girls that drift between Elvis Costello and the Beach Boys. Smarmy yet sincere lyrics that fill you with dread and hopefulness at the same time. ‘Album’ makes me dance sing and swoon. I dare you to listen to “Lauren Marie” and not want to make-out at sunset next to a fire. One of the years most pleasant surprises by far.

Mark Mallman - ‘Invincible Criminal’ Now, since you know me, you might think it’s hard for me to be impartial about Mallman’s releases anymore. Not true. Mark has been so consistent album after album that I’m just always waiting for him to fall flat. So was the case with ‘Invincible Criminal.’ I had heard the title track, thought it was good enough, but was a little worried about the rest. Fast forward a couple of weeks and an advance of the record from Mark. I wound up sitting up until three in the morning with it on repeat. How does this guy keep getting better and better? Not a bad song on the record, which once again proves to me why he is my favorite local musician. Criminally underrated, Mallman deserves to be a superstar for ‘Invincible.’
Not only is it the party record of the year, but Mallman really pulls punches with the slower stuff as well, which I’ve always thought was a strong-point for him, even though he may disagree. Just listen to “Don’t Spill The Bottle” flowing into “Mercy Calls.” He takes you from a full-on sing-along to one of the most tender, beautiful songs in his vast cannon of work. Congrats again, Mark. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.

So obviously I have a lot more records for this list, this is just the beginning. I just want to be kind in the amount of reading I put anyone through in one sitting. Part two to come tomorrow.

Rollie’s.

It finally happened. Tonight, at Rollie’s. With my good friend Jeff at my side, I met Allie face to face.
For those of you that don’t know, we started talking almost a month ago via Match.com. Yes, I realize that dating websites usually stink of desperation, and you would be right to think that. But for whatever reason, we started talking because of Match.com, and it continued from there.
We started to call and text each other back and forth. I just started to expect phone calls at 11pm from her when she got off work. She would, (and does, and will always) tease me about being a hipster. Now from anyone else, that would annoy the shit out of me. But with Allie, it makes me laugh. Most importantly laugh at myself.
What can I say?
For the first time in a very long while, I really want something to work between myself and someone else. Sure, I tried a good long while with Gina, but anyone that knows me knew that was doomed from the start.
With Allie, I can feel something good when I get close to her. Sure, I’m being a sap, but fuck it. I feel far more confident than I have in a very long time with another girl.
Long story long, I am more than happy that I stepped outside my bubble. If I had not spent an evening with a gaggle of rednecks and a shitty country cover band, I would not feel this way. I would still be questioning my feelings in private.
But now. Now I know there may be a chance for something good, and something real. I mean, who wouldn’t fall for a girl that makes jokes about anal?

(one sidenote:  My heart hasn’t raced like this, well, maybe ever.  I was goddamn nervous going in, and as the night went on, I was only more nervous because I kept feeling more and more for her…)

An Examination Of Eternal Damnation, or, “Help! I’m Trapped In A Wal-Mart!”

Tonight, for reasons unknown and unexplainable, I found myself drawn to going to Wal-Mart.

To clear things up, I never go to Wal-Mart. There is never a reason under the sun I need to be near a Wal-Mart.  In fact, I hate Wal-mart.  But, I could not help myself at this particular time.  It was as if it was calling to me.  It’s awful, incandescent lights were speaking to me, and I needed to hear what they said.

As I entered the parking lot and (finally) found a spot to park in, I made my way toward the entrance.  Upon walking in, something was immediately wrong.  There was not a greeter this evening.  I could probably count the times I’ve set foot into a Wal-Mart on both hands, but there has always been a greeter.  Choosing to ignore this, I started my trek through this great mecca of empty consumerism.

As I still had no idea as to why I was there, I just started to wander, much like a prophet lost in the desert.  The first thing I encountered was a giant display for a new Michael Jackson cd.  There were easily enough copies of it for everyone in the store, though no one seemed to care.  About twenty feet away from this display, I noticed the women’s department had a bevy of t-shirts adorning the same picture from the Michael Jackson display.  Easily a great idea of cross-marketing if I’ve ever seen one!

While this was all fine and good to witness, it did not avert my attention to the number of quite obvious meth addicts roaming around in giant, fuzzy boots.  Every girl seemed to be wearing them, (sans the Somalian children that were simply destroying the pay phones.)  It seemed that the farther I wandered into the “Mart,” I just saw more and more fuzzy boots, accompanied by scabby faces and a noticeable twitch.

Taking this all in was quite an experience, and I could still not put my finger as to why I was here.  But none of this prepared me for an unearthly smell that seemed to slap me in the face.  At first, I could not place it.  It was, at the same time, both familiar and foreign.  Then it came to me

Energy drinks.

It seemed that the air was permeated with this scent.  I started to run, wanting nothing more than to escape this stench, but it was at every corner I turned.  From the neglected pet section, to the overbearing gun department and through the clothing, it was everywhere.

At this point, I had had enough.  There was no more of this world that I could take.  I made a mad dash for the exit and into the parking lot.  Except, when I got to the parking lot, it was as if my vehicle had disappeared.  It was nowhere to be found.  “Fuck it,” I thought to myself.  I would rather go on foot and escape this all to live another day.  Yet, the further and further I ran, I could not find the street.

I could see the Asian nail salon, the Cub Foods, everything.  But it was all just out of reach.  Madness was starting to set it.  I needed help, and quick if I were to escape this fate.

Back into the store was the only logical next step.  I started screaming for help, but it was as if no one heard me over the chatter of people comparing this sea of useless products.  I screamed louder, but the Brittney Spears version of “I Love Rock And Roll” was just getting louder and louder, and I could not project my voice loud enough to defeat it.

I fell to my knees.  Was this my eterpped nity?  Was this all there was left to know?  Trapped in a Wal-Mart with nothing to live off of but Sam’s Club cola and Hostess cupcakes?

NO.

My determination became animalistic.  I was now going to be in control of my destiny, I would make it out of this place, dead or alive.

I fled to the parking lot once more, and decided the only way to find my car was to set off the car alarm.

Success!

The lights started to flash and the horn bleat loudly.  I ran with the wind in my face, tasting salvation with every inch that my drew closer to my car.  Finally, I entered the vehicle, started the engine.  The music came through the speakers at a volume that sent my heart racing.  All I had to do was back out and I was on my way.

Unfortunately, this never happened.  An endless stream of cars, pedestrians and shopping cart attendants started to parade behind me.

I do not know for sure how many hours it has been now, but it is safe to say at this point, that I will not be leaving.  I supposed I will, eventually be forced to re-enter the store for the pure sake of nourishment.

Though I may never make it out of Wal-Mart alive, I refuse to die alone in my car on a stomach only filled with tears.

Now That’s What I Call An IdeaThought!

In the newest issue of Relevant magazine, (or, as I like to call it MODERN MANS GREATEST GIFT TO HISTORY,) there was a very typical “back to school” article.  Now, nothing about the article itself caught my attention, it was the list that followed called “Still Bored?”

You can find that list here, as I would rather not retype it all.  And while, of course, I give a hearty hats-off to my favorite staffers out there, (what’s up, my reles!) I do believe that they may have missed a few not-so-obvious choices to alleviate boredom.

So, as a devout (no pun intended!) reader of Relevant, I find it my duty to list additional ways to cure the boredom that ails you.  With that, I present…

STILL STILL BORED?

Have a wild goose chase with a real wild goose.

Fight the elderly in a no-holds-barred death match.

Start a foundation that directs all of it’s donations into your bank account.

Destroy an ant colony with your genitals.

Paint a portrait of a dead relative, and then mail it to their children.

Put socks on your hands and call yourself “foothands” until someone injures you.

Drink an entire bottle of vodka until you vomit.

Train for a marathon, and then sleep through it.

Learn to play an instrument that was designed to annoy.

Light yourself on fire.

Raise funds to start a record label entirely comprised of shitty bands you discovered on myspace. (note: this may have already been done by myspace.)

Nail a crucifix on your neighbor’s car.

Cry.

Text the lyrics of a Lady Gaga song to all your friends and see which one tags you first for being gay.

Make your own pornography.

Go to your local Wal-Mart and question the staff about their concerns about the way they’re treated. (this one is fun, because they’ll just blankly stare at you until they pull out a revolver and turn it upon themselves.)

Round up your hippie friends and try and get a legitimate answer as to why they enjoy the music they do.

Shave somewhere new.

And lastly…  Adopt a native Israeli child, name it Lil’ Adolph Hitler, take pictures of it with a cute little mustache and send it to the parents with the caption “GOTCHA!”

Look. We Shouldn’t Have To Keep Going Over This. I’m Not Stoned.

I swear, I’m really not.

I know, I know.  I always look like I am.  But I swear to you, not stoned.

Sure, I might have some of the same characteristics of someone who is stoned, but that’s just shitty genes and unlucky heredity.  I might be a bit overweight, rarely open my eyes beyond the level of slightly awake, but there are reasons for those.

For one, I’m fucking lazy, alright?  Exercise isn’t something I get into, which relates to me just not giving a shit about how I look most of the time.  Plus, I love eating.  Who doesn’t love to eat?  Terrorists, that’s who!  If you don’t love eating, you might as well shit on an eagle and burn a flag.

Another characteristic I have is that my eyes are never fully open.  Well, sorry!  It’s usually because I don’t get overly excited about too much shit anymore.  There are instances where I might light up if I hear a new record I’m fond of, or if I see a midget, but otherwise, I stay pretty low key.

(as a sidenote:  What is with the people that are constantly excited over everything?  Why is every little thing they experience a fucking miracle?  Have they been living so sheltered that when something as mundane as them getting a text message is like the second coming of Christ?  Sorry, let’s get on with it…)

Now, to my pot smoking friends out there, let me just apologize.  You’re not all like this, in fact, some of you are quite productive, and to you I say, well done.  In fact, a lot of you tend to be pretty successful!  You work, raise families, you Git R Done! (whoops…)

But let’s come to face facts here.  How many stoners do you know that, well, constantly fucking stink?  A LOT, that’s how many.  They constantly reek, of either marijuana, body odor or scalp.  SCALP.  The single most disgusting fucking smell on the planet.  If you are one of the said stoners that constantly stink of scalp, I would rather you piss yourself when you’re in my company so I don’t have to smell your fucking scalp.  Can’t afford the shampoo?  Fine.  I’ll budget myself to get some for you.

One thing I can be very proud of is that I don’t share with most stoners is their shitty taste in music.  It’s always awful jam-bands, ICP-related shit, or awful metal, (again, I have friends that break out of that mold, and remind me to give you a hug the next time I see you, because you’re not an idiot!)

What is it about pot that makes you listen to this shit?  A lot of these people are older-ish, and they’re still listening to this music that is nothing short of juvenile and pointless at best.

The whole jam-band part of it is a mystery to me.  When I actually did smoke, (guilty!) I usually wanted to listen to Elliott Smith or Fugazi, which is of course, ironic.  Never once did I suddenly get the hankerin’ to throw on some Phish and nod along like a moron, (this also goes for Widespread Panic, String Cheese, all of that shit.  Awful.)

I also totally fail to “get” the whole Insane Clown Posse, Juggalo shit that goes along with smoking pot.  It’s always these fucking guys and girls that still dress like an eighth grade reject that smell of McDonald’s and of course, weed.  There’s a guy that shops at the store that is easily in his late 30’s, with purple hair and, worst of all, A FUCKING DAUGHTER, that dresses in all ICP shit.  And in case you were wondering, yes, sometimes he is in full make-up.  ICP make-up, when you’re almost forty!

Are you getting all of this?

Then there’s the shitty metal dudes that I encounter reeking of pot.  Most of these dudes never buy any worthwhile metal, it’s always the shit that is, again, geared toward kids in their early teens, looking to rebel against whatever menial white-trash upbringing they had.  And that, yes, I can understand.  It’s moronic, but, I get it.  Everyone goes through a personality crisis when they’re young.  Some of us just come out of it better.

But when an adult male in their 50’s approaches you in a Korn t-shirt, with their hair pulled back in a ponytail, with the receding hairline, and they smell of pot, well, something done gone wrong along the line somewhere.

Again, I’m very happy to not fall into any of these people.  Otherwise, I would have had a bullet in my head many a year ago.

So once again.  Thank you for the constant taunts, accusations and outright annoyances about me being high.  But, just to clarify once again.  I don’t smoke pot.  And I’m not stoned…

…I’m probably just drunk.