August 31, 2005
IT'S NOT FUNNY ANYMORE
...bad taste, obviously...
this is just shameful. It seems sometimes that the internet is just a breeding ground for scalliwags and wise-apples, and little else (thank goodness it's good for something--porn!). to think that our beloved secretary of state (no, not that kind of secretary) is being pilloried in the public square with this sort of race-baiting and traitorous lunacy is, simply put, beyond the pale.
hmmm. perhaps I should put that another way.
she isn't doing any icky fighting for anybody, be it whitey or darkey. hell's bells--she's a piano player! everybody knows that piano players run away from the bullies who tease them on their way home from piano lessons--they're not fighters....just ask billy joel... the waves she has made in diplomatic circles thus far have everything to do with her fantastic barbara bush/nancy reagan/florence henderson-influenced fashion sense and her impeccable ability to read clearly from the teleprompter. not fighting. not wearing any uniforms. my God, she is an artist! rifles and gunpowder can wreak havoc on a manicure. this is no time for horseplay, as much as she likes to talk about "those brave men and women," this is a time for cheerleading! urging others on to the front! hoozah! for country! for England! I mean, um...well anyway, with autumn approaching, there's so much to look forward to: a bracing vichy-soisse at the Luxumbourg Gardens, high tea with Yo-Yo Ma at the Met, long walks through the Lake District with Tony Blair, and of course, a warm blankie, hot cocoa, a fresh-popped bowl of orville redenbacher and the melodious strains of the denver broncos, colliding violently in their blood-soaked uniforms. hoozah.
and again, please, if we could just clarify--just because the word "condoleeza" has roots in the ancient mayan language, translated literally: "hideous death mask" should not be cause for mockery or far-fetched analysis. I'm sure her parents thought she was just an extra-cute baby....
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today's dada spam:
Fornicated Hoffa
Accurately Julienned
Enables Championships
Transacting Twining
...
Here's to Charles Baudelaire, who died on this day in 1867. Following are some of his words (which I have certainly followed--a bit too literally--in the past):
Be Drunk
You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it—it's the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.
But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.
And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you: "It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish."
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last but not least: happy birthday caligula!! just 7 more years until your 2,000th...and won't that be special....
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August 30, 2005
MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE
...cartoon baby is wise...
The Dada of Spam:
lately the spam messages I've been getting have been coming with the most fabulously absurd sender names. I suppose they do this to avoid spam blockers and such things, but they certainly are inventions of radical juxtaposition, and some are downright poetic:
Plunger Disenchantment
Parleying Rosicrucian
Individualists Aftereffect
Lucite Replayed
Ravenous Dandier
Tendon DillyDallied
Acrobats Tenures
And that's just today's batch...I keep thinking that there's a band name coming one day soon...not terribly surprising--they're all come-ons to purchase drugs and pills...
...
on a more serious note, the family is increasingly concerned about our young (and older) cousins down in New Orleans...and looking forward to hearing that everyone is safe and sound...
...
update--I managed to get through to the hospital and congratulate the new parents, and confirm that one and all are safe and sound...it remains to be seen how many have homes to return to...
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August 29, 2005
HURRICANE
...not good...
Here's to a very happy event--the birth of Elizabeth Buckley Ambrose, my new cousin ... and here's to the speedy recovery of her mother, a calm and forthright resolve (and safe shelter) for her father, followed by a safe return trip to an undamaged home. Elizabeth's house is in the garden district of New Orleans...
...and here's to all my family and friends in that great city, as well as all the citizens whom I have always admired for their swinging joie de vivre --they will certainly need to call on that tough and indomitable strength over the next few weeks...
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August 26, 2005
WHAT'D I SAY
...pick hit of the week...
I've always admired John Scofield on a chops level, but like many other guitarists of his generation in the jazz idiom (pat metheny, mike stern, etc.) I've always found it rather unpleasant to listen to his tone due to an overmuch reliance on the dreaded boss chorus effect.
why they do? two reasons:
first one being that these cats all claim to want to emulate a horn player's tone--which is stupid because a guitar is never going to sound like a saxophone and because a good horn player doesn't sound habitually out-of-tune, which is what a chorus pedal does (better to try and emulate a violin, ala eric johnson, though beware falling, as he often does, into the soul-less void of jean-luc ponty-isms); secondly (my theory), pat metheny started selling truckloads of CDs in the 70s and 80s, and his tone had that same warbling, chorusy sound (though he used cascading lexicon digital delays--can't vouch for what he uses now. we lost touch when he went full-bore into the muzak 90s), which these guys emulated for commercial reasons.
but now the fog has lifted. Scofield put out several albums in the late 90s, sans chorus tone (and instead of relying solely on the rat pedal for overdrive/distortion, he started using boogie amps), with newfound collaborations with folks like medeski, martin and wood, along with an embrace of newer hip hop and r&b styles (he ain't afraid of samples). to my ears, this was an auspicious move, harkening back to the r&b influence that pervaded so much 1960s jazz, especially those organ trios with george benson and wes montgomery which were such key influences on this crowd. and sure enough, on his latest, "that's what I say: john scofield plays the music of ray charles" the organ trio influence is always percolating in the background. if you can stomach the occasional vocal turn by aaron neville (I can, but barely), it is a very enjoyable set of recordings, with music that is at once familiar, yet transformed via the new arrangements. On many levels it is a more satisfying album than that "genius loves company" record that appeared right before ray passed away--that album makes me just a little bit sad, as it merely documents his diminished vocal abilities on tunes whose performances were all much, much better in their original incarnations (also, duets suck). but this album is celebratory in its funkiness and vibe, and boy oh boy just listen to that guitar playing...
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August 25, 2005
SLAVE
...look for the mark of the bee when you want qua-li-ty...
grrrrrrrrr......
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August 24, 2005
BAND ON THE RUN
...I'd like to teach the world to sing....(on iTunes at $0.99 per)...
Cindy Sheehan is still making waves in the media. She's forced Bush to comment on her protest at each and every stop he's made in the past week, on his "run away from Crawford" junket. Remarkable. The right-wing blogosphere is burning the midnight oil in hopes of finding ways to smear her, but have been largely unsuccessful. Thus far, despite a statement that even I disagree with—that the Afghanistan campaign was ill-advised—she appears to be teflon-coated.
Pat Robertson: evangelist, holy roller, filler-upper of “church” coffers, presidential candidate, TV personality to the ignorant hordes, who famously cast the blame for 9/11 on homosexuals, is calling for the assassination of Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez. On the air. In public. Isn’t that nice? I guess it’s not OK to kill the baby fetus, but if the baby fetus is brown and communist and grownup, then the “thou shalt not kill” commandment can be broken--as long as it isn’t by an individual (but rather by an individual employed by the government), then it’s OK. Good to know.
This morning the Today Show needed to do a Cindy Sheehan interview, but instead of speaking with Cindy, or one of her fellow protesters (whom MSNBC’s Norah O’Donnell tellingly labeled as “anti-war extremists”), a counter-protester, or even one of the white house suits, they spoke to Chris Matthews, who is himself a TV cable news host (I’d say “journalist” but c’mon…). Has Mr. Matthews been to Crawford recently? I don’t think so…pretty sure he’s been holed up inside that TV studio of his, doing endless re-takes of “Hardball” and the IQ-insulting “Chris Matthews Show,” as has been his habit since the advent of the post-Brinkley epoch. What possible insights could he provide? Do tell….he did, and it was nothing. Because the news shows realize that the general level of informed public awareness is so low that it’s more effective to just put another hair gel’d personality up there to summarize. Yup. I can name that tune in three notes…
Several overdoses in the NYC area recently from some spiked heroin. Some older woman on the train asked me if it was true that heroin was still a “big thing.” I’m thinking, what do I look like, some sort of expert on junkies? What was the big tip-off? The docker khakis? The ray-ban sunglasses? The matching socks? Anyway, long story short—not that I’m a big know-it-all about heroin (or drugs in general), but I was fairly helpful, if I do say so, helping to demystify a few myths she was still carrying around—I explained that LSD doesn’t make children jump out of windows, that the marijuana today is much better than the stuff they had in the 60s, that cocaine and alcohol are the real killers, the reasons why crack and crystal meth are always in the news (they’re fun!), and that John Lennon wasn’t Jesus, but that President Bush is most likely a homosexual. It’s always such a pleasure to have the occasional “rap session” with one’s elders…
They’re installing cameras in the subways. Counter-terrorism, so they say. I tend to doubt it. I think it has a lot more to do with Mayor Bloomberg’s re-election. Jeez, why the sudden urgency anyway? It’s been four years now, Bush was re-elected, God is in his heaven, and the Democrats are bickering over who gets to carry the ball…btw, Lockheed Martin got the contract--$212 million. One wonders how big a campaign contribution that one cost them…hey, if the new system (btw, it’s still just a “plan”) works as well as the "new" P.A. system down in the tunnels, the cops are going to be sent out to hunt down blurry red blobs and streaky flashes of indeterminate grey.
I read this week that President Bush’s current poll numbers are actually lower than President Nixon’s were during the peak of the Watergate scandal. Or course, Nixon didn’t have Karl Rove back then…
And more’s the pity, we don’t have Hunter Thompson now. They blew his ashes out of a cannon the other day. Rest in peace, Dr. Gonzo…
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August 23, 2005
SHIFTLESS WHEN IDLE
honey?
up to my tits with work today... no time for get-to-know-ya chit chat ...
maybe later....
*
r.i.p. robert moog, who, perhaps as much as leo fender or jim marshall, changed the way popular music sounds...
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August 22, 2005
REST IN PEACE
...don't be such a stiff...
Readers of this blog are already well-familiar with my issues concerning the lame duck last season of SFU, but I'm going to change tack again and applaud the series for going out in a unique way, and in the process, it perhaps showed all the other soap operas how to die with dignity.
Sure, they had to use most of the hour to tie up the loose ends--the premature baby, the Ruth/Brenda relationship, David's mania/family status/business status, Rico's ambitious (greedy?) attempt to dilute the Fisher assets and start his own business, the insinuation that Maggie was pregnant with Nat's baby and about to abort it, Claire's vision for saving the human race and finding work, the realization of a functional relationship between Ruth and George, and along the way, two major depressions (David's and Ruth's) were resolved via the magically redemptive powers of the dream sequence. Sweet.
But it's what they did in that little bonus 15 minutes (that in hindsight might be poo-poo'd as a hamhanded plot device, but I won't be that cynical) that I found so compelling--a little peek into the future for all their loyal audience who'd followed this show over the past five years--curiosities over what might've happened to those Fishers were demystified by letting us see how each of the family meets their own end in coming years (did anybody but me start guesstimating their own tombstone end year?). I'd joked to one or two people that I'd love to see it all end bloody--everybody dies (!), like a good old Shakespearean tragedy, and I nearly got my wish. The episode began with a birth, and ended with the various ways the rest of the clan followed their beloved Nate to those elysium fields where one has only to look back on just how fleeting and inscrutable life really is.
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August 18, 2005
NOBODY'S FAULT BUT MINE
...Oasis, captured in a pose of deep and abiding humility...
I have so much to say today yet so little time in which to say it. So I will table my numerous and erudite commentaries and just focus on one minor item which has wrankled me to no end over the past few days. I recently got a hold of a copy of "Don't Believe the Truth"...(OK, I downloaded it). And I am now faced with a deep, personal crisis, the likes of which I have not had to face since the day I learned that I was all wrong about Kiss (it turns out that the jerk Scott Broderick was, despite his many faults, correct in his stipulation that they rock), all wrong about Ted Nugent (sure he's a scumbag but I still dig "Double Live Gonzo"), all wrong about U2 (instead of changing the face of rock music, they were actually changing the face of shopping mall music), all wrong about Stevie Ray (he was indeed more than a plagiarist), all wrong about Springsteen (well, not entirely wrong, but that out-of-pitch sax-abusing hulking cornrow farm Clarence Clemons has certainly ruined many a would-be rock music experience for me) and boy did I ever midjudge the nascent aristry of Will "Big Willie Style" Smith (just kidding)...anyway, here's the thing:
I like Oasis.
Could it be? I can barely type. I've had so much enjoyment from ridiculing, mocking and then generally ignoring this would-be flash-in-the-pan UK band for ages now. The dumb brothers' feud, the ridiculous hands-in-back-pockets stance, the statue posture of the guitar player brother, shoe gazing for all he's worth, with the throwback union jack epiphone (sheesh, grow up and get yourself an actual gibson, you big rock star poof)....
But I've got to admit that I like this record. I've listened to it more than once. There's even one song ("keep the dream alive") which might just be a great song. I keep coming back to it.
Shit. I must be getting old or something, lowering my standards. Or perhaps I can simply comfort myself with the notion that it is Oasis themselves who have had to keep chomping at the bit, clawing and scratching their way to a modicum of respectability within my audioskull, despite protestations at being the world's greatest band, equal to the Fab 4, and other assorted nonsense over the years...now that they're elder, perhaps they're just now getting back to the thing where it began--the songs. maybe it's newfound sobriety, or perhaps a turning away from newfound sobriety and re-adoption of the fighting stance. who knows? I just know I don't hate them anymore....more's the pity....
said maybe, you're going to be the one that saves me...
don't believe the truth....
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August 17, 2005
BLUE IN GREEN
Ted Greene, Guitar Virtuoso & Teacher
I was saddened to learn yesterday of the passing of Ted Greene, a relative unknown to most, but to students of the instrument he was a giant.
His "Chord Chemistry" book is now regarded as one of the must-have volumes in any jazz guitar student's library. I know I was fascinated, yet somewhat terrified, when I procured my own copy. It contains literally thousands of chord charts, some of which are nearly impossible to play. While there isn't an overabundance of text, the subtext seems to be: work at it.
He was certainly one of those rare few who hold up the ideals of the art--the craft, the rigor involved in perfecting it, and perhaps the quiet satisfactions thereof--he was never one for the limelight.
I am envious of those who had the good fortune to be one of his students. And I continue to work at it.
Ted Greene died July 25 at his home in Encino, California. He was 58 years old.
more info here:
LA Times Obituary
(registration required)
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August 16, 2005
(JUST LIKE) STARTING OVER
...like this one, except fralin/sd antiquity pickups, no locking nut, mint green pickguard, vintage-style bridge/saddles w/tremolo bar, better wood...
here's an interesting conundrum--you buy something at ridiculously low-cost, quite literally a steal, and once you begin replacing/upgrading the components thereof, you eventually wind up replacing everything, in effect building an entirely new thing from the ground up, leaving you with the original bargain item, still intact, with all its inferiorities and issues you set out to resolve in the first place, still extant.
I wonder if this is how it works with women and their shoes?
so, OK, I bought a brand-new fender gig bag for $25, from some kid in williamsburg who seemed thrilled to have some crisp currency with which to procure whatever manner of personal intoxicants were available around his darkened brooklyn corner, and inside the gig bag was a cream-finish harmony strat, and a hodgepodge of various pickups, all of which remain uninstalled and untested, except to confirm that they do indeed register signal on the multimeter.
here's the thing--I pulled out the two duncan antiquity pickups I'd put on my other "boat anchor" 70s fender strat, procured a new pickguard, and a needed third pickup (fralin--yum) and set about replacing the bridge with a steel allparts "vintage strat" bridge/tremolo. this is when I realized that the lovely-on-the-outside cream strat body was made of good old dull-toned plywood on the inside.
the phrase "turd polishing" came immediately to mind.
so, you see, with the new neck already in the works, I need only add a new replacement body to move from upgrade to complete guitar build. from scratch. the finishing work will be a learning experience, but that appears to be the final horizon of my fender solidbody learning curve.
and as if this self-delusion about "upgrading" and fix-er-upping weren't rank enough with one guitar, I also have a telecaster with top-notch pickups, hardware, warmoth neck and yessirree, a crappy jap body. so, if this all turns out well, I'll repeat the process with the telecaster. I'm thinking about a fiesta red finish. just like muddy's. or maybe a classic blonde on one-piece swamp ash. or...
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August 15, 2005
GIVE ME SOME TRUTH
...but they're dead wrong I know they are 'cause I can play this here guitar...
For as much abuse and criticism (much of it deserved) that the “grey lady” has received over the past year or two (they started piling on around the time of the Jayson Blair debacle and haven’t really let up since), the NY Times can still drum up (via Ben Brantley) a symphonic repast of blistering put-downs when it comes to bad Broadway shows. Not that they have the ability any longer to close down productions—too many tourists arrive to watch all manner of crap (“Good Vibrations,” amazingly, is still running…I'm inclined to believe that these rubes would pay $75 a head to watch two monkeys kicking a box), but the NYT still possesses the ability to warn us away from the truly dreadful. And personally, I have always enjoyed reading an artfully constructed pan.
To wit: this morning’s report of unmitigated stinkiness regarding the ill-conceived (what’s next? An opera about the Sex Pistols?) “Lennon” musical which just opened.
click here for the review in its entirety:
"LENNON: THE MUSICAL" SUCKS!
Some choice excerpts:
“…cuddly is how Lennon (who is portrayed by five actors) emerges here, like a pocket-size elf doll who delivers encouraging mantras of self-help and good will when you scratch his tummy.”
“"Lennon" is the latest in the bland crop of shows known as jukebox musicals that have been spreading over Broadway like kudzu, from the mega-hit "Mamma Mia!" (the Abba musical) to the super-flop "Good Vibrations" (Beach Boys). "Lennon" fits the jukebox mold, with its regulation lineup of perky, puppyish performers and brimming quota of recognizable songs, delivered with lots of volume and little dancing.”
“The subtext, to borrow from a Dr. Pepper commercial of years ago, is something like "I'm a Lennon/ You're a Lennon/ He's a Lennon/ She's a Lennon/ Wouldn't you like to be a Lennon too?"”
“…while the world may love a love story, it seems safe to say that Lennon ultimately will be remembered less as the husband of Ms. Ono than as a member of the group that changed the face of popular music.”
“At the end, a clip from Mr. Lennon and Ms. Ono's video of his song "Imagine" is shown. And there before you is the real John Lennon - lean-faced, thin-lipped, cryptic, shyly exhibitionist. It says everything about the vapid "Lennon" that your instinctive response to this complex apparition is, "Who is that man anyway, and what is he doing here?"”
During “Give Peace a Chance,” they hand out daisies to the audience. Daisies. All We Are Saying…Is…*SNEEZE*…
Christ you know it ain’t easy. You know how hard it can be. The way things are going, they’re going to crucify me.
No, not you, John. Her.
Imagine!
…
August 12, 2005
MOTHER
...it's never a good idea to piss off mama bear...
the story of Cindy Sheehan appears to be gaining steam in the MSM, and so let me just try, in my small way, to help raise her profile further, and join the chorus of voices praising this woman's efforts--by camping outside the Bush ranch in Crawford, Texas--to honor her son's memory by putting some moral pressure on our president to answer for his actions in promulgating this ill-conceived, disastrous war.
Thus far, he's been evasive, issuing statements to the media. indirect. pussy. as usual.
More power to you, Cindy Sheehan!
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TURN ON THE NEWS
...I'm a little teapot, short and stout...
This Week in the News.
Weird coincidences? Odd parallels? Polarities of indeterminate relativity?
You decide:
Rafael Palmeiro returns to baseball; Deuce Bigolo/Male Gigolo returns to the silver screen…
President Bush enjoys a brisk 5-week vacation; US stock market rallies…
The “Bonnie & Clyde” Hyatte couple are captured in a motel (a prison guard had to die so they could drink Hawaiian punch in the relative freedom of a motor court); Grieving war mother Cindy Sheehan waits outside Bush ranch in Crawford, Texas in the hopes of confronting President Bush (thousands of soldiers and Iraqis had to die so he could drink Hawaiian punch in the relative freedom of a motor court)…
Monsignor Eugene Clark resigns from job as rector of St. Patrick’s Cathedral amid allegations he’d carried on an affair with a married woman in his employ; Four-star General Kevin Byrnes relieved of duty over allegations he committed adultery with a woman who wasn’t in his employ…
Arkansas schoolchildren killer Mitchell Johnson is released from prison after being sentenced as a juvenile. No one knows why he did what he did; Judge John Roberts’ Reagan-era White House papers are suppressed by Bush administration. No one knows why he did what he did…
Space shuttle lands safely; Carlos Beltran and Mike Cameron do not land safely…
Rumors of CNN correspondent Daryn Kagan’s limited career prospects at the network as boyfriend Rush Limbaugh continues to rail against CNN; Thousands are stricken with nausea and disgust at thought of anyone actually having sex with Rush Limbaugh…
West Nile disease has been identified in six dead San Diego birds; Yngwie Malmsteen releases new album, “Unleash the Fury”…
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August 10, 2005
PUT ON A HAPPY FACE
...all this needs is a dollop of cool whip...
just in today: mint green pickguard from stew-mac...I like how it contrasts with the cream finish...a subtle thing, but a bit more interesting than the usual white, or parchment...and it sets off the "relic" qualities to some degree...pickups are seymour duncan antiquities...had a problem with one of them, which I might send off to be rewound, or maybe just order another...the grab bag of mystery parts I got when I purchased this thing had one single coil I thought I'd use--it's encased in a strat-style cover, but it turns out that it's larger--too large to fit the pickguard, and it has a steel backing plate--apparently some sort of mutant telecaster pickup. So, that's shelved for another project...the neck is just there for position--it's a charvel neck, with an angled headstock that doesn't allow for string movement in a straight line--it's from the age of floyd rose locking nuts. too bad too, since it's a nice rosewood board and frets are in good shape...but it would be a tuning nightmare (not to mention, it's ugly as hell--a hair band artifact), so it's out...
so, more hardware yet to add...but $18 later, definitely a step in the right direction....
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AMERICAN RUSE
...clint black with the cowboy hat...
...clint black without the cowboy hat...
As an old man might have once said…”there you go again…”
On September 11, 2002, some friends of mine and I had a walk down Broadway—ALL of Broadway, starting above 207th Street and straight down to Battery Park. It was our quiet way of celebrating our city and being with friends on what had become such a sad occasion. But none of us looked for attention or notoriety, that would have been absurd. We just did it.
Now it looks like, for the fourth anniversary, we’re about to be treated to the conservative version of “Live8” except without the good music and with a whole lot more guns…
Looky here: http://www.asyfreedomwalk.com/
Then click on “Supporters”
You know, I enjoy a Subway sandwich now and again, but that customer relationship is now over. And I’m also utterly shocked that the Washington Post is participating in such a grandstand for the GOP. Perhaps they’re sponsoring the “mission accomplished” banner this time around. So much for liberal bias…
And hell’s bells, if you’re a fan of Clint Black, then you are most assuredly NOT a reader of this blog. Or are you? If so, send me an email. Help is just a few mouse clicks away.
So, yeah, I’m nauseated by this. And yet, I’m reminded of other causes of my inner nausea which have gone on to great acclaim and fanfare…my earlier hopes, that the anti-smoking ban and football stadium fiasco would spell an early end to Mayor Bloomberg’s political career, seem to have foundered as I read about his momentum in the polls. I thought there would be a national outcry when it became clear to all that the war was based on lies, and that the Downing St. memo would remove any doubt of this and bring hearings on the Hill, or at least widespread public demonstrations. No such luck.
So, I have no idea what will go down when they put on this ridiculous RNC-Lite mediashow. I can only wish for them this: chaos. Anti-war protestors in huge numbers. Clashes with police and national guard, on camera/on our TV sets. PR disaster for them, achieved, perhaps ironically, by that great initiator of “our freedom”--rebellion. Because let us be very clear—this is a naked exercise in politics, and it is being done so over the graves of my former friends and neighbors.
And not that this is extremely important, but since this is a gathering to “celebrate our freedom,” namely American freedom, then why isn’t there a featured act that performs a musical genre of American origin? I’m talking about jazz, or even blues. “Country” music is just a mutation of traditional English and Scottish dance music from the 18th and 19th centuries, and this new mutation called "new country" is just watered-down lite FM with guitars and cowboy hats. Blues/pentatonic music, I would even concede, is arguably of African origin, but jazz music, O my droogies, was invented right here in the good ol’ US of A. But alas, the demographics of right-wing politics leave very little wiggle room within which to swing.
Cue Ted Nugent….
Oh that’s right, he’s not singing this month, as this is his annual hording of the mouthfuls of raw elk. Also, his songs about date rape probably don’t sit well with Laura Bush. Anyway, enjoy the crap you young conservatives! See you in the prayer tent…
...
MERCHANDISE
...their slogan: "email or paypal, we can't be bothered"...
this might fall under the rubric of "he protesteth too much" and send some of you over there to take advantage of a place where one can purchase a finished allparts neck for $150, but so be it...I'm just going to relay my own customer service experience and you can decide for yourself...this, of course, is paraphrased, but pretty close to the wording of the actual exchange:
ME: "Hi, I'm thinking of buying one of your strat necks and I have a couple of questions."
CUSTOMER SERVICE WENCH: "OK."
ME: "Do you know what the standard rout is for the tuners on your strat necks?"
CUSTOMER SERVICE WENCH: "Which one are you looking at?"
ME: "22-fret rosewood strat."
CUSTOMER SERVICE WENCH: "I think it's vintage. Hold on, maybe Scott's around."
ME: "OK."
CUSTOMER SERVICE WENCH: "If you have a question, you can send an email on our web site."
ME: "I know. I sent one yesterday."
CUSTOMER SERVICE WENCH: "Well you should give it 24 hours."
ME: [silently contemplating the math of one day=24 hours]
ME: "Well I did, and I'm just calling with a few basic questions."
CUSTOMER SERVICE WENCH: "Well he's not around."
ME: "Are you telling me that you can't answer some questions about your own products?"
CUSTOMER SERVICE WENCH: "I just take orders Sir, thanks...."
*click* ...the line goes dead as I am in mid-sentence...
Now I'm not telling anyone what to do, but I'll just say that the people over at Warmoth
make outstanding, excellent products and have this habit of treating their customers like gold (with respect and diligence, all that a customer might expect). I own and love two of their necks already. They are first-rate--much, much better than that which they replaced. But with quality comes cost. So I was trying to go in a less expensive direction with this new strat project, but not at the expense of having to deal with some attitudinally maladjusted telephone operator, whom I doubt will have a lengthy tenure with the company (unless her boss decides to ignore my detailed email regarding same). Or perhaps she perchance happens to be Mrs. "Scott," in which case the company is certainly doomed, as will be the happy domesticity thereof, formerly constituted upon the patronage of customers like me, who love to talk about this stuff with each other and do appreciate some simple courtesy when trying to decide where to direct our hard-earned dollars. Mine, most certainly, will be making their exchange with another merchant.
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August 09, 2005
THE UNDER ASSISTANT WEST COAST PROMOTION MAN
...this is the new face of the NFL...
'Monday Night Football' To Roll With The Stones
TAKING MUSIC BRANDED ENTERTAINMENT TO harder-hitting levels, the NFL will team with the Rolling Stones in creating a season-long marketing effort for ABC's "Monday Night Football."
The marketing campaign should help boost the Stones' Sept. 6 release of their new album, "A Bigger Bang." Major music artists--more than ever--are looking for TV marketing tie-ins to help boost slumping music sales.
Video from the Stones' concert tour appearance in Detroit will be featured during the Sept. 8 prime-time telecast "NFL Opening Kickoff 2005," which is a one-hour ABC special to run before the season opener between the New England Patriots and the Oakland Raiders.
Other Stones video footage will run throughout the 2005 season.
This is ABC's last big marketing push for "Monday Night Football"--which has, in recent years, lost the network around $500 million per season.
In 2006, "MNF" will move to ABC sister network, ESPN. That cost the cable sports network $8.8 billion for an eight-year deal. NBC will get the lone broadcast prime-time NFL package of games for Sunday night, to also start in 2006. NBC agreed to pay $600 million a year for six years.
OK, got that? The Stones, in their continuing efforts to wring every last penny from the dregs of their ancient and pathetic rebellious bad-boy image, are now getting into bed with the the least-cool, uber-conservative, most repugnantly lock-step, militant, buttoned-down, violent, sexist, insipid, and infinitely vacuous (yup, I'm a Jets fan) sports* entertainment mafia on the planet. Somewhere in the cosmos, Brian Jones is having the last laugh...
Hey Mick & Keef: you look real sharp...you got a plaid, seer-sucker suit....yes you do...
thanks to MediaDailyNews for the edit copy...
*I don't consider golf a sport.
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addendum: I was asked recently as to why there's been no commentary in this spece on the space shuttle mission...I am a big fan of space flight, so there was nothing else to say except that I wished those onboard godspeed, and so this morning it is indeed gratifying to learn that all made it home safely.
I can't wait to find out if Kirk & Spock were able to persuade those stubborn Klingons to sign the peace treaty at last....
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August 08, 2005
EYESIGHT TO THE BLIND
..the soul of a new machine...
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...a unique and beautiful voice is silenced...
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August 05, 2005
HAMMERING SO HARD
During the past two weeks, I did something I hadn't done in months--purchase new, factory-sealed, retail price tag CD recordings. Thought I'd pass along the lowdown on each...
I LOVE HUSKER DU. And I wore out my cassette copy of "Workbook" on my first-ever walkman (remember those, iPod nation?)...I'm pretty sure I own most every Sugar single, along with the LPs. I've seen Bob in a live solo acoustic setting several times, and I am an admitted member of the anti-disco hateclub against "Modulate" and his other twee homodisco expressions of fairy dust. I do like the fact that he's able to comfortably cross genres, but I wish he'd stick more with what he's good it, because it's not so much my hatred of that style, which is palpable, but it's also that Bob just isn't that great at it. Like it or not, he's just a really great guitar player/singer/songwriter, who should leave that shirts-off/homodanceboy stuff to people with the special haircuts and ecstacy-fueled self-importance. So, there you have it. I really, really wanted to love this album. I've been waiting for my great summer record to come along, but unfortunately this is not it. While I had a few a-ha moments of aural recognition via his unmistakable guitar body blows, I just can't engage in a relationship with this record--that of repeated listenings, gradual appreciation of its finer points over time--with all that Cher-style vocoder on key tracks. It is the aural equivalent of a Cosby sweater. Suggestion to Bob: record your live shows this tour, release a live record with a more raw feel, minus the studio gloss. I'll buy it. Full price.
Marc Ribot, consummate NYC sideman deluxe, provided plaintive single coil bluster for lots of folks--Tom Waits, Elvis Costello, the Lounge Lizards, Rootless Cosmopolitans--dug his other eponymous "prosthetic cubans" record, and I like this one too, but it's the side two to its predecessor's side one. Just not quite sinking into to a routine with it, as I did the first album (though that probably has something to do with the intoxicating strains of "aurora en pekin," the first disc's gorgeous opening number)...this one has more vocals as well. But I'll acknowledge the visual joke--everywhere on the thing is a candy-sweet color palette, rife with exclamation points, yet the largest image of all is mr. ribot himself, looking half-awake and downright dour. that's new yawk, brudda-man...
this thing is like listening to a rumble between the gods of crowbar and the gods of baseball bat, puncuated by the hilarious in-between-song rants of bass playing knucklehead paddy st. patrick...mixed nice and raw like a good live record should be. forget about stereo field--just turn it up loud, stand back and ingest something strong...
here beginneth the country & best western portion of our audio travelogue. "poor little critters" was a side project in-between records back when the legendary L.A. band X were still a going concern in 1985. "modern sounds" was just released. No matter. They sound as if they're two halves of one big double album, released 20 years apart. say, if you're a band and you release just one record and that's enough for a bunch of kids to get together and put out a tribute record to you, then you must be pretty good, right? right. do yourself a favor and get both. It doesn't matter if you're hip to X or not. If you don't get some sort of physical pleasure from listening to John Doe and Exene sing together, then you don't get to play in this sandbox...just dangle those tootsies off the nearest bridge and cry, cry, cry....
probably the greatest technician of the fender telecaster, certainly the first, jimmy bryant produced many sides with longtime partner speedy west. two excellent reissues on razor & tie duplicate a number of tracks on this 3-disc affair, but for myself, it's nice and convenient to have the best of those, along with all the solo cuts featuring just the crazy six-string stuff, all in one place. and aside from the precision, speed and general amazement caused by trying to fathom how he did it, bryant could swing like a mofo...proof positive that country swing didn't just come out of texas--this southern california boy (by way of moultrie, georgia) established something fine and good for americana right there in hollywood and its neighboring dives during the 50s and 60s.
similar to the knitters example of "it was 20 years ago today," I actually bought these a few weeks earlier, but certainly worthy of mention--picked these up simultaneously at other music in nyc on my way over to see the nyc premiere of keeper of the kohn. 1985 & 1986--another pair of cassettes I wore out...these kids--god knows what happened to any of them--did something really great, rocked it out, then split. and what song titles--"hammering so hard," "kick the cat," "black light poster child," "kid dynamite"....this is a case of the nostalgia feeding the enjoyment (after 20 years I found myself singing along word-for-word), but by any standard their two-disc ouevre was simply excellent--a loud righteous middle finger from the heart of teenage america at the mealy-mouthed ennui of reaganworld.
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Happy 40th Birthday to my big little brother. I love you and I'm proud of you.
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August 04, 2005
ASKING ME LIES
“Honestly guys, it just got mixed up with my boner medicine”
If Rafael Palmeiro gets admitted into the Hall of Fame, then all those who continue to support the lifetime bans on Pete Rose and Shoeless Joe Jackson are merely seasonal swimmers in the community pool of redolent, bovine excrement.
Rafael Palmeiro took steroids. Therefore, under the rules, he is a cheat. He appeared before Congress and told them that he did not. And I quote: “Period.” Therefore, he is also a liar. A cheat and a liar. Other than that, he’s probably a very nice fellow. But that does not change the fact that he lied to the elected representatives of the people. I have already heard a prattle of motley voices discuss whether or not this constitutes perjury, debating the degree to which this is enforceable by law – to which I retort: when did we become such a nation of gutless, pusillanimous lawyers? What happened to simple right and wrong? I don’t care if he’s prosecuted. Lying is lying. My opinion--in the courtroom of my cranium, this case is closed. Guilty as charged. And please spare me the obvious Clintonion “meaning of is” analogy. Duh. Frankly, I’m irritated on a daily basis by the level of dumbed-down spoonfed media recitative that passes for meaningful critique these days. As it happens, you’re just as free to leave this web page, go to your TV and listen to a bunch of empty suits exclaim rejoinders such as “at the end of the day” or “look…” or “if you’ll just let me finish”…
But the more entertaining circle jerk will be watching this sort of media spin as practiced by sports media—because those bootlickers just do not have the vocab. A few weeks ago, I winced and grimaced my way through a pre-game gab with Joe Buck and Tim “Red Roof” McCarver, as Mr. McCarver publicly announced that he was considering giving Kenny Rogers a pass for committing assault on a local TV cameraman. It might have been just enough to acknowledge the bloated hubris of this aging 1960s backstop, who, despite having been fired by multiple national sports networks for improper usage of Clairol Demi-Permanent (Type 2) hair coloring, still feels he can act as judge and jury on behalf of all you jockstraps out there. But I can now say that I look forward with eager antici--pation as he begins to debate the conditions under which Mr. Palmeiro might one day be elected to the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York. Because let’s face it—without the Hall of Fame, there really wouldn’t be any noteworthy repercussion for Raffy’s covert, dishonest, disgraceful actions. The only penalty that would have any real meaning to him at this stage (does anyone think that a man of his age minds sitting out a few games?) would be to bar him from the Hall in disgrace—just as they did to Mr. Rose and Mr. Jackson, a man who allegedly tried to”throw” a world series in which he hit .375.
But they will never ban Mr. Palmeiro. In fact, I’m quite sure that his PR team is already laying the groundwork for his grande apologia, his comeback interviews, his statements to the press, his cleansing cry with Baba Wawa, and all the rest of the rationale they will lay before the sports media elites to be fed back to you, the pro sports viewer--just as they did recently with Kenny Rogers—as to why we should all look the other way.
They’ll do it because this is bad for business. Baseball is a business largely based on hero worship, and this is a hero they don’t want to lose over something as petty as a rule infraction. But if you like to think, as I do, that we Americans aren’t quite the suckers they take us for, then don’t buy it. Raffy deserves the litter of asterisks on his stat sheet, just as you or I would have to face repercussions if we were found to have been cheating our own businesses over the course of two decades.
But you may be surprised to learn that I would have no problem if they made steroids legal and acceptable within professional baseball. At this point I think it is inevitable that they continue to modernize the degree to which these substances can be cloaked and since MLB is now just another piece of moneydrunk entertainment, I really don’t care. What bothers me is that this man felt that he could just walk into the halls of our Congress and pass off falsehoods without any repercussion, as if they were just exotic dancers and he was explaining “it’s OK, my wife’s cool with this…” That’s why Mr. Palmeiro telephoned Senators Davis and Waxman the day after his suspension went public. Damage control.
So I say: to hell with him.
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THIS JUST IN: reports are beginning to fly about concerning the fact that this story was timed, by MLB, to be released after the All-Star Game, after the HOF inductions, and after he got his 3,000th hit (not to mention, right before the pennant races heat up)--that Palmeiro was actually tested positive in May ... look at what these villains have done to my beautiful game....
August 03, 2005
August 02, 2005
ARE YOU EXPERIENCED?
...'scuse me while I kiss this guy...
Book Reveals Hendrix Used Gay Ruse to Avoid 'Nam
By GENE JOHNSON, AP
SEATTLE (August 1) - Jimi Hendrix might have stayed in the Army. He might have been sent to Vietnam. Instead, he pretended he was gay. And with that, he was discharged from the 101st Airborne in 1962, launching a musical career that would redefine the guitar, leave other rock heroes of the day speechless and culminate with his headlining performance of "The Star-Spangled Banner" at Woodstock in 1969.
Hendrix's subterfuge, contained in his military medical records, is revealed for the first time in Charles R. Cross' new biography, "Room Full of Mirrors." Publicly, Hendrix always claimed he was discharged after breaking his ankle on a parachute jump, but his medical records do not mention such an injury.
In regular visits to the base psychiatrist at Fort Campbell, Ky., in spring 1962, Hendrix complained that he was in love with one of his squad mates and that he had become addicted to masturbating, Cross writes. Finally, Capt. John Halbert recommended him for discharge, citing his "homosexual tendencies."
Hendrix's legendary appetite for women negates the notion that he might have been gay, Cross writes. Nor, Cross says, was his stunt politically motivated: Contrary to his later image, Hendrix was an avowed anti-communist who exhibited little unease about the escalating U.S. role in Vietnam.........
read the whole thing:
http://aolsvc.news.aol.com/music/article.adp?id=20050801094309990008
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August 01, 2005
KILLING AN ARAB
...King Fahd, during happier, livelier times...
The King of Saudi Arabia has croaked. He is an ex-king. He's passed on. This King is no more. He has ceased to be. He's expired and gone to meet his maker. He's a stiff. Bereft of life, he rests in peace. If he wasn't encased in a solid gold tomb he'd be pushing up daisies. His metabolic processes are now history. He's off the twig. He's kicked the bucket. He's shuffled off this mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible...*
One might now expect a long line of presidents, ex-presidents, and other texans to form a queue and plant little goodbye kisses on his pointy little head, or perhaps hurl bags of unmarked currency at his funeral procession in tribute.
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in other news, Nate Fisher of HBO's "Six Feet Under" has also died. True, he is a fictional character, but I feel more remorse for his passing than I do for the gasbag wearing the tablecloth...and all of a sudden, SFU got interesting again...so let us remember Nate for the good times, and be happy for him that he is now released from the stultifying tedium of his more recent plotlines....and of course: Maya can now be David & Keith's dream baby; Ruth can be a Mommy again; Claire can marry the guy in the suit, make her own baby (wild guess: it's a boy/she names it Nate), and throw her camera and arty aspirations off the nearest bridge; married-again Rico can get a 49% share in the "family" business; and one and all can throw their chips into the big magical HBO spin-off machine (perhaps for Brenda: "The Merry Widow?")...
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so let's cap off this orgy of death by acknowledging a new life--my old friend EVR just had a little girl...Eleanor VR...statistically, she's perfect. pictorially, she is perfect. I wish my friend and his wife (JVR too!) many perfect days with their beautiful child...
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*I hereby acknowledge the genius of John Cleese, Spam, Michael Palin, Spam, Spam, and the rest of Monty Bleedin' Spam's Flying Circus...