Fighting Against Making the Pie Higher 01.22.03

afternoon

Nothing to say about Phrenology yet, but i’m definitely feeling it today.

Forgot to mention that on Sunday that i noticed that the Second Line show is back on KLSU. Then again, i might have just been working every time it’s been on last fall, but i doubt it. I read that all that kind of jazz is an evolutionary dead-end, like garage rock, but the truth is that while i listen to more garage rock, a good New Orleans brass band can almost make me move to the music, something gagrge rock can never do. A few of my friends may tease me about this, as New Orleans music is a bit of a cliche around here, meant as the audible hook for tourist traps, so watered down and predictable that it’s a total waste of time. However, when i listen to WWOZ or that Second Line show on Sundays on KLSU, i don’t feel formulas. I don’t know whether the new wave of second line has informed hip hop or vice versa, or it’s just a continuing tradition running through all music that is just more obvious in these genres. The loose interplay of the instruments, hollered call-outs, and the urge to participate somehow just get inside my skin. I need to call that guy while he’s on air soon, and beg for playlists. (He rarely announces exactly what it is he’s playing.) This will be stuff i’ll actually have to buy as it’s unlikely to be downloadable.

Bought the new Magnet, with Tom Petty on the cover. Sheesh… did they really need to do a feature on Tom Petty and another on Pearl Jam? That’s over-tilled ground. The real fun comes when they reflect on over-tilled ground like all of the press Ryan Adams gets, and all of the uncritical analysis of Jay Bennett leaving Wilco. These two revisitations of old topics were the best things in this issue for me. It’s easy enough to accept that Ryan Adams is too big of an asshole to bother with anymore, but it’s still fun for me to see the man unmasked as the petulant pottymouth child that he is. I want more of that.

The addendums to the Jay Bennett interview were nice too. YHF has been talked to death, but the unveiling of bad feelings, true or not, makes the manufactured mythology a little more acceptable. there has to be a struggle to have a story, and struggles against corporations are boring. No personality there. No one likes fighting faceless monoliths. Better stories are made from people, like that Cain & Abel stuff. If Cain rose up and killed a corporation, it wouldn’t have quite the impact, would it? Fleshing out Bennett’s troubles is better than focusing on wily Wilco tricking Reprise to throw them into the briar patch.

Anyway, Magnet really didn’t follow up on the ideas. The columns are better suited for a blog, despite all of the valiant efforts to contact the artists they write about. It was cool to see that one writer decided that for all of the presumed shallowness of electro-clash, it’s basically all right. However, if they want to bemoan dissent becoming commodified, then they damned well ought to spew some righteous dissent themselves.

i feel the need to whine about the Bush junta, but i gotta wash the dishes and go to work. with all of the censorship lately, i was actually getting spooked about writing about it.

morning

We went to see the film “Adaptation” last night. Yep. The first two-thirds are brilliant, leaving me with a gaping grin on my face wanting to cheer, “Right on, motherfucker!” because it documented my every failure in writing (except for the nagging detail that Kaufman actually DID produce something, let alone something great.) The last third was funny and dark in the sense that “Being John Malkovich” was funny and dark, but it felt liek a letdown after the transcendence of the first two-thirds. Actually, what i perceived as the fall-off doesn’t even bother me, because there seemed to be nowhere else to go. It was an honest attempt to throw one’s arms into the air and try to serve up want the audience might crave, while still trying to pull meaning from that wreckage instead of standing back and sneering cynically.

Zwan seems listenable, but aside froma handful of singles, i lost total inerest in Billy Corgan after gish. Yes, i was in that phase when i didn’t know quite what indie was all about, but i was beginnign to perceive the difference between major and independent label. I imagined that Smashing Pumpkins was some nice little tuneful underground phenomenon. Damien had been playing some Black Sun Ensemble albums that i really dug at the time, and i imagined that Smashing Pumkins came from the same vein. (Yes, i checked the AMG, and the Black Sun Ensemble are not highly regarded, but at that time, they were something on the verge of mindblowing for me.) I had no clue that i was going to be bombarded with Corgan’s nasal whine for a decade, and become bored to death with his angst.

Anyway, speaking of old names that provide more nostalgic pleasure thn i would expect, the new Mudhoney album seems pretty good. No, it’s not Superfuzz Bigmuff, so it’s actually less predictable than Zwan for me. They sound like the goddamned Stooges. It’s practically a lost album. It puzzles me how these guys looking backwards seem more progressive than Billy the Prog-Pop Kid. It’s not that they are exploring new ground overall, but they have changed as a band, while Zwan is still Smashing Pumpkins. I really tried with Zwan, as Fluxblog and the Rub both had me eager to download it, until i remembered that albumwise, Corgan’s never made me swoon.

I feel like a jackass for getting more out of listening to what is essentially now a Stooges tribute band.

Incidentally, one of the Zwan songs (“Yeah!”) rips J Geils Band “Centerfold” and a dozen other songs from that era.

My favorite thing about Mary Star of the Sea is the cover. It looks just like a Move album. I bet Corgan likes the Move. Both Corgan and Roy Wood have played at the same Cheap Trick shows. Why doesn’t he sound more like Roy Wood? Does his baldness mean he intends to be the anti-Wizzard?

Aha. I just read that Pig Lib is available. I’m falling all over myself trying to acquire it while not crashign the computer while burning CDs for friends, even though i’m probably just going to shrug it off as a lesser effort, just because i’m lazy….

Fighting Against Making the Pie Higher 01.14.02

 I don’t even know whether to post the updates for the past few days even when the chance is presented. I’ve been writing about music, and meaning every word I write, but because of where I am working and how (ringing up sales at a cell phone service place,) I have not been feeling like myself. Because of this gradual fading of identity, my thinking and feeling about music has gone adrift. Every time I turned on the radio, trying to find the gems and understand what’s going on now, it became a struggle to remember what stirs me emotionally about music.

Oddly, the other morning, I woke up with the Buzzcock’s “Harmony in My Head” roaring through my brain inexplicably. It felt powerful, invigorating, and I realized that at least temporarily, I must retreat to comfort music, music that makes me feel safe and has already weaved itself into my being, music that reminds me of why I am me. Some of it is music that I have not even been familiar with that long, but with everything else in my life not going to plan, I need to markers to remind me of where I came from and why.

The first thing I turned to, right before a job interview, was Julian Cope’s Jehovahkill, and it unnerved me that it was not its monolithic self to my ears. I heard flaws and lags in it that I have not heard before, and it’s not an album I care to examine critically anymore, or at least, find any negatives in. I’ve mentioned several times before that I could quite possibly be dead if it had not been to my clutching to Jehovahkill, like a life raft before, and at a time like this,  it’s not safe to see how fragile a raft it may have been. There’s the argument that a certain album might be what a listener might need right at that moment, but this is one album that needs to remain unshakable in my pantheon. As I weaved through the Baton Rouge traffic, I breathed more slowly and consciously, letting the sounds seep into my head, worming their ways through the cracks in my brain to whatever center they burrowed through before. Even if I wanted to be objective, I would not be able to find those faults again that were obvious in the first few minutes of listening. I had entered my own forced reorientation of being myself.

Yes, it’s probably quite silly to define oneself through the adoption of certain albums as core pieces to one’s being, but it’s the best way that I know to keep from losing sight of what I know to be true. Some folks devote themselves to the Christian Bible and I mock them relentlessly for being dogmatic, simple, and weak, but I’m really no different in my dependence, just the choice in material.

Anyway, I snapped back into my core albums so quickly that I had some quick wake-up calls on how albums that I think are mainstream are just not. Saturday night, I had Tom Waits’ “Such a Scream” cranked up off Bone Machine, with the windows down, rolling up to the gas pump. In seconds, I caught three different stares of either revulsion, confusion, or annoyance. It took a few moments to figure out that it might have something to do with the music (and while I say that I had it cranked up, it’s not nearly as loud as other’s notions of “cranked up.”) As much as I’ve found new ways to embrace contemporary pop music for strange and abrasive noises and rhythms, it’s somehow the reinvention of old-fashioned caterwauling and cacophony that keeps me together, to the point that I forget just how weird it can sound to a casual listener.

And now I feel like going down a probable blind alley… to the new Freaky Trigger piece on passion in writing. I like passion in writing. It’s too many superlatives and carefully postured attitudes that make me wince. Some of the same things cited as passionate don’t make me believe them to be passionate just because they use “fuck” in all of the right places. Music is a lifestyle to me. Period. Of course, it probably would be more accurate to say that music more or less kept me alive for a number of years. The people writing so damned “passionately” seem to come across as dishonest more often than not, and to go back to the Buzzcocks, they are Orgasm Addicts, masturbatory freaks who make out with schoolkids.

No, I’m not going to be pointing out examples of Orgasm Addicts today. Am too cowardly, as much as I’m spoiling to spectate a good fiery exchange between some blogs, I still don’t want to participate actively. I’m even straddling the fence on the problem of believing in music and using it as a lifestyle because I’m just as amused by people’s ringtones as an incredibly entertaining breastbeating on why any particular album might change my life.

Lately I’ve been feeling distant in music writing. I still genuinely love certain songs, and don’t regret gushing over those singles, sometimes it’s just writing and thinking just for the sake of continuing to write, whether I feel anything or not. Trying not to cover the same ground when one’s life is in turmoil, even reaching to write about music that simply exists to me, that I could never love, let alone like, and don’t feel like mustering the energy to hate it, because if I ignored it, life would be better for it, as the hatred provides no fresh insight.

Oh, and this morning I am finally getting the time to listen to those dear Buzzcocks, because the CD was buried in some inconspicuous shoebox I couldn’t be bothered to check. Nope, I don’t know what to write about them, but actually to play the song aloud that awoke me to my growing distant to myself almost brings tears to my eyes. It’s unnerving how my subconscious mind took a couple of the lyrics of a song, and tossed them into my face as I wake from unsettled dreams. Honestly, I cannot make out most of the lyrics of most of the song, and I’m not sure if I ever consciously knew the first line of “Harmony in My Head” or even what the song is truly about, but this morning I have cold chills down my neck to think how it’s this particular song, and that first couplet that has pointed me that the only way to hold myself together for the future is by embracing my past, to sounds and words that I could never accurately use to articulate my thoughts and feelings in the waking world.

I very much want to go into Enron and the Bush administration right now, as the implications of scandal are things that only wished would become clear back when Cheney was doing those secret dealings on energy policy that the GAO was ready to sue him to reveal last summer, and I cannot believe that just a little bit of the truth is coming out now even after much of America has been whipped into an unquestioning, nationalist fervor.

It’s almost funny that both Bush and Fleischer tried to pin the “real” Enron connection to Anne Richards’ gubernatorial campaign in Texas in 1994, saying that Lay backed her, when the truth is that Lay did indeed give money to Richards in that campaign, he simultaneously gave twice as much to Bush for that same campaign, and from what I read, gave him $50,000 more before Bush even got started! That’s purest sophistry!

It’s also somewhat funny that some conservative commentators are tying to spin this in that Bush doing nothing to stop the Enron collapse is him being protective of the taxpayers who shouldn’t have to deal with another bailout. (Ahem. Neil Bush & Silverado.) This isn’t about him not trying to bail about his buddy. This is about him knowing perfectly well that the company was going down the toilet, while he took plenty of money in campaign contributions from Enron and Lay, while many members of his administration held stock in Enron, and somehow didn’t get burned like normal stockholders when the stock bombed out because they somehow knew to sell their stock, and that Enron was in on deciding energy policy for the United States when they couldn’t even run themselves.

Fighting Against Making the Pie Higher 01.10.02

I knew that working again would make it easier to post somehow. Computer access at work! What a novelty! And favorite on NYLPM or not, i don’t wanna be a cockfarmer today.

Yes, i’ve been listening to entirely too much radio lately. I don’t know why… it’s not the same as UK radio. I cannot even seem to pick up Clearchannel stations hawking the latest pop singles lately, as the local radio stations seem to be in a nostalgia fest unlike any that i’ve ever heard before. I have had this nagging guilt for ages for ignoring what’s going on, by insulating myself from the world with my own mixtapes, but even when comparing the corporate charts against what i’m hearing in frantic searches through what i think are supposed to be pop stations, and all of the songs are six months old or more. It’s unnerving to find that the much disparaged MTV is keeping me more up to date than the radio, which would rather revel in playing catch up to every other market in the country… and it only makes me think of music as a commodity, something that is bane to my being.

Without the ability to download, or watch MTV incessantly (which wouldn’t help that much,) i feel as if I’m already falling behind on 2002. After a good year in 2001, it feels like no music is being released at all, and i know that is not true. How can i do this?I’m right back where i started, listening to NPR’s news programs all of the time.

If i’m not listening to new music that i was not expecting to like a couple of years ago, i feel as if i am not growing or learning. It’s bad enough to fall

Anyway, Ludacris… “Rollout” annoyed me to death when i first heard it. Materialism is any form is an ugly thing that it’s hard for me to build any bond with musically or not, and the gluttony and greed that goes with most hip hop videos turns me right off. “Rollout” didn’t just go with the imagery, and boasts, but with every single line obsessed with knowing what he has, and how much that bugs him, even though he obviously wouldn’t have it if he didn’t want to flaunt it. Just the chorus of “Rollout!” made me think of a commercial, where everything must go.

The song still annoys me, but now i think that it’s supposed to annoy me, and it’s the kind of annoyance of a bratty kid or a snotty neighbor.

Actually, the bit that Jess wrote On Cantakerous Jukebox concerning the bit of rivalry between him and another writer… it’s a bit odd. It’s a one-line slam on Popshots, not an extended diatribe (like what David wrote on NYLPM,) and it’s odd that Sweeney even found a reference to himself and responded to it, calling Jukebox “rockist”…. and i thought that was something Jess was open about, and wore on the sleeve with pride.

It’s also slightly amusing to see that the ILM thread on reviled critics has been revived. I am still one of the fools waiting for the rebirth of Indieshite, and true mudslinging to begin again. I just don’t hae it in me though… when i first got into blogging, it was easier to develop a reactionary opinion and hurl insults at anyone who had an irksome opinion, but now that i’m trying to be openminded about all music, it just doesn’t feel right, no matter how much it amuses me to see others do that.

Oh, and Bush still sucks. “Not over my dead body” is exactly what he meant, getting the wild enthusiasm of his believers, and getting the wormhole that no one will remember…. that the “not” cancels everything out.

And if there’s any justice it will be proven that the Bush administration knew about the Enron collapse ahead of time to the extent that it affected the selloff of certain staff members stock. The Justice Department cannot investigate the Bush and Enron connection properly either, considering that Lay gave $50,000 to the Ashcroft campaign in 2000.

If Bush wants to make all of these speeches about how they will not let what happened with Enron ever happen again, and feel so awful about the peopel who lost their life savings in the sudden devaluation of Enron stock, then they ought to pay back the money that the Republican party and its members received in contributions from that company, since it is money basically stolen from someone’s retirement plan.

Fighting Against Making the Pie Higher 01.09.02

This site is definitely going through some troubled times. Yet another computer has up and died on me (from a broken $1.50 power switch that has yet to be replaced,) and I unimaginatively forgot about any other HTML editors on this other computer. In fact, all I have is MS Word. Also, i just landed a temp job, and soon Louise will be back in Louisiana, meaning there will be lots of other stuff to do in the coming weeks. I hate admitting that i might have to take another break, as the site might die. Anyway…

In making the rounds yesterday, i found another song that I cannot understand why anyone likes… that damned “Rock and Roll Hootchie Coo” song. It was on no less than three different times as i drove about yesterday, switching stations compulsively. It’s a song i’ve heard since I’ve listened to rock and pop, and i still don’t have a clue who sings nor do i want to know. Sadly, i cannot even be bothered to explain what i hate about it

(although just the phrase “hootchie coo” might be enough,) as to write more about it, is to think about it, a song that at times has left me literally nauseated.

Another problem i developed yesterday was with “Don’t Rock the Jukebox” because it just makes no sense. The song itself is more rock than some of the songs by the Rolling Stones, the band Alan Jackson  says his heart’s not ready for. The song is over ten years old now, and Alan Jackson doesn’t normally appear on my radar… if ever before, but it’s just bullshit. Yeah, it’s more honky tonk than  Garth Brooks, but after ten years that empty posturing still bugs me. What is rock music? What is country? Put a special mixtape pulled from  Beggar’s Banquet, Let It Bleed, and Sticky Fingers up against Greatest Hits from Jackson, and remove the singers, as Jagger is instantly recognizable to most modern music listeners, and that finely honed “aw shucks” accent that country singers developed. Which is more traditionally country?

 

I admit most people would probably still say Jackson. Those little steel guitar and fiddle riffs tossed in at the end of a verse are what most people immediately recognize as country… but why? I was listening to NPR Saturday night, and most of it sounded like more like those Stones songs than Alan Jackson. And what the hell is so country about Nascar? Shouldn’t they be racing trucks?

 

It’s impossible for me write about country or listen to most music that passes for it, as it feels more about image and posturing than even hip hop. The phrase “keeping it real” still sounds like it should have come from a hat act than hip hop. I’d rather have someone lie to me about how different they are from me, how rich, famous, and important he is, because it’s more honest than some jerk trying to sell me his pitch on how humble and ordinary he is, that he is just like me.

 

I’m also realizing that I’m having a bit of trouble converting my parents to some of the newer music that i dig now. In the years long past, i got my mother listening to all kinds of classic rock that i’d rather not get into right now, but calling her in to check out the still exciting “Bouncin’ Back” by Mystikal, she just thinks that I’m up to something, that it’s a joke, that I could not possibly seriously be into this song, or “The Whole World” or let alone “Rollback” (a song that I really am not crazy about, but the more I hear it, the more I laugh, and I think that I might be laughing with the artist rather than at him. It is supposed to be an absurd song, isn’t it? When I have time, I’ll get back into this.)

 

Damn. Outta time. Gotta go to temp job now.

Fighting Against Making the Pie Higher 01.03.02

It’s proving impossible to get started back on this webpage, as there’s so many other things overriding it. Even after Louise returned temporarily to Cardiff to wrap up the final details of the Big Move, New Year caused the rednecks for miles around to drag out the dynamite and for the past couple of days, the windows have been rattling from the explosions. Yes, it’s realy dynamite and not fireworks. One family had the tradition of “blowing the anvil” which consisted of loading as much dynamite as possible under an anvil and seeing how far it would jump into the air from the explosion. It was not until recently did i realize it was not as fun as it sounded.

Then it snowed for the first time in seven years, and i had to go play in it. Break’s over now though. A small problem that has arisen with this page as earlier last month, i was going over the bandwidth limit, although traffic has cooled off now, and may not pick up again, i won’t be able to correct this potential problem until the money problem is fixed. Please forgive me if this page is occasionaly yanked offline, as it’s Geocities.

Here’s a stab at getting rolling again….

Music. I haven’t been listening to much of it. The last time that i did was riding int he truck with my father, when he tried to put it on a classic rock station hoping that i would enjoy it. It merely annoyed the hell out of both of us. Two of the most annoying songs that i know of came on, both by men who wore mustaches. Mustaches and pop/ rock do not seem to go together, even if the damned Beatles wore them in Pepper era or the Byrds in their cowboy years. Only a Lemmy style mustache seems to have any credibility.

First was Joe Walsh, “Life’s Been Good” an indulgent piece of Californian rock star mediocrity that sits there and grins stupidly in a pool of its own piss. All of those reverbed out effects must be the sound being echoed through the vast quantity of urine. I will grudgingly accept that it’s a memorable guitar riuff and have heard it quite often from amateur guitarists bent on being a cover band in the local bar, but never figured out how to emulate those synth drums and watery drips. The biggest problem with it might be not only is it Eagles related, probably fueled by cocaine (and despite all of the Jay-Z talk, it’s my least favorite drug for artists to take that will write music that i will give a damn about) but it’s like Californian Jimmy Buffett. Disgusting.

Second was Thin Lizzy “The Boys Are Back in Town”. I’m stilll confused by the occasional defenses of the this band by seemingly sane people. It takes one riff and chorus, only to run it completely into the ground, and the only respite is some bellyaching nostalgia seemingly from the mouth of a twenty year old that still wants to be a teen. When i hated all Springsteen, it reminded me of him without the sax, and as much as i used to hate sax, it didn’t elevate it. It’s a song that has some kind of guitar sound that just sizzles with the heat of naugahyde in the summer heat, and i’m decidedly not a fan of naugahyde.

These two songs put me off of listening to music at all, because random spontanaiety seems to be what i want, but if the universe wants to spew out shit like this

In order to catch up, after gettign in from the snow, I indulged in a lot of MTV2, with flashes to MTV and VH-1 yesterday. MTV2 has become a little more unexpected again. I missed the recap of playing every new video released in 2001 (except for the jaw dropping weirdness of finding that Guided by Voices did a video for “Glad Girls”, something i never imagined would be so slick looking, although colorful pixilized women dancing about for three minutes became fairly monotonous.) but now a lot of oddball things are bubbling to the surface again.

Alice Cooper “Welcome to My Nightmare” was one of them. It was laughably bad, with him singing from a giant four post bed, with women in body stockings and men in bikini briefs and Halloween masks traipsing about doing modern dance. There was even a Vincent Price cameo. However, it was one of those that was so bad that it turned it good, MST3000 style.

Adema was actually played as a video, probably just as a joke. The video and the song don’t match at all. It’s metal too timid and tepid to be nu metal, but wants to tip its toe in the water. And against the growling of the vocals, the video was a happy-go-lucky chummy thing, better suited for a pop-punk boy band, as these raging metalers were cast into the roles of stoner, rebel, badass, and ladies’ man all attending their own concert. It all seemed thrown together and feeble. Whatever record label sank money into that band definitely deserves what they got, as it looked like a fiasco. I could see why they handed them over to the Real World cast.

and the drummer actually pointed at the camera with his drumsticks in a nonironic fashion. wonderful. It’s a pity that they didn’t let the poor bastard have a solo.

It’s stating the obvious yet again but…. Kid Rock is not a pimp. He’s a whore. “Forever” has some many damned American flags that it was gratuitous even for him. Besides, any self-proclaimed rebel mouthing off about Southern rock oughta have the balls enough to fly the Confederate battle flag liek a proper rebel…. but it would fit in with tht trash patriot exploitation. The worst bit for me was him putting on the fireman’s helmet with a Kid Rock label. I don’t see why they just didn’t burn Osama in effigy while they were at it. Also, the more hip-hop[ that i listen to the madder that i get that anyone even listens to Kid Rock, as he might be a worse rapper than Vanilla Ice, except that he does it over refried aerosmith riffs. The guitarist looks like Jack Black’s half-brother anyway, so I don’t know whether Kid Rock, like andrew WK, is all an elaborate hoax that worked, unlike Blur/ Gorillaz, to Tenacious D/ Kid Rock…. the ILM Battle thread is far, far, far more interesting.

However, sonically, i had a sad moment of realization for a split second that it’s not all that far removed from Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, something i actually admit to liking, and had a deep naked soul moment of hypocrisy. Then i saw that little pot belly and sunken chin dork swaggering about and I felt my righteous indignation all over.

It was followed by Petey Pablo, and because of a typo of the description, it was labelled “I Featuring Timbaland” and my imagination ran away with me, with Petey rapping away with some crazy boasts just about how he had Timbaland on this song, and the whole Timbaland as Mr. Fixit Phenomenon. It would be a great idea.

Also, while I have not listened to music, i have not been reading blogs. This morning I’ve found myself frantically playing catchup to who wrote what and why, and how any of it may make me feel. It’s overwhelming, and it feels as if i’ve forgotten how to swim in these depths or how i ever had time to read them all, unemployed or not. Yes, i’m going to have to go with another list again, not because i’m stuck for writing, but because there’s just no time to coax paragraphs out of broken thoughts, and probably everyone has already read these pieces.

  • Permafrost Top Tens of 2001 and reissues. (i was not expecting Basement Jaxx on Andy’s list for some reason….)
  • Surface versus Depth year end lists, related to 1471 Three lists with commentary (the best kind) for the price of one.
  • Am still going to read Neumu, but this whole Strokes thing has made me incredibly suspicious of Goldberg’s sanity. They top his year end list, which is not a problem, as a man likes what he likes (and shit, cowboy) but this Waiting For Nirvana drama is King Lear rewritten by Godot. Rage against those winds, white hair. It bugs me that there is some division between Britney and the Beatles, because while i am quite firmly a Beatlephile, the older that I get the more it relates to each other. Who else is he going to relate her too? Lulu or Marianne Faithfull?
  • Lots of other lists acknowledged by Tiny Mixtapes and then the rock list database archived by Fast & Bulbous (a site that i was unaware of until recently, and i don’t knwo what to think since i was left a little flat by the Hot Shots 2 piece, my current lexicon to see what other people are thinking in listening to music when they wroite about that album.)

Random bits of news that ayone who cares probably already knows:

  • Tom Waits’ Red Drum (the twin of Alice) is now inexplicably retitled Blood Money
  • The new Clinic album will be out February 27th, and shall be called Walking with Thee
  • Gee…. i thought i knew more than that.

On both a Wilco and the Big Takeover listservs that I’m on there’s been a lot of amusing hate rants on Ryan Adams. Yep, i stilll like the decidedly diappointing Gold, am really getting into Heartbreaker even more, and dig the cocky prolific angle, but i LOVE it when people trash him, calling him the new Rod Stewart or warmed-over Eagles. Ryan Adams is such a better whipping boy than the Strokes, because he’s begging for it. It’s great to see him dragged through the mud by wild horses, and it’s even more fun to see him sulk and bitch about the negativity. I don’t know what it is about that drama that entertains me.

In reading the long, super-version of Reynolds’ Best of 2001, i discovered that I had read much of it in Uncut in the past year to my mild disappointment. For some odd reason, i was expecting a lot of secret writings that he put together in a cave and never published before. It was still a worthwhile collection though, as i’d never drag out all of the zines and attempt to trawl them for the best material. Nonetheless, i have a new take on Jay-Z now, as well as a small comfort in the words about Le Tigre being half-assed. I worte a lot about what he wrote, but i don’t know where i put it.