Nobody hears

it goes, it goes... we're faithfull...

It's interesting being a member of a band's cult following. There is a sentiment you get. Most don't. Not easy to explain to the common folk. And, I won't try. I guess it's a benefit. So revealing to me, I guess I find my mind too clear.

Wow. The dude can fit my emotion. Well. Very well. Not that the jam is the only band that hits us all, but they do it pretty well. They have a fucking edge. Name a band that compares at that level. Even Mr. Young doesn't have an edge that comparesl. Said with so much respect, I feel I need to rescind the statement.


Shit. Either way, hit your local indie (fuck the term musically, (it gives shit like Death Cab), accept it financially, and pick up To Terrapin and Neil's latest.

I'll see you on the flipside.

Peace.

Stray Cat Blues

So. I don't have any feelings towards underage women. Nor do I have the blues in any way. But, this song just fits my mood and current musical leanings. Really heavy fucking riff. Brilliant really. The Stones were amazing. Set the stage for most of my favorite bands.

Anyways, and I've been meaning to write about this for awhile, I like tripping. I don't necessarily mean hallucinogenically, but it does often relate to altered states. My favorite times occur on a lazy weekend day, when I may, or may not be, under the influence in some way. During these times, I will do exactly as I want in the moment. It's amazing what can happen. Doing exactly what you feel like, as selfishly as you can for awhile is excellent. I listen to My Morning Jacket. I chew tobacco. I watch baseball. I watch movies I wouldn't normally consider. I smoke. I eat Indian. I nap.

Brilliant. It's the lifestyle I strive for. The dragon I am chasing.

Check Ten remixed. Comes out in about a week and a half. Porch is fucking raw.

Makes Much More Sense...

...to live in the present tense. One of the best songs he has ever written on one of the best albums of the 1990s (it was not on fucking Nevermind). Sure, I am transparent in my musical leanings here, but this is in the upper echelon of Pearl Jam's catalog. Anyone in the know, knows. Today made me appreciate the line more than I ever have. And it feels great.

Well, two posts in a month. I'm on a fucking roll, huh? I can't buy groceries or call my parents, but I can write a blog. Priorities, my friends.

So. New president. Poor economy. It's so bad I hear the previous chief is struggling for employment (at the level of #42 et al). I am in agreement with this situation, yet find it strangely disturbing. You have to be really pathetic to have held the most prestigious position in the world and fail to be an in-demand resource afterwards.

Recently I have planned a career (or life) change. It may or may not happen. I'd like it to, but there are variables beyond my control. Either way, I have shifted some musical preferences. I have moved into jammier stuff. Really. It makes sense if you look at the way it has happened. I've been listening to PJ's jammiest tour on quality record (2000), early Clapton groups, NY live stuff, and talking to and attending a concert with Mr. Brian Lenz. It just falls into place. And Boulder's scene fits nicely into this. On that note, or because I have nothing left to say, check the following:

Blind Melon's eponymous release. A few years before Hoon's cocaine overdose. Very good.

and, for Talking Heads/jam scene fans, download this:
http://www.archive.org/details/Motet2008-12-27

I'll see you on the flip side.

Amazes me, the will of instinct

New year. Likely a new Pearl Jam album. Can a person ask for anything more? Ha. Anyways, have not written in a long time. Fucking consulting. It's ok, but takes a lot of time.

So, it is looking like I will make a career/life change. I'm beginning due diligence on going to grad school to study human and deer/elk interaction. Kind of random, huh? A little car accident the other day helped put me over the edge on this decision. That, and how fucking awesome the 2000 PJ tour (with full bootlegs) was. I can listen all the time in grad school. And grow a beard. And long hair. It's more me.

Finally, pick up Okonokos by My Morning Jacket. It's great.
Peace.

BARK

This blog had gradually submerged deep into an inaccessible area of my hippocampus until about ten minutes ago when I was reminded of the immense power of music. Off went a spark along some neural network from my amygdala to my frontal cortex to my hippocampus, and this little forum's existence came bubbling up. "Sure you hate your writing, but you should sack up."

I won't accord music some metaphysically unique position among the arts as Schopenhauer did, but my 23 years of interaction with the world leaves me with little doubt that music is man's greatest pursuit. What else can affect us at such a visceral level? What else offers such a complete escape, a reprieve from reality? What else has such a capacity to capture and transform us?

People have written of the strong link between our sense of smell and memory, but what of the link between music and memory? A few notes flood my mind with vivid images of spring days smoking hookah on the fishbowl, my first kiss, summer road trips, the hot prospy who I almost - almost - hooked up with freshman year, center court pong series in our red basement, simultaneous smiles from two friends upon listening to the first track of a long-awaited album. Waves of nostalgia pull me into my past when the right tracks starts rolling. Is this a universal phenomenon or am I unique in tying specific music so closely to life events, be they mundane or noteworthy?

Dignan recommended "I Got Shit" when I was down and out over issues with a Barr-bodied companion, and that single track made the emotional load so much lighter. To lose myself, to unleash the anger and the sadness for five minutes, to go crazy eyes and Neanderthal jaw - it felt so fucking good. One part catharsis, one part expression, two parts pure escape.

Half an hour ago I felt numb and depressed. I meditated and it did little to improve my state. But twenty minutes with an album from my high school days that I am too embarassed to mention by name and my insides are brighter, like a fucking star was born in my heart. How does music do that? Because it involves us like nothing else, it transplants us into its own universe and releases us changed men.

Absolutely Nothing's Changed...

Actually, untrue. I'll get back to that. Haven't posted in awhile. I'm discovering what it really means to be a consultant. Sorry. Haven't had time. I know I've disappointed a loyal and vast following.

So, back to things changing. Since I've last been here, Barack won an election. Very big. I also met and saw another half Kenyan celebrity from Chicago perform. Tom Morello. Of Rage. If you need these past few words explained, never read this blog again. I apologize. The herd must be thinned. Back to the show. Morello was good. He is a hell of a guitar player. Really innovative. However, the most impressive moments of the night came when he spoke. Intelligent. Harvard political science grad. One could tell.

So. Time for some complaining. Rolling Stone just released their "100 Greatest Singers" list. I have disagreed with every single one of these lists they put out, but this one is ludicrous. The magazine is raving about the "Blue Ribbon" panel they had vote, but I don't buy it. Rolling Stone has been sucking at the teats of the Beatles and Bob Dylan for too long to think this is true. No offense to either artist - but they should not have made up 3 of the top 10 singers in the rock era. Dylan may be a legend... but he is a terrible singer. I'll skip all the other issues I have to focus on the main one. Fucking Kurt Cobain. No way in hell should this man be the 45th best singer of "all time." I like Nirvana, but come on RS, stop sucking their dicks. I may be biased, but EV is ten times the singer Kurt would could ever hope to be, but he doesn't show up on the list. Goes to show what eating a shotgunsicle can do for a man's legacy...