Yesterday, I mentioned that I was going out of town for a few days, ... and then I ended up throwing three more posts at you, dear lucky reader. In any case, here at Chez Pablum, we're currently preparing to pile everyone into the car and drive to rural Pennsylvania for a four day In-Laws-a-Palooza. I might survive. I might not. While I'm gone, however, why not check out the action over at EV Grieve or Vanishing New York? Moreover, you can always get a fix of prurient advertising shenanigans over at Copyranter. If you're looking for something higher of brow, you can always see what Rachel's into at the moment. Then, of course, there's always Hot Johnny.
As a parting gift, here's a brief, bracing blast of Missing Foundation, offering a cement fistful of vintage L.E.S. chaos. Enjoy. I'll be back next week.
According to legend, Kate Bush was once asked about the last time she had cried. She replied that it was when she'd heard that Killing Joke had broken up. As if that alone wasn't reason enough to love her, she's also made some strikingly brilliant music. She's a genius and today the great lady turns 50. Celebrate accordingly.
Click here for another compelling collection of photographs of NYC from the mid-80s through the mid-90s. Lots of Missing Foundation allusions abound. Thanks to EV Grieve for finding this.
It never fails. Every time I write one of those "I'll be back in a bit" posts, I end up stumbling upon something shortly afterwards that's far too silly to ignore. Here's a clip a colleague forwarded to me this morning. And if you think you're annoyed by it, just think how this guy's neighbors must feel!
Hi gang. Apologies for the relative slowdown in posts here, but y'know ... it's Summer. As such, I've been juggling both work and family demands and haven't had as much of an opportunity to post my inane musings here. Am also heading out of town for a few days tomorrow and probably won't be anywhere near a computer. So in the interim, here's a classic clip from the Bunnymen -- evidently performing as "the Sweatiest Band in Rock" -- to stave you over. Play this loud and marvel at their former magnificence. Back in two shakes.....
Apropos of absolutely nothing, I thought I'd revisit the fabled Patteson Bigfoot footage. I especially like when they slow down the film and reverse it, making it look a bit like he's moonwalking. Enjoy
Speaking from experience, I know first hand how much it sucks to be on the receiving end of a corporate downsizing. As such, I have nothing but sympathy for the thousands of workers currently employed by Starbucks who are about to lose their jobs. From what I've seen, they tend to be on the younger side as well. My heart genuinely goes out to them in this uncertain period.
That all said, don't ask me to feel bad about the gargantuan coffee conglomerate's current plight. As far as I'm concerned, it seems a bit like karmic retribution for their tireless campaign for marketplace ubiquity. The onslaught of Starbucks has also done more to homogenize my city (and, I'd suspect, practically every city in the free world) more than any other single element I can think of. At the moment, they're everywhere. A block away from my home, you can sit in one Starbucks, stare out its window and see another Starbucks barely a stone's throw away. It's ridiculous.
I'm not going to pretend I've never spent any time or money in a Starbucks. Frankly speaking, while I think their coffee is deplorably overrated (am I the only person who thinks that it always tastes a little burnt?), I'm certainly no stranger to the odd Frappacino. I'll certainly be able to survive without them, however. What I don't quite understand is the sudden outpouring of grief over the impending closings of 600 outlets. Recent articles in both Slate and AM New York (to name but two) spun weepy yarns by tearful regulars, earnestly lamenting the loss of their local branches. Where was that grief when the genuinely local, independent coffee shops and diners saw their respective businesses dry up as a result of Starbucks' influx? To my fellow New Yorkers who are fretting about the closings, I suggest re-discovering your local Greek deli or bodega (if it hasn't already closed up shop) and giving them your money to satiate your precious java habit. They still need it more than Starbucks.
Yeah, I'm a bitter old poop, but what can I tell ya? I think another reason I hate Starbucks is because of their infiltration of the music market. While, yes, I'll applaud any shop that continues to sell compact discs in 2008 (an increasingly rarer situation), I bristle at Starbucks Entertainment's clumsy re-purposing , re-packaging and blandifying corporate sanitization of music I still hold vehemently dear. I spotted this dreadful product in the Starbucks in my office building recently and shuddered with contempt. I suppose I should support the campaign to keep this music available and out there, but something about the all-too-neatly comprised and decidedly revisionist presentation made me upset (Tom Tom Club, for example, have absolutely no business being on the same disc as Joy Division). Much like the very essence of the Starbucks mission, I resent the whole convenience of it all. Most of this music wasn't meant to be so blithely available, homogenous and convenient. That was kinda the whole point.
Then again, I'm really uptight about that stuff. In any case, so long, Starbucks! Don't let the door hit hit ya on your way out.
I bought a scanner a couple of years ago for a reason that has since escaped me. I've used it here and there, but by and large, it sits here on my desk, gathering dust and taking up space. As such, I thought I might as well start making it earn its keep. As I mentioned in this post a little while back, I used to dabble in amateur photography. There were fewer things I enjoyed more than simply wandering around New York and taking pictures. Like I said in that earlier post, my opportunities to do that have since sorta dried up, but I still love the shots I took back then. I started thumbing through them recently, and was struck by how different so many the places I captured look now. I figured I might as well pull those pictures out and put them up here. This idea was also inspired by the recent Joy Division documentary (which I highly recommend). Throughout the documentary, filmmaker Grant Gee collects contemporary images of pivotal locales in Manchester, England from the legendary band's history, like decrepit rehearsal spaces that are now fast food outlets or live music venues that are now condominiums. These images were prefaced under the title, "Things That Are Not There," which I thought was strangely chilling. So, herewith my own version of things that are not there. In many instances, the places themselves are still there, but they look drastically different now than they did then.
These shots were all taken between 1987 and 2002, approximately. E-mail me if you have any questions.
Last week, I took part in a little exercise wherein I was asked to cite my favorite albums from each and every year that I've been alive. Predictably, some balked at a few of my choices, but you can't please everyone. Hell, I balked at some of my own choices, but I gave what I thought were honest answers. One comment, however -- from Jill of Blah Blog Blah notoriety -- stuck with me. Jill had this to say:
Oh this is surely a can of worms. I like your list for the most part and of course we each have our own list, but there is only one that really stands out as being not right... Fragile? Really? In 1972 there was Led Zeppelin IV, Eat a Peach (Allman Brothers), Machine Head (Deep Purple), Mott the Hoople, even Exile on Main Street I think all beat out Yes
Well, for a start, Led Zeppelin IV came out in 1971. A fine album to be sure, but its inception date would pit it against Paranoid by Black Sabbath, which will take a giant, runny, Satanic dump all over Zeppelin's meisterwerk every time. Feel free to debate that point, but my mind shan't be changed on the subject. As far as Eat a Peach by the Allman Brothers is concerned, I'm afraid you've got to be kidding me -- I wouldn't even play that insipid bullshit at a dog. Machine Head by Deep Purple, meanwhile, is your first valid contender for the title, not least for its inclusion of "Highway Star" and the ol' warhorse, "Smoke on the Water." I never really cared for Mott the Hoople and the last time I listened to Exile in Main Street I fell asleep -- give me Let It Bleed over that piffle every time.
But this is all academic. To my mind -- and, really, it's my list after all -- Fragile by Yes handily trumps all those selections with ease and grace. I fucking love Fragile, and I'm not afraid to say it. Over on the ILM music discussion boards, I once postulated that Fragile was arguably the most un-"Punk Rock" album ever crafted. Think about it! Ten minute opuses? Check. Fastidious musicianship? Check. Lyrical allusions to Brahms and The March Hare? Check and check. Garish sci-fi cover art by Roger Dean? Oh, indeed check! Meticulously plucked twelve-string guitars rife with baroque stylings, filigree-laden flourishes and rococo intricacies? Check. Oblique, otherworldly lyrical imagery recalling Heinlein, Tolkien and Bradbury? Check, check and thrice check. Perfect, soaring harmonies? Check. Sweeping, cinematic production? Check. Ridiculously pompous keyboard noodlery courtesy of hirsute self-styled Arthurian fanboy Rick Wakeman? Yea verily checketh! This gloriously bloated wedding cake of classic prog is clearly the antithesis of much beloved vinyl slabs by bands like the Ramones and The Damned. Fragile almost singularly embodies that which Punk Rock was purportedly concocted to destroy.
But I don't care about that claptrap, because regardless of my fandom for Punk Rock, Fragile still rocks my world. And I'm not alone. Some noted and avowed Yes fans include Pat Smear of the Germs, Keith Levene of Public Image Ltd., No Wave scenester Vincent Gallo and Big Paul Ferguson of Killing Joke, so I'd say that makes for some pretty damn cool company (if that sorta crap matters). In anticipation of composing this post on my walk home from work, I dialed up Fragile on my iPod and it immediately lifted my spirits and transformed my world into swirly Roger Dean-penned curlicues with big, multicolored pteradactyle wings. Even if you cannot overlook Yes' spiraling excesses, you cannot tell me that this album does not rock.
The record in question is probably most renowned for boasting both "Roundabout" and "Long Distance Runaround," a one-two punch that blows Machine Head by the `Purps right off the map (largely thanks to Chris Squire's giant fuck off bass licks on the former and Steve Howe's spidery riffs on the latter). They may have both since become classic rock radio clichés (although not nearly as much as selections off the afore-cited Led Zeppelin IV), but I never tire of either of them. Getting back to the list, I should point out that I wasn't aware of Yes in 1972 (or much of anything else, probably, given that I was all of six years old). I was invariably more consumed by the works of Sid & Mary Kroft than with rock n' roll. I probably didn't knowingly hear anything off of Fragile until a few years later.
I believe I first would have heard Yes sometime around 1975 or so. I remember driving up to the Berkshires with my family to visit our cousins in a beautiful little town called South Egremont. My cousins lived in this great, massive house set far back from the road up on the lip of a gorgeous valley, surrounded by woods. We'd go up there at least once a winter, and it was always great fun. In any case, I was always enthralled by our trips up to that house, its many rooms and stunning views. My cousin Charlie -- a good five years older than me, at least -- used to hold court in the house's converted basement, which was invariably where all the fun stuff happened. I'd frequently go down there to throw darts or play bumper pool, but Charlie was often down there cranking music. I vividly recall walking down the stairs to the basement one afternoon and being swept up in this amazing wave of sound that came emanating from below. A nightmarish, atmospheric thunderclap was followed by this driving battery of bass, guitars and swirly keyboards. It truly sounded like nothing else, and I remember sitting on the bottom step and drinking it in, not wanting Charlie to discover me. It turns out, the piece I'd been hearing was "South Side of the Sky" off of Fragile, and once Charlie discovered I'd been digging it, he proceeded to play me the rest of the album, converting another to the cause. And I was summarily hooked.
So yes, Fragile is hairy and hoary and rife with indulgence, but it still makes me incredibly happy all these years later. I can even overlook Wakeman's embarrassing filler track, "Cans and Brahms," so long as I get to the sprawling epicry of "Heart of the Sunrise." And again, if you can't appreciate the bass line of "Roundabout" (especially when it kicks in at precisely 00:44 into the proceedings), there's something deeply, deeply wrong with you.
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