Look Who's 40!

Happy birthday, you old bastard!

For Nana

My grandmother (Nana) died 20 years ago today. She loved John Denver and I remember this song in particular being a favorite. Although I don't recall witnessing it, I'm under the impression my father played this song for her on guitar once. I do remember seeing the song sheet for it at her apartment.

Here's a version of the song Denver sings with the rest of the Chad Mitchell Trio, of which he was once a member.

"Will You Ever Write Your Masterpiece?"

My current favorite Billy Joel song, "James" is often overlooked in his canon. A beautiful tune, and wonderful tone. From my favorite Joel album, Turnstiles, this song also features possibly the greatest musical instrument ever invented (even greater than the might oboe): the electric piano. Indeed I've considered writing a piece on the emotional importance of the soothing percussive.

As for this performance, check out the solid gold microphone! That is, indeed, gold, Jerry!

The Great Album Covers of My Youth 1.0: Darkness on the Edge of Town

Album covers: my favorite canvas for pop art. I've got a rotation of framed ones displayed above my record cabinet. Is there a record album art gallery anywhere? I mean JUST album art, no CDs (although I'd definitely love a cassette exhibition). I'm not down on CD art, but it lacks a certain aesthetic, do you not think? (Douche!)

So here's a new feature of LFW for all you dusty-fingered old folks for whom vinyl is final!

In this case, you can judge the record by the cover. Springsteen looks like an anonymous mook on the cover of his own album. It seems less a portrait of the artist than of his character. And the venetian blinds, with the harsh shadow from the cord, is almost the true focal point of the photo. Beyond it, that darkness.

The cherry on top is the bruised typewriter font.

Also, Bruce kinda looks like Fonzie filtered through the pen of Jim Thompson.

The Ballad of El Goodo by Big Star

Up against impossible odds, the human spirit, every fucking second of the day. This is the anthem for any human beings out there...

Maybe You, Too, Can WRITE...

...but probably not. I don't write nearly as well as I assume I do. But more crucial -- not as often as I should. Writing often often produces something of relative worth. Like the phrase "often often". Based on the idea that if you throw enough shit into your yard, a flower will emerge from it.

Sometimes, one will earn a lifetime of shit. Also, a yard full of shit.

Mostly, I'm frustrated. Frustration shadows me more than any other reaction, as a writer. First, in writing; next in considering selling it (how or even why)...

I can't even finish this blog, I'm so bored, which was going to be the next topic I'd cover: my short attention span. Often a flash! A spark of interest, a whiff of cap gun smoke, then I'm staring at the TV. Which offers me nothing, but a blue warmth.

And undying love! I love you, TV!

I guess that was all that I was getting at...