The Lantern Fishworks

Farewell to the Fish

2011-07-12T21:23:00.000-07:00

The Lantern Fishworks has moved or, rather, relocated. No, opened another branch. Yes, that's it. Everything that's here will stay here. I'm just beginning anew here.

"Here" is a branch of the Sleeping Brothers Public Library website, which is not at all what it sounds like, but exactly what I mean.

Anyway, for the 1 or 2 of you who've ever read LFW, just go here for current and future, uh, insight.

Well, bye.

A Novel Dime Story

2011-06-10T10:50:00.000-07:00

A short story I wrote, triggered by a prompt on Six Minute Story. The prompt was "The dapper man picked up a penny." I cleverly begin the story with this phrase. I couldn't finish it in the designated six minutes; I got about six characters into the third paragraph. Typically, I would've abandoned it, but was encouraged to finish the fantastical tale. Stories not being my forte, I nevertheless offer the result here.

The dapper man picked up a penny and found a little hole. The hole was smaller than the penny, but larger than a dime. The man, dapper and penny-wise, bent down on dapper knees, head bowed, right eye squinting into the dime-sized hole.

"Dimes, dimes, dimes! Mole men flipping dimes, muddy mason jars tight with dimes!"

He wiggled his pinky in the pinky-sized hole. He framed his iris in the iris-sized hole. The dapper man could feel no dimes, could tickle no scalps of coin-jingling mole men.

He stood up, frustrated, ponderous. "Hey, Dan!" an angularly-coiffed woman spat from a passing car. He grimaced quickly, muttering inutterables.

The dapper man owned no tools, neither here nor home. He circled the tool-sized hole. With each step, he felt the weight of the world below, sensed shoulders grazing the ceiling beneath his shoes.

He sat on the curb and daydreamed of mole men walking their dime trails, leaving impressions of mole men hands and feet in the hills of dimes. He remembered that pin impression toy he'd press his face into at Spencer's, when he was a kid, when dimes possessed more value.

Or when he thought dimes possessed more value. But here he was, long past his lunch break, fishing for dimes, pressing his body against the city street. A soft obsession advanced, from which a garnering of distractions had begun to fill the silos of his desires.

The dapper man would never fit into the dime-sized hole. He wouldn’t buy or borrow a jackhammer. He wouldn’t pry off a manhole cover. He wouldn’t crack a Department of Environmental Protection worker on the head, steal his uniform and descend into the dime-stuffed depths of New York City Tunnel No. 3 where his confrontation with those greedy, light-sensitive mole men would end badly for them.

He wouldn’t count the dimes on his kitchen table.

The dapper man flipped the penny with his thumb and watched it tumble beyond his reach.

Checking Out (& In): Hotel Oregon

2011-05-26T07:21:00.000-07:00

My latest journalistic triumph, a piece by which all other pieces on fun things to do in the summer will be judged. Published in the May 26, 2011 "101 Things To Do" special section published in Portland Tribune, et al.

Sure, we saw a UFO! McMinnville is rotten with them! Blot out the sun, sometimes, I was told (by the ghost of Heck Harper, at that)!

Nah, no UFOs (though, you know, I’m sure, that possibly the most famous photos of a UFO were taken over a farm near McMinnville in 1950; indeed, some consider the incident the dawn of modern UFO lore).

But like I said, we didn’t see any. McMinnville’s got enough to offer besides flying saucers. Like ghosts!

We spent the night at McMenamin’s Hotel Oregon (host of an annual UFO party, you know, because of the flying saucers I was just writing about). But in the 1980s, folks started observing supernatural incidents, like, uh, well, something like a spice jar of cinnamon winding up next to the onion powder when clearly it HAD been beside the cloves! I’m not a true skeptic (I’m sort of pessimistic about my skepticism), but I can’t help wondering which came first: John the Ghost or “Ghostbusters” (1984).

Nevertheless, we didn’t catch a glimpse of Ghost John either. The only ghost-like thing I saw was my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I wish a UFO WOULD arrive and bust a hole through the cloud cover! (I’ve petitioned the Oregon State Legislature to replace our current state song with the Walker Brothers’ “The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore.”)

The promise (who made any promises?) of seeing UFOs or ghosts are, at best, tertiary (nay quaternary!) reasons to visit the Hotel Oregon! First, I recommend booking room 406, the Sally Nicholai room!

Why 406? Because that’s where we stayed. 406 boasts a private bathroom (some other rooms require a shared bath) with a claw foot tub, hot shower, leaning toilet. Leaned about 10 degrees to the right (or left, depending on your juxtaposition). That’s not a complaint. It’s an old hotel and thus, charming. No TV either (whoops! just lost a few readers...), but do you really need that darn thing on all the time? Play a game. We played Farkle as we sipped our pints of Irish Stout, poured from the provided large mason jar (into the two provided pint glasses). We filled it upstairs at the Rooftop Bar.

The Rooftop Bar is named after Rutherford Rooftop, a furrier and statesman from Glens Falls, NY, who... oh, wait, my wife tells me that’s not at all why it’s called the Rooftop Bar. And it’s the Roof Top Bar. Two words. And I’m a moron.

But what a view of downtown McMinnville! “Oregon’s Favorite Main Street” boast the lamppost banners, and who am I to argue? 3rd Street, for instance, easily met our criteria for a desirable street: book store, coffee bistro, old fashioned ice cream shoppe. And apparently a record store, which I’m kicking myself for missing (I was in such a rush to get back to the Roof Top Bar!)

There’s a basement, too, you know. Containing the Cellar Bar. Door was locked, though (else we couldn’t figure out how to open it). And the walls of the hallways are plastered with art. And plaster. But the art really stands out (the only object that stands out farther than the art is the giant urinal in the men’s room outside the first floor elevator).

Anyway, my wife and I had a terrific time walking around town, dining at the hotel, and sleeping comfortably in the Sally Nicolai Room. Waking well-rested, we breakfasted downstairs (yeah, I’ll have the Biscuits & Gravy). Checked out at 11am and drove back to Portland.

As the day was remarkably sunny, we stopped in Lafayette to tread the delightfully creaky floors of School House Antiques. It’s such an endless maze of vintage-infused nooks that I swore I spied the Minotaur admiring a Bakelite cake slicer.

But if that’s not “your thing”, stop at the Evergreen Aviation & Space Museum to see Howard Hughes “Spruce Goose.” Or for actual fun, the Evergreen Wings & Waves Waterpark next door, opening June 6.

But mostly, stay the night in room 406, the Sally Nicolai, of the Hotel Oregon. And do me a favor -- check out that painting of her on the wall. Is she wearing a pink hat or is her brain exposed? Ah, McMinnville!

www.downtownmcminnville.com

www.thirdstreetbooks.com

www.serendipityicecream.com

www.ranch-records.com/locations/mcminnville

www.myantiquemall.com/lafayette.html

www.evergreenmuseum.org

www.facebook.com/EvergreenWaterpark

First Thing in the Morning 4.0

2011-05-19T07:05:00.000-07:00

The finale. The whimper.

Michael O'Shaughnessy's
First thing in the morning 4.0

4.10.02 “Magic time!” Jack Lemmon used to say. That’s what today is: Time to conjure all the news and ads and throw them at the alchemists in Production. Then patiently we wait for a new brew of sooth tomorrow. According to Mickey Mouse (and whatever that cheery rat says is gospel to me), Wednesday is “Anything Can Happen Day.” Anything? Like getting the paper out on time? I kid, I kid… Into the day…

4.11.02 A more distressing sight I’ve rarely seen: five co-workers trying to squeeze a broken copy machine through a narrow door. It was kind of like the Three Stooges directed by Brian DePalma. Suspenseful. Not really funny at all. Hannibal had an easier time crossing the Alps with his elephants (few of them survived the excursion; and as mentioned already, the copier was dead). Eventually, after the gasping sound of snapping plastic and caroming nuts and bolts, the old groaning duplicator was banished, sent rolling down the back hallway like a crucified missionary sent plummeting down a waterfall. Amen. Newspapers arrived this morning, as usual. A delightful read. Into the day…

4.12.02 Friday. King Friday. King Vitamin. Vitamin C. C-Moon. Moon River. River’s Edge. Edge of Night. Friday Night. I’m getting head of myself. It’s only Friday morning. Friday morning’s great when you have the day off. No such luck. What’s up for today? ONAC Ad Contest submissions due today. Luckily, we’ve been working on it for a solid hour…That’s it – I’m going home. Into the day…

4.15.02 Got over my cold. Like Nietzche says, “That which does not kill me is not trying hard enough.” Who will be out sick this week? It’s like working in the House of Usher (I think – is the house supposed to be alive in that story? That’s one of those pieces of trivia of which I’m only familiar with the halo of the truth). Anyways… Had a grand weekend. Bought an Ornette Coleman album, “The Complete Science Fiction Sessions” or, as I like to call it “The Tuesday Morning Retail Ad Meeting.” Will today be like a storm bringing a rainbow, or a cat dropping a mysterious wet corpse on our doormat? Just wipe your shoes before you come in. Into the day…

4.16.02 I cannot in recent memory recall such a forgettable day. I can’t even begin to describe the day; my mind is blank. The best I can do is relate what usually occurs on a Tuesday and assume the same occurred today. This maybe happened: a brawl in the lunchroom between Circulation and Classifieds, concluding with the toppling of the soda machine (sorry – “pop” machine); a brawl in the Morgue between Circulation and Classifieds, concluding with cracking of the helium canister (I wasn’t there, but a high-pitched description was recounted to me); and a brawl in the lunchroom again between Circulation and Classifieds (this time they took out the candy machine). The newspaper business is a vicious trade. Into the day…

First Thing in the Morning 3.0

2011-05-16T10:04:00.000-07:00

Week three: The fever reaches...then grips!

Michael O'Shaughnessy's
First thing in the morning 3.0

4.3.02 Tomorrow the first paper of April is published. April papers bring May…capers? I don’t know. Very tired. Up early to the airport, returning my aunt and cousin to New York. Everyone’s too polite out here, they observed. Yeah? Try asking me to input an ad before I’ve had my first goofball. Changed El Coqui’s water yesterday. He’s doing swimmingly, his diaphanous fins all burgundy and indigo, exploring the shadows of the waterplants with the mythical presence of social sea serpents. Ads turned into production in an acceptable manner and timeframe (relatively). I ditch pit at 4. Into the day…

4.4.02 The moon like a filmstrip on the sky this morning. Bagels for breakfast. The bagel joint’s been handing out sample packets of breath-freshening gum. I love a shtickel of chicle post-Super Onion scarf! Uy Gevalt! My Yiddish’s getting rusty. The Advertising Department, of which I am a spoke, are out conjuring, selling and building Special Focus pages, promoting common services or particular achievements. My suggestions (rejected) follow: I Dig a Pony – Area Pet Cemeteries; Saluting Local Gangs; Dining Out in Chicago. Into the day…

4.5.02 Laboring under the shadow of the mountains. Friday at last. But the newspaper business does not differentiate from days. There is only one day: Today. Friday is merely a mood of the Big Today. Hopefully, I’ll have a mood swing and find myself in the dewy cool of Saturday. Into the day…

4.8.02 …out of the weekend. Mary brought around the new intern. I can hear her explaining this joint to her friends tonight: “Well, it’s a little bit “Ninth Configuration’ but mostly it reminded me of a live-action Muppet Show.” The insanity here rolls like a low fog, but it is the madness that broods beneath the surface. Why publish at all? Why even read, never mind write, a newspaper? Why not continue north and west and live among the Caribou? Why not? Because the Caribou loathe you. Get back to work and stop pontificating. Into the day…

4.9.02 Feverish, delusional. Hypnotized by El Coqui. Back and forth he swims. Up and down he floats. The hum of the computer sounds more like the howl in a wind-whipped cavern. The fluorescent lights seem angry. All the ads have been input. No faxing, no e-mailing to be done. A respite from the whirlwind and a moment to enjoy. But instead the fever (99° at least!) has me in its grips! Go home, they say. What? Who said that?!? Ye gods! I haven’t approved the Uwajimaya ad yet! Into the day…

First Thing in the Morning 2.0

2011-05-11T08:07:00.000-07:00

The second week's worth. More of the same, but different. More of the same differentness.

Michael O'Shaughnessy's

First thing in the morning 2.0

3.6.02 Wednesday morning. Running around like little Billy from “Family Circus.” Throughout the office, life-size photocopies of my head are tacked up in cubicles. It’s not so unusual; somebody’s picture is usually posted here and there, usually manipulated by Photoshop or some other graphics program. Perhaps the rump of a donkey or the body of a baby. The “life-size” aspect is the unusual feature this time around. I feel like Mao. Perhaps a cult will arise from my visage. Apocalypse Soon! (I tend to procrastinate.) Listen to this: I needed to track down a Sales Rep, so I called her cell phone. She said she was at a Dunkin’ Donuts, so I says Great, get me a blueberry donut, but guess what? She wasn’t at the donut shop; she was at her desk, 40 feet from me! Boy, they had a great laugh. I could only see the tragedy of the situation: no blueberry donut! Into the day…

3.7.02 Unusually quiet and empty this morning. Even the regulars were missing. Icy roads were the culprit. Only Ralph and I were here. He regaled me with his chilly tale of being locked out of the building because of an unwedged door. His keys at his desk, and no one to let him in, he shuffled over to Burger King for a eggamuffin. 30 minutes later, another employee arrived to bring the poor soul in from the cold. So touched was I by Ralph’s ordeal, I retraced his footsteps 6 hours later. Neglecting my coat and scorning my gloves, I hiked down the back hallway, shivering as the first set of metal doors slammed behind me. Onward I tread, bursting through the last door before the hollow anger of winter. Snow! It’s snowing! Ralph didn’t tell me about snow! Did it snow on him? I can’t remember – already pre-vernal madness has sunk its icy thorns into my jittery psyche…Where am I? I trudged forward, hoping for any mammalian movement; even the chirp of a fallen sparrow would have offered me fleeting encouragement. But nothing…until…the front of the building faded in from the thinning blizzard. Civilization at last. I crawled the final few feet to the front lobby. Struggling to my feet, I brushed the wintry dust from my sweater and hobbled to my desk. What’s that old saying? You can’t know a man’s feet till you walk in his shoes? Today I walked in his shoes. No, his footprints. Well, near his footprints. Anyway, it was colder than a well digger’s rump out there! Into the day…

3.8.02 Addiction. It’s no joke. Except when it concerns Robert Downey, Jr. My addiction? Surprisingly, not a mood-altering drug. Far more sinister. It started simply enough. I had a few at first, hanging with some co-workers. No one was getting hurt, you know. Suddenly, I found myself doing it alone. A lot. Glue. Yep. Envelop glue. Licking 150-200 a day. I got real crazy, you know. Not even bothering to stuff them. I knew I was getting out of control when I started adding postage. Licking one stamp at a time. “For God’s sake, man,” an Associate pleaded, “we have a machine for that!” She was right. But my pride blocked my way. “I can handle it.” Yeah, right. A week later, they found me curled up in the supply room with a gross of Birds of America, mailing dust bunnies to Ecuador. Into the day…

3.11.02 I think it rained. I think it hailed. I think the sun came out. I’m not sure. I forgot to look out the window. Long day in the pit, sweating like Dan Haggerty, singing Spirituals: “Gonna go to Lake Oswego, gonna see Doc Pamplin…” When we look too weak, the managers splash cold coffee on us. The gesture is small, and highly insulting, but heartfelt, nonetheless. Into the day…

3.12.02 My Main Associate is out sick today. My workload quadrupled! It’s days like this when you realize how much you goof off the rest of the time. I have no time to do the following daily activities: feed the rats, do my Jack Parr imitation, fax passages from Revelations to Dr. Phil, make anagrams out of the obits, and Silly Putty the Police Log. These might seem useless, even frivolous, tasks. Well, don’t pat yourself on the back – it wouldn’t take water rocket manufacturer to figure that out. Anyway, I’ve got a paper to fractionally-assist putting out. Into the day…

First Thing in the Morning 1.0

2011-05-09T16:58:00.000-07:00

From May 27, 2002 to April 16, 2002, I wrote four week-long pieces describing my days working at the local paper (where I'm still employed). Most of it is fiction. But I won't say which. Each of the four pieces begin on Wednesdays, skip the weekends, and finish on Tuesdays. The papers go to press on Wednesdays, so that's how the timeline in my mind runs. I am aggrieved how little my job at the paper has changed over these last nine years. Anyway, as I say...

Michael R. O'Shaughnessy's
First thing in the morning 1.0

2.27.02 The building is barely empty except for the news department wrapping up the week’s assignments. The papers go to press today and will be warm and toasty at community homes by tomorrow morning. Opening your mailbox will just be like taking the towels out of the dryer, the soft steam of journalism and advertising warming your chilly uninformed hands. In the lunchroom, the Coffee-matic 3000 gurgles and drips into steel soldiers lined up and ready to wire the employees they’re sworn to caffeinate and defend. I’m at my desk, a soft green divider blocking the conquering sunlight squeezing through a TV-sized window which perfectly frames Mt. Hood. The whirr of the fax, the hush of the hard drive, I pick up the receiver of my silent phone. Its archaic design lacks any indicating message light, lacks any lights at all. My eyes fail me at this moment. Slowly (I can almost here the long high-end drag of a Hollywood violin), I arc the earpiece to my ear, barely stirring the fuzz of my lobe, and listen for that awful, awful beep beep beep…P.G.! No message! Into the day…

2.28.02 A minor buzz through the Pit this morning. The Pit is the cavernous lower level of cubicles containing the Retail Advertising, Production and News departments. Overlooked by the upper offices of management, we sweat and slave on a Dickensian scale, with only our passion for public service to sustain us. From above, the scene below more closely resembles Houston’s Mission Control or the essential set of “Wargames.” As the Traffic Coordinator (a term as farcical as the Pit), I receive and disseminate incoming e-mails and ads for the Advertising Sales Representatives. So I’m printing out the morning e-mail only to recoil in horror at the absence of the printouts at the printer. After much high-pitched bewilderment and dockside swearing, I am relieved when my Associate alerts me the printer is not on and clicks the switch, revealing my hollering to be the impotent whining of an impatient buffoon. The printer spits out the emails. The newspapers were delivered early this morning to our building, standard for the Thursday dawn. First I brew some coffee, heat up a cup of tea for myself and pay the snack machine to drop me a Blackberry Fruit Pie, and flip to the Police Log for the latest surreal adventures of our local malefactors. Into the day…

3.1.02 Friday morning, the best morning. Well, not as good as Saturday morning, what with the cartoons and all. At 7:08, the office is especially vacant, except for my Associate who arrived even before I did. The relative silence is often infinitely more entertaining than the blather of the crowd. Not that an interesting crowd doesn’t work here. After all, we microcosmic documentarians feed an otherwise unfed organ of the community. Anyway, there’s a birthday today! Cake and pie has been brought in. Helium-rich balloons turn slowly over the recipient’s desk, a safe distance from the high-ceilinged fluorescents that waste no time bursting unwelcome flying objects. A grand affair indeed, the office birthday party. Does anyone care about your birthday? Probably not, but no one’s saying. It’s like that joke Woody Allen tells at the end of “Annie Hall” about the guy who sees a psychiatrist because his brother thinks he is a chicken. ‘Why don’t you bring him in for treatment?” the psychiatrist asks. “I would, but we need the eggs.” They need the cake. Into the day…

3.4.02 The weekend has set like the sun behind the bulk of Mt. Hood while over its peak Monday has arisen. Processing the e-mails and listening to a Laura Nyro collection. A little Bronx soul in the a.m. serves me well. The morning begins with ad-related problems, insignificant in the scope of human existence, but still a sugarless hassle to me. I hear the crescendos of panic in the opposite cubicle. They quickly die down. These uprisings occur all day long. Such is the nature of the newspaper business (such is the nature of business). Into the day…

3.5.02 A moldy mug of coffee pathetically slumps on my desk. Spores swirl around the dusty surface of the drink like the swamp on Dagobah. The hags of Macbeth shove each other aside for a glorious glimpse. Truly awful. But it happens. Sometimes you get three or four cups going at a time. One always gets lost in the shuffle. But this cup isn’t mine. I’ve never let my beverages go unattended that long. I mean, this coffee was old – even the mold had mold. The mug was placed on my desk for comic effect by an Associate. Is food poisoning funny? Into the day…

Another week in the work-life of an Advertising Assistant rolls to a stop. We’ve learned a lot about ourselves, haven’t we? Well, we learned about something, right? ‘Member when I talked about cake? That was great.

Notes on Nothing 17.0: Simultaneous Selections

2011-04-19T19:16:00.000-07:00

Listening to "A Field Guide to Western Bird Songs."
Reading "The Collected Poetry of Jack Spicer."
Eating a fried Taylor ham sandwich.

Notes on Nothing 16.0: Morning Gets Broken

2011-04-19T11:41:00.000-07:00

I get to the office before most of the co-workers. The atmosphere exudes an almost peacefulness. Especially on these rare sunburst mornings. Driving to work, we saw the rays pierce the cloud cover like a golden tripod. Soon the overcast was over.

The hum of the fluorescent lights and the whirr of the hard drives persist, but there is a clip of silence soon to be spliced with inane chatter once 8:30 rolls around.

Ten years ago I joined the retail advertising staff at the paper (or rather, papers -- we're a "media group").

Ten years has obversely built up and destroyed my tolerance for coworkers. Outside of work, my frustration instantly dissipates, as if Work is Wonka's dark tunnel (my soul as "Le Wonkatania") where "the rowers keep on rowing" until 4:00 when the clock yells "Stop!"

I don't want to call the thing that disturbs me "stupidity", but rather an inability to commit to even the edge of logic.

To be asked about the sun by the shadow or asked about the shadow by the sun are queries I endeavor to entertain.

But, no, I get this:

Me: Is this ad running in color or black & white -- you didn't mark the insertion order.

Sales Rep: Uh, I don't know...is it?

I'm out!

Notes on Nothing 15.0: Egghead Likes His Booky-Books

2011-04-17T21:18:00.000-07:00

I'm reading a book as thick as my thumb is long. That's a big deal for me. My attention span has been limited since I discovered television when I was one. Sure, I read a lot, but I prefer thin volumes, short chapters. This omnibus, Rudy Rukker's "Ware Tetralogy", offers short chapters, just lots of 'em.

The joke, containing more than a kernel -- let's say a vat -- of truth, is that I'm a book collector, as opposed to being a "reader"; a small-time hoarder (our place is never buried in books -- indeed, I shelve them all! Oh, wouldst that I possessed a high-ceiling-ed library with 10, 15, nay 20 foot bookshelves!

Ye Olde O'Shaughnessy Librarie

That said, concerning unshelved books, a book store so overstocked with used books that the floors are stacked with paperbacks are my favorite book stores! Good god! Anything could be in there!

Case in point: Longfellows Bookstore on SE Division. I'd never been there before this weekend. I said as much to the owner. "Well, " said he, "this is our 35th year."

[Embarassed trumpet]

I spent an hour in there, emerged with a Bruce Jay Friedman two-fer: "Stern/A Mother's Kisses"; and Nat Hentoff's "Jazz is." Coulda bought more, coulda spent more. But where to put 'em?

The O'Shaughnessy Public Library Basement Annex

Gotta go. TV's on.

Notes on Nothing 14.0: Flung

2011-04-15T11:11:00.000-07:00

A blog, as I have seen it, serves, for the most part, as a modern-day message-in-a-bottle. Flung to the waves of information, crashing on the shores of society.

Or forever floating in cyberspace, a voice disembodied, beyond context.

Or fated to distant discovery.

From extinct antennae to future receiver.

Dead space scrolls.

Lanternfish works.

Notes on Nothing 13.0: Burrell/Guitar

2011-04-14T21:54:00.000-07:00

Downstairs listening to "Downstairs." Kenny Burrell/Guitar Forms, arranged by Gil Evans, produced by Creed Taylor, engineered by Rudy Van Gelder. $2 at Crossroads Music. One of those dynamite Verve gatefolds. You know what I mean. $2 and not a skip!

White smoke.
Chapel & shrine.

They're gonna play a blues.

We could sit and cry all day
in Englewood Cliffs.
We could sit in there all night.

I would climb the walls, I think,
like a spider swinging to the moon.

Hancock of Behlehem
Jefferson of Jazz
Men & Women

in Heaven

on Earth.

Notes on Nothing 12.0 (The Return of...)

2011-04-13T20:56:00.000-07:00

Today I walked to the library. I've walked back from the library before (having been dropped off at the library previous times). But today I walked to and fro(m) the library. I love the library. I always vote for any levy to support the library. Any library. Every library! Goddamn, it's amazing! Thank you, Benjamin Franklin (who certainly did NOT invent the library, but, I don't know, has something to do with libraries in America [I could google it, but I don't feel like it]).

Back on Long Island, I spent many, many hours at the Library. The Plainview-Old Bethpage Public Library on Old Country Road! Ah, I discovered "The Mothman Prophecies" and Philip K. Dick there. I took out all those Film Worlds by John Willis as well. The library is an important ingredient in the O'Shaughnessy recipe.

Music, movies...oh, and books! Today I checked out the Burt Bacharach Collection, Cartoons Songs from Merrie Melodies & Looney Tunes, and Destroyer's new album, Kaputt (had that one on hold).

And a coupla books.

Why would you care what I took out from the library? Don't know why, but you might.

The Library: America's Greatest Thing!

Interview #1: 34 Odd Things About Me

2011-03-27T14:32:00.000-07:00

In the fall of 2009, I was interviewed by the Internets.

Have you ever smoked?

Just a Sherlock Holmes pipe, and only when I was a baby

Do you own a gun?

I have a tank, which is a gun on wheels, so yes.

What flavor of Kool-Aid was your favorite?

Coffee

Do you get nervous before doctor appointments?

No, but I got nervous when I heard they were canceling “St. Elsewhere”

What do you think of hot dogs?

I’m not impressed – they think they’re so hot!

Favorite Holiday Movie?

“A Tree Grows in Brooklyn ” – Arbor Day is my favorite holiday.

Favorite thing to drink in the morning?

Warm toothpaste.

What's your favorite piece of jewelry?

Little Orphan Annie Decoder Ring

Do you have A.D.D?

Advanced Dungeons & Dragons? No.

What trait do you hate about yourself?

I guess that I’m a prefectionist.

Name 3 thoughts this exact moment:

Bananas are fun. I can’t add numbers in the mirror. Yawn, yawn!

What do you read in the bathroom?

Trilogies.

Current worry?

Time stopping at 3:08 and I’m stuck at work.

Favorite place to be?

On the moon. In all that fresh water.

How did you bring in the New Year?

On a little red wagon.

Where would you like to go?

Bed

What color shirt are you wearing?

Yellow. I look like a lemon.

Do you like sleeping on satin sheets?

That depends who sat on them.

Can you whistle?

Only at work.

Favorite color?

Satin

Would you be a pirate?

Aye, and would ye?

What songs do you sing in the shower?

Anything from the Joe Raposo songbook.

Favorite girl's name?

Jocinda

Favorite boy's name?

Caligula

What's in your pocket right now?

Sunshine

Last thing that made you laugh?

A wedding picture of 2 guys I work with.

What vehicle do you drive?

Aforementioned tank

Worst injury you've ever had?

Hockey stick head injury. The blood!

What is the best memory as a child?

Sitting on Gepetto’s knee.

Do you have any pets?

Those cats!

Does someone have a crush on you?

I should think so!

Your favorite books?

Presently, City Life by Donald Barthelme

Favorite sports team?

None.

What song do you want played at your funeral?

The theme from “Taxi”

The interview never appeared.

Jake the Foul-Mouthed Fox: The Casualness of War

2011-02-25T08:42:00.000-08:00

Jake the Foul-Mouthed Fox: Celts Get Dealt

2011-02-25T08:37:00.000-08:00

Jake the Foul-Mouthed Fox: Show Us Yr Liberty

2011-02-24T10:18:00.000-08:00

From the Aphorism Smeltery #3

2010-12-03T17:46:00.000-08:00

"A writer who isn't questioning is answering -- and what the hell does he know?"

From the Archives: Cup of the Kings Poster

2010-10-11T18:07:00.000-07:00

Cup of the Kings was the working title for the film The Unearthing of the Grail. Which remains unearthed. And unproduced. I think, maybe, there's some footage. TUOTG was Homemade Productions follow-up to their hit 8mm, Oyster. Not a Raiders of the Lost Ark rip-off, Jeff & Paul, helmsmen, were using Lucas' characters. So it was a sequel, or maybe prequel. Anyway, it never came together. And I doubt I ever even showed the producers my poster. Actually, I probably did, as I was a glutton for punishment in those days. What days? 1982, I guess? '83? Help me out here. The aborted filming did yield a few photos, including the one below.

It was cold as shit, at least to a twerp like me. I think we scouted out this location near Bobby's, somewhere off Washington Ave. Who can remember, right?

Gary Cleanberg: A Return to the Master Tapes

2010-09-13T19:43:00.000-07:00

Earlier today I re-read Qner's highly-articulate recounting of the Gary Cleanberg sessions, which produced the educational CD/Workbook for food service vocational trainees known as Gary's Guided Tours Volume 1: Food Service Safety & Hygiene. Although Dave, the founder of Mind & Pen Imagination Industries, only sold one copy, the project quickly rose to cult status among the handful of friends who got to listen to it. My brother & I provided the music. With due respect to all who worked on the CD, it's freaking nuts. And I can't get enough of it. So here are a few tracks from this legendary audio monstrosity straight outta Piedmont, NY in 1999.

Hand Washing Part 2
Changing Gloves Part 2
Prof. Plympton (Excerpt)
Reformation of Henrietta

From the Aphorism Smeltery #2

2010-08-13T21:02:00.001-07:00

"Jazz is the only sound in the world."

From the Aphorism Smeltery #1

2010-07-14T13:57:00.000-07:00

"Love saves the artist, but kills the art."

A Joke 1.0

2010-07-12T19:28:00.000-07:00

Adam: We had a schizophrenic cat.

Me: It had 18 lives?

Fishwork Scavenging 1.0

2010-07-12T19:12:00.000-07:00

Cataloging some jottings scattered over the dozens of notebooks...

09.15.08

In a dream, I encounter God. He says, "I am not God." Great. So what am I supposed to say?

"Oh, don't say that? Of course you're God... you're GOD!"

But he wasn't angling for a compliment or reassurance. He was quite matter-of-fact.

"I'm not God."

He lit a cigarette, threw the match down. It was still hot when it landed on his sneaker and melted the tip.

"Oh, great!" he bellowed in frustration. (He said he wasn't God but he was a very big fellow.)

He got on his Huffy and left.

Thongs for Nothing

2010-07-12T18:30:00.000-07:00

I'm thinking about writing a play about Alexander Trocchi:

Narrator: He pimped his wife.
Trocchi: Well, I did other things, too!

The Resurfacing of the Lantern Fishworks

2010-06-12T08:15:00.000-07:00

Where did I go? Nowhere really. It's the Internets -- it is seemingly eternal.

The Internets spreads you thin though, doesn't it? I Facebook, Twitter, Blip, Blog; I've got multiple email accounts; I mess around with the phone apps... And that's a full day. It's hard to maintain one voice in one place. It's improbable I ever will again. Still, I hope to give more attention to the Fishworks again. It is, after all, an outlet for my writings. And since I tell everyone, through my teeth, I'm a writer, I might as well back up that semi-falsehood a bit.

So check back and check back often (not too often!!!). And don't forget to visit my Facebook, Twitter, Blip and various other websites and blogs!

Get bored outta yr skull...and beyond!

"The Ozone Slayer": Excerpt from "The Heir in Exile Never Returns", a Work in Progress

2010-05-03T18:30:00.000-07:00

When I was very young and lived in Queens, our neighbor across the street shot his wife and his mother. Ultimately, he turned the gun on himself. The wife survived, but he and his mother died. It wasn’t his mother-in-law but his mother; she joined her daughter-in-law in an escalating argument with her son. Eleven minutes and eleven seconds later, she joined an exclusive group whose membership in two minutes and twenty-seven seconds would include her son: the dead. Man Kills Mother, Self During Assault On Wife.

The blood in our house rose from scraped knees and shaved chins. A week never produced enough to fill a thimble. People use phrases like “buckets of blood.” At the crime scene across the street, it looked like someone kicked the bucket over, refilled it, and heaved it against the wall oven. There was nothing in the oven.

Chances are I was at my dining room table rolling out clay snakes and curling up their green-grey bodies into braided rugs or diving for our wild puppy in the dry backyard and brushing the dead grass off my plaid Tough Skins as the neighbor across the street attempted to murder his wife. Three gunshots broke the dome of that mid-autumn morning silence, but my ears only heard my rustling on the lawn and Sandy yapping. Sandy was our Labrador retriever, named after the color of her coat. If I were naming dogs back in 1973, I’d have called her "Dry Grass On A Mid-Autumn Morning". It’s not the best name for a dog, but it’s better than "Murder Suicide Five Hundred Feet Away". Which is not good no matter how many feet away it happens.

I don’t remember the couple across the street or the slain grandmother of their two kids, although I’m told I occasionally played with the brothers. Certainly, I don’t recall the last time we rolled Tonka trucks on my front walk, but I’ll timestamp this unmemory November 12, 1973, five days before the shooting. My lack of awareness denied that event the title of “My First Encounter With Death.” The neighbors’ boys weren’t lucky enough to own a wild puppy that yapped at small clay hands and drowned out the sounds of gunshots and crying.

There’s no telling why some of us are left alone and others of us never lose anyone but ourselves.

Unpossessed Knowledge

2010-05-03T17:53:00.000-07:00

The allure of belonging seems to be in the acquisition of unpossessed knowledge. Secret knowledge. Once knowledge is attained, interest in the group may wane. But by then, we often find ourselves too deeply embroidered into the association’s pattern.

The River Don't Think, So It Don't Think Twice

2010-04-18T16:42:00.000-07:00

Do I need coffee? 4:30 on a Sunday afternoon. I've had a bad writer's itch all week and just can't scratch it. It's not writer's block where you can't put down what's stuck inside. It's an itch to write with nothing to write about. I find it difficult to articulate so far (so I guess I've got a bit of a writer's block about my writer's itch).

In the Listening Room: Meet the Beatles

2010-02-25T20:27:00.000-08:00

Side 1

#1 - Yeah, I wanna hold your hand! Like a revelation! Demur, proper; then, an ecstasy in discovery! I want to hold your hand! Masks are dropped: I can’t hide! The bass is a throbbing swamp. I do!

#2 - For the first time, I hear this song as cocky, instead of love-struck. The sound is so lo-fi; basement drums, railcar guitars.

#3 - If this was the only song they were known for, they’d have fallen in place with the Fleetwoods and Del Vikings.

#4 - Out of the daydream: crack amateurs blast daylight black. Thunder in a funnel; cascading vocals. Made it home by 3!

#5 - Soul song. Purveyor of zombie sound? Humming, “Rockin’ Robin” style.

#6 - One for the fan club! Brown shoulders, brown shadows, but no taming the joy in the treble! The coda takes off down the river.

Side 2

#1 - The best song on the album, but if this was the hit, they’d have been a different band.

#2 - Light stuff, but fun. A little boogie-woogie thrown into the beat to vex monsignors.

#3 - A necessary aspect of the Beatles success – this sound, this imagery only McCartney can deliver. Why so important? I think it was a tether securing the Beatles in a certain subset of music. The donkey walked us up here. He had a hat.

#4 - Is this even the Beatles? Sounds like a really old session; it sounds like they’re in a tunnel. McCartney sounds like he’s singing for his life; not great desperation in his voice, but a fear.

#5 - A Side 2, Track 5 song if I ever heard one. They tussle during the solo. Ringo is falling across his drums.

#6 - The piano solo is amazingly deliberate, but beautiful. Both the engineering and performance lend that phrase passion. And it ends. Just like that. The song, the album. Sorry, have we met?

In the Listening Room: Leon Russell's Carney

2010-02-25T20:17:00.000-08:00

1972: When you were smaller, you painted numbers on the curbs; difficult formulas with homemade stencils. On foggy mornings, the wolves left the safety of the forests to solve your curious equations. The garbage men and the paperboy never saw them (never knew they’d been there). And they never saw you: they never read the curbs. The sun burned off the haze and found them creeping out of the morning, the driver with a needle in his vein, the paperboy drunk on masquerade gin. This panorama is a hint of the carnival that stalks the American countryside. You grow up, have trouble with numbers, forget how to hold a paintbrush. In kindergarten, you are re-educated, but your teachers do not have a fucking clue. God love them, it just doesn’t seem right. Then outside the classroom window, you see the wolves. One has a fiddle in his teeth.

2009: 3 in the morning, you awake with a start. No sound. You rustle in your sheets, reaching for your glasses, sitting up, leaning forward towards the bedroom window. No sound. But you heard something outside of your dream. You delicately slip out of bed; you do not want to wake her up. You separate the blinds, seeking a source of no sound. It fades and you hear a circus, certainly, but it’s only a low whine. The moon’s full, the lawn glows silver. The Man is in the Moon. His face is singing. Ice crystal notes spin around his equator. He keens like a calliope; he wails like a Wurlitzer. Christ, he’s a ghost! The biggest ghost in the night sky, and he’s singing, and he sounds like a circus – a glowering, cheerful, mad, comforting circus! The sound lifts you off your feet, moves you, pulls back the covers, and tucks you in bed. You won’t sleep for the rest of the night. You’re a groove in his record. You forget what a circus is: are there witches? Where would I see a circus? a swamp? yes, a swamp! no, the driveway! In the center ring, the Manhattan Swamp Witch eats a tightrope like it was licorice. The Moon is so impressed, he descends. The noise is incredible. The river evaporates and the fish fly into outer space, swallowing the stars until you are in a total darkness only broken by the fading glow of the moon. It dims softly, the music shuts softly. At 6 in the morning, the rooster crows – he sounds like an iceberg on hot asphalt.

The Classic Holiday Letter from Aunt Helene (1996)

2009-12-20T14:06:00.000-08:00

My best guess is this letter is from 1996. "Aunt Helene" (also known as PSaur) authored this delightful missive on the exploits of her family. Sadly, I suspect by now Nana Lilibeth has left this mortail coil.

Halloween Everyday 31.0: "Thriller" by Michael Jackson

2009-10-31T08:50:00.000-07:00

So let's wrap up this Halloween Everyday project with this guy's monster song!

Halloween Everyday 30.0: "I Scare Myself" by Thomas Dolby

2009-10-30T08:53:00.000-07:00

Thomas Dolby performing the Dan Hicks song, live on the Tube. From Dolby's BRILLIANT album "The Flat Earth."

Halloween Everyday 29.0: "Twilight Zone" by Golden Earring

2009-10-30T08:49:00.000-07:00

I still think Gigantelope does a better version.

Halloween Everyday 28.0: "Theme from 'Mad Monster Party'" by Ethel Ennis

2009-10-28T17:57:00.000-07:00

Rudolph's creepy cousins, Rankin/Bass' "Mad Monster Party", a Halloween treat for you!

Halloween Everyday 27.0: "Rain on the Scarecrow" by John Cougar Mellencamp

2009-10-27T19:13:00.000-07:00

This one's for Jimmy B!

Halloween Everyday 26.0: "Halloween Parade" by Lou Reed

2009-10-27T07:33:00.000-07:00

Live version (with Laurie Anderson) of the track from Lou Reed's "New York" album.

Halloween Everyday 25.0: "King Kong" by Tom Waits

2009-10-26T07:33:00.000-07:00

Sure, the original by Daniel Johnston is better ("Who killed the monkey?"), but Waits knows how to pick a cover. Plus I like to watch the King Kong footage.

Halloween Everyday 24.0: "Ghost in You" by the Psychadelic Furs

2009-10-26T07:31:00.001-07:00

Yeah, three in one day. I took the weekend off.

I still have this single. Great song -- Counting Crows' version? Snore...

Halloween Everyday 23.0: "Laminated Cat" by WIlco

2009-10-23T14:47:00.000-07:00

"Candy left over from Halloween." Thanks for the suggestion, Threeball!

Halloween Everyday 22.0: "Bambi Meets Godzilla"

2009-10-22T05:52:00.000-07:00

Is it really the Halloween season without a viewing of this classic?

Halloween Everyday 21.0: "Haunted Mansion Explained" by Walt Disney

2009-10-22T05:45:00.000-07:00

Watch Uncle Walt give an "Imagineering" tour of Disney's Haunted Mansion to an equestrian.

(Yeah, I forgot to post this yesterday, but so what?)

Halloween Everyday 20.0: "Walking with a Ghost" by Tegan & Sara

2009-10-20T20:17:00.000-07:00

Last Halloween I sang this song too often, almost like a nervous tick, and it drove my wife insane.

Halloween Everyday 19.0: "The Cat" by Jimmy Smith

2009-10-19T18:39:00.000-07:00

Look at that Halloween cat on the album cover! Also, great album, with music conducted by Lalo Schifrin!

Halloween Everyday 18.0: "Ghostbusters" by Ray Parker Jr.

2009-10-18T18:27:00.001-07:00

I didn't put much thought into this one. But I will say that when this movie came out, I thought it was the coolest thing ever!

Halloween Everyday 17.0: "Spirits in the Material World" by the Police

2009-10-17T13:29:00.000-07:00

Halloween Everyday 16.0: "Spooky" by Mike Sharpe

2009-10-16T16:54:00.000-07:00

Not the classic, uh, Classics IV version, but rather the original instrumental version, which I'd never heard til now. It's moody. Oh, and spooky!

Halloween Everyday 15.0: "I'm Afraid of Americans" by David Bowie

2009-10-15T13:12:00.000-07:00

Yikes! Americans! David "Scary Monsters" Bowie offers today's eerie gem!

Halloween Everyday 14.0: "See You in Hell" by Grim Reaper

2009-10-14T07:57:00.001-07:00

Who couldn't love a chubby metal singer? Nothing about this song does not rock in a most awesome fashion!

Thanks to Andy B. for reintroducing me to this classic a few years back!

Halloween Everyday 13.0: "Shocker in Gloomtown" by the Breeders

2009-10-13T09:43:00.001-07:00

The only place I've ever wished I could've been. In the garage with the Breeders while Guided by Voices hung around outside.

The Breeders covering GbV (from the Breeders' 7" "Head to Toe; and GbV's "Grand Hour" ep). Get them both!

Halloween Everyday 12.0: "Turkish Song of the Damned" by the Pogues

2009-10-12T08:58:00.000-07:00

When Shane sings "I come, old friend, from hell tonight", you better believe it!

My brother saw them last night at Roseland and says they were feckin' great!

Halloween Everyday 11.0: "Hell" by Squirrel Nut Zippers

2009-10-11T10:30:00.000-07:00

I love big bands. And hell. So big bands singing about hell -- that's swell! A big Carolina band when I was living down South!

Hallowee Everyday 10.0: "Sober" by Tool

2009-10-10T13:08:00.000-07:00

Get creeped! Thanks for the suggestion, Jackie. Oh, and for the nightmares!

Time to get out the Brothers Quay bedsheets!

Halloween Everyday 9.0" "Moon Man" by The Original Moon Men

2009-10-09T08:57:00.000-07:00

For today's song, I wanted to tie in with NASA's rocket-crash-into-the-moon project, so I just typed in "moon man" into You Tube, and ended up with this. What's interesting, besides its sounding like an early GBV song, is that the guys in this band (circa mid-60's) are from Plainview, NY, having met at a school there I'd never heard of: Fern Place Elementary School. Might've been closed before I started going to school. Maybe it turned into Park Place or Pasadena. It's 9 in the morning -- I haven't done any deep searching yet. Anyway, the only other mention of that school on the web refers to a collection of letters from authors to students housed at C.W. Post.

The song's about flying saucers and moon men, etc. Perfectly appropriate for the Halloween Everyday Project. Enjoy!

Halloween Everyday 8.0: "Rock & Roll Halloween" by Bobby Bare, Jr.

2009-10-08T06:47:00.000-07:00

Stumbled across this one, but it was no grave error! Great Halloween song! Destined to become a holiday favorite!

Halloween Everyday 7.0: "Underground" by Tom Waits

2009-10-07T08:43:00.000-07:00

The first cut of Swordfishtrombones, my first and favorite Waits album. Possibly the most important music of my terribly awkward and insular teenage years. Not so much a balloon that lifted me from the neighborhood-at-large, but rather a freight elevator that pulled me deep into the guts of the imaginary world (where so much of the real world is revealed).

Oh, and as ever, a creepy song. See those bones dancing in the tunnels?

Halloween Everyday 6.0: "Goolie Get-Together" by the Groovie Goolies

2009-10-06T08:16:00.000-07:00

Oh, lovable cadavers! It's the theme from the "Groovie Goolies" cartoon, a spin-off of "Sabrina the Teenage Witch" (itself a spin-off of "The Archies"). Sounds like it was sung by, well, The Archies!

A Saturday morning favorite in the 70s and 80s. You could sit in front of the TV watching the Goolies while slurping down a bowl of Booberries! A spooktacular way to start the weekend!

Halloween Everyday 5.0: "Werewolves of London" by Warren Zevon

2009-10-05T10:53:00.000-07:00

What am I gonna do? NOT include this song? Quick -- sing me a better lyric than "He's the hairy-handed gent who ran amuk in Kent."

Times up! Werewolves of London again...

Erin & I watched "American Werewolf in London" the other night. Still great. Not a rainy day goes by that I don't quote it. And the nightmare sequences are still intense.

What's Landis been up to lately?

Halloween Everyday 4.0: "I Want a Monster to Be My Friend" by Betty Lou

2009-10-04T13:09:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite Sesame Street songs (and, oh, I've quite a few...) Nothing'll beat Raposo's "Somebody Come & Play" for the sweetest satisfaction. But who doesn't love monsters? You don't? Weirdo.

Halloween Everyday 3.0: "Boris the Spider" by the Who

2009-10-03T15:18:00.000-07:00

Special request from Psaur, it's "Boris the Spider", Entwhistle's shining vocal moment! "Creepy creepy crawley crawley..."

Halloween Everyday 2.0: "Night of the Vampire" by Roky Erickson

2009-10-02T08:36:00.000-07:00

The reigning king of ghoul rock! "On St. Swithin's Day, he was born." I love this acoustic clip. If David Lynch had directed an episode of "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood" I suspect this would be the result.

DOUBLE FEATURE!

Another "Night of the Vampire", this time a creepy instrumental by the Joe Meek-produced Moontrekkers. No Halloween party should be without it!

Halloween Everyday 1.0: "Peek A Boo" by Devo

2009-10-01T07:34:00.000-07:00

Today begins my "Halloween Everyday" project, whereby i intend on posting a spooky song every day this month. It won't last; I'll crap out in a day or two. Or maybe I'll stick with it. Named after a Frustrations song, the "Halloween Everyday" project begins with this live gem (Warner Music Group blocked the actual video from YouTube) by Devo.

Is Devo the greatest band ever? I'm beginning to think so!

Perfect Day - Reed & Costello

2009-07-23T18:08:00.000-07:00

Brothers, I know these are the moments in music we love...

Music Hitting You Hard

2009-06-30T09:38:00.000-07:00

20 years ago today, "Do the Right Thing" was released in theaters. It was 1989 (a number)! Public Enemy dropped the needle on "Fight the Power" and people went out they goddamned minds! I know I did. Still do!

Southern Nights by Allen Toussaint

2009-06-24T15:02:00.000-07:00

I've been listening to Glen Campbell's popular version of this summer favorite. After hearing Toussaint sing it, I don't know if I can listen to Campbell's interpretation again. Ah, who am I kidding? The song is inherently great!

Toussaint wrote the song; it's featured on his 1975 album Southern Nights.

The User's Guide to the Alpaca

2009-06-11T11:16:00.000-07:00

The alpaca, or Alpaca, in the proper, is larger than a hen but not so tall as a horse, unless we're talking about a small horse, not a pony, but just a smaller horse, because it is younger or has been bred to grow no higher than, say, an alpaca. In such a case, the alpaca is taller than a horse, but no way is it to be mistaken for a giraffe, despite the long neck and unlaced sneakers (this has been determined to not be a fashion statement, but rather the result of both animals being characterized as even-toed ungulates, a condition which leaves you fucked it you want to open a jar of peanut butter, or lace up one's shoes).

Crayon Angels - Fleet Foxes

2009-06-04T06:57:00.000-07:00

Great song written by a great writer (Judee Sill) performed by a great band. There you go.

Oh No Not My Baby - Carole King

2009-05-14T09:40:00.000-07:00

I've never heard a song perfect at such a perfect and fitting pace. Carole King wrote this, with Jerry Goffin, I think. I still prefer Maxine Brown's recorded version, but something about this performance is low-key startling.

"The Dresses Song" by Lisa Germano

2009-04-29T19:58:00.000-07:00

Lisa Germano played fiddle on "The Lonesome Jubilee" by John Mellencamp. That's why I bought her second LP "Happiness" (during the brief phase when I bought a bunch of cassettes (including Juliana Hatfield and PJ Harvey). I know I put "The Dresses Song" on a mixed tape, and it was one of the memorable hits of the Calabash days.

Apparently, this second album was released by both Capitol and 4AD, and each version had different remixes. I don't know which version I had, but I'm not familiar with the one above. However, it's the superior video (indeed the video below is just a still shot). But that's the better recording. More ominous, which I felt lent the song its alluring strength.

Enjoy them both. Then go listen to "Paper in Fire."

Laura Nyro: Gonna Take a Miracle

2009-04-16T18:48:00.001-07:00

Laura Nyro: Gonna Take a Miracle, originally uploaded by Stepale.

My favorite album cover. Look at that face. The woman was a genius. When I'm not listening to Laura Nyro every day (as I have been recently), I'm at least listening once a week. She's my favorite early Thursday morning music, hovering over the wet ink of the day's papers, sipping a warm coffee from home.

The image was taken by Stephen Paley, of whom I admittedly know very little, but that's only because of my recent discovery of his work. Shane MacGowan mentions this cover in his autobiography, which somehow gave a curious depth to the music of the Pogues.

And in this case, you can indeed judge an album by its cover. I can hear that look on her face in the music. Speaking of covers, this album, "Gonna Take a Miracle" (with backing vocals by Labelle) is a cover album of old soul and Motown tunes.

An essential album, unless you're crazy like Mackey and don't like the sound of her voice (is that because Marilyn McCoo sang so many Nyro songs with the 5th Dimension?).

Do It Yourself -The Story of Rough Trade

2009-04-09T09:14:00.000-07:00

If you have 80+ minutes, watch this. The story of Rough Trade, the label, the icon.

Happy Monkey Day!

2009-04-07T07:25:00.000-07:00

Today is the 14th Anniversary of Monkey Day! Celebrate as you will. This is an editorial from legendary lit zine Report to Hell ("where the worm dieth not and the fires are not quenched") helmed by PSaur and myself back in the mid-90's. Why Monkey Day? I don't remember, except we loved monkeys, even named our dog Monkey. Why April 7? Why, it's Jeff's birthday! Oh, so Happy 40th, Jeff!

Look Who's 40!

2009-03-23T12:29:00.001-07:00

Happy birthday, you old bastard!

For Nana

2009-03-16T09:03:00.000-07:00

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?"

2009-03-13T19:46:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-10T21:08:00.001-07:00

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

2009-03-10T13:22:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-03-03T21:04:00.000-08:00

...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...

Anchorage by Michelle Shocked

2009-02-24T14:03:00.000-08:00

Hey, I'm back! With something enlightening to say? No, just a video. I forgot about this song until today (and now I've forgotten why I remembered it -- something on the internets, certainly...)

Strangely, this song never occurred to me during the last election. Just listen.

Raging Eyes by Nick Lowe

2009-02-20T06:57:00.001-08:00

If for One Certain Moment in History I Was God in the Judeo-Christian System 1.0

2009-02-11T13:00:00.000-08:00

This was rejected by the Long island Catholic.

Irene and I were discussing siblings vs. friends, or something, and I said Jesus didn’t have any family.

Irene: What about Mary & Joseph? Or God – the ultimate father! You know, He so loved the world, He had His Son die on the cross to show us.

Me: Yeah, thanks, Pop! Listen, sure, that was good, but if I were God, I would have sent a musical card.

I: What?

M: Like, here’s how much I love you, and mail everyone a musical card, maybe with the Theme from Love Story playing.

I: Love is never having to say you’re sorry.

M: Exactly. This is two thousand years ago – you get a card like that and, number one, you don’t know that song, even the structure is unfamiliar; and 2, where’s the music coming from? Everyone’s standing around like, what’s going on?

What is that, a chip? maybe someone asks.

No, jumps in an apothecarist, it’s a miracle is what it is! See how good the Lord is!

Jesus, have you seen what the Lord has given us?

Jesus says, I like it, wiping his brow.

Years later, he opens up a Saturn dealership.

Hatch

2009-01-27T08:40:00.000-08:00

This is what I love so much about Sesame Street. These short films. Nothing has televisually left such an impression on me1 Look at this one: 55 seconds of a chick hatching. The music is terrific!

The Inauguration of Barack Obama

2009-01-20T07:17:00.000-08:00

Two scientists are racing for the good of all mankind
Both of them side by side
So determined

Locked in heated battle for the cure that is the prize
But it's so dangerous
But they're determined

Theirs is to win if it kills them
They're just human with wives and children

Upwards to the vanguard, where the pressure is too high
Under the microscope
Hope against hope

Forging for the future but to sacrifice their lives
Both of them side by side
So determined

They're determined if it kills them
They're just human with wives and children

Theirs is to win, it will kill them
They're just humans with wives and children

Let's Prog Rock!

2009-01-16T13:06:00.000-08:00

Watch the BBC 4 documentary about prog rock here. This is for you, brother!

You Articulate Dead Fisherman

2009-01-12T08:57:00.000-08:00

What can be said? Vic Chesnutt is one of my favorite songwriters, appearing in those desperately formative years of my 20s.

This song, "Independence Day" from his first album Little, remains an amazingly stirring performance, every time he sings it, and I imagine, any time anyone sings it. That's the power of this song.

I feel almost weightless in its atmosphere...

We're Goin Out Where the Sands Turning to Gold

2009-01-08T11:52:00.000-08:00

The first Lantern Fishworks post of the year! "Atlantic City"? Really? Gloomy at first listen, maybe, but there's something ultimately uplifting about this song. I have often been brought to tears by Springsteen's performance.

Also, it's one of the best videos ever assembled. (I couldn't embed the video so click the photo get get to it.)

Winter is Warm

2008-12-15T09:41:00.000-08:00

Traditionally, Spring is the season of romance. But it's winter when I always fall in love. Especially when it snows, as it has. The way the snow muffles the noise, but lets through those rare and magic sounds. One bird chips. A rivulet of ice water rolls down the gutter. A crunch in the untouched garden.

I'm listening to music on a snowbound day. She's in her pajamas baking cookies. And Dylan's singing...

The Notes of Christmas Past 1.0

2008-12-11T17:46:00.000-08:00

A blast from Christmas Past! This article was published in our local papers in December of '02. Both the tale of our old manger, and conversely yet another opportunity for me to blather on about whatever currently interested me. I give you...

THE STRANGE MANGER

Dare I say, living now as I am in the Great Northwest, our Christmas tree, when my
brothers and I were youths, held no water and offered no scent? A fake tree, it was.
Unheard of, I am told, hereabouts. On Long Island in New York, winter hosted the annual event where inhabitants unboxed faux firs and semi-spruces, arranging color-coded branches before their insertion into two-tier pre-drilled trunks. Pine-scented mist sprayed from aerosol cans swirled in the air before settling shamefully on porcupinic tendrils. A yule fog on a Nicholasian decoy. Despite admonitions from natives such as “Christmas is not Christmas without a real tree,” and regardless of my negative tone, I recollect fondly our artificial tree. And why a fake tree? Hassle-free – no sap, no fallen needles, no watering. And of course, no fear of the always-told (and likely hyperbolic) tale of every live tree bursting into flames, consuming home and hearth, devouring stocking and snowglobes, while families swirled hot cider with cinnamon sticks at Christmas pageant intermissions. And what dangers held the artificial tree? Allergies awakened by eleven years of attic dust, I’ll offer. But it is in the shade of the tannenbaum where our narrative begins…

Well, not a narrative really. I’m not telling a story. But it made for an exciting introduction, right? If this were a film, maybe Harry Nilsson or Orson Welles would narrate. If they weren’t both dead, surely one of them would participate. We open with black screen, white text: December 1982. Dissolve and pan down from the wintry sky. The snow falls softly in huge flakes. Zoom into the living room of a ranch style suburban household. Cut to close-up of large blue eye. Slow zoom out gradually revealing another eye, a nose, a mouth, then the face and crown of a wise man figurine. The paint of his brown skin reveals his age – humans wrinkle, plaster chips. Pull back to frame full height and width of the manger.

Who’s in there? Well, according to the advent calendar on the fridge, the date is December 20. The wise men have gathered; the two shepherds as well. A camel and three angels complete the crowd. Nine spectators awaiting the Holy Family. They’re just standing there, staring at each other. I anticipate one of the shepherds shrugging the lamb from his shoulders and bum rushing a wise man.

- You think you’re smarter than me, King Cole?

- At least I can count more than sheep!

They tussle. Then I blink my eyes, shake my head and come to my senses. Okay, I wasn’t daydreaming. I’d been dunking my pinwheel cookies in eggnog. Zow!

Meanwhile, Joseph and Mary have hoofed it out of Nazareth (the attic) en route to Bethlehem (the living room floor). Let’s track their journey:

December 20: Location: Youngest Brother’s Bedroom. Top of dresser. Outside gate of Castle Greyskull, Skeletor’s abode.

Joseph, Mary and a donkey travel for a day and rest for the night.

December 21: Location: Shared Bedroom of Middle Brother and I. Nightstand. Next to Avon Pittsburgh Steeler After-Shave Decanter.

A dab behind the donkey’s ears.

An Aside: The Donkey. The donkey, kneeling in a grassy patch, rests on a felt-bottomed base. His long ears, these long years, have since broken off. The right one at first, followed several journeys later by the left. Sans auditory appendages, the ass looked like an otter. My mother, a great improviser and artisan, fashioned two little ears out of clay. From a distance, say the length of Ontario, one would not notice any disparity in the donkey’s appearance.

December 22: Location: Mother’s Bedroom. Nightstand again. Two days to Bethlehem. And yards of carpet to go.

Why we had the three kings and shepherds waiting for the Joseph and Mary at the manger, I’m not certain. I suppose it was symbolic. The couple didn’t know where they were going. You don’t make reservations at a manger. Maybe if they got a room at an inn, it’d make more sense. But as the story goes, there was no room at the inn. Can you believe that? Denying a pregnant girl a room? They must’ve had something in the back! Those kids didn’t need the honeymoon suite! Boost a chiseling drunk, for crying out loud! Still, I guess it worked out better this way – an inn under the Christmas tree would’ve made for a boring display. No animals. Just a bunch of shlubby guests and three astrologers decked out like hip-hop impresarios. An edgy father, a nervous mother, and a baby boy swaddled in hotel towels – throw in Mare Winningham and you’ve got a Lifetime Original Movie.

December 23: Location. Bathroom. On the countertop hungrily eyeing the Crest. 4 days without food (I never fed them although I did stumble over a moist candy cane on the morning of the 21st) and I’d start justifying toothpaste as a dietary supplement as well. Little sleep that night, what with the flushing and all.

And what sorts of accommodations were awaiting Joseph and Mary in “Bethlehem”? Let’s check the property listing:

SLICE OF HEAVEN!!!
Garage: None
Exterior: Plywood/Old Checkerboard
Roof Type: Matted Straw
Heating: Camel/Straw
Cooling: No Walls
Interior Features: Camel/Donkey/Angels/Crib
Exterior Features: Felt Tree Skirt/Santa Bear with Weak Battery Mewling Out Carols
Year Built: 1969 A.D.
Square Feet: One
Water: Oasis
Sewer: Oasis
This cozy nouveau barnette in much sought-after Bethlehem Woods neighborhood offers affordable yet gracious living in festive atmosphere. Recently remodeled – back wall has been replaced by a checkerboard! Private, well-shaded cul-de-sac. Close to public transportation (train travels circumference of tree). A must see! Priced at $8.99.

December 24: Location: The Manger beneath the Christmas Tree. With angels, wise men, shepherds and animals in attendance. Joseph looks at his watch. The lights fade.

A few hours of silence. At night. A silent night. Oh! A holy night! All is calm, all is… BRIGHT! ALL OF THE SUDDEN! Bedroom lights are on! Brothers are up! It’s 5:30 in the morning. The supporting beams of the manger vibrate and buckle. A wise man tips over spilling myrrh on the camel. We all gather in front of the tree.

Only one figure is missing from the manger. From behind the checkerboard, my mother retrieves the baby Jesus molded in his crib and places him between his parents. Good cheer! A child is come unto us! A shepherd reacts:

- Wait a minute. He was out back the whole time?

The wise man gets to his feet, brushing straw and myrrh from his fineries.

- Sometimes I think you’ve got less sense than that mangy lamb around your neck.

- You wanna throw down, King Vitamin?

A brawl ensues. Slow zoom out. Three boys opening presents enter the frame. Their mother collects discarded wrapping paper. Continue zoom out of living room, over kitchen table, through back bay window into soft glow of snowy dawn.

May you revive old traditions this year as new ones are begun. Happy Holidays!

Hey, PSaur! Let's Have Christmas Dinner with Red Skelton in 1982!

2008-12-08T20:10:00.000-08:00

On December 14, 1982, HBO first aired "Red Skelton's Christmas Dinner." Yet another televised artifact that has stayed with me over the years, emerging from the fog each holiday season. It's as funny and heartwarming as you allow it to be. As for me, it's both, and very much so. I employ the same brand of humor today, much to the chagrin of many. It's old man comedy & the lost art of schmaltz twirled like a candy cane into one. It is gossamer and mingled somewhere with the wisps of the advent candles. Enjoy!

Imagine: 28 Years Later

2008-12-08T10:29:00.000-08:00

Strawberry Fields, Central Park, New York.

Christmas in Rockefeller Center: Was this Ever Entertaining?

2008-12-03T20:04:00.001-08:00

I'm watching the "Christmas in Rockefeller Center" special right now. Live! Well, it was live 3 hours ago on the East Coast. I will comment throughout (if I can stand it!).

Jamie Foxx (with 2 "x's") just nearly massacred "The Christmas Song", with a shameless promotion of his new album as a coda.

Al Roker and Jane Krakowski (sp?) are hosting. What's the matter? They couldn't get Tracy Morgan and Tina Fey?

Now I'm being bored by Rascal Flatts (with 2 "t's"). "White Christmas" -- bland performance.

The Commercials: Zales (with yet another soft-spoken song by some dainty indie singer-songwriter); "Mamma Mia" on DVD; Aveeno, Ultra Calming!; Johnson & Johnson reduces greenhouse gases -- feel good about it!; "Little Spirit" promo, with Danny DeVito; "Momma's Boys" promo - ugh, how awful!

The special's back -- in HD! Yikes, I better switch to the HD channel! Ah, just in time for Faith Hill ("Joy to the World")! She looks all right, but she's kinda dressed like if Jackie O. special-ordered a Nudie Suit.

Actually, I'm kinda excited about seeing the tree lighting in HD. Most shows are no big deal in HD. But this... hey!

Steven Colbert talks to Roker! Hawking his Xmas special. They intro Tony Bennett; he's singin' n' swingin' "Winter Wonderland" with the horn section of the Count Basie Orchestra. I wonder, does he really need those earmuffs? I guess he is old. It's good, you know, Tony's not gonna blow it...

More Commercials: Glade Scented Candles, boutique quality fragrance at an affordable price!; "The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor" on DVD; Sudafed OM Nasal Spray: Unblock Your Head; Another Zales ad; A new Beethoven the Dog movie on DVD -- really? Critics call it a fun treat for the whole famly; "Momma's Boys" again; Subway, $5 Footlong song; Joe's Tent Event (Formerly G.I. Joe's Tent Event); America's Largest Christmas Bazaar at the Expo Center this weekend -- a thousand booths of crap! The News on Portland's CW at 10.

Now Jane with the star of "Billy Elliot" the Broadway musical. Great read, kid! Now, it's Rosie O'Donnell and her Broadway Kids! Too bad her variety show lasted one episode! Did Rosie write this song? It's awful! "Mambo Santa Claus"? Why? Back to Commack, Rosie! Oh, wait, it's from a CD for a benefit thing. I guess that's forgiveable then.

A brief mention of our troops overseas. Thanks!

Oh. My. God. It's Smiley Iris! With the "bad tooth-to-gum ratio", as Adam says. She's putting her mediocre, plastic twist on "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree." To me, she sounds like Brenda Vaccaro when she talks. And like every other teen when she sings. God love her -- let her do her thing.

Coming up: Harry Connick and Beyonce!

Even More Commecials: "Despereux" promo, another mouse movie; Splenda with fiber -- everyone's very excited!; Kerri Russell looks for the UL mark -- when was the last time you saw a commercial for Underwriters Laboratories?; A different Glade ad, this one "humorous"; "Mamma Mia" on DVD again -- yeah, I saw it... it was pretty good; Lubriderm lets you wear sleeveless tops; Greatest Holiday Moments on TV -- hey, there's Archie & Edith -- on Friday; "Despereux" again for a second.

Welcome back, says Jane. With a mention of "A Muppet Christmas" (featuring Jane herself). Kermit and Miss Piggy are here! She's drooling over Connick. Was Piggy based on Loretta Swit? Harry's singing "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year"; it's got a latin-jazz beat to it. Where's Willie Lobo?

Hey, Jimmy Fallon! He sings a bit of "O Christmas Tree" with Jane, as Al describes the tree. Now Jimmy, Jane and Al are introducing the Jonas Brothers. They are rocking. The music sounds like something you hear when you press a button on a keyboard. They are singing an original, I think. "All I Want for Christmas is the Girl of My Dreams." It kinda sounds like something else. It sounds like everything else. I'm not just knocking it becuase of who they are. It's just bland. Poor kids.

Still ahead: David Cook!

Yet More Commercials: Tylenol Rapid Release Gels -- everybody's got a headache; A different Zales ad; Again with "The Mummy" on DVD -- with Jet Li; A third Glade commerical -- Mmm, gingerbread; "Momma's Boy" promo; "The Office" & "30 Rock" new eps on Thursday; A bad case of the holiday whats: You'll find it at Fred Meyer; Curtis Salgado plays the Trailblazer's theme; Comcast -- the internet speed dealer... sorry, speed leader; Trouble with a tanning salon, a customer is fondled, coming up on the News at 10.

Neal E. Boyd, the winner of "America's Got Talent", introduces David Cook singing "Happy Xmas (War is Over). Need I tell you?

Beyonce! As Sasha Fierce, singing a reinterpretation of "Ave Maria" with just the appropriate amount of booty and booby. Pretty good.

Yet Even More Commercials: Zales again (they're a major sponsor) -- it's that dumb commercial from before; "Despereux" the Gentleman Mouse, er, Gentlemouse!; Johnson & Johnson landfill ad; "Life" promo; "Law & Order" promo.

Time to light the tree (finally!). Mayor Bloomberg and others join Al & Jane, as well as the Rockettes. The countdown! 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.......... it lights up! Yay! The Rockettes dance! Yowza! The song they're dancing to is a made-for-tv song. "Let Christmas Shine"? Yay, spotlight snowflakes on 30 Rock!

Farewell from Al and Jane! Happy Holidays! Merry Christmas!

Another lighting come and gone -- onward to Christmas! Thanks for joining me!

A Farewell to Ales!

2008-12-03T11:21:00.000-08:00

While always one to favor a drop, I'm by no means a heavy drinker (all brag and bluster aside). Certainly there have been binge days (that was back in the 90s), but those were mostly skirmishes with the times. Not to say I haven't gotten hammered in even the last few months (ugh, Halloween!) But these incidents are few and far between. Mostly now it's wine, and even then, only with dinner.

But even the occasional wine, I find, leaves the door open for too much wine. And then I'm drunk. Which I'm finding to be stupider as I get older. Like watching professional sports.

So now I've decided to cut out even the wine. This will not go over well with the wife, I suppose. Nor will it be easy during the holiday season, when there are more gatherings than usual. It won't be easy.

Why now? I have a reason or two. But for the purposes of this less-than-personal blog, I've been contemplating the place of alcohol in the arts, specifically music. Up until recently, I've cringed a bit at hearing a formerly perpetually-soused musician cleaning up. Would his/her music now be lame? Perhaps less gritty, more Made-For-TV?

Being a known idiot, you'd expect that reaction from me. I can't recall the last sobered songwriter who gave me concern. Doesn't matter really. But looking into who has been on the wagon, and how their music did not begin to suck, but rather, debatably, gained strength, insight and beauty, I've come across this shortlist:

Think of Lou Reed, Tom Waits, Warren Zevon (god bless his soul), even Jeff Tweedy (Wilco is so much better than Uncle Tupelo!). Presumably, there are others (I can only Google so much here at work before I have to get back to my work). Costello may still drink (I hear Krall likes her wine), but he's gotten far past the Get Happy! days...

Surely my decision has to do with more than artistic integrity. Fact is, I'll be 40 next year. I've got a younger wife (yeah, that's right). And we've discussed having children. I might want to keep myself in good shape for that. I can barely keep up with my nephews now!

But O! Sweet Guinness! Dear Two-Buck Chuck! I will miss you! However, I think we've outgrown each other.

So, Mr. Waits, Mr. Reed -- here we go!

"Hold on Hope" by Guided By Voices

2008-12-03T08:00:00.000-08:00

I love Do the Collapse (1999). The production, courtesy Ric Ocasek, works well with these songs somehow. Not exactly his "divorce album" (his drawn-out divorce was finalized in 2002), Pollard's songs here are decidedly more personal than in previous efforts. I've been listening to this all morning -- I'm listening to this now (over the blare of Ralph's Lou Monte Christmas album -- my mind keeps slipping from "Dragons Awake" to "Santa Nicola, Santa Nicola...").

Sure, I do prefer when I don't know what the fuck Pollard is talking about ("Hot Freaks"), but Do the Collapse has a nice soft sound for the morning.

Mostly, though, fans don't like it. Fuck 'em!

"I Love You" by People!

2008-12-02T08:55:00.000-08:00

Yes, the Zombies song as covered by People!, featuring Larry Norman, the musician dubbed 9perhaps unfairly) as the "Father of Christian Rock." Just picked up his anthology, released by local record company Arena Rock Recording Company. No, I haven't listened to it yet (do you know me?) but with a praising blurb from Frank Black, I figured how bad could it be?

Go here to read the liner notes.

Plus, he's got a song called "U.F.O." 'Nuff said.

Willin' by Linda Ronstadt

2008-11-23T19:25:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I forget how cool Linda Ronstadt is. Linda ran with the Southern California Boys Club in the early 70s (Zevon, the Eagles, Neil Young, Wachtel. Shit, fucking Wachtel!) And do you see Andrew "Lonely Boy" Gold on guitar in the clip?

My friend's brother had two parakeets in the 80s named Billy & Linda (for Joel and Ronstadt).

I listened to "Heart Like a Wheel" this morning (one of the many fantastic albums my father-in-law recently gave me from his collection). Great sound. Produced by Peter Asher (you know who he is), the album opens with "You're No Good." Side One closes with the title track (written by Anna McGarrigle). Killer song. And such a line-up: Gold on piano, David Lindley on fiddle, with Maria Muldaur on b. vox.

But the best performance is Side Two, Track 2: Willin', the Little Feat cover, written by Lowell George. I've listened to very little Little Feat, but got interested recently when I read about Lowell's solo album in a Mojo book of greatest albums, or something. It's a welcome treasury of vinyl excavations. I've made a few purchases (some archaeological in nature) based on its recommendations.

This live performance of "Willin'" is gold! And the best of rock occurs at 2:45 (get ready at 2:38).

Linda Fucking Ronstadt!

We Have Discovered Life on Mars and It is Us

2008-11-19T20:35:00.000-08:00

So where do I begin? Or do I begin? Wasn't it a scene best left to fade beyond memory? This is what it felt like: bits of Drugstore Cowboy, Midnight Cowboy, Lost Highway, Aguirre: The Wrath of God, Requiem for a Dream and High Fidelity. Perhaps Chuck McCann yelling, loud and lazily, "Sal!" in, what they call out here, an east coast accent (it was New York). And why not Hubert Selby as "Sal", but with his head bandaged, only a sallow eye and chattering mouth showing.

Sal at the counter, the thin pale record store clerks, caught in a vacuum of full blast psycho-surrealism, verbalized.

"Who invented the radio?" he asks (what's a 'questioning yell' called?). No answer, so he asks again, not because he hadn't received an answer, but because it was his time to ask the question again.

A few murmurs and uncomfortable chuckles emitted from the counter, but no guesss; it was almost as if avoiding the answer would equal avoiding the whole situation. Like real gone gossamer, it would hush into the autumn night.

"Marconi! I read it in a book at the library!" he told us.

Then another deceptively simple question, which because of it's obviousness, didn't receive an answer.

The third question (and final one before he took his crazy to the other end of the store) was:

"Who invented electricity?"

I sensed everyone in the store knew Sal was looking for the answer "Thomas Edison" (although "God" was probably on everyone's lips). So the clerks offered neither.

"Come on! Everybody knows who invented electricity!" His tone expressed incredulity.

He was finished and met up with Chuck by Rock/Pop.

I huddled against the As-Is vinyl lps, feeling the momentary silence was just the eye of the awkward storm above us. I couldn't raise my head beyond the musty frayed record sleeves, but I was concerned the duo were drifting toward Jim, an outsider magnet. Luckily, no encounter occurred.

When I met up Jim , he looked a bit glazed in the eyes, like his blood-sugar had plunged. So we paid for our albums (I found Nikki Sudden's "Red Brocade," and a 50 cent copy of "Poems, Prayers & Promises" by John Denver).

Returning to our car, which included a brief glance of a surreal diorama of our lead actors staring out the windshield of their pick-up, engine off, the night holding its breath), Jimmy confessed to a possible panic attack over the incident, and not a plunge in sugar levels.

"I'm so glad you witnessed that whole thing with me. I thought I might have been losing my mind. That was very strange, right? Or is it us?"

I pondered a moment: It could have been us, a shared psychotic incident; a symbiotic break with real time. But no, I recorded the reactions of the other customers, and I think we all saw the same thing.

While it sure crapped out our anticipated peaceful evening of record browsing (a formidable therapy; a socially anti-social balm), I feel slightly enriched by the experience.

If it even happened...

Well Read 1.0 (Nicking from the Feeb Again...)

2008-11-19T13:51:00.000-08:00

"At my worst moments, in the darkest, rawest hours nearest to perdition, I have always found myself comforted by a cool voice inside me whispering that nothing, not even unbearable sorrow, lasts forever. I have that idiot optimism that is one quarter ruthless and one half mindless, a dangerous and in its own way often fatal trait."
- Michael Chabon, author

Gibb is Stranger than Witchcraft

2008-11-18T19:14:00.000-08:00

"You are this dreamer's only dream."

Saw a clip of this song earlier while watching the Psaur's 70s/80s music commercials compilation. It was my 38th birthday present (not the actual 38th present, but a present presented on my 38th birthday). Just about 10 seconds of Andy Gibb's hit and I was startled back to the appreciation of all music, ignoring any aspects surrounding the song that aren't actual sounds on an album. Like, "Any Gibb? It sucks!" And without any arch-browed irony.

It is the beat of this song. It is the hook, both emotionally and nearly physically. Your whole body is turned towards the music. Your ears love it. Your elbow and your hair love it!

But what is that sound? Who do I hear in it? Everyone? Gibb's voice is as satin as his baby blue & glare-white baseball jacket.

And the video! What simpler stage decoration than the eponymous neon? And the sparse stage, a darkness encroaching. This song is serious. This performance, a zenith and a beacon. Whether the light has yet to reach its desired catch remains to be seen.

I gotta watch it again...

I watched it again.

I Am Not Familiar with this Howlin' Wolf Fellow

2008-11-18T07:34:00.000-08:00

... nor any so-called "Captain"...