Saturday's are for wild dogs

I rolled down the street last night to check out Project Object, a Zappa tribute band featuring Ike Willis and Ray White.  My low expectations were unfounded, it was tremendous.  The musicality the six of those guys had...one head, twenty four appendages.  Luckily for everyone involved, the head belonged to the great, dead Zappa.  Here's Saturday's party jam, "Flakes."

 

Real Estate - Days

Out Tuesday

I don't know if I like the first Real Estate album. I can't remember it, to tell you the truth. And I know I've listened to it in the past month. I know I don't not like it. It's fine, still on my iPod.

Days, is a totally different story. Every time my attention drifts away, I get brought back in by something that sounds damn near perfect within its context. This is where I need to put a beach metaphor. Whether it's the floating green bottle (the melody) or its message for a castaway sweetheart (the lyrics), the bobbing and shifting discoball sea (the music) eventually delivers it to the Great Pacific Garbage Patch (my brain). I especially dig the way the keyboard solo on "It's Real" pops out like a Magic Eye. "Green Aisles" is late nineties. I'm not completely sold on that one, it seems like it's drinking too much of the yesterday juice.

 It's Real
 Green Aisles

Rejected from the rising storm

Robbie Basho
The Voice of the Eagle

There’s a moment near the midpoint of “Wounded Knee Soliloquy” where Robbie Basho abruptly aborts the song’s deliberate strum and pick method in favor of a ringing wall of jangle while he calls out to the heavens. His voice, which to this point had been a controlled groan with the occasional flare, is freed into a full out bellow over the caterwauling guitar rubble. “Are you ready, my son / For to ride This Rainbow of His Light?” Such a spiritually obtuse suggestion, while certainly present, rarely fits well within the ethos of the early Seventies outsider folk scene. It can seem too bold and grandiose for the usually timid, simple melodies of the era. But in Basho’s hands they are commonplace and become extragalatically comforting.

Much like his music, Basho’s life was an adventure of human spirituality. From his early orphan days through a youth of Catholic schooling, he catapulted into the beat-inspired, wild cultural melting pot that existed on the fringes of Washington, D.C., in the early 1960s. Along with John Fahey, Sandy Bull, and Davy Graham*, Basho helped pioneer a new era of experimentation in the American folk community, both technically and stylistically. Over a bed of Americana-laced Indian ragas, he meandered through ancient Hindu teachings, samurai honor systems, the dark corners of the Caribbean magic, and American Indian mythology. Along the way the recordings, melodies, and mantras became clearer, while his voice developed from a piercing howl into a musically emotive, melissma-laden croon.

For 1972’s The Voice of the Eagle, Basho stays solely in the Western hemisphere. The Hopi, Lakota, Incan, and Nez Percé stories and imagery provide a stable narrative of honoring nature and the Creator, while living in awe of their accomplishments and striving for a blessed path. Punctuated by a South Indian log drum, “The Voice of the Eagle” and “Omaha Tribal Prayer” bounce along as if they belonged to the American road music trope while they, unmistakably, do not at the same time. The album’s sole terrestrial fare, “Roses and Gold,” ruminates, with a melancholily deliberate delivery, on the emotional ecstasy of love and sitting quietly in a forest, watching nearby deer graze. At Eagle’s close, the ascension of “Moving Up a Ways” with the seemingly infinite expanses of Basho’s six-string propulsively droning bigger and stronger, his voice warbles and careens until he comfortably relaxes in redemption.

Towards the end of his career, Basho’s form had become something extraordinary. Always a willing guitar smith, he had made his career on experimenting and honing a style that knew no bounds when it came to imaginative musical story arcs. Similarly, his voice had, album by album, become a sharper conduit of spiritual empathy. Eagle marks the first moment where both his playing and singing could stop you in your tracks. It’s unreal. In fact, there are moments when it’s easier to imagine Basho as a face in a cloud, his booming voice drifting down a mountain slope, than it is to picture him as a man. While that might be taking it a bit far, Eagle and the rest of his later catalog can create equally otherworldy ideas about the man and his motives. He is a unique force that needs to be taken in and digested.


    

Get your fix at ghostcapital.

*Actually British. Thanks Chris.

A Summer Wasting

Idle hands are the devil’s playthings.  A year or so ago I remember someone posting a strikingly philosophical idea on Facebook.  It wasn’t Nietzsche to be certain, but a short, concise, existential pondering.  Not a ‘what is life?’ or ‘dust in the wind’ blab either.  It was sorrowful, introspective, and came from a very soft piece of meat.  I don’t remember what it was exactly; if anything it was the medium that makes it stick out in my mind. The medium and one of the comments:  If you’re thinking about those things you have too much time on your hands.

There’s my Summer Wasting.  Or maybe Stuart said it better when he sang “I keep taking everything to be a sign.”  I’ve always been a consummate schemer, going limpless and still anticipating the feel of my next steps, only to find they’re normal and no amount of anticipation or worry would change a thing.  So with school out and the nail biting anxiety of being left at a train station only to look into the dusk as the station clears, I’ve sat, over-thought, over-indulged, and over-compensating.  I think there’s been five weeks or so of this.  Eighteen of those days were without deodorant—a streak I am happy to announce has now come to a close.

Now that the sun has crested, I feel a sense of rebirth and awe.  I’m one complete tilt from 30.  Let the cleaning commence!  So while I’ve been in a self-imposed writing block, here are some shorts that I should have been writing about.

How about the fact that I hate trends?  It doesn’t matter the type.  I’ve considered writing a piece on summer fashion with my head stuffed way up my ass.  Probably not worth it, though.  And technology?  Please let some of this be a trend.  I went to see Cave of Forgotten Dreams tonight and there was a preview/commercial for Nintendo DS where the kids were talking about Mario Kart making it the best summer ever.  Drive a go-cart.  Speaking of the movie, the 3D was cool; the flowing cave walls stretching bison and mammoths as Herzog stretched our imaginations.  But was it necessary or did it just unnecessarily make people strain and shift to get the pictures in focus?  I’m on the fence for that movie, but the rest of them?  Drive a go-cart.

How about some triumphs of personal resilience?  BWIWYA contributor and long time friend Jon Poulson recently fell into wedded bliss.  I think Mark was a groomsman.  I wish I could have been there.  On the band front, the gang in Minneapolis opened some boxes and started holding on to years of work as The Fables of the Cloth has finally come full circle.  The amount of work and dedication, in my modest opinion, pales in comparison to the diverse, anthemic musical joy ride on the other end.  I’m endlessly proud to have been a part of the process and the continuing growth.  Speaking of which, not to toot my own horn too loudly, I caught a breeze of a muse a month ago and the resulting work will push the band further than we’ve been before.  Now I just need to keep putting my pen where my mouth is.

How about that bad-ass job interview in New York that I tackled deodorantless?  They wanted me, but the finances weren’t right.  It was hard saying no when I knew so many unknowns were lurking in that foreign, pin cushion of excitement.  As I shuffled through Manhattan, I was Map Master supreme—practically a local.  I didn’t know exactly where I was going but I knew that I could find it if I looked like I knew what I was doing and walked fast.  Still, I was stopped on the street and asked if I wanted a CD of “beats made by a local artist.”  I turned, gave the guy a buck, and he gave me some shit CD that I will never listen to.  First thing out of his mouth: Where you coming in from?

Later that night I had the opportunity to do exactly what I wanted to do, when I needed to do it.  For the second time in my life I was in the presence of my second-cousin Margie Haley.  While I was unfamiliar with her in fact, I was more than prepared for the type of person she is from my father’s ravings.  Margie is an 80 year-old smoker, a whip-smart Scotch drinker, foul-mouthed bull shitter.  I stepped off the Hudson Line with a real get-along attitude, maybe even a touch of that uncomfortable easiness that has plagued me of late.

While we exchanged pleasantries and formalities, I got the sense that she was sizing me up.  Word from relatives painted me in a certain color and she wanted to hold it up to the light, see if it made weight.  I just drank.  After five beers you can feel it in your cheeks.  Soon the humidity checked out while the breeze swept the sun away, leaving the heat.  Switch to the hard stuff, pack another box of smokes, laugh to cut the mutual-meeting pressure.  I wanted to drink and I wanted to smoke cigarettes but when we started slinging quantum physics, its effect on the notion of humanity, the bigness and smallness in all its blackness, I started watching the minute hand pass the second hand.  Fifty years of separation, nothing but a distant set of limbs on the family tree—at different levels no less—and a commonality that ran as strong and constant as that raging stream that once cut the valley of our conversation.  A unique opportunity in the arc of making connections.   That night I was less consummate schemer and more belly-up dreamer.  I like myself more that way.  I’m looking forward to making it more of a habit.

It came from the mid 70s...

This is one of Robbie Robertson's buddies. Last week my sister told me it was the perfect song for this time of year. It really blew her mind. From Third Down, 110 To Go.

Jesse Winchester - Midnight Bus

More rambunctious raucousness

Get it free here

I firmly believe that you can't consider an album among your favorites until you've had that one, perfect listening experience. Without that iconic memory and all the trappings that come along with it, CDs get scratched, albums get lost, mp3s deleted. I used to have a copy of the first We All Have Hooks For Hands album. Emphasize the used to. We just never had that moment.

I fancy myself a big fan of having a good time and that's been difficult on some of those late-night holiday weekends in Des Moines. So two years ago on Thanksgiving, despite only considering myself a borderline fan, I talked the sis Molly into running downtown with me to see this six-headed monster. You know, for something to do. Turns out the show was a real bust--one of those nights when there's more people in the band than in the crowd. I loved it. The energy was consistently high, the songwriting consistently strong. They weren't the tightest band I've ever seen, more like a tumbleweed--sharp, bundled and rolling. I had brushed shoulders with a couple of these guys in Vermillion before but this was the first time I had had to chat them up, hang out. It was fun. I bought their new CD because it seemed like the right thing to do.

A couple of days later I was back in the 'burgh getting geared for finals and jazzin' for another trip to Minneapolis. The Shape of Energy sat on my desk, still in the shrink wrap, for weeks until I finally decided to pop it in. I was totally impressed. I think I listened to it two or three times in a row. These guys didn't have hooks just for hands! This was the best guitar driven rock music I had heard that year without a doubt. At the time, I couldn't figure out how to get the album on to my iPod (I realize how stupid this sounds and I have since figured it out), so when I was packing for the break, I made sure to throw the disc in as well.

The next day, Butch picked me up at the airport around 10, 11 a.m. It was in the negatives but sunny--all in all, it felt miles better than Pittsburgh had the night before. We cruised down Lake Street high-fiving. After we grabbed way more beer than we needed, we rolled into the Skinhouse--old stompin' grounds. We cracked a few, told some shitty jokes, revved our engines. Now, if you Jon, you know how much this guy likes to rock. So I asked him if he wanted to listen to this sweet new album I just got. He gave me a "willing but not exactly sure why" shrug and grin. I'd been there, that was the attitude I had about their first album. "Wow. Kids from Sioux Falls. I can suffer through some of it."





Howling and Bellowing, the first track from The Shape of Energy.

Just like that, we were off. I cranked the volume, we shuffled between the couches and the fridge doing Jonny's punchin' dance. Franko woke up and wanted to know who was playing. We listened to it again. I think I played it at a party later that night, too. The first semester of law school was over and the stress of finals were gone. I was days from my birthday, partying with Jon and Franko before noon. I had been away for what seemed like a lifetime and I was more than happy to crawl back into the womb. This was the soundtrack.

Ten songs of electric guitars and piercing vocals built on snare clicks and an undercurrent of acoustic jangle. The first three songs can stand up with anything. "Howling and Bellowing" comes at you like the boys from Double Dragon with its jump kicks and sleeveless shirts. "Be Love, Be Wild," although a touch draggy and fatalistic, is wonderfully disorienting. It can surround my head. Rounding out the trio, "Made Up of Tiny Lights" is huge and I think it's safe to say that when you're listening to it, it's the most important thing coming out of your stereo. To say the rest of the album shambles around doesn't do it justice, but that's kind of what it does. "Records a Stone" conjures turn of the century, Ohio existentialism. The interplay between the winding electric guitars and the atonal violins in "Lessons Burned" displays a developing musical maturity. It's a great album. In fact, last Friday I listened to it with Zerfas and later that night saw that Lance had it on his turntable. It's been out for a year and a half.

I'm not about to say that I can have as strong of feelings for the new EP. I just got it, it's a Friday and I haven't had a good night's sleep in months. So, fresh ears, here we go.

Changes: Whoa, this doesn't sound like the righ...there it is. Nice guitar hook, snappy beat. Those keyboards in the back sound great. I'm still feeling the Ohio comment, it must have something to do with Eli's inflection. Big chorus--that could be a subtitle for the band, actually. First track and we already have a drum solo. Davis once said "drummers have big egos." I'm always amazed at how in sync their two drummer drumming is. Nice bass breakdown followed by an "oh yeah" moment that just doesn't quite explode like I expected. I'd like to hear this played on a steel drum.

Girls: I like the chunky, fuzzy keys. I don't know who these girls are--to notice that they love booze, they must really be drinkers. Here's the girl choir--they don't sound a whole lot different than any other choral groups they've sang with. They could be sexier. "It's not just drinks, it's who we are." Not exactly the highest opinion of girls. Here's a great running guitar line. It sounds kind of like a skier if you could ski on grass in the summer. Hold on, is that Nate Hoffman on the trumpet? For a band whose songs usually build and build and build, that was a nice step back. Foundation for a deck of cards. Yeah, downhill skiing in the summer with grass stains and shades.

Amy's Room: Pretty standard beginning. Are the girls singing background on this one? I notice my foot and head are bobbing--great clicks. To this point, this is the best song on the EP. The ghost voice in the background became an electric guitar--cool. A lot of longing and yearning and craving in this one. Slide guitar into another popping, jumpy electric guitar stroll. The rest of the way it seems like typical Hooks.

Trapped: I want to hear this one at the Buffalo Trading Post if it's still there. I don't know if I would put Eli's voice on top of such a down home ditty but it's not bad, in fact it works pretty well. Is that a jew's harp or a lazer in the background? They're staying truer to the form than I would've guessed and doing it really well. Nice solo. I don't know if I've heard their voices sounding so good together, this is pretty impressive.

Games: This has the end of the EP sound to it already. If I had a problem with The Shape of Energy it would be that it was a little lopsided towards the front. This sounds like a true closer. Not much jumping out at me on this one. It sounds like them. I always appreciate a tasteful party sound clip. I just heard "I'll shake and I'll spark." I don't know if I've heard a better match of voice to lyrics. And one little note at the end.

Off the top of my head, I guess I'd say this is another We All Have Hooks For Hands album. With the exception of those fat keyboard sounds, I think any of these songs would fit in well with the last album. That's not to say there isn't notable progression. For starters, it seems to be more patient. This, mixed with ever present off-the-charts exuberance, makes for some smarter sounding breakdowns where they're more in control. The older material always gave me the feeling that these guys would get together and kind of have a "who can be louder" contest. Here there's more cooperation, in the vocal delivery and the instrumentation. It's not a huge difference but it is noticeable and I think it's going to lead to more rewarding second and third listens. All in all, though, this is the same whiskey/upper buzz fuzz I've come to expect and appreciate. South Dakota Friday nights.

If you're too lazy to scroll back up for the free download link, here's another. Below is the video for "Girls."

It came from the (early) 70s...

These guys were heralded as the stars of the Pub Rock Scene. Personally, I don't think you need to look too hard to find better examples of the genre (Ernie Graham, Eggs Over Easy), but come on, this is Nick Lowe.

Brinsley Schwarz - Country Girl

Old summer day, the first day of spring.

I was 14 and cool. Some of my friends were driving but I was content cruising town on what I called "The Turquoise Dream." On that bike I was a green streak. One mysterious, boisterous obnoxious. 14 and on the back deck, listening to "Where It's At." In 1996 I was taping sweet songs from MTV onto a small black tape recorder. I was most definitely wearing shades--and probably looking pretty bored.

I'm now 29 and dated. I'm driving now and consistently neglecting the turquoise dream. It sits in my kitchen. I like to think of myself in shades of green these days, but the heavy blues are gone and now its just more and more neutral. Truly, strangely stagnant. 29 and in my living room, on an uncomfortable couch, wikipediaing to find out when Odelay was released. I'm wearing a vest--and definitely looking bored.

15 years. Mike McGrane, Cliff Stone, Curt Beasley, Robert Johnson, Courtney Walker, Darlane Jensen, Jason Bottolfson, Buddy the dog. There are certainly more. But we also have Evan and Aubrey George, Natalie Serfling, Briley and Easton Meyer, Pearl Weiland, a slew of Ericcsons and, before we blink, a new Duffy. (Certainly more). It's a wild cycle. Right now I want a dog. In a couple of months I think I might get a new one.

'Burghers: Ennui riding a rising tide

Formation of Tides will be released April 5.

About three weeks ago I saw Jim Doutrich at karaoke. He gave me shit about liking folk music and then sang some song from the 80s. Neither of these things came as much of a surprise to me; I had it coming and I knew Jim's style. What did catch me off guard, though, was his singing. I can't remember if it was Wang Chung or the Thompson Twins but I was dumbfounded. I then, like an idiot, went around with a stupid grin on my face saying stuff like "Who knew?" and "Jim's got a voice!" Nobody said anything. The night drove on and, after a couple of beers, I nailed "Someday" by Sugar Ray, had a couple more beers and put another Thursday behind me.

I ran into Jim the next night and he blew my mind when he said one of his songs had been downloaded, like, 3,000 times that day. Turns out Jim has a band--he has since 2004. Not only that, but they had an album ripe for the shelves. This explained why no one was as surprised as me that night at the Cantina.

The band, Ennui, is a two-man operation. Jim sings and writes the songs, plays guitar and keyboard. Sam McUmber, a classically trained pianist, takes on the rest. What results is a whirlwind of vintage synths and waves of harmonies, all under a blanket of reverb. It's some dense, sticky stuff and they are going to show it off live Friday night at the Brillobox in Lawrenceville.

The past seven years have seen several incarnations of Ennui. They started as a four piece that criss crossed the country. A couple of years went by and a three piece released a well received LP. The band has only recently had to adjust to playing as a duo.

"There's more concentration involved," Doutrich said. "If you have four people in a band and only two are really motivated or involved, it's pointless. For Sam and I, when we get together, we're both fully motivated--it's great."

"It's more likely that we can get on the same wavelength," McUmber added. "Our creative goals are easier to reach."

Even though the new formation has allowed them to focus on a more electronic sound, something Doutrich and McUmber were both interested in, the band also tried to make the album sound as organic as possible.

"We recorded it all on tape, using vintage synths," Doutrich said. "We wanted a live feel to it. Our last album was really studio heavy, it was conceived in the studio. For this one, all the songs were hashed out. We knew we wanted it to have a '70s ambient rock feel to it."

In all, 15 different synthesizers were used in the recording including a Yamaha CS80 and Vangelis Prophet 5. While the album has drawn sound comparisons to Berlin and the Top Gun Soundtrack, the songs fit naturally alongside more contemporary acts like Cut Copy and Grizzly Bear.

The results so far have been telling, as the band recently opened up for Deerhoof and have been featured on a slew of blogs. They even appearing as the soundtrack to the making of a dessert. For the first time, Doutrich has given up the promotional duties, allowing him to focus more of his attention on the music and artwork.

"I hired someone because I don't want to waste my energy," Doutrich said. " In the past I spent too much attention on promoting and setting up shows, too much attention on making it big instead of the music. It's kind of paying for a luxury."

They're hoping that cooperation will lead to bigger and better things.

"I think this album should be heard," McUmber said. "We're unique in Pittsburgh and musically I think we're on par with any other indie music out there. We have the musical skill and the creative voice and I think that's unique."

The show starts at 9:30 p.m.

                                                      

One tough drunk: A case for Grant

Forget your preconceived notions about Grant the President. There were scandals, but I think they can be attributed to having bad friends, not being weak. This is why I think Grant can take Roosevelt:

Upbringing: His roots in Ohio and his West Point experience prove Grant is of a hardier stock than the hobby-hunting, gun club Roosevelt. Grant's father was a tanner, which leads me to believe that number 18 had his hide tanned many-a-time. At West Point, he certainly wasn't the smartest (finishing in the bottom half of his class) but he had a reputation for fearlessness. Teddy may have been a boxer, but he was a boxer at Harvard. Advantage: Grant.

War Experience: Grant, proving his relentlessness, led the Union troops into Shiloh on the way to Antietam. This was the bloodiest battle in American history. Needless to say, he won't shy away from the fight. Even though Teddy's experience was in the endlessly funny Mexican-American War, he is the only President to be awarded the Medal of Honor. This one's a draw.

Tactics: Grant was a drinker. There is no denying this. He also seemed like the brooding, drinks-by-himself kind of drinker. These folks are dangerously bad communicators and often let their fists do the talking when a negotiator may think twice. I see Roosevelt as a negotiator, sacrificing the first blow or two to a staggering Grant. Advantage: Grant.

Legacy Grudge: Grant's is a hardened, hard-luck story. Aside from the Presidency, he had to earn everything along the way. I just have a feeling that when matched up against the beloved Roosevelt, he'd picture him with the silver spoon he was born with and that would make him all the more motivated. Conversely, I think Teddy comes into the fight with a clear head and a degree of mutual respect. Advantage: Grant.

If they fought 10 times and it was determined Roosevelt would win nine, my money is still on Grant. This is about guts and I think Grant shows up.

Foggy Memories

Calling all nerds!

Got some free time? I started a wiki-page/sister site over at backwheniwasyourage.pbworks.com. I guess I'm just trying to create communal memory. From events to catch phrases to people catalog, hopefully this will run the gamut. I'm going to get the ball rolling and I'd love it if you stopped by to help.

New music and old movies

Anticipating five spring albums and reminiscing with my favorite movie scenes of the week

The Pains of Being Pure at Heart: Belong

3/29

Their first, self-titled, album didn't really hit me until this year. It was the Vaselines, Pastels, cutesy-schmutesiness that rubbed me the wrong way initially, but lately I've been gravitating to that albums' shy, don't-look-at-me guitar fuzz clinging to the bottom of the mix. If the two tracks I've heard off this new album are any indication, that fuzz has grown from whiskers into stubble (thanks in part to the surprise producer of the year--Flood). This is probably my favorite of the neo-90s groups that have recently been popping their heads out of NYC, mainly because they aren't glossing over any of that decade's plenty glossy moments. 

Belong

Sonny and the Sunsets: Hit After Hit

4/12

When a band is prolific it's easy to see past some of their shortcomings. That being said, I'm not expecting much out of this album at all. These guys did release my sleeper-favorite album last summer, Tomorrow Is Alright. And on top of that, lead man Sonny Smith had an art show this past fall where he built a juke box and filled it with 100 45's--all of which he recorded, disguised as 100 different bands. Long story short, this album can suck (I doubt it will) and I will still appreciate them.

I Wanna Do It

Cass McCombs: Wit's End

4/26

Where's the Bill Callahan? Well, there haven't been any tracks released from his upcoming album (due April 19). I love me some Bill Callahan, so that's probably number one on the anticipation list. Cass McCombs isn't too far behind, though. He has that foggy familiarity that Callahan has mastered. It sounds effortless as he slides from mood to mood while his songs feign bravery, falling like the first drops of rain on a persistently cloudy day. His past couple of albums have begged to be listened to and this new one is supposed to be darker and smoother. In the past, that's when he's been at his best.

County Line

Fleet Foxes: Helplessness Blues

5/3

After Animal Collective, are they the biggest American band right now? I don't think Wilco or the Flaming Lips still have a valid claim to such a title. It doesn't seem like anyone really gives a shit about Jack White anymore (what took so long?). My Morning Jacket? The Decemberists? They aren't as good. Grizzly Bear aren't as engaging and Vampire Weekend seem too gimmicky. A lot of people will be listening.

Helplessness Blues

White Denim: D

5/24

And finally some real rock and roll. The best on the list and the best in the biz. Is there any doubt with this one? It is going to be sweet!

Drug

I think I slept eight hours this week--homework and insomnia. After I got tired of tossing my sheets around, I eventually gave up and watched some movies. I loved these parts.

The big fight in Star Trek III: The Search for Spock.

This one's a little longer but you haven't seen anything like it! Released just before Star Wars, this is a young Mark Hammel on the run from some jerk who wants to kill him. The movie is Corvette Summer, it's on Netflix, and you should DEFINITELY watch it sometime.

Paul Newman and Larry McMurtry and I hadn't seen it. Shameful. Anyway, this was as good as you might expect. The clip below showcases Newman's ability to let other people drive the story. He always has such a dynamic presence and when he's relegated to the background, it feels big. Still, he steals the scene...

For the love of free music

This is a heads up, fyi kind of thing. One of my daily stops on the internet, Aquarium Drunkard, has recently reposted a couple of awesome--and free--mixes from the sun-kissed California coast. This is more than 60 songs all coming from the late 60s and 70s. Who cares if it's doubling up some of your iTunes, it's free! And groovy!

It came from the (early) 70s...

If I have a beef with Omaha, NE, it lies in its overblown, self-important music scene. Has it always been this way? What kind of swagger did the old scenesters have? Keep your Bright Eyes, give me Eugene McDaniels.

Instead of an MP3, I'm posting this video because I think it's a hell of a music/movie mash-up. The clips are apparently from a '70s French western starring Briggite Bardot called "Frenchie King." Looks like it's right up my alley. It also looks like it's kind of hard to find these days.

It came from the mid 70s...

Starry Eyed and Laughing, the band that loves to tell you they were either fifteen years early or ten years late.

Na Na Na Na Na na-na-na-na na-na-na

Baseball-Baseball-Baseball! Get the fever!

(thanks for the heads up Brad)

On a side note, check out these sweet Carey's shirts. Red or Tie-Die?

I have to admit, I'm digging those shades

Jason McDonald...we will never forget!

That was the last time we saw him. Eight months later, Big Justin got back onto the field with the guys today. So far so good.

Check out this nice article from ESPN.

Then head to the Star Tribune to see Justin in those sweet shades.

And rounding third, hit up the Twins site to see a short interview with the man himself.

Lastly, look at this goofy picture of Ozzie being Ozzie.

There's something happening here...

Are professional sports next?

I've been unlucky enough to meet my fair share of Wisconians in my life. They use stupid words, can't watch bad drivers without sounding like idiots, have terrible taste in music, like stupid professional sports teams, have terrible hair cuts, and they're worse than Texans. I could go on and on.

One thing they do have, besides Mark Borchardt, it turns out, is balls. Brains...maybe not. These are the same people who got rid of Russ Feingold and a billion other Democrats in the last election for the sake of "shaking things up," according to one protesting moderate. And now, because the majority thinks saying 'Don't Tread On Me' is cool, they have a battle on their hands. Luckily for the rest of the nation, they are willing to take the fight.

If you want to know more about the situation, check out the NY Times. Long story short, Scott Walker and his homeboys want to screw over state employees and know they can't do it in an orderly fashion until they get rid of their collective bargaining rights. They say it's all in the name of balancing the budget, although they refuse to raise corporate tax rates--which are half of what they were in the 1980s.

The major problem for everyone else is that if this goes through in Madison, all the other Republican state houses will follow suit. And it won't just affect state employees--labor talks are looming in the MLB, NFL and NBA. Right? Are they really siding with the ownership?

So, please write your Republican representatives and tell them not to take your professional sports away, unless, of course, it's the Packers. Then, if you are so inclined, visit Help Defend Wisconsin.

Reader Challenge: A Wiki Fun Time

Look at these guys- they're chillin' to the max!

I have to be brief, I'm in the middle of a slug-fest by the name of "Corporations Memo." But in honor of the radio debut of Buffalo Buffalo Buffalo, I wanted to enlist some faithful readers to drop a wiki-bomb on the Minnesota Public Radio website.

Every band on the MPR database has a related page in their Minnewiki section. Currently the 3x Buffalo page is as blank as my homework assignment. I think it would be funny if everyone takes a second out from their day and add some obscure history to the site (or a cool nickname for a band member, a fictitious album to the discography, etc.). Let's get creative!

The first thing you'll have to do is create an account on the page. No biggie, it's public radio, they aren't going to cyberstalk you. Then just click on edit and type away. I haven't played any wiki tricks before, so this will be a neat experience. 

Here's the link to the Minnewiki page. Here's a link to the Local Show. Big thanks to Josh and Erik for bringing in the track and sneaking it in between some highlights from their new album Outside! The February 20th show, which includes an interview with the aforementioned Josh and Erik, is up and streaming. While you're listening, you might as well request some Fables. And, finally, a couple of songs:

Pierce the Veil by Buffalo Buffalo Buffalo

Light and Fire by Buffalo Buffalo Buffalo

It came from the mid 70s...

This here is Minneapolis music legend Willie Murphy and some funky beards. The song is Shoot Straight.