I Will Follow

Evidence will show that I'm copying David. I accept that evidence. Twas a good idea. Besides, he showed me the site and deserves to be copied.

Anyway, I added a link on the menu to my Last.FM profile page (because it's a cooler page than Audioscrobbler. This little page will show you everything I've listened to recently as well as who my top artists, albums and songs are. Scary. It's a pretty decent snapshot though. If you register, you'll also be able to hear music from other users that have similar tastes. I'd do a personal station, but it costs money. I don't have money to spend on a personal radio broadcast (my wife says).

Wait until she finds the small transmitter in our closet . . .

Kids Believe the Darndest Things

Actual conversation my wife and I had with Matilda.

Me: You know, tradition dictates that on the first New Year's Eve a dog spends with a family you have to shave him.

Wife: Yeah, we'll get out the shaving cream at midnight. They say that as his hair starts to grow back you will be able to see the future in his hair patches.

Matilda: Really?

I don't know what disturbs me more. The remote chance that she believed us or that she was actually excited about the concept of having a clean-shaven dog.

Life Would Be Better

If I could complain about things with Joe Strummer's voice. My voice just isn't suited to complaints, either justified or trivial.

For example, if my pizza was cold I could say, "Excuse me Mr. Waiter, my pizza is cold." In my Midwestern voice, it sounds . . . whiney. And Pizzaman would probably take care of my needs, but make fun of me behind my back.

But if I could say it with Joe Strummer's voice, he'd jump to help me. He'd go in back and say, "Dude, don't fuck with table 13. That guy is serious."

I know, it's a stupid wish, especially considering Joe's iconic stature. But he's dead. He's not using his voice for anything. It'd be a shame to let it go to waste.

See Asimo

See Asimo run. Run Asimo run!

See Asimo bust a move. "You've been served," says Asimo.

See Asimo take up drinking and lament his lonely, cold electrical world.

See Asimo take someone home in a drunken stupor and perform an oil change.

Asimo feels regret. Regret Asimo! Regret!

Disconnect the Dots

Brief update before the end of the year. I've created a quick playlist on Radio SFT to reflect some of my most played songs of the last year. Not all of them were released last year, but they all were major hits in my car and on Winamp.

So, listen now or forever hold your peace.

See you next year.

Happy Festivus

I'm mostly out of here for the rest of the year. Might do light posting, but for the most part I'm going to pretend to enjoy the holiday and not make snide comments about people who don't know I'm mocking them because they are so wrapped up in their own self-indulgent stories about how non-traditional their wedding will be because they are so cool and ultra-hip and the rest of the world should bow to their bland ideas of how we should all behave. Isn't it sweet?

Anyway, a new Radio SFT Playlist is up for Christmas. This music is actually serious, nice Christmas music.

Enjoy. I'll be back briefly next week to change things out. Otherwise, have a nice holiday, a good New Year's and a fantastic Wednesday.

Happiness Is . . .

Seeing your three-year-old daughter dancing around with her little plastic CD player (with microphone) to Beulah's "Gravity's Bringing us Down". When she went to Grandma's house this morning she brought along their album When Your Heartstrings Break (my favorite . . . and it was a copy. You think I'm nuts?) Beulah seems to be her favorite.

I mean, honestly, how cool is it to hear your kid sing, "Ba ba ba ba ba ba" correctly and not in reference to a sheep?

Very cool.

Happiness is also a warm puppy, I hear. And a warm gun. I'd be happy with a Boulevard Unfiltered Wheat. Droooooool. Beer.

Must . . . Have . . . This

Once again, Stereogum has ruined my life. How? By introducing me to a CD that is currently shipping from Amazon in FOUR TO SIX WEEKS. That bastard. Does he not understand the intense need he has created for a disc that seems to be hard to get?

What is it you ask? Why it's a French band doing Bossa covers of New Wave and Punk classics. My life will not be complete until this disc is in my hands.

How cool is it? Check out the covers of The Clash, Joy Division and The Cure.

Oh Nouvelle Vagues how I pine for thee.

Things My Father Told Me I Never Should Have Believed

That he was a sailor in the Bolivian Navy. (Bolivia is landlocked.)

That the knife he carried when we went hiking was to kill bears. (No bears in Missouri anymore.)

He played professional ice hockey but he couldn’t ice skate, so they let him use roller-skates. He was fired because the puck kept going between the wheels.

That I’d have to sit in the rafters for a hockey game.

That Vaughan Monroe sang with mashed potatoes in his mouth.

That the scar on his chest was from being bayoneted in the Korean War. (He got it while scaling a fence running away from trouble when he was a kid.)

That “Roof Tag” is a perfectly reasonable game for kids to play in the city of Chicago.

That liver/beer/coffee/beans will grow hair on my chest.

That playing tackle football without pads was unsafe, but my brothers sitting on me (most who played football) was perfectly reasonable.

I don’t know who tied me to a tree when I was three, but I should have complained about that more.

Naughty or Nice

A new Radio SFT Playlist for Christmas. Naughty or nice? You decide.

And honestly, unless you're stupid, it's pretty easy.

My Top Five of 2004

Everyone is posting a top something of 2004. I want to as well, but I can't settle on a list to save my life. My favorites change with my mood.

So, in lieu of a top ten best, I give you my top five albums/singles that (thankfully) didn't come out in 2004 because it would just be too painful.

5. Avril Lavigne - The Goldberg Variations
4. Marilyn Manson - I Killed the Pope, Slept With My Mom, Kicked a Puppy and STILL NO ONE CARES ANYMORE.
3. The Everly Brothers - Wake Up Little Suzie 2004 (Sorry 'Bout the Roofies) Extended CD Single
2. Kajagoogoo - Sing the Hits of Leo Sayer
1. Britney Spears - My Prerogative

Crap. Number one came true. Hit the bunker, it's only a matter of time!

Runners up: Clay Aiken - Growing a Beard and Dan Fogelberg - Can't Sit Down

Drink a Big Black Cow and Get Out of Here

You love Steely Dan and you know it. Between the bubbling guitar riffs of Larry Carlton (shot in the neck, so you don't have to be) and the mashed potato backing vocals of Michael McDonald (should have been shot in the neck) you can't get enough. "Hey Nineteen?" Brilliant. "Aja"? Wonderful. "Reeling in the Years"? Tired of it.

But, if you're like me, you never know what the hell Donald Fagan is babbling about. He pronounces the words just fine, but he can't seem to sing about things I actually know about. Bleeker Street? Never been there. Squonks? No clue. Muswellbrook? Totally off the charts. Steely Dan? Well, I read Naked Lunch. You'd think Walter Becker would at least explain Fagan.

Still, Steely Dan, despite the fact that their fine studio craft has been usurped by crappy classic rock stations, produced some fine music. I just don't know what it's about.

Fear not little ones! All you need is The Steely Dan Dictionary. It explains it all AND is a valid source for your term paper on the East St. Louis Toodle-oo.

And despite the fact that I never know what Fagan is singing about, I still love The Nightfly.

That's right. I like Steely Dan. So sue me. I like Neil Young and The Banana Splits too

Get Back Loretta!

Can you believe it? After more than two years of neglect, I actually added some of my mixes to the CD Projects page. As Joey used to say, "Woah Blossom".

Now, this is only a small selection of discs I've put together. I make roughly two mixes a week. Most of them suck, unless I have an intended audience. Right now I'm polishing four follow-ups to the trip mix I made in August. They are bound for Portland and Rhode Island.

Groovy.

So, go check out the updates.

Are You Sitting Down?

I'm updating the CD Projets page. Oooooh. Don't get over excited. I just cleaned in here.

Happy RamaHanuKwanzMas

Nothing much to say. I'm busy, one kid has the dual sickness of the stomach flu and Pink Eye. My wife is feeling under the weather, most likely exhaustion from mopping up vomit and daubing crust out of a child's eye. I try to help, but when you wake up with bodily fluids violently flying out of your eyes and mouth you tend to want your mommy. I don't take it personally. In fact, I'm thankful.

We did decorate the tree on Saturday. Mom didn't feel good, Matilda participated when she could (she's the puker) and would direct the action from the couch until her eustachian tube (I kid you not, the hits keep on coming in the O'Brien house) started acting up. Gertrude, on the other hand, was wonderfully excited about taking the ornaments off the tree and hiding them in her room to play with later. We've located about three, but for the most part our tree looks like the Griswolds' car after they visited East Saint Louis. I half expect to find our ornaments auctioned on eBay. I wouldn't doubt that this little three-year-old could type.

Anyway, I owe several people holiday CDs and I'm working on them between puking, larceny and moaning.

I've posted a new Radio SFT Playlist focusing on the stranger side of the holidays. My Jewish friends will note a few songs to close out Hanukkah with. The first one may be offensive to everyone. Nothing says "Happy Holidays" like mocking several religious groups, Princess Di and Billy Joel in one fell swoop.

All is Quiet

Yeah, I know, I'm not posting. I don't know if it's the time of year or if my life is just nuts but I haven't been able to find time to wax poetic about such important things as Elvis Costello and the best kind of cheese to pair with a good Pale Ale.

Besides, it's the holidays. You should be shopping for my present.

I promise to get back to actually writing things. You know, like Pam Anderson now that she's a novelist. Only I have smaller breasts.

Hey Santa Claus

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm just a jolly fricking Christmas elf. I love the colors, the pageantry, the whole idea of the Christmas spirit.

Actually, that's far from true. I'm usually irritated by the whole Christmas process. I hate the crowds shopping. I hate the annoying people who are chipper and so filled with the spirit you want to grab them by the ankles and slam them against a wall repeatedly.

But, I like giving presents. And I love how the whole season affects the kids. I love how excited they get, how anticipation just about kills them and I love the surprise of opening the gifts. But, my favorite part is the Christmas morning gluttony overload where the kids are sitting in the middle of the year's new toys with a glazed look that says, "Holy crap. I have no idea what to do first." Better yet is when they collapse under the tree and fall asleep.

All that being said, I also love offbeat Christmas music. And that is why I post today. Starting today and running through the end of the month I will post a new Radio SFT Playlist. Each week will have a new theme. This week's is Frat Rock. We will also have Naughty, Nice and Just Plain Damn Weird. There will also be a few Hanukkah songs thrown in, when I can find them. Tell your friends, of course.

So that's all. Enjoy the new playlist.

I must warn you that there may be adult language in some of the songs. I know, I'm making the Baby Jesus cry, but this is Rock and Roll man.

I will be sending out my annual Christmas on Mars discs to a select group of people. If you desperately need one, drop me a line. But you may get it after Christmas as I don't have much time this year to dedicate to making it and sending it out.

The Mouth of Sauron

It's about damn time.

Groovy.

If you're not a geek, don't even bother clicking. You'll roll your eyes and wonder what time the D&D game starts. To that I say:

Thhhhhhhbbbbbbbbbbbtttttttt.

Over Here

I've been called to task for not posting lately. So I'm posting to explain my not posting.

I'm busy. So is my wife, that's why she's not posting. It's pretty nuts around here.

That is all.

Thank you for your time.

Explosive Stress Syndrome

Yes, the dreaded ESS. Everything's happening at once. Stupid expectations. Why can't "When I get to it, Bucky" be a valid deadline?

Anyway, since I won't have a new post in a while, unless you count this, and I don't, I've created a new a new Radio SFT Playlist.

My sister (known as Aunt Maneen in hour house) requested some new tunes. So this time out I've decided to supply her with the wonder that is the music of Stephin Merritt. Rich, layered, organic and surprisingly poetic and romantic.

Yes, I put the song from the diamond commercial. So if you recognize "Kiss Me Like You Mean It" it is because you've heard it on TV. Also, I included "The Book of Love" because Peter Gabriel recently did a souless cover of it for the souless remake of the very good Japanese film "Shall We Dance". This one is much better.

In this mix you'll hear Stephin Merritt, Magnetic Fields, The 6ths and The Gothic Archies. Mr. Merritt has many moods, and each band reflects one of his musical directions. However, more than any other playlist I've put up, I can vouch for the sheer quality of every song.

They may sound a little different to you at first. But that's okay. Just hold yourself and listen. Eventually you'll realize that Stephin Merritt is like my generation's Cole Porter. He writes in the tradition of the good old standards. But with a Pop/Rock/Folk/Techno slant. Though his electronic songs aren't featured here.

Have a happy Thanksgiving. And consider how thankful you are for the wonder that is the Jell-O mold. Any food that can actively suspend a marshmallow has to be good. Unless you're a vegetarian. Then be thankful that you don't have hooves.

Um, What the Hell?

Apparently there is a book to teach kids about marijuana. It's obviously written by someone who wants to legalize the stuff. I honestly have no opinion on that. (Never touched the stuff, honestly. Seriously. Why do people find that so hard to believe? Yes, I had druggie friends but I have never ingested something illegal. I don't like the lack of control.)

Anyway, the book's website has an excerpt from the book. Look at the furnishings. Of course these people smoke pot. Why else would they decorate their house like that. Only stoners would have those posters. And look at the cactus? Do Mommy and Daddy also practice Peyote ceremonies? And the carpet in the bedroom? Jeez, it looks like Timothy Leary threw up in there. Honestly, I don't think they are making a very good case for marijuana. Apparently it leads to horrible decorating and grooming habits.

Oddly, I want to read the book now . . . I want to know what happens. I need to know if that last page is what I envision. A young child gorging herself on Doritos and saying, "Woah. Have you ever looked at your hand? I mean really looked at your hand."

Oh yeah, marijuana is just a plant. So is tobacco. Technically so is grain alcohol, heroin and crack. They just had a little help along the way.

Update: Okay. Just noticed the stuff on this page. Okay, I can handle taking your child to visit a friend who is illegally growing a controlled substance in his backyard. And I'm happy they visited the counselor. But . . . did they go to the UN? And why is the mom dressed like Sgt. Pepper? And why did she dress her daughter as a samurai.

They just made the case against marijuana for me. Wow. That's just messed up.

Happy Un-Birthday

Rather than give you the traditional, gushy post, I offer to my wife:

This little nugget.

Aching Disappointment

I went to the bank drive through today. I haven't been to one in years, for a variety of reasons. I had forgotten how much fun they are when there's no line. I kept thinking how much Gert would love the pneumatic tube system.

I was pulled from my reverie when the tube plunked down the canister containing my deposit slip. Joanne wished me a fond farewell and offered her appreciation for my choice in banks. And I sped away.

Halfway out of the parking lot I was severely disappointed that I didn't get a sucker. Sure, I'm 31 years old and I don't fit their normal sucker demographic. But, still . . . don't we all deserve some suckers? I want my Dum Dum, the same kind they used to give away at Barnaby's Pizza. Or even better, one of those Saf-T-Pops.

Something that uses a hyphen T hyphen is inherently cool.

Next time I'm demanding a sucker, damn it. I deserve love and confection, not unlike Matthew and Gunnar Nelson. Except without the freakish albino look.

UPDATE: In the name of all things holy and sacred, was this really needed or appropriate?

I Don't Bleed You

Some bastards were able to see Stew in NYC this past weekend. I'm not one of those bastards. And odds are, neither are you.

Adam Duritz and Immy of Counting Crows appeared with Stew for a few songs. While I've never been a great fan of the Crows, I am mightily appreciative of the support they've given Stew over the last few years. If anyone deserves that sort of adulation and support it's Stew.

Anyway, they've posted a pretty damn good version of "Bleed" on the CC site. Enjoy it.

Stew, Adam Duritz, Immy - Bleed (Live at Symphony Space 11/12/04)

Stop Treating Music Like It's a Tennis Shoe

Wired News' Xeni Xardin (ahem, faker . . . Case in point, on Boing Boing she calls the article her "interview with Wilco" . . . Obviously I'm not a big fan of the platinum haired tech whore, but I mean that with the utmost respect) had the luxury of interviewing Wilco's Jeff Tweedy on the band's embracing of streaming audio and downloads.

Jeff seems to have the right idea. Fans are not necessarily criminals. Treating them as such will only serve to further alienate the audience. What's more is the fact that those who download full albums in lieu of purchasing them are more likely to have never bought the album in the first place. Worse still, have you seen the prices of CDs? And who are they actively going after? Teens. Where the hell is a teen going to get $18 for a few CDs a month? Sure part-time jobs pay better than they did when I was a kid, but they don't pay that well.

In most cases I see P2P music as a bad idea for a variety of reasons. But P2P isn't going to stop the crap that the record companies are shoving down our throats. They can, however, serve to help bands like Wilco. Where else are you going to hear the music? Either the band has to offer you a taste for free or you have to find it. Radio doesn't play it, TV doesn't pay attention and while the print media is supportive, no one has yet devised a way for you to listen to a magazine. But I'm certainly not going to pay $18 for a piece of shit. I need to check it out first. I don't personally use P2P to do so, but it certainly is a viable avenue. And if you read the article, fans of good faith are willing to pay for the music. Often more than once.

Anyway, quoth Tweedy:

If they succeed, it will damage the culture and industry they say they're trying to save. What if there was a movement to shut down libraries because book publishers and authors were up in arms over the idea that people are reading books for free? It would send a message that books are only for the elite who can afford them.

Stop trying to treat music like it's a tennis shoe, something to be branded. If the music industry wants to save money, they should take a look at some of their six-figure executive expense accounts. All those lawsuits can't be cheap, either . . .

A piece of art is not a loaf of bread. When someone steals a loaf of bread from the store, that's it. The loaf of bread is gone. When someone downloads a piece of music, it's just data until the listener puts that music back together with their own ears, their mind, their subjective experience. How they perceive your work changes your work. Treating your audience like thieves is absurd.

Or, in other words:



And, on a personal note, I'd like to thank Wilco for streaming their Fillmore show last night. Sounded damn good.

Gert Day

Since I won't have time tomorrow, I'll say it now.

Happy Birthday baby girl. The joy you've brought my life far outweighs the frustration you bring when you hide my keys.

Though if you could give me a tiny hint we're you put them . . . We're out of milk.

Still Kicking

Still here. Gert's birthday is on Saturday and we're feverishly preparing for her shindig. Hiring the dancing clowns, the spaceship, and all the nation's court jesters to please her.

Actually, it's not a big party. But we have to clean the house and prepare. With all the work my wife and I have to do on a daily basis in the first place it seems that sweeping throws us for a curve.

Plus it's that time of year for me. I always get in a funk around Thanksgiving and it seems to be hitting early this year.

Why a funk? Well, in 1978 my dad died right before Thanksgiving. In 1981 I was in the hospital being diagnosed with Diabetes over Thanksgiving. And in 1995 my mom went into the hospital for the last time on Thanksgiving. She died on December 5th.

So, I always feel sad. I'm cool with the whole Diabetes thing. But even after all this time the parent thing still gets me. Maybe the whole sense of loss is what has fueled me to try and not miss a thing with my kids, to the detriment of almost everything else. I suppose I fear something will happen to me and my kids will have regrets. Or not be able to remember me. Or something.

Anyway, I've created a new radio mix on the subject. It's a two hanky rating for my sisters. Don't worry, it's not all sad songs.

It's funny, I have issues communicating my feelings on this subject but I don't mind letting others take care of it. I think "Please Tell My Brother" will send one of my sisters into hankyland. "Circle Game" always does that to another sister. The third? I'm going to guess "You'll Never Walk Alone". Or maybe "Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ral".

My brothers? They might get choked up, but they won't admit it. Well, Marty would. But the other guys will just say, "Huh? Naw, I'm still stinging over the Don Denkinger call in the 85 World Series. That son of a bitch."

So, listen early and listen often. This one actually has a meaning.

Coffee With Sonar

Dear God I need this. Look at that thing. It has sonar! I can drink coffee and watch the progress of an oncoming submarine!

Droooooool.

Highway to the Lava Dome

Cool! Volcanocam!

And it glows at night! Mother Nature is a hot, saucy bitch.

Bad Week For the Edwards Family

Wow. Not much else can go wrong, huh? Can't wait until some prick makes a really unfunny joke about it just because she's married to the former candidate for VP.

Because it's really funny to make fun of people with breast cancer. Let me tell you. I find it hilarious.

Questions . . .

No. I'm not going to talk about the election. I'm mad. But probably not about what you think. And I don't feel like sharing. Because, honestly, I don't think anyone else will understand.

A fictional man once said, "All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us." I'm deciding . . .

I'll leave you with a happy thought. I added a new Wilco cover to the Radio station. Local readers will giggle and smile when they see the details.

Added Covers to the Radio Station

I added two new covers to the radio station.

Wilco's "Any Major Dude Will Tell You" and The Negro Problem's "Macarthur Park".

Groovy.

That is all. Go back to your business.

Be Not So Fearful: Vote

Not to steal a line from Wilco’s website. Well, okay, I meant to.

I voted today and I hope you do as well. I mean, I hate people. Generally despise other humans. I find them boring, stupid and often irritating. Therefore, if a solipsistic, anthrophobic misanthrope like me can vote so can you.

I do have one question for my election officials: Where’s my sticker? I was promised a sticker for voting. I have no sticker. I want my damn sticker.

It’s hard to believe that four years ago I was working as the movies editor for a now defunct website. On election night, the news team had planned to stay until the winner was announced so they could post it to the website. When I came in the next morning, they looked like zombies. They had taken turns sleeping on the floor, hoping for a definitive answer. At that point, we all knew that we didn’t have a final answer. However, my sunken-eyed comrades just looked at me and said, “We don’t know. I can’t believe we don’t know. Did you make coffee yet?”

I hope that we know tomorrow morning. God I hope we know tomorrow morning. I cannot take the juvenile fighting between the two parties again.

Still, take today and celebrate the diverse voices. We are a country of many people and yet we are a country of one people. In the words of a dead man (because no one listens to the living):

If we cannot end now our differences, at least we can help make the world safe for diversity. For, in the final analysis, our most common basic link is that we all inhabit this small planet. We all breathe the same air. We all cherish our children's future. And we are all mortal. –John F. Kennedy

Or, in the words of another wise man, who happens to be living:

Moslem or Christian Mullah or Pope
Preacher or poet who was it wrote
Give any one species too much rope
And they'll fuck it up
--Roger Waters

Something Happening Tomorrow?

I sense something is going on tomorrow. Anyone care to clue me in? Can't be anything exciting involving the election. I mean, the recount and lawsuits don't begin until Wednesday.

Personally, I'm voting for Jon Stewart. I think we could use a president that is willing to call Putin a dick. Other than Cheney, of course.

Speaking of Cheney, my wife and I are wondering if he has a pull chord in his back, like on a lawn mower. "Shit, Cheney's down! Cheney's down!" Vroom. Vroom. VROOOOOOOM. "Okay, he's ticking again."

Oh, and if you don't vote tomorrow I'm going to come over there and personally kick your ass. If you can find the time to vote for the MTV Movie Awards "Best Kiss" then surely you can muster some time to do something important. Okay Ass Monkey? Okay.

Trick or Burp

One too many hoppy Halloween treats makes daddy sleepy.

Today, after weeks of checking out music-oriented blogs and waiting for an update to fix some functionality I wasn't crazy about, I pulled the trigger and started my own Radio Blog.

If you click on Radio SFT, you'll find yourself in a cornucopia of indie goodness. It will open in it's own window and everything. Go ahead. Click it. Click it damn it! This month's theme: Strange cover tunes.

I'll update the theme as I see fit. (To be read: When I remember.)

Now. Halloween nap. No more Sea Dog India Pale Ale.

Honestly, it was to flavor the chili. I just had some left over.

There She Goes, My Beautiful World

I have the new Nick Cave disc. Thank you eMusic. Thank you for allowing me to eloquently indulge in my dark side and frighten the children. It's no Murder Ballads or No More Shall We Part, but thus far it's pretty good.

Actual Conversation

Wife: And then the chiropractor massaged the area where sciatica causes me problems. It felt really great. I'm going for a follow up next week. You should go see him.

Me: I don't have back problems. I have neck problems.

Wife: Well, he can talk to you about your posture, figure out what's wrong and how to correct it. I think it will really help you feel better.

Me: Will he talk to me about diet and nutrition too?

Wife: Probably. He'll look at the whole package, your overall health.

Me: So he'll tell me to stand up straight and eat my vegetables?

Wife: Yes. He's your mother.

Me: One of these days . . . Bang! Zoom!

Cue canned laughter as husband and wife laugh at each others jokes and hug.

Fin.

She's in Pieces, In Pieces

Faced with a technical Snafu, all she could say was, "They're magically delicious!"

The Cardinals

Are making my eyes bleed. I can't watch anymore.

I can't believe we're being beaten by a team that appears to have Adam Duritz playing left field, a rejected member of the L'il Rascals at short stop and a G.I. Joe doll, as portrayed by Che Guevara filtered through Liberace's wildest fantasies in center field.

I mean, seriously. We might as well have stayed home and sent a first grade t-ball team to face the Sox. I refuse to watch anymore. This is why I stopped watching sports in the first place. It's too damned stressful.

Oh well. At least the Blues don't suck this year.

Things to Do on a Dreary Day . . .

If you work in your basement and you're stupid.

Nick Cave has a new album coming out today. And I can't buy it because I've used up all my funds on other crap this month. So, of course, I'm listening to Nick today.

Not. A. Good. Idea.

I'm in the basement. It's dark and dreary outside.

And I hear this.

And this . . . Especially this.

And I'm now afraid.

Very afraid.

The music is coming from INSIDE THE HOUSE! Of course, all of Nick's songs aren't these creepy, Milton-drenched medieval troubadour types. No, some songs are actually kind of pretty. Hell, even those songs, with their cryptic dread, are pretty. But, still . . .

Hmmm . . . Maybe I'll blast this stuff on Halloween. Heh. Scare those leaching little bastards off for good.

Forgot to Mention

If you look to your left, there is a new link for a "Hip Album". This is a photo site dedicated to dorks like me and their Sidekicks. Since I now have the Sidekick 2 (extra Geeky!), courtesy of the fine folks at Levelbest Communications, i.e. John, I'm using my phonecam a lot more these days.

So, you'll find random photos over there when I remember to use it. One is of Gert trying to fall asleep at night. Yes, she was that upset before I took a picture of her. After that she went all Sean Penn on my ass.

I’m Only Sleeping

Weekend conversation about afternoon naps:

Gertrude: I don’t want to take a nap. (Cries in protest.)

Me: I’m sorry sweetie. But you have to. If you don’t, you’ll be crabby all day.

Gertrude: Matilda doesn’t take a nap.

Me: Well, when you get bigger you don’t need to take naps anymore. Although I’m bigger and I want to take a nap.

Gertrude (beginning to sob): I try to grow bigger but it doesn’t work!

And there she begins to wail. Wail against the injustice of being a child.

Poor kid. It’s tough being the youngest.

I Heart Jon Brion

You know, I really want Jon Brion's soundtrack to I Heart Huckabees (click on the little radio tab on the bottom). Why? Strange, irreverent, seems to channel Brian Wilson in a hybrid Pet Sounds/Smile era, has groovy oooooohs and it just plain damn sounds good. Not that Jon has ever steered me wrong before.

That is all.

Goodnight.

Bless the monkeys.

Living is Easy with Eyes Closed

Like many other mindless monkeys, my wife and I are completely addicted to ABC's "Lost". This is an important event because I don't think I've been addicted to a network show for a long time.

Basically, a plane crashes and the survivors are stranded on a remote island where strange things happen. Groovy.

I was talking with a friend and I decided to make a CD "soundtrack" for the show. All songs that were about the basic emotions and story points on the show. What I've put together works pretty well, I think. You start in the plane, get stranded, encounter monsters, misunderstood people, violence and finally lose all hope.

It's an uplifting disc, really.

The only thing I was missing was an attempted message to the outside world. A message that would go unheard. Nothing really worked that well. So, I enlisted the help of the Conet Project, which is a haunting recording of short wave numbers stations filled with oblique phrases, static, strange noises and other wonderfully musical, aural treats.

But it wasn't enough. There was no melody. So I took the Belle & Sebastian song "Freak" from their Storytelling soundtrack and overlayed pieces of the Conet Project. All done and said I mixed together about five different Conet pieces that I felt were frightening, haunting and desperate. I enjoyed playing around with the stereo channels in the opening bit. My intention was to give a sense that a message was being lost. To close out the CD with a complete sense of hopelessness wrapped inside an attempt at hope.

I think it works. I kind of like it. I used the most cliched piece of Conet in the middle because I figured it would be easily recognizable to my intended audience and they might hang around throughout the song, until the end, so that they would get the final effect I was going for. So, don't hold it against me that I used it. Okay? I'm fragile. Be gentle.

Anyway, here's the track list. Copies are available upon request, of course. I'm also including the song I mashed together for download. God knows how many people could sue me over it. However, I'm sure both of my loyal readers, who are probably both related to me, won't turn me in.

1. Neutral Milk Hotel - In the Aeroplane Over the Sea
2. Beach Boys - Sail Plane Song
3. Pavement - Hit The Plane Down
4. Wondermints - Porpoise Song
5. Joe Henry - Ohio Air Show Plane Crash
6. Death Cab For Cutie - President Of What
7. The Kinks - I'm on an Island
8. Rasputina - Thimble Island
9. Radio 4 - Start A Fire
10. AGK - Neon Dog
11. Aimee Mann - Real Bad News
12. The Roswells - Monsters from the Id
13. Les Savy Fav - Tragic Monsters
14. Wilco - Misunderstood
15. Jim White - Static On The Radio
16. Wilco - Be Not So Fearful
17. Destroyer - It's Gonna Take an Airplane
18. Great Lakes - Become the Ship
19. Tom Waits - Lost In The Harbour
20. Golden Smog - Please Tell My Brother
21. Joe Purdy - Wash Away
22. The Conet Project/Belle & Sebastian - Call For Help (Gary Mix) (2.5 MB)

Oodle Doodle?

To use the parlance of the youngsters, WTF? Give it a chance to load. Then fire up your email and please explain it to me.

I mean, okay, I like eggs. They are versatile. They provide a nice emulsifier for many yummy treats. They also aren't bad scrambled or nogged.

But never have I had the brilliant idea to have a bunch of dancing chicken ovum prance around declaring their love for themselves. Nor had I ever thought of dressing them up, especially as some sort of iron spiked S&M king. And that last image of the egg with a nipple, blinking and smiling while a human child sucks out its inner goodness? It horrifies me.

Maybe North Korea did test a nuclear bomb recently. Because something happened to seriously mess up the brains of the South Koreans.

Be Not So Fearful

Gertrude feels with an intensity that should make the rest of us envious. She is so in touch with her emotions that sometimes they seem to come exploding out of her not from an emotional outburst but due to a simple overload.

The love you feel for a child is unlike any you will ever experience in your life. Your entire life becomes loving that child. If it means you will be cold, hungry, thirsty or wet in order for your child to be comfortable, you will do without. You don’t think about it, you don’t even hesitate. You just do. The love you have for a child is the purest, simplest, most basic love you can ever feel. More than you feel for a wife, brother, sister, mother or father. It may be the only unquestioning love you will ever feel.

The love that Gertrude feels, however, consumes her. It bursts out of her with an intense burning. She feels her love strongly and she wants to share that love. She wants to hug her sister, pet the dog, sit on mommy’s lap and stroke daddy’s cheek all at the same time.

But, Gertrude is two. In the daily flow of things for a two year old, she makes mistakes, does things she shouldn’t. Whether it’s dumping the contents of the salt shaker on the table and drawing in the pile of white crystals or trying to ride the dog like a horse, her natural curiosity gets the best of her.

For this she must be corrected. But for Gertrude, being corrected means that she has run afoul of mom and dad. Worse, we may be angry or disappointed. She simply cannot handle this possibility.

She crumples, cries and apologizes profusely, promising she’ll never do it again. (Invariably she does, because a toddler’s curiosity is not wired to a toddler’s sense of right and wrong.)

“Daddy,” she’ll sob, “I so sorry. I won’t do it again. I promise.” And she’ll lay her head on my lap, crying while I assure her that she just made a mistake, that we all make mistakes.

Last night as my wife and I were going to bed, we were discussing Gert’s emotions. And, once again, we realized that a song sums up everything we want to tell her about her feelings. (This kid is going to rebel against music.) This morning she and I listened to it in the car.

“Did you sing this to me when I was a little tiny baby,” she asked.

“No, I didn’t know it back then. But now whenever I hear it I think of you.”

“You think of me?”

“All day long, sweetie.”

“You sing this song and you will hold me in your arms?”

“That’s right. You’ll always be my baby girl. No matter how big you get, I will always hold you in my arms.”

“You will always hold me in your arms?”

“Whenever one of us needs it, I’ll hold you in my arms.”

It was quiet for a while, as we drove down the highway. “Daddy,” she said, “I love you.”

In the rearview mirror I could see on her face that she had the warm feeling of loving and being loved in return. If that, a cookie and a little juice is all you need in this life, you’re not doing too badly.

This is the song we were listening to. It’s written by Bill Fay and performed by Jeff Tweedy. The lyrics are below. And, truly, this is all we wish for our kids.

Be Not So Fearful

Be not so nervous
Be not so frail
Someone watches you
You won't fail

Be not so nervous
Be not so frail
Be not so nervous
Be not so frail

Be not so sorry
For what you have done
You must forget them now
It's done

And when you wake up
You will find that you can run
Be not so sorry
For what you have done

Be not so fearful
Be not so pale
Someone watches you
You won't leave the rails

Be not so fearful
Be not so pale
Be not so fearful
Be not so pale

You must forget them now
It's done

And when you wake up
You will find that you can run
Be not so sorry
For what you have done

Be not so sorry
For what you have done

Jon Stewart Kicks Big Media's Ass

And calls Tucker Carlson a dick, too. (UPDATE: CNN keeps editing the transpcripts, thereby proving the concept of "news" is subject for revision. Ergo, get thee to a Bit Torrent client and download the video. If you don't like Bit Torrent, try a QuickTime here or a variety of formats on the ultra-slow iFilm or WMV here.) But, more importantly, he exposes our media culture as theater, not news. And he says it right to their faces.

Everyone talks about the liberal bias in the media. Say what you will, but that argument ignores the true bias in the media.

Stupidity. Our media is a bunch of stupid, salacious, narcissists who talk more as an exercise in mental masturbation than to actually say something of substance. They're all on the lookout for the next Watergate, Filegate, Marthagate, Weddinggate or Hummergate that instead of focusing and reporting on what's going on, they focus on what might go on, who might be doing it, and whether or not they were wearing pants.

News rarely exists in our media anymore. Punditry does. Partisan bitch-slapping and party whine-fests are what pass as news and commentary. Stewart's right. I'd love to hear an actual debate on television.

But really, do we need to see another pasty, bloated talking head to tell us what their party's guy was saying when he said what he said? If we need a translation of what politicians are saying, if we need it watered down and regurgitated for us, then some people are failing to do their job.

1. The media, for not telling us facts instead of what it all might mean and,

2. Politicians, for loading the world with such a load of bullshit that we'd rather watch Paris Hilton milk a cow.

It's Her Prerogative

"I probably will, Britney Federline, I like that," Spears, 22, told Germany's Bunte magazine on Wednesday. "Society probably won't allow me but I would like to change it."

Um, Brit? That's your publicist that doesn't want you to change your name to match that of the ironic trucker hat wearing mongoloid that you married.

You see, Mrs. Federline, Society is what ended Jim Crow laws. Society is what helped women get the vote. Society is what cause prohibition to be repealed.

Society's wish for you, Mrs. Federline, is to watch you become a bloated, acne-riddled, has-been, trashy whore. And, if you find it encouraging, you're so close to our goal for you! Keep on trying!

Call yourself whatever you want, Mrs. Federline. We'll keep watching the tornado sweep through the trailer park of your life.

Why is your downfall so interesting to Society? Well, Brit . . . There's one thing we like more than a Cinderella story. And that's a comic tragedy. It's our prerogative.

Lunatic Fringe

And yet . . . why do I fear one of my brothers was involved in this?

Guess I'm Dumb

Following up on my post about God Only Knows (and the frightening amount of versions I have) . . .

I was listening to the Wondermints recently. Two members, and one pseudo member, of the Wondermints are members of Brian Wilson’s band. These guys can play Pet Sounds live. They are so good, in fact, that in 1996, before Brian went back to touring or even thought about approaching SMiLE, he saw the Wondermints perform “Surf’s Up” at a tribute to him. Brian said, "If I had these guys in 1967, I could have taken Smile on the road."

Anyway, back in 1996 the Mints were popular on the LA pop scene, but weren’t doing much else in the US. This was before Brian anointed them, so they didn’t get much press. But, as the cliché goes, they were big in Japan. So much so, in fact, that the Japanese asked them to record an album of covers (which are very popular in Japan). And they did.

I got this disc before it was available in the US. I listened to it intently. I know every note on the album.

And I am a complete fool.

I love the album. I know every note. I love Pet Sounds. I know every note.

Then explain to me why the other day, when I was listening to this part of the Wondermint’s version of “Ooh Child”, I never noticed what the horn line was quoting. Not transparent enough? It’s this part of “God Only Knows.”

I’m an idiot. I’m kicking myself right now. Probyn, I apologize for not picking up on your sly references.

Before You Learn to Rock, You Learn to Roller-skate

Since school started, Matilda has been going to a school-sponsored skating party once a month. Mom takes her and a friend and I stay at home with Gertrude doing things that would normally get us in trouble if mom found out we were doing them. (Seriously, I think it’s fine that we play with Crazy Glue. Despite the rumors, it DOES come off. With acetone. So what if we smell like a flammable material? It adds to our mystique.)

When they returned from the first skating party, Matilda’s friend stayed the night. As soon as they walked through the door, they ran to her bedroom to confab about the evening’s events.

“What happened,” I asked mom.

“You don’t want to know. Trust me.”

But I did want to know. Desperately. What was my nine year old daughter up to that required a closed-door conference? I mean, she’s nine. Didn’t they talk about Polly Pocket and My Little Pony or something? Surely that’s all they talked about.

I pressed my wife for details.

“You don’t want to know,” She said. I think she was baiting me. “Fine, but you can’t tell them that I told you. They both like the same boy. And he was there, winning tickets for them at the video games.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you right. There was a boy there? A nice boy who wasn’t trying to show off or anything, right? He was just a generous, kind young man who enjoyed spending time with the girls, right?”

“If that will allow you to keep your fragile grasp of your own alternate reality, then yes. But they like his hair.”

Shortly thereafter I was in the basement in the fetal position.

But this weekend, it got worse. Friday night they went to the party while Gertrude and I innocently ate kettle korn. Little did I know the world was changing.

They came home. The girls went into their closed door conference. Mom debriefed me. They skated for a while, then they met with “Boy 1” who they gave money to win them prizes (and the little bastard did just that). Mom sat knitting and overheard a gaggle of boys discussing who they liked. “I like Matilda,” said one.

It gets worse. Later, she said, over the plangent tones of a sappy teen love song, the roller-DJ announced, “This one goes out to Matilda, from AJ.”

And now my life, as I knew it, is over. I’ve begun barricading the door, stocking up on shotgun shells, training the dog to attack adolescent boys and practicing my “I don’t know if that dude’s sane” look. They may try to date my daughter, but they’ll have to make it by me first.

I’m using the family in the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre as my role models.

So, this one goes out to Matilda from D.A.D.

And this one goes out to the boys.

Hey Hey Hey!

Holy flaming crap on celluloid.

Life's Been Good To Me So Far

How do I know? There's a half-naked toddler traipsing around the house, strumming a broken toy guitar singing:

I'm wearing smelly underwear and I don't care.

She sings until she breaks down into convulsive laughter. If that ain't what life is all about then color me shocked.

Plus, I'm playing with a demo of SoundForge and I'm dangerous. Damn it's fun.

Goddily Knows

Years ago I created a tape for Matilda to drown out the noise of traffic emanating from the road we lived on. For some reason when night fell and the general public went to sleep, ginormous trucks would barrel down the road at breakneck speeds. We often wondered if it was part of some sort of shadow government’s secret shipping policy, but we could never be sure (“When it absolutely has to be there overnight and no one needs to know”).

The tape served Matilda for years and years. She listened to it every night, enjoying such classics as “The House at Pooh Corner”, “Feed the Birds” and “When You Wish Upon a Star”.

Of course, time went on and technology improved. Upon getting my first CD burner, one of the first things I did was burn a new goodnight CD for Matilda. This time I included songs from more diverse bands, such as Chewy Marble and Splitsville, while still retaining some of the classics like Joni Mitchell (and yes Teri, I still feel like I need to spit up when I hear “Circle Game”) and James Taylor.

One of my centerpiece songs was “God Only Knows”. It’s no secret that I love Brian Wilson and I tried to pass that love on to the kids. (My only success, until recently, was Matilda going around massacring the Barenaked Ladies song by singing “combing my hair like Brian Wilson did”). When Gert came along I started her early (actually prior to birth, since she was gestating when my lovely wife and I saw Brian Wilson live). During her colic period there were few things that would calm her. One was my left shoulder. Only my left shoulder. Another was listening to three select Beach Boys songs: “Don’t Worry Baby”, “Please Let Me Wonder” and “God Only Knows”. I’d sing those songs to her and her little eyes would begin to roll up into her head and sleep would overtake her.

Eventually the girls were force to share a room. So, Matilda’s CD became a communal bedtime ritual that was integral to the sleeping process.

As time passed, Gertrude inherited the CD and Matilda moved on to her own music (Oddly, the soundtrack from Return of the King, of all things). One night when Gert was snuggling into bed, “God Only Knows” started to play.

“You know, I sang this song to you when you were a baby.”

“When I was a little tiny baby?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Ever since that day, “God Only Knows” has become her favorite song. (Followed, oddly enough, by Death By Chocolate’s version of Cat Stevens’ “If You Want to Sing Out Sing Out”. It’s a good version, though both are inferior to Ruth Gordon singing it in Harold & Maude. Still, it’s a riot to hear a two year old singing, “If you want to be free, be free.”) Whenever we drive, she insists on hearing the song. Over. And over. And over. For some reason it resonates with her, it’s her Daddy connection. I don’t mind, of course. I mean, I’m thrilled. It’s adorable whenever she sings, “Godilly knows! Godilly knows!”

But even with the best of songs, you need variety. So I made her a new CD with no less than seven versions of the song.

First you have the original version (Gert calls out, “This is the song you sang to me when I was a tiny baby!”). Then, a few songs later, you have a cover version (“Dad! There’s a lady singing!”). A few songs later I really mess with her and use only the stereo vocal track (a cappella) (“DAD! There’s no MUSIC!”). To mess with her sense of the world further, a few songs later it’s the stereo backing track (“DADDY! They aren’t singing!”). After a Wilco song or two you get a live rehearsal from their Hawaii shows in 67 (“Daddy! The song is different!”). Now that I’ve introduced her to a nice variety of versions, I really mess with her. I use a version by a FRENCH singer (“Dad? What the hell?”). And, finally, I go obscure and use the version with an a cappella tag at the end. But, to be honest, she doesn’t notice that. I was going to use the version where Brian sings lead, rather than Carl, but . . . well . . . it just isn’t as moving.

I keep hoping one day she’ll come out and say, “Dad, you know that syncopated part in the bridge? That’s just amazing. The break and tempo of that was unheard of . . . no, it still IS unheard of in popular music. I really get the sense that Brian was trying to erase the boundaries of his genre and create something brand new.”

But, I worry that I’m just really messing with her head. Am I?

Dieu Sait Seulement! El Dios Sabe Solamente! Gott Weiß Nur! Il Dio Sa Soltanto! O Deus Sabe Somente!

Goodbye Hot Dog

Sigh.

I suppose it was appropriate today, given SpaceShip One's accomplishment. Still, I have a special kind of hero worship for the old guys.

Sweet

The XPrize has been won. I watched on TV as a new era of flight took place. Sure, everyone has their doubts about it. But who ever thought two bicycle makers would convince us to fly?

As for everyone who voted in this poll, I have one thing to say. Pussies.

Here’s How it Went

First off, Stereogum is just plain evil for posting this. I’ve been listening all morning and, well, I have to admit that it’s strangely brilliant. Hell, I love Shatner for all his campy goodness and egotistical puffery. To hear! Him! Sing! Common! People! Is! Simply! Brilliant!

Anyway, here’s how it went . . .

Matilda came home from school Tuesday and we chatted for a bit. She went into her room, where I had placed the Hilary Duff CD on her pillow. I heard her gleefully tearing into the packaging and squealing with excitement. She came running down the hallway yelling, “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! You are the BEST daddy in the entire world!” and she jumped into my arms and hugged me hard.

The sheer joy was infectious. In fact, it managed to trickle throughout the entire house. We all became happy and we sang and danced as we listened to Matilda’s new CD. And, for a brief, shining moment, Hilary Duff’s eponymous CD outshone Brian Wilson’s master work.

Okay. That’s how it happened in my head. Here’s how it really went down.

Matilda came home from school Tuesday and we chatted for a bit. She went into her room, where I had placed the Hilary Duff CD on her pillow. I heard her quietly tearing into the packaging. I waited in the kitchen for her to excitedly come out and excitedly tell me thank you.

I waited five minutes. Then ten. Nothing. Fifteen minutes passed and she went and watched TV without saying a word. So I went back to work. Five o’clock rolled around and I made dinner, still nothing. We chatted about what we were going to eat, but she never mentioned the disc. Mom came home, and nothing. We ate dinner and, nothing. I was steadfast in my refusal to say anything. I did something nice, damn it, and I expected her to, oh I don’t know, thank me.

Mom, however, had different ideas. As they were preparing to go to their knitting group Mom, exercising the subtlety of a hooker with a “Buy one get one free” sandwich board said, “Why don’t you bring a CD with you to listen to in the car.”

A light went on above Matilda’s head. She went to her room, got the CD and showed it to Mom.

“Where’d you get that,” Mom asked.

“It was on my bed.”

“And did it occur to you where it might have come from?”

“Yeah, I figured Daddy put it there.”

“And . . .”

“Oh. Thanks dad.”

I know, in her own way, she was excited. And I know she was honestly appreciative. Just not . . . effusive. Or emotional at all. But in her way, she was happy about what I did.

I just didn’t get the reaction I wanted. And, I suppose, the days of her little girl glee are over. But, still . . . I suppose I could dream.

And I have the dog. Hell, he has that little girl excitement every time I walk into the room.

“You’re HERE! Great! Want to play ball? Want to pet me? Want to rub my belly? Want to play chase? I’ll wrestle! I can wrestle! Let me sniff your ass! I’ll shove my snout in your crotch! I haven’t seen you since you left the room for the kitchen. I love you! Woo hoo! Oops. I peed on the floor.”

Sonny Down Snuff I'm Alright

Unlike the mainstream press, I will not use clichéd comments about how “Brian Wilson Finally Smiles”. They’re stupid jokes and I wish everyone would stop using them. I mean, seriously, how uninventive are these people?

So, we all know the legend of Smile. Those who don’t can do a quick search of the Internet to find the full story, however true it may be.

I admit that impatience had gotten the best of me and I had heard Smile in its entirety before it was released. I was well prepared for the structure, the changes, the new voices, etc. However, I was not prepared for the sheer sonic pleasure I would derive out of that first vocal chord from “Our Prayer”. It sounded good in the car, but on the home stereo it was simply engulfing.

The album is set up in three movements (America, Childhood, and the Elements) and, as the album is ordered, contains a rather cohesive narrative. Van Dyke Parks’ lyrics, once considered obtuse, actually work well. Perhaps they are a little more elusive in their meaning than a Britney Spears song, but their intent is to paint a picture, not tell you the meaning of life. “Surf’s Up”, which is ostensibly about the loss of childhood, paints a picture of an abandoned theater, once great architecture crumbling and a man standing on the shore waving goodbye to his former self. It’s a heartbreakingly beautiful image, as are the columnated ruins domino, hung velvet and the muted trumpeter swan. Difficult? Perhaps, but the pleasure in Smile is not its analysis but in letting go and letting the music wash over you.

The music. Much has been written about this music for 37 years. The question remains “is the music daring, ground-breaking, and representative of Brian’s peak?” The answer is yes.

Smile is so densely layered with melody, counter-melody, flourish, arpeggios, harmonies and recurring musical themes that intense listening is a rewarding pleasure. The second listen reveals a bass harmonica croaking in after the verse in a way you didn’t notice, “Our Prayer” has a soaring falsetto that wasn’t apparent on your third listen and listen to how elegantly those strings enter on the bridge . . . I never noticed that. And the transition between “Wonderful” and “Song for Children” is simply gorgeous.

This is complex, challenging, funny, dynamic music. It’s loud, gentle, bombastic and lilting all at once. It’s rich and dense with so much to discover. Brian’s band, which has been woefully underutilized in his past studio efforts, is brilliant in their playing. They avoid the traps of tribute band while managing to move beyond a surrogate band. The passion for this music and belief in what this should be is clear.

The sequence of songs makes sense, though in my own amateur archival attempts I never came close. Yes, “Good Vibrations” is included here. But I have never considered it as a cohesive part of Smile, outside of the recording techniques. Perhaps it could be considered a bridge, of sorts. Here it closes out the album. However it seems Brian is setting it apart, almost as a coda. In the final seconds of “Blue Hawaii”, the song that precedes “Good Vibrations” is a refrain of the opening track, “Our Prayer”. Thematically, I feel as though it ends the three movement piece there, with “Good Vibrations” acting as an epilogue.

No matter. What I think is inconsequential.

Two issues must be addressed:

1. Is this better without the Beach Boys? The answer is yes and no. The Beach Boys wouldn’t, and couldn’t, have completed this album. Therefore it is a moot point. Unsupportive for decades, and deceased now. There is no longer a band called The Beach Boys, only a corporate entity that markets a band under that name licensed by a former member.

But it brings up a wholly different issue. Smile, when you listen to it, is not your typical rock album. This is a musical suite. A work that transcends its performers. It tells a story, it begs for performance and musical experience. Only since the advent of recording technology and the emergence of performers who can write have we begun to cling to the sacred nature of the original artist. Music is meant to be performed, consumed, and experienced. It should be interpreted, reinterpreted and given new life and passion as filtered through new performers. We don’t dismiss a performance of “Caprice No. 1 in E/E-dur/mi majeur” because it isn’t the long dead Paganini’s performance. Music should be alive and intertwined within our lives long after those who created it are gone.

2. If this had been released in 1967 would it have been hailed as genius? Hell if I know. Hell if anyone knows. This release, as it stands, is brilliant. The music that Brian wrote is brilliant, entertaining and challenging. It’s expertly performed. And, yes, even 37 years later, it represents a different paradigm for popular music.

But would it have been influential almost four decades ago? Like how many licks it takes to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Roll pop, the world may never know.

And anyone who can opine on such an intangible, short of being able to alter history, is just making it all up and trying to puff up some sort of sense of self-worth.

Hell, we’re all brilliant in retrospect.

SMiLE

It has arrived. It is currently on my stereo, playing loudly. Sonically, the sucker sounds great. Very nuanced.

Yummy.

More later after all my appointments.

Settle Down Dad

Well, it was quite a week last week. Young Gertrude managed to have some sort of virus that expelled just about every vile bodily fluid possible. Add to that a high fever that seemed to cause her to hallucinate (hard to tell, she’s always kind of odd . . . in a good way) and you have what we parents call a “week with little sleep.”

After Gert recovered physically it took her a few days to settle down emotionally. So that meant that she and I annoyed the crap out of each other all weekend. She decided that it was time to not listen to dad until the fourth time he said something and dad decided that he’d get irritated on the third try. So there were lots of two-year-old induced moments of comic hijinks.

At one point when I was asking her to clean up her toys for the thousandth time, she looked at me and said, I kid you not, “Settle down dad.” Before I could recover from being agog that my toddler daughter told me to settle down, she told her mother to “pick on someone your own size.”

Despite the clashes, we had a pretty good weekend. We went to some little pioneer festival at a local park, where the girls were able to try out such cosmopolitan pastimes as rope-winding and candle dipping. They also went on a pony ride, which made Gert squeal with such delight that the pony’s head exploded.

Later, on the car ride home, the girls decided to go at it over a bag of kettle corn. After suggesting that we’re not above selling them to gypsies for a paltry sum, they settled down and we had a nice evening.

This morning in the car Gert made me listen to the Beach Boys’ “Our Prayer” for twenty minutes straight. I felt I was in the middle of a Gregorian Monk reunion.

Tomorrow I’m buying Matilda the last CD she’ll ever get from me that isn’t a gift. What I mean is, after tomorrow, I’ll no longer bankroll her music purchases. I was in fourth grade when I began to chart my own musical identity (Def Leopard and Journey’s Frontiers). When I grab SMiLE tomorrow I’m also picking up a copy of Hilary Duff’s new CD, which Matilda seems to be completely oblivious about. Hilary is her favorite singer. She even saw her concert this summer. Her last disc was played so often that were it on vinyl it would have been worn out.

While I would have loved to see her grooving to Pet Sounds, but I’m happy that she has interests of her own. She’s always known that if she asked me to buy her a CD I wouldn’t hesitate. And, surprisingly, she never tried to abuse that privilege.

So tomorrow I’ll surprise her with a new CD and explain to her the significance of the moment. How she’ll be charting her own musical destiny, free to explore as she chooses. And if she’s in complete control of her purchases (and trust me, she has more cash flow than I do . . . the kid never spends a dime) then those purchases will mean much more to her. It did to me as a kid.

So for me it will be a momentous occasion. A moment to say, “You are now in control. Explore! Discover!” It’s her time to find what excites her, what touches her. For her the moment will probably a slightly irritating few minutes where she’ll have to listen to me talk.

Busy Doin' Nothing

I'm way behind due to Gert's sickness last week. So no inane banter from me. Instead I'll make you listen to music.

Stephen Malkmus & the Jicks - (Do Not Feed The) Oyster

Radio 4 - How the Stars Got Crossed

Enjoy. Will write my official review of Smile tomorrow, after hearing it in full fidelity. And will let you know what my straight-laced neighbors think when I ask them the name of their favorite vega-table.

A Monkey Could Do It

Diebold has been slammed repeatedly for the terrible security on their voting machines. But despite the fact that they are so open to fraud that Richard Daley would be drooling, Diebold is being pig-headed and virtually ignoring their critics.

Even when a monkey hacked their system. Yes, a monkey. Well, technically an ape. But, still, if Cheetah can alter the voting records, what's to stop a corrupt human being?

Still, you have to wonder . . . if a monkey did alter voter records, what would they be in favor of?

Bicycle Rider Just See What You've Done

First real SMiLE review up here. It garnered five stars from Rolling Stone which, in its day, would have really been worth something. Now? Not so much. Still, I'm happy to see the work that went into the album, which is apparent upon first listen, is getting its due.

Also, what are Elvis Costello's ten best tracks? Entertainment Weekly says these are. Mostly obvious, some daring.

I'll try and catch you up with this week's events later. It was filled with snot, vomit and nerves. It was great.

The Delivery Man

I've been listening all day. And I've decided that not only is Lucinda Williams drunker than a Russian physicist after completing a nice round with the cyclotron, but she totally ruins the song.

The otherwise decent "There's a Story in Your Voice" is completely mashed when this warbling, psychotic voice tears the melody to pieces and interprets it in the same way your drunken aunt interprets "Tiny Bubbles" at your parents cocktail party.

God love Lucinda, but get the girl some treatment. And if she doesn't drink (she sure seemed drunk when I saw her last year) then someone needs to get her some therapy.

Better SMiLE Link

Can be found here. No spaces, no flash, only crappy Active X controls in the banner that piss me off.

This one flows together the way the album should. Still can't wait for the full sonic experience next week. And, no, I don't feel I'm ruining it by listening to it in its entirety a week prior. Hell, I knew most of the lyrics and the melodies for years before Brian decided to finish it. The only real difference here is I can pick out Darian's voice.

Thanks to Stereogum for the link.

Elvis Costello on Anti-Piracy

Looks like the venerable Mr. Costello doesn't like the FBI talking about what you can do with his discs once you buy them. Check out the statement above the warning on the back cover for his latest disc (Click to enlarge):

Miscellany

What’s up?

Well, SMiLE is being streamed in its entirety at the Smile the Album website. Sounds good. Not too crazy about Vega-Tables, but it’s still better than the Smiley Smile version. Though, admittedly, inferior to the original boots that are available on the black market. I kinda like “On a Holiday,” which has wonderfully typical Van Dyke Parks lyrics and think “Blue Hawaii” may be my favorite on the disc (I always loved “I Love to Say Da Da” the Smile tracking session on which this song is built). Even the new version of “Wind Chimes” isn’t bad. And “Fire” is damn cool, actually. Scary even. Though when I hear it I wish I had a little plastic fireman’s helmet like Brian’s. I’m looking forward to hearing this sucker in high quality. Only one more week.

Got the new Elvis Costello. Jury still out. There are some songs that rock, which I was happy to hear. It has a nice sound, raw and natural, which is good. I just don’t know how good it is yet. Typical for an Elvis disc. However, Lucinda Williams sticks out like a sore thumb. She sounds like a drunken barfly.

Finally, Miss Gertrude is sick. Again. Poor kid. She’s running a high fever and puked once (which is what she usually does when she’s sick, whether or not it’s the stomach flu). Last night she was sleeping, all feverish and sad, and we heard a sound from her room.

“What was that?”

“A cough, I think.”

“A cough? Or was it a vomicough?”

You know the vomicough. A kid starts coughing, clearing her throat, and then splays the contents of her stomach on the wall in a way that would make Linda Blair scream in fear.

Her fever hasn’t been alarmingly high. But it’s been high enough to have some really weird conversations with her. I mean weirder than normal. For example, she explained to me the reason why she couldn’t eat last night (before it was apparent that she didn’t feel well) was that the black monster with black feet, black legs, black hair and black ears was there. Then she told me a story about how she and Meredith went to the zoo and they held hands on the train so they wouldn’t be scared. She also pointed out that it is very important that when we go to the zoo with Meredith that we do NOT see the lions, because they are both afraid of lions.

I assume she’s talking about MC Pudding (not to be confused with MC Lyte, Hammer or any other MC), but we’ve never gone to the zoo with them.

So she’s home. And so is mom. Mom’s maternals kicked in, despite the fact that I insisted that I could cancel my meeting today and take care of the kid. But to no avail. Her ovaries started a harmonic hum that clouds her brain and makes her need to care for children. It’s the only way to stop the ovaries from humming. I understand that.

Still, she could have worked. I can cuddle a sick baby with the best of them. In fact, it’s what I’d rather be doing.

Especially now that she’s done horking up stuff.

(UPDATE: Elvis is growing on me. I’m digging “Button My Lip” quite a bit right now.)

And, I'd like to wish my wife a belated public happy fifth anniversary last Saturday. We celebrated a month ago, so don't feel sorry for us when we tell you we spent the day cleaning with the kids. It was very romantic. Besides, that's what we do. We like our family. We're goofy that way. But, I'd like to thank her for the best five years of my life. Quite amazing, really.

This Year's Primate

New Elvis song (and video . . . dig the imitation of the This Year's Model cover at the beginning). Disc(s) due Tuesday.

This song has grown on me, to be honest. And, I've heard from both the loyal and the pessimistic that The Delivery Man is his rawest, most enjoyable work in years. Of course, I'm a man who named his website after a song from one of Elvis' lest lauded works (though, oddly, one of my favorites).

So Elvis will hold me over until SMiLE is released the following week. And then, live-wise, it's Bobby Bare at Off Broadway on the 29th and Adam Marsland, with the incomparable Evie Sands on guitar, on the 1st. Adam will appreciate your patronage. Check out his site for an MP3 of "Other Than Me". Well worth a few megabytes for the download. Groovy organ too. His new disc includes appearances by Darian Sahanaja and Probyn Gregory of the Wondermints and Brian Wilson's band, Stew and Heidi from, well, Stew, Robbie Rist of Cockeyed Ghost and too many other bands to count and a few other notables. Should be a good listen when it drops.

Ten Years Gone

WARNING: If you are offended by strong language, please don’t read this. There will be several f-bombs dropped throughout while quoting a few of the characters I encountered during the living of this story.

Last night I saw Wilco at the Fabulous Fox Theater in St. Louis. Our seats were pretty good. Further to the left than I would have preferred sonically, but we were damn close to the stage. Close enough to see Jeff Tweedy twitch in time to the music, but not so close that we could inspect his nose hair.

After having some drinks with family and friends, we arrived at the theater a little later than I had hoped and missed most of the Calexico. Though we arrived late we were able to hear their amazing version of Love’s “Alone Again Or”.

Behind us were a few generic college boys, whom I will call “Generic College Boy 1” and “Generic College Boy 2”. In the middle of Calexico’s set, particularly during “Alone Again Or”, Generic College Boy 1 commented, “This music is really gay.” As if the statement weren’t enough, Generic College Boy 2 yelled it out.

Wilco hit the stage in a cloud of reverb and atonal noise. It was great. They played the majority of their new album, a favorite from the Australian EP and even dusted off one of their Guthrie tunes. Not a single song from Summerteeth [CORRECTION: I forgot about "Shot in the Arm", so the previous statement was incorrect.] was played, a bare minimum from Being There and, most surprisingly, one Uncle Tupelo tune and “Casino Queen”, which I still don’t like.

Here’s where I realized I was ten years gone. Half way through the concert my knees started to hurt from standing. My left knee, due to an old injury, seemed to be showing the signs of arthritis. And, worse, my ears started to hurt from our proximity to the monitors. Once I could have stuck my head inside the reverb tank of Eddie Van Halen’s Marshall stack. Now I was wondering how I was going to be able to conduct a conference call the next day with raging tinnitus.

About the Generic College boys. I should note that they were not the only ones in the audience. The place was crawling with them. They all wore their uniform, shorts, white t-shirt, ball cap and flip flops. Each sported the same haircut and none seemed to have the personal sense of self to realize they were in a public place. Off to our right was an androgynous man/woman who apparently took enough Ecstasy to make her not only love everyone, but to spur Germany to reunify for a second time.

All through the concert, GCB 1 and 2 kept pleading to hear “Heavy Metal Drummer.” They begged, they pleaded, they called upon a higher power, and they discussed loudly how it was their supreme wish that Wilco play “Heavy Metal Drummer”. From what I understand, if Wilco played “Heavy Metal Drummer” they would not only die happy, but several species that have been extinct for millennia would miraculously come back to life.

A sample conversation:GCB 1: I hope they play “Heavy Metal Drummer”.
GCB 2: Me too. That would totally rock.
GCB 1: Totally.

As we approached the final song of the first set, the GCBs desires grew to a fever pitch. All of a sudden “Heavy Metal Drummer” became not only their deepest desire and primary focus, but it became their sole purpose for life.

As a song would wind down and the band would prepare for the next song, the GCBs would start to freak out.

GCB 1: Oh my God. He’s getting an electric guitar. A fucking electric guitar.
GCB 2: Holy fuck. This is fucking it. They’re going to play “Heavy Metal Drummer”.
GCB 1: Let’s yell out the title in case they forgot about it.
GCB 2: Good idea. Let me adjust the toe strap in my flip flop first. Okay.
GCB 1 & 2: “Heavy Metal Drummer”! “Heavy Metal Drummer”!
GCB 1: Wait. What song is that? Is it “Heavy Metal Drummer”?
GCB 2: Dude. No. It’s fucking “Spiders”. WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

They were so worked up that they could no longer speak without saying the word “fuck”.

Then the band left the stage. Anyone who has been to a concert knows the routine. Band leaves, you cheer, band comes back. Better still, due to where we were sitting, we could see the band standing off stage waiting and chatting before coming back. The GCBs were oblivious to this fact.

GCB 1: Dude. Are they done?GCB 2: I guess so.
GCB 1: They didn’t fucking play “Heavy Metal Drummer”.
GCB 2: How could they fucking forget?
GCB 1: Holy fuck. Holy fuck! They’re coming back! They’re going to play more songs!
GCB 2: Fucking awesome.

Wilco’s encores were the highlight of the night. They drug out some of their older work, and they trotted out the poppier side of Wilco, where the heavier side was playing for the entire first set. But, there was no “Heavy Metal Drummer”. They did not play the song at all. The GCBs were so wrapped up in their “Heavy Metal Drummer” hysteria, that they did not hear the highlight of the evening, for me at least, a cover of the obscure Bill Faye song “Be Not So Fearful.” I was so excited by this, as a matter of fact, that when Tweedy announced it, I whooped. I was the only one in the theater to do so. A fact that did not go unnoticed by my companions and they teased me relentlessly.

Having seen some previous set lists, when the opening chords of “The Lonely 1” started to play, I knew the evening was over. Alas, the GCBs were in chaos.

GCB 1: Dude. What song is this?
GCB 2: I don’t know. It’s not fucking “Heavy Metal Drummer”.
GCB 1: It’s fucking not.
GCB 2: I haven’t heard this song before. What is it?

I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned around and had to inform them. It’s “The Lonely 1”, I told them. They hadn’t heard of it. I told them it was on Being There. They hadn’t heard of it. I told them the previous song was “New Madrid” and was originally done by Uncle Tupelo. They hadn’t heard of them.

By the time the lights came up, the GCBs were gone. They were probably in their car tearfully listening to “Heavy Metal Drummer”, thinking of what could have been.

101 Reasons I Won't Buy the Star Wars DVDs

First, Han shoots first, damn it.

Second, Mr. Lucas, you fat, bearded bastard . . . I want the original cuts. I don't care if you don't like them. I don't care if they don't match your original vision. So what if you couldn't do it the way you wanted? It's not like the Beatles redo their classic albums.

Wait. Check that.

But, my point is, those original versions are what built your bank account. Not the Special Editions. The originals, with bad matte shots and Han shooting first, you arrogant prick.

Star Wars represented my childhood. I spent hours pretending to be Han Solo not because of the killer special effects. I did it because the stories and characters, for reasons that are beyond me now, connected with me. They meant something to me. And the changes you've made to all three movies didn't.

I mean, seriously, what's with the ego? You had a few hit movies, one artistic success and a bunch of crap ever since. You can't direct and you write for shit. So stop it and give me what I want. The original cuts.

It's not like we can even make up our minds about it. You've shelved the originals. You've taken them away from those of us who have lined your pockets with gold and built your ego into a giant albatross that we fans have to wear round our necks. An albatross roughly the size of you.

So, therefore, Mr. Lucas, I won't buy your movies. Nor will I rent them. It's too bad, too. Because I wanted my kids to see them. But they aren't what I fell in love with. And I'm not willing to give them a second-rate version to make you happy.

Oh yeah, one more thing, Mr. Lucas the Hutt. Bite me.

Al Don't You Go and Cut Your Hair

The latest in a series of Al Gore's quest for a new image.

Al Gore. Former Vice President. All around smart guy. And, now, mid-nineteenth century poet.

I give you Al Gore:



And his spiritual other half, William Cullen Bryant:



All Al needs is some mutton chops and he's ready to go. Go Al go! Personally, I think you could have won the election with the beard a few years ago. Very U.S. Grant.

SMiLE and the Whole World . . . Ah, Forget the Pun

Warner's in the UK has put up a preview site. At this point you can hear the entire first movement. I like it. Like I wouldn't have bought it anyway.

Still, I hope Capital finds a way to release the sessions in a boxed set, a la Pet Sounds. That's really what I want to hear. Sure, I'm happy Brian finished this and I have some sort of idea what it would have sounded like, it's still not what it WAS. Only what it COULD have been. I'd like to be able to own the bits and pieces that hooked all of us.

Oh well. No one ever asks my opinion anyway. If the did, we'd already have a space elevator and rocket shoes.

I'm A Genius Too Ya Know!

Apologies to Peter Bagge (see Rock and Roll Dad).

Last summer, after listening to Good Vibrations one time too many, I went to some session material, rough edits, etc. that were released on boxed sets and the Captial Twofers over the years. I discovered this one little piece that I thought was really cool. After the groovy bass line, it had a vocal break that was just cool beyond words. I didn't understand why it was left out of the final edit of the song. In fact, I thought it was so cool that I made my own version of Good Vibrations with that cool part edited into the final mix (see about 2:13):

GaryVibe (Low bitrate because I don't want lawyers coming after me for posting one of the most successful singles of all time.)

Well, as the Dude would say, New Information has come to light.

On September 27th of this year, when Brian releases Smile I want you to pay particular attention to the new recording of Good Vibrations. I want you to remember that I, Gary O'Brien with my wife as a witness, made my version well over a year ago. And I was proud of it. With my poor skills it took me a full weekend to get it right.

So you remember that. You remember what my version sounded like when Mr. Genius Wilson releases his version. Sure, he wrote it. Sure, he recorded it. Sure he came up with it all. But it was my edit that was Super Genius!

Stop laughing. I'm fragile.

SMiLE Though You Still Have Three Weeks

This is long. If you don’t give a rat’s ass about Brian Wilson or Smile, don’t bother.

One of the greatest mysteries and points of debate in Rock music is the enigma that is Brian Wilson’s never-completed 1967 magnum opus, Smile. A fragile psychiatric profile, ego, drug and familial problems led to this albums tragic demise. Since its death, and the leaking of session tracks, half-completed tracks, and bootleggers’ wet dreams, have only aided in keeping the mystery alive.

If it had been released in 1967 would Smile have trumped Sgt. Pepper’s as the greatest rock album ever recorded? (Editorial note: I’ve never viewed Sgt. Pepper’s as the Beatles greatest achievement, only their weirdest.) To put it quite simply, the world will never know. The album was never released in 1967. It was, in fact, never completed. Lyrics were missing, tracks only half recorded and a final track listing only an uber-fan’s greatest guess.

Now, nearly 40 years later, Brian Wilson has completed Smile. I’ve heard five complete tracks and samples of the entire disc. Is it genius? Is it everything they claim? I will get to that.

My first experience with Smile came from my Good Vibrations boxed set of Beach Boys gems. Upon listening to the first two discs, charting Brian’s genius stars’ rise, you suddenly come upon Our Prayer and the pieces of Smile that were assembled by Mark Linnett. Having only read about Smile and not having experienced a single shred of it in my neophyte fan status, I was knocked over. In a good way? It’s hard to say. I was just shocked. Up until that point I had never heard music like this. Rather than a cohesive piece, each song seemed to be a thematic patchwork, with sometimes wildly contrasting pieces of music put together to make a “whole” song (quoted because they were not, in fact, completed and, therefore, not whole). Since hearing that music I have since heard much of Smile’s offspring, from a wide variety of musicians influenced by Brian’s madcap approach to music. Listen to any High Llamas album for an idealized version of Brian’s vision.

Time passed and the songs grew on me. I began to find threads, repeated melodies, snippets of lyrical moments popping up in surprising places. I began to get a sense of what Brian was trying to do and, as time went on, I became obsessed. I sought out bootlegs, assembled my own version of Smile and studied piano lines that seemed to represent melodic themes. I began to listen to the deeper aspects of the song, including how they were crafted.

In short, what once seemed like a bunch of really fucked up music began to take shape as a singular piece of work that was tragically halted in the middle of its creative explosion. The melodies were catchy and haunting. The lyrics were seemingly impenetrable and the sudden changes of style and mood intoxicating. I became a Smile addict.

And I was happy to have that, “Gee, what could have been” feeling and the need to try and convert the unwashed to the genius of the music.

What began as a project of two men in their twenties (Brian and Van Dyke Parks) has now been completed by two men in their sixties, after having walked away from the project for 37 years. 37 years, longer than I have been alive. In that time people have gone completely bonkers, become estranged and some of the key voices (in my mind THE key voice, as well) have passed away. Despite these obstacles, they have completed Smile.

One thing must be noted. Smile, in this or any form, will never be what was going to be in 1967. Without rewriting history, it is simply impossible. And maybe it is better that way. Maybe it is better that Smile collapsed beneath its own lofty goals.

There are some sad spots when approaching this new recording. The first is the mentioned estrangement and death. Carl Wilson, perhaps the finest voice in the Beach Boys, is gone. Without that voice a certain feeling of innocence and gentleness is lost. Dennis Wilson is dead. Mike Love is an ass and Al Jardine is estranged. In essence, only one man involved with the Beach Boys at the time could possibly be involved. And that is Brian. This is a fitting isolation. Now, as in the beginning, Brian is the only Beach Boy truly behind Smile 100%.

Brian has a new band. Brian has a new band that musically runs circles around the Beach Boys and, it can be argued, the Wrecking Crew. But what is gone is the harmony. Fate and genetics put together five voices that blended in a way that can only be described as goose bumpy. Have there ever been such rich, textured harmonies in Rock music before or since?

The new band is fantastic and all capable singers. But they are simply not Brian, Carl, Dennis, Mike and Al. They can imitate but can never be the Beach Boys.

Live with it. I can.

So, how does Smile 2004 rate? Having not heard it in its entirety, I can not say for sure. However, based upon what I’ve heard, it ranks. In fact, it’s quite simply fantastic.

Oh, sure, there are few production and musical notes that are a bit sour for me. The “Columnated ruins domino” line doesn’t quite work with the blended voices of Brian and Jeff Foskett. And there is a certain innocence and longing that is missing from “Surf’s Up”. But any of these complaints are minor and only scratch the surface of this album.

Why? Because the voices, guitars, production and any instruments are not the stars of Smile. In every case the music is the star. The melodies, counter melodies, bass lines, harmonies, runs and basic construction of these songs are what matters.

What I’ve heard is incredible. Excellently executed and completely fascinating. What it lacks in that magical spontaneity of 1967 it more than makes up for with love, care and sheer musical eloquence.

Forget the Beach Boys. This isn’t the Beach Boys. Smile is the culmination of Brian Wilson’s near forty-year battle with himself. And no matter how you cut it, the music on Smile is and always will be his greatest achievement. Weird and wonderful, Smile is everything it was purported to be. The only thing we will never know is whether or not it would have change music as we know it.

Or did it? Despite the fact that it was never released as planned, the myth of Smile and those tantalizing pieces of it, have informed, intrigued and influenced two generations of music’s most daring writers and performers.

The beauty of Smile 2004 is that it allows us to keep our questions about whether or not Smile 1967 would have been everything it was supposed to be. We can always wonder about it, and we can still go back to those pieces and hear what it could have sounded like. But all we can do is wonder. And that’s all we could do before. Brian hasn’t taken that away from us.

What he has given us is his current idea of what Smile was and is. In his own mind it is the best work of his career. He recently said, “Smile means the world to me. I had it inside me for almost 40 years. It's my baby.”

I can’t imagine having something like this locked inside me, and yet completely surrounding me, for forty years. What a terrible and wonderful curse.

But in the end Brian’s child-like qualities are what is most winning. “It's better than Pet Sounds,” he says, “and I did it.”

And I did it. Those are the words of a man amazed at what he was able to do. It’s the same sense of wonder I have when I look at the kids.

And he did do it. He did it anew, looking forward rather than backward. And he did it well. Of course, wait until I actually hear the whole disc. I may change my mind.

But I doubt it.

Where Have You Gone Joe DiMaggio?

So, I'll be scarce for a while. Why? Well, you see, in addition to having a freelance business, several side projects, a family, and an undeniable inability to say "no", I also help run a very busy website devoted to planning vacations to Disney World. Well . . . 1.7 million hits and 2 million page views per month, 350,000 unique visitors, 14,000 registered users and 7,500 subscribers to our newsletter. It's not a small site.

And, Disney World is in Florida. And it's hurricane season. We have a lot of people who are either trying to get to or back from Orlando while one pissed-off, bitch of a hurricane looks like it's going to hit the area. Worse, all of our people who live and work in Orlando are still cleaning up from Charley. Frances, the latest weather punk, looks like it could be one hell of a storm.

So, we're focusing on keeping people informed and trying to convince travelers to stay safe. While I'd rather be sitting here cracking jokes about Dan Fogelberg's pussiness and mocking the stuffed shirts involved in the presidential campaign. But, alas, I need to direct my attention to helping our site's users plan ahead and checking up on my friends' stock of plywood and duct tape.

Keep your fingers crossed that Frances blows back out to sea. We need all these Floridians to be able to vote so we have something funny to watch on TV in November.