Secret Secret

My friend C. is a lot smarter than I am and is a musician to boot.

He occasionally borrows books I have from undergrad about medieval art criticism and when I see him next he has interesting things to say about them. I nod my head and pretend I remember what I skimmed through 20 years ago before a test. In the past, we've read Trollope's Palliser novels and War and Peace at the same time and had good discussions, but for the life of me I still can't get through Varieties of Religious Experience or Proust, two of his favorites.

C. also makes posts about music now and again: intelligent, thought provoking posts about things like piano, punk rock and the middle class living room. I'm not sure that he has any interest in spandex jumpsuits at all though. Luckily, C. is not a music snob and we've shared many wine moments singing along with Steve Perry. Even so, I still feel vindicated when he posts a link to articles like this one from Salon.

Awesome Al

Ever since Willie Mitchell died in January, I seem to be hearing Al Green all over the place. That's fine with me.

Words

With my mind full of Bob Dylan already, I woke up this morning and saw this Facebook post made by my friend J., who splits her Wednesdays at work in the morning and doing a volunteer gig at a coffee shop in a community bookstore in the afternoon.

half-office, half-café; half-decaf with half-and-half, half-dollar, half-sandwich, half-price? Ooooh, we're halfway there? I'm half the man I used to be...

It put me in the mood to watch this scene.


Also, songs in my iPod with half in the title:
Half a Person (Smiths)
Half Breed (Cher)
World Half Over (The Glands)
Half a World Away (R.E.M.)
Half Mast Inhibition (Mingus)
Half as Much (Ray Charles)

Why am I up at 11:38?

Because now it is Bob Dylan night and I'm into Planet Waves and Forever Young and Last Waltz.



For the record:
Love the pimp hat
Have I posted yet about the pleather, 70s car coats?
Love the crazy facial hair but glad I don't have to kiss it
The Band order of preference: Rick Danko; Levon Helm; Garth Hudson/Richard Manuel (won't pick); Robbie Robertson.
While we're at it Beatles order of preference: George/John (won't choose); Ringo; Paul.
4:57 or 2:49? 4:57

How to Throw the Blade

This is my absolute favorite Bob Dylan song.
Okay yes, I might pick another song on a different day but this one is always top three. And yes, I also love the White Stripes version and some days like it better than the Bob Dylan one.

I love Emmylou in the song and the Scarlet Rivera fiddle. All-in-all, I think Desire is my favorite Bob Dylan album.

Pete Seeger meets Steven Tyler

I'm taking a yoga class at the Old Town School of Folk Music. Tonight, while waiting to twist myself into pigeon and triangle, I heard a disturbingly off-key rendition of Dream On.

While searching the song on YouTube just now, I heard several even worse live versions for 1977. Not sure what was up that year but Steven Tyler was a slurring mess who couldn't carry a tune in all the shows I saw clips from. I couldn't take it any more and skipped the 1973 versions posted and went straight for a more modern, MTV video. Bonus points for a piano that comes flying out of the sky!

Just Like Me, Last Part (Short Story)

Jane Tomczak wasn't my friend.

After so many years, I can't say if she even wanted to be. Jane might have just wanted to borrow my purple corduroys and white leather, high-top Nikes with the silver swoosh. If she had hoped for a real friend, I let her down.

We were in Junior High and discovering that tiny things, like a minuscule difference in how plump your lips were, could make all the difference in how pretty the boys thought you were. A cowlick could ruin your feathered hair and your popularity standing. Even two girls who fit into the same pair of Jordache jeans could have differently admired butts.

I was also learning that a popular girl (with the right lips, feathered hair and butt) could still be unsure of herself. It was flattering and reassuring to have someone around who wanted to be just like me. It made me feel better about myself to be envied. I was never mean to Jane but that doesn’t make me feel any better. She was an audience and an admirer, not a friend. We both knew who the other kids liked better and I never thought much about her beyond how she made me feel about myself.

The grownups all thought we were friends though. We were in the same Sunday school class and the teacher commented on how alike we were: same age; same straight, brown hair; same fair skin and same freckles on the nose. In grade school, we sat by each other and hung our coats on neighboring hooks in the closet -- Catholic schools were big on lining kids up and organizing them alphabetically. Eventually, we formed a bond around our common interest in boys, Van Halen and eye shadow.

Jane was adopted and her parents were older and strict. Her sister, Jenny, was a burn-out who skipped most of her high school classes, hung out behind the mall and smoked weed. Jane's parent's were determined not to fail with their younger child too. Even though my parents were divorced, I was still a good girl from a good family and Jane was sometimes allowed to come to my house after school. I never went to Jane’s house though, she was not allowed to have friends over.

She loved my bedroom. I had a record player and was allowed to close my door and play Journey Escape, Foreigner 4 and Rolling Stones Tattoo You over and over and over. I was allowed to hang pictures of Eddie Van Halen on my wall. When I was 13, I was even allowed to wear eye makeup and lip gloss. My dresser was covered in bottles of hair spray and jars of goop. After school, when I changed out of my uniform, I pulled designer jeans and puffy sleeved, Joan Jettesque tops out of my drawers. Jane wasn't allowed to do or wear any of those things.

It’s not like I was allowed to run wild or wear whatever I wanted; I fought long, hard battles in the fitting room with my mom to get those designer jeans. She made me bend over and try to touch my toes and she'd try to cram her fingers into the back pockets. She'd tell me they were too tight and send me off to get the next size up. When we finally bought those not-as-tight jeans to the counter, I had to pull out the birthday and Christmas money I had saved. My mom saw no difference(other than cost) between Gloria Vanderbilt, Jordache and perfectly good jeans from JCPenney.

8th grade was a big year for both of us, I started going with my first boyfriend and Jane ran away from home for the first time. She came to my house and when her mom called to see if we had seen her, my mom took her home. She was grounded for much of that school year and I didn't miss her, I had the boyfriend. When Jane started to come by again, she was different. She mostly wanted a place to change clothes and put on makeup before heading to the park to meet her own boyfriend. I could tell she wanted me to be impressed and maybe envious of her for now: he was an older boy, a smoking boy, a boy who drank, a boy who came from a house where the parents were not around much, and a boy with a mini bike. I let her borrow the clothes but I wasn’t impressed or envious. I was different by then too: I had replaced the pictures of Eddie Van Halen with pictures of androgynous male underwear models; my allowance money was saved for Izod polo shirts that I could layer and wear with the collars up; I was wearing skirts down to my ankles instead of tight jeans; and I was even contemplating a short-in-the-back, asymmetrical hair cut to replace my feathered bi-level. I handed over the clothes and never saw Jane (or them) again. It was the summer before high school and we were going to different schools.

During freshman year, Jane ran away again. When her mom called our house to see if she was there, we learned that she had been lying for a long time and saying she was with at our house. Jane Tomczak wasn't my friend and I'm ashamed by how self-centered I was and how little I cared about the troubled, lonely girl that people said was a lot like me. If I ever heard how her story ended, I don't remember now. I assume her parents found her and brought her home.

That year,Bon Jovi's Runaway was all over the radio and to this day, every time I hear it I imagine Jane, on the back of a mini bike, wearing my Jordache jeans, sputtering down a suburban side street.

I Fall Somewhere Between the Babies and the Bird

From Science Friday on NPR.

Deus Salve o povo ....

My friend C. and I had dinner and two bottles of wine tonight and, based on how impressed I believe he was by my knowledge of the lyrics, my great dance moves, and my superior air tambourine, I think he wants me to reenact some scenes from Godspell during his wedding reception. Some people bring toasters, others bring their best hippie John the Baptist impersonations. I'm not sure if L., his fiancee, would be equally excited about the idea . . .but who does not love Christian Rock Opera?

Would You Be an Outlaw for My Love

So long, Alex Chilton. Thirteen is one of my favorites.

Shine a Light

For a birthday surprise a friend sent me an Amazon gift certificate. Since I get free shipping at Amazon, I've decided to spread out my purchases and get a new treat every week or two for awhile. First purchase (I can't believe I don't have it already) is Exile on Main Street.

Best BBQ Beef Brisket Beer Bloat Brunch Big Brass Bed

I just met a friend for birthday weekend BBQ. We went to Smoque and then went to have cocktails. Right before we parted ways to waddle home, a certain favorite song came up in conversation. So I put it on my iPod while I was waiting for the train to pull in to the station. If you've never stood on the L platform on a sunny spring day, with the sun at your back and your shadow across the tracks, watching the wind blow your shadow hair up and down almost in sync with the opening harmonica of Out on the Weekend, you've missed out. Even on a boring day, that harmonica is possibly my 30 favorite seconds of music out of all music. Today, right as it ended, I stepped into the car, turned to face the door, and saw sunbeam-God playing peek-a-boo behind a sky full of puffy grey clouds.

Sludge Metal

I've really been enjoying Jake Leg on Blue Record by Baroness. According to wikipedia they are a "sludge metal" band, there are a whole lot of sub-genres in the metal world. I'm going to listen to the whole album on Lala to decide if I want to buy it. I love the cover (very Beardsley) but I'm avoiding looking at it more closely: I'm pretty sure I'm going to find revolting, rotty fish eyeballs and other disgusting stuff if I look at details. Right now, I just want to enjoy the pretty blue fish and naked ladies.

I went on the hunt for the New Yorker article I remembered from a few years ago and was surprised to discover it was published in 2003. I'm going to re-read it tonight: Jake Leg by Dan Baum.

Marshmallows and Carnations

I hate the garish green carnations that are all over the place this time of year. I stopped off at the grocery store on my way home from work and walked into a wall of them right in front of the doors and next to the carts.

Who is buying all these green carnation and babies breath bouquets? Who do these people give them to? I see plenty of people stumbling around town this weekend, drinking green beer and puking in the alleys. Do men bring their Guinness buddies flowers at the beginning of the night? Or maybe they give them to their girlfriends in anticipation of doing something annoying over the next 48 hours? I suppose many of the bouquets go to corned-beef and cabbage making moms and grandmas.

After thinking about how ugly I thought the green carnations were, I thought about The For Carnation. I have both Marshmallows and Fight Songs but can't for the life of me remember what the songs sound like. I know I listened to them fairly often in the late 90s but I'm drawing a blank: I just have a vague, Slint-y sound in my mind. I've put it on my "to listen to" list but don't feel like doing that this weekend.

I Want to Be the Wandering Sailor

For someone who has to work all day on birthday weekend, I'm pretty cheerful. I keep walking around the book stacks singing Brian Eno. I always sing Brian Eno when I'm goofy feeling.

I think it might be because I came in this morning and my boss was in his office blasting (as much as you can blast on a crappy old computer) Psychedelic Furs' Love my Way.

Birthday Weekend

Birthday Weekend has officially begun!
On Monday Fabio, Brett Michaels, Will.i.am, Phil Lesh, Mike Love and most importantly Dee Snider, Sly Stone and I, will be counting our grey hairs and crows feet. Lightenin' Hopkins didn't make it into 2010 but I'll be toasting him.

I celebrate "birthday week" and have decided it starts tonight. Monday birthdays, especially when you have a day long symposium about maps, are not super exciting, but that's okay. Low-key sounds good this year.

Plan for tonight:

Make birthday playlist, in addition to birthday boys I will add the dearly departed, Lester Young and download an H.P. Lovecraft book on tape. Are there any songs with Julius Caesar or Beware the Ides of March in the lyrics?

Eat rice and beans for dinner

Wash dishes



I'm going to consider those painful 11 seconds payment in full for honoring 51 years of Fabio.

Radar Love

My friend H. from Utrecht has not been online anywhere lately. I'm hoping Amazing Dutch Superstars in Red Hotpants will lure her out of hiding:



I wonder how many concert goers you could take out with a flying guitar?

Corey Hart is *not* Dead

I just had to be schooled in the Coreys by some friends. It appears I don't know who the dead Corey is but I remember his friend with the bowl cut.

Cilantro

My friend J. has a hard time buying bunches of fresh cilantro, even when she's making curry, because she hates to waste the remaining bunch. I'm one of those people who loves cilantro and can't imagine not finding another use for the leftovers -- chop it up and put it on avocado, add some to salad, put on scrambled eggs, make a quick pesto and make a cheesy toast sandwich. I've got her hang up with parsley though, I could fill a barn with all the bad parsley I've tossed in my lifetime.

Even though I waste all sorts of money all the time, the thought of wasting $.75 on certain things will drive me crazy. If I determine a reasonable price for something and find that it actually costs more, I will put the purchase off forever, sometimes spending more in the process.

I've had three books on my "want to read" list for the past month but I have not purchased or ILL'ed them yet. Best Music Writing 2009, available for less than $4 on Amazon but every time I think of it, I don't feel like waiting for it (!) and want to just go over to Borders at lunch and buy it for $15. But that now is way too much and I feel like I should wait until I have enough credit card points to get an Amazon gift certificate and get the cheap one. And now it is March 2010 and I have not yet read the Best Music Writing of 2009.



I also want to pick up these two. Ozzy I should just ILL but David Bowie I should have in my personal library.

1995

For several months in 1995, I lived in a really crummy apartment with two guys, a doberman, the ugliest yellow stucco walls, and million cockroaches. We didn't have many CDs and every now and again, I'll hear a song and be transported back to those months and the music we listened to over and over. Ween's Voodoo Lady and I'm right back there remembering the good times. Anything from Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness and I feel trapped, miserable and like I have a Jagermeister hang-over again. Or maybe everyone feels that way when listening to that album?

One album though, while I rarely listen to it, often comes to mind when I feel like someone is invading my personal space. In addition to the ugly walls and cockroaches, we also had an annoying landlord. He took forever to unclog a sink or fix a toilet and always made a point to snoop around when he was there. One day when he was over doing something or another, I decided the best way to make him want to leave as soon as possible was to put on John Frusciante.

The Horses, the Horses, The Horses ... are on the Track!

I woke up this morning with an overwhelming desire to listen to Patti Smith's Hey Joe. While I was listening, I read a message from my friend J. who was telling me that my last post sent her looking for her B&S so she could listen to Judy and Her Dream of Horses.

It's Horse Day!

While my sister and I were listening to JahDoH, I asked her if she had a girl in her grade that was obsessed with horses. In my grade it Karen G. and I think there is at least one in every grade school class. Karen G. had horse folders, horse shaped erasers, horse pencil cases. She doodled horses and if My Little Pony had been made back then I'm sure she would have owned them all. On the playground, Karen G. always wanted to play horses, a game that involved galloping around and making whinny noises. That's all I remember about Karen G. until, on the first day of 6th grade, she arrived with her unibrow plucked into two, shapely arches.

In honor of Horse Day, I'm not going to gallop to work (although I better get up and go to work soon!)but I'm going to listen to an old favorite instead. I'll listen to the Old and In the Way version on the walk to the bus.



I was talking about that scene (okay, the snakeskin boots)a few weeks ago.

Haggis and Black Pudding

My sister just left after a long weekend visit to Chicago. We spent a lot of time talking and drinking cocktails (the official cocktail from this visit was a ginger-lime Rickey) and listening to music. At one point, I put some Belle & Sebastian on and D. asked what we were listening to. I could not remember what year If You're Feeling Sinister came out so I looked it up and read the following Wikipedia description:

They are one of the best-known Scottish bands and are one of the most celebrated groups of the 1990s.

That got me thinking, how well known are other Scottish bands? What bands can I name off the top of my head? All I could come up with were:
Arab Strap
Donovan
Nazareth
Big Country
Bay City Rollers
Cocteau Twins

I was able to come up with a few more when I put my mind to the task a bit harder:
Jesus and Mary Chain
The Vaselines
The Blue Nile
Simple Minds
Proclaimers

I seem stuck in the 90s and I suppose that is good for me, I'm usually stuck in the 70s and 80s.

He Are the Champion, My Friends

One of my devoted readers sent me this image for the Jumpsuit Hall of Fame contest: How could anyone ever, compete with that? Ever?

Happy Birthday (observed) Chopin!

Codpieces and Controlled Vocabulary

I'm not sure that people realize what a responsibility it is to coordinate this search for the best jumpsuit in rock 'n roll. On top of the stress of making important decisions with long-term consequences, I have to do it all in the hours before or after a tough day of being a librarian. Or during a break.

Rock photographers don't seem to care about awesome jumpsuits and take ambiguous photos: I often can't tell if I'm looking at a unitard or just a skin tight combo. Even the rock stars themselves make it tough for me, gigantic belts are cool but often hide the crucial waistline area.

Worst of all though, is the shoddy job of descriptions and tagging that underlies Google image searching and Youtube. Amateur content providers don't seem to think that adding key terms like "red leather studded jumpsuit codpiece" is even required when posting images from the Diary of a Madman tour. Pure craziness! I can't believe how frustrating it has been to find a good photo of the outfit that inspired that fabulous Ozzy collector's figurine. I think this might be it but the photographer was more interested in set design than costume and, until I find a better view, I can't enter Ozzy into the competition.



And break is over and it's time to get back to work ....