Gleaning

Heckler Spray. A sonic break-beat...



"This Malkmus idiot is some kinda song writing genius" Gary Young.



The last post was meant to be about the Boy...it got outta hand and now I'm obsessing.

My compulsive issues with The Fall are well documented, and mercilessly ridiculed by some, in these pages. Of course, it's not just the brilliance of Mark E. Smith that causes these bouts...brilliant though he is...there's a crack in my mind and right now it's being filled with nonsense and racket. Pavement.*

I've also finally figured out how to edit videos...kinda.

Recorder Grot.


(NSWF)
A tore-up but steady rhythm...when the lyric starts, with a squeal, it's stretched beyond melody. Then almost at the point of white noise it breaks into an Arena-Rock solid riff...claps and all...before descending back into jibbberish and noise. A slice of genius...this one.

"I forget sometimes how much I like them."

Unlike most of my obsessions, Martha's on board with this one. Not so much the Drag City, recording project stuff but, the actual songs that came later. By the time Slanted and Enchanted was released they were an actual band...for better or worse.

Elevate Me Later.



The Reflex by Duran Duran was once hilariously described as "cocaine set to music."** The crescendo at the end (2:10-20) and the breezy way it glides back to earth is about as close to the sound of a toke as you're likely to find.***

"Swingin' nunchucks like you just don't care"....If you want to know what my early 20's sounded like...when the past never crossed my mind and I had no notion of the future. I just was...here it is.



Looking back on it...not such a great time...mostly I was drunk but, the music was good.

There was one last great album...probably the best of the lot.

"They all sounded like hits to me...but I was smokin' a lot of pot." Malkmus on Wowee Zowee



For about six months Wowee Zowee was considered their first misstep...then a round of on-second-thought reviews started. The album was a masterpiece but, by that time the damage was done. The egos here were obviously more fragile than they may have appeared. I think it's what killed 'em. There were two more records but they didn't sound much better than the contractual obligations that they were.

Alright maybe that'll get it outta my system...thanks for humoring me.

*My Bloody Valentine is another recurring problem of mine...don't be surprised if I spend a month in the future posting When You Sleep every other day.

**Kibber did that.

***As a responsible parent I do not partake..and besides, it is illegal. Still, I am amazed that one can legally soak their brain in pure corn liquor but, grass puts you at odds with the law.

With a Sidekick Like This....

who needs a Nemisis?

This is a story about a cokecola....



but, it's more than that. It's a story about trust and the importance of being able to rely on the people in your life.

Them little bottles of cokecola are irresitable to me...just enough to finish off before it goes flat and they get so cold in that glass.



Especially if you've got a cooler full of dry ice.

You have to be careful though. By some mysterious force...cokecola exapnds when it freezes and it will blow that bottle to atoms.

So, I texted my man..."Parsons...do be a good fellow and text me the word Coke when you get this."

I'm a busy man y'all...ooobviously...and I thought it was best, in order to avoid an explosion, if I had a reminder to get the cokecola outta the cooler before it blew. I figured it would take a minute or two for him to get around to responding...

Immediately there's a buzz and the word "Coke, Sir" appears on my screen. Since it was Tuesday...or Monday...or Thursday...I should have known he'd just be loafin' about. Listen now, and this is coming from a Southroner no less...this &%$#@& neeever works. Never. If he had it any better he'd have to be twins.

"Too soon Parsons. I've got a coke on the freeze and I need you to remind me to get it out before it explodes. Give it a minute or two."

Like I said, I'm busy...I'm out there hustlin'...tryin' to put food on the table...shoes on my boys feet. That's why I need somebody who's got my back...who'll keep an eye on my blind spot...a sidekick.


I could rely on Martha but, how many times can you be told..."I don't have time for this foolishness right now. I'm actually working"...before you have to relieve that person of their duties? What does that even mean..."I'm actually working"?

There's The Sister...right, the same Sister that accussed me of being possesed by a demon?

What about Allan? I couldn't even get hold of him the last time I had an entire day to kill in Lucedale.

That leaves Adamparsons...who, it turns out, is as unreliable as he is readily available.

Ten minutes pass...and without a word from Adam...it occures to me that I have a coke in the cooler that ought to be good and cold by now. I couldn't stop the truck fast enough. When I lifted the lid I could see, through the vapors of the dry ice, glimpses of the red lable and my mouth started to tingle with anticipation. Man was it cold...what I thought were little flakes of ice, had formed at the top of the bottle. Perfect.

I rushed back to the drivers seat...I could already feel it buring my throat. I dug my lighter under the cap....pulled...and...



Once I recovered from the blast...I sent this picture to Adamparsons to shame him for falling down on the job but, all I got in response...ten minutes later...was the following text..

"You have no idea how hard I've been laughing."

With a support network like this...it's a wonder I'm still alive.


And just so we don't have to create a new tag...

A Showing. A Happening!

I think you've all earned a treat.

I know how desperately you've all been clammering...on the inside...for another masterwork. I am nothing if not sensitive to the needs and wants of my readers and, considering the artistic importance of my work, those of humanity as a whole.

I am a humanitarian...bearing a gift. A new Masterpeice...a reason to party.


Check the weeble wobble action from Frank Black...watching him play the guitar is almost as fun as listening.

First a retrospective...Allan 1 - 4.



That's Allan 3 and 4...along with a Peter Halley and a Jonathan Lasker...the edge of a Rothko.


The Cat Lady's son.




Allan 1,2 and 3.



A close up of Allan 3...my greatest, perhaps the greatest, work to date.



And now for the latest Masterpeice...



I call it Ronnie and Allan.*

You're all very welcome.

*Actually I hate this one...it's been sitting in there for months.

Have a Genuine Grouse

That groove cuts so deep...it makes me light headed.


(a little language...our friends there seem to have a more cozy relationship with the Fword)

"Superficially ugly" music? Yeah I guess...if you never heard of rocknroll. Jesse.



Let it sink in Nat...ignore the haters.

Adam's Favorite Song EVER....*



Mine...



___________________________________




*My words not his.

Disease Ridden Southern Spectres...Dusty, Organic and Psychic

(Indian Mounds, Pocahontas)



(Yazoo City)

(Perverted By Language is the greatest record ever recorded and I am unanimous in this...it is the pink album with the Link Wray reference.)

You would be forgiven for assuming that as I trailed through The Delta I'd have some sorta blues in the car but, you'd be wrong. That player has been jammed with Fall Cds for a month now...and last week was no exception.


(Inverness)



(Inverness)



(Indianola)
I can't decide whether it's odd or not but they seem right at home on 49.

Even for Me it's Gettin' a Little Ridiculouls.

6:21 pm Central Time Zone (Zulu 6.00)

Mack Donalds on Government St. in Mobile, Alabama.

Forced off the interstate by traffic. I've come this way 855 times in my life and I've never seen anything like it. It's a parking lot 20 miles from the tunnel. 'Course Government and Canal are starting to back up now too.

Mostly the usual in here...20 minutes in line to get a cup of coffee that's so hot I have blood trickling down my chin. I have to say...it's the first time I've ever been asked if the coffee was "for here or to go." Funniest thing though was the yankee in line with us...you can spot them immediately in these situations. All you have to do is turn around to see who's breathing down your neck. They really can't help it, especially the northeasterners, there is no space where they live...personal or otherwise. Plus people will cut your throat to get in front of you...even if it's just for a mcnugget. This dood...geeze, his man boobs were almost brushing the fella in front of me (I was a respectable two feet off to the side...just like the good'un that came in behind me...we are loath to do lines.

Despite it All...

Yes Adam hates the Fall (i.e. rocknroll)...hate's my MS paint masterpieces...makes my wife laugh at me but, he is a swanky dresser and you can't really help who your friends are any more than you can your family.

This is like a card y'all...sign it.



I may be a little off on the days...but it's somewhere around in here.

The Conversation Continues

First of all, though I will be happy to do so...I have not accused you of judgment hate-crimes. In fact, I don't believe I've said anything at all about your judgment...far as I know you haven't made a falsifiable statement until this last post.

Secondly, you get no points for accusing me of trying to have it both ways...a) see above, b)the whole opening is obviously flippant...when did you ever accuse me of hating Muse?, c)even if taken at face value saying we have no problem with pretentious music is not the same as saying we have to make allowances for the pretentious people that listen to it.

Third, what I've been trying to do is establish a few philosophical points that we might be able to base some questions around.

I haven't crawled your *** for any of your opinions about rocknroll.

An imperfect example of what I've been trying to get at...A offers up a red box, a simple red box...then B offers up a red box with white polka-dots.

B may say..."I didn't like the red box."
or..."I thought the red box was ok but boring as it was."

What B may not say is that the red box "sucked because it was just a red box" or that he has "improved the Red Box".

B has done no such thing. He's created a polka-dotted box.

I'm not accusing you of any of these things...just trying to establish the point I've been trying to make.

Four..what you call boring and predictable others call a GROOVE. It's great for dancing and...other vigorous rhythmic activities. A couple of early Sunday mornings at The Subway could have straightened you out, but sadly it's been closed...you're just doomed.

Five, Cut. Three musicians just banging away in the same room? There's a statement we can examine...Wrong. Listen again. Mike Watt and George Hurley are connected at the hip...the base line runs up CRACK...runs back down CRACK
D Boon singing rides the rhythm while playing compact blues leads then dipping back into the rhythm...not unlike...



What am I missing? Hollow sounding...all I have to say to that is this...



I patiently await your abusive response. :)

P.S. Adam says we may be coming off as nasty towards one another...I can assure you that, while we do actually disagree on these things, it's all done with tongue in cheek. Y'all are free to jump in any time without fear of a gettin an earful. The only really mean-spirited poster around here is The Sister...and she only directs her bile at me.

We Don't Hate Muse

Sorry the video's out of sync.

Pest House

The Boy went down at 8:30 tonight...worn out from a stomach bug that he's had for the last few days. His Momma's got it now and she went to bed right after tucking him in.

So that's left me out here on the couch...alone with my new netflix account (thanks Martha)...and the Minutemen.




We Jam Econo - The Story of the Minutemen



It was good. A lot like a Minutemen album...hit the essence of each moment and then move on. They didn't spend anymore time on Double Nickles on a Dime than they did Project Mersh...or D Boon's untimely death. It was as much about their process as anything else...



what a process.

Post #4

"I've tried not to bang on too much about Mark E. Smith of The Fall but if we do secede, he will be on the banknotes, the proud but self-satirising laureate of 'northern white crap that talks back'."
Stuart Maconie, Pies and Prejudice

BANG!BANG! THE MIGHTY FALL!



The Fall Wings:
Day by day.
The moon gains on me.
Day by day.
The moon gains on me.

Purchased pair of flabby wings.
I took to doing some HOVERING.
Here is a list of incorrect things.

HOVERED mid-air outside a study.
An academic kneaded his chin,
set in the dust of some cheap magazines.
His academic rust, could not burn them up.

Recruited some gremlins.
To get me clear of the airline routes.
I paid them off with stuffing from my wings.
They had some fun with those
cheapo airline snobs.(Are any of you seriously gonna try and deny the greatness of this?)

The stuffing loss made me hit a timelock.
I ended up in the eighteen sixties.
I've been there for one hundred

and twenty five years.
A small alteration of the past.
Can turn time into space.

Ended up under Ardwick Bridge.
With some veterans from the U.S. Civil War.
They were under Irish patronage.
We shot dead a stupid sergeant,
but I got hit in the crossfire.
The lucky hit made me hit a time lock.

But, when I got back.
The place I made the purchase, no longer exists
I'd erased it under the bridge.

Day by day.
The moon came towards me
By such things.
The moon came towards me.

So now I sleep in ditches.
And hide away from nosey kids.
The wings rot and feather under me.
The wings rot and curl right under me.
A small alteration of the past.
Can turn time into space.
Small touches can alter more
than a mere decade.



O'er grassy dale, and lowland scene
Come see, come hear, the English Scheme.
The lower-class, want brass, bad chests, scrounge fags.
The clever ones tend to emigrate
Like your psychotic big brother, who left home
For jobs in Holland, Munich, Rome
He's thick but he struck it rich, switch
The commune crap, camp bop, middle-class, flip-flop
Guess that's why they end up in bands
He's the green piece in us all
He's the creep-creep in us all
Condescends to black men
Very nice to them
They talk of Chile while driving through Haslingdon (Deny this line at the peril of your own credibility)
You got sixty hour weeks, and stone stone toilet back-gardens
Peter Cook's jokes, bad dope, check shirts, lousy groups
Point their fingers at America
Down pokey quaint streets in Cambridge
Cycles our distant spastic heritage
Its a gay red, roundhead, army career, grim head
If we was smart we'd emigrate
____________________________________
Baffelingly I am surrounded by people who haaaaaaaaaaate The Fall...Really?

Not only are they denying the greatest mind in English (as in English English) letters since Orwell...they're denying what may be the only example of organic English Rock-n-Roll. This is Bo Diddley playing CAN covers for Fat Possum Records...spontaneously arising like magic from Prestwich.

Why do y'all hate rocknroll?

Give it up...They are the greatest of all Time.

Post #3 1/2

The wife's been reading the blog...again!

I guess at least this way I don't have to watch her looking at me like I've got a peanut bush growing from my head.

Post #2 was depressing...Post #3 is confusing.  This was her response...

"I was anticipating something specific that happened prior to your non memory of memory."

This is the mental hall of mirrors that I live in.

Sugar it's just an observation about memory as memory...I'm not even sure if I remember the actual event at all any more.

Love, e.f.