Emptybottle.org: Musical Interludes Archives

Emptybottle.org >> Musical Interludes Archives

August 4, 2006

The Price Of Oil, Redux

I remember when the shit was clearly going to impact directly on the fan, at least to anyone with a couple of f--king braincells to rub together, as the last particles of dust from the World Trade Centre settled onto the homeless folks and the masters of the universe there in New York.

I remember that. And I remember how I thought 'Oh, that Billy Bragg, much as I've loved him and his ethical stances and musico-politicking all these years, he's gonna bounce off the marshmallow mindset with this' when he released his song "The Price of Oil".

It came up on my random-ass playlist tonight, and I misted up as I sang along. Remembering the fury I felt as the news outlets told us idiot fables about 'shock and awe', and realizing how I've tamped down my outrage into a little impotent packet of irony these days. I thought about the past couple of years, and all the people whose people died.

Here, you: download it. Or just listen right here.

Voices on the radio
tell us that we're going to war
those brave men and women in uniform
they want to know what they're fighting for.

The generals want to hear the end game
the allies won't approve the plan
but the oil men in the white house
they just don't give a damn.

'Cause it's all about the price of oil
it's all about the price of oil
don't give me no shit
about blood, sweat, tears and toil
it's all about the price of oil.

Now I ain't no fan of Saddam Hussein
oh, please don't get me wrong
if it's freeing the Iraqi people you're after
then why have we waited so long.

Why didn't we sort this out last time
was he less evil than he is now
the stock market holds the answer
to why him, why here, why now.

'Cause it's all about the price of oil
it's all about the price of oil
don't give me no shit
about blood, sweat, tears and toil
it's all about the price of oil.

Saddam killed his own people
just like general Pinochet
and once upon a time both these evil men
were supported by the U.S.A.
And whisper it, even Bin Laden
once drank from America's cup
just like that election down in Florida
this shit doesn't all add up.

'Cause it's all about the price of oil
it's all about the price of oil
don't give me no shit
about blood, sweat, tears and toil
it's all about the price of oil.

Download it, if you haven't before.

I am no better than them because there are people I would be happier to see dead. There is no honor in this.

11:04 PM

April 29, 2006

Living With War

Neil Young's new album is now streaming. It kicks a fair quantity of ass. But you probably already know that, and if you've being paying attention, you also know that it waves the stiff central digit at George Bush and his administration. This makes me smile.

Here's a CNN cretin interviewing him about the album:

You can also download the entire album in mp3 format from here, and although that may not be strictly kosher, I wouldn't worry too much about it. [Update: album's been taken down, it seems.]

For some reason, they decided to bury the lyrics in idiotic scrolling marquees at the official site, so I've reproduced them in less annoying, non-scrolling style here.

Share and enjoy.

[Update: It's a shame most of the songs are muddy, meandering fuzz-pedal wanks, musically, but I appreciate the intent and the sentiment, and I'll try like hell to like 'em. Some music takes time. This shouldn't, if Neil wants his heart-on-the-sleeve message heard, but what are you gonna do? I'd be inclined to give him a big kiss, then slap him on top of his nappy hippy head and ask him what the f--k he was thinking.]

12:20 PM | 3 comments

March 24, 2006

Wonderchicken Drinking Songs, Volume 1

Here's a new post-series that I've just decided I'm going to do, you know, until I lose interest: the greatest wonderchicken drinking songs. Ever. Because I'm on the beer again, and I'm all lovificated, and by god I want to share the joy. Yes, the joy.

So, without further ado, here's number one in a series of several thousand. I hope it makes you wiggle your butt.

Mojo Nixon -- Positively Bodies Parking Lot ([Update: mp3 taken down after a couple days. Thanks for playing!])

The Syndicate of Soul is playing At the Free Frank Frenzy Me and Mitch are Drinking ourselves into gin oblivion Hold onto this, hold onto that Man I know just where we're at

Cause it's Positively Bodies Parking Lot
I'm going back there,
I can't stop

Got a bottle of beer out of the back out my car
Underage girls going in the back door
Yeah we're outside the world famous The All-Dive Bar
Crazed couples are pumping away behind the Dipsy Dumpster of Love
Lorna Doone queen of the ladies room got herself a new bridegroom
He's buying a rubber there in the bathroom
With a thousand tiny pleasure spikes
His buddy's puking in the sink for the third time that night
Gopher killing, bullethead, taking pictures with the infrared

The regulars are glued to their barstools
And Jose Sinatra, he's starting to drool
But his feet are getting mighty small, and I'm standing there in the hall
Tomcats singing wild and true, blasting out the super blues
It's a Friday night in the summertime, I'm going out my mind

Harvey's teeth are scaring me, go down to the ditch to take a pee
Crickets are singing a Beat Farmers song
I can smell Alberto's mighty strong
Jack and his wife just backed over the fire hydrant
The water's shooting high in the sky
And the Silver Eagle motorcycles are drowning there, don't you know

Country Dick and the Snugglebunnies got me in an airplane spin
I'm thinking about gin, sin, and these three ex-girlfriends
They done showed up to squoosh my head, but I was saved by this guy they call
Well they call him Mojo's dad cause he's a screaming lunatic

Librarian from El Cajone checking out my love bone
Redhead says that she wants me to dance
Rock Jet's got everybody in a trance
Peak expectations causin' intoxications
I can smell the mating dance of fornication

Be young, be foolish
Be happy,
Blasting out of the jukebox

Two a.m., lights are on, nobody can stop, nobody's going home
Can't leave, can't go anywhere, cause you know you're already there

It's positively Bodies parking lot
Positively Bodies parking lot
Positively Bodies parking lot
It's positively Bodies parking lot
Yes it's positively Bodies parking lot

Collect them all!

10:00 PM

March 17, 2006

The Three Ages of Wonderchicken

It's been metric yonks since I posted to this category, ages since I've shared some music with my fine and deeply sexy readerfolk.

So here's not one, no not even two, but count 'em three! songs for your delectation, to make up for my dereliction. Songs that I hope you might not know yet, and might after hearing them enjoy as greatly as I do. If you do like 'em, go buy the albums in question. As usual, the mp3s'll be up for a couple of days at most before I take them down again.

I've chosen three songs that put me in mind this evening of Being Wonderchicken at age 18, 28, and 38, respectively.

With no further ado, then:

#1: Being 18
The Mountain Goats - This Year [Update: mp3 taken down, sorry]

I broke free on a saturday morning I put the pedal to the floor headed north on mills ave and listened to the engine roar

my broken house behind me
and good things ahead
a girl named cathy
wants a little of my time
six cylinders underneath the hood
crashing and kicking
aha! listen to the engine whine

i am going to make it through this year
if it kills me
i am going to make it through this year
if it kills me

i played video games in a drunken haze
i was seventeen years young
hurt my knuckles punching the machines
the taste of scotch rich on my tongue

and then cathy showed up
and we hung out
trading swigs from a bottle
all bitter and clean
locking eyes
holding hands
twin high maintenance machines

i am going to make it through this year
if it kills me
i am going to make it though this year
if it kills me

i drove home in the california dusk
i could feel the alcohol inside of me hum
pictured the look on my stepfather's face
ready for the bad things to come
i down shifted
as i pulled into the driveway
the motor screaming out
stuck in second gear
the scene ends badly
as you might imagine
in a cavalcade of anger and fear

there will be feasting and dancing
in jerusalem next year

i am going to make it through this year
if it kills me
i am going to make it though this year
if it kills me

That was both melancholy and joy-inducing, was it not? OK! On the next song, friends, with alacrity and alcohol!

#2: Being 28
Ray Lamontagne - Jolene [Update: mp3 taken down, sorry]

Cocaine flame in my bloodstream Sold my coat when I hit Spokane Bought myself a hard pack of cigarettes in the early morning rain Lately my hands they don't feel like mine My eyes been stung with dust and blind Held you in my arms one time Lost you just the same

Jolene

I ain't about to go straight
It's too late
I found myself face down in a ditch
Booze in my hair
Blood on my lips
A picture of you holding a picture of me
In the pocket of my blue jeans
Still don't know what love means

Jolene

Been so long since I seen your face
Or felt a part of this human race
I've been living out of this here suitcase for way too long
A man needs something he can hold onto
A nine pound hammer or a woman like you
Either one of them things will do

Jolene

Well, that's a little melancholy too, perhaps, but there's a ray of light knifing through the clouds, isn't there? f--kin' right, there is!

#3: Being 38
Smog - Dress Sexy At My Funeral [Update: mp3 taken down, sorry]

Dress sexy at my funeral my good wife Dress sexy at my funeral my good wife For the first time in your life Wear your blouse undone to here And your skirt split up to there

Dress sexy at my funeral my good wife
For the first time in your life
Dress sexy at my funeral my good wife
Wink at the minister
Blow kisses to my grieving brothers

Dress sexy at my funeral my good wife
And when it comes your turn to speak before the crowd
Tell them about the time we did it
On the beach with fireworks above us

On the railroad tracks with the gravel in your back
In the back room of a crowded bar
And in the graveyard where my body now rests

Dress sexy at my funeral my good wife
Dress sexy at my funeral my good wife
For the first time in your life

Also tell them about how I gave to charity
And tried to love my fellow man as best i could
But most of all don't forget about the time on the beach
With fireworks above us.

Light's not going out there, goddamnit, much as it may seem so. Right? Joy and antijoy can meet without the fabric of spacetime gettin' all shredded like a hooker's panties. You bastards need to get off the happy pills.

Anyway, so there you go. Songs good. If I'm still blogging when I'm 48, I'll update this motherf--ker.

Share and enjoy.

Update: Songs taken down. Snooze/loose.
Update 2: Jeff Ward at This Public Address joins the fun! Anyone else care to play?
Update 3Shelley gives it a go (sort of), too! You know, this used to be easier when trackbacks were flying around all over the place...

9:36 PM | 3 comments

December 20, 2004

Maxell XLII

This stopped me in my tracks this evening, while a flood of rock and roll memories washed over me.

This :

I wonder if the sight of that piece of molded plastic ramps up in you the same welter of blurry, beery, hormonal reminiscences that it does in me. If you're pushing 40, and rocked out with your [insert gender-appropriate appendage here] out, and spent long nights at the stereo making offerings, making entertainment for your friends and lovers, thrilled by the fact that you could actually tear songs from those big black frisbees and rearrange them any way you wanted, if you spent weeks and months, years of your life swapping one Maxell after another into the cassette player of your patient buddy's Datsun F10, wiping off the rye you'd spilled, dropping your Player's Light on the carpet again, waiting for the hiss that marked the end of the leader and knowing to the 10th of a second when the first kerrang of that f--kin' kickass tune dude was going to swoop down and tweak your heart, if you remember that one night with a thermos full of vodka and pink lemonade as the snow fell like magic out of a sky that was so close and black and solid that you felt like the air was getting squeezed out of you, wearing red and white Santa gloves in the back seat of that big black fast '65 Barracuda with the first girl you'd ever really loved, the girl you still hadn't gotten up the nerve to tell, being tossed laughing to and fro as the car whipped around corners slick and roaring, if you remember sh-t like that now, then you know how I feel tonight.

Thanks to project c-90, via Mefi.

9:18 PM | 5 comments and 5 trackbacks.

October 21, 2004

Ship Of Fools

I don't know what the f--k. I think my brain has been frozen by monetarization, and my heart as well, not to mention my goddamn lilypad-fat keyboard-strokin' fingertips. Sorry about that am I, faithful friends and supporters. Sorry, and silent, and scattered.

Fleeing from the money, I've scarpered around the curve of the globe over and over again over the years, running from the in-the-end unwelcome wealth thrust upon me, and now, since I'm paying for this site to be hosted, I have an urge to spit on it and walk away. I've finally found a way to pay to my host the last of the Paypal-imprisoned dollars I owe -- the dollars you, my friends, gifted me with months ago -- which is good news of a kind, perhaps, but it's all a swampy money-tainted sh-tswirl in my mind now. Big red bar sinister 'Keep out!' as the favicon.

How f--ked up is that when you're disgusted by the idea of posting to your own weblog? Pretty kinda ish, I guess.

So maybe that's it. I don't f--king know. I've had a few, and I'm talking sh-t again. So here's a song. Rock over London, motherbasters!

Went to see the captain,
strangest I could find,
Laid my proposition down,
laid it on the line.
I won't slave for beggar's pay,
likewise gold and jewels,
But I would slave to learn the way to sink your ship of fools.

Ship of fools on a cruel sea,
ship of fools sail away from me.
It was later than I thought when I first believed you,
Now I cannot share your laughter, ship of fools.

Saw your first ship sink and drown from rockin' of the boat,
And all that could not sink or swim was just left there to float.
I won't leave you drifting down, but it makes me wild,
With thirty years upon my head to have you call me child.

Ship of fools on a cruel sea,
ship of fools sail away from me.
It was later than I thought when I first believed you,
Now I cannot share your laughter, ship of fools.

The bottles stand as empty, as they were filled before.
Time there was and plenty, but from that cup no more.
Though I could not caution all, I still might warn a few:

Don't lend your hand to raise no flag atop no ship of fools.

Ship of fools on a cruel sea,
ship of fools sail away from me.
It was later than I thought,
when I first believed you,
Now I cannot share your laughter,
ship of fools.

It was later than I thought when I first believed you,
Now I cannot share your laughter,
ship of fools.

PS: I'm comin' after you 'making money from blogging' f--knozzles, if it's the last thing I do in this textosphere. And I'm gonna talk about your magic underwear.

[Update : Note to self when posting drunk - in future, delete 3 out of 4 uses of all variants of the word 'f--k'. Except f--knozzle. That's always a keeper.]

9:34 PM | 5 comments

May 1, 2004

Fireworks

Long time since I've done this. My apologies. And yeah, not much to say at the moment that isn't too angry to want to preserve for the ages.

Rather than hunt-n-peck out the diatribes that have been orbiting my brain and screeching like scalp-furrowing harpies of late, and instead of, like, bringing everybody down, man; instead of pointless wonderchickensian ranting, I invite you to enjoy some possibly-relevant and heart-lifting music.

One of my faves from the fine and excellent Canadian band The Tragically Hip, downloadable as always for the next day or two [4.8Mb]. [Update : Link removed after two days. Sorry!]

If there's a goal that everyone remembers
It was back in ol '72
We all squeezed the stick and we all pulled the trigger
And all I remember is sitting beside you
You said you didn't give a f--k about hockey
I never saw someone say that before
You held my hand and we walked home the long way
You were loosening my grip on Bobby Orr

Isn't it amazing anything's accomplished
When the little sensation gets in your way?
Not one ambition whisperin' over your shoulder
Isn't it amazing you can do anything?

We hung out together every single moment
'Cause that's what we thought married people do
Complete with the grip of artificial chaos
And believin' in the country of me and you
Crisis of faith and crisis in the Kremlin
And yeah we'd heard all that before
It's wintertime the house is solitude with options
And loosening my grip on a fake cold war

Isn't it amazing what you can accomplish
When you don't let the nation get in your way?
No ambition whisperin' over your shoulder
Isn't it amazing, you can do anything.

Next to your comrades in the national fitness program
Caught in some eternal flexed arm hang
Dropping to the mat in a fit of laughter
Showing no patience tolerance or restraint

Fireworks exploding in the distance
Temporary towers soar
Fireworks emulatin' heaven
Till there are no stars anymore
Fireworks aimin' straight at heaven
Temporary towers soar
Till there are no stars shinin' up in heaven
Till there are no stars anymore

Isn't it amazing what you can accomplish
When the little sensation gets in your way?
No ambition whisperin' over your shoulder
Isn't it amazing what you can accomplish, eh?

This one thing probably never goes away
I think that this one thing is always supposed to stay
This one thing doesn't have to go away

8:42 PM | 1 Comment

December 31, 2003

The Price Of Oil

It's been a long time since I've done one of these. Here's a song from the mighty mighty Billy Bragg that you probably've heard, but if not, you shoulda, by crikey. Listen here.

voices on the radio
tell us that we're going to war
those brave men and women in uniform
they want to know what they're fighting for
the generals want to hear the end game
the allies won't approve the plan
but the oil men in the white house
they just don't give a damn

it's all about the price of oil
it's all about the price of oil
don't give me no sh-t
about blood, sweat, tears and toil
it's all about the price of oil
now I ain't no fan of Saddam Hussein
oh, please don't get me wrong
if it's freeing the Iraqi people you're after
then why have we waited so long
why didn't we sort this out last time
was he less evil than he is now
the stock market holds the answer
to why him, why here, why now

Saddam killed his own people
just like general Pinochet
and once upon a time both these evil men
were supported by the U.S.A.
and whisper it, even Bin Laden
once drank from America's cup
just like that election down in Florida
this sh-t doesn't all add up
it's all about the price of oil
'cause it's all about the price of oil
don't give me no sh-t
about blood, sweat, tears and toil
it's all about the price of oil

You reckon it's sophomoric, I reckon it's close enough to true. Buy me a beer, or I'll beat you senseless. You know, metaphorically.

9:30 PM | 2 comments

December 2, 2003

Uncle Fucka Exegesis

After much deliberation, after pondering, both weak and weary, after tugging my beard like the retro-sage in a technical age that I fancy myself to be, after eating a couple of eggs boiled in spiced soy (oh, yeah, baby), I have come to the inescapable conclusion that 'Uncle f--ka' is possibly the greatest song ever written. A brief reminder of the powerful and affecting lyrics :

[Terrance:] Shut your f--king face uncle f--ka
You're a cock sucking ass licking uncle f--ka
You're an uncle f--ka, yes its true
Nobody f--ks uncles quite like you

[Phillip:] Shut your f--king face uncle f--ka
You're the one that f--ked your uncle, uncle f--ka
You dont eat or sleep or mow the lawn,
You just f--k your uncle all day long

[farting noises]
[Terrance:] Hmm!
[farting noises]
[laughing]
[farting noises]
[Some Guy:] What's going on here?
[farting noises]
[Man 1:] That's garbage!
[Man 2: ]Well, what do you expect -- they're Canadian.
[People:] OOOoooooooooooooh
f--ker f--ker uncle f--ka uncle f--ka f--ka f--ka f--ka
[T & P:] Shut your f--king face uncle f--ka
[Terrance:] uncle f--ka

[Terrance:] You're a boner biting bastard uncle f--ka
[Phillip:] You're an uncle f--ka I must say
[Terrance:] Well you f--ked your uncle yesterday
[Everyone: (laughing)]
[People:] Uncle f--ka... thats
[Everyone:] U-N-C-L-E f--k you Uncle
f--kaaaaaa...

[Phillip:] Suck my balls!

From the opening strains to the final testicular injunction, this piece of music speaks of humankind's chthonic impetus to understand its place in the world, to rend the veils that separate us from a direct apprehension of the divine. Perhaps Terrance and Phillip are telling us that through the f--king of uncles, a sacred understanding may be achieved. William Blake, in The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, said :

In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead.
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.
Prudence is a rich, ugly old maid courted by Incapacity.
He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence.
The cut worm forgives the plow.
Dip him in the river who loves water.

The road of excess is the road upon which Terrance and Phillip gambol and fart prodigiously, boner-biting their way to the palace of wisdom. Uncle f--kers, yes indeed, they embrace all within the scope of their gaze, with both love and scorn. Their joyous farts and caustic abuse remind us of the Rabelaisian island of Ruach,

They neither exonerate, dung, piss, nor spit in that island; but, to make amends, they belch, fizzle, funk, and give tail-shots in abundance. They are troubled with all manner of distempers; and, indeed, all distempers are engendered and proceed from ventosities, as Hippocrates demonstrates, lib. De Flatibus. But the most epidemical among them is the wind-cholic. The remedies which they use are large clysters, whereby they void store of windiness. They all die of dropsies and tympanies, the men farting and the women fizzling; so that their soul takes her leave at the back-door.

and point with gleeful loathing thereby at our folly and failings. They f--ked their uncles yesterday, our hyperkinetic flatulent Canadian duo, reminding us of the gloomy conclusion of Ivan Karamazov: "If God is dead, all is permitted."

Is there a god who would allow uncle-f--king? Is the god who would have prevented such things indeed dead, and is all, in fact, permitted? Terrance and Phillip have no answers for us, as they caper and cut the cheese, only questions, questions with which the great minds of our civilization have wrestled for centuries, fruitlessly.

In the end, perhaps, like Neitzche, they hail the dionysian, as the true source of art, and as deliberate affront to the illusory appollonian order imposed by our minds on a chaotic universe.

Either way, as Walter Kaufmann said of Neitzche, so can we say of Terrance and Phillip, our foul-mouthed flatulent flip-top-headed Canadian friends :

[Their] phrases, once heard, are never forgotten; they stand up by themselves, without requiring the support of any context; and so they have come to live independently of their sire's intentions.

Suck my balls.

7:32 AM | 5 comments

July 12, 2003

Divine Intervention

Sorry, I haven't done this in a while.

A song for you (.mp3, 3Mb) [link removed after 2 days], my friends :

Matthew Sweet - Divine Intervention (live, acoustic)

I don't know where I'm gonna live
Don't know if I'll find a place
I'll have to think about it some
And that I do not wish to face
I guess I'm counting on his
Divine Intervention

I cannot understand my god
I don't know why it gets to me
One day my life is filled with joy
And then we find we disagree
All depending on his
Divine Intervention

We're all counting on his
Divine Intervention

Does he love us does he love us?
Does he love us does he love us?
I look around and all I see is destruction
We're all counting on his
Divine Intervention

Here come the sun shine
Here come the sun shine
Sunshine, sunshine
The sunshine.

9:50 AM | 1 Comment

May 24, 2003

Keep on Truckin

Jo Jo's Jacket - a Steven Malkmus video, starring Yul Brynner. Sort of. [other Steven Malkmus videos, with bandwidth selection]

There's some other groovy music video stuff on offer there, too, including Smog, ...And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead, and Sebadoh, amongst others.

Also, music. Including one of my all-time faves from Smog - Dress Sexy At My Funeral.

Share and enjoy.

[requires realplayer, via the site that shall not be named]

6:37 PM

May 10, 2003

Kinda The Lonely One

Number 5 in a continuing series : tonight's song [4 Mb, mp3] is as always available for a couple of days.

The Lowest of The Low - Kinda The Lonely One

Ask the question
Am I on the blacklist?
How long can this go on?
And... If I pull will you resist?
Are you the bleeding Christ?
And am I the mongrel dog?

If I knew you were so far gone
I'd have run right out and bought you a bottle
But then again, you were always kinda the lonely one

I met an old friend yesterday
He's gone to Vancouver
He just left his wife and kids
What a sly manoeuvre
So drunk the night he left
He was too drunk to recover
Now I'm digging old bones
Now I'm digging old bones

If I knew you were so far gone
I'd have run right out and bought me a bottle
But then again, you were always kinda the lonely one

If I knew you were so far gone
I'd have run right out and bought us a bottle
But then again, you were always kinda the lonely one

7:01 AM | 1 Comment

April 23, 2003

World. Party.

One of the songs that was a soundtrack to some of my best wanderings, listened to again tonight, with a tear and a smile and a clutch of beers.

Episode 3 [.mp3, 4Mb] in the 'bottle weekly song sharing festival of randomness. As usual, I'll leave it up for two days. Enjoy.

The Waterboys - World Party

Well it's got nothing to do with anything that is real
You just believe in it and it's true
You can sooth like an angel or sigh like a saint
You can dream it and see it through
You will live to see a sea of lights
Sparkling on the face of a pearl
Climb your own peak
Find a new streak

Get yourself along to the world party (party!)

Now you've been building for yourself a cool place in the sand
You're thinking that it's mighty fine
You've got dust in your eyeballs, you got mud in your mouth
But it's your head, it ain't mine
I've got a madman of my own to contend with
Cursing in the cave of my skull
Turn the other cheek
Find a new streak

Get yourself along to the world party (party!)

Well I heard a rumour of a golden age
Somewhere back along the line
Maybe I dreamed it in a whisper or
Heard it in a spell
It was something to do with the sign of the times
And the only thing that I remember
Is a summer like a pretty girl
Who shimmers and shines
Moving in time
shaking to the beat of the heart of the world

Party (party! party! party! party!)

7:06 PM

April 18, 2003

Two Lips, Two Lungs and One Tongue

Here's your obscure kickass Song of the Week, folks [2.7 Mb, mp3]

(installment #2 in an unannounced new feature on the 'bottle (and praying that my ISP doesn't notice)) :

NoMeansNo - Two Lips Two Lungs And One Tongue (Wrong, 1989)

He kept trying
He kept trying
But he couldnât find out
Why he couldnât stop crying

Only so many songs can be sung
With two lips, two lungs and one tongue

She kept praying
She kept praying
That he would understand
What she was saying

Only so many songs can be sung
With two lips, two lungs and one tongue

He kept dreaming
He kept dreaming
Of the day they'd realize
What he was feeling

Only so many songs can be sung
With two lips, two lungs and one tongue

2:46 AM | 1 Comment

March 28, 2003

Whatcha Gonna Do?

While reading this post from Burningbird, this song from one of the greatest punk bands of all time (and one of my all-time favorites) Vancouver's DOA, was playing on Winamp, appropriately enough. Not poetry, far from it, but good political hardcore rarely reached such lofty heights way back then, 20 years ago and more, and we rarely noticed, as busy slamming and pogoing and sinking oceanic quantities of cheap beer as we were. I do recall taking very seriously one of the band's many mottoes, though: TALK - ACTION = ZERO.

DOA - Whatcha Gonna Do?

Whatcha gonna do?
Whatcha wanna do?
Whatcha gonna be?

Well if you're thinkin'
That you're nothin'
You already are
Yeah, you already are

You need some takin', not just thinkin'
You need some takin', not just thinkin'
You need some takin',
Just quit your talkin'.

You're sittin' thinkin'
About your sinkin'
Around on down
You wanted everything
But you took nothin'
So now you lie
About the way that you tried

So whatcha gonna do
about what you do?
Whatcha gonna do
about what you do?
Whatcha gonna do
about what you do?
'Bout the way that you tried?
So quit your talkin'

Okay.

Whatcha gonna do?
Whatcha wanna do?
Whatcha gonna be?
Well if you want
Whatcha really want?
You need some takin'
Not just fakin'

So whatcha gonna do 'bout what you do?
Whatcha gonna do 'bout what you do?
And whatcha gonna do 'bout what you be?
Gotta be somethin'

Hey.

I don't know
I don't know
I don't know
I don't know
I don't know

I used to know the answer to that question, two decades ago, when I first heard this song, or thought I did. I marched in protests, I talked to everyone I could corner in bars and hallways, I told them to fight the wave of corporatist christian contrakiller bullsh-t flowing out of America and lapping around our ankles.

Today, I don't know the answer anymore. I am almost certain that there is no good answer, actually, no answer that's any damn good at all, other than the one that comes by following the urgings of your own sense of right and wrong.

So I'm going to go get drunk, and be nice to some people, and try and avoid getting in any fistfights with Americans. Not much, but it'll have to do, you know?

Like Joey sh-thead said, you gotta know who your enemy is.

10:37 PM | 9 comments

February 14, 2003

Blogaritaville

I'm not sure why I did this - I don't even particularly like Jimmy Buffett (other than the pleasant memories he evokes from my days sailing off the Pacific coast of Mexico, when he was required listening amongst the Cortez cruisers.) Sometimes I just get these compulsions, you know?

Blogaritaville - with apologies to Jimmy Buffett

Postin' a new rant
(Tomorrow I'll recant)
About politicians that I despise
Drinkin' some more beer
Blogosphere's Shakespeare
Watch the hitcount beginnin' to rise

Chorus:
Wastin' away again in Blogaritaville
Thinkin' about my next killer post
Some bloggers claim that they're not in it for fame
Can't be bothered with a riposte

I'm not on the A-List
So I guess I'll just get pissed
Nothin' to show but these irate comments
But they're some amusing
Feedback on my boozing
How they got there I haven't a clue

Chorus:
Wastin' away again in Blogaritaville
Thinkin' about my next killer post
Some bloggers claim that it's a zero-sum game
Now I think
Hell, in that case I'm toast

I blew out my template
Javascript applet
Borked stylesheets now it looks kinda crap
But there's booze in the blender
And soon it will render
That frozen concoction that helps me blog on

Wastin' away again in Blogaritaville
Drinkin' my beer with lemon and salt
Some people claim I've got no sense of shame
But I know it's my own damn fault
Yes and some people claim I've got a stupid pen-name
And I know it's my own damn fault

Update : A quick Googling, which in my fever to finish the doggerel above I neglected to do, shows me that there is (pretty darn groovy) prior art here. Not that that should surprise, I guess.

10:50 PM | 1 Comment

January 31, 2003

Redneck

When you're a secret redneck like me, an only-partially reformed small-town Norther BC boy, and you've got 10 or 11 beers in you, it becomes clear that "Can't You See?" from the Marshall Tucker Band is one of the greatest songs ever written.

Then again, the next random-shuffle Winamp playlist entry started just as I was hunt-and-pecking that out, and now I'm gonna have to vote for "I'm Right You're Wrong" by Vancouver stalwarts DOA as the pinnacle of (punk) Rock And Roll Bliss. Songs of my youth...

i'm right, you're wrong - and we both know it. i'm right, you're wrong - and it's no secret. i'm right, you're wrong - but you got the power.

what do ya mean - when ya stare at me?
you think we're nothing - but things will change.
we may be crazy - but we're not insane.
i'm right, you're wrong - but you got the power.

i'm right, you're wrong - and we all know it.
i'm right, you're wrong - so let's break it.
you're gonna fall - you set yourself up.
you can't stall - it's crumbling down.
out of the way - it's been standing too long.
i'm right, you're wrong - but you got the power.

i'm right you're wrong - and we all know it.
i'm right, you're wrong - so we'll have to break it.
i'm right, you're wrong - but you got the power.

i'm right, you're wrong and we all know it.
i'm right, you're wrong - so we'll have to take it.

Best Asian Weblog? Hooo-hah. f--k that noise.

Heh.

Edit : Another beer, and I changed my mind again. This! Is! The! Best!

Tom Waits - Heart Of Saturday Night

Well you gassed her up Behind the wheel With your arm around your sweet one In your Oldsmobile Barrelin' down the boulevard You're looking for the heart of Saturday night And you got paid on Friday And your pockets are jinglin' And you see the lights You get all tinglin' cause you're cruisin' with a 6 And you're looking for the heart of Saturday night

Then you comb your hair
Shave your face
Tryin' to wipe out ev'ry trace
All the other days
In the week you know that this'll be the Saturday
You're reachin' your peak

Stoppin' on the red
You're goin' on the green
Cause tonight'll be like nothin'
You've ever seen
And you're barrelin' down the boulevard
Lookin' for the heart of Saturday night

Tell me is the crack of the poolballs, neon buzzin?
Telephone's ringin'; it's your second cousin
Is it the barmaid that's smilin' from the corner of her eye?
Magic of the melancholy tear in your eye.

Makes it kind of quiver down in the core
Cause you're dreamin' of them Saturdays that came before
And now you're stumblin'
You're stumblin' onto the heart of Saturday night

Well you gassed her up
And you're behind the wheel
With your arm around your sweet one
In your Oldsmobile
Barrellin' down the boulevard,
You're lookin' for the heart of Saturday night

Is the crack of the poolballs, neon buzzin?
Telephone's ringin'; it's your second cousin
And the barmaid is smilin' from the corner of her eye
Magic of the melancholy tear in your eye.

Makes it kind of special down in the core
And you're dreamin' of them Saturdays that came before
It's found you stumblin'
Stumblin' onto the heart of Saturday night
And you're stumblin'
Stumblin onto the heart of Saturday night

4:50 AM | 2 comments

January 25, 2003

Choose carefully

One of these songs is about me me me. If you can figure out which one, I promise I won't deliver a merciless beating to your sensitive and private parts. Choose carefully, friends.

7:00 AM | 2 comments

January 20, 2003

Hurt

'Hurt' : Johnny Cash covering NIN. Gorgeous. Quicktime, 42 Mb.

[via MeFi]

12:35 AM | 6 comments

September 14, 2002

Pacing The Cage

Sunset is an angel weeping
Holding out a bloody sword
No matter how I squint I cannot
Make out what it's pointing toward
Sometimes you feel like you've lived too long
Days drip slowly on the page
You catch yourself
Pacing the cage

I've proven who I am so many times
The magnetic strip's worn thin
And each time I was someone else
And every one was taken in
Powers chatter in high places
Stir up eddies in the dust of rage
Set me to pacing the cage

I never knew what you all wanted
So I gave you everything
All that I could pillage
All the spells that I could sing
It's as if the thing were written
In the constitution of the age
Sooner or later you'll wind up
Pacing the cage

Sometimes the best map will not guide you
You can't see what's round the bend
Sometimes the road leads through dark places
Sometimes the darkness is your friend
Today these eyes scan bleached-out land
For the coming of the outbound stage
Pacing the cage
Pacing the cage

- Bruce Cockburn

1:03 AM

August 27, 2002

Same As It Ever Was

And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack And you may find yourself in another part of the world And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife And you may ask yourself-Well...How did I get here?

Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the money's gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground.

And you may ask yourself
How do I work this?
And you may ask yourself
Where is that large automobile?
And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful house!
And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful wife!
Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the money's gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground.

Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...

Water dissolving...and water removing
There is water at the bottom of the ocean
Carry the water at the bottom of the ocean
Remove the water at the bottom of the ocean!

Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/in the silent water
Under the rocks and stones/there is water underground.

Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the money's gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground.

And you may ask yourself
What is that beautiful house?
And you may ask yourself
Where does that highway go?
And you may ask yourself
Am I right?...Am I wrong?
And you may tell yourself
MY GOD!...WHAT HAVE I DONE?

Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/in the silent water
Under the rocks and stones/there is water underground.

Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the money's gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground.

Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...

4:35 AM | 9 comments

August 4, 2002

Naked and Shameless

Back in about '86 or so, the world paused for a moment in its orbit as the musical colossus known as Naked & Shameless spontaneously appeared, boozily clambered to the very apex of the Vancouver musical scene, and then flamed out and disappeared, all in the space of days, if not hours.

Well, what really happened is that my buddy Deviant, who was responsible for the creation and dismantling of various Vancouver bands of moderate success over the decade, decided that it'd be pretty damn cool to get me liquored up in his studio, record one of my infamous spontaneous rants, then put it to music.

Unfortunately, no matter how much Ouzo I swilled, sitting on the stool in front of the mike, it just wasn't spontaneous. Performance anxiety. I did force it a bit once the booze kicked in, and pulled some ranty stuff out of my ass, but the resulting track didn't meet the high standards we had anticipated, and after a few plays on CiTR, the UBC campus radio station ("all spaceship and satan music, all the time"), sank into history unremarked.

For the purposes of branding, though (we were ahead of our time, baby), I'd come up with the name 'Naked & Shameless' for our two-man band. Myself being Jim Naked, up there under the hot lights, baring my soul, and Deviant being Dave Shameless, the evil rocknroller exploiting my gentle drunken poetic weiner-talk to get chicks and stuff.

That part was good.

Wisely, though, with our first track sucking so heinously, we decided to shelve the project.

Fast forward to a few years ago, and Deviant, who has been living in Chicago and whom I haven't seen for almost a decade, has restarted Naked and Shameless, with cousin Buck Naked replacing the dearly departed Jim. Buck can actually sing, and play. This is a good thing.

Why am I telling you all this? Besides the usual 'I'm so goddamn hip I can't see over my own pelvis' stuff, mostly 'cause I remembered that N&S have an mp3.com page with some fun songs on, which I've been listening to this evening as I get slowly plastered, and they're currently on tour, and will be playing one of our favorite Vancouver haunts this weekend, the Railway Club.

(The serendipitous thing here being that through completely random chaotic f--king weirdness, one of the owners of the Railway Club, Roger Trentenero, since deceased (murdered on his boat not long after I'd decamped, so to speak, at Playa Los Cocos, by hammer flung headward by his 16-year old Costa Rican girlfriend, is the story that I heard), was the owner of the first sailboat I crewed aboard in the Sea of Cortez, approximately midway, temporally speaking, between then and now...but that, as I find myself saying all too often, is a tale for another day.)

Drinking Song #16 is the one dedicated to me poor old Jim Naked. It's funny, but not my favorite. C'est la vie.

If you do go have a listen to any of their stuff, don't miss "Lawrence (Head of Lettuce)". A true story from our UBC days. Not even the names have been changed to protect the guilty. Rock'n'roll verité, man.

3:40 AM | 7 comments

July 24, 2002

Wide Open

Mojo Nixon and Skid Roper - Wide Open

I'm feelin' wide open every day
I'm feelin' wide open every which a-way
Got something down inside of me
It just won't let me be
Got something down inside of me
and it's a-talkin' to me..

Said John Calvin he's long-dead
we gotta get that in our heads
we ain't got nothin' to fear
'cept for runnin' out, outta beer

Oh the time is now
the day has come
there are no rules
yeah only fun
you know what it is we gotta do

Don't give up before you've tried
Don't be afraid, yeah afraid to die
We ain't got nothin' to lose
Fear is our enemy
Takin' the life outta you and me

Everybody's in charge
we don't need to wait
Robert, Tim and Ishmael
Man them dude's great
Can't let 'em have all the fun
Get up and go, wake up and run
I am a-live!

Said John Calvin is long-dead
we gotta get that in our heads
Get that jealousy outta here
We ain't got nothin' to fear...

I gotta go

We don't need no more rules
Rules and regulations
We don't need cops, cops and spies
and all that sensation
We need freedom
We need freedom
We need freedom in the USA
Reinvent the USA
Every which a-way.

I'm out in Pennsylvania county
on Highway 7-1-8
Middle of a cornfield
No, I'm not too late
There's about thirteen
Thirteen '67 Chevy Malibus
In a circle, in the cornfield
with their headlights on...
And I can feel it.
I can feel!

And everybody's dancin in the headlights
Dancin' in the headlights
And off in the distance you can hear 'em sing...

I'm feelin' wide open
I'm feelin' wide open
I'm feelin' wide open
I'm goin' wide open

[30 second sample]

The album's out of print, you can download it here.

11:36 PM | 3 comments

June 9, 2002

Slicin' up eyeballs

Got me a movie I want you to know Slicing up eyeballs I want you to know Girlie so groovy I want you to know Don't know about you But I am un chien Andalusia

I am un chien Andalusia

Wanna grow
Up to be
Be a debaser

via bottomdwelling, Mena Trott relives Doolittle a song at a time.

Edit : Also from the same fine iNtarwEb publication, "What Are You, Drunk?"

The study is filled with similar facts, usually highlighted with scary italics like the ones found on Ed Wood movie posters: âFrequent binge drinkers were 10 times more likely than non-binge drinkers to have driven after drinking alcohol.â Okay, but Iâd also bet that frequent binge drinkers were at least 100 times more likely to tell you they love you. Man.

3:17 AM | 5 comments

June 5, 2002

I and I

Taking a page from the Mighty Mighty Mike Golby (aka the Zimmerman Professor of Music and Poetics), some Dylan I'm listening to tonight :

Been so long since a strange woman has slept in my bed. Look how sweet she sleeps, how free must be her dreams. In another lifetime she must have owned the world, or been faithfully wed To some righteous king who wrote psalms beside moonlit streams.