Ship Of Fools

October 21, 2004 / / 5 Comments

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.]

Fireworks

May 1, 2004 / / 1 Comment

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

The Price Of Oil

December 31, 2003 / / 2 Comments

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.

Uncle Fucka Exegesis

December 2, 2003 / / 5 Comments

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 Fucka‘ is possibly the greatest song ever written.

A brief reminder of the powerful and affecting lyrics :

Terrance and Phillip
[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.

Divine Intervention

July 12, 2003 / / 1 Comment

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.

Keep on Truckin

May 24, 2003 / / No Comments

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]

Kinda The Lonely One

May 10, 2003 / / 1 Comment

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

World. Party.

April 23, 2003 / / No Comments

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!)

Two Lips, Two Lungs and One Tongue

April 18, 2003 / / 1 Comment

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 couldn’t find out
Why he couldn’t 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
Only so many songs can be sung
With two lips, two lungs and one tongue

Whatcha Gonna Do?

March 28, 2003 / / 9 Comments

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.

Blogaritaville

February 14, 2003 / / 1 Comment

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.

Redneck

January 31, 2003 / / 2 Comments

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

Pacing The Cage

September 14, 2002 / / No Comments

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

Same As It Ever Was

August 27, 2002 / / 9 Comments
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…

Naked and Shameless

August 4, 2002 / / 7 Comments

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.
v1For 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.

Wide Open

July 24, 2002 / / 3 Comments
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.

Slicin' up eyeballs

June 9, 2002 / / 5 Comments
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: ‘Frequent binge drinkers were 10 times more likely than non-binge drinkers to have driven after drinking alcohol.’ Okay, but I’d also bet that frequent binge drinkers were at least 100 times more likely to tell you they love you. Man.

I and I

June 5, 2002 / / 3 Comments

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.
I and I
In creation where one’s nature neither honors nor forgives.
I and I
One says to the other, no man sees my face and lives.
Think I’ll go out and go for a walk,
Not much happenin’ here, nothin’ ever does.
Besides, if she wakes up now, she’ll just want me to talk
I got nothin’ to say, ‘specially about whatever was.
I and I
In creation where one’s nature neither honors nor forgives.
I and I
One says to the other, no man sees my face and lives.
Took an untrodden path once, where the swift don’t win the race,
It goes to the worthy, who can divide the word of truth.
Took a stranger to teach me, to look into justice’s beautiful face
And to see an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.
I and I
In creation where one’s nature neither honors nor forgives.
I and I
One says to the other, no man sees my face and lives.
Outside of two men on a train platform there’s nobody in sight,
They’re waiting for spring to come, smoking down the track.
The world could come to an end tonight, but that’s all right.
She should still be there sleepin’ when I get back.
I and I
In creation where one’s nature neither honors nor forgives.
I and I
One says to the other, no man sees my face and lives.
Noontime, and I’m still pushin’ myself along the road, the darkest part,
Into the narrow lanes, I can’t stumble or stay put.
Someone else is speakin’ with my mouth, but I’m listening only to my heart.
I’ve made shoes for everyone, even you, while I still go barefoot.
I and I
In creation where one’s nature neither honors nor forgives.
I and I
One says to the other, no man sees my face and lives.

This is the first time I’ve ever read the lyrics, and for almost 20 years I’ve thought that it was ‘…justice’s pitiful face…’ Freaky.