Just Got It

This will not make me sound great. It won't make me sound bad, but it won't cast me in the light I'd like either. Still, I'm no longer very interested in disguising my character the way I used to be. Now, you'll recall maybe that I was very excited over the new "Pretty Reckless" album, and the song "Heaven Knows" in particular. I was listening to that song like crazy, but it was like so many of my infatuations with songs: intense and short-lived.

That's not to say that I don't still love the song, because I do. It just happened to have the bad luck of coming just before another song that seized me with equal vigor, pushing it to the back burner. That other song is likely to be a surprise, and maybe for multiple reasons. It's "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas. This is not a new song. It came out something like nine years ago, and while I had heard plenty about it in all that time, I never listened to it. I don't know how that happened.

Full Release

A few years ago (it has to be, although it seems as it could hardly have been as much as one), I became aware of a band called The Pretty Reckless. I can't recall how I found out about them, but it may be that I was reading about their lead singer, Taylor Momsen. She had been on a show called "Gossip Girl" that I never saw, and in a movie or movies that I also never saw. In any case, she was going through the inevitable process of rebelling against a forced clean image that always seems to shock people, and this band was the manifestation of that.

At the time, they'd put out one EP and one album. From that output, there were a number of songs that I really loved. I was listening to them constantly, and I was very fond of the band. I easily could have dismissed them on account of Momsen's background, since there's not too much value in music designed to be shocking in order to establish that someone is not a child anymore. There isn't for me, anyway, and I shouldn't speak for others.

Mergers & Acquisitions

On the same day that I caved and bought some more VHS tapes for the first time in a while, I also bought a couple of records. I went through a similar progression in my record buying to that which I went through with my tape buying, but it was faster. I first bought a number of them rather indiscriminately. I had to have something to play on my new player, and having records was a novelty to me much greater than having VHS tapes for the first time in years, but in a matter of weeks, I declined to buy any record I didn't really want.

I haven't bought many of those in a while, and not because I was trying to reign in my collecting. I just hadn't seen any really good ones. Recently I finally did. Now, I love Warren Zevon. By a wide margin, he's my favorite musician. I'll buy his records almost any time. I say almost because I have a finite number of dollars to live on, or I'd spend any amount. As it is, I can't spend thirty dollars on a record. That's what Warren's eponymous album costed at Amoeba, so I demurred.

The Sketch That Landed

I had a pretty good day on Thursday. I had an all right Toastmasters meeting, during which I learned that I got a callback for an audition. Later in the day, I had an interview for something else that could prove very interesting if it comes to fruition. After that, I had a very successful run with that Hashtag Wars thing I described the other day. The day effectively concluded with word that I'd gotten a sketch into the news-based sketch show I've been submitting two line jokes to for so long. I couldn't sleep for hours after that, but that's beside the point.

Most weeks I've gotten two line jokes into the Top Story Weekly show. There's some reward to if if a joke is very well received, or if I get a lot of them in there. My personal bests are five jokes total and a joke that killed so well that the woman delivering it could scarcely get it out through her laughter. There's a bad side to those jokes. There's much uncertainty about getting them in there and having them stick. They're over all too quickly, and the memory of them fades quickly.

On "Wig Wam Bam"

As I think I've said before, I get very obsessive about certain movies and songs. If one that really strikes my fancy comes along, I will play it over and over and over until I have completely slaked my thirst for it permanently. That's happened with movies like "Abraxas, Guardian Of The Universe" and songs like "Them Changes" by Buddy Miles. Eventually I develop an ordinary affection for them, but first it is white hot and then it is completely gone.

The latest song to join that pantheon is "Wig Wam Bam" by Sweet. I already knew some of their songs, such as the classic "Ballroom Blitz" and "Fox On The Run". I didn't know them incredibly well, and so when this particular song came on the radio while I was perusing VHS tapes at Amoeba Records in Hollywood, I didn't know what it was or who it was by. It occurred to me that there are iPhone apps that can ID a song like that, but I didn't have one, so I searched for it and was satisfied that I had found it.

Greenhorn

My VHS collection continues to grow, as do my inroads into the world of record collecting. I have in recent days picked up seven tapes, and more records. I remain green where the latter are concerned. There are a number of things that leave me ill at ease, and i do hope to feel better with experience. I enjoy records, so I don't want to give any impression to the contrary, but there are some little things that presently mar the general experience.

Honestly, it's a bother that some many people are into it. I don't need to be super cool with my interests. It's not a problem to me that other people are into records. I don't need them all to myself, but there are some practical considerations. For one thing, one must spend more money to obtain decent records. Good VHS tapes can be had for very little, but one must enter the midrange to get decent records, and the high end to get really good ones. That has been my experience so far. It may sound logical economically, and maybe it is, but I don't like it.

More Albums

I've bought some more records for my player. I have nine altogether now. The big bookstore downtown which entertains as many amateur photographers as it does devotees of books. In fact they have considerably more than books. I have, as I think I may have said, often bought VHS tapes there, and now I turn to that bookstore for vinyl records. They have many more of those than they do my beloved tapes. Vinyl records are significantly more popular in general.

I bought two albums by Linda Rondstadt. I like her work, but the only albums of hers that I really have any interest in are those in which she records songs written by Warren Zevon, whose own versions I tend to prefer anyway. That's not to impugn Rondstadt. She has a lovely voice, and I have no doubt that I will enjoy the albums. I just wish they would have had some of Zevon's own albums. I'll get some yet. Anyway, I have "Living In The USA" and "Hasten Down The Wind".

New Collection

I'm awfully happy to have gotten a new turntable for Christmas. It arrived a couple days ago, and I was taken back to the days when I had my Sega Genesis and no games, because I had this turntable and no records. I contented myself with frantically worrying over whether it would play properly or not (which shows I've matured: as a boy, I pretended to play video games with my Genesis). I was resolved, of course, to get some records as soon as possible.

Yesterday I went to a local thrift store and bought a few. Anything would have been OK, but I was hopeful that I would find some music I actually would enjoy. Happily, it worked out that way. The record I've enjoyed the most so far is "Running On Empty" by Jackson Browne. I like his music, and that album has the two songs of his that I know very well at all. I only wish that Warren Zevon was in the mix.

Christmas Music

It's the Christmas season, we must at last admit to ourselves. One of the critical aspects of Christmas is, of course, the music. We now have a lot of options for how we consume it (or, indeed, if we do). Friends of mine are breaking out their vinyl records of Christmas music. Others of us are streaming music online. There may even be those who are buying CD's, since I think they are still making those. Maybe those people are buying mp3s.

My favorite way to hear Christmas music is the traditional way, or at least what is the traditional way to me. I listen on the radio. Each year at this time, a town's soft rock radio stations switch formats to non-stop Christmas music. In this way I get all the conventional songs, sometimes sung by the likes of Bing Crosby and so forth, other times being sung by more recent artists like Mariah Carey or Michael Buble. It suits me well enough.

No End

It has happened a couple times in the last few days that I have gotten hooked on a song. I have likely described how this happens in the past. I have a way of hearing a song, new or old, and becoming consumed by it. For a stretch of hours or days, absolutely no other sounds are tolerable. I must hear that song over and over again without end until my level of interest in it is eradicated. I sometimes never wish for a return to such a song.

A few days ago, I somehow heard or learned about and then sought out Men At Work's big song, "Down Under". I found it very catchy, and I started listening to it incessantly. I also found it necessary to search for all possible live versions recorded on video. One in particular was their performance of the song at the 2000 Summer Olympics in Sydney. Being Australian (and their hit song being about being Australian), they were naturally summoned for the festivities.

Not So Easy Listening

I love music. I have always favored older stuff over what's contemporary, not for any really noble reasons so much as for the reason that old stuff is vetted already, and it's an ordeal to sift the good from the bad without a list of the best albums of all time from Rolling Stone Magazine. Still, I do get into the newer stuff more and more thanks to the influence from today's social networking websites. They tip me off to things I never would have heard of.

I did learn of Kanye West in college without the benefit of new online developments, but his latest album is an example of something I may never have listened to without music apps and websites that are now so prevalent. I was listening to said album yesterday and patting myself on the back for being in some kind of mainstream for a change, but I must confess that the album didn't do much for me as previous ones from Kanye had.

Ideas To Give Wing

I have lately had a couple of ideas for songs. As I may have said before, I cannot play an instrument, so maybe they're just remain songs. I hope to learn an instrument, like the ukulele, but for now I am more a poet than a songwriter. Either title is a stretch, but I think that the words I write are decent enough that the former could be true.That's why I'll keep going with these ideas of mine. I think they're pretty good ideas.

The first one is a parody. I have gotten fond of Adele, whose "Rolling In The Deep" I heard at a pole dancing performance before I heard her sing the title song for "Skyfall". I also like "Someone Like You". It's a powerful message, what she says about moving on and coming to terms with the person you're leaving in your past. I hope to adapt it in order to pay tribute to one of my favorite scenes in film history: Rambo's escape from the POW camp in "First Blood Part 2".

Answering In Kind

I love music. I spend much of every day listening to music while sequestered (of my own volition) in my bedroom. The music is at worst not a hindrance to my productivity while writing or doing whatever else, and it might even lubricate the creative machine a little. A regrettable fact of living in an apartment building with roommates and neighbors is that there are many noises and distractions which it is difficult if not impossible to eliminate. The music helps that.

Supposing that a roommate is moving about the apartment or doing something else, the noise of which could be quantified as a six out of ten. My move will always be to get some music going at a minimum of a seven, and probably higher. So long as the noise is coming from a rock legend like Warren Zevon, it does not anger me or derail my process. This remedy may cost me down the line when I cannot hear, but for now it's good.

Unrequited Love

I like less and less to get political, but occasionally there's an angle that I like enough to get into it. Every element of life has become tragically politicized, all the way down to the food we eat. Who'd have guessed that chicken would become a battleground for civil rights? Another curious front for the tug-of-war between left and right occurs in the realm of music, and it is rather one-sided. Still, it's a compelling subject to me.

When candidates for elective office campaign, they'll have these big, noisy spectacular events to win the affections of voters. You might think that between the candidate's speeches and the voters there to hear them there'd be enough noise, but they like to have music. Regrettably, it's not live music. Instead, they play recorded music meant to gin up overwrought emotions properly. To their credit, they pick a lot of good music.

Learning Is Dumb

I mentioned yesterday, I think, that I visited a showing of rock and roll photography. There was a lot there that I liked, and yet there was something rather repellent to me. It really was fascinating to see all of the pictures and to get some background on them, and yet there was an attitude pervasive through the gallery that I didn't care for. What it amounted to was a high-minded, philosophical tone that I don't think fits well with that sort of music.

 The way I think is well-encapsulated by the Rolling Stones song "It's Only Rock And Roll (But I Like It)." Rock is not the music of the cultured ivory tower elites. It's supposed to be a thumb in their eye. When academic types start talking about what it all means, that's rock getting co-opted, and you can be sure then that it's not long for this world in its true form. That's what bothers me about all the analysis. It doesn't sound much like it's in the spirit of the music.

Smart Play

The time during which I had the least enthusiasm for playing a musical instrument was the time when I had the best opportunities for beginning to learn. This is rather regrettable. I briefly studied the drums, but found no pleasure in the very tedious process of practicing on a pad, with no hopes of leaping ahead to actual music or actual drums any time soon. It was in such a way that my karate career also met an early end, but I have no interest just now in memorializing that. Perhaps it will come later.

I wish dearly now that I had applied myself then, but I suppose that qualities like discipline are not ones that can be summoned with a bell. If I had really gotten on the ball and learned an instrument, I'd have an easier time writing songs, which I do from time to time when no other form of writing seems equal to the task of capturing an idea I have. Some things are right for this sort of writing I'm doing now, some are for scripts, some are for poems, and some have to have music behind them.

A Trip

The other night, a couple friends and I were driving back home from a birthday celebration at some far-flung dive bar. It was some kind of a party, featuring the birthday girl in an awfully talented band, and there was more beside that to the credit of the evening. In any event, the ride home was a long one, and let's just say that I at least was still very much seized by "the party spirit". It made the ride somewhat more tolerable than it might have been under other circumstances.

The shotgun passenger had out her phone, and was playing songs to supplement what must have been a lackluster playlist on what I gather we now call "terrestrial radio". I was singing along to each one, whether  I was very confident about the lyrics or not. It would be fair to say that my vocal performances were distinguished more by their enthusiasm than by their successful execution. At the best of times, I think I must have a limited vocal range, but these were not the best of times.

Rebels Of A Kind

When watching a true spectacle, there is nothing to be done except to watch intently, because you know that such a thing cannot possibly endure for very long. It transgresses so much of established, civilized behavior that it will die of its own accord even if it is not snuffed out by some external force of justice. When I see such a thing, I am glad to know it will be gone but delight in its presence before that comes to pass.

The other night, I knew I was watching a real spectacle. It was a rock band that was playing before the band I had actually come to see at a nearby venue. The first sign of what was in store came as the band was setting up. The establishment has laws it must abide by to remain a good neighbor to other business and to the people who live there. One law concerns noise, and the band jawed with the guy in charge of the show at length before beginning their set that much later. One member lectured him that "you can't ask for cookies and not allow flour" or some such thing.

Song Bird, Wrong Bird

I like singing. I may not be much good at it (or at least no one could deny that I lack polish), but that doesn't temper my enthusiasm. I have found, though, that enthusiasm tends to get me in trouble. I realize often only after the fact that I can't manage songs such as those by Hall & Oates (and recently, Cher). That's all right, though. The key is that you have fun. I have the most fun when I do well, or when there's no one around to judge.

I try to pick things I'll do well at karaoke, but when I'm around the house anything goes. I was just thinking about the little things I'll sing when I'm washing dishes or getting reading in the morning. It'll be one of those soft, breathy numbers in the style of Diana Krall or some such singer. When I hit upon one like that, it'll enter my repertoire of songs meant for no one but myself (and a lady, perhaps). A good example is "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow" by the Shirelles.

What Lies Encoded

You'll recall I was at a concert recently that really did a number on my hearing for a bit. It was a good time, to be sure. I was there with some friends, one of whom was taking pictures for the venue. Well, a gentleman got the idea that that we were affiliated with some major media outlet. Specifically, he asked if we were with a magazine. Of course, I over-thought the question. I should have flatly said no, but because I equivocated (on account of the answer not seeming so cut and dried), he insisted on giving me a CD with his band's music on it.

I would just as soon he not have. Just how am I to do him and his comrades any good if I like it? You see, I have not yet listened to the thing. I mean to. I meant to that very night. I couldn't, of course. My ears were ringing so badly I could barely tolerate silence. I felt like Roderick Usher or something. That being the case, this guy's CD was going to have to wait. Perhaps in the morning, I thought, I'll be able to give it a fair hearing, for whatever that's worth.