Showing posts with label Blue Öyster Cult. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blue Öyster Cult. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 14, 2018

Vim (for non-programmers) Part Three: Refactoring my _vimrc File; Chapter Five: Correct Easy Link Addition (Correcting My Misreading of Steve Losh)

As we've seen in previous entries, I've decided to refactor my somewhat creaky, bloated _vimrc file. (For one thing, it was more or less organized chronologically, which makes a certain kind of sense—it certainly reflects an increasing sophistication (or anyway complexity) to my efforts—but also is obviously an insane way to organize configuration settings for anything. For another, I have a tendency to want to hold on to everything I ever tried, so I have, for example, an entire section called "Experiments That Failed Too Many Times".)

Part of the refactoring process, though, involves more than just reordering elements in the file: it involves examining those elements and determining if they could stand some improving.

One of the most vital resources for customizing your _vimrc is Steve Losh's Learn Vimscript the Hard Way. While I was working my way through (the early parts of) this book, I fell in love with a mapping he suggested for surrounding a word with double quotes. (As we know, mappings are a way to tell Vim, "When I type X, please act as though I typed Y". To keep from typing X accidentally, it's common to use a "leader" key followed by a short mnemonic. Because Vim is incredibly complicated, you have to specify what mode the mapping operates in, and you have to specify whether or not the mapping is recursive. This means a mapping is almost impossible to parse visually, because it has the form:
MODE_MAPPING_IS_FOR I_TYPE_THIS YOU_ACT_AS_THOUGH_I_TYPED_THIS
Which, given Vim's predilection for being hella terse, and the obvious utility to tell it "When I type something very short and easy to type, act as though I typed something very long and difficult to type", makes reading mappings difficult.)

viw<ESC>a"<ESC>bi"<ESC>lel
viw
– visually select the current word (the word the cursor is on)
<ESC> – exit visual mode / return to normal mode
a – enter insert mode after the character the cursor is on
" – insert a double quote <ESC> – exit insert mode / return to normal mode
b – move to beginning of word the cursor is on
i – enter insert mode before the character the cursor is on
" – insert a double quote
<ESC> – exit insert mode / return to normal mode
l – move cursor right one character (back onto the word)
e – move to end of word
l – move cursor right one character (onto the closing double quote)

As an exercise, he suggested a more advanced mapping that added double quotes around the last thing that had been visually suggested. I was quite taken with this approach, and, reasoning that HTML tags came in pairs just like quotation marks, I adapted his mappings so that I could quickly add hyperlinks to the word the cursor was on, or to the last thing I had visually suggested. The chunk of my _vimrc containing these mappings read like so (please be impressed with my incredible commitment to code documentation via comment):

" make the word under the cursor a hyperlink to URL from system clipboard
" 18jan2016
" mapping <leader>a to:
" select the current word with viw
" wrap the current word in an <a href> tag
" by moving to the end of the word and adding </a> to close the tag
" then moving to the beginning of the WORD and adding <a href="">
" moving back to the beginning of the WORD to move to the quotes
" and populate the quotes with the contents of the + register
" mostly inspired by Steve Losh
" edited 27dec2016
" :nnoremap <leader>a viw<esc>a</a><esc>Bi<a href=""><esc>Bci"<esc>a<c-r>+<esc>
:nnoremap <leader>a viw<esc>a</a><esc>Bi<a href="<c-r>+<esc>a"><esc>


" make the last visually selected text a hyperlink to URL from system clipboard
" 18jan2016
" mapping <leader>v to:
" select the last visual selection with `< and `>
" wrap that selection in an <a href> tag
" by moving to the end of the visual selection and adding </a> to close the tag
" then moving to the beginning of the visual selection and adding <a href="">
" moving back to the beginning of the visual selection to move to the quotes
" and populate the quotes with the contents of the + register
" mostly inspired by Steve Losh
:nnoremap <leader>v `><esc>a</a><esc>`<i<a href=""><esc>Bci"<esc>a<c-r>+<esc>

This allowed me to use two keystrokes—<leader>v or <leader>a—to add links to my text. This is an extremely handy shortcut—especially when working here in Reviewiera, where it's often the case that to make the case that some stuff is better than some other stuff, it is helpful to link to stuff, and then again to other stuff.

The one big problem I had with this mapping is that it didn't work if the line had quotes in it, because my clever ci" motion "selects the text from the previous quote until the next quote" (see :help a"). This meant that when I wanted to add my links to, say, a paragraph where I had mentioned the title of something, I had to:

  1. Enter some line breaks before and after the text I wanted to add links to
  2. Then add the links
  3. Then remove the line breaks

This pretty severely compromised the whole point of having a quick-keystroke method for adding links. And because I didn't look up the behavior of ci" until I was typing this up, I wasn't entirely certain what the glitch was! All I knew was that I had had to create a workaround when the line before whatever I wanted to add a link to included double quotes.

Today, in a meeting, I decided this was no longer an acceptable way to go about my business, so I put the matter to some thought, and decided:

  • Steve Losh was wrong and his approach to selecting a word then moving the cursor around manually wasn't the best
  • The way to craft this mapping properly would leverage Vim's multiple registers (registers are basically clipboards with names: the ones you can assign are a, b, c ... z, and this was something I abused a lot in my early days using Vim)

I sketched it out on paper before trying anything on the laptop, and, oddly, it turned out to work pretty much exactly as designed. Here's what it looks like:

:nnoremap <leader>a "zdiwi<a href="<CTRL-r>+"<CTRL-z</a><ESC>

As I was working on it and testing it, I realized that the problem wasn't Steve Losh at all, the problem was all me! But now I have a couple extremely sexy mappings that work when I personally need them to work. Just for grins, let's break them down and see what they do.

:nnoremap <leader>a "zdiwi<a href="<CTRL-r>+"<CTRL-z</a><ESC> "z – into the z buffer ... diw – delete the word the cursor is on (not including any surrounding whitespace) i – enter insert mode <a href=" – type <a href=" <CTRL-r> – hold down Control and r at the same time (in insert mode, this allows pasting from registers) + – the + register is the system clipboard, where we assume the URL is <CTRL-r> – hold down Control and r at the same time (in insert mode, this allows pasting from registers) z – paste the z register in (this is the word we deleted at first) </a> – close the html tag <ESC> – exit insert mode / return to normal mode

What I like about this is that it works left-to-right, in a more or less sensible way. It basically does exactly what I would do if I were typing: the bulk of the mapping is just banging away in insert mode; typing in the <a href=", then using <CTRL-r>+ to drop in the URL from the clipboard is precisely how I tended to add links before I started fiddling around with mappings in the first place. Also, since I rarely use named registers, I think it's okay to have this mapping clobber the z register. However, as a best practice slash approximation to idiomatically written Vimscript, I think the following mapping is probably better:

:nnoremap <leader>a diwi<a href="<c-r>+"><c-r>"</a><esc>

This just deletes the word, which by default places it into the unnamed register (see :help quotequote), which can be accessed by calling it by the name '"'. (By this point in the series, we should be far beyond being surprised or upset by trivialities like the fact that you can name an unnamed register...)

The visual mapping is a little bit trickier, but only a little bit. It uses exactly the same left-to-right approach, but leverages a fancy little command: gv, which in normal mode re-selects the last visual selection. NOTE: the g prefix in normal mode does some seriously under-known shit. In February of 2015, Tim Chase, one of the heroes on the Vim list, dropped this little gem:

Also, just in case you need it, "g&" is an obscure "across all lines in the file, repeat the last substitution with the same flags" command, even if it's several items back in your command-line history.

Like, seriously, what the hell, Vim? That's a LOT of power to pack into two keystrokes. Anyway, let's check out visual-mode link-adding.

:nnoremap <leader>v gvdi<a href="<c-r>+"><c-r>"</a><esc>
gv – re-select the last visual selection
d – delete what's selected
i – enter insert mode
<a href=" – type <a href="
<CTRL-r> – hold down Control and r at the same time (in insert mode, this allows pasting from registers)
+ – the + register is the system clipboard, where we assume the URL is
<CTRL-r> – hold down Control and r at the same time (in insert mode, this allows pasting from registers)
" – paste the so-called unnamed register in (this is the word we deleted at first)
</a> – close the html tag
<ESC> – exit insert mode / return to normal mode

Again, this is a simpler approach than Losh's, which goes right-to-left, then has to jump back to the right when it's done. Literally everything else he says and does makes a hell of a lot more sense than anything else I say or do, of course.

Anyway, that's two mappings refactored! I only have the entire rest of my _vimrc to go.

Wednesday, October 11, 2017

pen is in my hand

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the internet has been a net bad for humanity. By allowing glib, superficial access to largely decontextualized facts, it's created a vast army of people—mostly men—who, perniciously, believe both that there's nothing they don't understand and that understanding things requires no more than a cursory googling and quick skimming of somewhere under four web—usually just Wikipedia—pages. (There's also the brain-poisoning feedback loop wherein the most casual expressions of approval somehow displace and outweigh any/all other potential inputs, eventually, out of sheer volume, replacing the real world entirely. But that's a matter for another time.) But I cannot deny the few archipelagos of what I can only call Good Internet which remain. Mostly they're singular. What characterizes Good Internet is usually that it is and does One Thing. It expresses one sensibility, maybe, or, more reliably, it treats (of) only one topic. Good examples of Good Internet would include:
I'm sure we'll eventually cover all of these individually. But right now I want to talk about Pen Internet.
Pen Internet is good. Here are some examples, some people taking an interest in something and working to communicate that interest to whoever might be listening.

That was fun. Now I want to talk about pens. Mostly I want to talk about good pens. What can I say? Pen Internet is intoxicating, also inspiring.
Most of what I write personally (rather than professionally), I write by hand before typing it up in vim. Some years back, I learned, by watching Tinzeroes, that everything works better when I put everything into one notebook that is always carried with me and close to hand. That way, I always know where everything is. I never have to wonder where to put something. And different pieces can, just by brute juxtaposition, connect in unexpected ways. Writing in a notebook implies needing a pen—so:
I have a lot of Moleskine type notebooks. An underreported feature of those notebooks how poorly their paper takes so many kinds of ink. The right-hand pages have a slicker coating than the left; a lot of pens skip on the right, bleed on the left. Displeasing. Also I like to write a lot of postcards, which tend to have a coating that smears basically all inks...
This means a popular option doesn't work well for me, so, so sorry G-2, but you don't really make the cut. Other reasons: (1) I have had spills annihilate things I have written with this gel ink (making it bad for mail); (2) the rubber thing (a) is condescending and (b) gets loose on the shaft, which is distracting, or gets gummy, which is disgusting. Linewise, 05 is a little bit too thin (scratchy on soft or thick paper); 07 is a little bit too thick (makes it hard to write as small as I like to). Poor experience on coated paper, ill-advised hand feels, ubiquitous, cheap, allows fidgety clicking, adequate weight for debate spinning: 6/10; acceptable fallback option. Often have one to hand to loan out or write a check with.
Le Pen felt tip. Dirt cheap. Colorful! Beautifully designed, remarkably comfortable. Ink not at all waterproof. Too light to be debate-spun. Make a delightful scratch sound when used. Last a surprisingly long time, often given to me by my girlfriend. Can't write a check with it. 8/10; excellent option to be deployed in virtually any circumstance.
Those weird ones Noodles likes. Widely considered the gold standard for people who don't fetishize writing really really small. Good for writing checks with. Wonderful pens, but somehow don't work for me. Too fat, with too thick a line, maybe. Maybe just a vibe thing. 5.5/10; make me feel guilty, like I don't like chocolate or something.
"Artist pens." Magnificent writing experience, can be a little too cushy. Easily lost or stolen. Hyper fucking expensive. Can intimidate by giving writer the sense that the ink is too permanent for anything but a good thought well expressed, and can therefore inhibit getting things down on paper, which is the only important/useful thing about schlepping a fucking notebook around.
But what did you expect? When you pull Excalibur from the stone, you gain power, but you also inherit mad responsibility. 7/10; can't really be spun, no good for the checkbook, fairly good for postcards, other mail.
Papermate El Cheapos. Blobby ink, but last forever. Spin well with a cap on the butt. Acceptable choice, unless you have the option of:
Bic Crystal. Platonic ideal of the ball-point pen. Perfect design: looks good, looks potent, but accessible; fits the hand, accommodates any style. Ink is decent, and can be laid down on essentially anything: paper, denim, skin, walls, seats, Converse Chuck Taylor All-Stars. As Robert Heinlein once said, "I feel the way about a Springfield that I do about a Gooney Bird; some pieces of machinery are ultimate perfection of their sort, the only possible improvement is a radical change in design." (Glory Road, p. 58) That's how I feel about the Bic Crystal. Also a good example of William Gibson's dictum "the street finds its own uses for things", in that the hexagonal barrel is the perfect size to stick into a cassette tape for manual fast-forwarding. Perfect for the checkbook, ideal for postcards and envelopes, superb for debate spinning. 9/10; as close to perfect as this world can offer.
Pilot V5. Can be debate-spun, but for whatever reason, I never do so. Not great for check carbons; perfect for envelopes, rarely bleeds; mixed bag for postcards, often smears. Beautiful thin line. Can write pretty small with it. Barrel the right size for my slim paws. Lined up like this, it's not wildly impressive. But...

Somewhere after high school, I spent a lot of my free time (read: fired by the movie theater, working a couple days a week at the gas station, before getting fired there, too) playing Wing Commander on somebody else's computer. It's a game where you fly around in space ships shooting down space ships flown by giant space cats, and it had a really good manual. One of the weapons was called the "Mass Driver" and, from memory, it was described in the following way: "No pilot ever made a mistake engaging the mass driver." (NOTE: I was pretty close! The basic fighter weapon - medium range, medium damage, nothing special. The mass driver cannon is reliable and accurate. Heat build-up and power drain are minimal. Though lasers and neutron guns are more effective in certain situations, no pilot ever went wrong activating a mass driver.)
That's how I feel about the Pilot V5. You never go wrong reaching for one. 8.8/10; lately, I leave the Crystal at work, and use the V5 for personal writing. Boundaries are important.

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Fat's High School Records

On social media, a million people are listing their Top Ten Teenage Records.

But I think number-constrained lists are asinine, and I don't want anybody to see this, so I'll do my list here.

I've been thinking about this for a couple days, off and on, and I think I've finally got it somewhere close to comprehensive—at least, comprehensive with respect to the things that didn't turn out to be complete dead ends, so forgive me for not owning up to trying like a bastard to like the Soup Dragons or whoever, or leaving out the week we all pretended to like Urban Dance Squad or my brief, bad Nitzer Ebb phase or whatever. (Also I'm leaving out my guitar-weenie period, so go ahead and add Joe Satriani and Steve Morse and Ronnie Montrose and whatever back in. MAN was Ronnie Montrose's The Speed of Sound a great record.) And this isn't my teens: this is just what I was into in high school, and maybe a little bit before. So 88-89 to 91-92. Finally: you're right; all I was listening to was white guys yelling over clatter. I did grow up a little and discover things like "black people and women making music" but I'm not trying to gloss up my history.

  • AC/DC, Highway to Hell, Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap, Blow Up Your Video; my first favorite band of my own, and, yes, I do still think Blow Up Your Video is a good record
  • Voivod, Dimension Hatröss; I think I heard this before I heard Black Sabbath and it broke me permanently
  • Screaming Trees, Invisible Lantern, Sweet Oblivion; two records that absolutely bookended my high school listening and living; Invisible Lantern changed what I thought music was: I first heard it and thought "this is the worst thing I have ever heard in my life", and kept listening because it was so awful, and then I looked up one day and said "this is brilliant". Sweet Oblivion was a record I thought was actually about me: half its songs seemed to limn my life exactly
  • Ramones, Leave Home; I'd been given a book about rock and roll for Xmas 1987 or 88, and I read about punk rock, so when I saw this tape at Sound Warehouse for 3.99, I picked it up. It did the trick (and Halfway to Sanity and Pleasant Dreams rocked my shit as well, later)
  • Metallica, The 5.98 Garage Days E.P.; which I never owned, but borrowed off a kid at an Alateen meeting. Still the best Metallica record, still where I first heard the Misfits, still the last moment where Metallica seemed to have a sense of humor
  • Jimi Hendrix / Otis Redding, Live at Monterey Pop; was one of the first tapes I bought, and I wore it out—the Hendrix side, anyway, because I was too young and dumb to like the Otis Redding part
  • GWAR, Scumdogs of the Universe; which I think I memorized one year—I still remember being asked to stop playing it in a car on one road trip...
  • Pop Will Eat Itself, This Is the Day, This Is the Hour, This Is This; I still know most of the words to this record
  • Minutemen, Paranoid Time 7" / fIREHOSE, flyin' the flannel; probably the best artistic decisions I made in high school
  • Soundgarden, Louder Than Love; because if you're a theater kid who will probably never have sex, "I know what to do / I'm gonna fuck fuck fuck fuck you fuck you" is the best lyric you can imagine
  • R.E.M., Dead Letter Office; at a summer camp for smart kids, I turned a kid onto Screaming Trees and Black Sabbath; he turned me onto R.E.M. and Joy Division, so, you know. Win-win
  • Joy Division, Substance; I used to cry most times I'd hear "Transmission"
  • Black Sabbath, Paranoid; the funny thing about turning a kid onto Black Sabbath is that I'd bought the tape like three days before I played it for him
  • Blue Őyster Cult, Secret Treaties, Agents of Fortune; Treaties was a grade-eight discovery, a record I genuinely thought was evil, because every time I bought it, something bad would happen to me; Agents came later, and I remember a summer where I basically only listened to it and Hüsker Dü for months (ETI and Debbie Denise meant a lot to a doofy white kid who liked HEAVY TUNES and sentimentality)
  • Hüsker Dü, Flip Your Wig, Warehouse: Songs and Stories; gol DANG are these songs good—and the guitar sounds! Dang were these records good
  • Televsion, Marquee Moon / Richard Hell and the Voidoids, Blank Generation; like I said, I learned about punk from a book
  • Frank Zappa, Hot Rats; guitar solos rule, I thought ("the Gumbo Variations" sounds pretty good back to back with Marquee Moon)
  • The Who, Quadrophenia; I mean, if you like Hüsker Dü, you like the Who
  • Sonic Youth, Daydream Nation; remember tape clubs? I got this along with five other records: Tin Machine, Tom Petty's solo record, and a couple I no longer remember. I didn't really get this record, but I had read a little Dick, and a little Gibson, so I knew I was supposed to like it, and I did
  • Patti Smith, Horses; because when you get a lot of records out of your uncles' crates, sometimes you get lucky (and your mind gets blown)
  • the Big F, the Big F; the best hard rock record of 1989, maybe
  • Game Theory, Lolita Nation; the best pop-rock double album ever, maybe
  • Screaming Blue Messiahs, Totally Religious, Bikini Red; gave me much of the best guitar tone and wittiest post-blues songwriting I ever heard, and no matter how much I loved it then, it took me decades to catch up with this
  • Caterwaul, Portent Hue; because it turns out that I'm a goth weenie, when the guitar player is noisy and brilliant enough
  • Dinosaur Jr., Just Like Heaven 7", Little Fury Things cassingle, Bug, Green Mind; but maybe I knew that already, because I already knew that I loved a couple Cure songs, especially when they were played by mutely hostile jerks from Massachusetts?
  • Mudhoney, Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge; bought this the same day as Nirvana's Nevermind; listened to 'em both, put Nevermind away and listened to this a lot for a year or so—Dan Peters is still one of my favorite drummers, based on "Good Enough"
  • Flesh Eaters, Dragstrip Riot; why did I get into Flesh Eaters before X? Well, because I bought most of my records from SST Records mail-order and the first X song I heard was "Fourth of July", which turned me off that shit until like 2003 (also this record is amazing)
  • Paranoise, Constant Fear; you know how idiots like to say "the internet has all human knowledge on it"? This record has essentially no internet presence whatsoever, but I have intense memories of its bizarre jazz/industrial metal riffs and horribly yelpy Cold War paranoia lyrics (the thing on Spotify is terminally bogus, do NOT try to tell me it's what I'm talking about, because it fucking isn't, it just isn't shut UP)

Sunday, October 23, 2016

Open Up and See (a review of THIS MOTHER FOREVER, a single by Fucked Up)

Fucked Up has since spring of 2010 figured to me as something like COMPLETELY UNSTOPPABLE FORCE OF MUSICAL GREATNESS. I started with a copy of Epics in Minutes that didn't work for me, much, but Hidden World and Chemistry of Common Life thrilled me: loud pounding rock with big hooks, mysterious lyrics that touch on all my favorite themes, a cool visual identity with a sigil symbolizing the band, consistent album covers, weird names for the band members—basically, Fucked Up was a Blue Őyster Cult for people who wanted easier music and a more complicated relationship with the spectacle. Naturally, I was completely invited and fulfilled by all this: the powerful music and the thoughtful packaging.

When David Comes to Life came out, it brought all of the above, plus songs I knew instantly, production that buckled my knees, and that strange magic of chords / melody that puts tears in my eyes involuntarily. (See also: Dead Moon (frequently); Andrew Cashen / Sabrina Ellis (occasionally); a few others (extremely rarely).) It was, and is, one of the great rock records. The band had perfected its moves: speed, shouting, fast repetition.

Then, they got weird. They'd been doing long-song EP releases, based on the Chinese Zodiac (no, really), in which they moved away from their mastery of short/simple rock songs with punk vocals, and began experimenting with overwhelming with scale, not just volume. I started with Year of the Pig, an 18-minute tune with essentially one part, played loud, played soft, played over and over again. The sheer size of the song gave the band a new kind of intensity, ebbing and flowing, not just hitting it and quitting it, and the rhythm almost ... swung. To put it a slightly different way, Fucked Up here stopped being BŐC and started being Hawkwind. And it was very, very good.

They were adding new tricks: length, droning, quietness, new instrumentation, playing slow. Year of the Hare consolidated those new tricks, at least on the B-side, "California Cold"; on the A-side, they took a long, coherent song and gave it the William Burroughs random-cut-up-and-shuffle-and-reassemble treatment, for no reason I have been able to understand. When I can piece together the actual song behind this treatment, it appears to be about as good as Pig.

Then, they ran out of songs: Glass Boys just never clicked with me. When it's playing, it seems fine, and I have convinced myself half a dozen times that the songs were finally sticking in my head, but it never lasts. Then, they ran out of tricks: This Mother Forever is the same thing as Hare, a good/great song (more of the same) occluded by production / presentation moves like "let's not start the song for the first minute-fifteen of its fifteen-minute runtime" and "let's fade it out about 45 seconds before it actually ends". That said, the noodly guitar / feedback / soundscape that opens the song is atmospheric and pleasant; the louder groovy (again) psychedelic part that goes another 30 seconds is a lot of fun; and when the vocals kick in at around 5:45 ...

The band clearly needs the listener to take seriously its attempts at inversion and appropriation, trying to make you think about gender roles and the standard voice heard in a song.

I am the feather
and you are the breeze
I am the lock
and you are the keys
The end of the rope
with all ties severed
you are my hope
this mother forever
I am the dung
and you are the beetle
I am the thread
you are the needle
...

But there's two problems. First, Fucked Up appears to have written the same lyrics about a half-dozen times, so these lines feel pretty familiar. Second, this time around, the alchemical themes and revolutionary fervor just completely fall flat, due mostly to a chanted vocal that keeps resolving into the exact cadence of the nursery rhyme that runs

Here is the church
Here is the steeple
Open it up
And see all the people

In any case, it's new Fucked Up, and I'd rather have new Fucked Up than not have Fucked Up. I've listened to it a dozen times, and I'll listen to it dozens more. I hope their thematic repetitiveness eases up in the way their musical repetitiveness has, and I hope their musical boredom moves past the cut-up technique soon. Until then, I'll keep listening to this.

There's a B-side: it's 30 minutes long, and "features Nunavut singer Tanya Tagaq", and it mostly taught me I don't like throat singing, so I haven't played it after the first run-through.

Saturday, February 27, 2016

Blue Őyster Cult Sandy Pearlman Mixtape I: for the Byrds

The sound is dense, but not obviously and impressively complicated. That is, it is very coherent. It works because of its unity, not out of an accumulation of contrasting effects such as volume changes or syncopation. (48)
Crawdaddy I 10, July-August 1967, The Byrds p. 48-50

Consider these: The Byrds, The Velvet Underground, The Mothers of Invention, Love. Not a random choice among them. Because they are all groups with their own great world systems. I mean each group has its own comprehensive way of doing things, of looking at and organizing them. Often all we can recognize are the final results—this or that song—and in (21) so doing, we forget that this or that implicates some comprehensive view behind it. Not that everybody has a great world system. Not everybody is a philosopher. But for those who do, it can determine such diverse matters as album covers1, wardrobe2, haircuts3, half-time banter4, appearance of the instruments5, group athletics6, etc.

[...]

But all of these [examples] are really instances of the taste for order. Even the nihilistic stuff. That certain longing they reveal is a longing for order. Actually it gets harder and harder to imagine something nihilistic. I mean, what would it be like?8 If you do songs about perversion, drugs and popular ideas about disorder, then you are summing up an alternative, that which you happen to find tasty. And tastes change. And then what you have found tasty may even become generally palatable. And then what? Rock's great world systems are sets of alternative arrangements—or at least visions—of the world. Idealized arrangements, according to the tastes of whoever made them. They are sort of perfect—because they don't matter. Irrelevancy can always set you free and guarantee your privacy. Despite the fact that rock is big business, why should anybody care about what goes on? Unless you were really smart you would have to toil at making it as important as something else: politics say. That people do care is, then, very nice. Simple altruism probably. But most who care are still on the outside. And those on the inside, the ones who make the rock, don't care enough. That audience of theirs is so young, (23) so impressionable, and yet they'll say anything at all. Simple irresponsibility probably. Or maybe they're just self-consciously irrelevant.
Crawdaddy I 11, October 1967, Science Fiction p. 20-24

But suddenly that previously mentioned specter rears up. A really awesome monster, it comes on rushing like Diz-Busters7 with too much iron in its bloodstream and zero invisibility.
Crawdaddy I 12, January 1968, Doors and Kinks p. 21-25, 36-38

Now, about Marcel Duchamp we've gotta say this (at this time 'cause it also bears): his ready-made looms large in the potentiality of objects. It's well known that this person's self-conscious placement of an ordinary urinal in the midst of a pretty fancy 20th century art show simultaneously created an extraordinary art historical urinal and added the artist's intention to the dimensions within which objects could be manipulated. But his use of this ready-made was questionable. The art show wasn't its rightful spot. It was out of place / out of phase. So Marcel Duchamp wound up a very nasty comedian, i.e. both funny and disturbing. Setting a pattern. And, in fact, it's only been recently that the presence of a ready-made (anyone at all, anywhere at all) has become blatantly hackneyed enough to prove not always hilarious, not always scary, but sometimes just potentially comforting. R. Meltzer's term "academic beauty," encompassing such truck as Steve Noonan, Tim Buckley, Simon and Garfunkle (sic), The Bee-Gees and Pearls Before Swine, implicates this newer style for the ready-made: the formal one of modular component. Ready-mades can be taken from anywhere and plugged in anywhere. Their neutrality is violated only by the intention of their manipulators (and this intention, of course, controls where they wind up). Something becomes a ready-made when your manipulative intention takes it from one context to another. When it is intentionally recontextualized. And when these new and old contexts are equivalent, then the ready-made could seem comfortable and comforting. (In phase.) Back to the academically beautiful, and we note that the ideal for this stuff's words is most of the poetry we had to learn in the 7th through 12th grades. Perhaps that explains its high dullness potential. [...] I mean, I mean that the academically beautiful is obvious clichés. (41)
Crawdaddy I 13, February 1968, Van Dyke Parks p. 41-43

1. Album Covers


2. Wardrobe

3. Haircuts

4. Half-Time Banter

"I'd like to thank my friends here who gave me this little whip. It's really lovely, I'll keep it and cherish it forever."

5. Appearance of the Instruments

6. Group Athletics

7. Diz-Busters
This mysterious phrase graced a terrific song on the band's second album (and became the name of my first car, The Seventh Screaming Diz-Buster, a name I told at least one person [who promptly mocked the shit out of me]). There are a few extant theories about its meaning:
Albert has revealed that "diz" refers to the cleft of the penis, and that "duster's dust" refers to sperm. But the concept of diz-buster is left ambiguous. The definition of "something that can make one ejaculate" most plausibly applies to a reading that these seven diz-busters are evil, paranormal sex sirens, woman beings without a conscious [sic], the number seven bringing in a biblical element to the lyric as well. But this track could also be one of Sandy's biker songs, diz-buster referring to the result of a long, vibrating Harley ride (and then, mamas and old ladies often joke about the orgasmic qualities of a good ride). Indeed, many lines in the song could have one believe that the diz-buster is a bike (there is mention of cast iron, the mirror's face, rigid arms, routes, all suggesting this interpretation), especially in (Lucifer) light of the fact that females, female pronouns, or sexual ideas are never mentioned in the song.

Joe sheds more light on his approach to this track's lyric. "I had a tendency where I would take a Sandy Pearlman lyric and shape it. Those guys would use a Sandy Pearlman or Richard Meltzer lyric just the way they wrote it. But I always felt that structure was important in music, the structure of the lyric. So I ended up changing around the lines, not changing any of the words per se, but changing the order of the lines, which I also definitely did in Astronomy. And same with 7 Screaming Diz-Busters. Like I say, I wrote pretty much most of the music on our organ, which was in the living room of the house we rented. I would just get up in the morning and start banging on the organ, and came up with that, while Donald and Albert added in sort of the jam section." (47-48)
[from] Martin Popoff, Blue Őyster Cult: Secrets Revealed!

8. Longing for Order, Imagining Nihilism
Sandy Pearlman told me that at the last [Black Sabbath show] he attended, nobody in the audience could even stand up, barely managed to applaud, and bodies were sprawled everywhere. [...] A graphic tragic survey of the littered battlefield of the contemporary concert, with pitiful panoramas of passed-out pukes and other alliterative gimmicks. (237)
[from] Lester Bangs, Mainlines, Blood Feasts, and Bad Taste, "Bring Your Mother to the Gas Chamber", p. 222-242

Saturday, January 23, 2016

A Blue Őyster Cult Song for Every Episode of I Don't Even Own a Television, a Podcast About Bad Books

As promised, or maybe threatened, here is a comprehensive compendium collecting the collated correspondences between the I Don't Even Own a Television podcast and the works of Blue Öyster Cult. This document will be maintained, so please do check back often.

1—Pregnesia
w/ Jeb Lund

Coming soon! One issue with trying to cross-reference IDEOTVPOD and BŐC is that BŐC is kind of short on songs pertaining to romance-gone-wrong topics—and romance doesn't go much more wrong than in IDEOTVPOD's kickoff episode, Pregnesia. But I'm working on it.


2—Anthem
w/ Dave Stattler

For a book about the virtues of willing yourself to power, about selfishness raised to the level of moral imperative, no song is better than the leering, sneering ode to the 70s, This Ain't the Summer of Love.


3—The Dirt
w/ Jackson O'Brien

I mentioned earlier that BŐC's catalog doesn't give a person a lot of options when it comes to songs about love and romance. If it's time to talk about talking about being a rock star, however, nobody did it better (or funnier) than these guys. The weirdness and romantic power of people playing loud music in front of people was a fixation for this band and their songwriters, and maybe their best statement on the topic was 1977's robotic stomper, R.U. Ready to Rock.


Some of the band's best harmonies shine over a deliberately held-in-check riff and Eric Bloom gets to declaim about the stations of night, about living only to be born again, and those "countdown blues". None of it makes a whole lot of linear sense, but there's a lot of menace, making it a perfect fit for a hazy melange of overlapping, sometimes contradictory stories from some of the 80s/90s biggest, and most violent, rock stars.


4—The Rules
w/ Rachel Millman

A book by the aggressive Jersey Shore star J-Woww!? Demands nothing less than Dragon Lady:

Out of the flames of a man's desire
A hair-raising voice from an evil choir
Raining down like a freezing fire
Dragon Lady


She appears mysteriously
You don't take her seriously
Until you're under her spell

5—Princess of Mars w/ Centa Schumacher
Coming soon!


6—Michelle Remembers
w/ Poncho Martinez

For Michelle Remembers, a harrowing tale of ritual satanic abuse and repressed memory, a harrowing Richard Meltzer lyric about horror and the failures of memory, a thing called Veins:

I open my eyes
From a dreamless night
With a sense of dread
You could cut with a knife
So I'm thinking that
Maybe I killed somebody
You never know—you never know when
You might have killed somebody


7—Let Me Tell You Something
w/ Amanda Brand

For Let Me Tell You Something, a book by a Real Housewife of New Jersey, I have to confess: I don't speak Jersey. For me, this book is written in an Unknown Tongue for sure.


8—Backwards Masking Unmasked
w/ David Thorpe

A book about satanic panic? Count me in! As long as I still get to listen to this rewritten and extended jam, all piano flourishes and choruses built to intimidate. If you're going to name a song after your band, and write yourself into a conspiracy theory about history, you might as well do it this well.


9—Veeck As in Wreck
w/ Tim Harrison

Get fired up for baseball! Don't hold back! Let Go!


10—Ready Player One
w/ Mike Sacco

A book that's a pandering pastiche of popular culture has the benefit of being at least easy to sit through. No matter how bad it gets, at least you can think about things you actually used to like! So for the dumb quest story / awful artifact Ready Player One, I propose the little-known BŐC quest epic The Vigil, a multi-part ride that's every bit as enjoyable as the few good bits in RPO with the added bonus that it's definitely not trying to get an elbow into your ribs to remind you of something you used to like.


11—Left Behind
w/ Leeman Kessler

When the rapture comes and all the good people are harping it up in the infinite, I for one plan to be singing along loudly to this Patti Smith lyric about the aliens or UFOs or whoever the hell it was that "took my baby...took my baby away" Man do I like this song. Fire of Unknown Origin.


12—Dude You're Going to Be a Dad
w/ Klopfenpop

Coming soon!


13—Those Who Trespass
w/ Jeb Lund

Don't Turn Your Back is a good message for anybody dealing with revenge-taker Bill O'Reilly.


14—Chariots of the Gods
w/ Centa Schumacher

Chariots of the Gods posits that aliens did a lot for us poor humans. And noplace does BŐC handle that theme more interestingly and funly than in the concept record Imaginos and in that record's title track.

15—Stranger in a Strange Land
w/ Adam Marler

Stranger in a Strange Land is about a telepathic alien who founds a church and such, written by a pal and a confidante of L. Ron Hubbard, who founded a church based on aliens and telepathy in order to make a huge pile of money. Flaming Telepaths tells a parallel story—and tells you, again and again, that the joke's on you.


16—Covert Conception
w/ Mara Wilson

Coming soon!


17—A Spell for Chameleon
w/ Jesse Dangerously

Piers Anthony's ode to despising a woman in multiple ways deserves nothing less than this Cars parody that was never supposed to make it onto record You're Not the One (I Was Looking For). The other joke about this song is that it was legendarily directed at the man who produced it, who understood roughly nothing about what BŐC was good at/for.


18—Super Sad True Love Story
w/ Poncho Martinez

Coming soon!


19—Voodoo Child
w/ Eugene Violet

Voodoo-themed graphic novel? Song written for a segment of Heavy Metal (the movie) that, unfortunately, couldn't be used, because the song did in like 5 minutes what it took the segment like 20 to convey. Oops. Vengeance (The Pact)


20—Necroscope
w/ Chris Collision

Screams, a Doors-lite spooky number, goes well with the first episode I was ever on, the Cold War James-Bond-with-psychic-powers-against-Soviet-vampires (yes, really) horror/thriller/whatever book, Necroscope.


21—The Eye of Argon
w/ K. Thor Jensen

Not 100% sure on this, but I feel basically okay assigning a personal fave tune, with lyrics from legendary British fantasy/SF writer Michael Moorcock, to the legendarily bad self-published Eye of Argon. I guess my position is that a tribute to Conan deserves a parody of Conan, so here's the great live version of Black Blade that introduced me to Moorcock.


22—Real Men Don't Eat Quiche
w/ Centa Schumacher

In the 70s, we evidently cared a lot about what Men did and did not do. Something that goes really well with panicking about what Men can and can not eat is ratcheting up the camp levels and getting all biker-gangy, but with voices raised in song, and singing, oh, singing, of the Golden Age of Leather.


23—Scar Tissue
w/ Ben Firke

Red Hot Chili Peppers are the worst band of all time; Anthony Kiedis is the worst lyricist of all time; without reading it, I assume this book is the worst book of all time. In "honor" of this, I present BŐC's weird parody of "becoming a rock star" songs, The Marshall Plan. Weirdest/best part of the parody is that it predated Juke Box Hero, Summer of '69, etc. I guess some parodies create the conditions of existence for the thing they will eventually be parodies of. I guess some bands who could really use a hit should maybe play it straight instead of mocking the entire enterprise they're involved with.


24—The Actuator: Fractured Earth
w/ Alexander Hinman

Not gonna lie: this episode made this book sound incredibly dumb, but more than a little fun. Which is about how I'd describe this song, one of the cheesiest (and more successful) attempts at rocking this band ever put together: Siege and Investiture of Baron Von Frankenstein's Castle at Weisseria. What can I say, maybe I just like bad Dio impressions...


25—On the Brink
w/ Jeb Lund & Rocky Swift

One wildly dumb fear-mongering piece of tripe from the 70s deserves another, so...a Jimmy Carter-loathing screed by anti-abortion fanatic and former Nixon toady Ben Stein gets matched with the 'bring-it-on' message BŐC semi-explicably sent to the Ayatollah, a fairly dull number called Divine Wind.


26—Treacherous Love
w/ Mara Wilson

A high-school girl running away with her teacher? That's not just Treacherous Love, that's Sinful Love.


27—Paranoia
w/ Bill Hanstock

A workplace drama about bad people doing bad things? Sounds like a Career of Evil.


28—Pines
The central premise of Pines is what if a bunch of dumb shit you once liked was tossed in a blender and served up to you, panderingly what if a dipshit with no personality wanted to try to escape a place—so the amazing parody We Gotta Get Out Of This Place is perfect, as the entire band channels their inner robot and singer Eric Bloom tries out the persona "evil singer of heavy rock who cannot convincingly convey the sentiment 'little girl, you're so young and pretty'". It's basically perfect.


29—Wild Animus
w/ Tim Faust

Wild Animus is an insane / inane depiction of one man's quest to get in touch with his version of the animal we all most hope lurks within us: a mighty, majestic...sheep. Blue Őyster Cult's Born to Be Wild is a slightly sad illustration of one band's quest to throw something into their set list that's guaranteed to get a pop from the crowd.


30—Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
Like most middle-aged men, BŐC and the author of Zen and blah blah blah who fucking cares have an evident fixation on motörcycles. On literally every level I prefer BŐC's Shadow of California to this "novel". Arguably a failed attempt at a multi-part epic, the song still works for me, including its weird lurches from more or less catchy rock parts to a truly disorienting time-signature lurch where the vocals are no longer tethered rhythmically to the music. Sure, everything on The Revölution by Night has some faddish and absurd-sounding drums, but the remainder of the production is appealing and the best songs, of which this is one, are all at least interesting, though not always as crafted as the band's best. Plus, the menace of the perspective, including "might makes right" and the great title, work beautifully for this particular Californian who finds no little darkness in the state.

Literally none of these things are true of the novel.


31—The Curse of Jezebel
w/ Centa Schumacher

Fallen Angel is about as close as I can come to appropriate about this Bible-based romance / fanfic that really only comes to life when it's discussing troop movements or something. I warned you earlier about this: BŐC isn't at their most robust when it comes to matters of lust. But I really like the vocal on this one, and would love to hear a version with the (admittedly delicious) keyboards and bass slightly lower and the guitars a little (a lot) louder. Similarly, I'd like to read a version of The Curse of Jezebel with about 230 pages removed.


32—Killing Floor
Goin' Through the Motions is an actually pretty funny meta-song, co-written by the greatest meta-songwriter of all time, Mott the Hoople's Ian Hunter. Killing Floor is more an example of going through the motions without commenting on it—though I do think it's entirely possible that it was a deliberate act to write it in a fully half-assed fashion, this would have represented a husbanding of resources, not a commentary on genre mediocrity. Anyway, everything Ian Hunter does is worth attending to.


33—Candy Girl
w/ Lemon

BŐC may never have been better than when they were throwing their previous lead singer under the bus with the non-sequitur She's As Beautiful As a Foot, originally written to make him look like an asshole for singing something dumb. I would like to make the writer of Candy Girl look like an asshole for writing this dumb book.


34—Armada
Sadly, the dull rehash of an earlier work (itself a dull rehash of other people's earlier works) Armada sparks thoughts in me mostly of one of my favorite songs by anybody, E.T.I.. Because...I dunno, both have aliens. But only one has scintillating harmonies and maybe Buck Dharma's most transcendent guitar solo and BŐC's most breakdancing-robots riff and rhythms ever. So: BŐC 1, Ernest Cline 0.


35—Slash
Books about rock and roll and its attendant lifestyles are always a little tricky. Readers want prurient details and salacious gossip, but the standard rules of narrative still apply, and spending novel-length periods of time with the truly debauched is a wretched experience. Cities on Flame with Rock and Roll is also a little tricky, especially in this version: one of the band's signature numbers, this performance was taped immediately after they'd booted the song's architect, singer and drummer Al Bouchard. So it's still a great song, on some level, but the details feel wrong, and it's nowhere near the experience it could have been. Or was.


36—Airport
Not much going on here: a book about an airport shut down in a blizzard, planes th their wings covered in ice and snow gets Wings Wetted Down, a song about...wings...wetted...down.

Actually I have no idea what this song is about. But it's got a good sound to it, you know?


37—Doom: Knee-Deep in the Dead
w/ Poncho Martinez

In Doom: Knee-Deep in the Dead, we read of a soldier shooting his way into and through hell. It's mostly ridiculous and only intermittently entertaining. In Hot Rails to Hell, we listen to a guy freak out about being on a scary New York City subway, which plausibly could have been rattletrapping its way to the netherworld, and it's thoroughly excellent. (Early BŐC was a fairly deliberate affair, and their first three albums are mainly concerned with sketching various depictions of hell. As a tactic for a band whose creative brief was explicitly "American Black Sabbath", it's pretty canny, and the results are mostly satisfying, and almost always interesting. This one is more satisfying than interesting, which is a good first approximation to a description of rock and roll itself.)


38—Flowers in the Attic
w/ Centa Schumacher & Amanda Brand

I still think Flowers in the Attic is more interesting than not, especially as a portrait of the female experience in America. Mirrors is kind of similar: an unintentionally mean picture of the same thing, from a different point of view.

A mirror is a negative space with a frame
And a place for your face it reveals
What the rest of us see
It conceals
What you'd like it to be


Pretty girls can't look away
Pretty girls can't look away
Pretty girls can't look away
Pretty girls can't look away

39—Shadow Moon
w/ Tricia Ellis

The repetitive and incomprehensible but rocking Teen Archer goes nicely with the repetitive and incomprehensible but infuriating Shadow Moon, perhaps the most ineptly crafted artifact IDEOTVPOD ever suffered through.


40—Kitchen Confidential
Not much going on here. A book about a bunch of immature id-beasts chasing booze, drugs, and women gets a song called Hungry Boys. shrug Shit, man: you try doing this fifty times.


41—Condominium
Not sure which song I want to use here. There are two obvious possibilities, based on how cynical I'm feeling about this book at any given time. Check back soon. I'll probably make a decision someday.


42—Casino Royale
w/ Lauren Parker

Arguably a reach, but the prototype version of James Bond we find in Casino Royale reminds me a lot of the dry run of classic BŐC banger "The Red and the Black" I'm on the Lamb but I Ain't No Sheep. The initial Bond is a sniffing, amoral middle manager with impossibly specific tastes and a distinct penchant for sadism; the debut "Red and Black" is a friendly shuffle that doesn't seem to have noticed it's about whips and pursuit. Both would be refined considerably by their creators.


43—The Alchemist
Workshop of the Telescopes is one of my favorite songs that I don't understand at all. But it is definitely about alchemy, which makes it a good fit for The Alchemist. Bonus (maybe): the song is absolutely an early example of what would come to be called steampunk, and, as such, provides a nice pointer towards a version of same which doesn't aggressively blow.


44—Callahan's Crosstime Saloon
A book about boring people saying boring things and inflicting their feelings semi-consensually on any/everybody in the vicinity? Sounds "naked, exposed, like live rock and roll" to me, which means it sounds like True Confessions.


45—Snow Crash
Snow Crash? Uhm...okay...how about...Baby Ice Dog?


46—The 50th Law
w/ Centa Shumacher

When it comes to this bizarre money grab by sociopathic Hollywood climber Robert "money is" Greene and New York rapper / entrepreneur Fifty Cent, there's only one song that fits, this off-kilter ode to alienation and suspicious acts. So please enjoy Cagey Cretins!

It's so lonely, baby, in the state of Maine!

47—Illusions
An undercooked attempt at guru-ing like Illusions merits only the overblown (but, to me, delightful) Magna of Illusion, a tale of piracy and doom.

But, then, aren't they all tales of piracy and doom.


Wednesday, January 06, 2016

Fat's best HEAVY TUNES of 2015

Another weird year in music, one that was more controlled by my machinery for music-listening than ever before. My plugged-into-the-stereo music laptop seems to have lost the ability to play entire .mp3 files—this, just a couple years after deciding it was going to play all album tracks in alphabetical order. And my main working / archiving / everything else laptop took a month-long break when, for no reason I understand, its OS became corrupted. Thanks, Linux. I bought a turntable and mostly hated it. I quit using my little walkman and just started using my phone for everything—but once my laptops died, I was basically down to streaming music, which was fine, except at some point, I bought a Chromecast, for streaming from my phone to my stereo. After which, when I was at home, I just wanted to stream stuff from my phone to my stereo, but you can't stream from Bandcamp to a Chromecast, and most of what I loved this year came to me on Bandcamp. I would really have liked to listen to most of what I loved this year on my stereo.

Anyway. Here's my year in HEAVY TUNES, in roughly chronological order. A year of albums for me, more than songs. Some of them even came out this year!
January Early in the year, I gave Sleaford Mods the fairest shot I could. Some of their songs are pretty good! I really enjoyed "shitstreet" and "under the plastic and NCT", particularly the lyric and delivery of "three words: cage, wheel, hamster! 'ere, here's a bit of cheese—nibble the bastard!"

They didn't hold up for me, though: a combination of songs that all stick around a little too long and which are basically impossible to tell apart and a completely unacceptable Twitter presence, devoted mainly to telling people that their beats are bad, which is a little like the Ramones complaining that other people's songs are short, repetitive, and catchy.

More promising and longer-lived was Robonaut, a cool project that provided a lot of the year's best background music for writing. Between the good sounds and perfect song titles, I spent a lot of time with this one on: it's best described as a soundtrack for a science fiction movie that nobody has yet made, and the skittering noises, interesting textures, and sheer sonic interest of the whole thing was immensely pleasurable.

In January, I also started experimenting with Kowloon Walled City. We'll talk more about this later, but what I initially responded to was the curdled, emotionally exhausted, unhappy vibe. I spent a lot of my year listening to this at work, is what I'm saying.

In spring, I added maybe the best Holy Mount record, Vol, a late-2014 release with great glide-riffs, wonderful synth textures, and just enough vocal hooks to scratch all my pop-prog itches. One of the year's best records for bringing some emotional motion, mainly soaring, to static environments (mainly working). It's credibly heavy and/but makes you feel good; helpful in a grind of a year like a dull blade pressed to your inner thigh's veins.

Spring also brought me around to Windhand. I was incredibly late to this band, but when they finally clicked for me, I wanted to listen to little other than their giant-sized Sabbath riffs and sheets of mainly incomprehensible vocals. For now, I'm thrilled to binge on 2013's Soma, but I've tried the record that came out this year a time or two, and have found it pretty excellent. It will be there when I am ready for it.

Similarly, I discovered this year Oakland's own Abstracter, when a metal-looking dude at the coffee shop happened to be watching YouTube videos of them and my curiosity was engaged. It turns out that they're magnificently heavy and loud and slow, with occasional pretty moments that add breathing room. Both 2012's Tomb of Feathers and 2015's Wound Empire are great listens, with "Glowing Wounds" and "Ash" being my favorite songs, the best balanced between overwhelming volume / heaviness and flares of beauty.

The year's prettiest music came from Marriages, a band that evolved from my all-time favorite atmospheric instrumental metal band, Red Sparowes. Vaguely gothy, interestingly textured, and frequently rocking, this was my undisputed record of the year until October. Even if it did get dethroned, Salome was my year's most reliable inspiration for soft feelings, particularly on "skin", "love, Texas" and what would have been the song of my year in any normal year, "less than". Highest recommendation for anybody who is willing to mix their emotions with musical intensity.

By summer, the new Courtney Barnett album had come out, and it was as good as I had expected, if a little overproduced. Maybe the year's best record for singing along!

Summer continued poppy with Roman Cities' ep the Sharksleep Sessions. A great throwback pop-rock album by Kowloon Walled City (and Snailface, and other) bassist Ian Miller, this was the album I reached for when I wanted to feel heartened and vaguely 80s. Bonus points for the invocation of a very 80s neon-drenched version of the future in probably my favorite track, "just like water"! Other favorites were "memento" and "every time you fall".

Just as with Holy Mount, I continued to dig into the back catalog of previous HEAVY TUNE roundup appearer Verma. (Though Bandcamp sure doesn't make it easy to do that—nor do they seem to have a workable version of any other kind of "discoverability", unfortunately. Ah well.) Verma's album Salted Earth might be their best, and the liner notes they give you are definitely wonderful and worth reading.

Unsurprisingly, there was also plenty of Blue Öyster Cult in my year. I saw them for the first time and often went to bed to weirdo 80s stew Revölution by Night. Three of their best second-tier songs ("Shadow of California", "Shooting Shark" and "Take Me Away") with a couple of their worst-by-far ("Feel the Thunder" and "Let Go") with a fair bit of occasionally enjoyable filler, it was somehow an easy record to reach for, especially at bedtime.

As I was experimenting with my turntable, a couple Fucked Up records landed. I was completely "meh" on Glass Boys, including the not-as-gimmicky-as-it-sounds version with half-time drums—even that mild innovation left the songs sounding like forgettable outtakes rightfully clipped off of better, earlier albums—and thoroughly baffled by "Year of the Hare", but "California Cold" might be the single best song I have heard by the band.

Early in fall, I put myself on a no-buying-things diet, which I immediately broke to order Kowloon Walled City's new one, Grievances. I had just seen the band at the Hemlock, and the songs I had liked before had turned into songs I loved. The record is by far my record of the year. Nothing else sounded like this album, nothing else resonated like these songs. Where earlier KWC records seemed devoted to the art of unpleasant, unsettling riffs, this one creates entire landscapes of attenuated anxiety; the riffs are still there, and they hit as hard as ever, but now they embody and evoke a pained kind of endurance, in an aural space that's beautiful and devoted to pain in equal measure. For me, the best example is the title song, which was by a lot the year's best payoff to a hell of a setup.

That sustained me through the very end of the year. But in the last fortnight of 2015, some doors opened up and some air blew in. I was exposed to Okkervil River, and liked it immensely. (Sad that it took me 10 years to come around, but whatever.) "Black Sheep Boy", "Black", and "Westfall" made immediate impacts on me, with great pop melodies and spookier-than-I-expected lyrics. Very much the followup to Neutral Milk Hotel that I'd been needing for a long time.

And two great punk albums came in to abrade my ears a little bit, after two years of a lot of thick, dark gunk (Abstracter, Windhand, Solar Halos, Shooting Guns, etc.). G.L.O.S.S. made as great a punk record as everybody said, and sometimes you need a wonderful punk record to listen to. And Super Unison released a smash hit called "Photorealism" and a self-titled ep that got better every time I listened to it. High-energy and scathing, great music for breaking out of ruts and remembering to tell the cops inside and around us to get up against the wall.

Finally, Lemmy died. I pulled out Motörhead's No Sleep 'til Hammersmith, and for the fourth time in my life, nothing made more sense than Motörhead. Like when I was 16, buying a weird cassette at a truck stop on a Greyhound trip, and falling a little in love with pop numbers like "Dancing on Your Grave" and gruff filler like "Back on the Funny Farm" and world-historically great blues songs like "Killed by Death". Like when I was 24, feeling completely alone in the world and in a new town, and Lemmy growled from stage "don't forget about rock 'n' roll, man, it hasn't forgotten about you". Like when I was a couple years older, in the same town, but alone again, and the lyrics of "Stay Clean" were as true and important as any music ever would be. I wouldn't fetishize the man—caring about women and Jews make that impossible—but the songs can still work and remind us that the good past and the bad alike live on in our days. There's promise there, and responsibility.

—Fat, tired

P.S.: on consumption. I bought everything on this list except: Sleaford Mods, which I streamed until I decided I didn't like it enough to buy; "Salted Earth", which was a free download; Okkervil River (streaming on Spotify for now, paid to see them live); G.L.O.S.S. and Super Unison (streaming on Bandcamp for now). The Motörhead and BŐC albums I bought used, but I have paid to see both bands.

Sunday, May 31, 2015

burnin' for blue: Blue Öyster Cult, 22may2015, Slim's

For Noodles, who came in saying "I only know 'Don't Fear the Reaper'" and came out, I think, at least a Buck Dharma fan, if not a full-fledged Blue Öyster Cult fanatic.

Slim's is probably our least-favorite frequently visited venue in SF—its bizarro layout makes crowded shows really difficult to see/enjoy, and it's not all that convenient to anything in the city, so good luck getting dinner on the way, if you worked that day. The sound is usually okay, though, and it's just about the right size for the bigger bands I like, the ones who are squarely in the middle. Over the years, we've seen a post-hill Built to Spill there, as well as Big Business, Hot Snakes, Pissed Jeans, Red Sparowes...and other white men with guitars and a long history of making records.

Which leads us to BŐC.

I'd never seen them! They were one of my first favorite bands, having inherited my uncle's copy of their 1981 new wave classic (second-to) last-gasp effort Fire of Unknown Origin in around 1987 when he moved out at night after a falling out with my mother. (Having interviewed a couple rock stars about Blue Öyster Cult, I can confirm that essentially everybody's first experience with the band was mediated by an uncle.) In 1988, I bought Secret Treaties, which scared me a little—the vocals and themes of "Dominance and Submission" were a little much for me at 13!—and my first two copies of the record seemed to bring bummers, or, as I thought of them then, evils, into my life. The first tape was in my first Walkman the first time I took it to school and left it in a locker during basketball practice: it got stolen. The second time I took the record to school, I got suspended for not having reported seeing Aaron Krantz stealing money from a teacher's desk. This was a part of my middle school's innovative "Start Snitchin'" initiative.

(My defense—that I couldn't report him because I hadn't seen him do it and didn't know about or benefit from his thievery—didn't get me all that far. Recent events had included me getting busted for shoplifting a couple times, so the taint was upon me like the mark of doom upon Elric... My career of evil. I've told all these stories before, I know.)

But by the time I heard them on Rockline in 1988, promoting Imaginos, I awas already moving to a newly Ramones-centric musical aesthetic, and while I never stopped listening to BŐC, nor talking about them, they were for me more or less sonic comfort food, something I'd go back to, again and again, but something that seemed somehow of the past, not something I'd go see in the present. This idiot stance even had me skipping it when my friends' band played a show at Blue Öyster Cult's afterparty, somewhere in like 2003. Dumb, me.

Anyway, I saw that they were playing, I bought tickets without thinking about it, and I was glad to do so, because we live finite lives and it's never clear to me how many more chances I'll have to do the things I want to do. That was in 2014; I didn't get to use the tickets because the set happened while we were still on a plane back from Hawai'i. Worse things have happened. This time, when I saw the show pop up, I felt pretty about jumping on it: how many more chances will we really have, anyway?

The crowd was...not young. Nor was the venue particularly packed—which is a good thing, at Slim's. We got there just in time to see the opening band finish up, and were treated to quite a lot of Godzilla being projected on a screen that lowered in front of the stage while the roadies did their thing(s). I clocked the merch table and resolved to buy what I knew was going to be a thick, ill-fitting Haynes Beefy-T, because, damnit, why do I even have a job if I'm not going to buy shirts at shows? We posted up just left of center, behind just one thin layer of humanity, basically right in front of Eric.

Maybe because of Slim's sometimes-dodgy sound, maybe because we were too close for the P.A., maybe because of more depressing reasons, we couldn't really hear Eric very well all night, especially early. This was a colossal bummer for me, because, as I explained to Noodles about two-thirds of the way through the set, "I've always been an Eric man." She is solidly in the Buck Dharma camp, perhaps unsurprisingly, describing him at least once that night and later as "a very charming tiny man". The other three guys in the band were less notable, though the bass player Kasim Sulton was extremely charming and the drummer had heavy, heavy, fast hands and bore the distinction of being the only guy on stage not wearing actively embarrassing footwear. (This is sorta a hobby of mine, checking out what bands wear onstage footwise. This night included Chuck Taylors on the dummer, Toms (!) on the bass player, all-black New Balance cross-trainers on Eric, what I think were ankle boots on Buck and I can't even remember what the second guitarist had on...) But at this point, BŐC is completely a-charismatic on stage: while they go through their moves and routines, and while they're genuinely, fully committed to putting on a good show and entertaining the people in the audience, it's a bemused, professional, slightly impersonal commitment.

It's sounding like I didn't have a great time at the show. It was a solid B, especially given my history with the band, including decades of listening to them, two failed book pitches about them for 33 1/3, more than a dozen of their albums* in my crates and on my hard drives, and my general expectation that a live show be, like a Neurosis show, a legitimately transcendent event. I came in trying, and largely failing, to temper my expectations is what I'm saying, and the show I saw was solid. As the band has always known, execution counts for a lot in the genre, and they executed well all night long.

(My collection isn't quite as bodacious as my dude @eyenoise's, but it's pretty pretty close.)

Afterwards, Noodles mentioned "I thought they'd be more...rockin'. Not that it was a problem..." and that got at something pretty significant: what the crowd was there for was a whole lot of Buck Dharma, and, "Godzilla" aside, what Buck's great at is in general not a lot of rocking qua rocking. (The crowd popped surprisingly well for end-stage semi-hit "Dancin' in the Ruins", even, which blew my mind.) But Buck was great that night, with a lot of super-melodic, quick-fingered, extremely Buck-Dharma-esque solos, and a couple charming stage moves (including a weird I-don't-know-what hand gesture to the crowd at the end, which I would swear meant "yeah yeah shut up already" and an exaggerated slow-motion wide-legged stomp to indicate timing during a few songs). It was remarkable how little energy he seemed to be expending to be playing so well! I've never seen anything like that, I don't think. He seemed in good voice, what we could hear of it anyway, as opposed—maybe—to Eric, who for whatever reasons (PA? just doesn't have it anymore?) never pulled out the strident clarion that was always my favorite thing about his songs. Though I will admit that "Black Blade" sounded pretty great. (Upon reflection, I'm not convinced he sang any songs completely solo: everything seemed like either a Buck song or something he and Buck and often the rest of the guys were harmonizing on...)

The harmonies were good, the band was tight, probably tighter than the original five ever were, and the set list was mostly satisfying. There was a legit drum solo, which was okay, though a somewhat dated gesture, and while Bloom never deployed any of his old-style jive-talking patter, he did take the time to introduce "Black Blade" with a potted history of Michael Moorcock's fantasy anti-hero Elric (which Noodles found hilarious and impossible to take at all seriously), and he had a pretty good riff on the Rangers/Lightning series, punctuated with a muttered "I'm sure you all give a shit." that absolutely killed at least me, and probably pleased nobody else in attendance.

A craftsmanlike night, then. Five people demonstrating their skills in ways they had good reasons to believe the audience would enjoy. And they did it on their terms: as Eric pointed out, they do a different set every night; while they are absolutely going to play the "three hits", they're also going to play reasonably deep cuts, a nice antidote to turning into a nostalgia act. (It took me, embarrassingly, quite a while to figure out what the hell "The Vigil" was—I like that song fine, but for some reason, it just never stuck with me, and it was buried on the likeable but impossible-to-give-a-shit-about Mirrors. Anyway, enough excuses: clearly, I gotta listen to more BŐC.) This night, the band was light on the heavy/sinister, focused on the pop-songs-with-interesting-structures-and-a-lot-of-soloing, and amiably, thoroughly determined to give the crowd what they came to hear: only a churl could complain about this show.

And the shirt I bought? A lightweight, thin-weave shirt, more American Apparel than Haynes, and much higher-quality than I'd expected. A nice bonus. I've barely taken it off, since.

Track List

  1. The Red & the Black
  2. Burnin' for You
  3. Career of Evil
  4. Dancin' in the Ruins
  5. ME 262
  6. Buck's Boogie
  7. Black Blade
  8. The Vigil
  9. Then Came the Last Days in May
  10. Godzilla
  11. (Don't Fear) The Reaper
  12. Cities on Flame with Rock & Roll