Saturday, August 25, 2007

<<<<>>>>>



damn. it's good. it's really good. damn, I love this man. I dug it instantly--and could picture it perfectly *live.*

Bruce Springsteen - Radio Nowhere

The first single of the new album Magic. The first new album of Bruce Springsteen with the E Street Band since The Rising (2002)

I was trying to find my way home,
But all I heard was a drone.
Bouncin' off a satellite
Crushing the last long American night.

This is radio nowhere.
Is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere.
Is there anybody alive out there?

I was sitting around a dirt dial
Just another lost number in a file.
Been in some kinda dark cove
Just searching for a world with some soul.

This is radio nowhere.
Is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere.
Is there anybody alive out there?
Is there anybody alive out there?

I just want to hear some rhythm.
I just want to hear some rhythm
I just want to hear some rhythm.
I just want to hear some rhythm.

I want a thousand guitars.
I want pounding drums.
I want a million different voices speaking in tongues.

This is radio nowhere.
Is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere.
Is there anybody alive out there?
Is there anybody alive out there?

(Sax solo)

I was driving thru the misty rain
Yeah, searching for a mystery train.
Bopping thru the wild blue
Trying to make a connection with you.

This is radio nowhere.
Is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere.
Is there anybody alive out there?
Is there anybody alive out there?

I just want to hear some rhythm (you swoon.)
I just want to hear some rhythm (you swoon.)
I just want to hear you swoon.
I just want to hear you swoon.
I just want to hear you swoon.
I just want to hear you swoon.
I just want to hear you swoon.
I just want to hear you swoon.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

so. excited.




a;slkjhfkahgkahgkhafghafdhg

things that make you "cry like a little bitch, man"


Why do we do it to ourselves? Why do we like it?

Why do chicks like movies that make 'em cry? And why do some of us (me, for example) cry at certain songs every time we hear them?

I had this article from the Science Times saved forever (it used to reside on my fridge) and the question posed dealt with the pure emotion that afflicts us when we hear certain music--whether it's joy, goose bumps or even tears. The response said that there had been studies done to see how the brain reacts to certain pieces of music (plug those key words into Google and you'll see loads of studies that have been conducted). Basically, there is still lots up in the air and fodder for debate (culture vs. biology being the main thing).

But, there ain't no doubt about it: certain songs do crazy things to my emotions, and that's why it gets me awf so much. That's why I'm obsessed--I can use it like a drug to change my emotional state...and of course, it's better than drugs, there's no side effects.

Well, unless you consider welling up with tears whist walking down the street. That's what just happened to me, cuz I made the silly (awesome?) choice to hear a sure-fire tearjerker: Joe Strummer's version of "Redemption Song." Mutherfucker. I had to switch it to the goddamn Misfits just so I could get tough again and continue to walk down the street!


It’s almost like I try again, each time, to see if I can *not* cry. But I always fail. And with “Redemption Song,” it’s incredibly specific for me. I realize that I start to get overwhelmed at the exact same line each and every time: “How long shall they kill our prophets/While we stand aside and look?” sheesh—I’m getting fucking goose bumps just writing the damn thing.

I immediately thought about Chuck Klosterman's essay on the huge L.A.-based, chiefly male, Latino fan base of Morrissey. He opens with a description of a hulking, handsome straight (!) Mexican-American dude that says sometimes he likes to listen to a Morrissey record alone, in his room and cry. He says, "I'm serious. I sit there and I cry like a little bitch, man."

Guess that's exactly what we need to do sometimes, man.

his words

these got posted and really were the only words that really made me smile on that recockulously long stream of comments were these, the original words of the man himself:


"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!"

— Posted by Sal Paradise

August 15th,200712:40 pm

"Maybe that's what life is … a wink of the eye and winking stars."

"All human beings are also dream beings. Dreaming ties all mankind together."

"I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion."

— Posted by Sal Paradise

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

defending "On the Road"


Jack Kerouac's "On the Road" had a huge impact on me when I read it at the tender age of 15. The radical stream-of-consciousness writing and counter-culture sentiment, I can safely say, changed me fundamentally. For the first time, I read (in a book! not teee veee!) about the boho life style: drugs, sex, music, road-tripin'. How it was all possible--to be smart and thoughtful about hedonism. How Kerouac was all for "the mad people" seemed comforting and inspiring. Feeling out-of-place in my high school, wanting more, he was giving me a sort of formation of all my nebulous ideas and passions that I would value most in my young adult life. Funny, true, skewed visions of his journeys were vividly portrayed with a sloppy, passionate and verbose style of writing. I could do this, I thought…I’d really, really *love* to do this…

It was pure (true?) romance to me. I never imagined such a romantic ideal before. Casting all "adult” responsibility aside, making maybe not-so-smart decisions and seeing America (*really* seeing, as they say...) by car. It was dated, sure. Full of 50s slang and drug/culture/literature references. But, for me, it seemed downright modern. And, hell, I still use the word "tea." It's the best. Even before I read the book, I was hell-bent on thinking I was born in the wrong decade. Afterwards, I was fucking positive….to quote Brian Wilson, I just wasn’t made for these times…cat.

Any time I cite "On the Road" as one of my favorite books to anyone my age, most people tell me they couldn't even finish it...it was boring...it's dated...whatever. ("The Catcher in the Rye" has this effect, as well. For me, it contained some of the most accurate interpretations of adolescent vs. adult world of hypocrisy--much like aspects of "On the Road"...but to some of my friends, they feel it’s overrated and childish. humph.)

Well, the book about Kerouac’s mad travels is "turning 50" as they like to put it. The Times had this thing online today. ..it’s filled with comments from people who cite really eloquent reasons for lauding it or despising it, and plenty of inarticulate ones, too. And that’s cool—they sure beat the insipid comments that follow any goddamn YouTube video. sheeeeeeesh.


**ooh, and dig it: the photo is of Kerouac's original 120-foot manuscript that became the book.

Thursday, August 09, 2007

somehow

I always manage to get sick around my birthday...

So, I was. But, really, it wasn't nuthin' compared to double ear infection, post-Lollapalooza of '06. That was far more brutal than how I've felt lately. I'm totally on the mend.

Saw Patti Smith on Monday night when I was still down and out in Sick Land. It was totally inspiring, although not as powerful as the last time I saw her at First Ave.

She still stirred me up inside, though and made me get fired up about the world and the injustices that still need to be remedied.

She's a force and that voice of hers still sends chills up and down my spine.

Fitzy wrote a great thing about the show on his.