Bless the Beasts and the Children (Except for Children Adopted by Celebrities, and Certain Beasts Who Use Their Claws as Murder Weapons)

While Disco:Very was deeply saddened to hear of Benazir Bhutto's demise, one still must question the decision to hold such a volatile political rally directly in front of the tiger cage at the San Francisco zoo. It doesn't take a brilliant blogger to see where that tango step was going to land. Sorrow and pity must also be expressed over the imminent loss of the free 2006 Disco:Very year-end downloads, which will be removed in less than 48 hours to make room for the newly-commissioned 2007 Disco:Very year-end download, which should rear its slimy head sometime on New Year's Day (I'm crowning as we speak).

If you missed out on last year's byte-o-rama, this is your last chance to grab them as bona fide downloads (henceforth, they will be mail order only). Disc One is here and Disc Two is here; titles/names can be downloaded here. Please note that Pakistan will be withholding all elections while all downloads are proceeding. Democracy is a wondrous thing but only if citizens are obeying the fascist ordinance keeping it in place.

Punker Than Thou

As you can see by my infrequent postings, my life is overrun with high-NRG laziness. How delightful, then, that the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion has finally seen fit to release every blessed JSBX Jukebox Single (released by In The Red Records over the last 15-something years) on one glorious loud-playing CD. No longer do I have to weep over my dusty collection of JSBX 45's and think "What Would Jesus Digitize?" My fingers get their scuzz on by pressing "play" for Get With It, Down Low, Bent and Son of Sam, letting each tune wail in all its fucked-up barely-mixed-for-CD splendor. Best of all, with Tupac still rumored to be dead and East Coast/West Coast rivalries now permanently replaced by Kanye West & 50 Cent verbally volleying over unit sales, La Spencer has finally gathered the balls to include the long-gestating unreleased masterwork Only God Can Save Me Now by tacking it as a hidden track onto the end of Dig My Shit. If you don't buy this CD, can we still agree to just stay friends?

Arms & Charms

You probably haven't heard of French art/punk pioneer Thierry Muller and it is for this reason I spit on your grave. Steal yourself a credit card and order Rare & Unreleased 1974-1984, a new comp which showcases the many charms of Muller (all of them dangerous). What other recent CD release will give you Mescalito, where the band and the vocalist appear to be racing each other towards some unseen sonic finish line? How else can you treat yourself to the one-chord-wonder of Mon Pote? Trust your instincts and buy this CD right now. Your ears will love you this much (you can't see it but I'm holding my arms outstretched to quantify the amount).

Homeless Is As Homeless Does

One of the pictures to the left shows Matthew Houck (who goes by the stage name Phosphorescent) on the cover of his latest album Pride, where he warbles familiar Southern Gothic tales of death and salvation, played at tempos as slow as a hangover. The remaining three are merely pictures of homeless winos sleeping in their own filth. Can you tell which album cover actually depicts Phosphorescent and which ones are images of homeless people?  It's harder than it looks!

Answer: In the end, when it comes to the meanings in Phosphorescent's music, aren't we all a little bit homeless?

Break On Through To the Other Side (Of a Non-Physical World Which May or May Not Exist)

Preparations

Disco:Very: I'm hoping to get in touch with downbeat indie folk spokesman of a generation Elliot Smith.
Lisa Williams: First off I will need a personal item of the deceased.
Disco:Very: How about this used copy of Figure 8, the last album he'll ever release (barring endless posthumous recordings dug up by his family in an effort to pad their royalty checks for the next 20 years)?
Lisa Wiliams: I'm frightfully sorry but in order for me to channel the energy of the dead, the personal item needs to have been owned by the deceased. Did Elliot Smith himself personally touch this recording?
Disco:Very: [Sobbing] Every song he ever wrote was touched by him personally! [Shreiking in pain] NOBODY WHO WAS A REAL FAN OF ELLIOT SMITH WOULD EVER ASK A QUESTION LIKE THAT!!!

The Reading Commences

Lisa Williams: We are about to enter the Spirit World. Basically I act as a bridge. I go between the physical reality to which you are accustomed and enter what I call The Energy Sphere which is where your dearly departed Elliot Smith resides. You might say I'm like a waiter--I take requests from you, the hungry customer and I pass your request on to the Chef, i.e. the deceased. And the deceased will whip up a scrumptious dish of Spirit Wisdom, served with a side order of Tears, Hugs and Understanding. For dessert, we offer a scoop of Closure. And then I present you with a whopping check.
Disco:Very: Can I pay with Food Stamps?

Entering the Spirit Sphere

Lisa Williams: I'm sensing something...I'm sensing a reflection, something shiny...
Disco:Very: [Excited] Is it the dark mirror which Elliot Smith held up to society so as to make us more aware of our own pain and suffering?!?
Lisa Williams: It appears to have a handle at the end...
Disco:Very: [Bored] Oh. It's probably the knife he used to stab himself in the chest. [Yawns.]
Lisa Williams: Would you like to communicate something to Elliot Smith?
Disco:Very: Yes, yes I would. Elliot, can I get a refund of $14.99? Its the amount I spent on Either/Or back when it first came out and after only the first verse of the first song, I immediately felt cheated.
Lisa Williams: Elliot is trying to say something back...I see an F and a U...an F and a U...
Disco:Very: Who knew that a overly-depressed heroin addict could be so feisty? And would spell "Fuck You" incorrectly?

The Conduit to the Spirit World Wraps It Up

Lisa Williams: Is there anything else you'd like to convey to your dearly departed?
Disco:Very: Sure thing. Elliot, if there really is a Rock and Roll Heaven, does that mean everyone and anyone up there is allowed to join the band? Sure, you want John Lennon to take part in some capacity, and maybe Jimi Hendrix (if he promises to keep the guitar wankery to a minimum) but are you obligated to allow Sonny Bono to take part? Or Sublime vocalist Bradley Nowell?
Lisa Williams: He appears to be fading...I seem to be losing him...
Disco:Very: Please tell me he isn't darting away to rehearse for any upcoming Heatmiser reunions...

FORGOTTEN FAVORITES RECENTLY HEARD ON MY iPOD
[DURING WHICH I PEED MY PANTS WITH EXCITEMENT]

Strange Eyes by Sunz Of Man, 12 O'Clock & Blue (buy)

Never Say Never by Queens of the Stone Age (buy)

Pause by Sudden Ensemble (buy)

My Painted Tomb by Sun City Girls (Out of Print)

Who Will Be The One? by Bill Lee (buy)

I Don't Own My Own Heart by 100 Flowers (buy)

Gritty Shaker by David Holmes (buy)

I Wanna Sleep In Your Arms by The Modern Lovers (buy)

Green Tambourine by Mrs. Miller (buy)

Passover by Concrete Rubber Band (buy)

Fumbling Over Words That Rhyme by Edan (buy)

Demolition Girl (early version) by The Saints (Out of Print)

Zoology by Puppetmastaz (buy)

Salut Les Copains by Eux Autres (buy)

Pair Back Up Mass With by The Howling Hex (buy)

Pit Stop (Take Me Home) by Lovage (buy)

Untitled Track 1 by an Unknown Cambodian Group (buy)

Jury Mulled $3.6 Million Download Award

By JOSHUA FREED WEED
AP Business Writer

MINNEAPOLIS (AP) -- Some of the jurors who levied a $222,000 penalty last week against a Minnesota woman for illegally sharing music online would have liked her to pay a more meager amount. "After all, this is a lawsuit involving the RIAA," one juror said. "If it were solely up to me, I'd prefer to shove a Q-Tip into the piss hole of that particular prick."

Jammie Thomas, 30, is one of about 26,000 people the music industry has sued for copyright infringement and the first to take a case to trial.

The six record companies that sued her accused her of illegally dowloading songs and offering 1,702 for other people to download from her Kazaa file-sharing account. She denied ever using file-sharing software.

However, moments before deliberations began, the jurors were presented with a list of artists whose music Thomas has been sharing:

Guns N Roses
Vanessa Williams
Janet Jackson
Gloria Estefan
Goo Goo Dolls
Journey
Sara McLachlan
Aerosmith
Linkin Park
Def Leppard
Reba McEntire
Bryan Adams
No Doubt
Sheryl Crow
Richard Marx
Destiny’s Child
Green Day

after which the jury quickly agreed unanimously that Thomas, a mother of two from Brainerd, had infringed on good taste and ordered her to pay $80 trillion dollars per shit song, per shit artist. She has also been sentenced to death by hanging and a public stoning, both of which would take place about one hour from now.

Thomas plans to appeal the decision.

Love the Sinner, Hate the Song

It has been so inspiring to read Pop Songs 07's single-minded dissection of every single track ever recorded by R.E.M. (and don't forget Drive XV the cult-like blog devoted to one, specific R.E.M. album) that I have decided to hop on board this Fad Train, quoting and commenting upon specific lyrical stanzas from various tracks throughout R.E.M.'s storied career. First up, Lotus from their college rock/alt-rock masterpiece Up:

Let it rain, rain, rain
Save me from myself again
Wash away my ugly sins
Opposing thumb, dorsal fin
Applicable copyright is implicit (Copyright © R.E.M./Athens Ltd. for all R.E.M. originals).

[If by "wash away my ugly sins" you mean "wash away the dip-shit pretentious blue streak of makeup across my face", then yes, by all means, let it rain, rain, rain, rain, rain! FOR GOD'S SAKE, SOMEONE BRING THE FUCKING RAIN ALREADY!!!]

10 Thoughts On Viewing Sly Stone on the Kraft Music Hour

Join me as I work through an intense ongoing obsession over Sly & the Family Stone, fuelled as much by the recent reissues of their entire back catalog as it is by this video, showing the band performing on the Kraft Music Hall (titled here as Kraft Music Hour) circa 1967 (you can download an audio version of this televised performance here). After watching this video repeatedly about 15 times in one sitting, I have cemented the following observations:

1. Seriously, people--can you imagine how delirious it must have been to be a part of this small audience, being able to witness one of America's best soul/rock acts at the absolute peak of their immense musical powers, watching them pound out hit after glorious hit, one after the other, right before your eyes? Also, you're very stoned so clapping on the wrong beat doesn't mean you're not one with the universe.

2. How deliciously wicked it must have been to hear the racey "Don't Call Me Nigga, Whitey" performed during the usually squeaky-clean Kraft Music Hour. Company founder James L. Kraft must have been spinning in his grave (unless he was hip to this groove, in which case he was the coolest White guy ever born in 1874).

3. At the time, it must have been every musician's dream to play in this band. True, Sly Stone later became a cocaine-addled zombie, often failing to show up for stadium gigs and threatening his fellow band members with guns, but hey--think of the easy access you'd have had to Sly's drug stash.

4. I would give anything to be able to dance like the audience member grooving next to the drummer at the 3:10 mark except, you know, not in public and with no television cameras to preserve it for future generations.

5. When I see that woman's feet doing the little "chicken shuffle" step at the 6:25 mark, I always think, "I've got to incorporate that move into my life somehow. Perhaps I'll employ this dance while at the copy machine at work...see if it advances my career somewhat..."

6. It's difficult to understand why it took the FBI so many years to arrest radical activist Angela Davis. She's sitting right there at the 3:57 mark, Nixon Administration! Get on it!

7. That little here-we-go-round-the-PCP-bush jig which Sly Stone performs at the 7:50 mark is almost as amusing as the gold lamé blouse tied around his torso. The operative word here is: almost.

8. Regarding the platinum blonde hair atop the head of keyboard player and back-up singer Rose Stone--do you think the throw rug matched the slip cover?

9. It always makes me sad when Rob Reiner looks at the camera right at the 7:28 mark, because you just know Archie Bunker is watching this on TV and when he sees Meathead on his television set, there is going to be hell to pay when he gets home.

10. I'm going to stop with the observations. I just cued up viewing number 16.

Juicy Bruce

Did anyone else happen to see the live Bruce Springsteen concert on The Today Show last week? If you weren't able to catch it, you really missed something! It was a short but energetic set, though I was a little taken aback by some of his performance choices. For one, when he made his entrance motoring out in the same futuristic robot car used by Gary Numan in Urgh! A Music War, I couldn't believe my eyes (mostly, I was wondering how much he paid Numan to use it)! I also found it kind of odd that he and the E Street Band covered "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun". It didn't seem like a song that would suit him or his image (or his audience). I was a little shocked, as well, by that Bob Fosse jazz-hands thing he did every time he sang the title to "Born to Run". But the topper had to be the portion of the show where he rapped and kept waving that Uzi around--was that thing a prop? That, and the duet with Phillip Glass were probably the most surreal moments of the entire show. If any of you caught this live performance, I'd love to know what you thought of it.

Something Sequenced (With Spray Painted Hair) This Way Comes

A big purple moustache kiss goes to Grape Juice Plus: not only for naming his blog from my favorite Cupid Car Club track, but also his hulking ability to spin our heads around towards the mightly Dandi Wind and her guitar-drenched dance anthems. Personally, I'm partial to Searching Flesh which, due to excessive head-banging, has necessitated the need for a neck brace. Please be advised, Ms. Wind, I'm sending the doctor bill to you. Never mind--how can I stay mad at someone wearing quilting scraps on her head?

Trailer Tailing

Like all of you, I too have been repeatedly viewing the promo for the upcoming Wes Anderson feature The Darjeeling Limited. My hopes are 1) that it will reach the previous heights scaled by Rushmore and, to a lesser extent, The Royal Tenenbaums (was I the only one who found The Life Aquatic lacking?), and 2) that one of my favorite tunes by The Kinks--namely, This Time Tomorrow--will only be used in the trailer and not in the film itself. After its near-perfect placement during the most hopeful, uplifting scene in the stunning 2005 French flick Regular Lovers--with its luminous black and white imagery and eventually despairing story of 1968's lost innocence--why bother to use it in anything else?

Children's Letters to God (Disco:Very Is God) (God Is Dead)

Today's Letter:

From your good friends at Ticketmaster. Please read the e-mail thoroughly for all the details.

YOU ARE INVITED TO RECEIVE COMPLIMENTARY TICKETS TO RICK SPRINGFIELD'S WORKING CLASS TOUR 2007 ON SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 30th

Grab your friends and take a trip back in time when the Working Class Tour 2007 hits town, featuring 80's pop stars Rick Springfield, Eddie Money, and Patty Smyth and Scandal!

**Please Note: 8 Ticket Limit. There is a $1.00 per ticket service charge and a $3.55 per order processing fee. Supplies are limited. Offer can be discontinued at any time.

To get your tickets just go to: http://pff-insider.c.topica.com/maahW4wabBrknbspcyRb/

Remember the Special Offer Code is: ROCKIN

God Replies:

Dear Ticketmaster:

You read my mind. The '80's were rad.

Please send me 46,733,576 tickets. I am sending a check for $212,637,770.80 to cover service charges and processing fees.

It will be worth every penny if I get even a small glimpse of Rick Springfield's leathery 58-year-old man nipples.

Best Regards,

God

I Peak, You Peak, We All Peak for Ethiopique

I hasten thee to visit the wacky world of Chocoreve where seemingly every album ever released is offered for the price of clicking a mouse. Lately, he's been posting every blessed CD in the Ethiopiques series, one volume at a time. It would behoove you to grab these links as soon as you're able--who knows how long it will last before the gatekeepers at Buda Musique track him down and force him into solitary confinement?[Update: It appears that Chocoreve has died. You're probably too late to download anything from him anymore. RIP, Choco. You were the man.]

They're Desperate (and Frustrated)

What's not to like about Detroit, Michigan's Tyvek? They're young and sloppy, they bash their battered instruments as if fighting off the ghost of The Electric Eels and their how-lo-can-you-go lo-fi recordings seem to have been recorded through an empty toilet paper roll wrapped in King-size pillows stuffed with peanut butter. My one complaint is that, so far, none of their output is digital, and being that I'm too lazy to dust off my seldom-used turntable, I instead have to resort to Audio Hijack-ing Still Sleep, Mary Ellen Claims, Ability and the aptly-titled Frustration Rock from their MySpace page. Desperate music calls for acts of desperation.

The Baffling Music I Listened To In The Days Of My Sappy Youth (Before I Discovered Punk Rock and Everything Changed For The Better) (Part 3)

Back in the early punk years, there was nothing more hilarious than the sight of a dinosaur prog act clawing desperately at relevance by cutting their hair, sporting skinny ties and attempting to write more concise, less grandiose rock opera concept albums. Funnier still, picture Yes convincing themselves that lyrics about winged horses and "dancing with the spirits of the age" would be perfect fodder for their 1978 LP Tormato, believing it would resonate with the angry youth culture of the era. For reasons I'm still working out via weekly shock therapy treatments, I somehow convinced myself I needed this album. Imagine the pimply teen Disco:Very getting misty eyed over the mawkish spoken-word finale to Circus of Heaven ("No candy floss, taffy apple...no clowns..."), fist raised aloft in solidarity with the Animal Rights anthem Don't Kill the Whale. I was never a believer in space aliens, so why my befuddled attraction to Arriving UFO? And while Release, Release is somewhat (ahem)...punky in places, it also veers off into the band's standard mode of virtuoso whack off. Eventually, much better music wrestled my tastebuds to the ground, but I sometimes still think back to this vinyl skeleton in my closet and flog myself to sleep as punishment for the sins committed to the ears, the very ears now retaliating by slowly diminishing my ability to hear properly. Parasitic bastards. Let's see how well they survive on their own when I have them removed next year.

No Future For You

Tue Sep 18, 8:08 AM ET
LONDON (AFP) - Punk legends the Sex Pistols announced Tuesday that they will stage a one-off gig in November to celebrate the 30th anniversary of their controversial album Never Mind the Bullocks. The band, who spearheaded the 1970s punk movement in England with singles like "Anarchy in the UK" and "Pretty Vacant", will play London's Brixton Academy on November 8, they said on a music paper's website.

I propose making it a more interesting reunion: directly above the band hangs a sturdy platform loaded with enormous newly-sharpened knives, all of them poised downward. The pulley rigged to this platform is activated by sound. As the band launches into each pathetic, retread, nostalgic punk hit, the platform is lowered towards the stage. The less songs they play, the longer they stay alive. C'mon, science! Why haven't you invented a device like this yet?

My Precious Feelings on the 34th Annual Telluride Film Festival

Number of Minutes It Took To Spot Ken Burns After Arriving in Town: 10 minutes

Age of Ken Burns' Hair Style: 12 years old

Age of Ken Burns: 54 years old

Best Gossip About Ken Burns Circulating Around the Festival: After attending the sneak preview of Brian de Palma's new anti-Iraq War flick Redacted, Burns was reportedly openly vocal over its simplistic one-dimensional viewpoint. Me-e-ow! Do I hear a cat fight?

What I Did Upon Spotting Sean Penn Walking Down the Street: Got him into a head lock, forced him to reenact All The King's Men from start to finish, only this time make it worth watching.

Best Post-Screening Moment: Hanging with campy/quirky filmmaker George Kuchar after his early short films were exhibited in a two-part tribute screening.

Celebrities Reportedly Walking Around, None of Whom I Spotted: Talented director Julian Schnabel (showing his new film The Bell & The Butterfly, which I thoroughly enjoyed), Todd Haynes (screening his latest I'm Not There, the Bob Dylan bio pic starring a host of stars portraying Dylan's various personalities), Daniel Day Lewis (who was receiving a special award) and Robin Wright Penn. If I had spotted her, I would have forced her into a head lock and made her watch me reenact Forrest Gump from beginning to end, just so she can suffer through it the same way I did.

The Film Which Brought About the Quietest Exit of an Audience Leaving the Theatre: The gritty, gripping Romanian film 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days.

The Film Which Brought About the Most Confused Audience Reaction: The wonderful 1969 film Dilligner Is Dead, directed by Marco Ferreri. Most of the responses I heard were along the lines of "...but nothing happened!"


Three Films Which Enthralled Me From Start To Finish: The Finnish melodrama The Way You Wanted Me, a UK docu/drama Millions Like Us and the sublime silent film from Germany People On Sunday.


Why, Oh Why Did I Miss: King Vidor's silent epic The Big Parade? It kept playing opposite other films I was already compelled to see, and now the magic has passed...I hate me.

Strapped and Slapped

I'm off to Santa Fe, NM for a quick business trip, during which I will stomp on anyone wearing a crystal and urging me to chant for world peace. After that, I'm heading to the 34th Annual Telluride Film Festival where I will attempt to break last year's marathon of film watching (I'll be back around September 5th). If I see Laura Linney roaming the streets, I'll be sure to ask her if appearing in the dreadful The Nanny Diaries was really worth the mountain of cash they drove up to her doorstep. After which, she will slap me. And then I'll slink off in shame.

Disposal Proposal

An avid reader in Lawrenceville, GA has complained to me that he doesn't own Static Disposal by Debris, (an album released many years ago) frustrated that he might be missing out on some awesome head-pounding musical excitement. I admonish him to download the vinyl version from me while awaiting the purchase of the newly-reissued CD version boasting a buttful of extra tracks:

01 One Way Spit

02 Female Tracks

03 Witness

04 Tricia

05 Boyfriend

06 Leisurely Waiting

07 New Smooth Lunch

08 Manhattan

09 Flight Taken

10 Tell Me

11 Blue Girls

Debris died for our sins, dear readers--the least we can do is reenact the 11 Stations of Their Cross.

Do the Slurpee

An avid reader in Phoenix has complained to me that he stopped listening to The Fall many albums ago, frustrated over what he sees as a growing lack of head-pounding musical excitement. I admonish him to reconsider: while every late-career album has its share of problems, there are still ball-cringing gems like Open the Boxoctosis #2, Theme from Sparta F.C., Crop Dust, My Ex-Classmate's Kids and it's wacky inborn sequel I Wake Up In The city. Mark E. Smith died for our sins, dear readers--the least we can do is keep drinking the holy water.

Current Crank Calls

[First in a random, every-once-in-a-while series.]
Music Store Geek: Thanks for calling [name of local alternative rock record chain store].
Disco:Very: Hi, how're you doing? I was just at your store and I bought a copy of the new Smashing Pumpkins CD Zeitgeist...
Music Store Geek: [Clearly not interested] Uh huh...
Disco:Very: And, oh my gawd, I love that band. Don't you?
Music Store Geek: Huh? Oh, yeah, sure.
Disco:Very: [Using a campy Paul Lynne-like voice] Lo-o-o-ove th-e-e-em!
Music Store Geek: [No response.]
Disco:Very Anyway, I just got home with it and just opened it and I noticed it doesn't have the Certificate of Semen.
Music Store Geek: [Pause.] I'm sorry?
Disco:Very: It doesn't have the Certificate of Semen.
Music Store Geek: You mean, like, a song?
Disco:Very: No, no, it's--
Music Store Geek: One of the tracks is missing?
Disco:Very: No, no, the Certificate of Semen. You didn't hear about this special offer Billy Corgan is having where he's issuing his semen to his fans?
Music Store Geek: [Confused, lost] Uh, no...uh, let me put you on hold for a second.

[Music Store Geek puts me on hold. Someone else--a manager?--picks up.]

Music Store Manager Geek: This is [name]. Can I help you with something?
Disco:Very: Hi. I just bought a copy of Zeitgeist, the newest masterpiece by Smashing Pumpkins and it was supposed to have a certificate inside which you can mail in and then Billy Corgan sends you a vial of semen.
Music Store Manager Geek: [Pause] Uh huh...what?
Disco:Very: There was an article in Pitchfork about it. And I have the receipt for my purchase.
Music Store Manager Geek: [Long pause] So it's a certificate on the CD?
Disco:Very: No, no, see..apparently, Billy Corgan believes he is so awesome and...I mean, I'm not knocking the dude, 'cuz I think he's awesome, too! But he has come to the realization that he is so above everyone else in talent and intellect and everything, that he has decided it would benefit mankind to have millions of his sperm distributed around the world. You know, so, like, he can create a new race of supreme beings that are as smart and talented as he is. So the first 80,000 CDs were supposed to have this certificate--
Music Store Manager Geek: Well maybe you got one without the certificate because you didn't end up buying--
Disco:Very: Well, OK, but the thing is--
Music Store Manager Geek: --one of the first 80,000 copies.
Disco:Very: --my CD has the sticker on the front. It has the sticker on the front that says "This CD certified to contain one Certificate of Semen", and that's why I bought it. I wouldn't have bought one if it didn't have the sticker on it. So I'm hoping to exchange it for another one which has the sticker...
Music Store Manager Geek: [Pause, trying to decide what to do] Hang on a sec. Let me check the racks.

[Puts me on hold. Eventually comes back.]

Music Store Manager Geek: OK, none of the copies we have in stock have that sticker. None of them have a sticker mentioning a certificate. There's a sticker mentioning the hits on the album but that's about it.
Disco:Very [Trying my best to make my voice crack with sadness] So there aren't any certificates left??
Music Store Manager Geek: So that just means everyone else snatched up the other copies--
Disco:Very: But my copy says, I mean, it has the sticker--
Music Store Manager Geek: --the other 80,000 copies, you know? You snooze, you lose.
Disco:Very: [In a hurt, snide voice] But I wasn't snoozing! I bought one of the 80,000 copies fair and square and now your store is denying me the right to breed some of Corgan's babies!
Music Store Manager Geek: [No response]
Disco:Very: [Increasingly shrill] And I want to know what your store plans to do about it!
Music Store Manager Geek: [No response]
Disco:Very: [Screaming into phone] HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GENERATE A NEW SUPER RACE OF SUPER BABIES WITH ORDINARY SPERM??? I WANT BILLY CORGAN'S SPERM!!!
Music Store Manager Geek: [Finally figures out the ruse, hangs up]

Plain and White (Except For That One Black Guy, And Can Someone Tell Me What Made Him Join This Honky Band?)

Today, we examine the painfully romantic lyrics of the new hit "Hey There Delilah" by America's newest sure-to-be-around-forever sensation Plain White T's:

Hey there Delilah
What's it like in New York City?
I'm a thousand miles away
But girl tonight you look so pretty

[Here the protagonist professes his love for a young woman living in New York City. Mirroring the plot of an Ed Burns film, post-collegiate young people sometimes have trouble connecting romantically with others in their age group/social status while residing in a metropolis of over three billion people. The implicit irony is that even when one is surrouned by such a teeming mass of humans, one can still feel alone. Also, "city" sure does rhyme well with "pretty"--it's why God invented the Rhyming Dictionary.]

Yes you do
Time Square can't shine as bright as you
I swear it's true

[Other phrases that might have worked in this rhyme scheme: I puked my brew; I'm not a Jew; I ate Elmer's Glue; You gave me the flu; Flour and fat make roux.]

Hey there Delilah
Don't you worry about the distance
I'm right there if you get lonely
Give this song another listen
Close your eyes
Listen to my voice it's my disguise
I'm by your side

[Here, the protagonist entices the young woman to "close her eyes", and mentions a "disguise". This is what therapists call the two warning phrases of date rape.]

Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
What you do to me

[Here, there are two possible scenarios being played out. 1) The power of what the young woman does to the singer are so powerful that a single phrase repeated many times conveys the emotional impact of this romantic interaction. Or, 2) the songwriter simply ran out of lyrics and went for broke.]

Hey there Delilah
I know times are getting hard
But just believe me girl
Someday I'll pay the bills with this guitar

[The singer has, indeed, reached his goal and is now paying bills with his guitar. The end result should now be that the young woman will be impressed with his bread-winning abilities and, thus, will now "put out". Whereas most young men of a certain upward physical stature would simply "put the moves" on such a female, the singer here--being ungainly, awkward and rail-thin--must write songs such as this to acheive the same effect.]

We'll have it good
We'll have the life we knew we would
My word is good

[In a puzzling move, the songwriter rhymes "good" with "good", inserting "would" to achieve some structural balance. While there are few additional phrases which might have worked, experts agree that "I rule this 'hood" would also assert itself as a boast to make the young woman "put out".]

Hey there Delilah
I've got so much left to say
If every simple song I wrote to you
Would take your breath away
I'd write it all
Even more in love with me you'd fall
We'd have it all

[In a brilliant stroke, the songwriter sheilds himself from music critics by using the phrase "every simple song". It reinforces the idea that this song is "from the heart" and therefore can withstand the lofty academic ruminations which would attempt to tear it down and label it aural bathwater. This is the same defense strategy used by Paul McCartney for his 1976 smash hit "Silly Love Songs".]

Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me

[Here, the songwriter seems to make the bold assertion that if he simply repeats this already-redundant phrase four more times, the impact of these words upon the listener will increase ten-fold.]

A thousand miles seems pretty far
But they've got planes and trains and cars
I'd walk to you if I had no other way

[Love can travel across vast differences--be they geographical, physical, emotional, spiritual, financial or sexual. Would love, however, walk a thousand miles just to be with someone? Even someone so willing to "put out"? Not when there are hundreds of other women just as eager to "put out" living just a few blocks from the singer's apartment.]

Our friends would all make fun of us
and we'll just laugh along because we know
That none of them have felt this way

[Nobody in the entire history of human existance has ever experienced love before, only the singer and the young woman to whom he is crooning. The singer and the young woman are uniquely qualified to feel the sensations of love because the young woman has promised the singer that she will "put out".]

Delilah I can promise you
That by the time we get through
The world will never ever be the same
And you're to blame

[In a striking reversal, the singer blames the young woman for all the world's sins: lust, poverty, pollution, suffering, etc.]

Hey there Delilah
You be good and don't you miss me
Two more years and you'll be done with school
And I'll be making history like I do
You know it's all because of you
We can do whatever we want to
Hey there Delilah here's to you
This ones for you

[The singer puts down the young woman again, this time by slamming her life's choices: He is "making history" writing hearfelt deeply personal music which touches the souls of listeners around the world, while she is merely finishing a Master's Degree in Cognitive Physics. The singer is a putz.]

Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
What you do to me.

[For good measure, the key phrase is repeated four more times. This will be useful for live performances during which the audience can be engage in a now-this-half-of-the-room sing along.]

XIVXIVXXVIMXLXV

To celebrate 40 years of music from the never-tiring, always relevant, hi-NRG jazz-pop combo Chicago, those playful execs at Rhino Records have created a contest wherein we, the fans, get to design the cover art for their upcoming hit album. Has everyone turned in their entries? I sent mine in just a few minutes ago...

Smack My Rhymes-With-Witch Up

There are some tradeoffs which, frankly, are not worth the risk:

1.) Medical advancements can be helpful to the human race, but the end result of ending Tiga & Megan's tenure as conjoined twins will result in two times the amount of shit-awful albums when they eventually both go solo years from now. Some circus freak birth defects should just be left alone.

2.) I'm not against human rights, per se, it's just that if America wasn't a beacon for the those yearning to be free, we wouldn't have had that loathesome yelp-dog Regina Spektor flapping her wings to our shores back when she was pooping pickled Masliak Mushrooms into her diapers. And now we're stuck with her. And she keeps making albums. And they all suck.

3.) It's a pleasure having Alexei Luthor (who appears to be the publisher of several prolific blogs) as my new special friend, but he's forcing me to post the entire self-titled debut EP by The Ping Pong Bitches, and now I'm afraid that their management--or worse, the Bitches themselves--will track me down and break my legs like Popsicle sticks. Due to my fear of death, then, these tracks won't be up for very long. Grab them before the Ping Pongs grab me.

Beat You Up

I Love You, Necrophiliac

Rock Action

Dynamite

Chinese Song

[Update: Alexei and his hundreds of blogs appears to have vanished into thin air. We wish him well.]

The Baffling Music I Listened To In The Days Of My Sappy Youth (Before I Discovered Punk Rock and Everything Changed For The Better) (Part 2)

My 10-year-old ears should have been sentenced to Death by Injection for making me believe I liked Unborn Child, the painfully dreadful 1974 album by Seals & Crofts, an album so abysmally awful it doesn't even have camp value. Who could forget the goofy cover art, which illustrates the visceral thrill of receiving The Gift of Abortion as personified by a blob-shaped Rainbow-Being sporting enlarged disembodied horror movie peepers? I consider it a masterpiece-- the Mona Lisa of fetus extraction portraiture.

The 11 tracks on this album are fairly straight forward, lacking any poetic florishes: Ledges is about ledges. Windflowers is about windflowers. Rachel is about a female (or about a pet which keeps running away) named Rachel. Big Mac is about eating a Big Mac (or about eating a Big Mac which keeps running away). But it was the title track, Unborn Child, which caused a mountain of controversy. This Anti-Choice Kumbaya instantly divided their fan base, dialating and evacuating the stem cell of the audience, suctioning its precious breath, terminating its life before it had a chance to be fruitful and multiply. This chart-topping track generated so much heated argument, it was later left off the band's Greatest Hits album to avoid further furor (you might say it was aborted from the collection). Although I played this album endlessley as a boy, it was some months after its release when someone patiently explained to me what the title song was actually about. That, my friends, was the day I found My Loss Of Innocence, like stumbling upon a box of Girl Scout cookies smothered in KY Jelly.

In conclusion, I should admit I still find myself singing some of their earlier classic tracks in the shower (Summer breeze/Makes me feel fine/Blowing through vaginas in my mi-i-ind..."), but I would be remiss in not mentioning some fans liked Seals & Crofts back when they weren't famous, back when they were two country-blues aficionados, long before their folksy bluegrass leanings were somewhat diluted by the pop machinery of the '70's. Me? I liked Seals & Crofts back when they were still in the womb and there was still a chance they'd be eliminated in a back-alley clothes hanger hoe-down.

My Mind Is An Open Book, Which You May Check Out For 2 Weeks (There Will Be A Fine For Any Overdue Items)

That rat-bastard weasel Underneathica and I are in a violent mad-dash race to see who can post a write-up sooner regarding the album Jungle Rot by George Brigman. What Underneathica fails to understand is that I am far more obsessed with anti-social drug addict shut-in musicians than he is--perhaps because I am an anti-social drug addict shut-in musician myself. Michael Yonkers, Todd Tamanend Clark...name any one of 'em and I start drooling all over my government-issue orange jumper. I am way more into Don't Bother Me than him. I am much more likely to be humming I'm Married, Too during a lull while stamping license plates than he would be. I hasten to add: perhaps Underneathica doesn't even have a job in the first place? It is I, with my verbally-challenged speaking skills, that allows me to be in touch emotionally, physically, spiritually and--yes, telepathically--with songs like It's Misery.

On a related note, if you find yourself writing an article about mega-popular actor/producer Tom Cruise and his long-term triumphant success in Hollywood, you might consider using the witty headline Cruise Control. Personally, I lean more towards the headline Dumb Fuck Scientology Sleazeball Buttface Sleazebag. It's got a little something sassy to it, ne c'est pas?

Beatle-Dee, Beatle-Doo

Now that the latest album from Sir Paul McCartney, Memory Almost Full is hitting the stores, it's time to revisit the ongoing Beatles Solo Album Invitational to gauge which former Beatle--dead or alive--has produced the most amount of dreadful solo albums during the last 37 years since Yoko Ono viciously broke them up. By looking at the chart, we see that Paul McCartney is still leading the pack, despite the estate of John Lennon continuing to reissue every flatulence his body ever emitted. In order for Ringo Starr to even begin catching up to these two, he'd have to begin releasing--right now!--a completed new album every six months. This would entail working with a songwriter in tandem, one more prolific than he, but sadly, Elvis Costello has already been burned by his previous musical association with McCartney ("Veronica", anyone?). Robert Pollard would be a promising alternative, and--providing he can stay sober--it would be an amusing juxtaposition to hear Pollard's fake British accent singing alongside Starr's fake American one. Meanwhile, the paltry sum of albums generated by George Harrison make him "the quiet Beatle" in more ways than one! His lackadaisical production schedule can be blamed on his Zen/Hindu/Buddhist/pothead approach to life, resulting in a why-bother-to-make-another-worthless-album-
when-I'm-only-going-to-die-and-come-back-as-a-hamster? attitude, though the actual responsibility must be placed upon his ex-wife and children who (unlike The Dragon Lady Ono) appear to have no interest in milking his legacy at all, turning their noses up at the very thought of mining the vaults for valuable excerpts of third-rate demos recorded during his brief but torrid love affair with Jeff Lynne. Instead of organizing benefits for Madonna (i.e., Shanghai Surprise), he should have been endlessly recording his every waking days in an heroic attempt to overcome what now appears to be a sure-fire victory for his arch enemy Paul McCartney.

Release Your Inner Nutter

If quirky were a rich and creamy sandwich spread, The Mules would be the 800-pound man too obese to leave his bed, thus earning a tough love visit from Dr. Phil. Every catchy musical phrase making a linear path to the chorus (exhibit A: Straight As Vs Drill) gets sideswiped by angular zig-zags upending what should have been the song's original intent (zany, thy name is Plenty Warning). Someday, there is sure to be a movie about the life and times of The Violent Femmes and--because of songs like Here To Help--these asses are going to be on the producer's A-List (my advice to the band: don't be in the sequel, showing Le Femmes old and bloated, touring long after their supernova faded from the underground zeitgeist, still singing the hits of their sexually-frustrated 20's thirty years after the fact: leave that to The Wrens).

My Love Affair With Lavender Diamond Is As Volatile And Passionate As The Central Love Affair In Reds (And Is Almost As Dull)

Me (a.k.a. Diane Keaton): Your theories on the worker's struggles are quite interesting to me.
Lavender Diamond (a.k.a. Warren Beatty): Thank you. Here's my latest written piece, entitled When You Wake For Certain.
Me: It's brilliant! I love you! I will never sleep with Jack Nicholson again!
[The romance blossoms; seasons change]
Lavender Diamond: Here's a new piece I've come up with. I'm calling it Dance Until It's Tomorrow.
Me: Dance Until It's Tomorrow??? What, did Kate Bush burrow into your ass and force you at gunpoint to come up with this crap? Get out of this house! I never want to see you again!
[Many months come and go. Our paths cross once again in the snowy streets of Petrograd.]
Me: I just heard Oh No and it opened my eyes to all the qualities that made me fall in love with you in the first place. It's so powerful, yet full of delicate passion.
Lavender Diamond: If you like that one, wait till you hear My Shadow Is A Monday.
Me: Jesus fucking christ on a Q-Tip--did I hear that right?? My Shadow Is A Monday??? You're more pretentious than all of Tori Amos' fictional selves combined! Take your music and serenade me never again!
[After a separation of almost a year, Lavender Diamond and I attempt to reconnect]
Lavender Diamond: I always want to be with you. I've written this quasi-Christian ditty for you entitled Side Of The Lord.
Me: Ugh. It stinks like a pickled jar of Natalie Merchant. I hate you. Drop dead.
[Lavender Diamond dies of Typhus.]

The Baffling Music I Listened To In The Days Of My Sappy Youth (Before I Discovered Punk Rock and Everything Changed For The Better) (Part 1)

First in a series.
Religion and I never got along, even during my tenure as a pre-pubescent squirt, yet I found myself drawn towards hippy-dippy retellings of The Bible. Sadly, like millions of record-collecting dullards of the '70's, this meant owning the original motion picture soundtrack to Godspell (purchased at a thrift strore, I recall). The faux-funky gospel-tinged stylings of Light Of The World were somewhat alluring to my white-bread suburban ear canals, while All For The Best seemed, at the time, to be an absolute ovation-rendering showstopper. I was convinced it was The Most Perfect Foot-Tapping Showtune Ever Written. I never quite understood what Beautiful City was about...I still don't. I also seem to remember thinking All Good Gifts was telegraphing some important messages about...Thanksgiving??? Perhaps it was advising us to be nice to snails, being grateful for the foods we toss out after eating too much...? I never had a clue. Back then, the lyrics of By My Side seemed so deep and earnest. Today, it gives me the same painful shudder I experience upon hearing certain tracks by R.E.M. (circa Green). I was in the 4th grade and a total know-nothing. Please forgive me.

The Only Bush I'd Fondle Passionately Is My Own

To those of you in Albania who embraced George W. Bush with a frenzy of physical affection during his visit to your country this week, may I suggest that since you love him so much, you might take him off our hands and install him as your own president? Because his unending stupidity and skull-numbing isolationism is driving us Americans out of our fucking minds. Thank you.

PS: You have to take Laura Bush too. They are a package deal. Don't worry, you'll enjoy having her around. She's as much of an annoying ding-dong as he is.

PPS: You are not allowed to take Dick Cheney. We hope to one day conduct studies on his evil energies so as to formulate a synthetic version which can be distributed in pill form.

Knight In White Satin

If the fan-tabulous Wayne Cochran (thanks to songs like Somebody's Been Cuttin' In On My Groove, Get Down With It and Goin' Back To Miami) is known as the "white James Brown", does that make Pearl Jam (when covering one of his least exciting tracks Last Kiss) "the translucent Wayne Cochran?" Let me also be one of the first to say that as punishment for crimes against (musical) humanity, the crap-tacular Bob Seger should be forced to line his underwear with the royalty checks of Sittin' In A World Of Snow. And for my final joke today: Knock knock. Who's there? Nat. Nat who? National Geographic, and we've discovered a new race of White people and they all look and sound exactly like Eddie fucking Vedder. If that ain't an argument why we should all support ethnic cleansing, I don't know what is.

Ice Ice Maybe

Perhaps it loses something in the translation from Russian, but if Old Wainds are hoping to scare up more interest in their dark foreboding music, they should try naming their songs something more frightening than At The Gates Of Frosty Mountains, the title of which sounds like a children's ride at the Winter Wonderland theme park. Likewise Guardians Of The Icy Kingdom, which could be one of its gelato shops. I've had morning bowel movements more fraught with terror than these song titles--perhaps these Russkie Rockers would like me to send them the monikers I give my stools each dawning day? Request granted.

The Music Blogger Version of I, Claudius, Except I'm Not Pretending To Be A Dolt

My dear readers, what I am about to admit to you will be shocking and perhaps too painful to bear. Sometimes, in my most personal moments, I pull out Lolita Nation by Game Theory and tap my toes to The Real Sheila, The Waist And The Knees and One More For Saint Michael. Can you ever forgive me? Did Simon ever forgive Garfunkel? Garfunkel, if I ever get my hands on you, I'm gonna make you pay for what you did to Simon! I'M GONNA MAKE YOU PAY!!!

An Open Letter To The Drunk, Horny Couple Who Blocked My View Of The Stage Almost Six Months Ago Today

How I loathe you. The disturbing image of that grinding and humping to the sounds of the local band I was straining to watch has been permanently seared into my brain, and for this transgression against my existence, I will personally assist in arranging your travel plans to Hell. Your attempts at what I will call, for lack of a better phrase, dirty dancing--not to mention what appeared to be a 25-year age difference between the both of you--speaks volumes about the type of people you are. This tirade is directed to you, the male, sporting The Ponytail Which Dare Not Speak Its Name, and the woman, hitherto known as Lil' Slutty Slut Slut (Lacking Rhythm) (Owing to Her Honky Heritage) (And Bad Fashion Sense). How I wish the groovy band I was trying to enjoy hadn't inspired you into such appalling physical behavior, all of it taking place right in front of the table at which I sat, right in front of my very own eyes, the eyes I must now hollow out with a stick to rid them of these tarnished visions. How I wish the sounds emanating from the stage hadn't been so dance-heavy; how I wish the artist on stage had instead been Miss Violetta Beauregarde as she violently shreiked Adolf Hitler's Emotional Side and I'm The Tiennamen Square Guy And You Are All The Fucking Tanks into your sexually twisted ears. Observing your endeavors to writhe and bop along to Flanger When You Die and The Umbearable Lightness Of A Farm Tractor--with their warped psychopathic tendencies and intensely anti-social leanings--would make my heart skip a thick joyous rope. If there is one reason, and one reason only, to support abortion rights in America, it is to provide the last God-given opportunity to kill off any possible living offspring as a result of your abhorrent intermingling. On the upside: you left before the encore.

Chicken Feast

Earlier today, as what appeared to be the entire cast of Wassup Rockers jettisoned past me on their skateboards, it occurred to me that my life would be so much more enriched if Mark E. Smith would fire his current hired hands (again) and simply continue using Mouse On Mars as his permanent back up band, as he did on the new excellent CD Tromatic Reflexxions. Curb your shock and awe as you dine upon Chicken Yaiamas and Duckrog. Think of how much better the last Fall album had been if it had featured The Rhinohead or Speech Contamination/German Fear Of Österreich. Dream of how much less wormy Graceland would have been if it had included Dearest Friends, and Smith never would have allowed Paul Simon to hog all the song credits for himself the way Los Lobos did. You can bet his false teeth would have been clamped on Simon's hair extensions in a Manchester minute.

Lo Mucho Que Te Quiero (The More I Love You) by Rene & Rene

Montebello by The Sugarplastic

Born In Xixax by Nina Hagen

Crazy Horses by The Osmonds

Annalisa by Public Image, Ltd

I Love Paris by Jonathan and Darlene Edwards

Gimmie Some Money by The Gories

Lycanthrothene by the Lemon Kittens

Just A Little Is Enough by The Last Roundup

Le Tourbillon as sung by Jeanne Moreau in Jules & Jim

Move Out Of Wichita by Paris 1942

Front Loader by Neil Innes & Eric Idle

Reflections In A Crystal Wind by Richard & Mimi Fariña

Mauna Kea by King Bennie Nawahi

Live Blogging The Season Finale of American Idol

7:01pm Why the hell am I watching this shit?

7:08pm Why the hell am I watching this shit?

7:14pm This program is America at its greatest! I can't believe the line-up they have tonight: Hollywood jokester Bruce Vilanche and his entire wardrobe of ribald t-shirts, long-time professional Nixon impersonator Rich Little, supermodel and current U.S. Treasurer Anna Escobedo Cabral, an inanimate George Foreman Grill, the entire state of Israel and Palestine (who will be explain the Arab-Jewish conflict in song) and so many more!

7:29pm They just announced that Lynne Cheney and her partner will be giving birth to their turkey-baster-conceived baby right after the commercials. The 10th caller into the show gets the placenta for free.

7:33pm I actually like this new Mac vs. PC ad...

7:40pm Holy shit, Lynne Cheney is having her baby live in front of an audience of 800 million people!

7:54pm The studio audience has risen up against the entire Cheney clan and is now tearing the baby into tiny little pieces right in front of her grandparents! Dick Cheney has collapsed from the sight and is dying from a stroke! Now they've ripped Lynne Cheney's head off her body and are poking it with large wooden sticks! This is the most awesome two hours of television I've ever witnessed!!!

8:06pm A tribute to Sgt. Pepper...is he still alive?

8:15pm A tribute to The Partridge Family...

8:24pm A tribute to Phil Silvers...

8:35pm A tribute to God...

8:45pm A tribute to the George Foreman Grill...

11:38pm I must have fallen asleep--did they announce a winner yet?

You Can Make It If You Try (But Ask Yourself Whether It's Worth The Bother)

It's a pleasure, finally, to have the long-ignored recorded output of Sly & The Family Stone back in print, each restored with original cover art, unreleased tracks and half-finished demos. The reissues end around the time of the band's demise, right before Sly went hoo-hoo with drugs and began missing live engagements, alienating fellow bandmates from sticking around. Sly himself carried on solo but failed to reestablish a following, even after attempting to win back his audience with several redemption-themed albums such as High On You, Heard You Missed Me, Well I'm Back and Back On The Right Track. One can only wonder if he would have eventually scaled the charts again had he recorded his other proposed titles Won't Be A No-Show No Mo'; Putting The 'Unity" Back In Comm-Unity Service; I Swear, Officer, I Didn't Know That Was A Bong 'Cuz I've Been Using It All This Time As A Vase; and Here I Am Again, Cleaned Up and Ready To Play It Straight (The Record Company Inserted a No Play/No Pay Clause).

My Precious Feelings As I Recount Kissing (With Tongue!) the Tribeca Film Festival and All of New York City

Celebrities Are Everywhere! My first day in the city and I run into Laurie Anderson for the second time in my life, or more accurately, her dog (unlike my last encounter, Lou Reed is nowhere to be found). "Why haven't you called me?", I hiss into the canine's whiskered mug. "I thought we shared something special, you bitch!" She sits staring straight ahead, mocking me with that the-fart-you-smell-was-not-made-by-me look. How is an Alpha Male supposed to lead his pack if the female won't expose her belly in submission?

Some Of The Celebrities Ride the Subway! I always knew that someday I would see Tom Verlaine in a public transportation setting, and here is how I envisioned our eventual exchange:

Me: Hello, Tom Verlaine, Musical Genius of All Time. I am unworthy of changing your guitar strings.
Tom Verlaine: Hello, Disco:Very. I've been wanting to meet you for a long time. For you are the only person in the world who understands me, the only person who really gets how brilliant my overlooked 1982 album Dreamtime is. I happen to know that over 20 years after its release, you still listen to it obsessively, and that is why I would like you to be my new special friend. Will you be my new special friend?
Me: Yes, Tom Verlaine, it would be my pleasure to be your new special friend. Can I play drums on your future albums and tour the world with you?
Tom Verlaine: Yes, Disco:Very, you may play drums for me because now we are best friends forever and you will tour the world with me, and although the other touring musicians will be a revolving door of comers and goers, you will remain my constant source of inspiration.

This, however, is really what went down:

Me: Ohmygawd! Ohmygawd! Ohmygawd! Ohmygawd! It's Tom Verlaine! Ohmygawd! Ohmygawd! It's Tom Verlaine! It's Tom Verlaine, sitting on the very same subway train as me! Ohmygawd! Ohmygawd! Ohmygawd! Ohmygawd! Is that really Tom Verlaine?? I can't tell if that's really him! Ohmygawd! Ohmygawd!Ohmygawd! Ohmygawd! It's gotta be him! Ohmygawd! Ohmygawd! Is that really him? Who is that woman sitting next to him? Is that a girlfriend? A wife? Why is she wearing Birkenstocks? Would Tom Verlaine date a woman wearing Birkenstocks? Ohmygawd! Ohmygawd! Should I go talk to him? Is that really him? Ohmygawd! Ohmygawd! Ohmygawd! Ohmygawd!Ohmygawd! Ohmygawd! Ohmygawd! Ohmygawd!
Tom Verlaine: (Stares straight ahead with that the-fart-you-smell-was-not-made-by-me look).

Everyone In New York Conceals A Hidden Talent! I'd love to be able to report that the street musician who occupied the 23rd Street platform performed his Neil Young repertoire with great skill and emotion, but in truth, hearing his wheezy whine and insecure big-dreams-on-display performance had me groping for the quick release only the third rail can bring. Where are the flesh-eating subway rats when you need them??