Goin' To The Rockshow

Hoo-ee, fools, let me tell ya, rockin' ain't easy sometimes, especially when beer gets in the mix. I'm not as young as I used to be, but damnit, I can rock just as hard. It's just that afterward, it takes me a tad bit longer to recover.

So I was when I woke up this morning after traveling to Austin to see Eagles of Death Metal and The Hives with my homeboys Blynch and Casey. I wonder if there is a way to rock out hardcore that leaves anything in the tank. Yes, yes, that may sound like an paradox of sorts, but I can't imagine that everyone has to be useless the day after their faces are melted.

Energy drinks? That 5 hour stuff? Anyone?

Maybe there is no way. Maybe it's just because Eagles of Death Metal and The Hives shred like a Cuisinart. Damn those fools.

Oh, THE SMITHS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My good buddy Matt Sadler has reminded me that The Smiths are the worst band in history, behind Color Me Badd, Poison, and hell, anybody else.

Screw those guys. Really. Fools.

Movin' Pitchers

Fools, I know it's been a while since I put up a video, and I know I need to start updating more, so here is Midlake's video for "Head Home," which is easily one of my favorite songs of the last decade. That's right, I said decade, fools!

Looks like their embed codes aren't very good, so I will give you a link, instead.

Saw these guys in Houston, and they were great. Five guys who studied music and know what it takes to make a great song.

Head home, fools.

Poker? I Hardly _____ed Her!

Check it, fools, my main man Wil Wheaton peeped me to a freeroll poker tournament for bloggers at PokerStars. I plan on taking part and flyin' my sweet ass to the Caribbean. Here is a banner that they require me to put up:

I have registered to play in the PokerStars World Blogger Championship of Online Poker!

This Online Poker Tournament is a No Limit Texas Holdem event exclusive to Bloggers.

Registration code: 8993253

Glad to do it. Now you do it too, fools.

Lyrics: For Suckers

Hot damn RIGHT, fools, I am back! I was gone because I contracted a rare disease only carried by a rare species of flower that resides only on the side of one cliff in Peru. It happened while I was hanging upside-down from that cliff trying to photograph another, equally rare flower. The disease-carrying flower can sense things by their proximity and uses the disease as a method of propagation. Damn thing blew up in my face, fools. It's all true.

It's OK, because I have been cured by a native tribe in a remote part of Indonesia. They ferment 30 different indigenous roots from their area with rainwater that has been filtered through the lava rock of a nearby volcano. The "patient" is made to drink the final product after being the center of a ritual dance meant to summon the dead ancestors of everyone involved. The ghosts then have an orgy while the dancers watch. The entire process takes 90 days, which is two days less than the time that I have not posted here. After a quick flight on the Concorde, I am hella jet-lagged, fools.

One of the things I have been meaning to say is the lyrics, indeed, are for suckers. To me, they simply aren't important. This realization has some exceptions in individual songs or in three (count 'em) artists: Prince, Tom Waits, and Iron and Wine. They have lyrics that are, at times, so profound and insightful that they can't be ignored. Tool comes close, but even with their particular brand of badassery, I could get by without the lyrics.

The voice is simply another instrument in my opinion. It provides melody and harmony and doesn't necessarily have to be saying something to be effective in making the song better as a whole. For example, check out Cocteau Twins. Elizabeth Fraser sings, by her own bio's admission, lyrics that are "mysterious" and "indecipherable." You know what, though? It doesn't matter a single bit. Their songs are lush and full despite ol' Mushmouth Liz's refusal to sing in English, or any other language for that matter.

A song, for me, has to have good music in order for me to care about it. The lead singer could be singing about clubbing baby seals while the background singers cooed about the beauty of the Republican Party for all I care. If there is wonderful music there, too, I will give the song a good hard listen.

But then there are songs that can't get it together musically, and don't seem like they even try. Sometimes this is because of poor writing, poor arrangement, or complete lack of talent. Other times, it is because the singer fails to use his or her voice to convey to me what is most important about the song. The best example of this is (flame on!) Bob Dylan. The words to his songs are oh so beautiful and oh so deep, supposedly, but they sound like well, somebody shitty is singing them. Such a trainwreck for a voice, but he is undoubtedly one of the most successful artists of all time.

All because of the suckers.

Seriously (and I know this is an extreme example), I would actually rather listen to "It Wasn't Me" by Shaggy than hearing any song by Dylan. AND SHAGGY SUCKS!!!! AND I KNOW IT!!!! Not to mention his music is below us all in terms of its composition and artistry. But hell, it's better than having to listen to Bob Dylan. "Great" lyrics are fine and all, but the price shouldn't be so heavy.

I wish I had a time machine, fools. Dylan, U2, and The Doors would feel my wrath.

Tuesday Funny-Time

I don't agree totally with this article, fools, mainly because the harpsichord is aggro like a mug, but here's a pretty funny article about the five musical instruments that just plain suck the most.

Also, the hurdy-gurdy rawks bawls, especially when it's in Milla's band. Yes, that Milla.

Wear The Grudge Like A Crown

Going to see Tool tonight, fools.

My bawls will be rawked.

This is "Vicarious" off of 10,000 Days.

Shoot The Runner!

This video is bitchin', fools. I don't know what it reminds me of, but it works, don't it?

This is Kasabian with "Shoot The Runner."


Kasabian - Shoot The Runner


UPDATE: This song wins the 2007 award for having the most threatening title. That is, if you participate in marathons.

Ohgodohgodohgod!!!!

If this isn't a hoax, fools, the world has lost one of its shining lights. Herbert Kornfeld, accounts receivable supervisor at Midstate Office Supply, is dead at 34.

Ugh. I'm empty inside.

Gotta get my 40, fools.

R.I.P. and big ups, H-Dawg.

Another First, Fools.

The reason I am in the mood for some Sufjan Stevens is because I saw something last night that no one has ever seen happen before.

I saw a 38-year-old man playing Yu-Gi-Oh on his computer while the Illinoise album was playing on the speakers.

Weird.

P.S. - 'Twas I, fools, 'twas I.

A Request

Hey, do any of you (I know, there aren't too many) know of any place on the Interwebs where I can find videos for Sufjan Stevens' Illinoise album? I have looked everywhere I can think, but no can findee.

Get back to me, fools.

Get Me Some Garlic for the Vampires

I've decided, fools, that I would rather attend a concert where the only act was Christina Aguilera performing a duet with Morrissey featuring The Bare Naked Ladies singing about how George W. Bush's Iraq policy is the greatest advancement in political thought of all time than to have blood drawn from me even one more TIME!

F*ck you, modern science, for not finding a different way to find out if my damn blood sugar is too high. Morons. Ouch.

Shookidup

Sorry the posting has been light, fools. I'll have more time to post near the end of this week. For now, here's Regina Spektor and "Fidelity."

Gaining Crying Immunity

Sometimes music hurts, fools.

And sometimes it's so damn pretty that you have to listen, even if it's like torture.

When I'm in those situations, I cry. It's a hella-manly kind of cry, though, in my case. Even more manly than this dude, who cried like a man:













Some songs are so bad, however, that for a while at least, I can't stop crying whenever I hear them. The bitch is, I love these songs and get addicted to them when I first hear them. The bitch also is, if I love a song that much, I listen to it over and over again. I end up crying a lot.

Sooner or later, thank goodness, I gain what I call "crying immunity" to a song. This is the point where I am no longer forced to weep when I hear a song. When I gain crying immunity, I can finally just listen to the song instead of marvel at its beauty and otherwise generally lose it.


Probably the first song to do this to me was "Wonderful Tonight" by Eric Clapton. I mean, DAMN, that fool loved that good-lookin' woman! Shoot, he wasn't afraid to tell her, either! And he was all living with her and shit and getting to watch her get ready and she still wanted to know if he thought she looked good even though she damn well didn't have to! Uh-huh, and he shonuff told her, too, and then he took her home after the party and they made sweet, sweet love. Whew!

It's not like I did this in private, either. My friends would play it when I was around or talk about it in a deliberate attempt to make me cry. It worked like a charm, until I gained crying immunity.

There's always a new song that will get me going. Take, for example, "Thanks Again" by Ricky Skaggs (sample link only, sorry cholly), a song Skaggs wrote to thank his parents for everything (and also to jack me up hardcore). When I first listened to this evil monster of a song, I was driving from San Antonio, Texas to its neighbor to the north New Braunfels. I had just bought a greatest hits collection called Country Gentleman and this song hit me. I almost had to pull over. Even though what happened with Skaggs and his parents didn't happen with me in exactly the same way, I could still identify with what he was saying.

I got home and Tara was eating dinner. I put the song on the stereo and asked her to listen. When she heard what was going on, she stopped in mid-swallow and began to cry uncontrollably. I was like, "Right, right?" and she nodded. "Thanks Again" stomped on her soul some more and then she was OK a little bit later.

I popped this song on my friend Dave while I was dropping him off at his first law school function. I did it in the same ninja style, and oy, the waterworks! We drive around a little extra so the song could finish, and then I let him out with plenty of walkin-off-the-cry distance to the function.

This happened with everyone I tried it with, except for Katie, my sister-in-law, who must have injected her heart with novacaine before she heard the song.

Now I can listen to this song without breaking down. It's still a tad dicey when I try to belt it out loud, though. My voice gets all quavery and I have to breathe more than normal, or else I can't make it. That I can listen at all without getting all soft and mushy is a victory.

You got any songs that do this to you? Let me know what they are.

For now I leave you with another one I had to gain crying immunity to: Iron and Wine's "Naked as We Came."

My Kids Are HOOKED!

On this song, that is. Seriously, they have made me play this song at least 20 times in the last five days. Not that I mind, cuz this is some smoove shizznitt. Presenting to you, fools, "One Evening" by Feist.

What the Hell?

I don't know why, but for three out of the last four days (and I was bed-ridden sick for one of them), I have heard or discussed "Jack and Diane" by John Cougar. The weirdness of life is fully exposed when things like this happen. I mean, I haven't heard that song for at least six months, and then it pops up like crazy! Whatever.

Question I have always wanted to ask: Why does John Cougar make "Bible Belt" sound like "Bummel Brown" and "ditty" sound like "dittip"? And what happened to make Cougar switch to caveman-talk when he sang, "Diane debutante backseat/Of Jackie's car"? Ooga-booga to you too, John.

"Big Wheel" by Tori Amos

Tori Amos has a new album, American Doll Posse, dropping on May 1, and I have been wanting to play around with sound samples when I talk about a song. So here you go, fools, it's "Big Wheel" by Tori Amos.

Click the play button and leave comments telling me whether or not you like the feature.

Johnsburg, Illinois

She's my only true love
She's all that I think of
Look here in my wallet, that's her.

She grew up on a farm there
There's a place on my arm where
I've written her name
Next to mine.

You see
I just can't live without her
And I'm her only boy
And she grew up outside McHenry
In Johnsburg, Illinois.

-- Tom Waits

There it is. The absolute perfect song. Clocking in at just over a minute and a half, "Johnsburg, Illinois" is everything a song needs to be. Simple but poignant lyrics, sparse piano, and an almost childlike perspective about love that is sorely missing in today's world. For Tom Waits, it was a song about his wife, Kathleen Brennan. For everyone else, it is, or should be, a small, evocative glimpse of the ideal way of which love is spoken.

Music is important to me, so much so that I treat exposing my children to great music as one of my most essential parental responsibilities. So I made sure that when Julietta and Sabrina were introduced to music a day or two after they were born, "Johnsburg, Illinois" was the first song they ever heard. Ever. In their whole, lovely, dear lives. They are six and five years old respectively, but Tom Waits is an artist that they are familiar with and view as one of the things they can count on being there.

I've heard this song hundreds of times now, and the original effect of the song remains. From the first tinkling of the piano beneath Tom Waits' grizzled fingers, I just kind of stretch out my neck like a turtle and soak it in. It never makes me tired, and it always gives me a measure of hope. I don't always remember that "Johnsburg, Illinois" is a palliative for whatever ails me, but all of us (myself included) should hang on to these little chunks of goodness in our lives.

UPDATE: I usually listen to the version of "Johnsburg, Illinois" that is on Big Time, Tom Waits' live album.

Weird Al Yankovic: Shoo-In for The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

Oh, yes. You heard me right. Someday, Weird Al Yankovic will be inducted into The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. After a little research, it seems as though while others think this should happen, I am here to tell you that it will happen. You read it here first, fools.

I know, I know, this is Weird Al Yankovic we're talking about, here. Yes, the same Weird Al who has the hair, and the crazy eyes, and the costumes, and the endless stream of parodies that have been a part of your listening experience for as long as you can remember.

Other artists will be inducted; there are always multiple inductees. What you might not know is what it will look like when Weird Al is inducted. Weird Al's induction will upstage everyone else's. Everybody who is anybody will be there, because they'll be damned if they missed Weird Al's ceremony. Nuh-uh, no way, ain't happenin'. Jay-Z will be there, Prince will be there, and so will The White Stripes, Dwight Yoakam, and all the members of Radiohead (even Thom). Hell, even Yo-Yo Ma will probably be there. And every last person in that audience is going to give Weird Al a standing ovation that will last longer than any other in Rock and Roll HOF history.

And Jessica Simpson and Henry Rollins, among others, will be crying their eyes out. Like babies wanting their bottles. Word up.

He became eligible in 2004, so the clock is ticking. It's either that no one has caught on yet, or that they are simply delaying his induction so that the HOF can handle the throngs and the stress. I vote for the latter.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not the hugest Weird Al fan, but even I can see that this guy has been a part of our lives for, like, ever. He has put the required 25 years in, and as the Hall itself puts it: Criteria include the influence and significance of the artist’s contributions to the development and perpetuation of rock and roll.

Put simply, Weird Al has been the only artist who has done what he has done for as long a period of time. Of course, there has been the occasional Disco Duck and the even-funnier-named Dis-Gorilla, but no one has compared to Weird Al when it comes to longevity and sheer goofy staying power. This man wrote "Ricky," "Lost On Jeopardy," "Eat It," "Fat," "Smells Like Nirvana," "Amish Paradise," and most recently, "White and Nerdy" and that only scratches the surface! Kurt Cobain once remarked that he didn't realize that Nirvana had "made it" until he heard that Weird Al had parodied them. Heady stuff coming from a band that, for good or for bad, revolutionized rock and roll.

So get ready, fools. Weird. Al. Yankovic.

I ain't playin'.

Found On MySpace: Fraser Anderson

Lookie here, we got us another soon-to-be regular feature here on The MUSIC, Fool. This series will be called Found On MySpace, and will focus on artists that I have stumbled upon on MySpace. I will provide you with a link to the artist's MySpace page, and there are usually two or three of their tracks on that page.

The first in this series is Fraser Anderson, a singer-songwriter from Scotland who currently resides in France. I first discovered Fraser not on MySpace, but on NPR while I was driving around town one night. I came in on the middle of the segment, which featured Fraser doing some of his songs live in studio. I instantly became a fan, and as soon as I got home, I tried like crazy to find out about him on the Internet. Because of the spelling of his first name (thanks, Kelsey Grammer), I couldn't find him right away. After poking around for about four or five days, I was able to locate him via his band website.

I looked him up on MySpace and started listening. The first song I heard was "Fairytale," a tender love song with guitar work that is fantastic, to say the least. Fraser's voice is honest and sincere, and when he says,"You'll always be my baby blue" (among other things) it speaks of devotion, companionship, and warmth. "Fairytale" became one of those songs that I listened to a hundred times in about three or four days. I played it for my kids and my youngest quickly corrected Fraser, telling me that she'll always be my baby brown (we're Mexican and she was four years old).

I added Fraser as my very first MySpace friend (other than that dumbass Tom) and contacted him about where to get his album and whether or not he was touring the U.S. soon. He responded shortly and let me know that the album wasn't available in the U.S., but that I could get it at his site. He is working on coming to the U.S. We talked about Nick Drake and I introduced him to Iron and Wine, which he hadn't heard and liked immediately. I told told him the "baby brown" story and he quite rightly thought it was cute.

So, he's a nice guy as well as a very talented musician. His songs can soothe you on a hectic day, or make a peaceful Saturday with your family better. Not enough people know about Fraser, but damn, they should. Turn your countenance toward him, fools. It'll be time well spent.