Dear John, I'm Sorry To Disturb You, But ...

(Forgive the XTC reference.)



The current focus of my audiophilistic obsessions is the weepy, mournful, and almost cute vocals of Loney, Dear. His newest release, Dear John, is nothing short of exceptional. His new richer, more layered and lush compositions make his former releases seem simplistically precious by comparison; which is no small feat.

But don't take my word for it. Here's the opening track:



And here are some tracks from his 2007 release Loney, Noir (courtesy Loney, Dear's own website):

Hard days
I Am John
The City, The Airport

He's on tour right now with Andrew Bird and, regrettably, I don't live in a sufficiently cosmopolitan city to deserve a hometown visit, but I have aggravated everyone I know to be more fortunate than I to go see him.

Enjoy, and if you are able, go see him live!

Adam and Eve Were Jews!

New Favorite Band Alert!



I have no idea why it took me so long to get into the Silver Jews!

I have no idea why such revelations ever surprise me! There is simply too much music to ever possibly keep up with!

So shame on anyone who knew about these guys and didn't bring them to my attention!

SHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAME!!!

PS Holy Shit! Magnet's website has been revamped and is completely and totally amazing!!!

I can't stop using exclamation points!!!

DOOG!

At long last (newly up on NBC ... not MySpace):

Bookish Pursuits

It's been awhile since I've wrapped my head around a book that interested me sufficiently to finish. In the past two years I've started and put away at least 6 books that just didn't move me; they interested me, but I'd get to a point where I'd just say, "Yeah, but who cares," and put it back on the shelf.

The last one I finished recently was Cormac McCarthy's The Road, which while incredibly bleak and depressing, was so gripping and masterfully-crafted that I didn't dare put it down. It is a new era Canticle For Liebowitz, which is equally bleak and depressing; but moves a bit more slowly and is best digested in smaller increments since it spans centuries of "human life."

Tired of half-reading semi-boring books, and finding myself in the middle of a bookstore while my honey was on a reference-material mission, I set about seeking new fodder that may be able to hold my attention. I came home with three titles that I think will foot the bill, two rock memoirs and one novel: Love is a Mix Tape by Rob Sheffield, Things the Grandchildren Should Know, by Mark Oliver Everett and Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace.



I started with Mix Tape because it's the shortest; and because it sounded cool. I was always a fan of "The Sheffield Report" back in the day; it was my easily my favorite contribution to Rolling Stone.

I didn't even read the back cover; it was on the employee picks section, so I figured it was worth a shot. I'm still halfway through, but that's because I haven't dedicated any real time to it. And it's such an intimate tale that I feel to give anything but my full attention would be disrespectful.

Had I read the back cover, I would have realized how important this story is to its author. I thought it was going to be a feel-good story of the contribution of the mix tape is to romance; I was only half right. By page 14 I was bawling my eyes out.

It was then I realized that this guy wrote it about not only his wife, but his late wife. A woman he loved so completely and purely, and who died far before her prime. His recollection of her memory through pop music will equally make you laugh, break your heart and give you hope.



Next up is the Eels' (a.k.a. Mark Oliver Everett) memoir, Grandchildren. I expect it to be less upbeat and hopeful, but still a good read. The man fascinates me; his music and lyrics always have, but it wasn't until I saw Parallel Worlds, Parallel Lives on NOVA Science Now that I began to understand the big picture behind his ironic view of human interaction.

I have a real soft spot for artists of all kind who can point out the wry irony of the world's complete and total loss of humanity, yet all the while embody a complete sense of blind hope regardless. Probably because that sums me up to a Tee.



So it should be no surprise that the final selection is a work of fiction of the humorous/ironic variety, Jest.

It's humongous. 981 9" pages lined in dense 9 point script with less than 1" margins ... plus 96 pages of notes. In fact, I'm not sure if it's going to be completely amazing or a complete and total waste of money. But I got it anyway, because I'd heard he was hilarious, and because for some reason the novel reminded me simultaneously of three of my favorite authors -- Tom Robbins, Christopher Moore and Douglas Adams.

And because I could have sworn I'd recently heard that he'd just died. I was right. Offed himself in September. Genius? I think I'll be the judge of that.

Hopefully these will be enough to get me through this frozen-solid winter. They had better; the entertainment budget is running low, and I have rekkids to buy!

Learning to Speak the Language

I hate anti-drug ads.

Now I understand and agree with the importance of instilling good values in children, trying as hard to keep them pure as humanly possible; but as we all well know, eventually all the gospel-preaching is going to fall on deaf ears. Experimentation is pretty much inevitable.

To date, I've seen only one anti-drug ad that reaches its audience in a realistic way. For the most part, teens and adults alike laugh these incredibly cheesy messages off (just search YouTube for "abovetheinfluence" and see what comments have been posted); and who from the 80s doesn't remember giggling at the famous emotionally-charged line, "I learned it from watching you, Dad!".

Which is why I like this new ad by abovetheinfluence.com. Instead of a creepy talking Beagle or a girl melted upon herself, it uses irony to relay its message. Which I think is far more effective for a smart-assed teen audience.



That, or this is a true sign that I'm getting old.

Beauty and the Beast

Need I say more?

Alone, I don't care for her willowy whisper; but I can't ever seem to get enough of Lanegan's scratchy wrasp, so it's like the heavens parting on a cloudy day when these two voices meet.

This dynamic duo is at it again with a fresh batch of melancholia for us all to enjoy, and just in time for SAD season. It's out now, and Isobel has some tracks on her MySpace, so dig in!

www.myspace.com/isobelcampbell

GLOWER!

Every time SNL has a sketch I want to post on here, it's not available on their website.

Neil Patrick Harris hosted this past Saturday, and while the writing remains hit-and-miss and certain cast members need to just go away (I'm looking at you, Kenan Thompson, Bobby Moynihan and Casey Wilson), there was a a solidly riotous guest-host performance which was supplemented by bevy of good material this past week.

Here's one of them:



But by far and away, the best sketch all night was the orchestrated version of the Doogie Howser, MD theme song played by the entire cast; with Neil at the keys. It was comedy GOLD. And yet, is not available to view online. Grrrrr...

Oh, and Kristen Wiig is my TV girlfriend. Seriously, I wish we were best friends. She's the funniest comedic actress the show's seen since Gilda. Now, now Fey-sketeers, I said actress. Fey still is the funniest female comedy writer, ever.

Creep Cabaret

Thanks to Haw-ehd (Stern) for this one. It's very nice.



I love hah.

Victory

I just made 100 of these little doo-dads. They're sandwich cookies, so that means 200 times (if you don't count the last 8 I burned in the oven while heating up lunch) I cut out the shapes, dipped them in egg, then into colored sugar ... before being baked, cooled, and glued together with buttercream.

I got the recipe from my Omi a couple of years ago, and have since made them with my family members', including Omi's, help. But this is my first attempt on my own. They were puffier than hers, so I didn't roll out the dough thin enough and probably didn't let the dough rest long enough; but man, they are light as a feather and sure are tasty.

So I'm pretty pleased right now; if not totally exhausted.

What a bunch of Hobos.

I love it when I fall in love with a band so hard that it takes all I have to keep from talking about them ... all. the. friggin'. time.

I hate it when said band is fronted by a very dear friend, so it sounds like sycophancy of the highest degree if I publish good press about them.

But let's face facts. This is neither the Times nor the Trib. It isn't even the Post. Hell, my only audience is my family and friends ... so screw it.

Therefore, in absolutely no disingenuous terms, let it be understood that The Hobo Wives have been one of my new favorite bands since last April when I first heard them all together at the Lemmons show.

I'd heard their rough tracks before the show; but once they took the stage, it became obvious that the talented outfit's fabric was so tight-knit that the songs pretty much play themselves. The songwriting is stellar, the sound is incredibly rich and completely alive, and all of the musicians and vocalists are, in a word, gifted. Since then, I just can't seem to get enough of the lush melodies and jangly guitars that tell their alt-twangy melancholy tales of woe.

It's not completely unrelated that I have always appreciated and very much believed in Matt Kahler's songwriting since we met. After 10 years of friendship, a 400 mile move to the north, and a rich compilation of competent musicians and vocalists in his arsenal, he seems to have finally found solid footing as the musician I always knew resided within.

As a friend, I couldn't be happier for him. Personally, I couldn't be happier for me; and no, not just with the satisfaction that comes with being right. Their brand of southern-fried rock is just what the doctor ordered to soothe the aches that accompany these days of financial uncertainty.

It's relatable, believable, and damn catchy.

Which is why I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if we heard a lot more from this group once they're finished in the studio and start out on tour.

Until then, please to enjoy their available tracks on MySpace:
http://www.myspace.com/thehobowives

Feelin' Kinda ...

The first time I saw Patton Oswalt live was the stuff of legend.

Wait ... let's go back.

The first time I saw Patton Oswalt ever was a repeat of his Comedy Central special, "No Reason To Complain" on TV. This after being reassured that, "No, no, he's really good," after my arched-eyebrowed query, "uh ... isn't that the dude from 'King of Queens?"

He is easily the funniest person I've ever seen; certainly one of the funniest comics, and quickly became my favorite. Call it blasphemy, but even more so than Bill Hicks or the other obvious choices. What can I say, this guy speaks with a voice that I understand. And he has killer timing, and works the hopeless, nerdy schlub thing so deftly in his favor.

So shortly after "No Reason," the "Comedians of Comedy" series aired on Comedy Central. I was addicted. On their own, I can do without the antics of the in(s)ane Bamford, the toilet-obsessed Posehn, and the hell-bent-for-leather-on-being-"out-there" Galifanakis; but as the team behind Oswalt, the series never failed to disappoint.

So in the spring of 2006 when it was announced they'll be doing another tour, I bought the tickets for the Chicago stop; we ended up showing for what turned out to be the 2nd show at the Logan Square Auditorium (actually a ballroom).

I don't even know how long the show went on; all I know there was a brief period before when Bamford was politely annoying, Posehn told his dick jokes, and Mirman was just plain weird ... and then a whiskey-addled Patton went on for about 2 1/2 hours with maybe a 5 minute breather somewhere in there.

It was easily the hardest I'd laughed, in earnest, ever. I barely had 2 drinks that night; and was on my feet all night after one of the longest weeks of my life, after having just buried my great-aunt, who was like a grandmother to me, before making the 5 hour drive up north on a Friday night after a full week's worth of work.

The next day, Patton would refer to it on his site's blog as, "[T]he best show of the tour, and maybe the best show I ever did. "

This Saturday's show was very different. It was eons away from that balmy April night in Chicago 2 years ago. The room of the swanky downtown casino was lined neatly with rows of cushioned seats. Patton himself has lost a good 30lbs (or better). He was dressed in tweed and slacks. No whiskey this time, just a bottle of water. Instead of fronting a pack of guerrilla comedians, he was announced by the emcee as the "[V]oice of Ratatouille," and "[Y]ou know him from 'King of Queens.'" He was all alone.

And yet, the audience -- including myself -- roared the entire hour and a half. At his second show of the evening.

It is clear from his act that he's a changed man by his family comedy successes, especially those of late. I certainly wouldn't say for the worse ... but you can tell that he's not really sure what to do with himself these days. He's still searingly witty and cynical; and while it is clear that he's at odds with that fact, I don't see it ever changing.

So, long story short (too late); it's best to sum up that I still strongly identify him. Perhaps now more than ever.

Shamefully False Advertising

Today when I read about a band named Jesus H Christ and the Four Hornsmen of the Apocalypse, my interest was immediately piqued. Not that the name of a band necessarily says anything about said band, but as far as band names go, this one was pretty clever. Even if wordy.

Its just a shame they suck; no, that's not true. They don't suck; the horn section is actually really good. But not one second into this video, I officially hated the frontwoman.



http://jesushchristrocks.com

Free Wilco Song!

Last night, Geoffrey Velvet (aka Jeff Tweedy) & Co were on the Colbert Report rockin' for the cause to vote. While Wilco is a long-time Obama supporter, their message is a bi-partisan effort to encourage people to get out and vote next Tuesday.

So by going to http://wilcoworld.net/vote/index.php/, anyone who plans on voting (or anyone who wishes to fib) can make their solemn promise to Wilco to vote in the presidential election and, in exchange, will receive a free live recording of Wilco and the Fleet Foxes covering Dylan.

Pretty sweet.

In case you missed 'em, here's the interview:



... and the performance of "Wilco The Song:"



Side note: has anyone else found this year's voter encouragement efforts as far more digestible than 2004's "Vote Or Die" campaign?

Where Is My @#&$ING CANDY?!

My two favorite candies in the world are the most impossible to find. One doesn't even exist anymore, and the other one has been "renamed."



The first, Shock Tarts. Now Wonka calls them "Shockers." Available nearly everywhere in my teens, I do cartwheels of joy if I happen to stumble upon them in a convenience store on a road trip these days.

Photo by erikaland

The second, RIP, is the original recipe chocolate flavored Twizzlers. Now they've made them "better" with Hershey's chocolate in the recipe. They're only okay; barely passable, really. Nowhere near the delicious, tough old chewy choco-Twizz's I still crave to this second. (The photographer named above is one of the many who shares my chagrin.)

Only, I couldn't even find the "new" crappy chocolate Twizzlers today! I went to 4 different Walgreens(es) in my area, and a Target. The nice gentleman who was restocking the candy aisle at my third Walgreens kindly deflected my frustration, saying that it's a common problem; he even had one STLPD officer tell him once that he's only able to find them at Wal-Mart.

Wal-Mart. The name makes me shudder. And, crave them though I do, I'm not driving into Maplewood to satiate a sugar fix.

5 different stores is my max. If that sounds ludicrous, rest assured it was a short trip. That's how many Walgreens there are within a 2 mile radius of my house.

... Hold The Phone.

I have always been mature for my age; responsible, accountable, relatively knowledgeable.

Today; however, I get a far more telling item in the mail, the very least of which do I care to indentify. Yet.

A complimentary copy -- addressed to me -- of More Magazine.

What can I say, I'm a sucker for free bathroom literature, especially those with Michelle Obama as the cover story; so I tear off the plastic, put the subscription offer into the shred bin and flop the rag into the basket by the toilet without a second thought.

But once I get to thumbing, I notice a disturbing trend in its literary substance:

The word "ageless" appearing repeatedly in the makeup ads. Multiple photos of "distinguished" looking ladies accompanying the articles entitled: "10 Women on TV Who make Over-40 Look Fabulous," "10 Reasons We're Glad We're Over 40," "Fashion For Grown-ups," and then ...

"Retirement For The Restless."

YOU-WHAAA?

Folks, More.com describes in its little top left corner as "Celebrating Women 40+."

But I'm not even 30 yet!!!

Where do these muckrakers get their demographic data?

More alarmingly, how did they get my name?! I don't give anyone my address or phone number. How do these people find me?!

Har-umph!

I believe we call this ... "foresight."

Want to understand the root cause of the current economic meltdown?

I don't want to make this blog political, but I just watched a film anyone who has a credit card should see.

Which is everyone.



What amazes me is the timeliness of this film; even though it was made at least 3 years ago.

If You Can Dream It ...

I'm really at a loss for an introduction for this video, other than: this one's for Beth, courtesy of Tom.

What's That Spell?

Completely
Useless
By
September

It's a well known fact that Cardinals fans have two favorite teams: The Cardinals, and whoever is playing the Cubbies.

We may not have made it to the big show this year; and while it normally gives me no joy to watch the Dodgers win, I have to say, watching the sweep tonight was almost as happy as October of 2006 was for me.

100 years and counting ... 

Sounds Of My Life: Show Me a Little Shame

Back when I was a CD store-managin' music snob, I managed only two people that were older than me; both guys. One was a total misogynistic, undermining pain in the ass (think The Office's Dwight -- he's exactly the guy) and the other was a punk rock / hippie / stoner / drunk / raver kid named Mike Cornish.

I use the word kid, because he was in his early twenties ... even at my current age of 28, that's a kid.

That, and he was a completely reckless idiot. I mean, we're talking about a guy who always had money for illicit drugs, cigarettes and booze, yet -- daily -- still wore his preteen retainer which held an undersized false tooth in the hole where one of his incisors once resided. Because he didn't have the money to more permanently replace it. Or the insurance. Or maybe he just didn't care.

He was a fun reckless idiot nonetheless. He always kept us laughing with his shenanigans and vocal stylings of whatever happened to be playing over our sound system.

So, being a stoner, its no surprise that he loved Ben Harper. When Burn To Shine was released in 1999, nothing -- short of an outright veto by myself as the presiding manager on duty, which was exercised at least once or twice -- would stop him from putting that disc in at some point in his shift.

This song in particular was a favorite, and he'd often sing at the top of his lungs when restocking CDs, cleaning used game systems, vacuuming ... you name it.

So while this is an excellent soul torch song, instead of it reminding me of some melancholy romantic encounter; forever burned into my memory is Mike's infectious laugh, ridiculous sense of humor, silly little false tooth and ... to our surprise, pretty decent voice.

For a white boy.

Artist: Ben Harper and The Innocent Criminals

Best. Cereal. Ever.

Okay, this is a bit off topic, but I have to divulge a secret.

Kashi's Honey Sunshine cereal is the best breakfast cereal ever.



It's whole grain, non-sugary (in other words, grown-up), Captain Crunch. That doesn't destroy the roof of your mouth.

For a breakfast cereal addict like me, its perfect.