I'm not sure what to call this

This statue is in Boston Common.

Both Heather and I could not quite figure out what it is supposed to represent.

We were not the only ones standing around laughing and taking pictures.

I think they put it there just to mess with the tourists.

Please know this...

If we are in a meeting together and you use the word "guesstimate," please know that I am concentrating hard to send from my brain to yours electromagnetic daggers that will destroy you.

The word is simultaneous, not sim-u-taneous.

Tucson is city in Arizona, Tuscan is a form of Tuscany, a region of Italy.

Top 5

1. Why I Act This Way – The Winter Blanket

I’ll be at the Kitty Cat Klub tonight to try to review the Winter Blanket again. I’ve tried twice before, but for various reasons, haven’t got the job done. I’ve never seen a show at the KCK before tonight. I haven’t heard that much about it as a music venue either. I hope that it doesn’t piss me off.

2. Can’t Hardly Wait – The Replacements

The new “best of” by the Replacements came out this week. Maybe this is one of those music snobbery things, but I don’t really like “best of” albums. I like to hear albums as entire pieces of work, rather than a collection of singles. That’s not to say I don’t own any albums like that, it’s just that I would rather hear what was left off the greatest hits.

3. I Hate My Generation – Sloan

This is off my favorite Sloan album, Twice Removed. Honestly, I haven’t cared much for their other albums. The musical chairs version of singers always made me happy. I love good two or three part harmonies. I’m a sucker for ‘em.

What could you both possibly share?
Other than the color of your hair
Shawn said, “We both play guitar.”
Never even have to say a word
That’s the best thing that I’ve ever heard
You have left your fingerprint on me

4. Junior High Smiles – Beight

A friend told me about Beight a while ago. I downloaded this song from Beight’s myspace page and then didn’t pay much attention. Then it snuck up on me a few weeks ago. The falsetto during the chorus just makes me smile and think of sunny days in high school just hopelessly crushing on girls in the parking lot after school. Is that weird?

The way the water drips off of you
When we’re running from the bus to school
Makes me wanna run and hide
‘Cause I feel so shy, shy, shy, shy, shy-y-y-y
Run around you-oo-oo
Shy, shy, shy, shy, shy-y-y-y

5. School’s Out – Soul Asylum

This Alice Cooper cover begins Soul Asylum’s After The Flood live album. This is number five because my summer class end next Tuesday and I am so ready to actually enjoy summer instead of stressing about homework.

School’s out completely

Say What Now?

Last night, Kare11 ran a story about the Dixie Chicks' new album and how they are not backing down from their anti-W remarks a few years ago. Dan Wilson and Gary Louris each helped the chicks with some songs for their new albums. Kare11 reporter Scott Goldberg reported this and then somehow made the leap to Bob Dylan to Prince to Doomtree in the span of about 90 seconds. Apparently they are all purveyors of the Minnesotan protest song. The piece was fluff and a nice way to get the two most famous Minnesota musicians on the air. Oddly, Goldberg didn't have any comment from the Dixie Chicks, Louris or Wilson.

He also failed to mention that even though the Chicks have the number 1 country album on the charts, they are recieving no airplay from corporate owned country radio. Goldberg did mention that the chicks may have to cancel some concerts because of slow ticket sales. A fact the chicks themselves deny.

Overall this is a worthless story. There is so much good music in this town that if the television stations wanted to do an interesting story they would have no problem, but I guess they think the soccer mom from Minnetonka may not understand or appreciate that.

Top 5

It's been a busy week so I didn't have time to work a proper Top 5 into shape. Luckily there is the trusty shuffle feature on my iPod. So here is a cheater's edition...

1. The Ashtray Hearts – English

This is one of those local bands that I think should be huge. Their spare, alt-country sound just evokes heartache. Singer-Guitarist Dan Richmond’s and multi-instrumentalists Aaron Schmidt’s voices harmonize so well together that every word sounds absolutely sincere and immediate.

2. Broken Social Scene – Almost Crimes

It is 8:00 in the morning and my brain is not quite up to full speed yet. I can’t think of an accurate way to describe BSS. I will say that sometimes their music just irritates me and then sometimes I just totally dig it. It is very dependent on my ever-swinging moods.

3. Pearl Jam – Don't Believe in Christmas
   

PJ’s fan club single from a few years back. It has a heavy garage sound. I believe it is cover of a 60s garage band. (I think it is the Sonics, but I can’t be sure.)

Don’t believe in Christmas
Don’t believe in Christmas
‘Cause I didn’t get nothin’ last year

4. Stook – Deliverance From Your Eyes

I still need to make it out and see this guy. From the glowing reviews from the HWTS crew, I think the live show is probably something special. He definitely shows his skills on record, but I feel like he is one of those performers that would shine with the energy of performance.

I’ll be back time after time
Lead that straight and narrow line
Doesn’t anybody hear my cries
When I’m begging for deliverance from your eyes

5. Hayden – Woody

This is a short little love song from the vastly underrated Canadian folk singer. There is a live version of this song on Live at Convocation Hall where Hayden explains the origin of the song. He adopted a stray cat and each spring the cat disappears only to return looking disheveled and, “obviously up to no good.”

I am just sitting here
wasting my time
Til you come home
from your escapades
In the backyard
with your friends of late

I would be worried
if you didn't do this
every spring
when the grass grows
and there's birds and trees
and the sun shines
and you don't need me

Black T-shirt

I'd been meaning to share this picture for a few weeks now. This guy was at the Dad in Common CD release show at the Turf Club in May.

Back in Black

I was going to post some pictures from my vacation to Boston and Virginia, but I left my camera at my Mom's house. I should have some photographic evidence by the end of the week.

We went to a Red Sox game, visited my cousin, drank alot and spent a shitload of money in Boston.

We slept, hung out by pools, walked down the beach and enjoyed dinners bought by relatives in Virginia.

One interesting, if slightly uncomfortable incident to relay.

We went to Chicho's in Virginia Beach which is on the strip down by the beach. I used to go there when I would come home and have drinks and party. They have the best pizza in Virginia Beach in my opinion.

So we went there on a Wednesday night and it just happened to be Lifeguard night. They had some heavy metal cranked on the sound system, which I didn't really enjoy at all. But some people who did enjoy the music were the throngs of tanned young lifeguards. I would guess aged 21 or 22. Meanwhile, me and the wife sat there drinking our Corona and eating our pizza feeling very, very old. I think it is the first time I have felt like a tourist in my hometown. An old tourist to boot.

Okay maybe that story was only interesting to me, but aren't blogs all about self fulfillment.

Top 5 - Boston Edition

Real quick:

In honor of my trip to Boston, here is the beantown edition of the Top 5.

1. Dinosaur Jr. – Freak Scene

Of course my favorite band could not escape the Boston Top 5. I don’t know what else I could say about J and company. This is off the album Bug, which was Lou Barlow’s last album with the band.

It’s so fucked I can’t believe it
If there’s a way I wish we’d see it
How could it work, just can’t conceive it
Oh what a mess it is to leave it
Sometimes I don’t thrill you
Sometimes I think I’ll kill you
Just don’t let me fuck up will you
‘Cause when I need a friend it’s still you

2. Pixies – Gigantic

My feelings about the Pixies goes in cycles. Sometimes I listen to them and think they are the greatest band I’ve ever heard. Sometimes I think their music sounds really dated and stale. I have always loved the way that Kim Deal’s and Black Francis’s voices worked together. This song features mostly Deal’s angelic voice.

3. Buffalo Tom – Taillights Fade

Another one of my favorites that happen to hail from Boston. This song is from Let Me Come Over, which is a little rawer than their later work. You can hear the great songwriting still.

4. Morphine – Honey White

I’ve never been a huge fan of Morphine. I know there are people out there who are totally infatuated with this band. I can see how that is possible, I just could never really get into it. There is a great story on First Avenue’s website about the ghost of Mark Sandman haunting the stage. (I can't find it on the website anymore. If anybody knows where to find that story let me know)

5. Blake Babies – Girl in a Box

This album was so cute and full of bubble gummy pop music with a dark edge. No song shows their subtle wit and darkness better than this one in my opinion. The only song on the album Sunburn in which guitarist John Strom sings lead vocals.

And I hope I die in the nighttime
With a beer in my hand
And you by my side
I got a girl in a box
We play games, I’m anything I’m not
But I wanna be, yeah, I wanna be
She’ll be a slut, or a dirtly little whore
Or the girl next door or my bride instead
Or I’ll cut off her head
If I want to

Top 5 - Birthday Edition

1. The Beatles – Here Comes The Sun

The Wife bought me Abbey Road on vinyl for my birthday, which was yesterday. I haven’t really had a chance to listen to it yet because I didn’t get home last night until 9:30. It was quite a birthday, I worked from 7:30 to 4:45 and had school from 6:00 to 9:00, so I didn’t really get to do anything fun.

2. The Hold Steady – Multitude of Casualties

I have this album already on CD, but the wife bought “Separation Sunday” on vinyl as well. It is hard to pick a favorite song on this album. This one popped into my head though: “She said I shipped it out from Boulder/ Packed in coffee grounds and wrapped around in dryer sheets.”

3. Bob Dylan – If Not for You

Continuing the birthday gift related songs, I got a Bob Dylan T-shirt as well. I played this song at my wedding (as well as Such Great Heights by The Postal Service). It was funny because a lot of the people at the wedding had never heard me sing before and were shocked that I could actually pull it off. “If not for you/ babe, I’d stay awake all night/ just waiting for the morning light/ to come shining through.”

4. Fugazi – Nice New Outfit

I didn’t know what song to pick to correlate to my new pair of Chucks. I remember seeing Fugazi when I was, I think, 18. The guys just came out in jeans and plain T-shirts and black Chucks. They just had the white house lights on the whole time, letting only the music and their passion sway the audience. I’m sure there’s gotta be a better song to go with Chucks, but I can’t think of any right now.

5. The Go-Gos – Vacation

The only reason I have this song on here is because I am going on Vacation next Friday. Look for a Boston related Top5 next week before I leave.

New Soul Asylum Song

Perfect Porridge has a link to the new Soul Asylum song, "Stand Up and Be Strong."

I've listened to it a couple times now. I like Pirner's voice. It sounds rough and raw and he sounds emotional. It has the intensity that I thought his solo album lacked. The songs is startling in its positivity. I can't wait to hear it the context of the full album.

Rambling

Some random thoughts on a Tuesday morning that feels like it is still Monday morning.

I have an iPod mini, which holds a little over 1,000 songs. I have way more music than that so that means my iPod is always at capacity. Whenever I get a new CD that I want to listen to on my iPod I have to remove some other songs from the iPod. This process is a lot harder than it sounds. I scroll through the library and try to decide which songs I can live without as if I don't have the CD sitting on a shelf at home. I take this way more personal than I should. It is some sort of guilt for removing a song from the iPod. Weird. I know.

I got Mason Jennings' new album yesterday. I agree with Andrea about the expanded production. I like it. I was dissapointed with the stripped down nature of Jennings' last album, "Use Your Voice," because of its stripped down nature. I still don't think the sound on "Boneclouds" is as lush as "Century Spring" was. That album seemed a lot warmer to me. I'll probably have more thoughts after a couple more listens.

On a personal note, I am taking classes this summer and I am hating it (of course). We are doing a group project in my Document Design class. I hate group projects to begin with and this class only lasts six weeks which is an insanely short amount of time to complete the design project we were assigned. I am also taking an independent study Anthropology class. I thought independent study would be a relaxed pace. No. I have four anthro books to read in about a week and a half in order to answer the first three essay question that are due. I have no idea how I will get this done. Freaking out has commenced.

Top 5

1. The Dad in Common – Bat and The Beehive

These guys are a psychedelic jazzy folky rock band. The got up and played some songs with Mi and L’au when I saw them back in February. I had no idea who they were at the time. Listening to this song on their myspace page makes me hope for good things at their CD release show tonight at the Turf Club.

2. The Replacements – Message to The Boys

While I admit that hearing a new song with the title of The Replacements attached is exciting, but isn’t this the same as any of Paul Westerberg’s solo albums? The song is decent enough, but it is not going to change anybody’s life. I think this reunion of Westerberg and Tommy Stinson gets people thinking about some Replacements shows or maybe a full-fledged Replacements album. That is a lot more exciting than this song. Although I think a new Replacements album or tour is highly unlikely.

3. The Constantines – Draw Us Lines

Who the hell are the Constantines? I don’t know a thing about them, but this song kind of fell into my lap (err, iPod). Are all there songs this amazing? This is an anthemic, feedback-laden rouser. It makes me feel like I can conquer the world (or at least make it through another day).

4. The Fiery Furnaces – Here Comes the Summer

I used to love this song. I don’t anymore. The same things that made me love it; Eleanor’s voice, the backwards guitar effects, the fuzzed out guitar hooks, are the same things that sound like fingernails on a chalkboard to me now.

5. Dinosaur Jr. – Thumb

This is one of my favorite songs by one of my all time favorite bands. I just read that two more Dino Jr. albums will be reissued this year — Green Mind and Where You Been. Although I appreciate reissues, especially for bands that I discovered late, I wish they would sell the reissues as two discs: one disc containing the original album then the second disc containing all the extras. That way a new listener can hear the album as it was originally intended and then go delve into the b-sides, live tracks or whatever the record company decided to add on to the reissue.

An Open Letter to Scott Miller and the Commonwealth

Dear Scott,

What is with all the war folk songs? Okay, I know, our country is at war. I can understand why it would be on your mind. The problem is, well, how do I say this… they’re not very good.

Hang on a second. Let me backtrack to the Turf Club in St. Paul. I must be five or six years ago now. You were opening for the disappointing Kelly Hogan and you stole the show as far as I could tell. It was just you and your guitar and several angry shots of bourbon. You sang songs from “Thus Always to Tyrants,” your first solo album. I think maybe because we are both from Virginia, I felt a connection.

I went to the Electric Fetus the next day and was surprised they had your album stocked. I bought it. I loved it. It was gritty southern folk rock. There were some dirges, some rockers, some honky tonks and some spirituals. It was everything I would want on an album by a guy from my home state. I even found the Civil War songs enjoyable. (Although, I still don’t get the whole southern fascination with the Civil War. Maybe that is why I am a “Northerner” now, a “Yankee.”)

Next came your “Upside Downside” album. I felt this album had a more polished sound, but retained enough of that grit to keep me faithful. (You know that grit I am talking about? Sitting in the humid Virginia sun, your skin oozes sweat that coats your skin evenly and that ooze weighs heavy on the back of your neck and you start to feel worn down. It is a slimy sweat, the consistency of motor oil and when you wipe it away, there is a few moments of relief before your glands recoat the uncovered area.) I thought Amtrak Crescent was a brilliant song, “Well the Amtrak Crescent is a north bound train/ When you can't afford to stay no more in New Orleans/ So I bought the cheapest ticket and I carried my clothes/ And the blood beneath my eyes from a broken nose/ When life goes wrong this train goes on and on.” Red Ball Express however, was a misstep in my opinion. I think when it comes to story songs; they are best left in the past, with Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson and George Jones. That song just didn’t feel authentic to me.

That brings me to the new album, “Citation.” There are just too many of these story songs. Like on Say Ho. Do we really need a three-minute two-step ode to Sam Houston? Or Jody. “I just shipped out and then lickety-split/ Jody’s watching TV on my TV set.” How can you make a song about a wife cheating on you with your best friend while you are at war sound that emotionally vapid?

I’m sorry. It’s not all horseshit. The first half of the album is pretty good. Freedom’s a Stranger is a great coming of age song, “Those drums they shook the speakers/ The bass it shook me to the core/ If the Boss had been a preacher
He could‘ve led us to the lord.” This is the kind of stuff I want more of; the blood and guts and tears, not the “there once was a man so great,” kind of crap.

See that wasn’t so bad. I didn’t even mention you hanging out with those dumbass git’r done guys.

Also, would it kill you to play a show up here again?

Love,

me

re: Dear you,

First of all, what is with this living in darkness crap? You always said flowery stuff like that. Look, you drank just as much, if not more, than I ever did. Sure, I drank, I smoked a little, I kissed some people. There is a fine line between having fun and being out of control. I never even got close to that line. You are always so serious about things. You can have fun and you can say things without it having some enormous hidden meaning. You were always trying to figure out things that didn’t need figuring out.

I’m reading what I have written and I sound angry, but I am not angry. I did love you and I still think about you. You’re right though, an ocean and ten years is an insurmountable distance. I’m glad you wrote. Take care of yourself (and relax).

Dear you,

Has it really been ten years? The last time I saw you it was a Sunday morning when I left Lucky’s Luke. I said goodbye with my eyes from across the room. It was right after all the lights came up to properly illuminate that German dude laying unconscious on the dance floor. He slipped and hit his head on the edge of the concrete step that formed the outer limits of the recessed dance floor. Anyway, that was an awkward morning. I know as well as you why we never kept in touch. We were once so close that an ocean was just too far. Does that make sense? Lucky’s was a bad scene. I remember that. Degenerates of every sort hid in the corners. I don’t live in the corners anymore. I heard that you moved to Hamburg. I heard that you still liked the darkness. But that was years ago.

Top 5

I took last Friday off and sat around the house wishing the rain would stop. It is just like me to extend the wettest weekend of the year. Not all was lost though; I made a Matthew Ryan playlist on my iTunes. It was difficult to shape that playlist down to a manageable number. I started with about 28 and honed it down to 19. Here is the Top 5 of that Top 19.

1. Matthew Ryan – Nails (From “Regret Over the Wires”)
Just last night I saw you creepin’ ‘round
So vacant, so lost, talking too loud
Still, all I need is a little bit of luck
A con that cons and a good haircut
Still, all I need is a little bit of luck
The kind that comes with a good haircut

2. Matthew Ryan – The Little Things (From “Regret Over the Wires”)
Desperate is as desperate does
A little talk I give myself
The little things, the little things
Mean everything

3. Matthew Ryan – Chrome (From “May Day")
It’s not the fact that you walked out that bewilders me
It’s not the sleep that I can’t steal that wires me
It’s not the coffee or the pills
It’s not the space that I can’t fill
That kills me
Well in case you didn’t know I got a heart made of chrome
It’s been dead since it was twisted
And in case you didn’t know I got a heart made of chrome
It’s been burned, but it’s still willing to try
And shine

4. Matthew Ryan with Lucinda Williams – Devastation (from “Concussion”)
Coffee is sweeter, days are sharper
Since I lost her, Since I lost
From the steps of St. Marks cathedral
I watch the steeple stab the clouds
Who’s lonesome now?

5. Matthew Ryan – Sunk (From “East Autumn Grin”)
I used to think
That nothing lasts
But I was wrong
Cause some things last
Like the ache of watching
And letting you sink to
Sunk

Jann Wenner is a sellout

This is a fluff piece about Jann Wenner and Rolling Stone. The reporter, Peter Carlson, and the founder of Rolling Stone magazine, Jann Wenner, talk about how the magazine is better than ever, but the piece reads more like an obituary.

Wenner is a classic example of the idealism of the sixties selling out for money in the eighties. Hippies turned to Yuppies. Now Wenner wants to be relevant again, good luck.

The Answers to your Questions

1. six
2. boogers
3. Wyoming
4. The bumps that form on the back of your neck in the seconds before you are struck by lightning.
5. A 16-bit hexadecimal number which represents the meaning of this blog.

Those Crazy Canucks

Maybe I underestimated Avril Lavigne.

A group of Canadian artists formed the Canadian Music Creator Coalition in response to what they feel is misrepresentation by the major labels. Apparently some musicians up there in the north realized that suing music fans for listening to downloaded music and then bellyaching about slumping record sales doesn't make sense. The major labels who claim to be protecting their artists just got bitch slapped by those artists. Those canucks realize that the major labels are just trying to protect their dinosaur of a business model so they can protect their bank accounts.

Included in the new organization are artists such as Avril Lavigne, Sarah McLachlan and Broken Social Scene. In a related event, Celene Dion asked, "What's an Internet?"

Top 5

1. Matthew Ryan – Irrelevant
   

It is no secret that Matthew Ryan is one of my favorite artists ever. (And that is not hyperbole) “Irrelevant” is a classic desperate, dark and depressing Matthew Ryan song off his debut album, Mayday.

There’s only one light on in the house

And that’s the light up in the hallway

Shining off the back of my head

And I’m concentrating hard

On the cigarette to the ashtray

And the ashtray back to my lips

So I lean up from my easy chair

I rub my three-day beard

Give a thousand-yard stare

As I recall all the time and the money

We spent

Before I became irrelevant

2. Willie Nelson – Crazy

I’ve been thinking about Willie for two reasons. 1) I went to Glueks last night and caught the last hour and a half of Mary Lucia’s live broadcast. When I think of Lucia, I think of her playing Willie Nelson’s version of “The Rainbow Connection.” 2) On Sunday night at the 331 Club, there will be a Willie Nelson tribute with a ton of artists participating.

I have always liked Willie’s version of this song better than Patsy Cline’s. I prefer the raw, shaky voice as opposed to Cline’s beautiful instrument. That is not a knock on the supreme vocal talent of Patsy Cline. It’s just that I hear more emotion and passion in Willie’s trembling voice.

3. Rolling Stones – Can’t You Hear Me Knocking

I was just listening to Sticky Fingers. I always think of this song as the song after “Wild Horses.” I actually had to go look at the name, but the name doesn’t matter, what matters is the rocking guitars and that kind of boogie sex rock that the Rolling Stones are so good at creating.

4. The Dames – Taiwan

I went to Grumpy’s downtown recently and for the first time I didn’t play the jukebox. Usually when I am there, I will play a Pixies song, a Pavement song and this song by The Dames. It is too bad the Dames called it quits because they were one of the few acts that could possibly define themselves as metal that I liked.

5. Archers of Loaf – Harnessed in Slums

At Glueks last night, I met up with one of my oldest friends. I knew this guy in Germany in the early nineties. I started thinking about those days and how much I absolutely loved this band. (I still love this band)

They were the best at that angular bright dual guitar attack. I regret that I never got to see them live, but as I said I spent those few years in a small town in Germany, which didn’t make many touring band’s itinerary.

They did play once at the Entry after I moved to Minneapolis. I though about going, but I can’t remember why I didn’t. Then they broke up before they toured again. Sad.

New look

I am playing with new templates. The colors aren't exactly the ones I want, but I am going to work on it. For now, I have to go and do some real work.

Best of what?

Apparently City Pages' readers feel that Dazy Head Mazy is the best band in the Twin Cities.

Really?

Are you sure?

I didn't even know they were still around. It's not that I don't doubt that they are extremely popular. It's just that I don't think they are that popular with City Pages' demographic.

undescribable disdain

I bet at the front entrance to the clear channel radio complex there is a picture of Jack Sparks with a caption that says, "If you see this man, press the red panic button under the desk."

I love that Sparks is so passionate about music. I think I know what he is feeling when his veins bulge from the sides of his neck as he discusses the ways Mick Anselmo is ruining country music. It is the same rage I feel inside when I am talking to a user on the phone and trying to get them to right-click on an icon and they start babbling on about some stupid unrelated thing that is happening. See. I can't even describe my rage accurately. I am wasting time writing this post because I have two support calls to make that I know are going to put me in a fould mood for the rest of the day.

Okay. Here goes. Pinch my nose and just dive in. I need a new job...

Roller Coaster Race Car Rock 'n' Roll Blue Jeans

I went out to the Hex on Saturday to cover the Stingray Green CD release show. I just wasn’t feeling rock and roll that night. I sometimes get a really bad anxious feeling when I am out. I get that roller coaster stomach where your guts kinda shake and flutter and there is a slight rush of endorphins to the head. This is sometimes thrilling, but sometimes scary. Anyway, I just didn’t want to be around all these people having a good time. I left halfway through the last band’s set just to spend the 15 minutes it takes to get home, alone.

You know I started the Friday Top 5 thing in homage to Jim Walsh’s Monday top 20. Because he is brilliant, he now is doing themed lists complete with pictures. My favorite one is number 26, "Satan, Your Kingdom Must Come Down," by Uncle Tupelo, alongside a picture of President W.

Better spirits later.

Top 5

It’s been a busy week for me. I had a fifteen-page paper and a presentation due on Wednesday about the ACLU. I have a few more articles to finish up for a news writing class I am taking and then I am done for the semester. Unfortunately, I won’t get much of a break. I am taking three classes this summer and in the fall. Plus, I may be taking on a bigger role at the school paper, The Metropolitan. (This is still up in the air at this point.)

I knew I would rely on this trick eventually, but I didn’t think it would be only few short weeks into this top 5 nonsense. Here it is: the next 5 songs that play randomly on my iPod.

1. P.O.S. is Ruining My Life – P.O.S.

So just breathe and just breathe in and out
You’ll feel a whole lot better
Close your eyes and you’ll see
That if you can’t see them
Then they can’t see you
Just
Close your eyes

2. 405 – Death Cab for Cutie

I love the line, “Leave your bad habits underneath the patio.” I think they played with Franz Ferdinand (Zzzzz!) last night. HWTS should have a review shortly. I had a long drunken discussion about DCFC with a friend last weekend. I can’t remember the details (due to the drunken part of the conversation) but I know he was telling me that Plans is a lot better than I give it credit for. I don’t know if I agree with that no matter my level of sobriety.

3. So Pretty – Kid Dakota

What can I say… I am a sucker for these dark depressing indie rock songs. I remember when I first saw Kid Dakota; I thought it was like nothing I’d ever seen before. I still feel that way about this first EP.

4. Sweet Caroline – Neil Diamond

Damnit. I knew this random iPod thing was going to embarrass me. Yes. I like Neil Diamond. If you can get past the cheese factor, the man is a great songwriter.

5. Winners Never Quit – Pedro the Lion

I am not really a fan of Pedro. I bought this one album a few years ago and I liked it. Then I saw him live and it just totally ruined his music for me. I have never been bored to numbness at the Entry before or since. I do like this song though.

Top 5

1. Mary – Langhorne Slim

After seeing Mr. Slim last weekend I finally get it. The show featured Slim and the Memphis band Lucero. I had a feeling that I would like Lucero, but I was ambivalent about Slim.

After seeing Langhorne Slim live though, I have a different opinion. He puts on a raucous and fun show. Talented enough to remake the songs live, weird and scary enough to keep you guessing what was going to happen next.

2. Sister Jack – Spoon

Spoon is one of those bands that when I finally heard them, I thought, “Why haven’t I been listening to them all along.” I like this song because of the line, “I was on the outside looking in/ I was in a dropped-D metal band we called requiem.”

I was once in a dropped-D metal band and it brings back those memories. (Good memories)

3. Styrofoam Plates – Death Cab for Cutie

I couldn’t even listen to this song for about a year after my Dad died. I can relate to some of the things in this song, and I feel very guilty about that.

4. We 3 – Soul Asylum

This is one of my favorite Soul Asylum songs. I have Soul Asylum on the brain this week. They played this past Wednesday at the Fine Line, and there is a Rock for Karl benefit tonight at the Entry.

5. Don’t be careful with your love – Jim Walsh

I have a bit of a man crush on Jim Walsh. Just because he is a brilliant writer and this is a funny, sweet song.

Music journalism?

I know it's a very popular TV show, but does American Idol deserve articles from a local music journalist? I know there are many people addicted to the show. I know there are even people whom I would consider hardcore music fans that enjoy the show. But I think most anybody would draw a definitive line between entertainment value and artistic merit.

When record companies whine about shrinking profits, do they realize what the idolization of pop music is doing to their bottom line?

The encouragement and subsequent rewards of the soulless, bubble-headed singers promotes karoake puppets.

3 years

Three years ago, I wasn’t surprised.

The battle was long, for you especially, but for us also.

The battle was un-winnable.

So, here it is. Three years since you’ve gone.

The anniversary kind of snuck up on me this year. I was walking down the hall here at work, and like a poison dart to my brain; your face appeared. Then I heard your voice in my head. Then all my thoughts have been black since.

I remember the night I flew back to Virginia. I slept in the office that you had downstairs. You called it an office, but NASCAR paraphernalia filled each square inch of that room. It was your “racing room.” That was an uncomfortable night. Every time I opened my eyes I would see Jeff Gordon, then I would think of you. Every time I closed my eyes, I swear I could hear you talking in the kitchen. You would say, “Hey there!” just like you always did when you saw me.

Here it is. Three years later. I can still hear you. Sometimes I hear myself say something like, “Hey there!” Sometimes I’ll hear myself say that, or something equally insignificant, and I’ll…

Well...

I’ll think of you.

Because that is all I can do.

I miss you Dad.

Have fun play-humping your guitar player tonight you fucking clown...

Jack Sparks is so awesome.

A passionate "Fuck You" to a poster boy of poseur country music.

Top 5

1. Manifesto – Valet
After writing this, I had this song in my head for the rest of the day.

2. At my job – Dead Kennedys
This is the way I feel some days when I am stuck in my gray “veal fattening pen.” Jello Biafra’s snide, sarcastic singing delivered with a clockwork beat and droning guitars.

I’m working at my job
I’m so happy
More boring by the day
But they pay me

3. What is Truth – Johnny Cash
A coming of age storytelling song in that sing/speak delivery that Mr. Cash employs sometimes. I found this song on the Johnny Cash box set, the first disc of which contains 27 songs. This song came on my iPod and the first verse stuck with me for some reason.

The old man turned off the radio
Said where did all of the old songs go
Kids sure play funny music these days
And they play it in the strangest ways
Said it looks to me like they’ve all gone wild
It was peaceful back when I was a child
Well man could it be that the girls and boys
Are trying to be heard above your noise

4. Bikeriders – Lucero
I just watched “If I Should Fall from Grace” about Shane MacGowan and the Pogues. An excellent look at MacGowan and the way he has decided to live with his demons and the people around him have accepted his demons.
I just bought this Lucero disc because I am covering the show Saturday at the Triple Rock. I swear this song sounds exactly like a Pogues song.

5. Break My Heart – Malcolm Middleton
I was considering the Arab Strap show last weekend, but I ended up not leaving the house too much thanks to a mountain of schoolwork. It did make me think of the solo album by Malcolm Middleton (one-half of the strap). I thought this album was brilliant and severely underappreciated. A lot more poppy than the typical Arab Strap album, but the lyrics are still mostly about chicks and drinking though.

You’re gonna break my heart I know it
But if you don’t
You’re gonna break my run of happiness
And destroy my career
I’d rather feel full than to sing these shit songs
I’ll sell my guitar and never look back

Music Industry, Schmusic Schmindustry

This is my opinion. If you are involved in promoting artist’s creations, shouldn’t you be concerned with that art and not the money that art can put in you and your companies bank accounts?

Three stories that point to innovative artist marketing tools, the return of the single as a viable commodity and the music industry trying to stop the world from turning.

British singer Sandi Thom hosted 21 concerts in her basement which were broadcast on her website. This stunt helped her garner a record deal with Sony. Here is where my skeptical and cynical side comes in. I think that maybe she wasn’t struggling as much as her and her manager would like you to believe. This reeks of a publicity stunt for her new label. I could be wrong though. I think either way it is a cool story. I like the idea of it, maybe this will launch a myspace concert series where we can watch 16-year-old suburban kids play Metallica covers in their parents basement.

A single by Gnarls Barkley hit number one on the British charts. What makes this newsworthy (or blogworthy)? The song “Crazy” has not been released on an album yet, and in fact, has not been released in any physical form. This song exists exclusively as a download. This is the first strictly digital song to reach this milestone.

Finally, the RIAA says that importing songs from a CD into iTunes violates the “fair use” copyright laws. The RIAA doesn't want people to listen to music apparently.

...when inertia grabs the whole damn band.

“What do you want to do?”
When I say I am working on a writing degree, most people ask this question. I say, “Write!”
This week someone asked me why I write about music. All this got me thinking…

I write because I enjoy the process of writing. I like the pressure of trying to find the perfect word and saying it in the perfect way to coax out a bit of emotion in a sentence. I like rearranging the words on the page to make them do slightly different things. This is the reason I write anything.

I can readily admit that I am insecure about my writing talent. Anytime someone compliments me I feel awkward and lose the words to thank that person for reading. I am still trying to find my voice as a writer.

When I was 10, I found my brother’s albums. There was a couple of Rush albums and Synchronicity by The Police. I listened to those albums everyday and memorized the words and I would sing along in the living room before anybody else got home. It was my secret. I have been obsessed with music ever since.

I moved to Minneapolis 14 years later and started a band. I started going to all these clubs and I would see some amazing local bands. They weren’t always good, but they always interested me. Where I grew up, local bands played backyard barbecues, and if they got really lucky they would get a gig at some beach bar, but those gigs came far and few between. Any beach bar that hosted local bands usually, for some reason unbeknownst to me, wouldn’t last long. So, here in the Twin Cities, to see these young bands, and be in a young band that could gig every week in great clubs, even legendary clubs was something special to me.

My band disappeared, but my love for local music has not. I love seeing a band on the stage of the Entry thinking, “Holy shit. This is it!” And they are right: This is “it.” I never grow tired of seeing bands pouring their guts out on the stage, even if it is for 10 people on a Tuesday night.

I know that I would like to be able to pay my bills by writing. I know that is not happening quite yet. My goal isn’t necessarily to be a music writer, but if I am put on the spot, that is what I know. I have in interest in politics, in culture, in human-interest stories. But I don’t have the passion for anything but music. Music is what I think about constantly, music is the thing that I can talk about for hours. I can be ambivalent about most any other topic, but when it comes to music, I am going to have an opinion. I guess that is why my fledgling writing career has gravitated towards music. This is my manifesto.

Today should be a national holiday. Baseball opener. I have sat, in previous years, in front of my TV for 12 hours of baseball. This year I am at work; sweating it out in the gray lifeless cubicles of corporate America, instead of sweating it out on my couch with a cold beer.

Maybe next year I can return to the dream.

The real season starts tomorrow with the Minnesota Twins.

Top 5 for Friday March, 31 2006

I’m stealing a bit from the walshfiles. I can’t quite do 20 songs a week, so let’s start with five.

1.Between Us to Hold – Hayden: A soft ballad from this underrated Canadian songwriter. I’ve been a fan for years, but I just recently purchased the album, “The Closer I get” on which this song appears. When I first got it, I drove around in my truck in the snow with this song repeating in the CD player.

I held your arm as you hit the strings
I pressed your fingers down
and started to sing

2.Cold Rusty Shiver – The Rockford Mules: My new local band crush. If I were a writer with influence in this town, I would try my best to make these guys known. I will try anyway. I love the little staccato slide part in the bridge.

3.Eyeliner Blues – High on Stress: Another new local band crush of mine. When I close my eyes and listen to their album Moonlight Girls, I picture Nordeast, Minneapolis and dive bars: two of my favorite things. I love any song that can deftly name check Keith Richards and the Ashtray Hearts.

4.New Drink For The Old Drunk – Crooked Fingers: A frenetic violin punctuates this march song for aging hipsters. I am still on the fence about Crooked Fingers. I think I am still bitter that I never once saw the great Archers of Loaf in concert. I still have unresolved feelings for the Archers, so I can’t quite let Eric Bachmann move on. I am glad, though, that he moved on in an unforeseeable direction. I enjoy this carnival/ show tune/ folk incarnation much more than I would have an Archers style noise punk continuation.

5.On My Own – The Winter Blanket: A haunting, spare song desperately sung by Stephanie Davila. A perfect soundtrack for a dark room and a cold martini on chilly winter night.

Your perilous prescription list
The problem’s still left unknown
Fighting against
My own guilt
And I can’t do this on my own
If you have
To go------
I pray
You’ll come back home
Home--------

Two Shows Last Week

I have two reviews that went up recently. Story of the Sea and The Rockford Mules.

The Mules are kickass.

That is all for now.

Club Underground

I went to Club Underground for the first time this past weekend. That place is a really unique venue.

When you walk in the upstairs, which is the Spring Steet Bar and Grill, it looks like the typical old-school NE bar. That is, the people there look like they belong there on that barstool, playing those pulltabs and drinking those Michelob Golden Lights. That is why I love NE.

But coming up from a concrete staircase in the corner you can hear the machine gun drumming rising up from the basement.

Walking into Club Underground it looks like it could easily be a VFW meeting place or a venue for a fundraising church bingo game.

The sound is surprisingly good in there. I think it has to do with the low ceilings. There is not a lot of room for sound to bounce around.

I wrote in my notes for the show I was reviewing, "Punk Rock Rumpus Room."

Ways not to impress audience members at your Turf Club show

I saw a band last night from Baltimore. They weren’t that good, but that is not my point.

I don’t know if it was the Turf Club’s fault or this band, but I walked in at 10 p.m. and watched them setting up their equipment. I wondered if it was the second band setting up. No. It was the first band just getting around to setting up at 10 p.m. on a Tuesday night.

They went through a pretty drawn out sound check. These guys are on tour, I know they have sound checked before, so I don’t know why they just seemed so confused about the whole process. It took them a half hour to finish saying, ‘OK. A little more vocals if you can… If you could give me more vocals that would be nice, but if you can’t that’s OK. Alright, a little less vocals now.”

Obviously exhausted from that grueling sound check experience the band sat at a table in front and smoked cigarettes for the next half hour. Finally, at 11 they start playing. I won’t go into the performance, I didn’t care for it, but they would have had to jump through burning hoops of fire to impress me at that point.

So, here is the kicker to the whole story: They are off the stage by 11:25.

Here is the final score:
Sound check: 30 minutes
Performance: 25 minutes

Don't call it a comeback

...actually you can call it a comeback.

I have been moderately busy for the last year (well since I stopped blogging in August). Look at the "recent writing" links to the right for a smattering of what I have been up to lately. Oh, and I got married too.

So, this reincarnation of GUTTGL will feature some of the haphazardly written fiction and essays I used to do, but will also feature more music and typical "bloggy" type posts.

I am reviewing two shows this week for How Was The Show. Story of the Sea at the Turf Club on Tuesday and The Rockford Mules at Club Underground on Saturday.

Stay tuned for that and much more.

State of the Union

I have been doing this blog for a year now. I didn't know what I could or would do with this space when I started, but it turned into a way to instantly publish the writing I do in my free time. I don't really know if I will keep it up. When I started I had the idea of posting at least one piece a week. That schedule, although it seems light, has been difficult lately for me to keep up with. My writing schedule is non-existent these days. We'll see if I shut it down for good, but I am definitely going to take a break for a while.

An Open Letter to J Mascis

I wish I could say it was me and not you, or it was you and not me, but it is both of us J. This is not the ‘90s anymore, god those were times weren’t they. Those were times.

I remember vividly riding my skateboard around Denver with a tape of Green Mind playing through my headphones. And I remember driving around my old hometown of Virginia Beach greeting all the ghosts, which drove me away originally, with Sludgefeast as my soundtrack.

I’m waiting… Please come back

I remember Europe with freak scene on every mixtape I made. And when my heart was broken I wrote and re-wrote in my notebook your words to Thumb.

There never really is a good time

There’s always nothin’ much to say

I’m pretty good, not doing bad

If I’m getting’ up most everyday

I bought fossils three times because I kept wearing out the tape. I am sorry that my ex-girlfriend destroyed the Little Fury Things vinyl I owned. Believe me, I am just as upset about that as anybody.

Then there was the last time J; The Boathouse, Norfolk, VA. We had made it through the early nineties intact. It seems. Do you remember Mike smoking a whole pack of cigarettes on stage? Crazy. Remember your eight-minute guitar solo on Start Choppin’? You were, and are, the only person with whom I would sit through an eight-minute guitar solo without rolling my eyes J.

Those were our days J. We owned them. That was ten years ago now. I still love you. I still have that issue of Spin with you on the cover. I still pull it out and read it. I still make castles out of my mashed potatoes. However; I’ve given up the plastic dinosaurs.

Look, my point is that it is now 2005. I bet your upcoming concert is going to rock. I would get all sweaty and passionate, that is, if I were going to be there. Like I have said, I still love you, but I love you in 1995. I don’t want to see you go through the motions pretending to still feel that nineties angst, but really just cashing in.

No, no, no…. Look.

Don’t get upset.

Look, I didn’t even mention how you are playing at the Clear Channel bat-cave, The Quest.

If you were still involved, if you still cared, you’d be touching the kids from the stage of the Triple Rock or First Ave, but hey, I’m not blaming you. You’re not getting any younger. You have bills to pay. All I am saying is I’ll be home thinking of you, but I can’t be with you anymore J.

Here is where our paths split. Keep you chin up, we’ll always have The Boathouse and we’ll always have Keep The Glove.

The song of Carolann

Carolann’s roots are showing. Her bottle blond is three weeks old. She presently has her hair in a ponytail that tickles the base of her neck when she tilts her head back to empty a bit more of the Boone’s Farm strawberry wine down her raw throat. It is three in the afternoon on a Tuesday and she is in her black Mazda Protégé 5, which is parked on 42^nd Ave. North where it intersects the parkway.

She parked here this morning waiting for a man. She is playing amateur detective. Joe Lee left her house in the waning moments of a 72-hour marathon of fucking, drinking, smoking, and snorting.

Carolann had been spurned; disrespected as woman the way she saw it. Carolann is not a woman who takes insult easily.

She knew Joe Lee passed this way often and she hoped to find out what he does during the day. She hoped to find demons to hold above him. She hoped to prove she is, in fact, better than him, despite what he shouted towards her on a hazy weekend morning.

The dark circles under her gray eyes have been permanent badges since the first night she snorted crystal meth. She went to drug counseling once, a year into her addiction. She heard herself say, “The first time is so fucking good, it is orgasmic. I felt myself wet all over. Every time I’ve done meth since I’ve been trying to reach that height again.”

This was a lucidity and deepness of thought she reached then, but never before and not since.

The late afternoon sun beared down and her skin cooked; ashen, wrinkled, and used. Her twenty-five year old body looked like a forty-five year old trailer park grandmother’s.

Space

There was a night full of stars and consequences. The Hale-Bopp comet shone faintly above our heads as we wrestled each other out of our clothes. The grass was damp and we lay naked looking at the comet. Speaking nothing between us, we were afraid of the promises we couldn’t make. We made an unspoken promise to not make promises.

My Karl Mueller Story

Amsterdam before noon always reminds of the feeling you have when you wake up and find your house trashed and people sleeping on your couch the night after a great party. There is gray haze that lifts around noon, when people start to think about doing whatever it is they do, again. I am sure there are people in Amsterdam who go to work in the morning and go home to their families at night. I’ve never seen those Dutch people; then again, I don’t go looking for them.

Riding the train in from Amersfoort with my friend Ryan and his sister Andrea my stomach is spinning and contorting inside my torso. I try to point my green nauseous head towards the empty seats in front of me and just focus on a single spot and wait out the ride.

We walk from the train station towards where we think the Bulldog is. Ryan and I desperately need something to fill our legs with blood again. We buy a couple tall cans of beer from a small, dirty store and find some chairs set out in front of a café that has not opened yet. It is 10:30 in the morning and the three of us discuss what to do for the day. Ryan and I are nursing our morning beer and Andy is looking at us with bewilderment.

A giant is walking down the street towards where we are sitting. He is over six feet tall and at least 250 pounds. He has wild unkempt hair like licking flames of the sun trying to escape his skull. He has a beard and wears dirty, grungy clothes: this is 1994. He is obviously American and he walks with determination holding a stack of green postcard size paper. As he walks by the table where we sit he lays one sheet of the green paper down. We all watch him walk away and then our eyes float toward the green piece of paper. We, in unison, look at the paper, look at each other, and then back at the paper.

“Does that say what I think it does?” I ask.

“Yeah. Holy Shit!” Ryan exclaims.

Printed on the paper was a picture of four scruffy Minnesota grunge guys and in print it said: SOUL ASYLUM / The Paradiso / Amsterdam.

Ten hours later the three of us are drinking warm German beer and smoking cigarettes inside a beautiful converted church with stain glass windows and elaborate, articulate woodwork. We stand stage right directly in front of where the bass player is set up.

The band walks out and fills the church with feedback and the crowd goes silent, attentive, and ready to erupt. Just when the feedback reaches such intensity that you swear you can actually hear your heart vibrating sympathetic tones: the band falls into Somebody to Shove.

This is the first of many times I would see Soul Asylum perform. They rock for two hours and the Dutch kids are flying all over the place. This is the politest moshing and stage-diving I have ever seen. After the final encore, there is a scramble for anything left on the stage such as set lists and picks and drumsticks. Failing to procure any of that stuff, Ryan finds Karl Mueller’s can of Heineken, still one-third full. The three of us finish it off and Ryan carries it with him on the train back to Amersfoort.

He proudly displayed that can in his dorm room until the day we left Europe. There were many nights listening to Put the Bone In on repeat and singing along, drunkenly, merrily.

The music scene of Minneapolis was one of the reasons I moved to Minneapolis three years later. I can’t make any grand conclusions about Karl’s life. I can’t make any knowledgeable statements about what Karl Mueller meant to the scene. However, I can say that Soul Asylum is legendary in this town and when I think of Soul Asylum, I think of that empty green Heineken can carried from continent to continent and from coast to coast. I remember my first weekend in Minnesota, standing for hours in the cold outside the 400 bar, waiting to see them play. I remember the Thanksgiving eve shows and walking home to Loring Park drunk as hell and being hung-over as I tried to keep the turkey and stuffing down the next day. These are tremendous memories for me. Thank you Soul Asylum for being there, and thanks for the beer Karl.

His Barstool of Choice (revisited)

Larry had been frequenting his pub of choice, The Shamrock, since he moved to Fridley last summer. It was the kind of establishment where mullets, white tennis shoes, and denim were accepted and encouraged. The first time he walked into the bar, Motorhead was blasting from the jukebox. Larry knew he had found a home.

He started coming twice a week, then three or four times a week, and eventually he was there every night. Larry always sat in the same place: at the near end of the rectangular bar, at the first barstool by the wall directly in front of the taps. He drank Michelob Golden Light and smoked Marlboro reds. Frank the Bartender, still though, could never remember. Frank the Bartender knew the other regulars and their preferences, but when it came to Larry, Frank the Bartender never seemed to remember him from one night to the next. Looking and feeling unremarkable his whole life, Larry was used to this. He took pride in his anonymity.

The Shamrock was a local’s kind of place. Everyone knew each other, even if they didn’t necessarily speak to each other. It was a comfortable domain.

Then one night things changed in a peculiar way. A beautiful man walked through the door to the tune of Thin Lizzy’s “The Boys Are Back in Town.” The man had dark, wavy, and slightly greasy, shoulder-length hair and smooth unwrinkled skin. His brilliant green eyes immediately commanded attention. Larry would not normally call a man beautiful, but that is the word that immediately came to the front of his brain. The man was with two squirrelly looking men. They came in, sat in a corner booth and kept to themselves until closing time. They were drinking Guinness and smoking American Spirit cigarettes. All the regulars went about their routine: shooting stick, playing pinball, and pumping quarters into the jukebox for Motorhead, all the while, keeping one suspicious eye on that corner booth.

The next night, all the regulars were there plus the beautiful man and his friends. Then something odd happened: two young, thin, blonde girls opened the front door. They apprehensively scanned all the bodies in the building until their search found its aim. Once their eyes locked on to the beautiful man’s they strolled in as casually as two giddy blondes could. They sat at the booth adjacent to the beautiful man and his squirrelly entourage and ordered a couple shots of courage.

Subsequent nights followed the same pattern. Within a week, the place was packed nightly with young women trying their luck at wooing the beautiful man. Larry sat at his barstool of choice, with his back to the front door, trying to glean insight from the bar chatter. Apparently, the beautiful man was a film actor. Larry heard the man’s name was Colin Farrell. Larry had never heard of him.

After a month, The Shamrock had turned into an MTV-spring break-girls gone wild kind of place — tanned young ladies baring their boobs in tabletop dances; Frank the Bartender furiously scanning his bartenders guide to find recipes for exotic mixed drinks; Colin sitting quietly in the corner; unfazed.

It was on one of these awkward nights that Helena stepped into The Shamrock to the tune of Motley Crue’s “Girls, Girls, Girls.” She, not unlike all the girls who walked into the bar, looked nervously around with her eyes darting from jean jacket to table-dance to jean jacket trying to find the reason she came in. Helena was wearing a plunging, black V-neck shirt with slight lace around the fringes, tight white jeans, and black sandals. Her straight blond hair shone through the smoke and darkness of the bar.

Helena found the empty barstool to the right of Larry and sat slowly and carefully. She looked at Larry and then dug a picture out of her pocket and studied the young man in the picture and then Larry and then the picture. She did this dance until she was sure.

Helena crossed her legs and pointed them at Larry. She stared into the side of his stubbled face trying to will his attention. After several minutes of failing to capture his eyes, she coughed slightly and cleared her throat; Larry still did not turn towards her. Helena uncrossed her legs, took a deep breath, then spoke nervously, but clearly, “You look just like your brother.” Larry’s heart leapt into his throat and his palms began to sweat. He wished, oh God he wished, that he were anywhere but right here at this exact moment. He started to turn towards Helena, but caught himself and instead focused on a spot just below the Miller High Life tap in front of him.

“I wasn’t sure how… I mean… I knew it was you… right when I saw you.” Helena’s voice cracked, but she was losing her inhibition. She was gaining confidence. “I knew it was you.”

It had been three years since Larry had seen his brother Thomas. It had been three years since anybody had seen Thomas. It was right after Larry had run away from home for what would be the last time. Thomas had borrowed his new girlfriend Helena’s car and drove around trying to find Larry. It was raining and the interstate was a slip-n-slide. From what Larry imagined it was broken glass and bent metal and the jaws-of-life and the helicopter flying Thomas quickly to the doctors that would tell Larry’s mother the news. Larry was not allowed to go to Thomas’s funeral. Larry has not spoken to his mother for three years. He has not spoken of Thomas for just as long.

“I knew I would find you someday,” Helena said. “Because Tommy never did, but also, I wanted to see Tommy in you. I miss him. I can see him right here, in you.”

Larry drank his Michelob in big gulps and then inhaled slowly, but deeply from the Marlboro attached to his lips. He looked at Helena with fright and anger and with red in his eyes. He looked at her as if she was a ghost. He saw Thomas in her as well. He couldn’t think of anything to say, he just had swirling thoughts in his head; they were colliding and destroying each other before any thought could be finished.

“I took this picture the morning Tommy died. This is him: forever seventeen.” Helena said, a little less assured now. She had dreamed of finding Larry, but now that she had him, she was unsure of what she needed from him. She felt sick and the noxious smoke and the boozy body-odor of the packed bar traveled through her nose and down her throat stirring up her stomach acid. “Can I see the picture?” Larry asked quietly.

“I have never seen this picture before, it’s weird, ya know?” Larry’s eyebrows dipped down towards his nose causing his eyes to squint slightly, his lips got tight as if trying to hold his tongue and his teeth in place. “It’s funny to see a picture of him I haven’t seen before. It’s like another second of his life I get to share. It’s like he lived a second longer.” Larry tried to find the right words to make sense to Helena, and to make sense to himself. Larry looked back down at the picture and ran his fingers through his unwashed hair. Larry opened his relaxed his jaw and parted his lips to speak, but Helena, now green with nausea said frantically, “I’ve got to go Larry, maybe I’ll see you again.” She put the picture back in her pocket, stumbled quickly out the door, and vomited on the street in the space between the curb and the wheel of a Ford F-150 pickup truck.

Just then, and just as Billy Joel’s ”Piano Man” ended, a bright light appeared, shining through the shaded windows up front. It was yellow like the sun parked on the street outside. Without exception, every head in The Shamrock turned towards the entrance in anticipation. The chatter silenced; the jukebox was stuck in the space between songs; the cue balls were waiting to be struck; the pinballs were waiting to be launched into orbit. The light could have held the bar hostage forever, but instead, faded, and just as mysteriously, the cacophony of the barroom restarted.

It was a couple days before Larry made it back to The Shamrock. He had spent those days in his dark apartment lying in bed listening to the classic rock station and writing letters to his dead brother. They all began with, “I am sorry….” Larry walked in to the silent smattering of locals, the actor stopped showing up and the young firm princesses stopped showing up as well. It was back to just the regulars and the place seemed barren. Larry walked, with his head down, to his barstool of choice and pulled the stool to his right close by. He motioned to Frank the Bartender and ordered a Guinness and a pack of American Spirit cigarettes.

Fading Out

The light above you is flickering fluorescent rhythms on your head

The doctor’s gray hair and deep, wrinkled eyes give you a feeling

Of hope and trust. He pulls out diagrams of your anatomy and points

To the parts that are living death,

The parts they will pry from your collapsing chest.

The doctor can tell you what it takes to live,

But his somber stare

Falls to the floor when you ask,

“What is it like to die?”

I was in the car when you called and

I told you what they ripped from me

I tried to make it easy. I said the fight is not all in your fists

It is in your will and your soul and your guts

I told you to wake up each day with faith and to be

The person you and I always wished you’d be

I said, “Try it. Nothing will take away your courage; your mind;

Your you.”

I said all that in the spaces between silences and sobs. It is not

In our nature to cry, especially not to each other.

I said all that while in a daze.

I thought later, that what I meant to say was, “It’s like a swarm of a million

Black bees, aiming their death upon the body; your city.”

Then later after they took your lung, and shortly before God

Reclaimed your body; There was the last call.

I was in a dusty, downtown apartment and you were prone

In that hospital bed they moved into the house a half a country away.

And you spoke through oxygen tubes with what was left of your mind.

You were fading out over the telephone. You

Managed to breathe softly to me, “Son.

You were wrong. There is nothing Cancer Can’t take From you.”

Time to Spare

All the smokers are packed behind the glass of the only smoker-friendly restaurant in St. Louis’ Lambert airport. There is a cloud that hovers in the entranceway. I am in a well-lit, non-smoking bar across the concourse. I am sitting on my barstool with by carry-on bag at my feet staring into a giant mug of beer. I am the single patron seated in the middle of a long row of well-used barstools. If I look straight ahead, there is a mirror behind the hanging glasses and the waiting bottles. If I look straight ahead, I can see the stubble on my face, and red in my eyes, and cloud that must be hanging above me. If I look straight ahead I can see a picture of him, but I look down.

I wait for a flight I would rather not take.

On the other side of that flight there is family and tears and a funeral. There is a casket in some dark back room of a funeral home with a body that used to be a man that is my father.

For now, I run my fingers along the base of the beer mug. The water condensation from the cold beer is making a mess of the napkin underneath the mug. I make a wet ball from the napkin and roll it towards the back of the bar where it stops just short of the edge and quivers and stops. I study the moisture on my fingers. I rub my right thumb and right index finger together to create friction and I hear a faint squeaking sound.

I think of a Sunday afternoon two weeks ago when I dialed his number for last time. I didn’t really know what to say to make him feel better. I think he knew it was the last time to say something special, but his condition would not allow him to make much sense at all.

The bartender lures me out of my own head and back to the present when he asks if I need another beer. I say, “Definitely.” A luxurious cacophony swirls around me: kids screaming, workers laughing, couples fighting, and couples reconciling. There is a basketball game on the TV above the bar. There is a smell of beer and bad airport food. “Why are airport bars so bright?” I wonder to myself. At that moment, the lights dim slightly and a neon Bacardi sign casts an orange glow across my face. I scoot my barstool closer so my chest presses against the bar. The clock on my cellphone says I have thirty-five minutes to go.

The bartender is a wrinkled man with gray thinning hair. With a slow gait, he approaches with another beverage for me. I dig in my pocket for a wadded collection of ones and fives. I give him cash, he gives me beer, and we make our exchange silently. He knocks twice on the bar to signal his thanks and walks away with the same slow amble.

I think of flying in low over the water with the lights of Norfolk shining in my eyes. I imagine the silent drive that will follow and walking into a house haunted by the echoes of his voice still reverberating, his hands still hovering there.

I am joined at my left by an older woman with a bad blonde wig, shiny leather skin, and aqua-blue eye shadow that looks like it was applied with a roller. She smells of gingerbread cookies and whiskey. She orders a double Jack Daniels on the rocks. She catches me sizing her up and says, “I can’t fly without a little drink. I’ll be a nervous wreck once I get up in the air.” When it arrives, she puts it to her glittered lips and snaps her head back violently, dumping the contents down her waiting throat. In awe, I turn my attention towards my beer and sip quickly.

David Day article

I struggled with writing this article. I didn't know if I wanted to tackle a personal and sensitive issue such as this, but then I realized that nobody reads this paper anyway. I am glad I decided to write it.

Will you still love me when I'm 64?

Time to wake up and take my pills. This one for the heart, this one for my head, this one for my eyes, this one for my leg. I peek outside and the snow is coming down hard. I am thankful I no longer have to commute in this mess every morning. I have a different routine now that I have retired. My wife is heading out to have brunch with her ladies. I turn on the television to check the score of the Wolves game from the previous night. ESPN 37 usually has the baseball news in the morning and ESPN 58 has basketball highlights. I don’t know what we did before there were 6000 channels to choose from.

I set my creaking bones on my faded lazy boy and enjoy the morning alone. The snow lets up around noon so I head to the garage to retrieve the snowblower. Most people have automated snow removers they can turn on at the flip of a switch and it cleans their driveway in five minutes. I, on the other hand, have nothing else to do all day and it gives me something to complain about.

Gone Fishin'

Be back next week...