It DID get me thinking about New Jersey; many know that Sinatra came of age somewhere in Hoboken (the famous mug shot that I almost purchased a t-shirt of when I was 17[it was a very good year]), yet he is linked to his worldwide audience as an icon of New York City. The beauty of the track is that Sinatra is singing as an outsider who has managed to finagle his way through the seemingly impermeable membrane of the big apple. Sinatra related nostalgia aside (ok, I admit Bono is actually pretty legit, even if he comes off as clownish/condescending when he goes on world issue related diatribes), I can't help but miss certain aspects of the comfort of home while living abroad.
A typical Sunday in Princeton can be spent waking early(crack o' noon) to get to the nearest possible purveyor of bagels and related goods; among the great ironies in this silly world that Pton jews have made for themselves is an unabashed love for Bagel Barn, a place that is clearly owned and operated by goys (they serve fish on fridays during lent, I'm no expert on these matters, but 'nuff said). This is followed by a sit down at the grand piano in my parent's kitchen where I'm good for at least 15 minutes of oft-interrupted seemingly random chord progressions, with the occasional familiar cover mixed in half-assedly. The Battlefield scenery has always reflected the season with aplomb; in the earlier years, back in Herrontown Woods, Sundays were more of a family thing when Dad would cook up some enormous (read: GINORMOUS) country style breakfast, while we (the royal we? I can't necessarily vouch for the distant memories of my older brother or my folks, for that matter) would stare out from our kitchen table unto (seemingly) endless oak trees.
Since my friends stopped going to church, Sunday has also become a day of chilling; there were many times when I used Sunday as a recovery day; this is what happens when you're a somewhat sheepish/primarily lazy teenager and your best friend happens to live under what can only be described on late Saturday nights as 'minimal' parental supervision. The Weekend NYTimes, I can't quite remember if the packet's fatter on Saturday or Sunday (the crossword puzzle is supposedly harder on Saturday, according to my former Yahoo! crossword puzzle completer and genius Karl Micka-Foos), lay on the table waiting to be devoured like Watermelon slices in August heat at some 4h/Italian Heritage fair in Somerset County. (Quick Note: Bagel Barn has a website, this bothers me more than it should)
Sidney Johnson is Princeton University's head coach now? That is awesome.
Non NJ thoughts:
-I just acquired a copy of the 1966 album Freak Out! by The Mothers, aka Frank Zappa's first band. It is considered by many to be the first 'concept' album, all the songs are linked together by a central theme (which in this case is The Mothers ejaculating somewhat goofy send ups to everyone and anyone in America during this time), even though often times The Beatle's Sgt. Peppers has been given that nod. It is worth noting, if you're a music nerd (has anyone who takes themselves even remotely seriously ever referred to him/her/zerself as a music 'buff'?) like me, that Zappa had a strong distaste for most things going on in the '60s and claimed that his work was accomplished without drugs (which is impressive, and then you remember that he named his daugher moon unit and you think he was just some crazy fuck who felt music in a way that most can only hope to), driving this point home with the Mothers release We're Only In It For The Money.
(Side Note: Paul Mccartney has been quoted as saying Freak Out! helped influence Sgt. Peppers. To be fair, what didn't influence that album before it came out, isn't that the point? Sure, everyone looks to Sgt. Peppers nowadays for how it continues to inspire and demand greater innovation from studio musicians, but the most important aspect was the approach me thinks.)
I gave up on the Philadelphia Eagles 2 seasons ago, because of this I will be unable to gloat when they stomp all over the Northern New Jersey Giants today circa 1 pm EST.
Oh, and this:
Three strings! Stay Tuned for my dissent in to madness as I try to put the pieces together on the quick ascent and even steeper fall of flamenco great Niño Miguel.
No comments:
Post a Comment