Rick Betzel in heaven
Did you guys know that Betzel is pretzel in german?!?!?!?! How germane...
2009/07/10
2009/07/09
2009/07/07
RE: BIRTH!
I don't want a dog!
God damnit we've
tarnished our
legacy, tarred
and f eathered
so comp letely
till it ha rdens
in a va rnish
Barnstorming the
beantown suburban
sprawl in search
of hot pots of coffee
and knock kneed
hockey fans
S
O
A (Penis)
R
I
N
G
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Oh, I didn't know
the Byrds had anything
remotely similar
to originality
I stopped listening
when I thought about
Keith Moon sayin,
"I could do better than that!"
Opalescent my my my
Garrison Keiller's winter coat
auctioned off at basement rates
Ranting Raver; CURB YOUR TONGUE, KNAVE!
LIstening to gristle and bone get whittled down to their essence is making me wonder if I have a reason to thank my lucky stars at all.
SOON!
SOON!
I'm coming through.
God damnit we've
tarnished our
legacy, tarred
and f eathered
so comp letely
till it ha rdens
in a va rnish
Barnstorming the
beantown suburban
sprawl in search
of hot pots of coffee
and knock kneed
hockey fans
S
O
A (Penis)
R
I
N
G
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Oh, I didn't know
the Byrds had anything
remotely similar
to originality
I stopped listening
when I thought about
Keith Moon sayin,
"I could do better than that!"
Opalescent my my my
Garrison Keiller's winter coat
auctioned off at basement rates
Ranting Raver; CURB YOUR TONGUE, KNAVE!
LIstening to gristle and bone get whittled down to their essence is making me wonder if I have a reason to thank my lucky stars at all.
SOON!
SOON!
I'm coming through.
2009/07/05
Blog Elephant Graveyard
Poor editing can result in some nasty funk:
The little кафе́ (Russian Tea House) that the PSC (Princeton Shopping Centre/Retirement Castle) once held within it's whitewashed strip mall non-walls, replete with memories of a portly Jazzbo comically running after two beagles to the tune of "Trampled Underfoot" by Led Zeppelin, will never leave my mind for too long. This bakery was highly unusual in its self-awareness; management understood that its windows served as a preliminary display case by which to catch the eyes of passer-byes. The windows stayed squeaky clean, flowers in the vases were always fresh and music was almost inaudible, but present. Tea House could also mean 'bakery' as one can often take tea with a treat, a sort of pleasurable break. There was a map of the world on the western wall; never before had Vladivostok beckoned to mine eyes. Lying on what is the borderline of China, both N and S Korea as well as the Sea of Japan, it is one of Russia's largest cities; its port serving as a trading post for the eastern world to mother Росси́я.
I had always felt a little strange about this whole notion of heritage, of cultural transmission from one generation to the next; I had been told that Max Borenstein had been brought by his parents over to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania from old Russia at a very young age, anywhere, up to and including the ages of 2 and 4; living to tell the tale is a mixed blessing, if you believe in such things. Covering the '10s thru current times his eyes have seen much, and been blind to much more than, I suspect, he ever suspected possible.
I found him at the Lafayette Redeemer one day, TV blaring C-Span, in his one bedroom efficiency apartment; emphasis is placed on independent living for 'active' seniors; most choke in horror when I proudly claim that pop-pop still has his PA driver's license at the tender age of 94. He was never much for tea; I can't recall a single time that he and I ever spent inside drinking anything besides water, orange juice or steaming hot decaffeinated coffee. Our dynamic consisted of my mother, and most relatives, telling horror stories of being but a child and being forced against her will to perform mathematical duties; I just recently read a remarkably similar story in the first book of War and Peace. Meanwhile, I had succeeded as a child in ignoring these responsibilities through a kind of laziness that can only be symbolized by flattened, empty boxes of ®Hot Pockets stacked like the elephant graveyard in the middle of Grover Park's field 2 home team dugout. So, in essence he became the benefactor that saw me through the events in my life where I was to decide what type of young man I would hope to become. Being the good soldier, as well as somewhat serious Greco-Roman wrestler (not of the GREASED TURKISH VARIETY) he was a serious supporter of any and all team sports. He did push the math on my brother and I, but he grew more and more gentle with his grandchildren as he aged. Meanwhile he continued terrorizing those Borensteins, Bortners, and other seemingly artificially-generated generic Jewish last names, of the baby boomer generation.
I sat listening to Levon Helm's "Electric Dirt" all by my lonesome in someone else's empty bedroom right by the rhein where the Berlin wall once stood as a symbol of the old dichotomy that dictated some type of us vs. them dynamic over ideology, There's a poster on the door for a conference on bringing down capitalism, there's Frank Rich Op-Eds with the Madoff story, viral marketing and an intriguing spin on what happens when economic uncertainty overshadows American idols like Johnny Depp (for the record, Public Enemies does sound ill), an empty coffee cup that was 2 parts espresso and 1 part cold whole milk (technically 3.8 %, whatever, it's still VOLL-MILCH to me).
RANDOM ASIDE: Does Sarah Palin suffer from the same debilitating syndrome that plagues myself and so many other failed sportscasters?
SHAME ON ALL YOU WHO JUDGE HER ON THE BASIS OF HER WOMANDOM!!!!! So sayeth assholes like Huckabee, Romney, Giuliani and THE GHOST OF FIORELLO LAGUARDIA!!!!!
This doesn't mean much of anything, trying to keep the blade of the mind from dulling too far. Oh WELL I FEEL BETTER!
The little кафе́ (Russian Tea House) that the PSC (Princeton Shopping Centre/
I had always felt a little strange about this whole notion of heritage, of cultural transmission from one generation to the next; I had been told that Max Borenstein had been brought by his parents over to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania from old Russia at a very young age, anywhere, up to and including the ages of 2 and 4; living to tell the tale is a mixed blessing, if you believe in such things. Covering the '10s thru current times his eyes have seen much, and been blind to much more than, I suspect, he ever suspected possible.
I found him at the Lafayette Redeemer one day, TV blaring C-Span, in his one bedroom efficiency apartment; emphasis is placed on independent living for 'active' seniors; most choke in horror when I proudly claim that pop-pop still has his PA driver's license at the tender age of 94. He was never much for tea; I can't recall a single time that he and I ever spent inside drinking anything besides water, orange juice or steaming hot decaffeinated coffee. Our dynamic consisted of my mother, and most relatives, telling horror stories of being but a child and being forced against her will to perform mathematical duties; I just recently read a remarkably similar story in the first book of War and Peace. Meanwhile, I had succeeded as a child in ignoring these responsibilities through a kind of laziness that can only be symbolized by flattened, empty boxes of ®Hot Pockets stacked like the elephant graveyard in the middle of Grover Park's field 2 home team dugout. So, in essence he became the benefactor that saw me through the events in my life where I was to decide what type of young man I would hope to become. Being the good soldier, as well as somewhat serious Greco-Roman wrestler (not of the GREASED TURKISH VARIETY) he was a serious supporter of any and all team sports. He did push the math on my brother and I, but he grew more and more gentle with his grandchildren as he aged. Meanwhile he continued terrorizing those Borensteins, Bortners, and other seemingly artificially-generated generic Jewish last names, of the baby boomer generation.
I sat listening to Levon Helm's "Electric Dirt" all by my lonesome in someone else's empty bedroom right by the rhein where the Berlin wall once stood as a symbol of the old dichotomy that dictated some type of us vs. them dynamic over ideology, There's a poster on the door for a conference on bringing down capitalism, there's Frank Rich Op-Eds with the Madoff story, viral marketing and an intriguing spin on what happens when economic uncertainty overshadows American idols like Johnny Depp (for the record, Public Enemies does sound ill), an empty coffee cup that was 2 parts espresso and 1 part cold whole milk (technically 3.8 %, whatever, it's still VOLL-MILCH to me).
RANDOM ASIDE: Does Sarah Palin suffer from the same debilitating syndrome that plagues myself and so many other failed sportscasters?
SHAME ON ALL YOU WHO JUDGE HER ON THE BASIS OF HER WOMANDOM!!!!! So sayeth assholes like Huckabee, Romney, Giuliani and THE GHOST OF FIORELLO LAGUARDIA!!!!!
This doesn't mean much of anything, trying to keep the blade of the mind from dulling too far. Oh WELL I FEEL BETTER!
2009/07/01
COMPARISON
Well, now that allmusic.com confirmed that the new wilco single is, in fact, a George Harrison "All Things Must Pass" pastiche, I feel like kind of a dummy for getting so uppity about it.
Does the lead singer of Ween look a little too much like the dude from Tears for fEars?
Does the lead singer of Ween look a little too much like the dude from Tears for fEars?
2009/06/30
HMM
Like Charles Darwin before him, Stanley Fish is an interested amateur in a field where he may yield surprising useful results. While Darwin is remembered for his research and development of what we now call "The Origin of Species", Fish posts on an excellent blog on the NYT. He recently wrote about the NBA draft, something that I spent too many hours reading about.
I've decided I don't unconditionally love pink floyd anymore.
THE FISH THAT WROTE ABOUT THE DRAFT
I've decided I don't unconditionally love pink floyd anymore.
THE FISH THAT WROTE ABOUT THE DRAFT
2009/06/29
2009/06/28
Thoughts
So there's 1968, banner year for muzik. Tropicalia, Psychedelia, TROPIC OF CANCER, all doing the can-can on the stage of your mind.
One particular highlight that springs to mind is Odessey and Oracle by the Zombies; what of that typo that they never changed, is it part of the overall message of the album, of the decade?!?!!?
That's just one part of the equation though. What equation, you understandably ask. Well. It looks like this:
Maxwell's demon Physics
a hypothetical being imagined as controlling a hole in a partition dividing a gas-filled container into two parts, and allowing only fast-moving molecules to pass in one direction, and slow-moving molecules in the other. This would result in one side of the container becoming warmer and the other cooler, in violation of the second law of thermodynamics.
ORIGIN late 19th cent.: named after J. C. Maxwell (see Maxwell 2 ).
FUGHEDDABOUTIT. First of all, there's this guy:
RICHARD FEYNMAN
And then the Bee Gees put out "Odessa" in 1969; similar title to the previous years' Bluntstone, Argent and co. masterpiece.
I'm hearing it for the first time as I type these words. If you don't gotta copy, then read this Ed O'Bannon related hypothetical hip-hop question.
One particular highlight that springs to mind is Odessey and Oracle by the Zombies; what of that typo that they never changed, is it part of the overall message of the album, of the decade?!?!!?
That's just one part of the equation though. What equation, you understandably ask. Well. It looks like this:
Maxwell's demon Physics
a hypothetical being imagined as controlling a hole in a partition dividing a gas-filled container into two parts, and allowing only fast-moving molecules to pass in one direction, and slow-moving molecules in the other. This would result in one side of the container becoming warmer and the other cooler, in violation of the second law of thermodynamics.
ORIGIN late 19th cent.: named after J. C. Maxwell (see Maxwell 2 ).
FUGHEDDABOUTIT. First of all, there's this guy:
RICHARD FEYNMAN
And then the Bee Gees put out "Odessa" in 1969; similar title to the previous years' Bluntstone, Argent and co. masterpiece.
I'm hearing it for the first time as I type these words. If you don't gotta copy, then read this Ed O'Bannon related hypothetical hip-hop question.
2009/06/27
GEORGE ELLIOTT
Hmm, so then I got to thinking about the continued Harrison influence. Then I thought, what about a step back (GEORGE IS MERELY A PAWN IN A MUCH LARGER GAME). His hero was Roy Orbison, tourmate in the '60s; big sunglasses, penetrating voice, country shuffle.
New Wilco
George Harrison 'Wrote' (peep the Dick Cavett interview on youtube for full explanation) My Sweet Lord:
He was given shit by certain other artists and their legal representatives for sounding suspiciously like "He's So Fine":
WILCO OFFERS THIS ON CONAN RECENTLY:
HISTORY IN THE MAKIN', who cares anywayz?
He was given shit by certain other artists and their legal representatives for sounding suspiciously like "He's So Fine":
WILCO OFFERS THIS ON CONAN RECENTLY:
HISTORY IN THE MAKIN', who cares anywayz?
2009/06/25
Mj's Dead Momma!
No Twitter account, too many words.
Maybe the great flood that Noah warned us all of was the number of MJ tributes that will come out in the coming weeks (you could say Rihanna was timely with her direct reference to Mj recently, others might say it is wholly unsurprising that poppa Joe Jackson outlived his youngest son.
It's ridiculous, buttfucking ridiculous. I would say this should not outshadow Ed Mcmahon's passing. This is way sadder than when Heath Ledger died.
NBA DRAFT, instant tributes? Finna find out.
Maybe the great flood that Noah warned us all of was the number of MJ tributes that will come out in the coming weeks (you could say Rihanna was timely with her direct reference to Mj recently, others might say it is wholly unsurprising that poppa Joe Jackson outlived his youngest son.
It's ridiculous, buttfucking ridiculous. I would say this should not outshadow Ed Mcmahon's passing. This is way sadder than when Heath Ledger died.
NBA DRAFT, instant tributes? Finna find out.
2009/06/23
PIERRE MENARD, AUTHOR OF QUIXOTE
JOOOOOOEEEEEY: BOB Dylan's Desire plays while you read this.
After three cultishly revered albums with Organized Konfusion, underground legend Pharoahe Monch cut a solo deal with Rawkus and delivered his debut, Internal Affairs, in late 1999. Both Monch and Rawkus seemed to want to push their music farther above ground, and some longtime followers were shocked to hear a harder, angrier, more profane Monch, who seemed to be courting a more thugged-out audience. But it's a reinvention that doesn't compromise his high lyrical standards, making Internal Affairs a success on its own terms. Sounding like it was sampled from a monster-movie soundtrack, the club smash "Simon Says" sets the tone for the album; Monch delivers rapid-fire, intricately rhymed lines in between shouts of "get the f*ck up!" and "girls, rub on your titties!" It proved to be the most successful crossover bid of Monch's career, and much of the rest of Internal Affairs manages to straddle the underground/mainstream divide surprisingly well. Even when he's just giving shout-outs to Queens, or enlisting guests like Canibus and M.O.P. to help pummel a track into submission, Monch lives up to his reputation as one of hip-hop's most technically skilled MCs. Nowhere is this balancing act more evident than on "Rape," a rather disquieting extended metaphor for his mastery of hip-hop (other MCs just "ain't f*ckin' it right"). A more benign theme track is "Official," whose carefully constructed barrage of sports references demonstrates the cleverness that made Monch a cult legend. Not everything sits well together — the sophomoric "The Ass" is an odd way to lead into the love song "The Light," the Organized Konfusion reunion "God Send," and the reflective "The Truth," which features guest appearances by Common and Talib Kweli. But in terms of bringing an underappreciated hip-hop great to a (somewhat) wider audience, Internal Affairs generally gets it right.
After three cultishly revered albums with Organized Konfusion, underground legend Pharoahe Monch cut a solo deal with Rawkus and delivered his debut, Internal Affairs, in late 1999. Both Monch and Rawkus seemed to want to push their music farther above ground, and some longtime followers were shocked to hear a harder, angrier, more profane Monch, who seemed to be courting a more thugged-out audience. But it's a reinvention that doesn't compromise his high lyrical standards, making Internal Affairs a success on its own terms. Sounding like it was sampled from a monster-movie soundtrack, the club smash "Simon Says" sets the tone for the album; Monch delivers rapid-fire, intricately rhymed lines in between shouts of "get the f*ck up!" and "girls, rub on your titties!" It proved to be the most successful crossover bid of Monch's career, and much of the rest of Internal Affairs manages to straddle the underground/mainstream divide surprisingly well. Even when he's just giving shout-outs to Queens, or enlisting guests like Canibus and M.O.P. to help pummel a track into submission, Monch lives up to his reputation as one of hip-hop's most technically skilled MCs. Nowhere is this balancing act more evident than on "Rape," a rather disquieting extended metaphor for his mastery of hip-hop (other MCs just "ain't f*ckin' it right"). A more benign theme track is "Official," whose carefully constructed barrage of sports references demonstrates the cleverness that made Monch a cult legend. Not everything sits well together — the sophomoric "The Ass" is an odd way to lead into the love song "The Light," the Organized Konfusion reunion "God Send," and the reflective "The Truth," which features guest appearances by Common and Talib Kweli. But in terms of bringing an underappreciated hip-hop great to a (somewhat) wider audience, Internal Affairs generally gets it right.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
