I have just gotten back from a lovely Christmas in Rochester, N.Y. That is one hell of a drive, and the rain and snow and wind make it all the more pleasant. I was of course in a happy place in both directions, thanks to The History of Howard Stern, Act II, playing all this week on the Sirius/XM. I love this stuff, though I wish they’d just play the damned tapes already. But the History specials are awesome. It fills in a lot for me since this Cleveland boy could only be a listener from 1992.
Music is always a big part of the holidays at my Dad’s. I am entirely too predictible a gift giver, always handing over the telling-shaped box that makes them sarcastically say “Oh, I wonder what this is?” With Dad it’s always Zappa, and this year was no exception as he received a CD of Broadway the Hard Way. I am pleased with the purchase but displeased as with many Zappa CDs that the order was meddled with when it went digital. Track order on the vinyl was much different and made more sense. I will never understand why Zappa felt the need to meddle with his stuff so horribly.
Added:
“Spare Me A Little,” Johnny Rivers, New Lovers and Old Friends
“A Jacknife to a Swan,” Mighty Mighty Bosstones, A Jacknife to a Swan
“Bag of Hammers,” Thao, We Brave Bee Stings and All
“La-Da-Da,” Basia Bulat, Oh, My Darling
“It Doesn’t Matter,” Blue Meanies, Kiss Your Ass Goodbye
“Everybody Daylight,” Brightblack Morning Light, Brightblack Morning Light
“A Baby For Pree,” Neutral Milk Hotel, On Avery Island
“Frozen Gtr,” Thurston Moore, Trees Outside the Academy
There were two things I said over the Thanksgiving that made my Dear Old Dad and Uncle Hat look at me like I was crazy, or, more likely, that I’d just had too much Glüwein. First, we were talking about Brit bands who spent an album copying American country music. Papa mentioned the Stones. I mentioned the Kinks, and was looked at cross-eyed.
Sigh. The album name was on the tip of my tongue, but, indeed, “Muswell Hillbillies” does exist.
The second item I mentioned that got a blank stare was this, one of my very favorite television moments of all time and one of my very favorite political slogans. That’s right, Kanye. He doesn’t.
Incredibly, Dad had never seen this. Probably because he’s, um, more of a reader.
Here’s to a little whacko ska outfit I bumped into on the eMusic, first, for calling themselves “The B Sharps,” and, second, for the cover, which is funny.
She insists she’s not into anything having to do with vampires. Yet, we’ve just gotten her all caught up on “Battlestacked Galactica” up through season 4.0, which has rebroadcast on HD channels, and there’s an hour to SNL. Fine, she says. Let’s try your damned vampire show.
After the first episode, well, she says, we have to see if Sookie Stackhouse gets rescued. Let’s watch another. I warn her that they’re all like that, they each and every single solitary episode will end with a cliffhanger. I’m trying to warn her that she is on the slippery slope to actually enjoying this vampire show.
Soon, it’s 3 a.m., and she resigns herself to continuing our marathon the next morning.
I am warning you. HBO’s “True Blood” is more addictive than V-Juice itself.
It is an interesting show to watch, too, in the shadow of having just been steeped in BSG. There are similarities, the otherworldly natures of the protagonists, do they sleep, do they dream, do they breathe, do they eat? An entire netherworld exists within each narrative filled with characters we instinctively fear and loathe and yet find ourselves sympathetic, that, perhaps, the similarities outweigh the eerie differences. So watch this fine program at your own risk. You will not be able to turn it off.
Added
“Organized Meat,” Cows, Whorn
“Pheonix City,” The Skatalites, Greetings From Skamania
“A Hit By Varese,” Chicago, Chicago V
“Lemon Grove Avenue,” Mason Jennings, Use Your Voice
“103,” The Whispertown 2000, Swim
Am going through some old neglected mix CDs and New Music Monthly issues and pulling up some great stuff to include in the mix here at Radio B.O.N.K., including NOFX’s ever-lovin’ “Please Play This Song on the Radio.” I have wondered if this is the progenitor of the ironically self-referential song or just an offshoot of Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain.” It brings to mind “The Four Word Song” by Hoodlum Empire, so I am adding it as well. Also am adding “Down to This” by Soul Coughing…wasn’t that a ’90s band that just hung on the periphery? I like it.
This is of course what Radio B.O.N.K. is actually for. At age 40, I have discovered that I have not been listening to music as much as I used to, was no longer seeking out new music, was no longer learning and hearing new music. This is something I cannot lose. I have always had music, and I do not want to lose it. What better way to enhance my interest than to run my own radio station, even if it can only be heard by five unregistered Live365 listeners at once?
Yes. It’s a vanity project. Just one I need.
Other adds today: “Royal Oil” by The Mighty Mighty Mighty Mighty Bosstones, which to me is these boys at their best. Ska-core freaks might not agree, but I think Let’s Face It was their finest work.
The dog just farted. Good lord.
Master Tape Theater today is from July 26, 1994, after Fred Norris’ ill-fated bachelor party, with Kenneth Keith in the studio. God bless him, RIP.
I came across something unfortunate in the office fridge today, a divided tupperware deal with some sliced hard cheddar that was looking funky and stale triscuits that were getting soft. I munched a few of them and didn’t die, but they were certainly not appetizing as cheese and crackers. It did occur to me though that I had the beginnings of a brand new batch of macaroni and cheese. But for the pasta, all the other ingredients were in the pantry. Beautiful. And I learned some things.
The recipe remixed from the last post.
One Can of uh, Canned Milk
A mess of cubed sharp cheddar, maybe two cups
1 1/2 T butter
3/4 Cup of Pummeled Triscuits
1 1/2 soft bread slices, cubed (Whole Wheat Hamburger Buns)
One Chopped Scallion/Onion Pencil
1/2 t. salt
dash pepper (fresh-ground)
2 beaten eggs (with two T of the canned milk)
2 C. of macarooni, cooked (this means I measured 2 Cups DRY and then cooked it.)
In a saucepan, combine milk, water, cheese, butter, bring to a boil stirring constanly. When cheese melts, remove from heat. Stir in bread cubes, onion, salt, pepper. Fold in eggs and macarooni and stir the whole mess until it’s goosh. Spoon into a greased baking dish, covered, bake at 350 for 30 minutes.
It turned out much better than before, even. I think the Triscuits added something, and I think the scallions added to the flavor. I also found that I’m getting a better handle on what consistency the sauce needs before folding in the eggs and pasta. The bread, I think, should sop up more than half of it. And, a few ideas occurred to me after: Sourdough bread would be perfect for this. It would add to the tangy flavor, and its consitency would definitely contribute. Also, would a splash of lemon juice be called for?
I watched Saturday Night Live last evening waiting for it to be funny. After seeing Tina Fey as Prudence Palin, it was not generally funny. I stick my my notion that, with this cast, anyway, the caliber of the host sets the tone of the funny; if the host (Michael Phelps) is lame, then so will the entire program. So, it was not funny, but it did offer me yet another trip to introspection via music and mortality. There was this lad named “Little Wayne” as the musical guest there. And he was doing some performing of some kind. There were musicians doing things, I think, or at least, they were pretending to apply various percussive pressures to musical instruments. There were two gentlemen at center stage, both making utterances into microphones.
I shook m’lady, who was already half asleep. “Am I getting old? Or is this just plain horrible?” “A little of both, probably,” she replied. Then she glanced at the TV and focused on it a little. “No. It’s really horrible.”
I don’t think it’s just that I’m getting old. I have been a grumpy snob about music since I was 12 years old, at least. I have been an aficionado of orchestral music, of jazz, of ska, of rock, often of music performed off the beaten path. But I consider my tastes to be somewhat informed, having been raised playing a musical instrument, having performed in wind symphonies, in jazz bands, in marching bands, having studied the subject in college and being a failed music major, and, yes, having rocked a karaoke mic at one point in my life so well that they threw dollar bills and panties at the stage. Put it this way. I am not so trained in music that I could draw you a circle of fifths from scratch. But I am trained enough to know what one is.
And it just seems to me that the most successful popular artists of today no longer consider even the most basic tenets of musical composition. Works by Little Wayne and his contemporaries don’t sound right to me I think because these are artists who do not use a frame. Because, honestly, their purpose is not to create musical compositions. Little Wayne’s purpose is to create loud rhythmic noises to entertain drunken people in dark smokey clubs and to create a public personna that will allow him to sell records. Professional musicians, at least those in the most mainstream arenas, are more marketers than they are musicians. This has always been true, but I think&38212;and perhaps this is where the “getting old” comes in—that it seems more circularly vicious than ever. “Back in my day…”
Fortunately, there is Adele.
What is it with these English exports making the American music scene look like a bunch of a-holes? Amy Winehouse may be a complete screwup, but at least she’s recorded some music with some integrity (check out Winehouse’s The Ska EP for more evidence of this, baby ).
Anyway. I have just now heard of Adele on Nic Harcourt’s Sounds Eclectic. And, yes, it is available on eMusic. So, yes, it is now on the playlist at Radio B.O.N.K.
