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September 23, 2005
Stop Talking About Everything, Please
Way up inside the decade with no name, the already Romanticized histories of the '90s seem mostly on the mark. It was kinda crappy being a struggling artist and all, and the numb shittiness of being a vertical puncherclocker the rest of the time filled in the other part of the picture etc. Imagine punching a clock that, all '90s-like, feels your violence; you can only punch keys, which is the best possible state of things. You can turn off anything that bugs you, but you know somewhere they're only appliances, and so they're used to being OFF. The Laughing Hyenas' "Just Can't Win" (1995) hits you like a videogame that's the opposite of shit flying at you. The "blues" thing they got into later is pretty ignorable, but the Stooges' "Blues" thing they've more or less always been into is nonpareil, and never better expressed. Like the Stooges, they start off with as many ideas about energy as band members, which get sorted out by the time they get to the chorus refrain again, which is really the first true chorus. By then you're not sure what the fuck you've committed yourself to. In a humanist society, suicide ought to be a misdemeanor, if that. Death is not a social issue. Rock borrows various elements from the blues to express the idea that post-industrial society is rotting by demonstrating in sound that our electrical possessions are rotting. Blues says that people themselves are rotting. What's rotting in this Laughing Hyenas song? Something is, though the recognition of it makes me feel more alive listening to it than when I'm not.
September 22, 2005
Murmur in the Burbs
 Pioneer Press in North Suburban Chicago ran an article about my book in this week's papers.
September 20, 2005
WHOA!
The AMT shows have been cancelled due to visa problems. ADDENDUM: ...But in their place, it's just been announced that Jandek will be taking the stage tomorrow night (Thursday) at the Empty Bottle. ADDENDUM pt. II: Jandek has cancelled due to Hurricane Rita. that blows
September 18, 2005
Fe-mail @ Ren Society
 Geez, Hyde Park is getting to be quite the hip spot. There's yet another cool show down here this week: Fe-mail is performing at the Renaissance Society on Monday, Sept. 18 at 8 pm.
September 15, 2005
Rock the Reg
WHPK is putting on another free show next week (flyer added below.) This one is in, of all places, the Regenstein Library. (Acid Mothers Temple were originally supposed to play at the Henry Moore "Nuclear Energy" sculpture, which would have been wicked) Thursday, September 22, 10:30 pm Ex Libris coffeeshop (basement of Regenstein Library, 1100 E. 57th St.) Miss Alex White and the Red Orchestra "Garage rock with neo-Patti Smith vocals. The group headlined the popular Wicker Park Festival this summer. Miss Alex White became well known with her earlier band, the Hot Machines, and has just released her first solo album on In The Red Records." M.O.T.O. "Long-running Chicago pop/punk band with excellent songwriting and great lyrics. M.O.T.O. comes to Ex Libris fresh off their West Coast tour, following a recent release on Criminal IQ. Find out more at motorock.com" Twin Wrecks the Memory "South Side natives making stoner rock on speed; think Sonic Youth in Beverly instead of Greenwich Village. The band self-released their record Royal Drug Lodge. Check out www.twinwrecksthememory.com" Visit whpk.uchicago.edu for more info or call (773) 702-8289
September 13, 2005
September 12, 2005
McHitched!
  Tami and I got engaged in Ireland. In the shadow of the Ha'penny Bridge in Dublin, on Saturday night, August 27th, precisely. We're talking about a wedding next October. Would it sound too clichéd to say that right now is the happiest I've ever been in my whole life? Check out our family vacation pics here (click on "Ireland Trip 2005").
Go Fuck Yourself, Mr. Cheney
The guy in the background had his friend film the encounter and put the tape up for sale on eBay; last time I checked the bidding was up to around $500. Cheney's goons followed the guy to his house and handcuffed him, though he hadn't broken the law per se. The vice president doesn't care for that kind of language.
September 09, 2005
Turning the Tables
 I'm selling a mid-'70s Dual model 1237 turntable. This belt-driven baby was state-of-the-art back in the day, and still works and sounds great. Everyone who comes over and sees it is like, damn, that's dope. This thing is built to allow you to adjust -everything- you could ever possibly want to adjust – the tone arm mechanism alone looks like a fucking gyroscope. And I've listened to only the highest-possible-quality music on it the entire time I've owned it. That's a Dual 1237 pictured above, and there's another picture here. After I bought it, I put about $100 into refurbishing it (brand-new power cord and pro calibration). It has a Shure cartridge ($130 new, with plenty of mileage left on it), original dust cover (there's a 2" crack on the right side, but the adjustable hinges were fixed and work perfectly), original spindle, vintage metal strobe plate (cost $10), and reproduction manual (in print form as well as a PDF file – cost me $15). There -is- one problem I should mention: the spring-loaded connector pins b/w the cartridge mount and the tone arm are kludgy. This causes one channel to either cut out or sound quieter than the other one until you jiggle it to get it situated right. This is more of a design flaw than a malfunction of this particular unit, and could be fixed easily enough by either sanding the contact points or replacing the pins with standard mini wire connectors. I never got around to doing this, but it would be a quick, cheap, and easy project. I sunk well over $250 total into this thing, but because of the problem with the pins (and because I just bought an even cooler turntable), the first $75 takes it home. Even with the needed repair, this is a steal – I recently saw a couple of refurbished Duals in a hi-fi store going for $229-239. So...pick up this sweet, highly sought-after turntable, and enjoy yourself some old-school Kraut engineering and great sound for years to come. Or tell your vintage-audio-geek friends! This sucker is singing take me home tonight like it's Eddie Money. J.
September 06, 2005
September 05, 2005
Indian Summer
Back from Ireland. Pictorial blog to follow, once I unpack, along with some big, big news... In the meantime: my first review for Dusted, on Bastro's Antlers: Live 1991 CD. Continuing on the early Homestead Records tip, I also wrote an article on My Dad Is Dead for the Reader a couple weeks back. Also, proudly unavailable for free online: my first by-line for Spin, on Diamond Nights; peep the reviews section in the Sept. '05 issue (the one with Death Cab for Cutie on the cover.) And this is neat: a homebrew glitch-tech dude who builds digital jewel-case music boxes. Addendum: I figured I'd just post the Spin review, for the hell of it: Diamond Nights Popsicle Kemado What kind of art does America want when the country falls on hard times—say, an increasingly unpopular war? One theory is that the public will escape from current events through pure nostalgia. Another line of thinking says people will develop a newfound appetite for introspective, artistically meaningful entertainment that mirrors their somber mood. Well, Diamond Nights’ full-length debut pretty much affirms the first hypothesis—and tears the latter idea one a new one. Unlike other groups who use ’70s riffs and references to comment on the Me Decade, the Queens, New York residents’ gleeful retro-ness comes off as a direct product of that era: nothing on Popsicle sounds like it was made after 1978. Which means the album’s a hoot at times—a cinnamon-scented throwback assembled from the factory remnants of Cheap Trick, Van Halen, and the Raspberries, full of expensive gas and cheap weed. The opening track, “Destination Diamonds,” is a galloping anthem that’s probably destined for some year-end best singles lists. And deservedly so: singer Morgan Phalen sounds like he’s taken voice lessons from Thin Lizzy’s Phil Lynott on lines like, “Never thought that a popsicle chick could taste so good,” which he delivers as if he’s actually licking drips off the mic. On the roller-rink hip-grinder “City of Love,” Phalen beckons, “Take a trip with me,” a great setup for rhyming something with fantasy. Later, they drop the cock-rock shenanigans for the sunny acoustic ballad “Snakey Ruth.” Oddly enough, all this arena-rock grab-ass lacks irony. Kudos to the band for playing up their love of the classics without smirking, but the downside is that Popsicle’s ’70s conceits aren’t as fun as a band like the Darkness makes them (or as funny as Van Halen were, even after they stopped trying to be). Maybe Diamond Nights’ face-value nostalgia kills its value as a guilty pleasure. Or maybe pleasure is just not what it used to be. Grade: B
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