Ocean Breezes Oe’r the Mountains
…a quick listen to “Back Street Kids” from Technical Ecstasy may change yr definition of tolerance (a message from the campaign for people against the fascist musical critic regime represnted by the likes of All Music Guide. Three and a half stars my ass. Same to five or zero or one, as well.) A fine comparison to “Back Street Kids” is (in all reality) “Band on the Run” by McCartney (1st undeniably synchronicity — Ozzie’s love of the Beatles, his desire to re-create Sgt. Pepper’s, his cover of “In My Life,” — for reference see Vh1’s Behind the Music on Ozzie, or Sabbath, or what-ever-the-fuck-ever-I-remember-from) as a good similarity do diverge into thoughts laid by certain bombs of the instability of “criticism.” But an unfavourable topic. Since I was a small child I’ve wondererd why the rabbits are on the run…why the jailor man and sailor sam are searching everyone…and to this day, I can’t play licks that smooth on the guitar. As a child my mother told me that all the songs on Paul McCartney’s All the Best… were originally Beatles songs and that these were just Paul’s solo versions. Straight faced — some piece of information must’ve made her believe it herself. It’s unidentifiably…didn’t listen to no Lennon solo tracks ‘cept what was on The Lennon Collection or whatever that was…WAH WAH, as in the context that Sonic Youth uses to kick of certain tracks….i.e. the Names show last night in which Naomi is Kim + Thurston in black dress one, Brad Dunn is session musician those folks never heard of, and Nicholas rips the drums, an aside from “On the Strip” which just reminds me of the whole situation in few ways ‘cept sound, ideas and memories. Oh, have you not read Hume? Heidegger doesn’t even attempt to escape him. Anyway — when’d it come along that this rock’n'roll cohesiveness became interpretaadoihgle…(what was I doing yesterday morning at this time?)…outside, the dawn is cracking (so then attempt to summon the pure air of the infinite surises and sunsets in the land of neither right before that culminitave day or the days after’n'before), hold tight in fear, hold tight in fear…sounds good I suppose…two points: 1) Have you ever met Matt Herrebout? 2) The first time I heard Stolen Car” by Springsteen the crows were not storming above as they are now and the air did not remind me of young hangovers in the desert next to the Columbia River wondering how to burn the time till Santana appeared more distant than Metatron. I used to own automoblies…no longer. A Volvo we towed a U-Haul with to go visit folks down the road smiling in pictures and memories…
The crows in hyperstereo remind me of infinite mornin’s with Scott and Cope smoking Midnight Special thinking about the ducks future in the sight of some failed project….the Jesus and the Mary Chain, don’t think the Reid brothers ever saw it coming. I could’ve been as bonked out as they were and got the same joke, wish the Record Label Man would’ve shown up, too. Groovy idea though. Wonder why My Bloody Valentine’s schtick got all the great reviews, but then I’m divided…as indie-rock fan I’m a theoretical reunion disciple of Mission of Burma, Jesus and Mary Chain, and others (in terms of cheesedick influence)…sometimes I think there’s too much Sonic Youth on my computer. When Lee comes in all “My eyes are focused/my brain is talking/it looks pretty good to me” I could be trying to break into that golf course nexts to Jak’s house or sitting in my room in high school by myself, seems like the most natural thing in the world. I remember a day wonderin’ what happened to some odd CD I bought when I was 13 and lookin’ for it, finding it oddly stashed (as though my future self would know) next to Tom Cochrane’s Mad Mad World, Washing Machine….10 years after they were in town, the first Seattle gig I saw, playing with Ghidra at the Blue Moon and Wally was opening for them, when I mentioned it to Jeffrey he said, “Oh yea, we opened for ‘em the night before…” The Sonic Youth vibe goes deep that way — I think a generally misunderstod idiom, more similar to the Grateful Dead than most wanna know…there’s something disparaging knowing that Frank Zappa was obsessed with the same issues as Jerry Springer a lot of the time, all that absolutely transcendental musical talent and vision worried ’bout a new car (not to mention, etc.). Then again, Jerry Springer was once the mayor of Cinncinati (Babes in Toyland? anyone?)…(outside, always a lot of plant’s breathing, equalizing…ever see CMT’s show ’bout the spoiled kids form cookie cutter lane who have to work with people who know how to grow a plant? Damn, it’s innarestin’, if you wanna call that diversity, then I suppose we’re onto some sort of good plan. But even Manifest Destiny wasn’t so great of an idea. Inhertied myths…like Buckethead, he’s sort of a myth, but I doubt that most people ever heard “Buckhead” by the Kirkwood Bros shredding in their weird worldy, please, why isn’t the history of SST available to those denizens of modern indie culture, how to put everyone into their place, so to speak, harmonics — a forgotten art…sun’s coming up, pancakes, fryers, brilliant mornings frying people eggs as you wonder what anyone would be doing up at such an hour….’nother horribly misunderstood band, the Ramones…oh, I’ll laugh at all this with the spray, we’re still out at the ocean, no matter how inland we might be. Think of how many years it takes a tree to learn a lesson. A don’t think they don’t learn lessons, walk through the forest at night — you’ve got no one to trust, but the trees. “Swallow My Pride” is A+ straight up great shit if rock’n'roll ever meant anything, and they were trying from the start. Forget the fact that they became…what? Fill in the blank, yrself. Back to the chime and dime of the Meat Puppets, something ’bout a hot pink tornado I believe, and it is…lemonade trees, like behind (possibly) Alee’s house in Oakland where he lived in a little in-law house in the back yard and we woke up and Roman could play every guitar. Maybe that’s what they were singing ’bout. (Still rememberin’ showin’ up…or I don’t, memory is so odd…so Maybe the Moral is McCartney is On the Ball)…anyone ever thing ’bout the connotations of Fred Firth teaching at Mills and the music coming out of there? (i.e. the Bay Area, East Bay, specficially)…as San Francisco is like Seattle and Portland, a supposed paradise with an identity crisis (if you don’t belive me just follow yr nose in Berkeley to find how pure and free food can be). Zone zone zone zone zone zone zone zone zone. Qwerty (an early nemesis…) … back to the Grateful Dead (funny how I missed ‘em through the Puppets), but Jerry was one badass pedal steel player and he wore black and was a heroin addict. Spent his life desperate and sad (mebbe)…Willie’s another trip, toured with the Dead and at the same time dropped stone cold other world simple ol’ country classics like this one, “Look What Thought Will Do,”
