After a long day of procrastinating productivity, it's still 1:59 am and I finally got everything ready to rock. I moved the studio into the living room so my girl can sleep and got everything plugged into the four track. I'm pumped and I got ideas ready to flow. So what the shit am I doing putting it in pill form (dig how I have the ready-made slang on pillstohear.blogspot? Pressing that shit up...)? I'm geting warmed up so I'll type and talk about music for a spell. Ease off my gangsta.
With the car stereo and ipod still sidelined, I haven't been able to listen to as much new music as I should. I mean, I've heard the albums I got recently. But instead of bumping them on repeat for a couple days like usual, I just hear them over bogus computer speakers when I have the gumption to fuck around with the computer. Which means I'm not loving the thom yorke, brightblack morning light, herbert, rhymefest, this heat, and spoon records of the last month yet. I haven't had those
intimate experiences yet that develop mutual respect between a man and an album. Come on, I know you know when a record hates you. Or is just pissed at you. It's like a half-step low or some shit and you can't figure it out. And as I type that esoteric bullshit, my itunes malfunctions and the hold steady is silenced. Speaking of the hold steady (as I no doubt have been doing lately), not only is the entire new album straight-up top-shelf, "Cattle and The Creeping Things" is one of the best songs I've heard in a minute. From the referential (to what, I can't recall) title to the churning piano heavy rhythm jam, this song would be a gem even without the classic "Tripping is for teenagers and hard drugs are for bartenders" line at the 40 second mark. Admittedly, I don't always pay attention to rock and roll lyrics as much as I should. It's usually not a problem as I wouldn't mind hearing mainstay indie rock lyrics about women, pot and California only sparingly for the remainder of my days. However, homeboy from the steadies has got my ear and I lament the fact that I miss what he's saying every couple lines. And that just shows how much I really don't listen since this dude (craig, i think?) belts out some crystal clear, plain speaking phrases. I don't know if its cause they live in nyc and their lifestyles might somehow be sorta like mine, but the lyrics about doing drugs in bathroom stalls, low-key big city catholicism, the idiocy of the rest of the country, threatening to move west, working on "vision quests," dealing with no good whores and being "strung out on the scene" really reverberate with me.
Ahh man, I just bullshitted around about "seperation sunday" (the only title associated with the album that doesn't sit right with me; figure, son!) for so long that I don't have time to talk about my other topics ranging from my ear wax removal treatment, today's battle in the epic war with cocksucker cockroaches, the quality of the pot I'm rolling with, season 2 of the wire, and my impending solitude in B-more. Dammit, if I could just remind myself to update this shit everyday, I'd be a happy healthy man. I also need to remind myself to return that library book and get one about Ben Franklin.
"Hey Nelson Algren, Chicago seemed tired last night, they had cigarettes where there's supposed to be eyes. Hey William Butler Yeats, all the Irish seemd wired last night. They tried to seperate our girls from our guys."
And she wants my to move somplace where the cigs got eyes.
