UPDATE: We just got our travel date. One month from today I will be meeting my daughter for the very first time. FREAKING OUT>HAPPY>

For the four or five people reading this, here's the deal:

We have been approved for adoption. (We already have two biological kids but we wanted one more and figured this would be the best way to do that.) We have seen pictures of our little daughter, who is currently waiting for us in the care center in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. She is only four months old, and very tiny, but she already looks smart and cool and funny.

Needless to say, this will change our lives a whole lot. I plan to cut way down on anything that isn't parenting -- so long for unremunerated music writing, at least for a while -- so this might turn into a blog about her, or our adventures, or something. I'll post lots of pictures and all that, and probably write a lot about diapers and all that sappy stuff.

We could get the call really any time (could be today, but probably won't be), and then it's like "here's your travel date, get your tickets" and poof we're out of here. I will post that information when I get it. Because of laws, I can't put her pictures up here yet. But if you need one, email me and I'll hook you up.

Peace,

Matt C.

Very circumspect
I must be these days until
the big announcement

Suffice it to say
(like anyone's reading this)
my life's gonna change*

*in a real good way

I'm sorry this is such a lame blog

I'm sorry I don't post more, or have more interesting opinions, or more readers, or more glamorous friends

I'm sorry I am so old without being more famous or richer

I'm sorry that I have never left North America

I'm sorry that I never actually reviewed that record you sent me, I probably liked it just fine but just ran out of time, gotta play catch with Sammy sometimes

I'm sorry I haven't cleaned up my office or the basement

I'm sorry I only own three Led Zeppelin albums on CD, four if you count the bootleg from my brother

I'm sorry to anyone I was ever mean to, usually indirectly because I'm passive-aggressive

I'm sorry if I ever cracked an offensive joke even if no one who heard it was directly affected by it

I'm sorry I am not closer to my brothers, I'm sorry I never visit my mother

I'm sorry U.S. people do not like to listen to music from Africa and South America

I'm sorry I weigh 20 pounds too much, maybe 25 some days

I'm sorry I have a lot of cheap clothes from Old Navy and not a lot of slightly-more-expensive clothes from Limited Men or something, I'm trying now that I'm wearing ties to work

I'm sorry I haven't made my company a million more dollars yet, I've been here long enough

I'm sorry I don't hate my life enough to radically change it

I'm sorry I don't appreciate my life more, it's actually pretty good

I'm sorry I don't show everyone I love how much I love them

I'm sorry I'm lazy, I'm sorry I like TV shows, I'm sorry I haven't written my breakthrough novel yet

I'm sorry I never asked out those girls in high school and college that I should have asked out

I'm sorry I am rooting for my favorite basketball teams to lose so they can get a better draft position

I'm sorry I didn't call my mom after her back surgery, I should have known "it's no big deal" was a big fat lie

I'm sorry I buy Blue Öyster Cult albums with cash when I feel sad instead of dealing with my feelings

But I'm not sorry about anything else so shut the hell up and let me work it out.

Lame predictions for baseball season, feel free to print and mock later

AL EAST

Boston Red Sox 94 - 68
New York Yankees 94 - 68 (WILD CARD)
Toronto Blue Jays 84 - 78
Baltimore Orioles 74 - 88
Tampa Bay Devil Rays 69 - 93

AL Central

Detroit Tigers 90 - 72
Chicago White Sox 85 - 77
Cleveland Indians 81 - 81
Minnesota Twins 81 - 81
Kansas City Royals 74 - 88

AL West

Seattle Mariners 90 - 72 CONTROVERSIAL PICK -- PROBABLY WRONG
Anaheim Angels 85 - 77
Oakland Athletics 81 - 81
Texas Rangers 72 - 90

NL East

Atlanta Braves 85 - 77
New York Mets 85 - 77
Philadelphia Phillies 82 - 80
Florida Marlins 81 - 81
Washington Nationals 62 - 100

NL Central

Milwaukee Brewers 85 - 77 HOMER PICK
St. Louis Cardinals 84 - 78
Chicago Cubs 81 - 81
Pittsburgh Pirates 77 - 85
Houston Astros 76 - 86
Cincinnati Reds 71 - 91

NL West

Arizona Diamondbacks 90 - 72
San Diego Padres 86 - 76 WILD CARD
Los Angeles Dodgers 81 - 81
Colorado Rockies 75 - 87
San Francisco Giants 73 - 89

I think Detroit will win the World Series. I am also insane.

Okay it is the last week in March, which means Opening Day is just a week away, which means the awesomest part of the year has begun. We're a little baseball crazy in our house these days, which is to say that Sammy and I are a little baseball crazy these days and Liza and Emma roll their eyes at us a lot.

If the world was going to have a fantasy music draft, here would be my sleeper picks. (Not in order, I'd go into a total meltdown if I had to rank these.)

Erykah Badu
Pizzicato Five
Cheap Trick
X
Bersuit Vergabarat
Henry Threadgill
Chuck Berry
Cabruera
The Zombies
Ann Peebles
Thin Lizzy
Gilberto Gil
L.L. Cool J
Creedence Clearwater Revival
Fela Kuti
Little Richard
Heart
Isaac Hayes
Virginia Rodrigues
Jefferson Airplane
Cafe Tacuba
King Sunny Adé
James Moody
A.R. Rahman
El Gran Silencio
MC Lyte
Los Fabulosos Cadillacs
Whale
The Boo Radleys
Ella Fitzgerald
The Four Tops
Blue Öyster Cult
Jimmy Castor Bunch
The Blake Babies
Joyce
Eurythmics
Smokey Robinson and the Miracles
Electric Light Orchestra
Yellow Sisters
Peter Tosh
Himesh Reshammiya
Los Tigres del Norte
Macy Gray
Eek-A-Mouse
Super Furry Animals
Yolanda Pérez
ABC
Bo Diddley
Violent Femmes

My rejected pitch for the 33 1/3 series.

My name is Matt Cibula. I would like to write a book for the 33 1/3 series about the album Dream Police, by Cheap Trick.

I know this is not the kind of record covered by the series so far. It is hardly canonical among critics, and it never ends up on any of those “Best Albums of All Time” lists. I’ve heard a lot of those records, and I realize that many of them might be “better” on some level, more perfect or something. But Dream Police is still my favorite record, for a lot of reasons. This dichotomy will end up being the underlying theme of my book.

I think the lack of respect for Cheap Trick is criminal, and I will use part of the book to argue that the band was hugely influential on movements like new wave, power-pop, grunge (famously, Nirvana and Smashing Pumpkins, but also Pearl Jam), hair-metal, and modern punk-pop. Cheap Trick is funny and serious and smart and blue-collar, and they put on great shows. Critics — including Robert Christgau — even loved them…right up until this record came out. Then all the tastemakers suddenly jumped off the wagon.

But Dream Police deserves a good critical re-think. I can make a very compelling case for the importance and excellence of this album. It draws a straight line between all the British groups the band loved (the Beatles, the Who, the Move and ELO, etc.) and good old Midwestern U.S.A. bar-band action, but it is still thoroughly original. And it sounds great too, sharp and complicated but still accessible. (The making of the album turns out to be a fascinating story as well. Short version: they went into the studio to make their fourth record, but their live At Budokan record came out in the meantime and turned them into Top Ten pop stars, so it sat on the shelf for months. It would have been thought of as a lot more “groundbreaking” if it had come out six months earlier!)

The band also took a huge risk here by dispensing with some of their cutesier tendencies and doing songs of real substance. The opening song is a psychedelic freakout about paranoia; there are songs about religious/political fanaticism and domestic abuse and revenge, as well as love ballads and the obligatory tune about being famous. Each side’s closing song is an epic pop-prog-metal track that continues past the seven-minute mark. Songwriter Rick Nielsen basically put everything on the table here, and tried to make a statement about the world, but the rest of the band stretched themselves as well; Bun E. Carlos’ drum patterns are pretty close to disco-metal, and Robin Zander’s screaming on “Gonna Raise Hell” is legendary. It rocked hard, in an era that loved hard rock, but it also had pop hooks galore.

So why did Dream Police do so poorly with critics? And why, despite its success (#6 on the Album Charts, two top 40 singles), is it seen as the beginning of the end for a band that never went away? I think I have some very interesting answers to these questions.

I propose a different kind of structure for my book. About half of it will be an actual review of the album itself. Instead of going track by track, I will divide the analysis up into nine thematically focused chapters: “The Cover” (intriguing signs and symbols!), “The Band” (including autobiographical info about each member and the band’s history), “Lyrical Themes,” “Musical Motifs,” etc. I will interview as many band members and other involved people as I can, and I think this will be relatively easy to accomplish. (See below for details.)

The other half of the book will consist of nine very short stories interspersed throughout the review text. These will be very brief fictional sketches of two friends who meet in 1979 by bonding over Dream Police. Each story will move them forward a bit, through junior high, high school, college (for the main protagonist, who is basically me), adulthood, and now. These stories will try to capture the spirit of growing up in the U.S., and each story will reflect a different song, albeit usually in a very understated way.

This will make for a very fun and unusual entry in the 33 1/3 series. But I am not proposing this structure just to be different. I think this is the best way to make people understand what a great record Dream Police is, as well as to illustrate the idea that one’s own personal canon is influenced by a lot of different factors. It is also a way for me to talk about this album without being all “me me me.” Because who the hell am I, other than someone who sometimes gets to give my opinion about popular music?

******

Well, here’s who I am. I am 40 years old, married with two kids and another on the way later this year from an adoption agency far away. I live in the Midwestern United States of America, about an hour from Cheap Trick’s hometown of Rockford, Illinois. (This is one of the reasons I think I will be able to score some great interviews with Rick Nielsen and the rest of the band.)

I have been writing about music for 10 years; most of this writing has been for online publications such as PopMatters.com, StylusMagazine.com, Ink19.com, and Music-Critic.com, but I have also been published in the Village Voice, Vibe Magazine, Seattle Weekly, Portland Mercury, Baltimore City Paper, and the Isthmus here in Madison. (I also write a blog.)

I am also the author of four children’s titles for Zino Press: Slumgullion the Executive Pig, The Contrary Kid, How to Be the Greatest Writer in the World, and What’s Up With You, Taquandra Fu? I travel to several elementary and junior high schools every year to work with young people on their writing skills, and have also written two teacher’s guides on this subject.

In addition, I’ve written an online serial novel for teenagers, and have participated in three different National Poetry Slam competitions. I am confident about speaking in public, and I’m very happy to do tons of bookstore appearances. I will drive all over the Midwest, and I have friends everywhere who will let me snore on their couches.

I applied to the 33 1/3 series last time, pitching Stevie Wonder’s Songs in the Key of Life. I did not get the gig, but have since become friendly with Zeth Lundy, who works with me at PopMatters. I am very glad he was chosen over me for that project, because his book’s structure sounds more exciting than mine was. So thank you for choosing him for that project. This project, though, is something even closer to my heart than Stevie, which is saying a lot.

A book about Cheap Trick would be a bold populist rock’n’roll type of move for the series. And no one else understands Dream Police, or its true place in music history, the way I do. I know I can do this album justice on both a critical/analytic level and on a soulful/personal level. (For a brief glimpse of what this book might be like, check out this piece I wrote for InkBlotMagazine.com a few years ago.)

Too much music criticism.

Actually, too much music writing, not enough music criticism. And too much of that music writing is lazy snarky gotcha crap. I should know, I've done it too. But it's all scenesterism maaaaaan; you cannot actually be the first to champion discs that everyone else has already championed.

Too much consensus about what the "important" records are every year. Most albums considered to be important just kind of happen to be by white people singing in English. Most of those are men. Every year there are a couple of black acts, or records by women, that grab hold of people's ideas about what an important record should be. (Hint: if you are a black act but you represent some kind of alternative or "correction" to black mainstream music [OutKast Gnarls Barkley Kanye West Arrested Development De La Soul], or if you are the one rapper taken seriously by critics every year [Ghostface Public Enemy], you just might be in there. But it's a lot easier to be Timberlake than Timbaland; you'll catch more flies with Montreal than you will with Atlanta, etc.

Oh god what a saddo here he goes. White guilt snooze, fake feminism bullshit, stop it stop it. We like what we like, we don't wanna hear about it.

Me I wanna discover new stuff from strange places, champion the stuff that no one else will touch. The problem is, most of that stuff really isn't all that yummy, at least at first. Got three 'world music' discs in the mail yesterday, just ripe for the picking -- but one was boring and two was also boring and three was self-consciously "wacky" and therefore just plain wack. But just because the path is rough and I'm walking it in bare feet and arrogance doesn't mean it's not the right path. Also: Alt.country can be counted on for some of the worst music of the year and I've already heard my least fave album of 2007 so far and it's like damn that competition was over quick. On the whole, I'd rather be in Indiedelphia.

Why complaining? Not sure. Just not sure I need the adrenalin/sugar rush of being FIRST ON IT, or even of 'hey wow free stuff in the mail yippeeeeeeee'. Getting old. Or I am.

But it's also like this: no one is listening. Or if they are, I'm mumbling and inarticulate, or too tired and unmotivated to do a good job, or just dummmm some days.

However, here you go: my new favorite record comes from Czech Republic. It is done by four more-or-less-a-capella female singers who call themselves Yellow Sisters. It's like the Roches beefed up, went ethnic, and then added some reggae toasting. I only got it because my friend hooked me up with a press pass, and then I got to download all the songs for like five albums of new stuff by lots of bands. Which is a pretty damm great use of the Internettage. Yellow Sisters -- a full-scale straight on bangeroo which isn't that boring and has killer harmonies in Czech. None of you will hear it, but please to czech out this site and forget I ever said all this elitist crap. Too tired to make any sense so I'll shut up.

http://www.indies.eu/en/alba/4/singalana/

Keep your yummy cake
I'm overweight already
Gotta shed this skin

I just realized that I have never written about this album. Which is dumb, because it's one of the few live career-summing-up albums that actually works that way. Done in front of their adoring Mexico City audience in two discs (two and a half plus a DVD if you're a nerd like me and order the "special edition" from Amazon), it pretty much puts everything they've ever done out there all jumbled-up chronologically like they've had a unified plan all the time --

Oh, wait, you don't know much about Café Tacuba? Well, I'm not going to pretend to be an expert. But this little bunch of pretentious funny adorable punky bohemians have been hugely important to Mexican music, and pretty important to me too. But they get very little love from us up here, because we are stupid. Here we will list awesome things about them:

1.Embracing music in all its forms. These guys do everything. This is shown most dramatically on Re, where they sashay through TWENTY songs in about 17.4 styles, including metal-thrash, lovely folkish stuff, and avant-banda two-step. They also had their whole "let's get weird" time with Reves/Yosoy, a simultaneous double-album where one disc was pretty songs and the other was industrial-ish instrumentals. Even on the overly-mannered Cuatro Caminos, they messed around with the envelope a bit. Ambition is not a bad thing.

2. Intelligence out the culo. These guys are smart as hell. This usually gets all focused on tiny Rubén Albarran (aka Sizu Yantra, aka Nru, aka Elfuego Buendía, aka Amparo Tonto Medardo In Lak'ech, etc.), because he's the singer, but it's pretty clear that Joselo & Quique Rangel and Emmanuel del Real are just as sharp and weird and on-the-ball. This can be seen in their various solo projects and side-gigs, but also in their own CT tracks, as this is not a U2 singer-does-all-the-lyrics thing.

3. Charisma, dammit. The best thing about Un Viaje, to me, is to hear these guys work the crowd. It's all one big huge pulsating animal in there. This goes beyond just the screams, or the way everyone knows all the lyrics to "Esa Noche" -- listen to the way the crowd responds to the opening notes of "La Ingrata," like they're all OH SNAPS HERE IT COMES. I also love how "La Ingrata" started Mexico City vs. Monterrey beef because El Gran Silencio thought CT was making fun of norteño music. I love carne like that.

There are a lot more but they'll have to wait. (One point has to do with the fact that Rubén's voice is nasal and high and freaky, a fact that has turned some of my coolest friends off this band; I love his voice though, it's the permanent snag in the zipper.) For now, if you can get any of their records for cheapsies, do it -- we might have Los Beatles in our midst and not even know it.

At this altitude
I see/hear everything --
Todo es bueno

Man, people love to hate on this album. The review on AMG is contemptuous, and even the one guy over at The Motherpage doesn't have much good to say about it. But I love it for two reasons, here enunciated for your pleasure.

1. It came out in late 1983, but I don't think I copped it until spring of '84, probably because I saw a review in "Rolling Stone" or something like that. (Wow, I guess it must have been this one!) Which means, of course, that this was one of the tapes on heavy rotation the spring that I graduated from high school and the summer that followed, along with Urban Dancefloor Guerrillas and a bunch of others. (Remembering: 1984, Violent Femmes, Born in the USA, "When Doves Cry" and then subsequently Purple Rain, that one Lionel Richie album, etc.) (There are a lot more of course, my brane don't work so good today.) So: sentimental attachment yes.

2. But good lord what a fun record. "Let's Dance" is a huge huge slab of P.Funk/Bootsy ambiguity; huge bouncy beat with psychedelic backwards/forwards vocals, nasty James Brown riffs, perfect example of on-the-one-ish-ness, all in service of such a sad story! (To wit: loser can't ask girl to dance, goes home to whack off while the narrator and little cartoon aliens make fun of him. BEEN THERE.) The title song is classic George bad pun action but in service of preventing nuclear holocaust -- was that the last summer we actually thought it might happen? --, "Silly Millameter" runs some excellent changes too. Sure, George really shouldn't rap, but it's not like he really thinks he's good or anything, and the sci-fi reincarnation thing is lovely. And then you have Blackbyrd McKnight's filthy solo all over "Quickie," truly his high point. Hazel's here, Bernie's here, George and Garry trade leads on "Stingy"...people who hate on solo George really need an attitude adjustment via my foot and their ass.

I think I was in 5th or maybe 6th grade when I first heard this one too. I got it from my friend Robbie, who didn't like it much maybe and wanted to give me something to make sure our friendship was cemented. (We didn't stay real close but we ended up hanging out some in high school. He was present for the famous "Highway Ice-Sliding Split-Brain Incident" of January 1984, still one of my finest moments.)

I brought this album home and put it on immediately. My brothers and I were pretty obsessed with Bill Cosby, and we couldn't wait to hear this record. The first side is pretty good, a number of shorter sketches in front of a live audience in Cleveland. He does his Cosby thing with the noises and the wry observations and all, but he was lean and hungry then, already a superstar but still with a big edge.

Well, actually, not really an edge; nothing here is shouting "Death to racists" or "Fuck the Man" or anything. I think he considered himself above all that, and wanted to provide a good example in those days of turmoil and trouble. (Reminds me of an article I'm doing at work about Sidney Poitier, but I don't know enough about that whole scene to pontificate.) But there is a lot of anger here that peeks through at weird moments.

And some of it is just the fact that Cosby is a weird dude. He's strangely anti-woman -- the sketch about how his daughters learn to swim ends with a bizarre throwaway thing about how "I wanted sons but my wife gave me these two losers" is met with troubled laughter but also applause, people wanted to think they were edgy too. Or maybe they also just thought girls really were losers. Also, the Adam and Eve thing is just all about WOMEN = SMART/INCONSTANT, MEN = DUMB/LOYAL, hahaha whatever. But then he saves it with the great God voice going "Okay everyone..." Well, I won't spoil it for you. It's too great a laugh line.

That's what this album shows, though; it's a bravura freakin' performance about how to work an audience like a rented mule. He jokes with the people up in "the cheap seats," he tosses off surreal throwaway lines, doubles back on himself in a carefully controlled way, nails every line with perfect timing. He's got three instruments: the microphone, often used as a percussion device or a special effect studio (he growls close into it to create echoes, etc.), the audience, and his own prodigious brain.

This is never more evident than on the title track, which takes up the second side with an incredible story about him and his brother and the bed they shared. For 26 minutes, he is the biggest rock star in the world doing the world's greatest solo. He gently reminds people that he grew up in the ghetto, but doesn't want any sympathy or anything; it's just about the details. (Plus, it was a pretty okay ghetto, what with a piano and linoleum floors and everything. Cos wasn't rockin' any projects I've ever been in or anything.)

As the thing goes on, carefully laid out in four segments that each ratchet up the drama and the hilarity -- the brothers fight over the bed, their father gets madder, they break the bed, etc. -- the audience and the listener at home are both in the same position: leaning forward farther and farther without even realizing it, wanting to know what happens next...and then...and then....

My dad loves Bill Cosby and ended up stealing a lot of mannerisms from him in the way he tells stories, but I think I've taken more. When I go on school visits and talk about my childhood and how it led me to be a not-very-successful children's-book author, that's my whole steez right there, housed from Cos.

Except, I hope, without the misogyny and the implied social conservativism.

I picked up a re-issue of this album this weekend for $9.99. It is the greatest album in the history of the world. REASONS:

1. The excellent "Maybelline" rip-off "Ride On Josephine," virtually a note-for-note job except for Bo's anguished cries and one-sided conversation with the title chick: "You say what kinda car I'm driving? Well...uhh...I'm-a...I'm drivin' a '48 Cadillac with Thunderbird wings / Tellin' you baby it's a runnin' thing".

2. The Bo-icized remake of "Sixteen Tons," the song that he had refused to do on "The Ed Sullivan Show" (choosing this song instead, natch) a couple of years before, getting himself blackballed forever from the old cadaver's showcase. Not sure why ol' Bo did that, because this coulda shoulda been a huge hit.

3. Even besides that one, there are least three other cowpoke tunes here, including the title track and the Coasters-ish "Whoa Mule (Shine)" where Bo gets sassed by a donkey.

4. "Cadillac" is the fiercest spelling bee on record.

5. "Doing the Crawdaddy" might be the first dance-instruction song where the dancers are taunted by the lead singer: "I don't think you can do it!"

6. Country-ass tango version of "Prisoner of Love." Nuff said there.

7. There is a bonus track called "Googlia Moo" that is actually better than its title might indicate. His girlfriend looks like she comes from a zoo, kids clown her in the street, she can't dance, and all she can say is the title phrase. He loves her anyway. WTF moments abound in Bo's repetoire but this kills 'em all.

8. On another bonus track, "Working Man," Bo actually brags about how well he uses his sledgehammer while everyone repeatedly goes OOOF! in the background; "I'm a man / Amongst men." Gee I wonder why this wasn't on the original album in 1960 no sah. Elsewhere, he brags about how he's not a plumber but he can thread that pipe, and something about not being a butcher but, y'know, being good at cutting meat. Unsubtle. Tough.

9. He gleefully snags a whole chunk of "Over the Rainbow" and repurposes it like a natural man.

10. There is an instrumental called "Diddling." GAME SET MATCH, BITCHES.

Okay, so the 33 1/3 book series is taking more pitches. I have chosen the album that I'm pitching. Since I don't know who's reading this thing, I'll rely on you to comment on this entry by telling me the answer to the following questions three:

a) what album do you think I'm pitching? (make sure to read the linked post, rules apply)*
b) what album you would LIKE to see me pitch
c) what album would you write about if you could

Come on, I haven't had any comments yet and it's getting depressing

*If you have received emails from me about this you are disqualified, but leave comments anyway.

It's 1977 and I'm in 5th grade. I am the third tallest kid in my class and I have a couple of pretty good friends even though I was the new kid twice this year, and when Miss Johnson points to the unmarked U.S. map the other kids guess the name of the state but Tim P. and I yell out the state's capital because we're smart-asses.

Not sure what month it was because we went to year-round school, on for nine weeks and then off for three, etc. Might have been May, June, even July. I remember that it was really hot, because our classroom faced an outdoor courtyard. I also remember how hot Miss Johnson was; this is no joke, you guys, everyone knew it. My dad called her "Boom-Boom," okay? She was also hilarious and blisteringly intelligent and she was the first teacher who ever said "No shit, Sherlock" to me. (I had finally figured out fraction division during an extra lunchtime math session, which I'm pretty sure she did mostly because she was tired of me being such a damn smartass.

That's the kind of teacher I wanted to be, years later. But that's for later.

So anyway we sometimes got to listen to music in class, and on this hot May/June/July day I had brought in my favorite album. I had gotten it a few months before through the almighty Columbia Record & Tape Club. I knew every last rock and rollin' classical-ass note of the damn thing. My dad liked it, my mom liked it, my brothers liked it. I just knew everyone in class would like it.

Mark K., the coolest kid in class (his dad owned a Porsche dealership in the next town, he lived in the only swanky part of the district), came over to watch while I took the record out of the slipcase and put it on the public-school-level-nasty record player. I carefully placed the needle on the outer band and turned up the volume so everyone could rock out to Electric Light Orchestra.

Problem: I picked side 2, the side that starts with the weird disco-pop number "So Fine." If I had done side 1, starting with "Tightrope" I might have...nah, I was pretty much screwed either way. This was not a record for a 5th grader to bring to class, at any time, ever.

The class was unhappy; there were snickers, Kitty H. deployed her famous sarcastic wit. Mark K. called me gay. Ultimately, though, I didn't care. It was good for them to hear a good record. I refused to take it off and they all had to sit there, in that sweaty classroom, all through the next 17 whatever minutes -- all the way even through the extended coda of "Shangri-La," with all those little tinkly notes falling down like stars, like a million Bill Walton hook shots, like the sparks after fireworks. They hated me and I hated them and it was beautiful.

Walking in the woods
the critic looks at the trees
Seen 'em all before

quick hit thursday

ITEM: Around our place, we're totally already rooting for Denise Jackson on "American Idol" -- Madison LaFollette High School REPRESENT!

ITEM: Apparently, David Raposa is blogging again. I can't find it anywhere. Hints? UPDATE: It is here.

ITEM: The new season of "24" is boring me so far, even though Jack bit a dude to death in the neck and then shot Curtis (horrible inexplicable personality change for the C-man, poorly timed too) and then Valencia got itself blowed up. Chloe's husband is a nothing, although that's the way I feel about Mary-Lynn Rajskub after she said Rush Limbaugh was "brilliant and hilarious." Plus there was no reason for them to give a pardon to that one dude, he was cooperating anyway. Argh. I'll probably still watch it until it gets good again mid-season like last year. A little Grand Guignol goes a long way, but if we hadn't had Jean Smart going nutso last year I woulda been out of there by Episode 7.

ITEM: In other news, Elia Aboumrad rocks a whole lot, especially with a shaven head. I'm not sure why she didn't come in and kick Cliff's wrasslin' ass off of Marcel, but I'm sure she had her reasons, like trying to figure out why she had just shaven her damned head.

ITEM: This website is very very funny.

dammit gotta go more later, including some stern words for a former student

Hello children, let me school you like mr. Kot-TAIR --

First-a-ly: liking Rodney's blog a lot, even though it's only one post old. I disagree with him about Stevie's "Sweet Little Girl," though. Where Rodney sees the "other voice" as an inexplicable embarrassment, I think Stevie is just doing what he does all over Music of My Mind: undercutting his own image. Until this record, he had never been allowed to have the creative control he had always craved. Sure, he was writing some of his own songs, trying harder and harder to make them relevant and deep. But -- like Marvin, like a lot of Motown folk -- Stevie had been chafing under the Berry Gordy lockdown. Now, after the success of What's Going On, Stevie gets the chance to take the reins. What has he done in the first two songs here? "Love Having You Around," a three-minute song that keeps going for another four point three minutes building up ambiguities in its music and in Stevie's voice, and "Superwoman," which morphs into that whole "where were you when I needed you last winter" hook that Lauryn Hill sang on that Common song that made me hate Common back then. As a deconstructionist (and a white guy) I tend to think that Stevie is just throwing in the fakey-ghetto voice on "Sweet Little Girl" to undercut the rest of the song's oh-so-motown-y sentiments, a way of taking the piss out of himself so everyone knows he was in on the joke the whole time. However, I see where Rodney might not feel that way...especially in the very last comment Stevie's pimped-out second narrator makes, right at the deep fade. So yeah -- this is a blog that can be learned from.

Second-ly, check out this other blog by Mordecai. So far, I like it, although I eagerly await the time when he decides, "You know what, screw P'fork and Spin and all lists, I wanna write about what I wanna write about." That will be fun. And he seems to pretty much like everything, which I admire (I do the same thing) but I don't trust (most days, I wouldn't trust me as far as I can throw me). One word for dude: if you're going to imply that Zeppelin's Physical Graffiti, for example, doesn't mean a thing, then just SAY IT. You'd be wrong, but it's the bold step. Don't walk up to the edge and then just peer over, yo.

But both are smart guys and I reserve the right to argue with both of 'em in the days to come. I love them whippersnappers, but sometimes I gotta lay the (gentle and constructive) smackage down.

With a lame flourish
I rise from my comfy chair
World saved once again

Wow that resolution to write every day sure didn't work out very well now did it?

More jazz reviews: here and here. I am a lot more interested in reviewing jazz now than any kind of indie rock. I know I should say that this is because I am old, but I think it's just that indie rock is stupid and boring. I was watching "Saturday Night Live" last night and the Shins were on and JEEXUS H. CRISTO WERE THEY BORING. Much more compelling to Watch me lapse further into irrelevancy...live! right here!

But at least I'm wasting my life because I don't have an MBA, or a master's, or a Ph.D. I heard this yesterday from a certain family member who shall remain nameless. Okay, it was my father. He thinks I should take night classes or something. I tried to argue that I enjoy spending time with my children and wife. He thinks I am a big pussy* who is squandering my enormous intellect and massive potential. OH I'LL SHOW HIM I'LL WRITE MY NOVEL AND PUBLISH MY BOOKS AND MAKE A MILLION BUCKS AND THEN HE'LL SEE THEY'LL ALL SEE.

Haha if he only knew.

*Not his words. But pretty clearly.

Lazy on Sunday
Soon the world will all explode
Better dance and sing

ITEM: Here is a pretty good review I wrote about a jazz album.

ITEM: Here is a pretty bad review I wrote about a rap album. (I also wrote an article there about "New TV Characters 2006" but I don't like how it turned out so I won't link to it.)

ITEM: Since I write about music and contributed to the Idolator poll, I guess I better say something about it. In two words: What. Ever. I listened to exactly three of the top 21 albums, and only voted for one of them. I'm sure they're fine, I'm just not all that interested in many of them. Everything slides towards a soggy middling consensus, nothing is very surprising, same as always. Pazz & Jop will be kinda the same, except a lot lamer. But it's all good. Kinda.

I'm having a tough time right now understanding my place in the universe. I have a lot to say but I'm not going to say it right now. I'll hit you up later.

i aint got no map
never wanted/needed one
being lost aint bad