Maybe it's surrender, I said at Thursday Night Pints, asked by K why the retirements and extended vacations in my stringtown of Blegsylvania. Where last week's surprise TNP was joyous throughout, last night started sullen, yes warm, yes welcome, but sullen as a rerun. Jeb Fucking Bush, said D, Hillary Fucking Clinton, said L, Terry Fucking McAuliffe, I said, versus Kenasshole Cuccinelli, more lesser-evilism spinach for professional progressive Popeyes. Hahaha. Jesusshit, no wonder people are quitting, said L. Then, suddenly, happier. K said she would have held out but Whatshisname really wanted to know the gender of the child, may I suggest Jeffrina for your daughter's name, I am so happy she and you are so healthy.
- Lordy, you are going to hear BOATLOADS OF BEEFHEART over the next six weeks or so.
- This week in war.
- Dimensions of elite power.
- Is it worth fighting?
- Hey! Update on potential war against Syria!
- So, bleggalgazing - I'm still enjoying myself, I said when D asked if I was thinking about taking a break or wrapping it up. As I type this sentence Friday morning Stanley is purring on my lap, I've a cup of home-brewed coffee, I just made myself giggle.
- Mark your territory.
- As for why the stringtowns in Blegsylvania's Mon Valley are boarding up their windows at an ever increasing pace: I'd rather hear your theories.
- Hahaha!! Washington Post paywall. Hahaha!
- On papal tweeting.
- So scanning the bookshelves I found a mass market copy of Mieville's Perdido Street Station. I've heard the buzz about Mieville, I read and greatly enjoyed his recent Theses on Monsters, so I opened the novel and started reading. Chapter Two: A mad human scientist and his insect lover fuck. All my anti-scifi alarms claxoned and flashed and... I was OK, I survived, I kept reading. I make myself no promises.
- Beauty is a verb.
- Suburban Burma.
- The Pressure.
- Lydia Lunch live set from earlier this week.
- One last appreciation for Brubeck.
- Today's Zappadan.
- Oh dear, a deliciously vicious Zappa takedown.
- Eno's lost 1970's pop album.
- On Lucinda Williams, with songs.
- Yes, lots of Beefheart, though yesterday I was reminded of Zoviet France:
As the wave reaches the church, it
separates right and left and the edifice
is embraced. Confabulation fills the gap.
Still, the shadow-sound is only partial. Errors
in recognizing the surroundings are
paralleled by misjudgments of time and trouble.
The pulse advances, squeezes the particles to-
gether. Meaningless patterns distorted,
so as to make them look familiar.
When a long sea roller meets an isolated
rock in its passage, it rises against the rock,
clasps it all around. Past events, pushed.
Hahaha!! Washington Post paywall. Hahaha!ReplyDelete
That's right, beaches. PAY for your corporate dreck!
Quite a relentless savaging of FZ by Penman, there.ReplyDelete
While I'm not a Zappa fanboy, musically speaking (having the opinion that FZ as composer/auteur never fully transcended his influences - unlike, say, Beefheart or Ayler - prior to jettisoning his original support network, and was unwilling and/or incapable of doing so afterwards in a less challenging artistic environment), I do appreciate that there weren't a whole lot of peers to compare FZ to in the active decades of his career...thus a personal synthesis of some unique type must have occurred.
The written effect Penman creates, ironically, doesn't seem dissimilar from that context of sustained negativity that he accuses Zappa of. Hmmm, fire - meet fire. Now fight!
The link was for a friend who has the visceral hatred of Zappa like I do for The Fucking Doors. As for the irony of Penman's methodology, I've always studied whoever I viscerally hate to help me understand (and address to mixed results) what I hate about myself.ReplyDelete
Well, nothing says friendship like sharing visceral hatred for the holidays, I say. Something to bring us all together under the windswept skies of love, warmed by shared antipathy.ReplyDelete
What I found so amusing about the Penman piece was the visceral hatred. He was going to listen to more stuff he despises so he can find more stuff to rant about. OK. That's like a restaurant critic going back to the Taco Bell and working his way through the Dollar Value menu after his first few trips to the Taco Bell gave him the runs. I can picture the Penman piece in The Onion under the headline "Music Critic Tells Us What He Really Thinks About Frank Zappa".ReplyDelete
I usually just skip digging through visceral hatreds in order to spin some more Sabbath. I already know most of me is egads, so I choose to listen to walls of sound hold the Taco Bell.ReplyDelete