It's my birthday and I'm celebrating by sitting around a lot, napping, drinking Folger's whole bean 'gourmet' coffee and by feeling my feelings. I feel things sometimes. I felt sick last Monday at 'Sticky Fingers' (Big Lug, 85 Avenue A, New York City, New York 10009) when I witnessed a hopelessly inebriated mother dirty boogie and simulate oral sex with her perky NYU daughter's gay best friend and then sit down on the floor and cry. On this day of days I feel a tad conflicted:
I feel like I could give two shits about O.J.'s pending confession and/or TomKat's Italian sham merging of Scientologist souls.
I feel a little in love with my next door neighbor.
I feel anxious regarding my best buddy, 'Fredo, because he's being harrassed by his brand new frightwig/stalker (guess what: Frightwig/stalker works for Conde Nast...surprise).
We're deploying even more troops to Iraq. wtf. sigh.
Pause a moment and consider Tazers. Civilian control has become a priority in this theocracy we call home sweet home.
Chan Marshall (Cat Power) is jaw-dropping, heart-stoppingly beautiful now that she's pulled the hair out of her face and makes extraordinarily inspiring/wonky/boozy/chanteusey music. 'The Greatest' is the most vital break-up/can't-go-on-but-I-must cd-download since Roxy Music's 'Siren' and that is no shit. What happened? Who intervened? Did she take tea with Tom Waits and Elvis Costello and Stephin Merritt? Did Nina Simone Tazer her from the crypt and give her a make-over? Speaking of boozy chanteuse I can't wait to check out 'Bobby', Emilio Estavez' ambitious take on June, 1968 featuring that M to F tranny Demi Moore as a nicotine-stained hooch whore: Estavez couldn't hammer out a deal with Justin Bond so he nabbed The Next Best Thing. Great casting...although I'm not quite sure I buy Elijah Wood as a Vietnam draftee...he still looks like he's waiting for his nanny to pick him up at Montessori...
I've come to love Jeff Buckley because he's just so damned queer and he hits all those high notes. And he's dead. Figures: Story of my life. Yeah, yeah...I know he was straight and he banged Courtney Fucking Love...wait a minute...he's still just so damned queer...check out 'The Man That Got Away' or 'I Want Someone Badly' (girl group back-up singers). Fine-boned hetero dead dudes who have nailed impossible falsettos. What am I gonna do? Can't help it. I'm weak. The Arcade Fire makes me cry. What can I say?
KT Tunstall's annoying summertime radio headache, 'Black Horse And The Cherry Tree', actually began life as a terrifying, authentic acoustic delta blues tune before it was ass-raped over a sawhorse by radio programmers. Here's hoping KT wins a bunch of Grammys, says 'lick me' to Clive Davis or whoever and goes back to her indie-label bad-ass self.
More to come.