As far as I can tell, everyone survived, thankfully.
---------
Happy Holidays! Drive safely! DON'T text and drive!
Friday, December 25, 2015
Probably a good reason not to schedule a winter road trip...
As far as I can tell, everyone survived, thankfully.
---------
Happy Holidays! Drive safely! DON'T text and drive!
Friday, December 18, 2015
Dear Deer, Please Steer Clear...
I do a lot of driving. On a weekly basis, I cruise through heavily wooded areas and farm country where deer hang out, in an area of the country where the whitetail is king. Considering this, and factoring in the overall amount of driving I've done since January 1989, when I got my driver's license (on my first try, thank you very much...), it's actually pretty amazing that the above scenario - caught by the dash cam of a sheriff's squad car in Kenton County, Kentucky in November - hasn't happened more. But for all the highways and byways conquered in my many years of driving, all the impromptu road trips, family vacations and restless late night cruising, I've hit just one deer in my life.
I was eighteen, and driving down a heavily wooded street that was just close enough to the edge of town to qualify as a road, one evening in November. I was jamming to my tunes, cup of coffee in hand, fresh pack of cigs, and feeling pretty wonderful behind the wheel of my 1977 Chrysler Newport, that burgundy boat with the rusted wheel wells and rear bumper practically scraping along the ground. The animal came from the darkness on the left, lunging into the cone created by my headlights in an ill-considered (certainly ill-timed) attempt to cross the road.
I braked and swerved (gasped a little too, I must confess) but I could not avoid a collision. The animal's appearance was too sudden, its determination to follow through unwavering. I clipped its rear flank. It spun around and came to a grinding halt on the opposite side.
I was eighteen, and driving down a heavily wooded street that was just close enough to the edge of town to qualify as a road, one evening in November. I was jamming to my tunes, cup of coffee in hand, fresh pack of cigs, and feeling pretty wonderful behind the wheel of my 1977 Chrysler Newport, that burgundy boat with the rusted wheel wells and rear bumper practically scraping along the ground. The animal came from the darkness on the left, lunging into the cone created by my headlights in an ill-considered (certainly ill-timed) attempt to cross the road.
I braked and swerved (gasped a little too, I must confess) but I could not avoid a collision. The animal's appearance was too sudden, its determination to follow through unwavering. I clipped its rear flank. It spun around and came to a grinding halt on the opposite side.
I hadn't been going all that fast, only about 30 or 35, but I'll never forget the dynamic motion with which the animal's body was sent sailing away from the front of my still-moving car, coming to rest in a shower of snow and dirt. I was young, a relatively new driver, and behind the wheel of my first car to boot. And while that last fact surely worked to my advantage (if it had been my dad's '88 Dodge Omni I'd been driving, with its pinched front end and plastic bumper, the outcome may have been quite different), it still felt like a deep, heavy tragedy. One that I was responsible for.
I pulled over, got out, discovered a broken headlight on my vehicle and the deer lying twisted in the ditch. It was making a noise, which did not help to make the situation any less unnerving (until then, I had no idea deer vocalized), and trying to get up, dragging itself by it's front legs while attempting to right its rear end. It was a buck, with two small antlers.
"Don't get too close," a voice came from the darkness, "he'll kick the shit out of you."
It easily could have been the voice in my mind saying this as I inched toward the beast flailing in the snow, but it was actually a local resident, a middle aged man who'd heard the collision from his house and walked down his driveway to investigate.
"What do I do?"
"Nothing," he replied. "He'll probably get up on his own. Or maybe not. You just don't want to get too close." He took a careful step toward the animal. "Looks like you smoked yourself a little spike."
It didn't seem possible that this deer would ever walk again. It seemed pretty well "smoked" - its hindquarters twisted, hind legs turned sideways. But then, almost as if a certain gesticulation caused its hips to snap back into place, it was on its feet. A second later, it had disappeared into the woods, the rustle and crack of branches as it made its escape the only sign of its presence.
Rarely in my life have I been gripped by so strong an emotion as when that deer climbed to its feet and took off.
"Damn, will you look at that," the man muttered.
"That's awesome," I said.
"Yeah it is," he replied. "Well, you'll want to wait around here a second, I called the police."
Rarely in my life have I been gripped by so strong an emotion as when that deer climbed to its feet and took off.
"Damn, will you look at that," the man muttered.
"That's awesome," I said.
"Yeah it is," he replied. "Well, you'll want to wait around here a second, I called the police."
That annoyed me at the time, and it still does, thinking back. I was not impaired in any way, not carrying anything incriminating, had no reason not to want the cops involved, but I didn't appreciate his vigilante response, his immediate move to take charge of a situation he really had no involvement with. But I was still a kid, accustomed to listening to adults, and pretty sure he was the father of someone I went to school with, which meant news of this incident, and any related defiance on my part, was probably going to get back to my parents eventually.
I sat on the front of my car and waited. The cops came, took a statement, asked if I had been drinking, asked the man what he'd seen, said good day, and left. For reasons that to this day I can't easily explain, I drove away feeling a little bit more like an adult.
That was 1991. Since then, deer have only become more numerous on roadways where I live. I've had numerous close calls, but have always managed to veer left, or right, slam on the brakes just in time, and avoid a second collision.
The latest near-miss happened not three weeks ago, driving home for Thanksgiving. A nice looking buck sprinted right in front of me, didn't even seem aware that he was mere seconds from death. I wasn't going 35 this time, more like 75, on a state highway, and we missed each other by inches. Deer are stupid creatures when it comes to automobiles, and November is the rut. With bucks half-mad from lust roaming the woods, it's the most dangerous time to tempt fate on roadways. But collisions can happen any time of the year, and I hate the thought of it happening on 1/48/50. I can think of no more offensive and jarring interruption to nebulous living than having to a) call the police, b) file an insurance claim, c) repair whatever damage is done.
Driving 14,000 miles will really be tempting fate.
Of course, on my 2011 road trip out west - 5,000 miles there and back - I strangely don't remember ever seeing a single animal of any size or kind. And surely on 1/48/50, I don't want that to be the case.
The latest near-miss happened not three weeks ago, driving home for Thanksgiving. A nice looking buck sprinted right in front of me, didn't even seem aware that he was mere seconds from death. I wasn't going 35 this time, more like 75, on a state highway, and we missed each other by inches. Deer are stupid creatures when it comes to automobiles, and November is the rut. With bucks half-mad from lust roaming the woods, it's the most dangerous time to tempt fate on roadways. But collisions can happen any time of the year, and I hate the thought of it happening on 1/48/50. I can think of no more offensive and jarring interruption to nebulous living than having to a) call the police, b) file an insurance claim, c) repair whatever damage is done.
Driving 14,000 miles will really be tempting fate.
Of course, on my 2011 road trip out west - 5,000 miles there and back - I strangely don't remember ever seeing a single animal of any size or kind. And surely on 1/48/50, I don't want that to be the case.
Friday, December 11, 2015
The NEXT Top 100 (or so) Songs I Absolutely Must Have With Me on 1/48/50 (cont...)
#172) "We've Only Just Begun" by The Carpenters - Seminal to my first glimmers of awareness so many years ago, when sunlight came from all around and adults were just large unknown figures picking me up and putting me down, this was the music my parents listened to, playing in the background and thus shaping my very young life. Sappy? Yes. Cheesy? Maybe. But look (listen) again, and then a third time. Much of The Carpenters' music possessed an unparalleled beauty, a distinctive sound that was unprecedented (dare I say, groundbreaking...?), and for my money, has never been duplicated.
One either gets this or doesn't. One either understands the difference between a throwaway love song filling dead air on Adult/Contemporary radio, throwing up either bombastic, overwrought allusions ("It's All Coming Back to Me Now" by Celene Dion, for instance), or completely sterile affirmations ("Always" by Atlantic Starr), and what The Carpenters were able to accomplish in their best moments. They may have been sappy, but they were not bubble gum.
Nowhere is a Carpenters "best moment" better evidenced than by "We've Only Just Begun", which began life as a jingle for a bank commercial in the late 60s, and was turned into quintessential AM Gold by combining Karen Carpenters' voice with her brother Richard's inspired arrangement and production. The end result was a sound so intimate and organic it could be (and was...and is) trance-inducing, possessing a dream-like melancholy that truly doesn't merely play, instead fills the room.
In a 1997 documentary about The Carpenters, one of the song's composers, Paul Williams, says that he often heard The Carpenters dismissed as being "vanilla".
Maybe they were vanilla, he concedes, but what an exquisite flavor.
Hallelujah.
"And when the evening comes, we smile..."
#173) "I Was Young When I Left Home" by Antony and the Johnsons - Appearing on Dark Was the Night, a 2009 compilation album for AIDS research/awareness, Antony Hegarty flexes his artistic muscle a bit with a moving rendition of Dylan's I Was Young When I Left Home.
Hegarty is an amazing talent, but casual listeners tend to be put off by his unique vocalization (perhaps something else you either get, or don't...). Here, his voice is inserted comfortably, and sturdily, into a folk-oriented arrangement that does Dylan justice, even, I'd venture, lending a new emotional layer to the melody and lyrics.
Which, if you know and appreciate Dylan, is saying something.
"But I can't go home this way..."
One either gets this or doesn't. One either understands the difference between a throwaway love song filling dead air on Adult/Contemporary radio, throwing up either bombastic, overwrought allusions ("It's All Coming Back to Me Now" by Celene Dion, for instance), or completely sterile affirmations ("Always" by Atlantic Starr), and what The Carpenters were able to accomplish in their best moments. They may have been sappy, but they were not bubble gum.
Nowhere is a Carpenters "best moment" better evidenced than by "We've Only Just Begun", which began life as a jingle for a bank commercial in the late 60s, and was turned into quintessential AM Gold by combining Karen Carpenters' voice with her brother Richard's inspired arrangement and production. The end result was a sound so intimate and organic it could be (and was...and is) trance-inducing, possessing a dream-like melancholy that truly doesn't merely play, instead fills the room.
In a 1997 documentary about The Carpenters, one of the song's composers, Paul Williams, says that he often heard The Carpenters dismissed as being "vanilla".
Maybe they were vanilla, he concedes, but what an exquisite flavor.
Hallelujah.
"And when the evening comes, we smile..."
#173) "I Was Young When I Left Home" by Antony and the Johnsons - Appearing on Dark Was the Night, a 2009 compilation album for AIDS research/awareness, Antony Hegarty flexes his artistic muscle a bit with a moving rendition of Dylan's I Was Young When I Left Home.
Hegarty is an amazing talent, but casual listeners tend to be put off by his unique vocalization (perhaps something else you either get, or don't...). Here, his voice is inserted comfortably, and sturdily, into a folk-oriented arrangement that does Dylan justice, even, I'd venture, lending a new emotional layer to the melody and lyrics.
Which, if you know and appreciate Dylan, is saying something.
"But I can't go home this way..."
Friday, December 4, 2015
The NEXT Top 100 (or so) Songs I Absolutely Must Have With Me on 1/48/50 (cont...)
#170) "River" by Joni Mitchell - For me, music is just music. I either like something, or I don't, and I resist labels that try to tell me what I "should" be listening to. But I can't deny there are some performers who are geared specifically - solely - toward a certain listener. Katy Perry, Adele, Rhianna, Taylor Swift, for instance...these singers make music for girls and/or women, no question. It is the female psyche, not the male, being represented in their songs. At the same time, plenty of their male counterparts in popular music pander solely to the instincts of men, although (and this shouldn't be too surprising) generally speaking, it's more acceptable for a female to rock out to Guns and Roses, or Kid Rock, or Eminem, or Korn, to shave her head, get a tattoo and stage dive at OzzFest, than it is for me to ever admit there's something about the song Teenage Dream that appeals to me. (Even now, I sit with my fingers poised above the backspace key, contemplating taking that last line out...;-)
Recently, I was called out, good-naturedly but seriously, by someone (a woman, and Millennial) for listening to "River" by Joni Mitchell. She thought it was funny, as though the song was too drenched in estrogen for any man to have on his phone. Privately, I was thinking, aren't we all supposed to be beyond that?, but I just smiled and shrugged, saw no need to get into a debate. I was - and am - unflinching in my love of "River", for a couple of reasons.
Number one, I think what distinguishes a performer from an artist is universality - the ability to touch hearts and minds across gender, and race, and nationality. In some songs, from some artists, it doesn't matter if you can relate specifically to what's being sung about. You feel. And the need society has to tuck things away into a nice, tidy genre so that it may be digested easily, sucks. Not just music, but movies, books...marketing really is the killer of art.
Number two, the exquisite beauty of "River" completely transcends gender, even THOUGH, yes, it's very much a song about a woman's experiences/thoughts/emotions. No matter. Its evocative brew of woodsy imagery and equally woodsy foreboding, lovely piano work and Mitchell's astonishing voice, are impossible not to be moved by, and testament to her artistry. And of course, there is the line, "I wish I had a river I could skate away on...." The depth and range of that sentiment is not likely to wind up in a Katy Perry song anytime soon.
And don't let them kid you, men have feelings like this. If they don't, it's only because they won't allow themselves to. They protect themselves from anything the least bit emotionally challenging, or potentially messy, usually with jokes, sarcasm, or (too often) anger. Hey, sometimes I do too. And to that end, make no mistake, I'm all for men being men and women being women. I cringe mightily at the thought of a politically correct, gender-neutral world. But at a certain point, a man just starts being repressed. We are all outfitted with the same complement of emotions at birth. It's what we do with them, or what happens to them perhaps, as time passes, that determines who and how we are.
I personally would not want to be a man living his life (or driving 14,000 miles) without a river to skate away on, at least in his mind.
"I wish I had a river so long, I would teach my feet to fly..."
#171) "Come Monday" by Jimmy Buffet - I'll say right off the bat, that in general I'm not a fan of Jimmy Buffet. The whole "parrothead" thing repulses me, not sure why. Maybe because "Margaritaville" is wholly overrated, even as a cult classic.
But "Come Monday" wins me over. Part of this might be that it was one of those songs "rocking" my cradle, drizzling out of a little AM transistor radio when I was very, very young. If you're listening at all at that age, you don't forget what you hear, and for better or worse, what I heard early on was a heaping helping of AM Gold, thanks to my parents.
But even today, there's something about "Come Monday" that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. As the refrain ramps up, the instrumentation works in tandem with the melody (and Buffet's voice) to create a powerful little moment of anticipation, of longing, of anxiety. I can never say quite what I'm anxious about listening to this song, only that I am. Like Joni Mitchell's "River", it is at once beautiful and haunting. Dated, and yet timeless.
"I spent four lonely days in a brown L.A. haze..."
Recently, I was called out, good-naturedly but seriously, by someone (a woman, and Millennial) for listening to "River" by Joni Mitchell. She thought it was funny, as though the song was too drenched in estrogen for any man to have on his phone. Privately, I was thinking, aren't we all supposed to be beyond that?, but I just smiled and shrugged, saw no need to get into a debate. I was - and am - unflinching in my love of "River", for a couple of reasons.
Number one, I think what distinguishes a performer from an artist is universality - the ability to touch hearts and minds across gender, and race, and nationality. In some songs, from some artists, it doesn't matter if you can relate specifically to what's being sung about. You feel. And the need society has to tuck things away into a nice, tidy genre so that it may be digested easily, sucks. Not just music, but movies, books...marketing really is the killer of art.
Number two, the exquisite beauty of "River" completely transcends gender, even THOUGH, yes, it's very much a song about a woman's experiences/thoughts/emotions. No matter. Its evocative brew of woodsy imagery and equally woodsy foreboding, lovely piano work and Mitchell's astonishing voice, are impossible not to be moved by, and testament to her artistry. And of course, there is the line, "I wish I had a river I could skate away on...." The depth and range of that sentiment is not likely to wind up in a Katy Perry song anytime soon.
And don't let them kid you, men have feelings like this. If they don't, it's only because they won't allow themselves to. They protect themselves from anything the least bit emotionally challenging, or potentially messy, usually with jokes, sarcasm, or (too often) anger. Hey, sometimes I do too. And to that end, make no mistake, I'm all for men being men and women being women. I cringe mightily at the thought of a politically correct, gender-neutral world. But at a certain point, a man just starts being repressed. We are all outfitted with the same complement of emotions at birth. It's what we do with them, or what happens to them perhaps, as time passes, that determines who and how we are.
I personally would not want to be a man living his life (or driving 14,000 miles) without a river to skate away on, at least in his mind.
"I wish I had a river so long, I would teach my feet to fly..."
#171) "Come Monday" by Jimmy Buffet - I'll say right off the bat, that in general I'm not a fan of Jimmy Buffet. The whole "parrothead" thing repulses me, not sure why. Maybe because "Margaritaville" is wholly overrated, even as a cult classic.
But "Come Monday" wins me over. Part of this might be that it was one of those songs "rocking" my cradle, drizzling out of a little AM transistor radio when I was very, very young. If you're listening at all at that age, you don't forget what you hear, and for better or worse, what I heard early on was a heaping helping of AM Gold, thanks to my parents.
But even today, there's something about "Come Monday" that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. As the refrain ramps up, the instrumentation works in tandem with the melody (and Buffet's voice) to create a powerful little moment of anticipation, of longing, of anxiety. I can never say quite what I'm anxious about listening to this song, only that I am. Like Joni Mitchell's "River", it is at once beautiful and haunting. Dated, and yet timeless.
"I spent four lonely days in a brown L.A. haze..."
Friday, November 27, 2015
The NEXT Top 100 (or so) Songs I Absolutely Must Have With Me on 1/48/50 (cont...)
#168) "Brass in Pocket" by The Pretenders - Sometimes a song is so well crafted it effortlessly reflects more than one emotion, or impulse. By way of lyrics, melody and rhythm, Brass in Pocket captures in a single shot both our aggressive pursuit of sex and love, our need for it, and the innate sense of vulnerability that keeps it in check (for most of us).
Here, there is none hotter than Chrissie Hynde. And even generally speaking, there rarely is. She's not traditionally "hot", exactly (although that hairline-just-barely-obscuring-the-eyes thing has always sort of driven me wild), but there is something alluringly balanced about her persona: no question she's a rocker chick who isn't going to take any crap, but never at the expense of a certain vulnerability, the kind men generally can't turn away from. This compelling duality is expertly illustrated by Brass in Pocket.
"Gonna make you, make you, make you notice..."
#169) "Remember Me" by Todd Rundgren - What distinguishes this from other break up songs is that it isn't actually a break up song. It would seem a young lady has been the object of Mr. Rundgren's affections for so long and fruitless a time he has simply given up, conceded defeat, and the "remember me..." sentiment is not an impassioned entreaty in some desperate grab for that elusive closure, but a shrugging consolation prize. I think the quiet resignation, and the futility it speaks to, makes this song - all 54 seconds of it - among the most heart-breaking I've ever heard.
And there's his voice, as well.
"Down the road, across the sea, please remember me..."
Here, there is none hotter than Chrissie Hynde. And even generally speaking, there rarely is. She's not traditionally "hot", exactly (although that hairline-just-barely-obscuring-the-eyes thing has always sort of driven me wild), but there is something alluringly balanced about her persona: no question she's a rocker chick who isn't going to take any crap, but never at the expense of a certain vulnerability, the kind men generally can't turn away from. This compelling duality is expertly illustrated by Brass in Pocket.
"Gonna make you, make you, make you notice..."
#169) "Remember Me" by Todd Rundgren - What distinguishes this from other break up songs is that it isn't actually a break up song. It would seem a young lady has been the object of Mr. Rundgren's affections for so long and fruitless a time he has simply given up, conceded defeat, and the "remember me..." sentiment is not an impassioned entreaty in some desperate grab for that elusive closure, but a shrugging consolation prize. I think the quiet resignation, and the futility it speaks to, makes this song - all 54 seconds of it - among the most heart-breaking I've ever heard.
And there's his voice, as well.
"Down the road, across the sea, please remember me..."
Friday, November 20, 2015
Train Hopping
Below I've attached two interesting - and well produced - videos from YouTube about train hopping.
The first, entitled, "Death of the American Hobo", is a documentary look into the history of the "train hobo" from just after the Civil War to present day, and the mythos surrounding those still keeping the lifestyle alive in the 21st century.
The second video was shot by an actual hobo...or, if not a hobo in the true sense, a professional train hopper nonetheless. Known as "Shoestring", he claims he's been train hopping since 1989, and I don't doubt that he has. This guy knows his stuff. The video below is just one of several he's posted on YouTube (I even found a written blog of his travels), and although they don't possess much production value, they don't have to. His informative, detail-oriented commentary brings to life the whole business, whether he's riding a pusher engine out of Shreveport, Louisiana, or, in the video below, about to make his way through the 6-mile Flathead tunnel in Montana.
It's with fascination that I watch these videos, and others like them, but I've come to accept that I could never ride the rails, even if I wanted to, even as a dilettante. It's a romantic notion, and impossible not to acknowledge train hopping as one third of the mighty triumvirate of antidotes most likely to cure that virulent fever called wanderlust (along with sailing and road tripping). Not to mention, many tracks run through vast wilderness areas otherwise inaccessible to the public, so truth is, it's a way to see the country from a perspective most people never get to.
But train hopping is illegal, strenuously enforced in some places, and I've never really been down with risking jail time. Moreover, if I've learned anything from these videos, it's that nobody should be too quick to dismiss the "train hobo" as some shiftless slacker. Au contraire, you really have to be a hardy individual to live like this. There are some specific skill sets that must be finely honed in order to not a) get caught, b) die.
1) You have to be physically fit. You have to able to run to keep up with a train, hit the ground running when you've jumped off one, sustain long periods of time in cramped spaces, be able to climb ladders, descend ladders, and all with a continuous efficiency of movement so as to draw as little attention as possible. Players of the game Splinter Cell will understand when I say the more you can stay in the shadows as you make your way along, the better.
You have to endure unpleasant conditions: a soaking rain, a bitterly cold night's sleep, cold food being your only breakfast (and lunch, and dinner), or the opposite: blistering heat, in which you better always have a supply of water. You don't want to be caught baking in a box car 300 miles from anywhere without water. That could turn disastrous real fast.
2) There's an even emotional keel, I would imagine, one must be in possession of, and be able to maintain, when train hopping. A lot of time is spent in desolate places, either rail yards or beside tracks often on the edge of towns, unfamiliar towns, and always the edge of society. This profound, and prolonged, sense of isolation has to get to you eventually. I know it would me.
3) You got to be able to wait, watch and listen, learn the habits of train workers, know what jobs they do and when, so as to make your way around them as you figure out which trains are going where. You need to know how and where to find food, store food, store water. These are answers that change from town to town, a fact which in turn leads to a critical need for adaptability and savvy. I posted last spring about the potential need to improvise on 1/48/50, but that'll be nothing. Rail riding is a non-stop exercise in adaptability.
4) There's a need for constant vigilance around freight trains. With one misstep you could be cut down under the unforgiving wheels of a thousand ton rail car, and if this were to happen (God forbid) halfway through the remotest stretch of Montana, nobody might ever know you were there, or what happened to you, except the animals that dragged your cleanly cut carcass into the woods.
5) There's a need for constant wariness in the rail yards, where "bulls" patrol, looking for riders. They are the law anywhere on railroad property, and are reportedly of varying temperament. Get a cool one, and he might just kick you out and tell you never to come back. Encounter a douche on a power trip (and we all know it takes a lot less than being a bull in a rail yard to ignite a power trip), you might wind up in jail. Stories about bulls engaging in violence against riders, at least in the old days, are not infrequent.
Wariness, also, of the people you meet along the way. I'm sure there's a certain brotherhood among riders, but no doubt a criminal element as well, one that is more preponderant than it is in every day society.
6) Even if loneliness and depression don't get you, boredom might. There seems to be a lot of sitting around, with nothing to do but wait for a train to come. You have to be willing and able to absorb boredom while at the same time deploying patience.
And once you find the train that's going to take you where you want to go, once you have hopped aboard, there's another several hours of sitting around, waiting to arrive.
That last would be the deal breaker for me. I'm not really good with boredom; always got to feel like I'm doing something, headed somewhere, and if at all possible, I need to be in control of the vehicle taking me there. Don't know how comfortable I'd be sitting back and putting my travel in the hands of an individual a mile up the track.
Naw, the lack of control, the spartan conditions, the having to work to have a good time, all make train hopping something best viewed, for me at least, on my laptop, with a cup of hot coffee and a bathroom with running water nearby. But some of these guys, Shoestring in particular, are to be admired for how they choose to live, no question.
In the end, wanderlust is wanderlust. The difference between road tripping and train hopping really comes down to what lengths one is willing to go in order to go, when the fever hits.
The first, entitled, "Death of the American Hobo", is a documentary look into the history of the "train hobo" from just after the Civil War to present day, and the mythos surrounding those still keeping the lifestyle alive in the 21st century.
The second video was shot by an actual hobo...or, if not a hobo in the true sense, a professional train hopper nonetheless. Known as "Shoestring", he claims he's been train hopping since 1989, and I don't doubt that he has. This guy knows his stuff. The video below is just one of several he's posted on YouTube (I even found a written blog of his travels), and although they don't possess much production value, they don't have to. His informative, detail-oriented commentary brings to life the whole business, whether he's riding a pusher engine out of Shreveport, Louisiana, or, in the video below, about to make his way through the 6-mile Flathead tunnel in Montana.
It's with fascination that I watch these videos, and others like them, but I've come to accept that I could never ride the rails, even if I wanted to, even as a dilettante. It's a romantic notion, and impossible not to acknowledge train hopping as one third of the mighty triumvirate of antidotes most likely to cure that virulent fever called wanderlust (along with sailing and road tripping). Not to mention, many tracks run through vast wilderness areas otherwise inaccessible to the public, so truth is, it's a way to see the country from a perspective most people never get to.
But train hopping is illegal, strenuously enforced in some places, and I've never really been down with risking jail time. Moreover, if I've learned anything from these videos, it's that nobody should be too quick to dismiss the "train hobo" as some shiftless slacker. Au contraire, you really have to be a hardy individual to live like this. There are some specific skill sets that must be finely honed in order to not a) get caught, b) die.
1) You have to be physically fit. You have to able to run to keep up with a train, hit the ground running when you've jumped off one, sustain long periods of time in cramped spaces, be able to climb ladders, descend ladders, and all with a continuous efficiency of movement so as to draw as little attention as possible. Players of the game Splinter Cell will understand when I say the more you can stay in the shadows as you make your way along, the better.
You have to endure unpleasant conditions: a soaking rain, a bitterly cold night's sleep, cold food being your only breakfast (and lunch, and dinner), or the opposite: blistering heat, in which you better always have a supply of water. You don't want to be caught baking in a box car 300 miles from anywhere without water. That could turn disastrous real fast.
2) There's an even emotional keel, I would imagine, one must be in possession of, and be able to maintain, when train hopping. A lot of time is spent in desolate places, either rail yards or beside tracks often on the edge of towns, unfamiliar towns, and always the edge of society. This profound, and prolonged, sense of isolation has to get to you eventually. I know it would me.
3) You got to be able to wait, watch and listen, learn the habits of train workers, know what jobs they do and when, so as to make your way around them as you figure out which trains are going where. You need to know how and where to find food, store food, store water. These are answers that change from town to town, a fact which in turn leads to a critical need for adaptability and savvy. I posted last spring about the potential need to improvise on 1/48/50, but that'll be nothing. Rail riding is a non-stop exercise in adaptability.
4) There's a need for constant vigilance around freight trains. With one misstep you could be cut down under the unforgiving wheels of a thousand ton rail car, and if this were to happen (God forbid) halfway through the remotest stretch of Montana, nobody might ever know you were there, or what happened to you, except the animals that dragged your cleanly cut carcass into the woods.
5) There's a need for constant wariness in the rail yards, where "bulls" patrol, looking for riders. They are the law anywhere on railroad property, and are reportedly of varying temperament. Get a cool one, and he might just kick you out and tell you never to come back. Encounter a douche on a power trip (and we all know it takes a lot less than being a bull in a rail yard to ignite a power trip), you might wind up in jail. Stories about bulls engaging in violence against riders, at least in the old days, are not infrequent.
Wariness, also, of the people you meet along the way. I'm sure there's a certain brotherhood among riders, but no doubt a criminal element as well, one that is more preponderant than it is in every day society.
6) Even if loneliness and depression don't get you, boredom might. There seems to be a lot of sitting around, with nothing to do but wait for a train to come. You have to be willing and able to absorb boredom while at the same time deploying patience.
And once you find the train that's going to take you where you want to go, once you have hopped aboard, there's another several hours of sitting around, waiting to arrive.
That last would be the deal breaker for me. I'm not really good with boredom; always got to feel like I'm doing something, headed somewhere, and if at all possible, I need to be in control of the vehicle taking me there. Don't know how comfortable I'd be sitting back and putting my travel in the hands of an individual a mile up the track.
Naw, the lack of control, the spartan conditions, the having to work to have a good time, all make train hopping something best viewed, for me at least, on my laptop, with a cup of hot coffee and a bathroom with running water nearby. But some of these guys, Shoestring in particular, are to be admired for how they choose to live, no question.
In the end, wanderlust is wanderlust. The difference between road tripping and train hopping really comes down to what lengths one is willing to go in order to go, when the fever hits.
Friday, November 13, 2015
The NEXT Top 100 (or so) Songs I Absolutely Must Have With Me on 1/48/50 (cont...)
#166) "Creep" by Radiohead - I can't find it anywhere unfortunately, but there's a weirdly poignant moment in an episode of Beavis and Butthead, of all things, where the two buffoons are watching the "Creep" video, waiting patiently for it to start "rocking" (Butthead assuring Beavis that it will at some point), and after several moments silently absorbing Thom York mumbling his self-loathing lyrics, Butthead mutters, seemingly perplexed (which is what makes it), "This guy is down on himself."
"Creep" is a great song. Great musicality, magnificent vocals. More than one person has told me that it's not even the best example of Radiohead, that I should explore some deep tracks to really get at the band's essence. I haven't done this, yet. I like this song so much, I almost don't want to associate the band with anything else (and this, reportedly, is not something Radiohead likes to hear).
It wasn't always a love affair. When it first was released in 1993, I saw "Creep" as just another contribution to the musically grim nihilism of the day, a member in good standing of the grunge movement, which, although lauded as a revolution, I still sort of view as merely giving voice to the anguish of America's privileged, and mostly white, middle class. Grunge was good for killing off hair metal, but I never bought into it entirely, as a state of mind or fashion statement....never understood just what Kurt Loder on MTV was creaming himself over. And I was part of what was likely a very small group of people under the age of 22 annoyed rather than grief stricken by Kurt Cobain's suicide. Not unsympathetic, but annoyed nevertheless.
As I familiarized myself with it, however, I started seeing "Creep" as something else, something more durable, touching on an important theme that transcends generations, styles, fads and fancies. Not since Janis Ian's "At Seventeen" eighteen years earlier, had there been such an apt anthem for those among us who get no spotlight, no attention, individuals for whom depression and self-loathing are not a stylized pose carefully sculpted from flannel and goatees (which essentially was how I saw, and dismissed, "grunge": beautiful people acting fashionably grungy...), but are instead the drab colors each and every day arrives dressed in.
That may or may not be what Radiohead had in mind with the song, but that's how I've always read it. In a rock and roll industry whose product has for, oh, sixty years now, been predicated almost exclusively on youthful vitality and beauty, driven first and foremost by raw, and often aggressive, sexual tension and attraction, "Creep" makes me stop and think about the people who don't fit in, can't fit in, won't fit in, and yet at the same time are not equipped with any means of capitalizing on their innate individuality, have no recourse, even, for "being different".
Everyone feels awkward and strange at some point (er, most people anyway...), but I'm not talking about teenage angst, restlessness, or unrequited love. I'm talking about the flightless birds out there, who well into adulthood bring no sparkle into a room, contribute nothing to any dialogue, never really hatch out of their egg, and view the world from within that shell, and yet, cruelly, aren't marginalized enough to fall into a category that might afford them help and support. They simply fall off the radar.
This I do not say in any kind of snarky way, nor am I trying to pretend I've always been the center of attention. I surely haven't. I've had my awkward moments, was not prom king by any stretch of the imagination back in school. And there is a point when everyone needs to try getting over the self-loathing, the self-pity, and find their voice, their identity, at all cost.
"Repeat after me," Butthead (the counselor...who knew?) mutters at the end of the video, "I am somebody."
I've just always felt lucky to have never gotten down on myself, even in moments, and there were plenty, when it was revealed perhaps I wasn't "so fucking special." The thought of people out there really seeing themselves as the individual in "Creep" sees himself, haunts me a little.
"What the hell am I doing here / I don't belong here..."
#167) "Rusty Cage" by Johnny Cash - Speaking of the early 1990s, I remember the original version of "Rusty Cage" by Soundgarden, only I don't remember the song at all...I only remember the video, notably the angry man wielding a pitchfork. I remember it being played over and over and over on MTV, and yet have little or no recollection of the song itself, a fact which says something, I think, about what's happened to the dynamic of popular music since the advent of "music television".
As far as I'm concerned, it wasn't until Johnny Cash's monumental cover version in 1996, from his monumental album Unchained, that the song came into being. Like Nine Inch Nails' "Hurt" a few years later, Cash, with a little help from Rick Rubin, breathed aggressive new life into the song, gave it universal appeal, proving a) yes, Virginia, there are good cover versions, b) great things can happen in the back half of one's life, or in Cash's case, the tail end.
Seriously, how impressive was it for Cash to become the legendary "Man in Black" in the 1960s and 70s, then go through a fifteen year dry spell, endure waning popularity in a fast changing industry, only to come back in the 1990s with an artistic and creative flourish that allowed him to very much earn the reverently austere moniker, Cash?
"When the forest burns along the road, like God's eyes in my headlights..."
"Creep" is a great song. Great musicality, magnificent vocals. More than one person has told me that it's not even the best example of Radiohead, that I should explore some deep tracks to really get at the band's essence. I haven't done this, yet. I like this song so much, I almost don't want to associate the band with anything else (and this, reportedly, is not something Radiohead likes to hear).
It wasn't always a love affair. When it first was released in 1993, I saw "Creep" as just another contribution to the musically grim nihilism of the day, a member in good standing of the grunge movement, which, although lauded as a revolution, I still sort of view as merely giving voice to the anguish of America's privileged, and mostly white, middle class. Grunge was good for killing off hair metal, but I never bought into it entirely, as a state of mind or fashion statement....never understood just what Kurt Loder on MTV was creaming himself over. And I was part of what was likely a very small group of people under the age of 22 annoyed rather than grief stricken by Kurt Cobain's suicide. Not unsympathetic, but annoyed nevertheless.
As I familiarized myself with it, however, I started seeing "Creep" as something else, something more durable, touching on an important theme that transcends generations, styles, fads and fancies. Not since Janis Ian's "At Seventeen" eighteen years earlier, had there been such an apt anthem for those among us who get no spotlight, no attention, individuals for whom depression and self-loathing are not a stylized pose carefully sculpted from flannel and goatees (which essentially was how I saw, and dismissed, "grunge": beautiful people acting fashionably grungy...), but are instead the drab colors each and every day arrives dressed in.
That may or may not be what Radiohead had in mind with the song, but that's how I've always read it. In a rock and roll industry whose product has for, oh, sixty years now, been predicated almost exclusively on youthful vitality and beauty, driven first and foremost by raw, and often aggressive, sexual tension and attraction, "Creep" makes me stop and think about the people who don't fit in, can't fit in, won't fit in, and yet at the same time are not equipped with any means of capitalizing on their innate individuality, have no recourse, even, for "being different".
Everyone feels awkward and strange at some point (er, most people anyway...), but I'm not talking about teenage angst, restlessness, or unrequited love. I'm talking about the flightless birds out there, who well into adulthood bring no sparkle into a room, contribute nothing to any dialogue, never really hatch out of their egg, and view the world from within that shell, and yet, cruelly, aren't marginalized enough to fall into a category that might afford them help and support. They simply fall off the radar.
This I do not say in any kind of snarky way, nor am I trying to pretend I've always been the center of attention. I surely haven't. I've had my awkward moments, was not prom king by any stretch of the imagination back in school. And there is a point when everyone needs to try getting over the self-loathing, the self-pity, and find their voice, their identity, at all cost.
"Repeat after me," Butthead (the counselor...who knew?) mutters at the end of the video, "I am somebody."
I've just always felt lucky to have never gotten down on myself, even in moments, and there were plenty, when it was revealed perhaps I wasn't "so fucking special." The thought of people out there really seeing themselves as the individual in "Creep" sees himself, haunts me a little.
"What the hell am I doing here / I don't belong here..."
#167) "Rusty Cage" by Johnny Cash - Speaking of the early 1990s, I remember the original version of "Rusty Cage" by Soundgarden, only I don't remember the song at all...I only remember the video, notably the angry man wielding a pitchfork. I remember it being played over and over and over on MTV, and yet have little or no recollection of the song itself, a fact which says something, I think, about what's happened to the dynamic of popular music since the advent of "music television".
As far as I'm concerned, it wasn't until Johnny Cash's monumental cover version in 1996, from his monumental album Unchained, that the song came into being. Like Nine Inch Nails' "Hurt" a few years later, Cash, with a little help from Rick Rubin, breathed aggressive new life into the song, gave it universal appeal, proving a) yes, Virginia, there are good cover versions, b) great things can happen in the back half of one's life, or in Cash's case, the tail end.
Seriously, how impressive was it for Cash to become the legendary "Man in Black" in the 1960s and 70s, then go through a fifteen year dry spell, endure waning popularity in a fast changing industry, only to come back in the 1990s with an artistic and creative flourish that allowed him to very much earn the reverently austere moniker, Cash?
"When the forest burns along the road, like God's eyes in my headlights..."
Friday, November 6, 2015
The NEXT Top 100 (or so) Songs I Absolutely Must Have With Me on 1/48/50 (cont...)
#164) "The End of the End" by Paul McCartney - Once again, the self-proclaimed purveyor of "silly love songs" proves that when he does latch onto a theme, wants to get a message across, he has the ability to sock the listener square in the nose.
In "The End of the End", from 2007's Memory Almost Full, McCartney addresses his own mortality, and does so in classic McCartney style. It's perhaps not surprising that such a song would show up on an album at that particular time in his life. He was in the midst of a bitter divorce from Heather Mills at the time, and what's more, the world had lurched through a paradigm shift since the turn of the century, the coming-of-age Millennials barely knowing who he was, or not caring nearly as much, far less likely to venerate him the way Boomers and Gen X'ers had. It would seem he was feeling all of this, it would seem that for the first time, it may have hit him that it really isn't 1976 anymore, or 1986, or even 1996, and that in spite of being "Paul McCartney", everything is still going to wind down, like it does for everyone eventually.
That's complete speculation on my part, to be sure...and yet "The End of the End" (and the name of the album on which it appears for that matter), definitely suggests something was going on.
This song would be moving performed by anyone. The older I get, the more I think about stuff like this, especially the last few years, as major transition has begun to beset the dynamic of my family. But the fact that it's Paul McCartney, I think, makes it especially powerful. The dramatic piano chords pound out a rich melody that captures all fifty years of his impressive career, as though all his other melodies, coloring the lives of so many through decades, can be found inside it (the pure white light of his discography). The whistling that serves as the Middle 8 is strangely reassuring (although maybe it shouldn't be...), and the lyrics are sooo McCartney. When I was younger, I idolized John Lennon, viewed him as the more talented - certainly the cooler - of the two giant Beatles. And perhaps all of that is still debatable. But now, at this point in my life, I much prefer McCartney's twinkly eyed optimism to Lennon's rage, and when that optimism is used to garnish something as grimly unavoidable as memento mori, I'm not going to lie: it's really quite moving.
Seriously, man, forget, "And I Love Her", "Yesterday", "Let it Be", "Hey Jude", "Oh Darling!", "Blackbird", "Penny Lane", "Hello Goodbye", "Helter Skelter" and "The Fool on the Hill". Don't give, "Maybe I'm Amazed", "My Love", "Jet", "Silly Love Songs", "With a Little Luck", "Let 'Em In", "Wanderlust", "Ebony and Ivory", "Tug of War", "Pipes of Peace" or even "Spies Like Us" a second listen.
"The End of the End" is Sir Paul's gift to the world. His message. His legacy. Epic.
"On the day that I die, I'd like bells to be rung, and songs that were sung to be hung out like blankets / that lovers have played on, and laid on while listening to songs that were sung."
#165) "Big Girl (You Are Beautiful)" by Mika - I just love this jam...sewn up nice and tight. Some things don't have to be explained (and some things I simply don't have an explanation for). "Big Girl..." is a great song to drive to, and if I'm going to subject myself to "The End of the End" on 1/48/50, I'm definitely going to need something to bring me back. ;-)
"Get yourself to the Butterfly Lounge, find yourself a big lady..."
In "The End of the End", from 2007's Memory Almost Full, McCartney addresses his own mortality, and does so in classic McCartney style. It's perhaps not surprising that such a song would show up on an album at that particular time in his life. He was in the midst of a bitter divorce from Heather Mills at the time, and what's more, the world had lurched through a paradigm shift since the turn of the century, the coming-of-age Millennials barely knowing who he was, or not caring nearly as much, far less likely to venerate him the way Boomers and Gen X'ers had. It would seem he was feeling all of this, it would seem that for the first time, it may have hit him that it really isn't 1976 anymore, or 1986, or even 1996, and that in spite of being "Paul McCartney", everything is still going to wind down, like it does for everyone eventually.
That's complete speculation on my part, to be sure...and yet "The End of the End" (and the name of the album on which it appears for that matter), definitely suggests something was going on.
This song would be moving performed by anyone. The older I get, the more I think about stuff like this, especially the last few years, as major transition has begun to beset the dynamic of my family. But the fact that it's Paul McCartney, I think, makes it especially powerful. The dramatic piano chords pound out a rich melody that captures all fifty years of his impressive career, as though all his other melodies, coloring the lives of so many through decades, can be found inside it (the pure white light of his discography). The whistling that serves as the Middle 8 is strangely reassuring (although maybe it shouldn't be...), and the lyrics are sooo McCartney. When I was younger, I idolized John Lennon, viewed him as the more talented - certainly the cooler - of the two giant Beatles. And perhaps all of that is still debatable. But now, at this point in my life, I much prefer McCartney's twinkly eyed optimism to Lennon's rage, and when that optimism is used to garnish something as grimly unavoidable as memento mori, I'm not going to lie: it's really quite moving.
Seriously, man, forget, "And I Love Her", "Yesterday", "Let it Be", "Hey Jude", "Oh Darling!", "Blackbird", "Penny Lane", "Hello Goodbye", "Helter Skelter" and "The Fool on the Hill". Don't give, "Maybe I'm Amazed", "My Love", "Jet", "Silly Love Songs", "With a Little Luck", "Let 'Em In", "Wanderlust", "Ebony and Ivory", "Tug of War", "Pipes of Peace" or even "Spies Like Us" a second listen.
"The End of the End" is Sir Paul's gift to the world. His message. His legacy. Epic.
"On the day that I die, I'd like bells to be rung, and songs that were sung to be hung out like blankets / that lovers have played on, and laid on while listening to songs that were sung."
#165) "Big Girl (You Are Beautiful)" by Mika - I just love this jam...sewn up nice and tight. Some things don't have to be explained (and some things I simply don't have an explanation for). "Big Girl..." is a great song to drive to, and if I'm going to subject myself to "The End of the End" on 1/48/50, I'm definitely going to need something to bring me back. ;-)
"Get yourself to the Butterfly Lounge, find yourself a big lady..."
Friday, October 30, 2015
The NEXT Top 100 (or so) Songs I Absolutely Must Have With Me on 1/48/50 (cont...)
#162) "Allentown" by Billy Joel - If this playlist really is more about the road I've traveled than the road trip I plan to take, then there may be no more seminal song to put on it than Allentown.
I was ten when this song was released, halfway through the task of growing up in my very own rust belt. And while my family was not directly affected by the broken promises and eventual vanishing act of the Great Lakes shipping industry, which in the late 1960s left my hometown with an economic hangover it's only recently started to get over, I grew up in it nevertheless, grew up amidst the same post-industrial grimness described in Joel's song. In fact, it was the very same industry that dipped out on Allentown, Pennsylvania...just the other end of it. My hometown shipped out the iron ore that wound up in places like Allentown to be turned into steel. But as the latter half of the 20th century unfolded, the ore was depleted, demand diminished, overseas competition hardy, and the industry collapsed, leaving a generation of men with no reason to get out of bed in the morning, and a generation of women with no reason to try rousting them. Make no mistake; I think Allentown, Pennsylvania fared much worse. My region managed at least to preserve a glimmer of hope by letting the natural beauty of Lake Superior become a tourist destination. But still, a lot of what made my hometown what it was when I was growing up was not all that pretty.
The strange thing is I was aware of it when I was ten. Yes, it would seem likely that I'd come to such a realization as an adult, but I saw my hometown in Allentown when I was a kid, walking along railroad tracks (the words Soo Line became an epitaph in my young eyes, printed in huge letters along the side of every abandoned train car, every rotting or rusted trestle spanning downtown streets), climbing over chunks of street concrete booby-trapped with gnarled tentacles of rebar that had been dumped along the lake shore, dodging handfuls of taconite pellets whipped at me either by a friend, a neighborhood bully, or worse, a hard-scrabble pack of neighborhood bullies. Perhaps I could not yet wrap my head around what it all meant, but I was making a connection, figuring something out, when I heard the song Allentown blaring from my older brother's dual-cassette boom box speakers.
Ashland, Wisconsin is no longer an ugly, abandoned train town. It's gone to great lengths in the last decade to clean up its act and look forward, capitalizing on the stellar beauty of Lake Superior, and letting a burgeoning environmental and organic movement (which I made fun of as a kid, but now understand and fully embrace) lead the way. But the way it was as I grew up certainly informed my personality, my worldview, and it still haunts me a little when I visit now.
"Every child had a pretty good shot, to get at least as far as their old man got / When something happened on the way to that place, they flew an American flag in our face..."
#163) "Sunday Morning Coming Down" by Kris Kristofferson - This song, I'm happy to say, I can't relate to all that much. I've never been down and out like this, nor let chemical dependency rule my life. I've never had "beer for breakfast and then one more for dessert."
Actually, come to think of it, I may have once or twice when I was in my early twenties. But thankfully, it never turned into something that transcended a young man's contrived flirtations with rebellion, his stylized desire to find romance in greeting each sunrise through bleary eyes. Sunday Morning Coming Down speaks to what was merely a dalliance for me becoming a lifestyle, in which there is no glamour or romance to be found; fading dreams by night, cold reality by daylight, and that daylight sullied as much by the mere fact of the Sunday as by alcoholism.
Johnny Cash did a stupendous version of the song in 1969, and this, understandably, became the more well-known. Kristofferson's strength lies in his songwriting and storytelling more than his performing. But for its poetry (a reminder of what country music once was, should be, and still could be if it stopped trying to be a caricature of itself), and for the solemnity of its arrangement better fitting the subject matter (in my opinion), I list Kristofferson's version here. Either one would do.
I can relate to this song in one way: there really is something about a Sunday that makes a body feel alone.
"And then I headed down the street, and somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing / And it took me back to something that I lost somewhere, somehow, along the way..."
I was ten when this song was released, halfway through the task of growing up in my very own rust belt. And while my family was not directly affected by the broken promises and eventual vanishing act of the Great Lakes shipping industry, which in the late 1960s left my hometown with an economic hangover it's only recently started to get over, I grew up in it nevertheless, grew up amidst the same post-industrial grimness described in Joel's song. In fact, it was the very same industry that dipped out on Allentown, Pennsylvania...just the other end of it. My hometown shipped out the iron ore that wound up in places like Allentown to be turned into steel. But as the latter half of the 20th century unfolded, the ore was depleted, demand diminished, overseas competition hardy, and the industry collapsed, leaving a generation of men with no reason to get out of bed in the morning, and a generation of women with no reason to try rousting them. Make no mistake; I think Allentown, Pennsylvania fared much worse. My region managed at least to preserve a glimmer of hope by letting the natural beauty of Lake Superior become a tourist destination. But still, a lot of what made my hometown what it was when I was growing up was not all that pretty.
The strange thing is I was aware of it when I was ten. Yes, it would seem likely that I'd come to such a realization as an adult, but I saw my hometown in Allentown when I was a kid, walking along railroad tracks (the words Soo Line became an epitaph in my young eyes, printed in huge letters along the side of every abandoned train car, every rotting or rusted trestle spanning downtown streets), climbing over chunks of street concrete booby-trapped with gnarled tentacles of rebar that had been dumped along the lake shore, dodging handfuls of taconite pellets whipped at me either by a friend, a neighborhood bully, or worse, a hard-scrabble pack of neighborhood bullies. Perhaps I could not yet wrap my head around what it all meant, but I was making a connection, figuring something out, when I heard the song Allentown blaring from my older brother's dual-cassette boom box speakers.
Ashland, Wisconsin is no longer an ugly, abandoned train town. It's gone to great lengths in the last decade to clean up its act and look forward, capitalizing on the stellar beauty of Lake Superior, and letting a burgeoning environmental and organic movement (which I made fun of as a kid, but now understand and fully embrace) lead the way. But the way it was as I grew up certainly informed my personality, my worldview, and it still haunts me a little when I visit now.
"Every child had a pretty good shot, to get at least as far as their old man got / When something happened on the way to that place, they flew an American flag in our face..."
#163) "Sunday Morning Coming Down" by Kris Kristofferson - This song, I'm happy to say, I can't relate to all that much. I've never been down and out like this, nor let chemical dependency rule my life. I've never had "beer for breakfast and then one more for dessert."
Actually, come to think of it, I may have once or twice when I was in my early twenties. But thankfully, it never turned into something that transcended a young man's contrived flirtations with rebellion, his stylized desire to find romance in greeting each sunrise through bleary eyes. Sunday Morning Coming Down speaks to what was merely a dalliance for me becoming a lifestyle, in which there is no glamour or romance to be found; fading dreams by night, cold reality by daylight, and that daylight sullied as much by the mere fact of the Sunday as by alcoholism.
Johnny Cash did a stupendous version of the song in 1969, and this, understandably, became the more well-known. Kristofferson's strength lies in his songwriting and storytelling more than his performing. But for its poetry (a reminder of what country music once was, should be, and still could be if it stopped trying to be a caricature of itself), and for the solemnity of its arrangement better fitting the subject matter (in my opinion), I list Kristofferson's version here. Either one would do.
I can relate to this song in one way: there really is something about a Sunday that makes a body feel alone.
"And then I headed down the street, and somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing / And it took me back to something that I lost somewhere, somehow, along the way..."
Friday, October 23, 2015
The NEXT Top 100 (or so) Songs I Absolutely Must Have With Me on 1/48/50 (cont...)
#160) "Nocturne in E Flat, Op. 9, No. 2" by Frederic Chopin - Of all the classical composers, many of them gifted (to say the least), nobody intrigues, moves, or impresses me like Chopin. Though most of his work was written for solo piano, I watched a BBC documentary recently that explains there was often a female vocalist on his mind when he composed, and as a result, his pieces tend to be emotionally expressive as well as astonishingly intricate. This is not always the case in classical music. Many of the genre's best works are soothing, impressive and lovely, but emotionally dry.
A nocturne is a piece of music intended to represent the night, and Nocturne in E Flat... is a deceptively simple slice of melodic ambrosia that captures, in vivid shades of white, silver and black, the nighttime's emotional entanglements, evoking a strong sense of peace punctuated ever so slightly by despair, a sense of sleepiness interrupted by occasional moments of anticipation, the notion - for this listener at least - that if you doze off, you may miss something. For my money, only Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata (No. 14 in C-sharp minor) paints as vivid a picture of the dark hours with just 88 keys.
Nocturne in E Flat..., of course, is not road music in the traditional sense...but reading back over the last two years, it's clear much of this musical list has drifted far away from road music, sometimes as far away as can be imagined (I placed the theme from The Jeffersons on here, for God's sake!). But that's okay; I think that's how it should be. This playlist (and I'd wager this is true of everyone's playlists) is not so much about the big road trip I'll one day drive, as it is the road I've traveled up to this point.
A special note should be made of the particular version of Nocturne in E Flat, Opus 9, #2 I prefer. Pianists can have a field day applying their own interpretative style to the works of Chopin. But there is a version of Nocturne in E Flat... by modern composer David Carlson, which seems to show up on a lot of classical compilations, a straightforward, more precisely timed performance that allows the richly woven finger work of the right hand and gorgeous ringing chords of the left hand (hallmarks not only of this piece, but Chopin's magnificence in general) to shine.
#161) "Don't Go Away Mad (Just Go Away)" by Motley Crue - Like so much "hair metal", this song reminds me of being in high school. I was a child of the 80s, and for better or worse this was the music that played when I was a teenager. Here was the music on the car radio as I cruised up and down the main drag in town, the songs that blared out of boom boxes at parties in apartments above that main drag. These were the videos MTV played (when the "M" still stood for something...), the music we drove an hour away (to Duluth, Minnesota) to see performed live. Hair metal was nothing less than the soundtrack of my youth, and while to this day I don't think it was all that great, I don't shy away from it either, and there were some standard-bearers in the lot. Not all of it was Winger, White Lion and Poison. There was Metallica, Guns and Roses, Def Leppard...bands who made durable music that still holds up today.
Motley Crue was somewhere in-between, and they inhabited a finite but important time of my life. Metal music is best absorbed through youthful skin; it really holds no place in an adult world, unless you are legitimately "metal", in style and attitude, in which case, God bless. I just think it would get exhausting after a while.
But in the summers of '90 and '91? Growing my hair long (though I think I looked more like Dave Mustaine from Megadeath than Vince Neil, and not in a good way) and learning fast what needed to be given the finger to, right around the time when Dr. Feelgood, the Crue's best album, was all over the radio? Yeah, it was a killer way to be, and Don't Go Away Mad (Just Go Away) felt damn good at just the right time that it should have.
In an interview somewhere, which sadly I haven't been able to find since discovering it on Youtube a few years back, Vince Neil draws a distinction between what the Crue was all about, and the grunge revolution that pretty much shut down hair/glam metal for good. He said he preferred his brand of rock and roll to that which resonated from bands like Nirvana and Alice in Chains.
I'm inclined to agree. Everything may have sucked - very clear and present dangers in life and society driving the grim fatalism of grunge - but wallowing in the despair and rage is not really the answer. Vince Neil's point was that the aggression of metal, or rock and roll (or whatever you wish to call it...) was a method of blowing off steam in the face of everything sucking. There was a certain optimism, and sense of expectation, even a little entitlement, in Motley Crue's music, and most of hair metal, when I was in high school.
I miss that.
High school, not so much. ;)
"That's all right, that's okay, let's turn the page..."
A nocturne is a piece of music intended to represent the night, and Nocturne in E Flat... is a deceptively simple slice of melodic ambrosia that captures, in vivid shades of white, silver and black, the nighttime's emotional entanglements, evoking a strong sense of peace punctuated ever so slightly by despair, a sense of sleepiness interrupted by occasional moments of anticipation, the notion - for this listener at least - that if you doze off, you may miss something. For my money, only Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata (No. 14 in C-sharp minor) paints as vivid a picture of the dark hours with just 88 keys.
Nocturne in E Flat..., of course, is not road music in the traditional sense...but reading back over the last two years, it's clear much of this musical list has drifted far away from road music, sometimes as far away as can be imagined (I placed the theme from The Jeffersons on here, for God's sake!). But that's okay; I think that's how it should be. This playlist (and I'd wager this is true of everyone's playlists) is not so much about the big road trip I'll one day drive, as it is the road I've traveled up to this point.
A special note should be made of the particular version of Nocturne in E Flat, Opus 9, #2 I prefer. Pianists can have a field day applying their own interpretative style to the works of Chopin. But there is a version of Nocturne in E Flat... by modern composer David Carlson, which seems to show up on a lot of classical compilations, a straightforward, more precisely timed performance that allows the richly woven finger work of the right hand and gorgeous ringing chords of the left hand (hallmarks not only of this piece, but Chopin's magnificence in general) to shine.
#161) "Don't Go Away Mad (Just Go Away)" by Motley Crue - Like so much "hair metal", this song reminds me of being in high school. I was a child of the 80s, and for better or worse this was the music that played when I was a teenager. Here was the music on the car radio as I cruised up and down the main drag in town, the songs that blared out of boom boxes at parties in apartments above that main drag. These were the videos MTV played (when the "M" still stood for something...), the music we drove an hour away (to Duluth, Minnesota) to see performed live. Hair metal was nothing less than the soundtrack of my youth, and while to this day I don't think it was all that great, I don't shy away from it either, and there were some standard-bearers in the lot. Not all of it was Winger, White Lion and Poison. There was Metallica, Guns and Roses, Def Leppard...bands who made durable music that still holds up today.
Motley Crue was somewhere in-between, and they inhabited a finite but important time of my life. Metal music is best absorbed through youthful skin; it really holds no place in an adult world, unless you are legitimately "metal", in style and attitude, in which case, God bless. I just think it would get exhausting after a while.
But in the summers of '90 and '91? Growing my hair long (though I think I looked more like Dave Mustaine from Megadeath than Vince Neil, and not in a good way) and learning fast what needed to be given the finger to, right around the time when Dr. Feelgood, the Crue's best album, was all over the radio? Yeah, it was a killer way to be, and Don't Go Away Mad (Just Go Away) felt damn good at just the right time that it should have.
In an interview somewhere, which sadly I haven't been able to find since discovering it on Youtube a few years back, Vince Neil draws a distinction between what the Crue was all about, and the grunge revolution that pretty much shut down hair/glam metal for good. He said he preferred his brand of rock and roll to that which resonated from bands like Nirvana and Alice in Chains.
I'm inclined to agree. Everything may have sucked - very clear and present dangers in life and society driving the grim fatalism of grunge - but wallowing in the despair and rage is not really the answer. Vince Neil's point was that the aggression of metal, or rock and roll (or whatever you wish to call it...) was a method of blowing off steam in the face of everything sucking. There was a certain optimism, and sense of expectation, even a little entitlement, in Motley Crue's music, and most of hair metal, when I was in high school.
I miss that.
High school, not so much. ;)
"That's all right, that's okay, let's turn the page..."
Friday, October 16, 2015
Roads Wanted...
Although I have a general course pretty much mapped out for 1/48/50 (more on that later), I have started compiling a list of specific highways I'd like to be able to say I've driven when all is said and done, which began with this short article, from skyscanner.com.
5 Dangerous Road Trips to Take On in the United States
5 Dangerous Road Trips to Take On in the United States
Friday, October 9, 2015
Time for a refresher course on the concept of 'living nebulously' - what it means, and what it doesn't...
So once again, I've been asked what 'seeking the nebulous life' means, and this most recent inquiry got me thinking there might be some confusion about the extent to which I think someone can, or should, live nebulously.
There's no denying our modern society is kind of an agitated freak show. There's no denying the sorry state of our news media, our tread-worn political process, our lowered standards in every facet of Life - entertainment, education, politics, even finance. There's no denying our eroding privacy, our allegiance to corporate brands that control how we live by manipulating the decisions we make as consumers.
I can't be the only one who has been pushed to the fringe of his thoughts by the monstrosity our collective culture has become. I can't be the only one who occasionally gets set to wishing he could live out in the woods, totally off the grid, gardening and fishing in sun-lit (and wholly insightful) silence for the remainder of his days.
Everyone has some sort of fantasy about living nebulously. Nobody's okay with how things are all the time. To quote Louis CK: Everything's amazing, and nobody's happy.
But the answer, I think, is not to disappear; the answer lies in learning how to cope, how to embrace the good and manage the bad. It would seem Treadwell and McCandless could not cope. For both men it was demons, rather than a sense of adventure, that drove them into the wild. And while it's true their stories are fascinating, it's equally true, and glaringly so, neither ended well.
First, some review:
From Dictionary.com:
'NEBULOUS: hazy, vague, indistinct, or confused'
'Confused' can just go away....yes, it's true; sometimes I am confused, but I'm surely never seeking it. Sometimes it just crawls up and bites me. :-)
The other three descriptions, though, are precisely what I'm talking about. A road trip, any vacation really, is first and foremost a move to feel, for a little while at least, 'hazy, vague, and indistinct', disconnected from everyday life. And for me, it doesn't require driving 14,000 miles. I enjoy the nebulous sensation even on the short two-hour road trips I take nearly every week, from which I return home the same day. I love how it feels stopping for gas in a town where I am a stranger. There is something almost sensual about that kind of anonymity.
Don't get me wrong, I want to engage people on my road trip, I don't want to be invisible. In fact, a big part of 1/48/50 (which also for review, means: 1 road trip through 48 states in under 50 years...that is, before I turn 50...) will involve not being aloof, going out of my way to talk to people. But I want to remain on the periphery nevertheless, basking in that sense of spirited weightlessness that makes any and all travel so pleasurable. And I'll certainly revel in the old familiar feeling of being the kid on the school bus.
But that's just on the road, for a finite period of time. When trying to apply the word 'nebulous' to day-to-day life, one is likely to get a vastly different result. I would never tell anyone to try living nebulously in the real world; it's a recipe for alienation and loneliness, the surest way to accumulate regrets. I've said it more than once: I don't think of myself as the loner I once did, I put no stock in the drama and romance I used to find (or believe I was finding) in the lives of my lone-riding heroes. Seriously, engage your day-to-day life head on; make friends, keep friends, preserve family ties while you can. In the end, that really is the stuff that matters, and it's later than you think.
The 'Reasons to Live Nebulously' that show up on this page from time to time are not to be taken all that seriously. They're mostly just a way to fill space and pass time (that's what happens when you start a blog about a road trip that is still years in the future), but at their most pointed, I guess they are things that make me step back and take a good, hard look at myself and the world around me, assess where I've been and just where I'm going, before I make my next move.
But I do always make that next move.
It might be said they are things that could get me wanting to disengage from my life completely, or wishing I could, even though I know I never will. Admittedly, I admire people like Tim Treadwell and Christopher McCandless for the choices they made. And further, sometimes the choice doesn't seem all that hard. What would I be leaving behind if i just stepped out of society? Honey Boo-Boo? The Dumb Ass Housewives of Wherever, Whenever? The Kardashians? Dash Dolls? Drones in the sky? Cameras being worn as glasses? The predatory marketing of prescription drugs inevitably leading to the predatory marketing of law offices, when those drugs are found, as they almost always are, to have injurious side effects? Processed food feeding billions? Those billions at best getting in my fricking way at Wal-Mart or in line in front of me at the post office, at worst overtaxing the planet's resources?
But I do always make that next move.
It might be said they are things that could get me wanting to disengage from my life completely, or wishing I could, even though I know I never will. Admittedly, I admire people like Tim Treadwell and Christopher McCandless for the choices they made. And further, sometimes the choice doesn't seem all that hard. What would I be leaving behind if i just stepped out of society? Honey Boo-Boo? The Dumb Ass Housewives of Wherever, Whenever? The Kardashians? Dash Dolls? Drones in the sky? Cameras being worn as glasses? The predatory marketing of prescription drugs inevitably leading to the predatory marketing of law offices, when those drugs are found, as they almost always are, to have injurious side effects? Processed food feeding billions? Those billions at best getting in my fricking way at Wal-Mart or in line in front of me at the post office, at worst overtaxing the planet's resources?
There's no denying our modern society is kind of an agitated freak show. There's no denying the sorry state of our news media, our tread-worn political process, our lowered standards in every facet of Life - entertainment, education, politics, even finance. There's no denying our eroding privacy, our allegiance to corporate brands that control how we live by manipulating the decisions we make as consumers.
I can't be the only one who has been pushed to the fringe of his thoughts by the monstrosity our collective culture has become. I can't be the only one who occasionally gets set to wishing he could live out in the woods, totally off the grid, gardening and fishing in sun-lit (and wholly insightful) silence for the remainder of his days.
Everyone has some sort of fantasy about living nebulously. Nobody's okay with how things are all the time. To quote Louis CK: Everything's amazing, and nobody's happy.
But the answer, I think, is not to disappear; the answer lies in learning how to cope, how to embrace the good and manage the bad. It would seem Treadwell and McCandless could not cope. For both men it was demons, rather than a sense of adventure, that drove them into the wild. And while it's true their stories are fascinating, it's equally true, and glaringly so, neither ended well.
As to last week's post, Reason #34 to Live Nebulously, I'm sorry, I just don't like the thought of robots, or artificial intelligence of any kind. To be perfectly honest, a proliferation of cyborg beings, to the point where they walk and talk among us, become integrated into our daily lives with the ability to intuit, might be a real reason to live nebulously, to actually take the leap. C3PO and R2-D2 are delightful on the silver screen, safely in that galaxy far, far away; I would not find them so enchanting in real life (nor, I suspect, would they be so enchanting). It's my one true prejudice; I do not like robots. I do not think any (further) foray into such technology will lead anywhere good, and when I see something as surreal (but real!) as 'robotic cheetah' lumbering clumsily along the grassy grounds of MIT to the cheers and applause of its madly intelligent and gifted creators, it makes my skin crawl.
Almost as much as the Kardashians do! ;-)
--------
While I'm at at, and on a related note, here is Reason #35 to Live Nebulously:
It would seem I'm in good company...
CLICK HERE
--------
While I'm at at, and on a related note, here is Reason #35 to Live Nebulously:
It would seem I'm in good company...
CLICK HERE
Friday, October 2, 2015
Reason #34 to Live Nebulously
Friday, September 25, 2015
Upcoming Solar Eclipse Might Make 2017 the Perfect Summer to Live Nebulously
All right, that's enough of that. All summer I've been lazing in the sunshine, listening to the greatest albums of all time, but three months of day-lit daydreaming was extinguished this week with the arrival of severe storms, followed by a brisk northerly wind pushing them to the east. Now, mornings are cooler, evenings shorter, sunlight denser in the afternoon. The trees are starting to change.
If I were on 1/48/50 right now, going by the course I've mapped out as it corresponds to the May-October timetable I've decided on, I guess I'd be somewhere in New England...Maine probably. And I'm not going to lie: I'd bet Maine is a nice, nice place to be in September.
But I'm not on 1/48/50...not now...not yet. Here in west-central Wisconsin, autumn is always a busy time. I like autumn, and don't dread winter like I used to, but as this summer has wound down, and people have gotten themselves back into the daily grooves that propel them forward, it's occurred to me that time's flying past at breakneck speed, and I have to start thinking about this road trip more seriously.
I really need to start making plans. I'm two and a half years into this blog, and now have less than eight to take the trip before I turn fifty. And truth be told, fifty is just the final deadline. The earlier the better.
2017 would be an ideal summer to make it happen, seeing as a monumental solar event is expected to take place that year, and seeing as I have a specific childhood memory related to it.
There was a solar eclipse on February 26, 1979, my kindergarten year. It was not a total eclipse where I was, but it was visible enough for our class to be called to the south-facing windows of the school to view with those cardboard box contraptions, called sunscopes, which 'project' an image of the eclipse through a pinhole. I can recall being amazed and excited by the concept of darkness during the day (I still am...), and even more so by the teacher informing us, as we each took a turn putting our head inside that box, that we would all be forty-four years old the next time something like this occurred.
She actually told us this, and her words have stayed with me all these years. They were my introduction to the concept of myself as something other than what I saw in the mirror. I can recall - quite vividly - being able to picture myself a grown-up, viewing an eclipse in an otherwise completely unimaginable future. And sure enough, her prediction was right on the money. A total solar eclipse will indeed take place on August 21, 2017, and I will be, as Mrs. Lojewski said, forty-four years old.
And who knows...with any luck, on the road somewhere.
Whereas the 1979 event was just a glancing visual blow in northern Wisconsin (the path of totality - that relatively narrow track of the eclipse that gets plunged into total darkness for a few minutes - swept through Washington State, Idaho and Montana, but then swung northward toward the arctic), this time it will stretch straight through the middle of the country. According to Wikipedia, the longest duration of totality, weather permitting, will occur in Shawnee National Forest, south of Carbondale, Illinois.
How splendid would it be if I were on the road somewhere, living nebulously, when this occurs?
But honestly, how splendid would it be to view even if I'm not on 1/48/50, even if August 21, 2017 turns out to be just any old Monday? I might very well take a mini-road trip to the path of totality, if I can. I'm only nine hours from Carbondale. I can drive that in my sleep. ;-)
It just would be so nice to keep on driving afterwards, once the moon has passed, and daylight returns...
If I were on 1/48/50 right now, going by the course I've mapped out as it corresponds to the May-October timetable I've decided on, I guess I'd be somewhere in New England...Maine probably. And I'm not going to lie: I'd bet Maine is a nice, nice place to be in September.
But I'm not on 1/48/50...not now...not yet. Here in west-central Wisconsin, autumn is always a busy time. I like autumn, and don't dread winter like I used to, but as this summer has wound down, and people have gotten themselves back into the daily grooves that propel them forward, it's occurred to me that time's flying past at breakneck speed, and I have to start thinking about this road trip more seriously.
I really need to start making plans. I'm two and a half years into this blog, and now have less than eight to take the trip before I turn fifty. And truth be told, fifty is just the final deadline. The earlier the better.
2017 would be an ideal summer to make it happen, seeing as a monumental solar event is expected to take place that year, and seeing as I have a specific childhood memory related to it.
There was a solar eclipse on February 26, 1979, my kindergarten year. It was not a total eclipse where I was, but it was visible enough for our class to be called to the south-facing windows of the school to view with those cardboard box contraptions, called sunscopes, which 'project' an image of the eclipse through a pinhole. I can recall being amazed and excited by the concept of darkness during the day (I still am...), and even more so by the teacher informing us, as we each took a turn putting our head inside that box, that we would all be forty-four years old the next time something like this occurred.
She actually told us this, and her words have stayed with me all these years. They were my introduction to the concept of myself as something other than what I saw in the mirror. I can recall - quite vividly - being able to picture myself a grown-up, viewing an eclipse in an otherwise completely unimaginable future. And sure enough, her prediction was right on the money. A total solar eclipse will indeed take place on August 21, 2017, and I will be, as Mrs. Lojewski said, forty-four years old.
And who knows...with any luck, on the road somewhere.
Whereas the 1979 event was just a glancing visual blow in northern Wisconsin (the path of totality - that relatively narrow track of the eclipse that gets plunged into total darkness for a few minutes - swept through Washington State, Idaho and Montana, but then swung northward toward the arctic), this time it will stretch straight through the middle of the country. According to Wikipedia, the longest duration of totality, weather permitting, will occur in Shawnee National Forest, south of Carbondale, Illinois.
 |
| February 26, 1979 - A total solar eclipse's path of totality (in blue) delivered a glancing blow only to the extreme northwestern states, but the event was partially visible through the south-facing windows of little ol' Beaser Elementary School in Ashland, Wisconsin....on the shore of Lake Superior. ;-) |
 |
| Animation Courtesy of Andrew Sinclair http://web.archive.org/web/20080121012947/http://members.aol.com/eclsat3 |
 |
August 21, 2017 - A total solar eclipse will shoot straight through the center of the U.S., with the path of totality being visible in a number of states, from west coast to east coast.
Images courtesy of Eclipse Predictions by Fred Espenak, NASA's GSFC - http://eclipse.gsfc.nasa.gov/.
|
How splendid would it be if I were on the road somewhere, living nebulously, when this occurs?
But honestly, how splendid would it be to view even if I'm not on 1/48/50, even if August 21, 2017 turns out to be just any old Monday? I might very well take a mini-road trip to the path of totality, if I can. I'm only nine hours from Carbondale. I can drive that in my sleep. ;-)
It just would be so nice to keep on driving afterwards, once the moon has passed, and daylight returns...
Friday, September 18, 2015
IN SUMMER'S FINAL MOMENTS: Whole Albums to Travel By
Those rare musical treasures that require no song-to-song cherry picking, no fast forwarding, no selective exclusion from playlists. They are their OWN playlists...each a greatest hits package of brand new material. You know...desert island albums. In the case of 1/48/50, whole urban areas, entire counties, fully one half of any state even, may be traversed on the power of a single inspired album playing all the way through.
So good, in fact, they require no two cents thrown in by the likes of me. Just listen. ;-)
So good, in fact, they require no two cents thrown in by the likes of me. Just listen. ;-)
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| "RUBBER SOUL" by The Beatles |
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| "THE RIVER" by Bruce Springsteen |
Friday, September 11, 2015
AS SUMMER WINDS DOWN: Whole Albums to Travel By
Those rare musical treasures that require no song-to-song cherry picking, no fast forwarding, no selective exclusion from playlists. They are their OWN playlists...each a greatest hits package of brand new material. You know...desert island albums. In the case of 1/48/50, whole urban areas, entire counties, fully one half of any state even, may be traversed on the power of a single inspired album playing all the way through.
So good, in fact, they require no two cents thrown in by the likes of me. Just listen. ;-)
So good, in fact, they require no two cents thrown in by the likes of me. Just listen. ;-)
 |
| "BORN IN THE USA" by Bruce Springsteen |
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| "THE PRETENDER" By Jackson Browne |
Friday, September 4, 2015
AS SUMMER WINDS DOWN: Whole Albums to Travel By
Those rare musical treasures that require no song-to-song cherry picking, no fast forwarding, no selective exclusion from playlists. They are their OWN playlists...each a greatest hits package of brand new material. You know...desert island albums. In the case of 1/48/50, whole urban areas, entire counties, fully one half of any state even, may be traversed on the power of a single inspired album playing all the way through.
So good, in fact, they require no two cents thrown in by the likes of me. Just listen. ;-)
So good, in fact, they require no two cents thrown in by the likes of me. Just listen. ;-)
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"TUG OF WAR" by Paul McCartney |
Friday, August 28, 2015
AS SUMMER WINDS DOWN: Whole Albums to Travel By
Those rare musical treasures that require no song-to-song cherry picking, no fast forwarding, no selective exclusion from playlists. They are their OWN playlists...each a greatest hits package of brand new material. You know...desert island albums. In the case of 1/48/50, whole urban areas, entire counties, fully one half of any state even, may be traversed on the power of a single inspired album playing all the way through.
So good, in fact, they require no two cents thrown in by the likes of me. Just listen. ;-)
So good, in fact, they require no two cents thrown in by the likes of me. Just listen. ;-)
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| "GENTLE ON MY MIND" by Glen Campbell |
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| "DIRTY DEEDS DONE DIRT CHEAP" by AC/DC |
Friday, August 21, 2015
AS SUMMER WEARS ON: Whole Albums to Travel By
So good, in fact, they require no two cents thrown in by the likes of me. Just listen. ;-)
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| "AMERICAN RECORDINGS" by Johnny Cash |
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| "PORTRAIT OF A LEGEND" - Sam Cooke's Greatest Hits |
Friday, August 14, 2015
AS SUMMER WEARS ON: Whole Albums to Travel By
Those rare musical treasures that require no song-to-song cherry picking, no fast forwarding, no selective exclusion from playlists. They are their OWN playlists...each a greatest hits package of brand new material. You know...desert island albums. In the case of 1/48/50, whole urban areas, entire counties, fully one half of any state even, may be traversed on the power of a single inspired album playing all the way through.
So good, in fact, they require no two cents thrown in by the likes of me. Just listen. ;-)
So good, in fact, they require no two cents thrown in by the likes of me. Just listen. ;-)
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| "BLACK SABBATH" by Black Sabbath |
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| "ELTON JOHN" by Elton John |
Friday, August 7, 2015
AS SUMMER WEARS ON: Whole Albums to Travel By
So good, in fact, they require no two cents thrown in by the likes of me. Just listen. ;-)
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| "THE WHITE ALBUM" by The Beatles |
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| "ABBEY ROAD" by The Beatles |
Friday, July 31, 2015
SUMMER PROJECT: Whole Albums to Travel By
Those rare musical treasures that require no song-to-song cherry picking, no fast forwarding, no selective exclusion from playlists. They are their OWN playlists...each a greatest hits package of brand new material. You know...desert island albums. In the case of 1/48/50, whole urban areas, entire counties, fully one half of any state even, may be traversed on the power of a single inspired album playing all the way through.
So good, in fact, they require no two cents thrown in by the likes of me. Just listen. ;-)
\
So good, in fact, they require no two cents thrown in by the likes of me. Just listen. ;-)
 |
| "THE NYLON CURTAIN" by Billy Joel |
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| "BEYOND THE SUNSET" by Hank Williams |
Friday, July 24, 2015
SUMMER PROJECT: Whole Albums to Travel By
Those rare musical treasures that require no song-to-song cherry picking, no fast forwarding, no selective exclusion from playlists. They are their OWN playlists...each a greatest hits package of brand new material. You know...desert island albums. In the case of 1/48/50, whole urban areas, entire counties, fully one half of any state even, may be traversed on the power of a single inspired album playing all the way through.
So good, in fact, they require no two cents thrown in by the likes of me. Just listen. ;-)
So good, in fact, they require no two cents thrown in by the likes of me. Just listen. ;-)
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| "A LIVE ONE" by Loudon Wainwright III |
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| "10 SONGS FOR THE NEW DEPRESSION" by Loudon Wainwright |
Friday, July 17, 2015
Friday, July 10, 2015
SUMMER PROJECT: Whole Albums to Travel By
Those rare musical treasures that require no song-to-song cherry picking, no fast forwarding, no selective exclusion from playlists. They are their OWN playlists...each a greatest hits package of brand new material. You know...desert island albums. In the case of 1/48/50, whole urban areas, entire counties, fully one half of any state even, may be traversed on the power of a single inspired album playing all the way through.
So good, in fact, they require no two cents thrown in by the likes of me. Just listen. ;-)
So good, in fact, they require no two cents thrown in by the likes of me. Just listen. ;-)
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| "DARK SIDE OF THE MOON" by Pink Floyd |
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| "THE WALL" by Pink Floyd |
Friday, July 3, 2015
SUMMER PROJECT: Whole Albums to Travel By
Those rare musical treasures that require no song-to-song cherry picking, no fast forwarding, no selective exclusion from playlists. They are their OWN playlists...each a greatest hits package of brand new material. You know...desert island albums. In the case of 1/48/50, whole urban areas, entire counties, fully one half of any state even, may be traversed on the power of a single inspired album playing all the way through.
So good, in fact, they require no two cents thrown in by the likes of me. Just listen. ;-)
So good, in fact, they require no two cents thrown in by the likes of me. Just listen. ;-)
 |
| "...AND JUSTICE FOR ALL" by Metallica |
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"APPETITE FOR DESTRUCTION" by Guns n Roses
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