Signs of the Apocalypse?

1. The Chicago Cubs win the World Series.
2. The 2016 Presidential Election.
3. I actually like this new Sting song.

What is the world coming to?

Really? Well, then...

Really, America?

Decide

Only the Words of Love Kept Alive Are Worty of Not Being Wasted

Just before finding out if he had Huntington's Chorea, the hereditary nerve disease that killed his father.

Just after converting to Catholicism.

Just in the middle of thinking about where he stood in the cosmic scheme of things.

And wanting to be remembered for more than a novelty record played on daring FM stations every Thanksgiving.


Not the greatest songs in the world.

More than a couple clunkers in the lyrics.

But honest and pure at a time when honesty and purity were being faked and sold by the pound.

Things Was Looking Golden, Baby

There is a place where the clouds come together.

Soft. Billowing. And white.

Or grey. And rainy. And threatening.

Because, as a friend likes to tell me, it all depends how you look at things.

Up, down, all around now baby...

Poster Child for "Not a Morning Person"

Far too early for man or beast....

For the Rest of Our Days

I've always loved this (in demo form) and it's great to hear the full-band version.

This Wonderful (Animated) Thing

Been there. Done that. Posed for the T-shirt.

Let's Just Leave This Here

For the 100 Million People Expected to Watch the Debate Tonight:

Let's Face It

It's STILL Sunday?

(Written by the mighty, mighty Difford & Tilbrook, back when that meant something...)

Taller Than The Rafters

Late For This, Late For That

I'll just leave this here.

Such A Small-Town Rodeo

Ian F*cking Hunter.

77 Years Old. Tribute to Bowie.

What's not to love?




And one from the past:

Meanwhile, I'm Still Thinking

Another year around the sun, huh?

We Are the Makers of Music, We Are the Dreamers of Dreams...

Conversation overheard at a coffee shop yesterday:

-- It's really sad about Gene WIlder. But it's spooky too because I just heard his song on the radio yesterday.
-- Which song?
-- "Friday I'm in love."
-- They play that every Friday.
-- Yeah, but yesterday was Sunday. And then he died.
-- He was so great in "Blazing Saddles."
-- Was that before the Cure?
-- Maybe. They talked about a lot of stuff he did on the news, but they didn't mention that.
-- I'm happy for Gilda Radner, though.
-- I wonder if she liked "Friday I'm in Love."
-- Maybe he wrote it for her.
-- Yeah, probably.
-- And "Young Frankenstein."
-- I don't know that song.

And at that point I left. Because after determining that these people somehow believed Gene Wilder and the lead singer for the Cure were the same person, I worried the stupid might be contagious.

The Airwaves They Took Me

So many late nights. Listening. In the dark. Under the covers.

Missives coming in from miles away.

Longing and loss and jangly guitars.

So much information in a quick hiccup of a vocal.

So many who wanted exactly, exactly what was offered.

So many dark nights. Driving and wishing.

The radio pointing me home. Even when I wasn't sure what home even meant.

The radio sharing cold haunting visions. And warm sparkling thunderous scenes you might never reach.

And, beneath it all... love.

Love and the promise of love were all you needed.

And a tank of gas.

And a vague sense of direction.

Because before satellites and GPS devices in your phones, there was only the vague sense.

And a way to follow. A way to go.

It wasn't always the quickest way. It definitely wasn't always the right way.

But as long as you had the radio with you, it was a way that got you somewhere.

And that got us everywhere.

Memory Fuses and Shatters Like Glass

You Might Have Laughed If I Told You

Tendrils of memory grab at me late at night.

Looking for something.

Something to cling to.

Driving past places that once were important.

Places that you haunt still.

Places. And memories.

Clinging. And looking to climb.

This is the way things happen these days.

Tendrils reaching. Always. Always reaching.

Preaching Practices

This Ain't No Roxy Music

And Tomorrow's Just a Song Away...

You basically know they'd have listened to this on the Gilmore Girls if that show had stayed on the air.

But sadly, it went off a long time ago. And then it took seven years after this came out for me to hear it.

Better late than never.

Much, much, much better.



(Produced by Jerry Harrison from Talking Heads, who arguably knows something about truthful songs over an '80s groove...)

Perfection

Amazing what you can do with a voice and two guitars.

Happy Birthday

To your friend & mine, Ringo Starr.



By the way, does anyone else hear a little tribute to Badfinger's "Day After Day" here? Not a huge surprise considering this track was written by George Harrison and Mal Evans...

I Know Just How To Keep You In My Head

This is a wonderful slice of pop heaven.

Prevention is Better than Cure

Syncopate this.

I'll say it again...

I wrote this earlier today on Facebook, but I'll share it here too.

I'm sickened by what happened overnight in Orlando. I'm sickened by people who don't care because it was a gay nightclub. I'm sickened by people who delight in the fact that the shooter was Muslim and (apparently) affiliated with Islamic extremist groups. I'm sickened by the rush to brand this as terrorism by the same people who refuse to label as terrorism similar shootings by White Christians. I'm sickened by the continuing efforts of the NRA to block any attempts to limit access to weaponry designed to kill people quickly and to stop law enforcement from limiting access to weapons for people they've already flagged as potential terrorists. I'm sickened by the fact that so many otherwise rational Americans have been convinced that frequent mass shootings with ever larger death tolls are better than any limits on anyone to own any type of weapon. And I'm sickened that my friends who are giving their hearts and souls to making the world a better and safer place have to face news like this (which in many cases echoes their own deep personal traumatic histories) so frequently.

She Won't She Won't

The sign of a glance.

The soft touch.

More: the promise of touch.

That silent electrical moment before contact.

Lingers.

Lingers.

Lingers.

Called forth.

When you don't want it.

When you don't need it.

Reminding. Remembering. Recalling.

And lingering.

Lingering.

Lingering.

Speaking of

... the great and underrated Colin Moulding:

Here he is singing lead on Billy Sherwood's oddball "Just Galileo And Me."

Because the earth is not flat.

Memorial Day

Memories, Shadows, Ghosts, Duty, Loyalty, Country, Loss.

This may be the only song I've ever heard that captures what I think of as the heart of Memorial Day.

I Got No Friends Cuz They Read The Papers

This song seeped into my brain a few days ago.

And now it won't leave.

There are, of course, much worse things that can happen in life.

Monkees Divided by XTC Equals

A song you should listen to 30 times in a row instead of leaving your house.

This isn't the best song in the world. But it's really, really good.

And if you hear hints of "Dear Madame Barnum" in this, you're not alone.

If the pot won't hold our love

Happy May Day.

Lexington One Two Five

There's nothing quite like the power of music to make different cultures come together.

Like when an eccentric Brit leads a South American street march singalong of a prototypical NYC song.

Good for what ails ya.

There's a reason

why taxes are due today instead of on April 15th.

And I don't care what it is. Because I can't be bothered to sort through it.

It just is.

Okay?

So you have until midnight...

"And I'm so glad he knew it..."

This. Wonderful. Thing.

An Ocean's Garbled Vomit on the Shore

Sometimes you just see something that makes you say "Ah, life's rich pageant."

In Los Angeles, this happens sometimes on an hourly basis.

And after a while, you get used to the absurdity of small dogs in baby carriages. Or self-important SUV drivers assuming they always have the right of way. Or the random rantings of the insane on the streets.

But it's nice to think L.A. can still shock me from time to time.

So the other day, I was feeling a bit low. And I went into a coffee shop where I saw a guy in a T-shirt and jeans drinking a five-dollar coffee drink.

And I watched him pinch his fingers together on his t-shirt, raise it up about six inches and then blow his nose on the inside of his shirt before letting it fall back down.

And then he did it again a minute later.

And suddenly, none of the problems in my life seemed all that important anymore...

Sprouts

I flew in and out of Brussels last year on the way to a wedding in Northern Germany.

This was only because flights were considerably cheaper in and out of there than they were in and out of Frankfurt. And the drive was only about 20 minutes longer.

Plus, with the new EU rules, going through Belgium, Holland, and Germany no longer means much. Instead of border crossings with armed guards and stops, there are now just simple signs (the same type you'd see if you're on a highway in the U.S. and pass from one state to the next).

On the way home, I had to wait in a horrible long line, which I assumed was for security.

It turns out, this was just the line for Passport Control. So you went through, showed your passport (and maybe your boarding pass, I can't remember) and then were sent out into what essentially is a gigantic mall.

To get to Security (which was a five minute walk from the start of the mall), you literally had to walk through about a dozen stores selling everything from lingerie to men's suits, to everything else. You weren't walking through a corridor with shops on either side. You were walking literally through the stores.

Security took almost no time (at least compared to the 45-minute wait at Passport Control) and only then was I off to the gates.

I told everyone at the time that I couldn't decide if it was evil or genius that you had to go through shops before even hitting security (where you and your bags were examined and X-rayed before you got to the planes).

I can't tell from the photos I've seen, but it seems likely to me that the recent attack on the airport in Belgium happened in the "mall" area between Passport Control and Security.

It was shocking to see the areas I'd walked through (relatively recently) all bombed out and blacked by fire and destruction.

This song first appeared in 1987 as one of the B-side demos on the 12-inch single for The Meeting Place. And while I've always been more partial to "Let's Make a Den," which is kind of the sweeter sibling of this song, I've found myself listening to this a lot this past week.

Is It Awful

That this is my favorite Van Morrison song? (Asking for a friend...)

Kind of Cool, Kind of a Mess

I have fond memories of this song from my childhood.

It hasn't aged well.

The verses are awkward.

But damn. That chorus.

And it doesn't even really go anywhere.

But... but.... yeah. Kind of like my teen years.

It's Okay To Not Always Be Sure

Let me just let this lay there for a minute.

I've Heard A Rumor From Ground Control

Oh No, Don't Say it's True.

Fucking cancer.