WELL WELL WELL

So lately my life has seemed kind of fucked up; it’s more turbulent than it is normally. So for this reason I’ve been listening to John Lennon’s Plastic Ono Band LP. Every time I listen to this record it makes me forget all my problems and makes me see that other people go through the same shit; it helps me realize that things will be better. When you think about it that, that’s a pretty heavy thing for music to do. It’s a cathartic experience for you, just as it was for John.

A little background of this: John went primal scream therapy, which is essentially screaming to exorcise your demons. And while he was there I guess he realized he had some major issues to deal with, and what does a great songwriter do with his problems? Put them on a record and create the most personal and harrowing listening experience mankind can ask for. Then get Ringo Starr, Klaus Voormann (who did the Revolver cover) and a little Billy Preston action to cut the tracks. So I guess I’ll just go song for song on this one.

The album starts with “Mother,” which starts with starts itself with a bell. Then “mother you had me, I never had you.” It’s a song about parental neglect and the hurt it causes. When Lennon starts screaming, “Mommy don’t GOOOOOO” toward the end his pain is all too evident. The sparse piano and drum backing only help to propel the words in their despair. Then comes the reassurance of “Hold On.” It’s a call to things getting better and for the future, for John, for Yoko, for the world. “I Found Out” is Lennon at his most cynical. The song is driven by a hard rocking guitar riff and some nice Ringo drumming; John then swears off fake hippy brotherhood (“don’t give me that brother, brother, brother, brother”), masturbation (“Some of you sitting there with your cock in your hand,” which I actually played on my fascist college radio station), “Old Hare Krishna” (which was Beatles-mate George Harrison’s religion of choice), and, ironically, drugs (“don’t let them fool you with dope and cocaine”). “Working Class Hero” deals with the emptiness with everyday life and the bullshit preparations kids go through from their parents and schools and the government. The best part is when John calls the listener “fucking peasants as far as [he] can see.” It’s an indication that John is part of the problem too. “Isolation” deals with John and Yoko’s feeling of loneliness even though they are huge stars and feelings of hopelessness for the world. “Remember” is the acceptance of things past (it also contains a reference to the Fifth of November, kinda like that V for Vendetta movie. It was so revolutionary that it influenced John before it was even written.) “Love” is a description of said feeling and a pretty good one at that. Not much to really be said. “Well, Well, Well” is the crunchy rocker on the album and it is also the prime example of primal scream working. The lyrics are about John’s devotion to Yoko but none of that matters once he starts screaming “WELL WELL WELL OH WELL.” Homes is ripping his vocal chords apart. The song is vehicle for John’s ragged wailing. “Look at Me” is the need for some sort of understanding. “What am I supposed to be?” and “What am I supposed to do?” Then comes the climax of the experience “God.” Which is pissed off and defiant and independent but beautiful and true and romantic at the same time. He swears off everything from the Beatles to yoga to Bob Dylan to Hitler to magic to tarot everything but Yoko and him. “The Dream is Over” he sings; this song is the single reason I can’t take “Imagine” (the song as the quotations indicate, not the album) seriously. How can you go from this to that in less than a year? I know people change and all that jive shit but really I like the idea of an artist being free and independent and not tied down to some scene. So maybe it’s my problem and not John’s. Ends with “My Mummy’s Dead” which is less than a minute long and like some sadistic child’s lullaby. Singing along to “my mummy’s dead/ can’t get it through my head” is weird but fuck it’s catchy.

But enough of standard reviewing. This album makes me feel good. It makes me want to scream out of helplessness and cry and smile and laugh and do everything except skip tracks.

I Hate Music

Yep read the title. That may come as a shock since all I seemingly do is listen to music, write about music, and try to make some band I might be in make sense. But I came to the realization today while listening to an album* that I hate music; at least most of it. For every one Black Sabbath there are five Motley Crue’s. For every one Beatles there are five Monkees (who I actually like because they have good catchy as shit songs and it is widely known that they were “fake” but I’m using them as an example of bands that are put together by record label execs to capitalize on something that can’t be duplicated.) So I can’t claim to like music anymore when people ask me what my interest are (and that sucks because that has become my only response to that question since I don’t do shit else.) Why? Because I don’t really like music. I like art in some form. Maybe you don’t consider the Germs or Elvis Costello or the Who or any number of bands I like to be art but that’s too fucking bad because I do. But what I look for in “art,” or music as you mere mortals call it, is completely inexplicable. I love Oasis like no one’s ever thought to but I hate Blur and most people can’t tell the difference and lump the two together as mid-90s Brit-pop. Slayer’s Reign in Blood goes as one of my favorite albums of all time but I wouldn’t listen to other trash metal if some one begged me to do so. I love Jimi Hendrix’s guitar wankery and extensive soloing but I dread to listen to this Led Zeppeling box set I received because fears of Jimmy Page doing the same. I guess it has something to do with honesty and sincerity and passion; the three main templates for music in my eye surpassing talent and being able to sing in key, which I know is huge to some people here. I like Noel and Liam’s complete arrogance and swagger attitudes while the dude from Blur is making cartoons and failing spelling test with the Gorillazzzz. Slayer seems to really be into the shit they’re playing while Dave Mustaine’s 12-year old girl voice kills me each time. Hendrix claimed music was his religion and I can buy that but Page’s intent seems more about ego and getting laid than anything else. Maybe the problem isn’t that I don’t like music, but that I like music too much, (“I’m a martyr for rock and roll” he whines) or that other people don’t like music enough to fight past the bullshit.

*The albums that I listened to was Deep Purple’s Machine Head, which I know isn’t like telling you about some indie band that even pitchfork hasn’t heard of yet but the point remains the same. They are an awesome band. That album’s first side has four of the best hard rock/early proto-metal songs ever written and then the next side opens with “Smoke on the Water.” They sound like Queens of the Stone Age fronted by Rob Tyner or maybe not.

On a completely related note, coffee is the greatest. I’ve written like nine pieces in like 6 hours cause of the caffeine but that isn’t a good thing since all the writing sucks and in my caffeine induced haze I think it’s all good, which trust me it isn’t. Imagine what some good ole fashioned speed could do for me.

Turn Around

I thought yesterday was gonna suck ass. I had to wake up at 7 o' clock to go to my Spanish class, which I'm failing, at 8; this was after 4 hours of sleep. Then after I got back from espanol, I wasted all my free time by falling asleep for 3 hours. This gave me only about 15 minutes to eat lunch (shitty pizza if you must know.) Then it was off to an two hour long class in which we learned about blogs (WHO THE FUCK BLOGS?) Then history class, which I have a book report due on Monday and I didn't own the book until about 22 hours ago. So then I went off to buy said book, ran out of cigarrettes on the way there and sweated my ass off too. But after finding the book and paying an arm and a leg for it, I stopped by Woody's as is customary. And in the used vinyl bin I found James Taylor's second record for one crisp dollar bill. (And yes, James Taylor is good. SHut the FUck Up.) Then I ate dinner with some metal girl, a ditz, and a mechanic. Then I was told I would not be going to Smog but I did go to Smog and it was quite cool. Bill Callahan is a bad ass. Simply put. Nothing else says it so clearly. And all this coolness I was not with lame people. Great Great Great.

Just Thought of One

Girl's Names.

1. "Allison" -- Elvis Costello
2. "Sara" -- Dylan
3. "Michelle" -- the Beatles
4. "Suzanne" -- Leonard Cohen
5. "Lisa Says" -- Velvet Underground.
6. "Melissa" -- Allman Bros
7. "Oh Yoko" -- John Lennon
8. "Lady Jane" -- Rolling Stones
9. "Ode to Clarrisa" -- Queens of the Stone Age
10. "Mykel and Carli" -- Weezer
11. "Pochahantas" -- Neil Young
12. "Ann" -- the Stooges


I could have done better sure but I got to be to class in 14 minutes so suck off.

Mix It Up@@@@

So I'm listening to this mix cd I was given and while I'm not normally a fan of the mix cd -- I don't like the idea of songs outside of the context of their albums usually. But this actually means something; it wasn't put together for a fucking movie soundtrack. So it basically singlehandedly changed my mind on the mix.

So this is my idea to you Peter (since you are the only one who reads this) make a mix cd with a purpose. You can list the purpose (i.e. to make clear you "like" someone (what a lame phrase. "I like you." Oh well) or for a roadtrip or to turn your little sister on to good music, ect ect) or you don't have to list said purpose; maybe then we could guess, you know make it a game. But just make a goddamned mix. Go NOW.