Off to Florida

I'm off to put my toes in the sand for the next three weeks. I'll check in at some point. XXX OOO.

Thom Yorke & His 36 Hour Days

Apparently, Thom Yorke has a solo album coming out in July called The Eraser. When could he possibly have found the time? I mean, haven't Radiohead been working on their new one for the last year?

Matthew Solarski describes the album song by song over at Pitchfork. Here's the first three:

1. "the eraser": The title track opens with a muffled, repeated piano chord. After a few bars and a chord change, programmed beats settle in, and Thom interrupts, "Please excuse me but I got to ask," scraping the upper register. Soon, a gaggle of disembodied, moaning Thoms joins in for the chorus, which seemingly takes a cue from Morrissey: "The more you try to erase me/ The more that I appear".

2. "analyse": Vocal and rolling piano lines launch this meditation on futility. "The fences that you cannot climb/ The sentences that do not rhyme," Thom laments, sad and clever all at once. And later: It gets you down/ You're just playing a part," one of many presumed jabs at self-identity. The chord progression somewhat recalls an accelerated "Knives Out", with a hesitant snare plodding along in the background, before Godrich drops in the first of The Eraser's many cinematic synth flourishes.

3. "the clock": A cyclical guitar line lends this track an almost motorik vibe, albeit one evoking a leisurely Sunday drive. Click-clack beats add to the pace before the inevitable opening line: "Time is running out/ For us." By the end, Thom is humming a simple, bluesy melody over the steady but relentless rhythm.

I'm a tad excited. Visit Pitchfork for the rest.

House Hunting Update

First, the good news. The missus and I have found a house that we absolutely LOVE. This will be our home at least until we're empty nesters, and maybe longer. The move'll put us both about ten minutes from work and will give us about 1,200 more square feet. (Shut up, Joe.) We close on May 31st and will probably move in sometime in June after we've painted a few rooms.

The bad news? Our house has been on the market exactly one week and we're nervous wrecks. We got off to a strong start, with a showing on Wednesday and four on Friday of last week. Our Sunday open house brought 'em out of the woodwork, with 13 people stopping in. Then, nothing. Not a single agent has called to book time in the last two days. WTF? Where is everybody? Make us an offer! I'm staring down the barrel of a swing loan, for Chrissake!

Any words of advice? I'm about to have a nervous breakdown. All the feedback we've gotten so far indicates that the house shows well, and we've gotten a few serious inquiries ...

The Week's Best Quote From a Book I'm Reading

I'm reading Our Band Could Be Your Life by Michael Azerrad, which I'm sure you dirtbags got to way before me. An excellent look at indie rock music from 81-91, with chapters focusing on Black Flag, the Minutemen, Minor Threat, Husker Du, Dinosaur jr., the Replacements, Sonic Youth, Big Black, Beat Happening, Mudhoney, Butthole Surfers, Fugazi and a couple more. In all, it tells a fairly cogent tale of how indy labels and indy bands created a national 'scene' whereby touring and distribution on a national level became a reality for local bands. Excellent stuff, especially for those of us who have actually 'toured' and 'rocked'. I was amazed about how low rent some of these bands were, especially considering that some of them to me were like Journey or Foreigner to some other asshole. For instance, when I got into Black Flag, I thought of them as a huge band, when in reality they were playing most nights to 30 people or so. One of my favorite chapters, of course, is on the Replacements. My favorite quote has to do with the young Tommy Stinson:

Tommy dropped out of tenth grade to go on tour; Mrs. Stinson appointed Jesperson Tommy's legal guardian while he was on the road. Before that, when the band would play clubs, they'd have to hide Tommy until just before show time. "They wouldn't let him play the pinball machines or nothin'," Bob recalled. "And you know, he'd cry."

Priceless. Here's a clip of the 'Mats back in 81 playing 'Careless' in Minneapolis. Check out tiny Tommy and picture him crying over pinball. Great stuff:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fd4jBbm553k&search=replacements

The Castrating Heartbreak of Cinco de Mayo

Last night I decided to make a pitcher of frozen margaritas in honor of Cinco de Mayo and to give honor to my mestizo heritage (great grandmother was a Mexican Native American). I got the blender out, found my pre-made Margarita mix and busted out my bottle of cheap rot gut tequila. I even found my special margarita glasses and my 'rim salt'.

Now I like a 'rocks' Margarita just as much as the next fella, but I've found that when you drink the caliber of liquor that I drink, frozen cocktails just seem like a better idea. Maybe the melting ice helps to dilute the turpentine crap that I drink.

So there I was, ready to rock this blender and create a smooth, creamy drink to enjoy with my ground turkey tacos, when suddenly ........ I dropped the ice cubes. All over the floor. A floor, which, while nominally clean, is still covered in microscopic pollen and cat dander at this, the height of allergy season for me.

After I calmed down, I decided I had just enough cubes left to make a nice Tequila Sunrise. I even had grenadine by God's Glory! And yet, the orange juice carton felt suspiciously light, and upon investigation revealed just a pulpy mass of nothing in the bottom. What was I to do? I had a couple of brews in the fridge, but they are dark English ales and it would be insulting to my Mexican heritage to drink the beer of the colonizer. Well, technically, the English never colonized Mexico, but I know they would have if they had really put their minds to it.

I ended up driving to the store and buying more orange juice and making a decent tequila sunrise. But let me tell you brothers, some days it is not easy being 1/8 Mexican.