Note: Kind of a mixed bag this week. I think The Jam may be the hidden gem (small gem) of the bunch. George Harrison is sort propping this group up. Which I think he can do, but Harrison always played better with great people around him. We'll see if he can handle it.
Note 2: Next week we go patriotic, sort of.
All Hail the Queen (1989) - Queen Latifah
Label: Tommy Boy
Producer: Queen Latifah
Running time: 63:35
A couple things surprised when I read up about this album. The first being that I can't believe Queen Latifah has been around since 1989. This her debut album. Second, it's really easy to forget the Queen was a rapper. It's seems like she's always been a movie actress. Oh well, I guess I don't really have much to say. I doubt I'd be much into this album.
All Mod Cons (1978) - The Jam
Label: Vic Coppersmith-Heaven
Running time: 37:28
I am on the fence about this band. I listened to a little bit of their tunes. I kind of liken them to Blink 182. They write 3 minute tunes that are kind of hard, kind of pop, kind of punk. Overall it sounds OK, but I am not sure it is great.
All That You Can't Leave Behind (2000) - U2
Label: Island
Producers: Brian Eno, Daniel Lanois
Running time: 53:07
I have this album, but I don't think it really belongs on this list. Not that I don't like the album, but I don't think its anything that different from U2's previous albums like the Joshua Tree and I don't think its as important. Sure it put U2 back at top for a time, but this album is essentially a string of singles. Some of them very popular and catchy, but I'd rather seen them give this spot to a band that didn't already have a few albums on the list. That's one of my early criticisms about this book, it seems that if you were good enough to get one of your albums on then you got nearly all of them. That left off some notable should of been on ones.
All Things Must Pass (1970) - George Harrison
Label: Apple
Producers: George Harrison, Phil Spector
Running time: 126.25
I've been tempted to buy this album for a long time. I know a couple hits like "My Sweet Lord," but not much else. George was always sort of hit or miss with me. I either really liked his songs or really disliked them. I think that's what drives me away from this album. I don't want half and album that I absolutely can't stand to listen too. But I will say, as this was one of first post-Beatle albums released, this is by far the most important album of the five listed this week. I also think its something I should and everyone else should give a listen to before they go away for good.
Ambient 1: Music for Airports (1978) - Brian Eno
Label: EG
Producer: Brian Eno
Running time: 48:33
If you didn't notice, Eno produced "All That You Can't Leave" above. Eno's name I am sure is going to pop a few more times in his producer role. I listened to one of the four tracks on this album. It's instrumental, and well produced. But kind of like the album title suggests, it feels like something that should be played in the background. I wouldn't actively go out and listen to this, but if it were on I think I would generally like it. But I am also tired and it did make want to sleep.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
What Lies Inside
Note: I actually wrote this almost a month ago I think. It has sat for awhile because I didn't like it. I was going to send it to Red to review today but when I did an edit it sorta made sense. I don't wanna put all the pieces in there anyway. This was the first time I tried to free write in third person. I dunno if that is a good idea or not. So anywhere here it is.
“I made a promise by the side of the road that I would bury my God damn halo.” Heart Full of Black – Burning Brides
“It sure is pretty” he whispered to himself. The clear night sky was illuminated by the millions of stars populating the heavens. Off in John’s house the basement lights were glowing full of the joy and fun that was sure to be happening in there. Looking back through the yard another heavy sigh escaped his lips. He still felt the shame that prevented him from going inside in the first place. He had forsaken his friends earlier in the night and now he didn’t have the strength left to walk in tail tucked between his legs. But he still didn’t want to go home. It was a nice night to sit and count the stars. He settled into his camp chair trying to be comfortable enough to withstand reliving the night over and over again.
“None of them even like you.” Those words still stung and he was the one that said them. He had a habit of being a bit brash when he became unsettled. All he wanted was to spend some time with her. It had been a couple days since he had seen Joan. Finally back from her trip a quiet night together would be nice. He had made the call, told his friends he wouldn’t be over although he didn’t say why. Joan was in the mood for fun but not spending time with him fun. She wanted to be wild, hang with friends, play games, to be young. His rejection had to turn into her hurt; all it took was that one sentence. Off she drove to her grandparent’s house where she was supposed to check in with her folks. “I can’t stay here.” The feeling grabbed hold of him as he watched those tail lights fade into the night.
“I’ll just tell them plans fell through. That is all. It won’t matter where I was just that I made it.” He was practicing his excuses as he drove his old truck down the road. It lumbered over the hills. The short drive to John’s place seemed like an eternity. His mind continued to race over the guilt of that sentence and possible inquisition that awaited him. Not so much the questions but the looks, the thoughts that he knew would be racing through their heads.
Then in a flash all the air left his lungs, his heart shank to some place below his chest that he didn’t know was possible. There was her car. Joan’s car parked on the side of the road in front of that house. Henry’s house! “That bitch!” he exclaimed as he pulled up in front of it. There he stood staring in at the glowing house looking for any sort of movement. All the rumors he had heard from friends, classmates ran through his head, the times she dropped his name suddenly making sense. Still he stood there paralyzed, too scared to go in, too mad to leave, too hurt to think.
It took another look at that black sky dotted with all those tiny white lights. He was here to relax, calm down. Although the fact that he was sitting out in John’s backyard in the dark was probably evidence that he wasn’t going to calm down. He closed his eyes trying to reread what he wrote on that note left on the windshield. It didn’t matter now it is done. He promised himself that this was enough, the rollercoaster they had been riding needed to end. “So for now let’s just get through tonight” as if talking to himself somehow made it better. “I wonder if they’ll find me out here. I don’t think I want that to happen.” All those thoughts raced again as the rollercoaster prepared for take-off in his head one more time.
“I made a promise by the side of the road that I would bury my God damn halo.” Heart Full of Black – Burning Brides
“It sure is pretty” he whispered to himself. The clear night sky was illuminated by the millions of stars populating the heavens. Off in John’s house the basement lights were glowing full of the joy and fun that was sure to be happening in there. Looking back through the yard another heavy sigh escaped his lips. He still felt the shame that prevented him from going inside in the first place. He had forsaken his friends earlier in the night and now he didn’t have the strength left to walk in tail tucked between his legs. But he still didn’t want to go home. It was a nice night to sit and count the stars. He settled into his camp chair trying to be comfortable enough to withstand reliving the night over and over again.
“None of them even like you.” Those words still stung and he was the one that said them. He had a habit of being a bit brash when he became unsettled. All he wanted was to spend some time with her. It had been a couple days since he had seen Joan. Finally back from her trip a quiet night together would be nice. He had made the call, told his friends he wouldn’t be over although he didn’t say why. Joan was in the mood for fun but not spending time with him fun. She wanted to be wild, hang with friends, play games, to be young. His rejection had to turn into her hurt; all it took was that one sentence. Off she drove to her grandparent’s house where she was supposed to check in with her folks. “I can’t stay here.” The feeling grabbed hold of him as he watched those tail lights fade into the night.
“I’ll just tell them plans fell through. That is all. It won’t matter where I was just that I made it.” He was practicing his excuses as he drove his old truck down the road. It lumbered over the hills. The short drive to John’s place seemed like an eternity. His mind continued to race over the guilt of that sentence and possible inquisition that awaited him. Not so much the questions but the looks, the thoughts that he knew would be racing through their heads.
Then in a flash all the air left his lungs, his heart shank to some place below his chest that he didn’t know was possible. There was her car. Joan’s car parked on the side of the road in front of that house. Henry’s house! “That bitch!” he exclaimed as he pulled up in front of it. There he stood staring in at the glowing house looking for any sort of movement. All the rumors he had heard from friends, classmates ran through his head, the times she dropped his name suddenly making sense. Still he stood there paralyzed, too scared to go in, too mad to leave, too hurt to think.
It took another look at that black sky dotted with all those tiny white lights. He was here to relax, calm down. Although the fact that he was sitting out in John’s backyard in the dark was probably evidence that he wasn’t going to calm down. He closed his eyes trying to reread what he wrote on that note left on the windshield. It didn’t matter now it is done. He promised himself that this was enough, the rollercoaster they had been riding needed to end. “So for now let’s just get through tonight” as if talking to himself somehow made it better. “I wonder if they’ll find me out here. I don’t think I want that to happen.” All those thoughts raced again as the rollercoaster prepared for take-off in his head one more time.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
1001 Albums (11-15): Aha Shake... - All Directions
Note: Well I know four out of five artists or bands here. Yet the fifth may be a hidden gem, which is the reason I got this book to begin with.
Aha Shake Heartbreak (2004) by Kings of Leon
Label: BMG
Producers: Ethan Johns. Angelo
Running Time: 35:08
I generally liked what I've heard from Kings of Leon and I know I've heard bits and pieces of this album on Pandora a couple of times. They have a unique sound, but I still don't find myself compelled to go out and buy any of their albums. Sometimes I get a feeling when I listen to them that when I've heard one of their tunes, I've heard them all. Snake probably has more to say about this band and maybe this album.
Aja (1977) by Steely Dan
Label: ABC
Producer: Gary Katz
Running time: 39:28
I briefly owned a Steely Dan album, not this one, but it did have some of the tunes from this album on it. I find that critics seem to gush over Steely Dan, but I didn't really get all that into the album I owned. I eventually sold it back to a CD store. Some of the tunes were catchy, but most of those I can hear if I turn on a local classic rock station and listen for an hour. The rest of there tunes just didn't excite me very much.
Aladdin Sane (1973) by David Bowie
Label: RCA
Producers: David Bowie. Ken Scott
Running time: 40:47
I think I have to punt on this one being on the list. This is the follow up to the wildly successful Ziggy Stardust, and much like the Magical Mystery Tour didn't really live up to Sgt. Peppers. This album just appears to be a second try at the same formula. This album spun tunes like "Panic in Detriot" and "Time" which both sound like songs I've heard of. Bowie also did a cover of "Let's Spend the Night Together" on this album, which apparently was horrible and probably a subtle way of seducing Mick Jagger.
Alien Lanes (1995) by Guided By Voices
Label: Matador
Producer: Mr. Japan
Running time: 41:00
I think I might have to see if I can find some albums from these guys. They were a 90s Indie band that never quite made it big. The tunes I've listened to so far I've enjoyed and one I remember playing during an episode of Scrubs. That helps their street cred with me right away. They also were allegedly big influences on bands like The Strokes, whom I enjoy listening too.
All Directions (1972) by the Temptations
Label: Tamla Motown
Producer: Norman Whitfield
Running time: 33:33
This album is most know for "Papa Was A Rolling Stone" a nearly 12-minute epic for a band usually known for quick doo-wop songs. The times were a changing and it seems the newest incarnation of the Temptations were willing to change with them.
Aha Shake Heartbreak (2004) by Kings of Leon
Label: BMG
Producers: Ethan Johns. Angelo
Running Time: 35:08
I generally liked what I've heard from Kings of Leon and I know I've heard bits and pieces of this album on Pandora a couple of times. They have a unique sound, but I still don't find myself compelled to go out and buy any of their albums. Sometimes I get a feeling when I listen to them that when I've heard one of their tunes, I've heard them all. Snake probably has more to say about this band and maybe this album.
Aja (1977) by Steely Dan
Label: ABC
Producer: Gary Katz
Running time: 39:28
I briefly owned a Steely Dan album, not this one, but it did have some of the tunes from this album on it. I find that critics seem to gush over Steely Dan, but I didn't really get all that into the album I owned. I eventually sold it back to a CD store. Some of the tunes were catchy, but most of those I can hear if I turn on a local classic rock station and listen for an hour. The rest of there tunes just didn't excite me very much.
Aladdin Sane (1973) by David Bowie
Label: RCA
Producers: David Bowie. Ken Scott
Running time: 40:47
I think I have to punt on this one being on the list. This is the follow up to the wildly successful Ziggy Stardust, and much like the Magical Mystery Tour didn't really live up to Sgt. Peppers. This album just appears to be a second try at the same formula. This album spun tunes like "Panic in Detriot" and "Time" which both sound like songs I've heard of. Bowie also did a cover of "Let's Spend the Night Together" on this album, which apparently was horrible and probably a subtle way of seducing Mick Jagger.
Alien Lanes (1995) by Guided By Voices
Label: Matador
Producer: Mr. Japan
Running time: 41:00
I think I might have to see if I can find some albums from these guys. They were a 90s Indie band that never quite made it big. The tunes I've listened to so far I've enjoyed and one I remember playing during an episode of Scrubs. That helps their street cred with me right away. They also were allegedly big influences on bands like The Strokes, whom I enjoy listening too.
All Directions (1972) by the Temptations
Label: Tamla Motown
Producer: Norman Whitfield
Running time: 33:33
This album is most know for "Papa Was A Rolling Stone" a nearly 12-minute epic for a band usually known for quick doo-wop songs. The times were a changing and it seems the newest incarnation of the Temptations were willing to change with them.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Smoking Guns pt 2
“You see boys luck is on my side." Red started in sounding more harden that he had in his youth. "I don’t know what game Snake has been dealing ya,” He shot Snake a look, one Snake had come to miss these 10 years. He knew Red had a plan for him to play along with. “But since it looks like you’ve not fared so well, I’m gonna give ya’ll the chance to win this gold star.” Red slide the badge to the middle of the table as he pulled the cards out of the case and began to shuffle in a mad flurry. He obviously hasn’t forgotten how, Snake thought almost appalled at how quickly Red flipped out the lucky deck.
“5 card draw and I don’t believe in wilds. Now pony up ‘fore I kick you out that door!” Red didn't sound hostile but his voiced commanded attention. The drunks at the bar pretended not to watch the action. The wide eyed greenhorns couldn’t help but throw their money in, more scared than opportunistic. The coins clanged as they landed together, some shining brightly some faded against the clean felt.
“As I'm sure you heard, these are my lucky cards. And for the first time in a long time I’m feelin’ it.” Red's eyes were almost ablaze with a fire from deep inside as he talked himself up. Snake became a little nervous watching those eyes, seeing Red's hands deal out those cards in a fluid motion. He knew that look and it usually meant more trouble for him that Red.
Everyone stayed in adding more coins to the pot for the draw; no one was fool enough to fold out of this hand. The idiot at the end of the table can’t stop shaking as he took his three cards. This one isn't even worth the time, pair if that. The eye’s of the greenhorn in the middle darted around all the other players as It looked at two new cards. Two pair, Snake thought to himself knowing his read was accurate. The one across from Red tries to quickly hide the fact that the corner of its mouth creased as it shuffled in the one new card. A little too confident, what does he think he can prove? Flush at best but probably just a straight. Snake took in his two fresh cards. He got exactly what he needed to give himself a full house. He felt good, confident inside until the thought crossed his mind for a split second about what might happen if he won this hand. “I'm good," Snake said staying as calm as always but wanting to put out notion that he knew he had them all beat.
All except Red. He didn't take any new cards. This odd occurrence caused Snake to raise an eyebrow in his direction. What is he trying to prove here?
“I told ya'll these were my lucky cards,” Red chided. A smirk hit his face for the first time since he walked in as he laid down his four queens. “Lady luck has brought me her daughters!”
The greenhorn at the end of the table dropped his cards and was out the door before the chair hit the floor. Running for home crying all the way; no doubt to tell the family of its misfortunes and swear off the Saloon. The idiot in the middle couldn’t keep its jaw from dropping to the table in amazement. The one across the table from Red slowly put down its cards. I don’t like that look.
“I don’t think them cards is lucky, I think you is a cheat!” the fool said with a new found brashness that comes with losing all your money to some cocky stranger. The smirk wiped from Red’s face but he didn’t say anything, didn't even look at the man trying to give him the stare down across the table. He just leaned over to start raking in the mound of gold.
There was a loud screech of a chair being kicked back, then the loud clap of gunfire. The fool fell to the floor with a thud, dead from the gunshot to the temple before the pistol even got all the way out of its hostler. Snake calmly slid his smoking Peacemaker back into its resting place on his right hip. He hadn't even gotten out of his chair to draw. Red never flinched stacking his money as he watched the action.
“Ha! I knew it!” Red shouted out almost as a chuckle. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”
“It was a matter of time,” Snake returned coldly. “He’d been playing his cards the whole time like he was looking for a fight. You were the only unexpected thing going on around here!” A smile finally crossed his face; that extra part of him flooding back into his veins that had been missing for awhile now. Red was back and still trying to test him. “You know," Snake turned to Red, "I hate it when guys don’t take new cards.”
“What can I say? Luck doesn’t need new cards, she works her magic the first time. Besides, I had to rile one of those greenhorns enough to see if you still had it.” Red was now mocking Snake’s dramatic draw on the dead man.
“Yeah I should have just let him shoot ya first.” Snake was still smiling, he couldn’t stop. He knew he would've had to gun down the man even without Red's interference; he never let killing bother him. At least not when it was necessary.
Turning their heads they realized the third fool was still sitting at their table, mouth wide open as he gaped in terror. “Get on home boy!” Red reached out as if to slap it across the face but the fool was smart enough to run at the first word. Some folks around the Saloon were working together to move the dead body out back and out of the way. Another man was trying to soak up the blood pool off the floor. If the place had stopped for the ruckus, nobody could tell it now.
“The cards felt crisp.” Red was wiping them off and putting them neatly back into the silver case. “Had you not been playing them much?”
“Never got them out, not since that day you gave them to me.” The sadness crept into Snake’s face as the memory flooded back, but just for an instant.
“Really?!? Don't you know these here cards are lucky?” Red couldn't understand how a card player could leave such a thing in his pocket.
“You know damn well I don’t believe in luck nor do I need it. It wasn’t luck that gave me that big pile of money you just took from me or that told me when that greenhorn was gonna draw!” Snake always got a little offended at the notion that anyone thought he needed luck or that it was on his side during a card game. “I read people damnit! That’s what a real card player does!”
“Settle down. I haven’t had to listen to your diatribes for 10 years and I don’t right think I wanna start just yet. Besides we’ve got some business to discuss.” Red settled back into his chair now that he and Snake were alone at the table.
“Is that right?” Snake shot back with a sarcastic undertone. “Like what the hell you are gonna do now that you shot Sheriff Robinson!”
“There are a few things most people don’t know about their local sheriff.” Red replied coldly.
“Yeah like that he is dead. I am sure the Marshall is gonna wanna learn more about that.” Snake couldn’t help himself. Sure they had been wild in the past but they never crossed that line. In fact he had sorta made his peace with the law in these parts after Red decided to hang it up. I kinda liked the Sheriff, he left me alone to soak all these poor townsfolk at the poker tables.
Quit worrying! What I know would change a lot of minds in these parts, even the Marshall’s. But if he wants to get in the way of this so be it. Cause partner,” Red leaned in close to keep any stranglers from listening in, “we’ve got gold to go collect.”
What the hells he know bout gold? Snake couldn’t help but let his mind wander at the prospect. “What ya know?”
“I know where there is a heap of it that the Sheriff had been running protection on. And we are gonna go take it!” That look was back in Red's eyes, the master plan running in his mind.
“I'll need time to round up the gang.” Snake was already trying to remember who would be left at the hangout and who he would have to hunt down.
“I figured as much that’s why I am gonna come with ya. So let’s get moving and I’ll fill ya in on the way. Still the same place?” Red’s smile could have been seen clear across the territory.
“Best spot this side of Kansas City!” Snake replied with new found enthusiasm. This is gonna be like old times, if we don’t get killed first!
“5 card draw and I don’t believe in wilds. Now pony up ‘fore I kick you out that door!” Red didn't sound hostile but his voiced commanded attention. The drunks at the bar pretended not to watch the action. The wide eyed greenhorns couldn’t help but throw their money in, more scared than opportunistic. The coins clanged as they landed together, some shining brightly some faded against the clean felt.
“As I'm sure you heard, these are my lucky cards. And for the first time in a long time I’m feelin’ it.” Red's eyes were almost ablaze with a fire from deep inside as he talked himself up. Snake became a little nervous watching those eyes, seeing Red's hands deal out those cards in a fluid motion. He knew that look and it usually meant more trouble for him that Red.
Everyone stayed in adding more coins to the pot for the draw; no one was fool enough to fold out of this hand. The idiot at the end of the table can’t stop shaking as he took his three cards. This one isn't even worth the time, pair if that. The eye’s of the greenhorn in the middle darted around all the other players as It looked at two new cards. Two pair, Snake thought to himself knowing his read was accurate. The one across from Red tries to quickly hide the fact that the corner of its mouth creased as it shuffled in the one new card. A little too confident, what does he think he can prove? Flush at best but probably just a straight. Snake took in his two fresh cards. He got exactly what he needed to give himself a full house. He felt good, confident inside until the thought crossed his mind for a split second about what might happen if he won this hand. “I'm good," Snake said staying as calm as always but wanting to put out notion that he knew he had them all beat.
All except Red. He didn't take any new cards. This odd occurrence caused Snake to raise an eyebrow in his direction. What is he trying to prove here?
“I told ya'll these were my lucky cards,” Red chided. A smirk hit his face for the first time since he walked in as he laid down his four queens. “Lady luck has brought me her daughters!”
The greenhorn at the end of the table dropped his cards and was out the door before the chair hit the floor. Running for home crying all the way; no doubt to tell the family of its misfortunes and swear off the Saloon. The idiot in the middle couldn’t keep its jaw from dropping to the table in amazement. The one across the table from Red slowly put down its cards. I don’t like that look.
“I don’t think them cards is lucky, I think you is a cheat!” the fool said with a new found brashness that comes with losing all your money to some cocky stranger. The smirk wiped from Red’s face but he didn’t say anything, didn't even look at the man trying to give him the stare down across the table. He just leaned over to start raking in the mound of gold.
There was a loud screech of a chair being kicked back, then the loud clap of gunfire. The fool fell to the floor with a thud, dead from the gunshot to the temple before the pistol even got all the way out of its hostler. Snake calmly slid his smoking Peacemaker back into its resting place on his right hip. He hadn't even gotten out of his chair to draw. Red never flinched stacking his money as he watched the action.
“Ha! I knew it!” Red shouted out almost as a chuckle. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”
“It was a matter of time,” Snake returned coldly. “He’d been playing his cards the whole time like he was looking for a fight. You were the only unexpected thing going on around here!” A smile finally crossed his face; that extra part of him flooding back into his veins that had been missing for awhile now. Red was back and still trying to test him. “You know," Snake turned to Red, "I hate it when guys don’t take new cards.”
“What can I say? Luck doesn’t need new cards, she works her magic the first time. Besides, I had to rile one of those greenhorns enough to see if you still had it.” Red was now mocking Snake’s dramatic draw on the dead man.
“Yeah I should have just let him shoot ya first.” Snake was still smiling, he couldn’t stop. He knew he would've had to gun down the man even without Red's interference; he never let killing bother him. At least not when it was necessary.
Turning their heads they realized the third fool was still sitting at their table, mouth wide open as he gaped in terror. “Get on home boy!” Red reached out as if to slap it across the face but the fool was smart enough to run at the first word. Some folks around the Saloon were working together to move the dead body out back and out of the way. Another man was trying to soak up the blood pool off the floor. If the place had stopped for the ruckus, nobody could tell it now.
“The cards felt crisp.” Red was wiping them off and putting them neatly back into the silver case. “Had you not been playing them much?”
“Never got them out, not since that day you gave them to me.” The sadness crept into Snake’s face as the memory flooded back, but just for an instant.
“Really?!? Don't you know these here cards are lucky?” Red couldn't understand how a card player could leave such a thing in his pocket.
“You know damn well I don’t believe in luck nor do I need it. It wasn’t luck that gave me that big pile of money you just took from me or that told me when that greenhorn was gonna draw!” Snake always got a little offended at the notion that anyone thought he needed luck or that it was on his side during a card game. “I read people damnit! That’s what a real card player does!”
“Settle down. I haven’t had to listen to your diatribes for 10 years and I don’t right think I wanna start just yet. Besides we’ve got some business to discuss.” Red settled back into his chair now that he and Snake were alone at the table.
“Is that right?” Snake shot back with a sarcastic undertone. “Like what the hell you are gonna do now that you shot Sheriff Robinson!”
“There are a few things most people don’t know about their local sheriff.” Red replied coldly.
“Yeah like that he is dead. I am sure the Marshall is gonna wanna learn more about that.” Snake couldn’t help himself. Sure they had been wild in the past but they never crossed that line. In fact he had sorta made his peace with the law in these parts after Red decided to hang it up. I kinda liked the Sheriff, he left me alone to soak all these poor townsfolk at the poker tables.
Quit worrying! What I know would change a lot of minds in these parts, even the Marshall’s. But if he wants to get in the way of this so be it. Cause partner,” Red leaned in close to keep any stranglers from listening in, “we’ve got gold to go collect.”
What the hells he know bout gold? Snake couldn’t help but let his mind wander at the prospect. “What ya know?”
“I know where there is a heap of it that the Sheriff had been running protection on. And we are gonna go take it!” That look was back in Red's eyes, the master plan running in his mind.
“I'll need time to round up the gang.” Snake was already trying to remember who would be left at the hangout and who he would have to hunt down.
“I figured as much that’s why I am gonna come with ya. So let’s get moving and I’ll fill ya in on the way. Still the same place?” Red’s smile could have been seen clear across the territory.
“Best spot this side of Kansas City!” Snake replied with new found enthusiasm. This is gonna be like old times, if we don’t get killed first!
Big Red's Smoking Guns pt. 1 and 2
Note: I've got a feeling Snake is going to kick my butt with this one. Not a big deal, maybe he can weave a few of my ideas in his grand tale of the old west.
Snake turned his ear up to the gunfire coming from outside the dingy saloon – the kind of place where a man's boots always stick to the floor no matter how hard the barkeep and waitress scrubbed each night after closing to remove the alcohol and chew stains soaked in the oak floor boards – before dealing out the cards. He didn't think much of the commotion. It was Coleta; there was always some sort of trouble on the two dusty streets lined with honkytonks, saloons and four churches. Besides, he had more money to win from the four chumps fool enough to sit at his table an hour before.
A few minutes later, Snake ordered another shot of whiskey while staring at the pair of ladies in his hand and deciding if he could bluff his way out. Hell yeah, these guys are idiots.
The Saloon’s doors split then, smacking the walls by being thrust all the way open. A dark figure, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a pair six-shooters still smoking in the holsters at his hips, appeared in the doorway before walking to the table.
Snake knew him. Hell, he more than knew him. In their youth, the two had run a lot of trouble together – a lot of fun. His name was Big Red. Ten years before, the wild man had put his guns away and handed his pack of lucky cards to Snake saying, "I think I'll try my hand at farming that untamed land." Snake thought it was a fool idea, but didn't try to deter him. When an idea caught in Big Red's mind, there was no use fighting him about it.
Snake stared at Big Red as he barked an order for some red whiskey. As he drew closer, Snake could see the blood dripping from Red's finger tips and the way his chest heaved in and out in exaggerated fashion. He didn't have to ask what was going on. Deep inside, Snake knew this day would come. Red was back in the gang.
"You got my cards," he said.
"Sure," Snake said. Pulling the pack he never played, heck never took out of the case, from the pocket inside his vest and placing it on the table.
"Good," he said spitting on the floor and then pushing one of the idiots out of its chair (the idiot didn't deserve the pronoun of he).
Sitting down, Red slammed his paw down on the table and lifted it. Shining on the green felt was a familiar gold star with what looked like a bite mark at the tip of one point. Snake knew the chest that star usually hung on, which forced him to look back outside toward the dusty streets bathed in sun.
"Now this is how it's going to be." Red in a gruff voice sounded.
Snake and even the idiots leaned forward. Part of Snake was scared, but he dismissed it. When Big Red came into the saloon with eyes glaring in that way, you had to listen. There was adventure (and likely trouble) in his ideas. Once one took hold of him, he didn’t let it go. Outside of that farming bit, Snake had loved getting caught up in Red's plots.
This is going to be fun, Snake thought. One hell of a lot of fun.
* * *
Big Red came to the West Jordan Home for Destitute Boys in the summer of Snake’s twelfth year. West Jordan was a square building with one classroom on the main floor with a kitchen just off it and the bedroom for the home master, the Good Man of the Cloth, Frederick Van Mussen.
A wood ladder led to the loft above where two rows of cots ran, adding up to eight, lined the length of each side of room under the eaves. There were only four boy residents before Red.
That day the Good Man of the Cloth was 10 minutes into a 45-minute droning lecture about God or Lambs or something. Snake’s eyelids were sagging, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when the big pine door burst open in the back. Van Mussen looked up in surprise and all the boys turned in the seat of their desks.
The Sheriff’s star shined off the chest of Andrew Jones as he strode in clasping a boy by the collar beside him.
“Got another one for ya, Van Mussen.”
“Like Hell,” The boy tried to wriggle away.
The Sheriff slapped the boy across the face. The boy fell to the floor and the Sheriff gave him a swift kick in the gut.
“Hit me all you want, but I ain’t going to stay.”
Snake had never seen anyone their age stand up to the Sheriff. He thought the Sheriff might just shoot him dead.
“You’ll stay, even if I have to cuff you to the wall.”
“Pah,” The boy spat at the Sheriff’s boots.
“Sheriff, I’ll handle him from here,” Van Mussen said.
“Alright,” The Sheriff was out the door as the boy scrambled to feet. He turned for the door.
“What’s the hurry, son.” Van Mussen said. “There’s a roof here tonight and it’s mighty hot out in the sun.”
“I ain’t scared of the sun.”
“I am sure you’re not, but I bet you’re hungry.”
“So.”
“So, we’ll be feasting tonight. Probably tomorrow night as well, maybe you won’t stay, but you could leave with a full stomach.”
The boy stopped in the door. He was ungodly thin and his ears pricked up at the prospect of food.
“Maybe a decent bed doesn’t sound too bad either.” Van Mussen said. The man could ramble on the most boring lectures, but he had a knack for making West Jordan sound like one of those fancy hotels in the big cities out east.
“Maybe one night,” The boy said.
“Wonderful,” sometimes Van Mussen’s words came out in a song instead of regular speak. It drove Snake crazy. “Now, what shall we call thee?”
“Pa called me Red,” he said.
“No, that won’t do. What’s you’re name in the eyes of God.”
“Big Red.” He looked back toward the door.
“No, don’t you have a Christian name boy,” Van Mussen seemed on the pit of despair.
“I told you, Red,” His face was flushed as bright as an apple.
“I will pray on it. The Lord shall tell me your name.”
“I bet he tells you, Red.”
Van Mussen ignored this last exchange.
“Let’s have one of the other boys show you to the loft. Now let’s see the hands. Who’ll show our new student upstairs?”
All four hands shot up. A chance to get out of the lecture and to pal up with this new bold boy couldn’t be passed up.
“Jericho,” He pointed to Snake, who cringed in his seat. No one but Van Mussen called him by that name. Every boy in the place had a name straight out of the bible, even if it wasn’t his real name. ‘
Snake slid out of his chair and motioned for Red to follow him. Red stood there a moment, before finally relenting.
Two boys slept on each side of the loft. Snake slept in the second cot from the ladder on the right side. Red picked the one on the far end on the right. Away from everyone, and collapsed in heap on the cot facing away from Snake.
“Look, it ain’t that bad here.”
“It ain’t that good.”
They didn’t speak and Snake shifted his weight from one foot to another knowing that Van Mussen would call up soon wanting them back down.
“So your Pa run off on you or something?” Snake asked.
Red turned his head and eyed Snake up and down. Snake was pretty sure the boy was deciding if he should charge him. Snake backed up a bit, giving himself more reaction time just in case.
“Nah, they hung’em.” Red turned his face back toward the back wall.
“Why’d they do that?”
“Cause they could.”
Snake came to learn that that was Red’s theory on the world. People did things if they could. In the coming months, Snake found that boys their age could do a hell of a lot of things, for no other reason, than they could. Snake accepted the circumstances when Red thrust the sheriff’s star on his poker table years later because he knew exactly why Red had done it. Cause he could.
Staring at Red’s back there in the loft, noticing the slump of his shoulders and the sag of body, Snake couldn’t help but like him. He wasn’t just another stupid kid out causing trouble. He was fighting a battle that at 12 years old, he was losing.
That was when Red reached into his trouser’s pockets and laid the old deck of cards on his cot. Snake’s eyes widened.
“You better keep those hid or Van Mussen will take them.”
“If he touches them, I slit his throat with a spoon.”
“Shush, he’ll hear you.”
“Shush yourself. These are my cards.”
“What’s so special about them?”
“They’re lucky. They never lose.”
Snake smiled.
“We’ll see about that.”
That made Red turn around and grin.
Snake turned his ear up to the gunfire coming from outside the dingy saloon – the kind of place where a man's boots always stick to the floor no matter how hard the barkeep and waitress scrubbed each night after closing to remove the alcohol and chew stains soaked in the oak floor boards – before dealing out the cards. He didn't think much of the commotion. It was Coleta; there was always some sort of trouble on the two dusty streets lined with honkytonks, saloons and four churches. Besides, he had more money to win from the four chumps fool enough to sit at his table an hour before.
A few minutes later, Snake ordered another shot of whiskey while staring at the pair of ladies in his hand and deciding if he could bluff his way out. Hell yeah, these guys are idiots.
The Saloon’s doors split then, smacking the walls by being thrust all the way open. A dark figure, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a pair six-shooters still smoking in the holsters at his hips, appeared in the doorway before walking to the table.
Snake knew him. Hell, he more than knew him. In their youth, the two had run a lot of trouble together – a lot of fun. His name was Big Red. Ten years before, the wild man had put his guns away and handed his pack of lucky cards to Snake saying, "I think I'll try my hand at farming that untamed land." Snake thought it was a fool idea, but didn't try to deter him. When an idea caught in Big Red's mind, there was no use fighting him about it.
Snake stared at Big Red as he barked an order for some red whiskey. As he drew closer, Snake could see the blood dripping from Red's finger tips and the way his chest heaved in and out in exaggerated fashion. He didn't have to ask what was going on. Deep inside, Snake knew this day would come. Red was back in the gang.
"You got my cards," he said.
"Sure," Snake said. Pulling the pack he never played, heck never took out of the case, from the pocket inside his vest and placing it on the table.
"Good," he said spitting on the floor and then pushing one of the idiots out of its chair (the idiot didn't deserve the pronoun of he).
Sitting down, Red slammed his paw down on the table and lifted it. Shining on the green felt was a familiar gold star with what looked like a bite mark at the tip of one point. Snake knew the chest that star usually hung on, which forced him to look back outside toward the dusty streets bathed in sun.
"Now this is how it's going to be." Red in a gruff voice sounded.
Snake and even the idiots leaned forward. Part of Snake was scared, but he dismissed it. When Big Red came into the saloon with eyes glaring in that way, you had to listen. There was adventure (and likely trouble) in his ideas. Once one took hold of him, he didn’t let it go. Outside of that farming bit, Snake had loved getting caught up in Red's plots.
This is going to be fun, Snake thought. One hell of a lot of fun.
* * *
Big Red came to the West Jordan Home for Destitute Boys in the summer of Snake’s twelfth year. West Jordan was a square building with one classroom on the main floor with a kitchen just off it and the bedroom for the home master, the Good Man of the Cloth, Frederick Van Mussen.
A wood ladder led to the loft above where two rows of cots ran, adding up to eight, lined the length of each side of room under the eaves. There were only four boy residents before Red.
That day the Good Man of the Cloth was 10 minutes into a 45-minute droning lecture about God or Lambs or something. Snake’s eyelids were sagging, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when the big pine door burst open in the back. Van Mussen looked up in surprise and all the boys turned in the seat of their desks.
The Sheriff’s star shined off the chest of Andrew Jones as he strode in clasping a boy by the collar beside him.
“Got another one for ya, Van Mussen.”
“Like Hell,” The boy tried to wriggle away.
The Sheriff slapped the boy across the face. The boy fell to the floor and the Sheriff gave him a swift kick in the gut.
“Hit me all you want, but I ain’t going to stay.”
Snake had never seen anyone their age stand up to the Sheriff. He thought the Sheriff might just shoot him dead.
“You’ll stay, even if I have to cuff you to the wall.”
“Pah,” The boy spat at the Sheriff’s boots.
“Sheriff, I’ll handle him from here,” Van Mussen said.
“Alright,” The Sheriff was out the door as the boy scrambled to feet. He turned for the door.
“What’s the hurry, son.” Van Mussen said. “There’s a roof here tonight and it’s mighty hot out in the sun.”
“I ain’t scared of the sun.”
“I am sure you’re not, but I bet you’re hungry.”
“So.”
“So, we’ll be feasting tonight. Probably tomorrow night as well, maybe you won’t stay, but you could leave with a full stomach.”
The boy stopped in the door. He was ungodly thin and his ears pricked up at the prospect of food.
“Maybe a decent bed doesn’t sound too bad either.” Van Mussen said. The man could ramble on the most boring lectures, but he had a knack for making West Jordan sound like one of those fancy hotels in the big cities out east.
“Maybe one night,” The boy said.
“Wonderful,” sometimes Van Mussen’s words came out in a song instead of regular speak. It drove Snake crazy. “Now, what shall we call thee?”
“Pa called me Red,” he said.
“No, that won’t do. What’s you’re name in the eyes of God.”
“Big Red.” He looked back toward the door.
“No, don’t you have a Christian name boy,” Van Mussen seemed on the pit of despair.
“I told you, Red,” His face was flushed as bright as an apple.
“I will pray on it. The Lord shall tell me your name.”
“I bet he tells you, Red.”
Van Mussen ignored this last exchange.
“Let’s have one of the other boys show you to the loft. Now let’s see the hands. Who’ll show our new student upstairs?”
All four hands shot up. A chance to get out of the lecture and to pal up with this new bold boy couldn’t be passed up.
“Jericho,” He pointed to Snake, who cringed in his seat. No one but Van Mussen called him by that name. Every boy in the place had a name straight out of the bible, even if it wasn’t his real name. ‘
Snake slid out of his chair and motioned for Red to follow him. Red stood there a moment, before finally relenting.
Two boys slept on each side of the loft. Snake slept in the second cot from the ladder on the right side. Red picked the one on the far end on the right. Away from everyone, and collapsed in heap on the cot facing away from Snake.
“Look, it ain’t that bad here.”
“It ain’t that good.”
They didn’t speak and Snake shifted his weight from one foot to another knowing that Van Mussen would call up soon wanting them back down.
“So your Pa run off on you or something?” Snake asked.
Red turned his head and eyed Snake up and down. Snake was pretty sure the boy was deciding if he should charge him. Snake backed up a bit, giving himself more reaction time just in case.
“Nah, they hung’em.” Red turned his face back toward the back wall.
“Why’d they do that?”
“Cause they could.”
Snake came to learn that that was Red’s theory on the world. People did things if they could. In the coming months, Snake found that boys their age could do a hell of a lot of things, for no other reason, than they could. Snake accepted the circumstances when Red thrust the sheriff’s star on his poker table years later because he knew exactly why Red had done it. Cause he could.
Staring at Red’s back there in the loft, noticing the slump of his shoulders and the sag of body, Snake couldn’t help but like him. He wasn’t just another stupid kid out causing trouble. He was fighting a battle that at 12 years old, he was losing.
That was when Red reached into his trouser’s pockets and laid the old deck of cards on his cot. Snake’s eyes widened.
“You better keep those hid or Van Mussen will take them.”
“If he touches them, I slit his throat with a spoon.”
“Shush, he’ll hear you.”
“Shush yourself. These are my cards.”
“What’s so special about them?”
“They’re lucky. They never lose.”
Snake smiled.
“We’ll see about that.”
That made Red turn around and grin.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Smoking Guns pt 1
Note: This started back with Big Red's Hodge Podge post. He wrote a little beginning to a story we decided to continue on together. This is that first part after I tweaked it alittle. Later I will post the next section as will Red.
Snake turned his ear up to the gunfire coming from outside the dingy saloon – the kind of place where a man's boots always stick to the floor no matter how hard the barkeep and waitress scrubbed each night after closing to remove the alcohol and chew stains soaked into the oak floor boards – before dealing out the cards for the next hand. He didn't think much of the commotion though. It was Coleta; there was always some sort of trouble on the two dusty streets lined with honkytonks, saloons and four churches. Besides, he had more money to win from the four greenhorns fool enough to sit at his table an hour before.
As the bets went around, Snake ordered another shot of whiskey while staring at the pair of ladies in his hand deciding if he could bluff his way out. Pfft, these guys are idiots. "I raise," he said as they cowered back into their seats.
Just then the Saloon’s doors split, smacking the walls with a thunderous clap as they were thrust all the way open. A dark figure, wearing a dirty brown wide-brimmed hat and a Colt Single Action Army revolver still smoking in the holster at his hip, appeared in the doorway. For a moment the piano player stopped, the tramps quit dancing; the old drunks at the bar couldn't help but stare. After a quick survey of the landscape, he let the doors snap back into place and headed to Snake's table. No one seemed to recognize him but figured if he was going to cause trouble he would have already started.
Snake knew who he was though. In fact, he more than knew him. In their youth, the two had run a lot of trouble together – a lot of fun. His name was Big Red, at least that is what Snake always called him by. Trouble makers like them never used their Christian names out here. Ten years before, the wild man had put his guns away and handed his pack of lucky cards to Snake saying, "I think I'll try my hand at farming that untamed land." Snake knew it was a fool idea, but didn't try to deter him. When an idea caught in Red's mind, there was no use fighting him about it.
Snake stared at Big Red as he barked an order for a whiskey bottle at a passing waitress. As he drew closer, Snake could see the blood dripping from Red's finger tips and the way his chest heaved in and out in exaggerated fashion. He didn't have to ask what was going on. Deep inside, Snake knew this day would come. He knew Red couldn't leave the life, just as he never did.
"You got my lucky cards," he said not asked.
"Sure," Snake said. Pulling the pack he never played, never even took out of the case, from the pocket inside his vest and placed it on the table.
"Good," he said spitting on the floor and then pushing the idiot next to Snake out of its chair (the idiot didn't deserve the pronoun of he). It scrambled off to the far side of the Saloon not wanting any trouble. Not such an idiot after all.
Sitting down, Red slammed his large calloused paw down on the table with a startling bang and slowly lifted it. Shining on the green felt was a familiar gold star with what looked like a bite mark at the tip of one point. Snake knew the chest that star usually hung on, which forced him to look back outside toward the dusty streets bathed in sun.
"Now this is how it's going to be." Red in a gruff voice sounded.
Snake and even the idiots leaned forward. Part of Snake was scared, but he dismissed it. When Big Red came into the Saloon with eyes glaring in that way, you had to listen. There was adventure (and likely trouble) in his ideas. Once one took hold of him, he didn’t let it go. Outside of that farming bit, Snake had loved getting caught up in Red's plots. The two had always worked well together.
This is going to be fun, Snake thought. One hell of a lot of fun.
Snake turned his ear up to the gunfire coming from outside the dingy saloon – the kind of place where a man's boots always stick to the floor no matter how hard the barkeep and waitress scrubbed each night after closing to remove the alcohol and chew stains soaked into the oak floor boards – before dealing out the cards for the next hand. He didn't think much of the commotion though. It was Coleta; there was always some sort of trouble on the two dusty streets lined with honkytonks, saloons and four churches. Besides, he had more money to win from the four greenhorns fool enough to sit at his table an hour before.
As the bets went around, Snake ordered another shot of whiskey while staring at the pair of ladies in his hand deciding if he could bluff his way out. Pfft, these guys are idiots. "I raise," he said as they cowered back into their seats.
Just then the Saloon’s doors split, smacking the walls with a thunderous clap as they were thrust all the way open. A dark figure, wearing a dirty brown wide-brimmed hat and a Colt Single Action Army revolver still smoking in the holster at his hip, appeared in the doorway. For a moment the piano player stopped, the tramps quit dancing; the old drunks at the bar couldn't help but stare. After a quick survey of the landscape, he let the doors snap back into place and headed to Snake's table. No one seemed to recognize him but figured if he was going to cause trouble he would have already started.
Snake knew who he was though. In fact, he more than knew him. In their youth, the two had run a lot of trouble together – a lot of fun. His name was Big Red, at least that is what Snake always called him by. Trouble makers like them never used their Christian names out here. Ten years before, the wild man had put his guns away and handed his pack of lucky cards to Snake saying, "I think I'll try my hand at farming that untamed land." Snake knew it was a fool idea, but didn't try to deter him. When an idea caught in Red's mind, there was no use fighting him about it.
Snake stared at Big Red as he barked an order for a whiskey bottle at a passing waitress. As he drew closer, Snake could see the blood dripping from Red's finger tips and the way his chest heaved in and out in exaggerated fashion. He didn't have to ask what was going on. Deep inside, Snake knew this day would come. He knew Red couldn't leave the life, just as he never did.
"You got my lucky cards," he said not asked.
"Sure," Snake said. Pulling the pack he never played, never even took out of the case, from the pocket inside his vest and placed it on the table.
"Good," he said spitting on the floor and then pushing the idiot next to Snake out of its chair (the idiot didn't deserve the pronoun of he). It scrambled off to the far side of the Saloon not wanting any trouble. Not such an idiot after all.
Sitting down, Red slammed his large calloused paw down on the table with a startling bang and slowly lifted it. Shining on the green felt was a familiar gold star with what looked like a bite mark at the tip of one point. Snake knew the chest that star usually hung on, which forced him to look back outside toward the dusty streets bathed in sun.
"Now this is how it's going to be." Red in a gruff voice sounded.
Snake and even the idiots leaned forward. Part of Snake was scared, but he dismissed it. When Big Red came into the Saloon with eyes glaring in that way, you had to listen. There was adventure (and likely trouble) in his ideas. Once one took hold of him, he didn’t let it go. Outside of that farming bit, Snake had loved getting caught up in Red's plots. The two had always worked well together.
This is going to be fun, Snake thought. One hell of a lot of fun.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
1001 Albums: Actually - Agaetis Byrjun
Note: A couple of albums from all-time greats and a couple from ... well ... I am sure they made music.
Actually (1987) by Pet Shop Boys
Label: Parlophone
Producer: Various
Running time: 48:07
I've seen the Pet Shop Boys albums in stores before, but I don't think I really know the songs on this album. They seem kind of like one of those quirky 80s british pop bands.
Africa/Brasil (1976) by Jorge Ben
Label: Philips
Producer: Mazola
Running time: 41:35
Apparently Jorge Ben brought the funk to South America. You know what they say, "If it sells in Brazil, it'll sell anywhere." I actually listened to one of his tunes on You Tube, not bad if I only could understand what he was saying.
Aftermath (1966) by The Rolling Stones
Label: Decca
Producer: Andrew Loog Oldham
Running time: 53:58
This album sprung classic hits like "Mother's Little Helper" and "Under My Thumb," but more importantly it was the first time the Stones were allowed to release an entire album of original work. It was their answer to the Beatles "A Hard Day's Night" and they delivered as the dark British alternative of the 1960s. Jagger and Richards rarely get the credit that Lennon and McCartney get, but there's something to be said for a creative relationship that lasts 40-plus years.
After the Gold Rush (1970) by Neil Young
Label: Reprise
Producer: David Briggs, Neil Young
Running Time: 33:41
I think this album sometimes gets lost behind the success of the Young's masterpiece Harvest, but After the Gold Rush is just as striking and moody. Don't forget that "Southern Man comes off this and that song really pissed Lynryd Skynyrd off.
Agaetis Byrjun (1999) by Sigur Ros
Label: Smekkleysa
Producer: Ken Thomas
Running time: 71:51
I must have missed this one when it came out in high school. But Icelandic rock just never hit the midwestern teen scene as quickly as one would have thought. They also invented their own language called "hopelandic" for the album. I listened to a little of them too on You Tube, I haven't formed an opinion yet. I kind of think it wouldn't be bad stuff to listen to if it was background music and I working on something or doing yoga (hah, that'd be funny to see). A little progressive and very peaceful.
Actually (1987) by Pet Shop Boys
Label: Parlophone
Producer: Various
Running time: 48:07
I've seen the Pet Shop Boys albums in stores before, but I don't think I really know the songs on this album. They seem kind of like one of those quirky 80s british pop bands.
Africa/Brasil (1976) by Jorge Ben
Label: Philips
Producer: Mazola
Running time: 41:35
Apparently Jorge Ben brought the funk to South America. You know what they say, "If it sells in Brazil, it'll sell anywhere." I actually listened to one of his tunes on You Tube, not bad if I only could understand what he was saying.
Aftermath (1966) by The Rolling Stones
Label: Decca
Producer: Andrew Loog Oldham
Running time: 53:58
This album sprung classic hits like "Mother's Little Helper" and "Under My Thumb," but more importantly it was the first time the Stones were allowed to release an entire album of original work. It was their answer to the Beatles "A Hard Day's Night" and they delivered as the dark British alternative of the 1960s. Jagger and Richards rarely get the credit that Lennon and McCartney get, but there's something to be said for a creative relationship that lasts 40-plus years.
After the Gold Rush (1970) by Neil Young
Label: Reprise
Producer: David Briggs, Neil Young
Running Time: 33:41
I think this album sometimes gets lost behind the success of the Young's masterpiece Harvest, but After the Gold Rush is just as striking and moody. Don't forget that "Southern Man comes off this and that song really pissed Lynryd Skynyrd off.
Agaetis Byrjun (1999) by Sigur Ros
Label: Smekkleysa
Producer: Ken Thomas
Running time: 71:51
I must have missed this one when it came out in high school. But Icelandic rock just never hit the midwestern teen scene as quickly as one would have thought. They also invented their own language called "hopelandic" for the album. I listened to a little of them too on You Tube, I haven't formed an opinion yet. I kind of think it wouldn't be bad stuff to listen to if it was background music and I working on something or doing yoga (hah, that'd be funny to see). A little progressive and very peaceful.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Abbey Rd, Abraxas, Ace of Spades & Uchtung Baby
I left out the fifth one cause I had never heard of it either.
Abbey Road: As the years pass this one moves up my list as being my favorite Beatles album. Really as I think about the history behind it and the sound, it is really George Martin's album. The production is amazing, direction perfect and i believe he was the driving force for them to get back and do a proper album to end this thing. That final medley is a metaphor for the Beatles, it is much more than the sum of its parts. On their own they are very weak songs, but I always have to listen to the whole thing through and it becomes so much more.
Abraxas: I am pretty sure this was highlighted in our progressive rock class. I still have my notebook but i didnt dig it out for this. I agree with what Big Red said although I love the combo of Black Magic Woman/Gypsy Queen. You have to have them both together.
Ace of Spades: I don';t have this entire album. I need to get it though cause there is so much more to Motorhead then the title track. In fact from what I remember about his interviews, Lemmy hates that song cause it is all anyone wanted to hear them play.
Uchtung Baby: I dunno I just don't care that much about U2. Sure I'll listen to a few of their songs but IMO Bono is an ass and they are all a little too arogant. I expect that from the brits but not an irish band. Plus the lyric "Get on your knees boy" always makes me giggle and think of mean things to say about the writer.
Abbey Road: As the years pass this one moves up my list as being my favorite Beatles album. Really as I think about the history behind it and the sound, it is really George Martin's album. The production is amazing, direction perfect and i believe he was the driving force for them to get back and do a proper album to end this thing. That final medley is a metaphor for the Beatles, it is much more than the sum of its parts. On their own they are very weak songs, but I always have to listen to the whole thing through and it becomes so much more.
Abraxas: I am pretty sure this was highlighted in our progressive rock class. I still have my notebook but i didnt dig it out for this. I agree with what Big Red said although I love the combo of Black Magic Woman/Gypsy Queen. You have to have them both together.
Ace of Spades: I don';t have this entire album. I need to get it though cause there is so much more to Motorhead then the title track. In fact from what I remember about his interviews, Lemmy hates that song cause it is all anyone wanted to hear them play.
Uchtung Baby: I dunno I just don't care that much about U2. Sure I'll listen to a few of their songs but IMO Bono is an ass and they are all a little too arogant. I expect that from the brits but not an irish band. Plus the lyric "Get on your knees boy" always makes me giggle and think of mean things to say about the writer.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Hodge Podge
Snake turns his ear up to the commotion coming from outside the dingy saloon – the kind of place where a man's boots always stick to the floor no matter how hard the tender and waitress scrubbed each night after closing to remove the alcohol and chew stains soaked in the oak floor boards – before dealing out the cards. He didn't think much of the commotion. It was Coleta, after all, there was always some sort of trouble on the two dusty streets lined with honky tonks, saloons and four churches. Besides he had more money to win from the four chumps fool enough to sit at his table an hour before.
A few minutes later, Snake orders another shot of whiskey while staring at the pair of ladies in his hand and deciding if he can bluff his way out. "Hell yeah," he thinks, "these guys are idiots."
The Saloon doors split then, smacking the walls by being thrust all the way open. A dark figure, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a pair six shooters still smoking in the holsters at his hips, appeared in the door way before walking to the table.
Snake knew him. Hell, he more than knew him. In their youth, the two had run a lot of trouble together – a lot of fun he remembered. His name was Big Red. Ten years before, the wild man had put his guns away and handed his pack of lucky cards to Snake saying, "I think I'll try my hand at farming that untamed land." Snakester thought it was a fool idea, but didn't try to deter him. When an idea caught in Big Red's mind, there was no use fighting him about.
Snake stared at Big Red as he barked an order for the some red whiskey. As he drew closers, Snake could see the blood dripping from Red's finger tips and the way his chest heaved in and out in exaggerated fashion. He didn't have to ask what was going on. Deep inside, Snake knew this day would one day come. Red was back in the gang.
"You got my cards," he said.
"Sure," Snakester said. Pulling the pack he never played, heck never took out of the case, from the pocket inside his vest and placing them on the table.
"Good," he said spitting on the floor and then pushing one of the idiots out of its chair (the idiot didn't deserve the pronoun of he).
Sitting down, Red slammed his paw down on the table and lifted it. Shining on the green felt was a familiar gold star with what looked like a bite mark at the tip of one point. Snake knew the chest that star usually hung on and looked back outside toward the dusty streets bathed in sun.
"Now this is how it's going to be." Red in a gruff voice sounded.
Snake and even the idiots leaned forward. Part of Snake was a little scared, but when Big Red came into the saloon with eyes glaring in that way, you had to listen. When Red got an idea, he didn't let it go. Outside of that farming bit, Snake had loved getting caught up in Red's plots.
"This is going to be fun," Snake thought. "One hell of a lot of fun."
* * *
Okay, so I couldn't sleep at all last night. Although this morning, that wasn't so much a problem. I read for a good three hours last night and came to a very bright realization.
This is it.
I've been toiling for what seems like a decade with this writing thing and if I don't hunker down pretty soon then I might as well give it up. So I've got to get started.
The above sequence popped into my head when I laid down to sleep and kept me up for a good hour. I don't know exactly what it means, but I thought it was kind of fun.
Anyways about the writing. Stephen King recommends writing 2,000 words a day when writing a novel. I've decided I can't start with a novel. I need to get some credits with short stories before. Maybe I'll try with that little thing I did earlier this week, maybe not. I am kind of on the fence on how that would hold up under scrutiny. Maybe that can go in some collection I release someday.
What this means is that every morning, I have to hash out ummm 1,500 words or so before I do anything else. This may cut into the posting time for here, I do after all have a job and some responsibilities as a husband. But I am not going away. I am just focusing on what I gotta do.
* * *
Okay so I thought this might be a better way to handle the 1,001 Albums thing. I think what I'll do is every Thursday or Friday is post five entries and my thoughts on them. If I know nothing about them, I may not say much of anything at all. I thought this way, Snakester gets a better idea of what's in the book and then can comment on the one's he wants too. Probably, make me look like a chump, because I am sure he knows a lot more of these than I do. I also thought, this may incur some other reader interaction. Just a thought.
So here are the first five listed in the index. I thought I'd continue with the index rather than going chronologically. This way we get more variety.
Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus (2004) by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
Label: Mute
Producers: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds/ Nick Launay
Nationality: Australia
Running time: 82:24
I don't know this band or album. Apparently they've been around for awhile. This is a double album. One disc is full of fast-beat zingers and the other is full of love songs. I think the Foo Fighters did this once. I've always wondered when this happens why not just hold back and release two different albums. Sometimes i think this is a poor decision. I kind of like it when an album has a full array of songs smashed all together.
Abbey Road (1969) by The Beatles
Label: Apple
Producer: George Martin
Running Time: 47:36
I already did this one. Beatles last studio album, great, progessive, enough said.
Abraxas (1970) by Santana
Label: Columbia
Producer: Fred Catero/ Santana
Running time: 37:18
I've never listened to this whole album, but a few of the classic rock stations around here play "Black Magic Woman" and "Oye Como Va" to death. I think if I did have this album, I'd never listen to it because I am so burned out by those tunes. I am curious what a few of the others sound like though.
Ace of Spades (1980) by Motorhead
Label: Bronze
Producer: Vic Maile
Running time: 36:34
Snake might correct me if I am wrong, but I believe he had or has this album. Pretty sure that I've heard this one all the way through, but it has been awhile. Love the "Ace of Spades" and Lemmy is God. It's fast guitar and fun, what else can I say about Motorhead.
Achtung Baby (1991) by U2
Label: Island
Producer: Brian Eno/Daniel Lanois
Running time: 55:22
I still think this is my favorite U2 album, although not by a lot. I think this wins out just because it was the first one I listened to way back when I was in grade school. Things always seem to get bonus points if you listened to it and liked it when you were 10 years old. At parts its trying to be a little too artsy, but that Bono. I do think the Edge takes off on a lot of tracks on this album and shreds with the guitar.
A few minutes later, Snake orders another shot of whiskey while staring at the pair of ladies in his hand and deciding if he can bluff his way out. "Hell yeah," he thinks, "these guys are idiots."
The Saloon doors split then, smacking the walls by being thrust all the way open. A dark figure, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a pair six shooters still smoking in the holsters at his hips, appeared in the door way before walking to the table.
Snake knew him. Hell, he more than knew him. In their youth, the two had run a lot of trouble together – a lot of fun he remembered. His name was Big Red. Ten years before, the wild man had put his guns away and handed his pack of lucky cards to Snake saying, "I think I'll try my hand at farming that untamed land." Snakester thought it was a fool idea, but didn't try to deter him. When an idea caught in Big Red's mind, there was no use fighting him about.
Snake stared at Big Red as he barked an order for the some red whiskey. As he drew closers, Snake could see the blood dripping from Red's finger tips and the way his chest heaved in and out in exaggerated fashion. He didn't have to ask what was going on. Deep inside, Snake knew this day would one day come. Red was back in the gang.
"You got my cards," he said.
"Sure," Snakester said. Pulling the pack he never played, heck never took out of the case, from the pocket inside his vest and placing them on the table.
"Good," he said spitting on the floor and then pushing one of the idiots out of its chair (the idiot didn't deserve the pronoun of he).
Sitting down, Red slammed his paw down on the table and lifted it. Shining on the green felt was a familiar gold star with what looked like a bite mark at the tip of one point. Snake knew the chest that star usually hung on and looked back outside toward the dusty streets bathed in sun.
"Now this is how it's going to be." Red in a gruff voice sounded.
Snake and even the idiots leaned forward. Part of Snake was a little scared, but when Big Red came into the saloon with eyes glaring in that way, you had to listen. When Red got an idea, he didn't let it go. Outside of that farming bit, Snake had loved getting caught up in Red's plots.
"This is going to be fun," Snake thought. "One hell of a lot of fun."
* * *
Okay, so I couldn't sleep at all last night. Although this morning, that wasn't so much a problem. I read for a good three hours last night and came to a very bright realization.
This is it.
I've been toiling for what seems like a decade with this writing thing and if I don't hunker down pretty soon then I might as well give it up. So I've got to get started.
The above sequence popped into my head when I laid down to sleep and kept me up for a good hour. I don't know exactly what it means, but I thought it was kind of fun.
Anyways about the writing. Stephen King recommends writing 2,000 words a day when writing a novel. I've decided I can't start with a novel. I need to get some credits with short stories before. Maybe I'll try with that little thing I did earlier this week, maybe not. I am kind of on the fence on how that would hold up under scrutiny. Maybe that can go in some collection I release someday.
What this means is that every morning, I have to hash out ummm 1,500 words or so before I do anything else. This may cut into the posting time for here, I do after all have a job and some responsibilities as a husband. But I am not going away. I am just focusing on what I gotta do.
* * *
Okay so I thought this might be a better way to handle the 1,001 Albums thing. I think what I'll do is every Thursday or Friday is post five entries and my thoughts on them. If I know nothing about them, I may not say much of anything at all. I thought this way, Snakester gets a better idea of what's in the book and then can comment on the one's he wants too. Probably, make me look like a chump, because I am sure he knows a lot more of these than I do. I also thought, this may incur some other reader interaction. Just a thought.
So here are the first five listed in the index. I thought I'd continue with the index rather than going chronologically. This way we get more variety.
Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus (2004) by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
Label: Mute
Producers: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds/ Nick Launay
Nationality: Australia
Running time: 82:24
I don't know this band or album. Apparently they've been around for awhile. This is a double album. One disc is full of fast-beat zingers and the other is full of love songs. I think the Foo Fighters did this once. I've always wondered when this happens why not just hold back and release two different albums. Sometimes i think this is a poor decision. I kind of like it when an album has a full array of songs smashed all together.
Abbey Road (1969) by The Beatles
Label: Apple
Producer: George Martin
Running Time: 47:36
I already did this one. Beatles last studio album, great, progessive, enough said.
Abraxas (1970) by Santana
Label: Columbia
Producer: Fred Catero/ Santana
Running time: 37:18
I've never listened to this whole album, but a few of the classic rock stations around here play "Black Magic Woman" and "Oye Como Va" to death. I think if I did have this album, I'd never listen to it because I am so burned out by those tunes. I am curious what a few of the others sound like though.
Ace of Spades (1980) by Motorhead
Label: Bronze
Producer: Vic Maile
Running time: 36:34
Snake might correct me if I am wrong, but I believe he had or has this album. Pretty sure that I've heard this one all the way through, but it has been awhile. Love the "Ace of Spades" and Lemmy is God. It's fast guitar and fun, what else can I say about Motorhead.
Achtung Baby (1991) by U2
Label: Island
Producer: Brian Eno/Daniel Lanois
Running time: 55:22
I still think this is my favorite U2 album, although not by a lot. I think this wins out just because it was the first one I listened to way back when I was in grade school. Things always seem to get bonus points if you listened to it and liked it when you were 10 years old. At parts its trying to be a little too artsy, but that Bono. I do think the Edge takes off on a lot of tracks on this album and shreds with the guitar.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Abbey Road
Note: I received two massive books for Christmas. One was the 1,001 Books You Should Read Before You Die. Actually I received that one twice. I turned one in and ordered 1,001 Albums You Should Hear Before You Die, which came yesterday. After looking through both I realize I have a lot of reading and hearing to do. Anyways, I thought I might occasionally throw out my two cents about the albums I've heard and books I've read. I figured this would be right up Snakester's alley. FYI: Each book is ordered chronologically, the index is alphabetical. There is no "here's the best" kind of thing. So I am just going through the index for albums I've heard and the second album listed is...
Abbey Road – The Beatles
Label: Apple
Producer: George Martin
Running time: 47:36
One thing I realize as I read the review of this album and a few of the others is that I hate (Snakester just cringed) how critics write. More than anyone, critics want to let you know that they know big words. Here's the thing, the bigger the words the quicker the average reader will put it down.
Anyways I have always tended to couple the Beatles albums (Hard Days Night-Help, Rubber Soul-Revolver, Sgt. Peppers-Magical Mystery Tour, The White Album (they did that one for me), Let It Be-Abbey Road). Now this last couple is interesting. Let It Be was recorded first and released last. Abbey Road was the album that never would have happened if the lads weren't uncomfortable with how things ended with Let It Be. So Abbey Road is the last album that they put through the entire production grinder and it shows. It's progressive and varied in song selection. The last half of the album flows as if a medley from one song to another building to the ultimate climax for the greatest bands to ever string up their guitars. George also has his best showing with his two allotted songs – "Something" and "Here Comes the Sun."
Let It Be never got fully produced and ends up sounding more raw, which for some reason draws me in. But Abbey Road is a testament that no matter how much they bickered and disliked each other – Lennon, McCartney, Harrison and Starr – could create big idea albums like no other group seems to be able to match.
Abbey Road – The Beatles
Label: Apple
Producer: George Martin
Running time: 47:36
One thing I realize as I read the review of this album and a few of the others is that I hate (Snakester just cringed) how critics write. More than anyone, critics want to let you know that they know big words. Here's the thing, the bigger the words the quicker the average reader will put it down.
Anyways I have always tended to couple the Beatles albums (Hard Days Night-Help, Rubber Soul-Revolver, Sgt. Peppers-Magical Mystery Tour, The White Album (they did that one for me), Let It Be-Abbey Road). Now this last couple is interesting. Let It Be was recorded first and released last. Abbey Road was the album that never would have happened if the lads weren't uncomfortable with how things ended with Let It Be. So Abbey Road is the last album that they put through the entire production grinder and it shows. It's progressive and varied in song selection. The last half of the album flows as if a medley from one song to another building to the ultimate climax for the greatest bands to ever string up their guitars. George also has his best showing with his two allotted songs – "Something" and "Here Comes the Sun."
Let It Be never got fully produced and ends up sounding more raw, which for some reason draws me in. But Abbey Road is a testament that no matter how much they bickered and disliked each other – Lennon, McCartney, Harrison and Starr – could create big idea albums like no other group seems to be able to match.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
That Chilling Wind
“I’m just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round” Watching The Wheels – John Lennon
3:56 The orange numbers blazed through the darkness of the room. Bright but not blinding. A beacon of dread. A painful reminder that I should not be awake. Yet I can’t stop staring at them wanting to forget the haunting dream.
This was a new one that felt very real despite how outlandish it seems as I try to remember it. It was night and I was driving home by myself from one sleepy town to the other. Snow covered the road and the wind continued to throw obstacles into my path. In a flash I was home after barreling my big black truck through mounds of snow, shopping carts & cinder blocks. I was safe but yet was more nervous than ever. My wife was still left at her folks with our small car. Why was she left there? I called her, I pleaded. Yet she would not stay, she wanted to come home to me.
Deep sweat wetted my pillow. I turned it over for now hoping that side will dry before this one becomes unbearable. Being awake at in between times is the worst, not late enough to just get up but too close to get a good sleep back before the alarm. You just lay there stressing yourself to go to sleep before you lose more time. Running the debate over in your head trying to forget the obvious reasons for this insomnia.
4:00 I watch the clock make a drastic change. So subtle this whole time until a new hour approaches, numbers moving in unison to start it all over again. Maybe if I roll over, stretch different that will help me relax back to sleep. The covers don’t reach and the cold stings my body. The memory comes right back of that chilling wind that would cause doom to any passers in the night. Why wouldn’t she stay there?
Sure I’ve had my close calls in the past, survived a pretty good crash with only mild scars. Picking that glass out of my scalp for months on end, a stinging reminder of how close I was. Yet that doesn’t bother me much anymore, I worry more about my wife and child. There is almost 1 million dollars waiting for them should something happen to me and she is much stronger than I. I am sure the thought is probably just the opposite from the other side. Still I can’t imagine it, the thoughts, the what ifs circle round and round in my brain.
4:04 That damn red light is on in the corner of the cable box. The company wanting to remind me of some pay-per-view event that I have no intention of watching. It hurts more too. Stinging my eyes looking so out of place in a sea of soothing orange, like an asterisk in a record book. I hope the baby wakes up before my alarm, she is better at getting me out of bed. Man it is gonna be a long day.
3:56 The orange numbers blazed through the darkness of the room. Bright but not blinding. A beacon of dread. A painful reminder that I should not be awake. Yet I can’t stop staring at them wanting to forget the haunting dream.
This was a new one that felt very real despite how outlandish it seems as I try to remember it. It was night and I was driving home by myself from one sleepy town to the other. Snow covered the road and the wind continued to throw obstacles into my path. In a flash I was home after barreling my big black truck through mounds of snow, shopping carts & cinder blocks. I was safe but yet was more nervous than ever. My wife was still left at her folks with our small car. Why was she left there? I called her, I pleaded. Yet she would not stay, she wanted to come home to me.
Deep sweat wetted my pillow. I turned it over for now hoping that side will dry before this one becomes unbearable. Being awake at in between times is the worst, not late enough to just get up but too close to get a good sleep back before the alarm. You just lay there stressing yourself to go to sleep before you lose more time. Running the debate over in your head trying to forget the obvious reasons for this insomnia.
4:00 I watch the clock make a drastic change. So subtle this whole time until a new hour approaches, numbers moving in unison to start it all over again. Maybe if I roll over, stretch different that will help me relax back to sleep. The covers don’t reach and the cold stings my body. The memory comes right back of that chilling wind that would cause doom to any passers in the night. Why wouldn’t she stay there?
Sure I’ve had my close calls in the past, survived a pretty good crash with only mild scars. Picking that glass out of my scalp for months on end, a stinging reminder of how close I was. Yet that doesn’t bother me much anymore, I worry more about my wife and child. There is almost 1 million dollars waiting for them should something happen to me and she is much stronger than I. I am sure the thought is probably just the opposite from the other side. Still I can’t imagine it, the thoughts, the what ifs circle round and round in my brain.
4:04 That damn red light is on in the corner of the cable box. The company wanting to remind me of some pay-per-view event that I have no intention of watching. It hurts more too. Stinging my eyes looking so out of place in a sea of soothing orange, like an asterisk in a record book. I hope the baby wakes up before my alarm, she is better at getting me out of bed. Man it is gonna be a long day.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Between Everything and Nothing
Note: I’ll keep this short simply because the rest of the post is so long. To some degree, this is expanding on the free writing exercises Snake and I have been doing of late. But this is a little more drawn out, worked out and edited, although it’s probably still just a draft. If you’ve ever heard of creative non-fiction, this is an attempt at that (maybe even one I’ll submit to a publisher or a contest if I find one). This is a personal essay written in segments meant to give you small pieces at a time, but not the whole puzzle. I think when ever you’re writing about yourself, you never get the whole puzzle because it’s still being put together.
Note 2: I’d recommend giving a listen to God Says Nothing Back by the Wallflowers before you read this. You can hear it on You Tube with videos from different TV shows. I think hearing would help considering I had the tune in my head while writing most of this.
Note 3: I don't like the title, I am accepting submissions for a new one.
Lyrics from “God Says Nothing Back” – The Wallflowers
Seems like the world’s gone underground
Where no gods or heroes dare to go down
As teardrops from a hole in heaven come
Overhead like ravens dropping down like bombs
Through the morning silver-frosted glow
God says nothing back but I told you so
I told you so
The raindrops hit the windshield and tried to freeze before being shed away by the Ford Ranger’s wipers. In the middle, out of reach of both wipers, a small triangle formed with rippling tentacles of water not quite liquid and not quite ice – a balance maintained by the Ranger’s heater blasting on the window and the frigid air temperatures.
I am hunkered behind the wheel as I turn from the two-lane highway that cuts through a number of counties from northern Illinois all the way down to Peoria onto the road that leads home. Usually the road home has two lanes also, but not tonight. Two inches of fresh ice covered the two inches of snow dropped from the sky late the day before. No plows had made it out yet. A one-foot mountain range of snow and ice formed in the middle. The only real lane was the freshest set of tire’s tracks weaving back and forth across the road.
At 4 a.m. in December, the sky is neither dark nor light. It is the deepest blue. I am heading west, toward the storm. Above a bed of clouds is stacked from the top of the world to where the sky meets land.
At the crest of the last hill before home, a light bulb turned on behind the clouds. At first it was no more then a dull orange-yellow glow dulled behind the thick cumulonimbus. But that light sought the crevices in that wall like a prisoner seeks a key to his cell. When it burst through, there was only white as it hit the open sky and then reflected off the fields of snow.
It lasted only a split second, but that’s all I needed. My field of vision was exposed to everything and then as quickly nothing. White filled and conquered the spectrum, laying waste in an instant the entire scope of my world. Then gone with the norm restored accompanied with the worries of the storm just as swiftly.
Later curled up in bed with my mind being tickled to sleep, I heard my wife on the phone. She was talking to one of her parents and told them I saw lightning and that it made the night as “light as day.” I cringed. I wanted to run and tell them that that wasn’t even close. I’ve seen the light of day and this wasn’t it. This was a light beyond that, a light that filled everything all at once. But those aren’t the right words either. I am not sure there are any.
God bless the void of my daydreams
Head back in the snow making angel wings
As slow motion dancing lights at dawn
Sail beneath a burning yellow sun
I’m calling out from the deep ends of my bones
Time says nothing back but I told you so
I told you so
Eighty-nine years faded away and the voice of a petulant, over-dramatic teenager whined out, “I’m a goner. That’s it.”
Someone decades younger and less familiar with the proximity of death chided, “Oh, no your not.” And they were right. My grandmother, who at that point was 89, tensed up in the hospital bed in the emergency room with a bladder infection that resulted in her body not creating enough sodium. That in turn caused her some dizziness and mild dementia.
She wailed. It was the sound of her slightly polluted mind addressing her physical state and her mortality and maybe even gauging the authenticity of her existence. That last one I cannot confirm.
Each person took turns trying to calm her, but her wails continued. Her body shivered under the cotton blanket and even though I wasn’t viewing her face, I am sure salty tears were sliding down the many creases around her eyes.
Finally, I had enough and laid it out the best I could. I don’t remember what I said but I said it bluntly and as plainly as I could. I also directed it right at her almost as a parent ordering their child.
And she grew quiet.
Minutes later we were alone and her breathing was muffled by the hum of florescent lights and the tapping of soles on the sanitized white tiles of the hallway outside. We didn’t say a word.
I don’t remember where the conversation took place or even whom it was with, but I’ll never forget my uncle saying this about my grandfather, “He didn’t say much. But when he did, he was usually right.”
I’d like to think that was running through my head. People always said my grandfather and I were a lot alike. My grandmother was one who said it the most.
But that wasn’t it.
I was confronting the same mortality my grandma had cleverly avoided for eight decades.
I’ve lived with a subtle shake in my hands my entire life. When I say something with conviction or meaningful, my entire body joins in on the beat. My eyelids twitch. My face turns hot. I didn’t shake while I spoke to her, but I did after as everyone was quiet and gradually made reasons to leave the room.
In those few moments, I knew that shake would kill me. “I’m a goner. That’s it.” I didn’t know how or when. Maybe slowly as it gradually increases with age turning me into a drooling, spastic idiot. Or maybe I’ll break into a violent spasm some late night driving home causing me to veer into a tree.
All those possibilities ran through my head and felt real.
So in the echoing silence we waited with the ticks of unheard clocks running down.
Still waters rising in my mind
Black and deep, smoke behind my eyes
Last night I could not sleep at all
I hallucinated that you were in my arms
To be in your heart I failed my own
Love says nothing back but I told you so
I told you so
“Kiss me three times,” he said as delirium and exhaustion washed over his mind and body. His voice at that point only a whisper even when meant to be a shout.
She rushed to his side from across the living room.
She knelt beside him where he lay upon the couch and planted three smooches on his lips as she had every morning, year after year, before he left for work.
Just after Thanksgiving they had took him to the doctor with what felt like flu, but one that he just couldn’t shake without antibiotics. The doctor ran his tests and made his observations. “A month,” the doctor said. “that is all you have left.”
For the next month, he convalesced on the couch, an IV drip hanging from his arms as cancer ate slowly way on each of his cells.
Just after the New Year, he called his wife over to him to say goodbye.
“Are the kids alright,” he said to her although his eyes were distant like he was saying them to everyone and no one at the same time.
“Of course, they’re fine.” She said too terrified for what came next to feel the relief of his pain.
Then he clapped his hands so loud it surprised her. The last couple days he hadn’t had the strength to lift his head or any of his other limbs. But the clap was powerful and purposeful.
“Okay then.” He turned his head away staring far away. “Open those gates.”
And he was gone.
The pastor at my uncle’s funeral relayed this story in his sermon. He called it a blessing from the lord that he provided my uncle that ‘vision’ or ‘hallucination’ to usher him into the afterlife.
I have never been quite so dejected by word choice. It made my uncle’s dying moments convoluted and false. It was just a picture he saw as he greeted the great white light. God gave him the gift by manipulating some enzymes in his brain of a short movie before he passed.
“If it wasn’t real,” I wanted to scream even though I was only 13. “What is?”
Still here re-climbing every rung
Someone saw something
Someone speak up
Back over the rotted bridge I cross
Open up these graves, let these bodies talk
Buried under leaves blood red and gold
Death says nothing back but I told you so
I told you so
The bronze shells stacked haphazardly in my hands were empty with faint burn marks from where the powder exploded out. Of the twenty-one fired, eight were found.
“We try to find as many as possible for the families,” the gray-haired, uniform-clad veteran said.
I probably thanked him and walked away. It was a warm fall day and the leaves of the trees in the cemetery were painted with every harvest color and sealed with sunshine.
I’ve thought about that moment a million times in the seven years since.
Those eight empty shells were vitally symbolic of what I’ve considered to be the worst weekend during one of the hardest times of my life.
My grandfather’s corpse was an empty shell. My life was an empty shell. Each of his children and grandchildren got one and I thought all of them would one day just be empty shells.
Part of me held onto that feeling for all these years.
Until a few minutes ago when I was folding freshly dried sheets and a loud clap sounded in my mind. Behind the thick, somber clouds of my grandfather’s funeral an orange-yellow glow restlessly waited to burst out white.
I had been thinking about that weekend all wrong. I lingered on the quiet, lonely drive home from college listening to Green Day, and how dark the house seemed while I sat alone at our family’s kitchen table and how the prickling pain of a migraine distracted my mourning as the veterans fired their rounds off.
“He didn’t say much…” Maybe my uncle said that to someone at the visitation. I wish I could remember the when and where.
I wasn’t listening when the shells rolled into my hands. I was too wrapped up in my grief and the recoil of the brutal headache. But he made sure that I got one of those shells and that it stayed with me. It was his reminder for when I was ready to listen, to see.
For right now when another memory squirmed out from behind the clouds of time.
I remember an old friend stopping by when I was sitting alone the night I came home from college and how she wrapped her arms around me. She whispered in my ear something just for me.
Nine months later we started to date. Several years later we married.
Those shells weren’t symbols of the vessels we leave behind but of that space between everything and nothing and the kind of blinding charge we put into that time before we’re gone.
“When he did, he was usually right.”
Note 2: I’d recommend giving a listen to God Says Nothing Back by the Wallflowers before you read this. You can hear it on You Tube with videos from different TV shows. I think hearing would help considering I had the tune in my head while writing most of this.
Note 3: I don't like the title, I am accepting submissions for a new one.
Lyrics from “God Says Nothing Back” – The Wallflowers
Seems like the world’s gone underground
Where no gods or heroes dare to go down
As teardrops from a hole in heaven come
Overhead like ravens dropping down like bombs
Through the morning silver-frosted glow
God says nothing back but I told you so
I told you so
The raindrops hit the windshield and tried to freeze before being shed away by the Ford Ranger’s wipers. In the middle, out of reach of both wipers, a small triangle formed with rippling tentacles of water not quite liquid and not quite ice – a balance maintained by the Ranger’s heater blasting on the window and the frigid air temperatures.
I am hunkered behind the wheel as I turn from the two-lane highway that cuts through a number of counties from northern Illinois all the way down to Peoria onto the road that leads home. Usually the road home has two lanes also, but not tonight. Two inches of fresh ice covered the two inches of snow dropped from the sky late the day before. No plows had made it out yet. A one-foot mountain range of snow and ice formed in the middle. The only real lane was the freshest set of tire’s tracks weaving back and forth across the road.
At 4 a.m. in December, the sky is neither dark nor light. It is the deepest blue. I am heading west, toward the storm. Above a bed of clouds is stacked from the top of the world to where the sky meets land.
At the crest of the last hill before home, a light bulb turned on behind the clouds. At first it was no more then a dull orange-yellow glow dulled behind the thick cumulonimbus. But that light sought the crevices in that wall like a prisoner seeks a key to his cell. When it burst through, there was only white as it hit the open sky and then reflected off the fields of snow.
It lasted only a split second, but that’s all I needed. My field of vision was exposed to everything and then as quickly nothing. White filled and conquered the spectrum, laying waste in an instant the entire scope of my world. Then gone with the norm restored accompanied with the worries of the storm just as swiftly.
Later curled up in bed with my mind being tickled to sleep, I heard my wife on the phone. She was talking to one of her parents and told them I saw lightning and that it made the night as “light as day.” I cringed. I wanted to run and tell them that that wasn’t even close. I’ve seen the light of day and this wasn’t it. This was a light beyond that, a light that filled everything all at once. But those aren’t the right words either. I am not sure there are any.
God bless the void of my daydreams
Head back in the snow making angel wings
As slow motion dancing lights at dawn
Sail beneath a burning yellow sun
I’m calling out from the deep ends of my bones
Time says nothing back but I told you so
I told you so
Eighty-nine years faded away and the voice of a petulant, over-dramatic teenager whined out, “I’m a goner. That’s it.”
Someone decades younger and less familiar with the proximity of death chided, “Oh, no your not.” And they were right. My grandmother, who at that point was 89, tensed up in the hospital bed in the emergency room with a bladder infection that resulted in her body not creating enough sodium. That in turn caused her some dizziness and mild dementia.
She wailed. It was the sound of her slightly polluted mind addressing her physical state and her mortality and maybe even gauging the authenticity of her existence. That last one I cannot confirm.
Each person took turns trying to calm her, but her wails continued. Her body shivered under the cotton blanket and even though I wasn’t viewing her face, I am sure salty tears were sliding down the many creases around her eyes.
Finally, I had enough and laid it out the best I could. I don’t remember what I said but I said it bluntly and as plainly as I could. I also directed it right at her almost as a parent ordering their child.
And she grew quiet.
Minutes later we were alone and her breathing was muffled by the hum of florescent lights and the tapping of soles on the sanitized white tiles of the hallway outside. We didn’t say a word.
I don’t remember where the conversation took place or even whom it was with, but I’ll never forget my uncle saying this about my grandfather, “He didn’t say much. But when he did, he was usually right.”
I’d like to think that was running through my head. People always said my grandfather and I were a lot alike. My grandmother was one who said it the most.
But that wasn’t it.
I was confronting the same mortality my grandma had cleverly avoided for eight decades.
I’ve lived with a subtle shake in my hands my entire life. When I say something with conviction or meaningful, my entire body joins in on the beat. My eyelids twitch. My face turns hot. I didn’t shake while I spoke to her, but I did after as everyone was quiet and gradually made reasons to leave the room.
In those few moments, I knew that shake would kill me. “I’m a goner. That’s it.” I didn’t know how or when. Maybe slowly as it gradually increases with age turning me into a drooling, spastic idiot. Or maybe I’ll break into a violent spasm some late night driving home causing me to veer into a tree.
All those possibilities ran through my head and felt real.
So in the echoing silence we waited with the ticks of unheard clocks running down.
Still waters rising in my mind
Black and deep, smoke behind my eyes
Last night I could not sleep at all
I hallucinated that you were in my arms
To be in your heart I failed my own
Love says nothing back but I told you so
I told you so
“Kiss me three times,” he said as delirium and exhaustion washed over his mind and body. His voice at that point only a whisper even when meant to be a shout.
She rushed to his side from across the living room.
She knelt beside him where he lay upon the couch and planted three smooches on his lips as she had every morning, year after year, before he left for work.
Just after Thanksgiving they had took him to the doctor with what felt like flu, but one that he just couldn’t shake without antibiotics. The doctor ran his tests and made his observations. “A month,” the doctor said. “that is all you have left.”
For the next month, he convalesced on the couch, an IV drip hanging from his arms as cancer ate slowly way on each of his cells.
Just after the New Year, he called his wife over to him to say goodbye.
“Are the kids alright,” he said to her although his eyes were distant like he was saying them to everyone and no one at the same time.
“Of course, they’re fine.” She said too terrified for what came next to feel the relief of his pain.
Then he clapped his hands so loud it surprised her. The last couple days he hadn’t had the strength to lift his head or any of his other limbs. But the clap was powerful and purposeful.
“Okay then.” He turned his head away staring far away. “Open those gates.”
And he was gone.
The pastor at my uncle’s funeral relayed this story in his sermon. He called it a blessing from the lord that he provided my uncle that ‘vision’ or ‘hallucination’ to usher him into the afterlife.
I have never been quite so dejected by word choice. It made my uncle’s dying moments convoluted and false. It was just a picture he saw as he greeted the great white light. God gave him the gift by manipulating some enzymes in his brain of a short movie before he passed.
“If it wasn’t real,” I wanted to scream even though I was only 13. “What is?”
Still here re-climbing every rung
Someone saw something
Someone speak up
Back over the rotted bridge I cross
Open up these graves, let these bodies talk
Buried under leaves blood red and gold
Death says nothing back but I told you so
I told you so
The bronze shells stacked haphazardly in my hands were empty with faint burn marks from where the powder exploded out. Of the twenty-one fired, eight were found.
“We try to find as many as possible for the families,” the gray-haired, uniform-clad veteran said.
I probably thanked him and walked away. It was a warm fall day and the leaves of the trees in the cemetery were painted with every harvest color and sealed with sunshine.
I’ve thought about that moment a million times in the seven years since.
Those eight empty shells were vitally symbolic of what I’ve considered to be the worst weekend during one of the hardest times of my life.
My grandfather’s corpse was an empty shell. My life was an empty shell. Each of his children and grandchildren got one and I thought all of them would one day just be empty shells.
Part of me held onto that feeling for all these years.
Until a few minutes ago when I was folding freshly dried sheets and a loud clap sounded in my mind. Behind the thick, somber clouds of my grandfather’s funeral an orange-yellow glow restlessly waited to burst out white.
I had been thinking about that weekend all wrong. I lingered on the quiet, lonely drive home from college listening to Green Day, and how dark the house seemed while I sat alone at our family’s kitchen table and how the prickling pain of a migraine distracted my mourning as the veterans fired their rounds off.
“He didn’t say much…” Maybe my uncle said that to someone at the visitation. I wish I could remember the when and where.
I wasn’t listening when the shells rolled into my hands. I was too wrapped up in my grief and the recoil of the brutal headache. But he made sure that I got one of those shells and that it stayed with me. It was his reminder for when I was ready to listen, to see.
For right now when another memory squirmed out from behind the clouds of time.
I remember an old friend stopping by when I was sitting alone the night I came home from college and how she wrapped her arms around me. She whispered in my ear something just for me.
Nine months later we started to date. Several years later we married.
Those shells weren’t symbols of the vessels we leave behind but of that space between everything and nothing and the kind of blinding charge we put into that time before we’re gone.
“When he did, he was usually right.”
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