Work: Two Fingers in the Air

Note: Hoping to turn this into a creative non fiction essay with several different parts. Total goal isn't completely clear, and this is certainly a draft. Just thought I'd share.

Work: A force is said to do work if, when acting on a body, there is a displacement of the point of application in the direction of the force.

Rosemary returned to her receptionist chair during the first week of the rest of my life, turned back in the direction she came and shot a double-barreled bird flip in the air. Welcome to your career change, Dan. Share a cramped, bland office and suffocate in the equally bland life of proposal writing for a surveying and engineering firm, and act as a referee between your boss and his receptionist.

Here’s the office: White painted walls and gray carpet, light gray desktop with light gray drawers, a gray bulletin board, a set of cabinets with doors painted white with a countertop shaded in a blue trying its hardest also to be white. The lone decoration – at least until I added a Cubs schedule to the bulletin board – is two maps - one of Illinois and the other a close up of Chicago. Both good for planning my escape.

The door to our office opens toward my desk, so my immediate scenery is the door and the back of Rosemary’s head. The door is wood. It is brown with a silver door knob. It’s nice. Rosemary’s hair is dark brown and curly. She is in her 60s, seems to hate this place, and is prone to outbursts. The person I replaced apparently left because of escalating conflicts with Rosemary. The outbursts don’t bother me, I’ve certainly dealt with worse, and I appreciate a good “Stone Cold” Steve Austin impression as much as the next guy.

Rosemary’s two-finger salute was directed toward Tom, our boss except he refuses to admit it, who no doubt was out of the line of sight in his own office, but most likely felt the force of emotion emitting from the fingers just the same. Tom professes to have 10 years left in his tenure and anointed me as his replacement about 10 minutes after arriving. Tom is a marketing robot bought on clearance from some sort of Cold War era robot-making factory in Siberia. He has the necessary information logged in his memory cards, but his brain wiring is so mish-mashed together that it comes out in fits and starts and oftentimes is lost in his programming before it reaches his lips. His nearly daily proclamation of adult ADD is probably as accurate as it is maddening to work with. In the end, he lives by our owner’s credo “Show up every day and do our best,” and while he has few scruples when it comes to business, he genuinely seems concerned about pretty much everyone and everything.
 
Rosemary hates Tom, and Tom inexplicably fears Rosemary. I am the buffer.

Which brings me to a memory from a wedding reception I attended several years ago with my wife. The best man – I think – was the brother of the bride, and delivered a toast where he commended his little sister for picking a man, who wasn’t afraid to work or to get his hands dirty. I suppose that’s a sign of living in the rural Midwest where work and the willingness to stick your hands into basically anything is valued over all other personality traits. Hell, for all I know, that beaming husband went home and mauled his wife, cheated on his taxes and refused to recycle, but damn it if he wasn’t first in line to help pull the engine out of my old Ford. What a guy!

The part about having a fear of getting one’s hands dirty actually stuck with me for a while. I realized sometime between my teen years and advancing into adulthood, or adulting if you’re on Twitter, I grew a distaste for doing anything that did get my hands dirty. Weird right, especially for a kid that grew up on a farm. I don’t know how it happened, other than that through a series of jobs and life choices, my hands rarely did get filthy, and when they did, I didn’t like it. Once I heard that speech, a shame for this condition started to brew. It’s probably why I eat so many sweets. Maybe officiating Rosemary and Tom skirmishes is my penance.

Working hands and hands working evolved us beyond the apes. Some of us make that step into constructive time consumption, stop and look back, and wonder why the hell we ever left the jungle. The rest of us put on our pants on each day and trudge through the tasks, quietly, diligently, lazily and sometimes with both middle fingers flashing above our head.

The modern way for measuring life is by work, at least in my mind it is, and lately my life ruler has been out seeing how I measure up.

Red's reading list

Note: So I decided a while back that I would log all the books that I've read. The problem being is that I don't remember all the books that I have read. There are two for sure missing from this list where I remember plot points of the story but can't recall titles or authors. They might come to me sometime. I am also sure there are more novels that I read in school, but its really a stretch to remember all of those. I also know I've read most of the Shakespeare's histories, but its hard to keep the Richards and Henrys straight. Just thought this was worth sharing. Updated 8-20-18

Will Adams – 1

The Exodus Quest

George Beahm -1

Stephen King: America’s Best Loved Boogeyman

John Berendt – 1
Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

Thomas Berger – 1

 Arthur Rex

Dan Brown – 2

Angels & Demons
The Lost Symbol

Kate Chopin – 1

The Awakening

J.M. Coetzee – 1

Disgrace

Joseph Conrad -1

Heart of Darkness

Michael Crichton – 2
Jurassic Park
Congo

Frank Deford – 1

Over Time

David Eddings -5

Pawn of Prophecy
Queen of Sorcery
Magician’s Gambit
Castle of Wizardry
Enchanters’ End Game

Nicholas Evans – 2

The Brave
The Loop

Tina Fey – 1

Bossypants

F. Scott Fitzgerald – 1

The Great Gatsby

E.M. Forster – 1
Howards End
 

Mick Foley – 1

Have a Nice Day

Tana French – 2

Into the Woods
The Likeness

Neil Gaiman - 1
American Gods

Susan Griffin - 1

A Chorus of Stones

Ron Hall & Denver Moore -1

Same Kind of Different as Me
 

Jane Hamilton - 1

A Map of the World

Jim Harrison – 1

The English Major

Kent Haruf - 6

Plainsong
Eventide
Where You Once Belonged
The Tie That Binds
Benediction

Our Souls at Night
 
Martin Heidegger – 1
Being and Time
 
Gerard Helfrich – 1
High Cotton
 
Ernest Hemmingway – 1
Old Man and the Sea
 
Frank Herbert – 4
Dune
Dune Messiah
Children of Dune
God Emperor of Dune
 
Sheri Holman - 1
The Mammoth Cheese
 

Homer - 2

The Odyssey
The Iliad
 
Zola Neale Hurston – 1
Their Eyes Were Watching God
 

Aldous Huxley – 1

Brave New World
 

John Irving - 3

A Prayer for Owen Meany
A Widow for a Year
The World According to Garp
 
Tommy James (with Martin Fitzpatrick) – 1

Me, the Mob, and the Music

 

Robert Jordan - 6

The Eye of the World
The Great Hunt
The Dragon Reborn
The Shadow Rising
The Fires of Heaven
Lord of Chaos

Garrison Keillor – 2

Lake Wobegon Days
Pontoon

Ken Kesey – 1
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
 

Stephen King - 35

The Shining
Night Shift
The Stand
Different Seasons
Skeleton Crew
It
Eyes of the Dragon
Four Past Midnight
Needful Things
Delores Claiborne
Nightmares & Dreamscapes??
Insomnia
Desperation
Bag of Bones
The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon
Hearts in Atlantis
On Writing
Dreamcatcher
Full Dark, No Stars
Doctor Sleep
11/22/63
Gerald’s Game
The Tommyknockers

Rose Madder
Christine
 
The Dark Tower Series
The Gunslinger
The Drawing of Three
The Wastelands
Wizard and Glass
The Wolves of Calla
Song of Susannah
The Dark Tower
The Wind Through the Keyhole
 
As Richard Bachman
The Long Walk
The Regulators
Blaze
 

Barbara Kingslover - 6

The Bean Trees
Pigs In Heaven
The Poisonwood Bible
Prodigal Summer

The Lacuna
Flight Behavior
 
Alex Kotolowitz – 1
There Are No Children Here
 

Chuck Klosterman - 6

Sex, Drugs & Cocoa Puffs
Killing Yourself to Live
Fargo Rock City
IV
Downtown Owl
Eating the Dinosaur
 

Dean Koontz - 9

The Door to December
Strangers
Lightning
Cold Fire
Winter Moon
Dark Rivers of the Heart
Phantoms
Midnight
Strange Highways

John Krakauer – 2

Into the Wild
Under the Banner of Heaven
 

Andrea Lee – 1

Sarah Phillips
 

Jim Lehrer – 1

Super
 

Thomas Malory – 1

Le Morte’ D’ Arthur

George R.R. Martin - 5

Game of Thrones
A Clash of Kings
A Storm of Swords
A Feast of Crows
A Dance with Dragons
 

Cormac McCarthy – 1

The Road

Frank McCourt - 1
Angela's Ashes

Sue Miller - 1
While I Was Gone

John Milton – 1

Paradise Lost

Willie Morris - 1
North Toward Home
 

Toni Morrison -1

Beloved
 

Robert Parris Moses -1

Radical Equations
 

Iris Murdoch - 1

A Fairly Honourable Defeat
 

Michael Perry – 1

Coop

Ayn Rand – 1
Atlas Shrugged
 

Jane Rhys -1

Wide Sargasso Sea
 

Ralph Russo - 2

Empire Falls
Nobody’s Fool
 

William Shakespeare – 9 (plays)

Romeo & Juiliet
Hamlet
Othello
A Midsummer’s Night Dream
The Merchant of Venice
Much Ado About Nothing
Richard II
Richard III
Henry V
 
Sidney Sheldon - 3
Are You Afraid of the Dark?
Windmills of the Gods
The Doomsday Conspiracy
 
Hampton Sides - 3
Americana
Blood & Thunder
Hellhound on his Trail

M.L. Stedman - 1
The Light Between Oceans
 

John Steinbeck – 1

Of Mice and Men
 
Elizabeth Strout - 1
Olive Kitteridge
 
William Styron (editor) – 1
The Human Experience
 
Jonathan Swift – 1
Gulliver’s Travels
 
J.R. Tolkien - 5
The Hobbit
The Fellowship of the Ring
The Two Towers
The Return of the King
The Silmarillion
 

Leo Tolstoy – 1

The Death of Ivan Illych
 
Mark Twain - 2
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
 
Tad Williams - 5
The Dragonbone Chair
Stone of Farewell
To Green Angel Tower
City of Golden Shadow
River of Blue Fire
 
David Wroblewski – 1
The Story of Edgar Sawtelle

Anthologies - 1

The Pushcart Prize XI: Best of the Small Presses

Red's Soundtrack: "Faster than a Roller Coaster"

Tracks

“Mony, Mony” – Tommy James & the Shondells
“Everyday” – Buddy Holly
“The Lion Sleeps Tonight” – The Tokens

Turning back the dial to the late 1980s, my memory clicks to a very few imprecise flashes. For instance, the summer of 1988 was hot in Northern Illinois. How hot was it? So hot that the skin of my chubby legs burned at every touch against the vinyl seats of our dung-brown family station wagon.

Plenty of times we piled into the station wagon after a long afternoon in the sun at Gartner Park where my brother had a baseball game, and maybe even I had a game of Tee Ball.  The backseat faced backward, and we could see the road below in at least one spot where the tailpipe had burned through the floorboard. At least that’s the story, and I am sticking to it.

After that very hot summer, I started kindergarten, and in those final years of the decade I transitioned from the standard bowl-cut haircut to a flat top. My 70s era hand-me-downs gradually gave way to the baggy pants and wild t-shirts, many featuring the bright fluorescent colors popularized in the early 90s.

While cassette tapes were the popular mode of music consumption and CDs were rumored as their eventual replacement, the cutting of my Rock’n’Roll teeth was predominately done with vinyl. We had a Fisher Price portable record player, and I basically had free reign over my parents’ sparse record collection comprised mostly of music from the 1950s & 60s.

Many afternoons I’d set the player with its tan body and orange turntable on the floor of the room just off our dining room. Growing up, the room was lovingly called the toy room, and I assumed for a long time that every house had a room with the same designation to go along with a kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom and so on. For privacy, the door could be closed or slammed if the occasion called for such drama, and hanging on the top of the door was a NERF basketball hoop that might just have been the most used toy in the house. Although we barely ever used the foam nerf basketball that came with the hoop. Instead, we used a pink, blue and yellow stripped ball designed for use in a pool – it was little harder allowing for more possibilities ­– and I can’t say whether or not that ball was ever actually used in a pool. We simply were not much of watersport kind of family.

I’d spread the records out on the floor, pretending that I’d pick anything other than the usual playlist.

First on the spinner was the Greatest Hits from Tommy James & the Shondells. It’s a curious addition to my mom’s collection, since she has famously proclaimed “over and over” how she dislikes “Crimson & Clover” because it’s just “over and over.” Yet, it was there, and when I was 6 years old, it didn’t get any better than “Mony, Mony”. It was my sugar highs set to music. I have vague memories of a friend and me using toy tennis rackets for guitars, and pretending to play to it. I doubt I even had a concept of what air guitar was at that point, but I sure knew how to do it.

I also believe that being a growing fan of professional wrestling that “Mony, Mony” would be the perfect entrance song for when I launched my grappling career, if for no other reason I found it fast and loud, and it reminded me of the Ultimate Warrior’s frantic sprint to the ring.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention a little more about this song and album. First, I never warmed to Billy Idol’s version of the song, even though it was likely getting radio play at the time. Same goes for Tiffany’s “I Think We’re Alone Now.” The concept of covering songs already, in my mind, perfected was lost on me, and I think it tainted my view on covers for a long time into the future.

Second, I listened to this entire record a lot. I have inherited this album with others, and I can’t help be swept by a wave nostalgia whenever tunes like “Mirage” and “Sweet Cherry Wine” come on. The nostalgia, I find, settles in my knees, and I feel as if I could travel back a few decades in a couple steps.

Third, I spent a lot of time looking at the album cover and inside. This was full-on psychedelic era stuff, and, at 6, they were some freaky looking people, which contrasted the album waiting on deck. Buddy Holly looked like my brother. Well, not really, but he had the glasses, cut hair and the appearance of pretty much everyone around me.

His photo was in black and white, which I associated with him being dead more than anything else. It’s funny how the young mind works. There’s a sweetness to his sound that catches the ear, no matter the age, and “Everyday” caught mine the most – almost challenging “Mony, Mony” for top spot in my young heart. Plus, the lyrics included, “faster than a roller coaster,” which sent my imagination racing around loops and curves at blistering speeds.

Once through the Buddy Holly album, it was time to convert the player into 45 mode – a simple process of pulling up a piece in the middle of the turntable and clicking it into place. The 45 of choice was “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.” Of course, changing the speeds of the table was a must on occasion to get the Chipmunk version of my favorite tunes.

Years later, this song popped up in Disney’s “The Lion King,” and looking back, I think there might have been someone spying on me. You see, it has become commonplace to use old pop music to sell things and put in movies. That is because they catch the attention of young ears just as much as they do old ones.

Of course, none of this was running through my head then, I just liked the noise. I still like the noise, and the simplicity of the memories resonates. Time moves on, and Buddy had it right, it moves “faster than a roller coaster.”

Red's Statement of Intent

I know that the page views here were always minimal, and I don’t know if Snake even has access to the site any longer, but things have changed for me over the past few months. For the last decade, I had an outlet for my writing with my profession. The last few years of said career, other responsibilities cut my writing down, and the writing I did was often rushed, and my ability to focus limited. At the beginning of December, I changed careers.

One of the reasons was that I hoped to start writing again. Well, it’s the end of March and I haven’t. I’ve tried with little to no success. I’d like to place blame, but the reality is that I just haven’t had any ideas that have sparked my imagination. It’s been disheartening, and I worry that at almost 34, like an athlete, my prime has passed.

I was never more productive creatively than when we updated this blog on a regular basis. So I hope by coming up with some ideas here, and posting them, it will, as they say, get the ball rolling. If it doesn’t, well, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

In order to do this, I needed something to write about. Which has been the problem. Initially, I was going to do a top 10 list of my favorite Bruce Springsteen songs, and I still might do that, but an old idea popped in my head.

For better or worse, we’ve all been conditioned by TV and movies to having music complement narrative. Many people, whether they realize it or not, establish a soundtrack for the narrative of their lives. I’ve certainly done that, whether intentionally on the spot, unintentionally by a song being on in the background, or retroactively by associating music with feelings, thoughts, periods of time and so on.

My intention is to create a series of posts – open-ended on how many – where I am going to attempt to create/detail the soundtrack to my life. My hope: is to listen to some music – which is good; come up with some creative ideas – which is better; perhaps conduct some personal therapy for what has been a sometimes difficult transition in my life.

So, I am setting back out on the path of the pen, and I hope somewhere out there is somebody willing read.

Red

The Witch and the Fool - Part 1

Note: I submitted a flash-fiction of this tale to a contest a while back and received a lot of positive feedback. I am now fleshing out the story a bit. The main character is in fact the witch that has appeared in the CD projects in the past. She was always one of the more fun characters to write, so I thought I'd do a little backstory tale on her. I realized no one looks at this, but it does my heart good to put something out. Work has burned me out, and I need something away from the job to engage me again.

The Witch and the Fool

I loved once.

It sounds absurd to say all these ages and worlds later, but it is true nonetheless. It might be absurd, but I’ll say it again and my heart shall rejoice in it. I loved once.

His name was Isad, a slave of some lord whose name has disappeared into some deep cavern in my ancient mind. They called my Isad a fool, and it is true that his mind was not sharp, but he made up for it in spades with heart. The kind of heart that the divine surely meant for all men, but only remained true in those without designs for power.

That was my first world, when the divine birthed me unto existence. The process was painful and bloody like any other birth, but I assure you that I sprang forth more from the loins of the cold, unforgiving earth than from any woman’s womb. For I am Matris, daughter of the Green, witch sister of the eternals and mother of the Dragon’s breath.

As if my birthing ripped the last of the power of the Green from that place, a bitter drought gripped the land. Skeletal trees stood barren of leaves and fruit. Rivers dried, crops failed and lush, fertile farms gave way to dust. Like the land, the hearts of man dried of love and pumped vengeance into willing veins.

Of course the fruits of that malice spawned my only true love, and for that, I give thanks. For love – even love doomed from the start – mends even the most scarred soul. It’s a salve for the wounds of loss, the lingering sores from encounters with the Dark and the ache of countless years.

 Let me say it again.

I loved once, and this is the tale of my love.

Red's book reviews

I'm at the halfway point of the year, and while I haven't read quite as much as usual, I've read a fair amount. Here's my general thoughts on this batch. 

A Feast of Crows – George R.R. Martin

Started the year with the fourth book in the Game of Thrones series and is really the first part of two books, if the afterword by Martin is to be believed. Actually, the afterword cleared up some thoughts that were running through my head. The first being is how could he completely leave Tyrion Lannister out of this book after the cliffhanger that ended the third book. Instead of returning to the driving story, Martin switched to a series of side characters. Having to start new with some, and sort of focus on a couple of the less intriguing characters, made it harder to stay interested through the 700 pages. Once I read the next book, hopefully it will tie the two parts together. 

The Wind Through the Keyhole – Stephen King

As it turns out, King had one more key on his belt concerning the Dark Tower series. Instead of picking up the story after the conclusion of the series, we get a side story that fits into the middle of the series. It's sort of like a hidden track on a CD. As the gang rides out a storm, the Gunslinger actually tells a story inside another story. I like the story is fine, but I didn't feel like the writing was quite as inspired or ambitious as King's attempts in the other Dark Tower book.  The twice told story sheds a bit of light on the Gunslinger's past. It was nice to return to the path, for a brief moment. I'll be interested to see what it reads like when placed within the order of the series. 

Hearts in Atlantis – Stephen King

This is four separate stories with various characters appearing in each. My initial interest in the book came from the fact that a character from the first story actually appears toward the end of the Dark Tower series. I wanted to see what was going on here to enrich my experience with the other series. The underlying theme of this book is the loss of innocence, chiefly being the loss America's innocence via the 1960s and the Vietnam conflict. At times, it becomes preachy, but I can't deny it made me think about the sad reality that we can never go back.

Into the Wild - John Krakauer

This is an investigative piece on Chris McCandless, an eccentric who in the early 1990s disappeared into the American West. Nearly a year later, his body was found in Alaska. The reporter delves into McCandless' journey, the reasons behind it and the overall question of how and why he lived and died. This became a movie a few years back, but I haven't had a chance to watch it yet. It's no secret that McCandless starved to death, although the cause of that starvation is speculated to be poisoning from seeds that he ate. I read this very quickly, as the journey and its motivation was intriguing. There's a romantic quality to his nomadic journey. The idea of trying to leave civilization and its trappings is appealing, to some degree. I admire the risk, and has left me thinking about how taking risks is part of living. 

• Well that is it so far this year. Like I said, not as productive of a reader this year as I have been in the past. Right now, I am onto a book called High Cotton, which is about growing cotton in the Mississippi Delta. 

Spirit in the Night: Third Installment

Note: I sort of hit a wall on this story, as to how to get it from start to resolution. I sort of feel like there isn't much movement forward here. 

G-Man

In the fire, flickers of his past danced between logs in mixed, confused dramas just the same as they did in G-Man’s corrupted mind. At the bottom was his earliest memory, back in the days when he was just Gordy LaHarpe, son of Gene and the late Vicki.

He was six, maybe seven. Fat. Always fat. Cheeks bursting out with both halves of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich jammed behind a big, gapping grin.  King Kong Bundy was on the tube squashing some no-name slub on the Sunday morning wrestles. He loved the wrestles. Bundy was fat like Gordy, but no one messed with him. Someday, no one would mess with Gordy either.

“Kick him, Bundy!” He shouted at the old black-and-white screen. Behind him Gene LaHarpe broke a snore, and Gordy covered his mouth.

Gene LaHarpe still wore the grease-and-soot stained uniform from his Saturday night overtime shift down at the forge of Lincoln Hardware. His big steel-toe boots were hiked up on the footstool in front of his chair. They were black from the forge and chipped in spots where sparks jumped from the forge for a hot kiss with the leather.

“Gordy?” The word came out slow like Gene’s tongue weighed a ton. “I’ll be God damned. What have I told you about waking me in my chair.”

“Sorry, sir.” Gordy spit out between the remaining hunks of sandwich in his mouth. “I got excited about Bundy, that’s all.”

“Bundy? Not that sissy wrestles,” Gene sat up, squinting at the screen, while holding his hand to his head. “That shit ain’t real. I’ve told you to stop watchin’ that a hundert times.”

A smarter boy would have left it at that, knowing the temper of Gene LaHarpe when he woke from a short slumber. Even then Gordy wasn’t smart. He wasn’t as dumb as he’d soon be, but he still wasn’t a sharp tool.

“It’s real, you just don’t understand it,” he said. “Look at Bundy, he just kicked that slub in the head, and he’s hurt real bad. Now he’s going squash him! Get him Bundy! When I get big, I’ll be just like Bundy. I’ll smash everyone. You’ll see.”

“I’ll see!” Gene shot up from the chair. He stood well over six feet and towered over his son. The same son who cost him his Vicki during a violent birth. “What the hell does that mean? You threatening me, boy.”

“No, I was just…” Gordy couldn’t get the words through the chunky peanut butter. Before he could start again, the size 13 boot of his father came down across his forehead. Somewhere a bell was ringing, and he actually turned his head to see if Bundy had finished off the slub. The images on the screen were all scrambled and a rainbow of colors spiraled out like a pinwheel. Before he could call out the colors like at school, something thumped against the back of his head, chewed up sandwiched splattered on the floor below him before everything went dark.

G-Man took a drag from his cigarette. He’d seen that vision in the flames a thousand times. A few logs up a better memory played out, and just like the first one, this vision was just for him and no one else.

Gene LaHarpe stood before the huge furnace door at the forge. Inside, the flames danced high, burning at an ungodly temperature to melt steel. He was feeding the flames during another late night shift alone. The factory was loud still, and that made it easy for G-Man – now a burly teenager with a noticeable dent in his forehead and a grudge against dear old daddy.

“It’ was so easy,” G-Man smiled.

Gene, as always, was so focused on his work that he never noticed his son Gordy sneak up from behind with a steel pipe in his hand. Gene’s skull squashed under the pipe. That one hit was all it really took. Gene stumbled forward toward the open furnace door, and G-Man shoved him all the way through. The screams were horrendous, but G-Man could not take his eyes away from the melting form of his father. He closed the furnace door before it was over, but from then on he was fascinated by the dance of flames.

“See papa, I got big like Bundy, and no one could mess with me. Especially you.”

There were half dozen logs on the fire with other memories, but they were scrambled just like the wrestles after his dad had kicked him. Besides, those were the two that he could always see.

An engine broke the quiet behind the shack, and he rose from one of the lawn chairs he had set up. The chairs were stolen from various decks around Lincoln. When times are tough, fingers get sticky. That’s what Killer Joe said, and G-Man liked that idea. He liked Joe well enough to put up with his mouth. He chose another log from the stack he had made for the night and tossed it on the fire.

“Time for a new memory.” He smiled, his tongue sticking out between the gaps between his front two teeth.

WILD BILLY

“What a shithole.” Billy said. Before him was the humble abode of the eloquent Killer Joe and the massive G-Man. The two-story country house had what looked to be the original wood as siding. Most of the exterior was exposed gray, but some spots had patches of old paint. Some white. Some green. The shingles were also wood, but stripped in spots. Across the left side, a blue tarp covered a caved in portion of the roof. The upstairs windows were busted out with plywood slats filling the gaps. The first floor windows were intact, each with four panes. The front door was red, likely stolen from some lumberyard.

“We’re working on it,” Joe said, holding Billy’s duffle bag from the pokey. “It’s not the penthouse, but it’s not the outhouse either.”

A shiver worked its way up Billy’s spine. His uncle had called his guestroom the penthouse. Billy had spent two summers at his uncle’s farm the next county over when he was 10 and 11. He arrived the first day, his fat uncle wearing bibs and a gray T-shirt. The first two weeks had been about work, cleaning up pig shit and lifting bales of hay. He hated the work, but by the end of the third week, he would have cleaned every pen with his tongue instead of the real reason his uncle had asked his sister for her troublesome son for the summer.

It was a damp morning, that’s all he could remember. He entered the kitchen, taking off his muck boots. His uncle sat at the table, a stack of bills sitting on the table.

“Listen, bub,” His uncle opened a beer bottle using the edge of the table. “I’ve got a friend waiting for you up in the penthouse.”

“What for?”

Before he could flinch, his uncle’s hand was around his throat. He could smell the pig shit under the man’s fingernails. Quickly the world at the edge of his vision started to turn dark.

“Bub, you mine while you under my roof. Now, when I let you go, you best head up to the penthouse and see my friend. He’ll tell you what to do, and you’ll do it. Do you understand me?”

He remembered standing at the bottom of the rickety stairs with the loose banister, the smell of cigarette smoke wafting down from above, and it seemed real dark. He remembered screaming and crying and hating and hating and hating.

“Let’s do this.”

“What?”

“Come on, man. G-Man has the fire going. Let’s go.”

Billy slipped a cigarette between his lips, noticing for the first time the plume of smoke rising from behind the shack.

Red's Kip Winger Review - Part 5 (final)

Note: Well this is it. Last part of review. Overall, these two CDs are solid. I'd say most of these songs, I'd rank somewhere to the high-middle range in terms of where they sit my grand music collection. I don't know if any will ever rise into the upper-echelon in my favorites category, but none of them will slip into the bottom wing, always skip portion of it either. I don't know if any of what I just wrote made sense. Anyways, here you go.

Aranda – Gravity, Testify

"Gravity" sounds like a song that would have fit perfectly into the sound of the late 1990s early 2000s rock scene. Considering that's when I was listening to new music the most, it sort of sings to my youth. "Testify" has a different sound, different rhythm than "Gravity," which shows the range and experimentation of the band. I think I'd listen to "Gravity" more often, but "Testify" is one of those tunes that gets the foot tapping. 

Sara Schiralli – Incomplete

I like how theirs a progression of sound and instruments in this song. It starts with guitar and voice, ten add drums about 30 seconds in, and then an influx of sounds keep dropping into the tune. Good tune. 

The Shins – It's Okay, Try Again

I'm hot and cold with The Shins, I either really like their songs or I don't. I like this one, maybe not as much as some of the songs I put on the last CD I made Snake, but it's pretty solid. The one thing I'll say is that they rarely make two songs that sound alike. I also like that they are willing to be a little silly in their music. Too many bands take themselves too seriously. 

The Roots – Lovely, Love My Family

The Roots have a fresh, clean sound and it's pretty evident here. Not an overly complex song, but catchy with a heart-warming message. Good enough for me. 

Black Stone Cherry – Reverend Wrinkle, Things My Father Said

I love the name Reverend Wrinkle. I wished I would have thought of it. Think it could be turned into an interesting little story. Maybe someday I'll get to it. Song is solid. The sound is heavier than other selections in this group. "Things My Father Said," is a classic song with a straight-foward formula that has worked a thousand times. If you like rock music, then you'll probably like that one. 

Metric – Gimmie Sympathy

It is unintentional that it worked out this way, but the last song left to talk about might be emerging as my favorite from this collection I can't pinpoint why – maybes its the question of who'd I'd rather be "The Beatles or The Rolling Stones." It's a good question. I don't know, it's one of those songs that move by so quickly that you want to hit the repeat button after its done because you feel like it went by too fast.  

Red's Kip Winger Review - Part 4

Cornelius – Count Five or Six

I won't say this is my favorite song on the albums. There is some funky music in the background, but you definitely have to want to listen for it because the repetition in the counting does start to get it a little old by halfway through. That's sort of the risk of making a track like this. It can turn some listeners off with the repetition causing them to miss the rest. 

Scars on Broadway – 3005; Universe

On the other side of coin, 3005 provides a hook and groove that's make it hard not to sing with. Universe is similar, but it does have a little bit of a System of a Down sound to it. Overall, I like both these tunes. 

David Bowie – Life on Mars?; Kooks

There are points of Life on Mars where I have no idea what the hell he is talking about. That being said, it's hard not to like the song. It's out there, but the tune and his voice keep it interesting and fun. Kooks is a fine song, not as strong overall as Life on Mars, but it is silly little song that is uplifting. It sort starts that theme on the second CD of this collection. 

The Rolling Stones – Sister Morphine; Shine a Light

It's always cool to hear album cuts from the Stones. While the Beatles sometimes would get silly with some of their album songs, the Stones would embrace their blues and soul side. You hear that in Sister Morphine. The one thing I'll say about this tune, is that I do wish at times for less Jagger. The instrumentation is better than him here. Shine a Light is a bit peppier, and has that sound of redemption which is the theme of the second CD. Perfect way to end it. 

Deer Tick - Easy 

I almost skipped over this because we had mentioned it earlier. I like this song, and I know that I have a few more Deer Tick tunes on my Spotify list. They seem like a rock band that understands what it does well and makes sure that they don't stray to far from that formula. There's nothing wrong with that. Too many bands lose their sound by trying to become more commercial and/or more experimental. Hopefully. this group allow fans to come to them and their sound. 

Red's Review of Kip Winger: Part 3

Greenskeepers - Lotion

So it wasn't until I looked this song up on YouTube that I realized that this song was inspired by Silence of the Lambs. The chorus are a seen from the movie. I hadn't seen the movie in so long that I never made that connection. There is that serial killer type feel to the song. Before coming to this realization, I couldn't really figure out exactly what the hell was going with the tune. I think it'll find its way into my rotation more often. 

Kelly Clarkson - Don't Let Me Stop You; Cry

There's nothing really anything wrong or repulsive about "Don't Let Me Stop You," but I also don't find anything spectacular about it. I do like it more than "Cry" because it has more pep. Both songs have that breakup song feel to them that sort of I get tired of with female artists. I suppose male artists have the same amount of breakup songs, but I just notice them with females. Unless it's "You Oughta Know," I just usually don't stay real interested. 

The Raconteurs – You Don't Understand Me; Hold up

I think this is the second collection that Snake has provided with the Raconteurs on it. In fact, he may have burned a whole CD of them at some point. I love the piano in "You Don't Understand Me." That song is another one that reminds of some other band or song that I can't quite place who. Great guitar to start "Hold Up." It's a completely different sound from the first selection. This is quick paced and hard hitting. I like both these songs, and don't think I can say that I like one more than another. I think it would just depend on my mood at certain time.

Wolfmother - Caroline; In The Castle

"Caroline" is an old-fashioned rock ballad that would have thrived in the 80s hair band days. Since I have a soft spot in my heart for that sound, this caught my ear right away. Love it.  "In the Castle" is closer to a classic jam hard rock song and even has that medieval, fantasy story backdrop that harkens back to bands like Led Zeppelin, Iron Maiden, and Jethro Tull. You can hear a little bit of all of them here.

Ace Frehley - Ozone

If this is indicative of Frehley's talent than he should probably have had more control over Kiss. You can hear the regular Kiss formula of song writing in there, but there seems to be a little more edge, a little more substance than some of the outlandish stuff Kiss would throw out there sometimes.