Category: music

brian wilson

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And now, Brian Wilson?

Goddamnit.

Sly Stone I could take because I don’t have a lot of connection there, but I’ve been listening to Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys as long as I can remember (fuck Mike Love). We even saw them in concert when they (meaning Mike Love and a bunch of randoms) came to play at the bandstand in Tecumseh Park.

It was nice.

The innocence of it all hiding the troubled mind in behind… wouldn’t it be better if Brian had sang what he wanted? If he’d sang about his pain.

Wouldn’t it be nice?

For Brian Wilson to be still alive.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 798 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card
Comics: Aspen Universe: Decimation 0, Fathom v6 5-7
Music: Early Trax, Ministry

happy birthday, sis

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Sly Stone dies and my sister lives another year. Good for her.

Not that she shouldn’t live another year. Like all the people I love, I hope she lives until I die, at least. After that, well, I hope for her sake she lives a long time, but hell, I’ll be dead. What would it matter to me?

Then again, there’s always reincarnation. Maybe I’ll come back as a vibrator.

Assuming I’m bought by a Hollywood starlet, that’d be cool, I guess.

Or a carrier of the Republican virus, in that it only targets individuals who voted Republican, and rewires their brains to be permanently set on Mr. Rogers.

Now, wouldn’t that be a nice cleanse?

Sometimes, I think the stars aligned and decided: there is something truly, profoundly wrong with this guy.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1715 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card
Comics: Fathom v6 1-4
Music: Eagles Essentials, The Eagles

sly stone’s dead

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I’m not really sure what that means other than a continued reaffirmation of the cycle of life and death, or the misconception that I had that he was already dead.

Not that I’m the biggest fan of the Family Stone, but there was some good stuff.

Death in obscurity; life in obscurity.

Death in Cheers; everyone knows your name; in life, as well.

Which end of the scale? Do we all forget Angela Cartwright and her sister? Do you know her sister’s name?

Who ran IBM in the Seventies? Who stood in front of the tanks?

Whatever happened to P.J. Soles?

There’s a strong chance I’m losing it; obscurity within the family unit has me lost.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1510 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Blackbirds, Chuck Wendig
Comics: Aspen Universe: Revelations 2-5
Music: Izitso, Cat Stevens

what the hell

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It’s been two days and I can’t get this song out of my head.

That, and Pink Pony Club.

Make it stop. Make it stop.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1837 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Pilgrim's Regress, C.S. Lewis (more like The Pilgrim's Snorefest, am I right?)
Comics: Fathom: Kiani v4 1-3, The Four Points 1
Music: It's The New Style/Paul Revere, Beastie Boys

avril

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I forgot how much I enjoy a good concert.

The shared experience, even if the music isn’t necessarily your style; it’s special. As much of an introvert who hates crowds as I am, I appreciated the experience.

The girls loved it.

And good for Avril; she put on a good show, if a bit low energy.

Anyway, it’s fun to get lost in a wall of sound.

I should like to do it more often.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 825 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Pilgrim's Regress, C.S. Lewis
Comics: Fathom: Kiani v3 2-4, Fathom: Annual 1
Music: It's Only Rock 'n' Roll, The Rolling Stones

live music

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It’s been a long time since I went to a concert, and Avril Lavigne wouldn’t exactly be my first choice, but I’m looking forward to it.

Not only is it huge good dad/husband/uncle points, it should still be pretty fun. I’m not a huge fan or anything, but as far as bubblegum pop goes, she’s hardly the worst thing out there.

You couldn’t drag me to a Lady Gaga show, and if the word boy band has ever been used to describe it, I’d rather exfoliate with hydrochloric acid.

(The first is dramatically overrated and the second is the apotheosis of everything wrong with the corporatization of music.)

Still. Could be cool, and the girls should love it.

What’s the word for when it makes you happy to see the people you love happy?

Oh, right.

Compersion.

I’m hoping to be fully compersed.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 765 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Pilgrim's Regress, C.S. Lewis (what the fuck am I reading?  World's greatest strawman arguments?)
Comics: Fathom v5 6-8, Fathom: Kiani v3 1
Music: It's Not Me, It's You, Lily Allen (fuck you)

tenors

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It’s hard to write from viewpoints you don’t understand. Like, I’ve referenced the Three Tenors a couple of times in Bad Neighbours, as a symbol of higher art, but it’s something to which I’d never listen. I’m sure it’s whatever, but I’m way more into people being genuine in their art; singing opera never felt truly genuine to me. It’s more about technique than emotion, more about the mastery of a skill than the genuine connection to the source material.

You can cover a song and imbue it with real meaning, but it’s when you use the song as a way to show off your skills that you lose me. It’s why I never gave a shit about Eddie Van Halen. Yeah, he was technically gifted, but there was as much genuine humanity and emotion in his work as Milli Vanilli. It’s also why I think AC/DC is brilliant. No, there’s no depth of lyrics there, and yes, Angus is as gifted as Eddie Van Halen, but you can tell when you listen to their songs, they fucking love what they do. They are themselves, unapologetically, and that, on its own, makes it worthy of a listen.

It’s the difference between a song sung with meaning in a show (see Daisy Jones & The Six) versus a standard musical. The gang covering Ooh La La had meaning to the plot, and added depth to the story. When they hamhand it into something like Riverdale or pretentious garbage like Moulin Rouge, it takes away from the story.

Musicals are bad for the same reason “show, don’t tell” is the rule in good writing. It’s exposition with a backbeat, and that pulls me right out of it. I no longer feel a connection to the characters or the material; you’re just preaching at me, and using a rhythm to do it. 

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1098 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: King Rat, China Mieville (speaking of pretention and music, really, drum & bass as the apotheosis of music, the saviour of all things and the base for communism?  Jesus, why do people like this guy?  Christ, what pretentious twaddle)
Comics: Fathom v2 9-11, Fathom: Kiani 0
Music: isolation drills, gbv

comfort

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I miss the comfort in being sad, as Kurt Cobain once opined.

Being sad is bad. But it’s better than in a constant of conflict. One can accept sadness as it is, live in it, find one’s way through it.

Conflict for the sake of conflict?

It’s going to be a tough go while I’m working at Bad Neighbours and it’s the constant contemplation of the incompatibility of viewpoints, left and right, and the futility of anger.

The inability of consequence. The pure rage of missing justice.

The absence of karma, or rather, its lethargic, procrastinating nature.

It may come around, but when? And how fucking long?

Quite frankly, too many assholes have died peacefully in their sleep on top of their piles of money, surrounded by a beautiful wife, successful children and a mistress with glittery fake boobs.

Karma does not reward waiting.

Justice is not automatic.

Target: 1100 words
Written: 920 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Amatka, Karin Tidbeck
Comics: The Maxx 20-22, Gen13/Maxx 1
Music: No Security, The Rolling Stones

ridin’ off into the sunset

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I think there’s a significant portion of us that would love to drive off down the highway in a fast convertible, beautiful woman beside us, no cares, flaunting social norms, cranking tunes, mooning and flashing the passersby, outrunning the cops, and then pulling over on an out of the way back road to fuck on the hood about every couple of hours.

It’s a young person’s game, of course, and if you’ve ever paid any attention to one of these stories, they’re always freeing, but they all end in tragedy.

Because there’s no such thing as freedom without responsibility, and while I think we should all feel free to flash our tits down Main St, or eat a pussy in the grass, carefree can also be careless.

Every high has its hangover.

At some point, reality comes crashing in, and we have a choice. Figure out how to live the adventure while taking care of business, or how to go out in a blaze of glory.

Viable choices, all.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 374 words, short story: Forest Edge

Read: Tropic Of Kansas, Christopher Brown
Comics: Preacher 60-63
Music: Nina Simone Essentials, Nina Simone (probably the only good thing that'll happen all day)