Snobbin: Beautiful Trash in the Pop Culture Gutter

While listening to Green Day's recent BBC Sessions  recordings, I rediscovered several of Warning's best tracks, including the profound "Church on Sunday," a song that feels like a panacea after Insomnia and much of Nimrod . Many people focus on the negativity and anger of Green Day's music, but even in the most negative songs, Billie Joe's lyrics engage through humor and hopefulness. At first, musically, the song feels like just another three-chord Green Day anthem of defeat and broken relationships. The version on the BBC Sessions includes a plaintive saxophone line that underscores, yet rebuts the challenge in Billie Joe's voice and breaks into full euphoric swing during later choruses. The call-and-response aptly resembles the tug and pull of aging relationships.   "Church on Sunday" maintains its analysis of enduring relationships that grow despite stress and change. Compromise is key to success in most life connections, and Billie Joe apt

Train Trestle, Train Trestle To the tune of an old Nick Cave song,              Some would say you block the view  of nature, of the sky, of the dirty, old  dumpster behind Lakeview Resort. I love your economy and utility. The nature lover in me dismisses  your role in bringing belching  smoke to the heartland.  Yet the romantic in me is  enamored with travel. Like most Americans, I  respect the promise of  coast to coast travel  that you exemplify. Dark metal and creosote wood bisecting nature. Green grass peeks from under  the wood of your tracks. The foliage will take back the land, but you will still peek from  beneath its lush carpet. Nature and commerce be damned. We all have a job to do. 

It's hard to believe that I will be moving back to the Midwest soon. I snagged a teaching job in Ironwood, Michigan, a town that I visited often in the late 90s because it was an hour from my hometown. I generally went there to buy records at a corporate record store (Was it a Sam Goody?). I was living in my small hometown after a poor trial run at college, and did not get back to central Wisconsin until Fall 1999.  I had heard there was a punk venue, and I found it on one of these forays into Upper Michigan. It was called The Rat Cellar. They sold a few records and had shows in the basement. For a few years, I hung out with the local punk kids and watched many local and national touring bands in that dank basement.   There were a few highlights from those shows besides the friends I made. Sadly, I did not keep in touch with any of them. However, I did see one of the little kids who attended those shows more than a decade later in a Wisconsin Rapids basement. Connections can be str

Jeremiah and I rented the Lost House some time in 2001 because we wanted a bigger place that would hold us and our friend, Matt. The place was too big, so we had to get a roommate. Eventually, Jeremiah's cousin moved into a room in our house that was not that bigger than a closet. Another guy  moved in upstairs with Mat, and maybe I will discuss him in more detail in a future post. Needless to say the guy was a mess and caused us more stress than you could ever imagine.  We decorated the house in Punk and Industrial Chic, taping flyers, newspaper clippings, and comic strips to the dirty walls. It soon resembled  a larger version of my bedroom in high school. Much to my mother's dismay, I covered the walls of my room with clippings and pictures from floor to ceiling, tacking up whatever took my fancy from punk ads to clippings from old books. My room was on the second floor of the house, which earlier had been converted from an attic, so the lower half of the wall had paneling