Snobbin: Beautiful Trash in the Pop Culture Gutter

Growing up in a small Wisconsin town, I developed an early aversion to country music bars. My aunt owns a cool bar now, but it is still in the part of Wisconsin that caters to a clientele that likes "both kinds of music -- Country and Western." Dan Aykroyd in his sagelike wisdom pointed this anomaly out in Blues Brothers. No one ever threw bottles at me, but they played a hell of a lot of Garth Brooks. So I guess many of those bars are County radio bars, but not the kind that play old school honkytonk, the kind that play Country with a drum machine. Sitting in one of these bars, I commend them on sticking with the country theme. Personally,  I would rather drink my beer at a bar that plays real honkytonk. I'd take some Johnny Horton or Slim Whitman. Or give me some outlaw country. Ol' Waylon or Billy Joe Shaver would go down smoothly right now. I could kill for some Jason Isbell or John Moreland to be honest. I raise my glass to the real country heroes. I'm head...

My fascination with songs from the Cold War Era continues. Today I've been tiptoeing through the bomb shelters with Bert the Turtle, Marty Robbins, the Goldwaters, and others thanks to Bear Family's awesome collection, Atomic Platters: Cold War Music from the Golden Age of Homeland Security . I really wish I would have bought "The Goldwaters Sing Folk Songs To Bug The Liberals" when I found it in the cutout bin years ago.  Their efforts to help Barry Goldwater fell on deaf ears when they released this record in 1964. Fred Quan, the banjo player, summed up their strategy: “For the next few months we’re looking for voters… Republicans, Democrats, independents—even Beatles.” Rumor has it that when Bob Dole was running for office in 1996 they were offered another support role as The Doles. One could hope that they would have left the laugh track off during this comeback. Watch and listen for fallou...

In my darkest days I tend to sleep a lot. Nap after nap comes in quick succession when turning off the world is as easy as clicking the light switch and settling into a light snooze. I have become reckless in my pursuit of sleep, searching for one long forgotten dream. Perhaps, I long for anything that will shut out the light. When I was a kid, I had a recurring dream filled with creepy witches and small children, rendered in cartoon detail. This brain animation came weekly for a period, then just stopped. I've never had it again. Could this be the dreamworld I seek? Or, perhaps, there is another world buried deep in my psyche, asking to be explored? I've never had another dream that beat on the doors so often as this one. Most dreams come once and never return. Dreams are always peopled with the strangest or most unexpected characters, random places from the past, and enough chicanery to make election year look like a triumph. Random classmates from grade school appear alo...

There were times when the nights seemed longer than days. We would walk for hours down the darkened paths, deliberate yet tentative, roaming like wild animals through the streets of the city. Deliberating, planning, and articulating what was wrong with the world. Elders would accuse us of trying to solve the world's problems. Joe's dad commended us for our forethought, yet tried to insinuate his ideas about life and how to live it into our framework. He was helpful and insightful at times. At others, we thought his observations a nuisance. What did we know? We were young, hanging out in schoolyards, behind houses, walking and walking, thinking and thinking. Young minds never at rest. The fulcrum of our existence resting on our discussions. The life experience would come later. A hard punch in the gut, better than a hard slug in the chest, it carried a force that brought me to my knees, staggered, bleeding, and ready for more. Lessons that I learned did not necessarily rest on...

Here I am again blogging less than I want, although I do have some things in the works. Right now, I'm just happy that the sun is out, the world is thawing, and the future is warm. This is one of the few "rules of three" that makes me happy. "The dates of the first and last frosts are matters of considerable import to the Ozark farmer, and he has many curious ideas about the prediction of these frosts." -- Vance Randolph in Ozark Magic and Folklore

Even though I am from northern Wisconsin and should be used to the cold, there is something insidious about this Illinois winter that cuts to the bone. Maybe it's the cold, gray days, the skies that seem to always be ready to dump more snow, or the insistent biting chill of the wind as it whips across the barren corn fields. The wind seems stronger here, sharper and more insistent, telling a different story than the wind of home. There is little shelter. There are less trees to protect your sensitive skin. "Grow a damn beard already. Wrap another scarf around your tender throat. I will get through. I will freeze your ass and numb your toes. Just give me a chance, any chance." Up north you can hide behind a tree or at least find a hill to block the growing transgressions of the wind. Here there are large trees, just less of them. A large corn crop assures that you will freeze. Yet I suggest we hold our heads up as the white fields and streets turn to a ...

The Last's music is a raging, timely love letter to 60s psychedelia with an 80s flare and a punk rock ethic. All the touchstones of the so-called 80s Paisley Revival are included, beginning in 1976: The Byrds, Dylan, Love, The Pretty Things, and more. Yet there is so much else here; there are touches of mod, power pop, surf, and punk, all tied up in an energetic package. The first track, "She Don't Know Why I'm Here" is an anthem that could have been written in the 60s; it's timeless power is evident because it is a catchy pop tune undercut with a current of danger and cynicism. The Last justly increase the power and speed over its three minute running time. Not unlike The Barracudas, The Last traffic in sweet and sour melodies, often juxtaposed; Joe Nolte writes upbeat pop numbers, but also dabbles in psychedelic sadness. "She Don't Know Why I'm Here" combines both worldviews. I first heard the track on an old Bomp compilation, Destina...