Snobbin: Beautiful Trash in the Pop Culture Gutter

I'm throwing a fiction snippet up just for fun. I probably won't do many more, but if anyone likes this, I might post again. I enjoy being thrown into the middle of the action, and I want to see what others think. We often live vicariously through the work of others -- nightly television programs, crime novels, postmodern literature, neighborhood gossip, whatever our vice of the moment is. How often though do we really imagine what it would be like to truly participate in these other stories? Instead of relying on the distance that the fictional barrier creates, can we truly confront these other worlds? Or must we be content to live vicariously through stories told by others? Creating or narrating our own stories or adding to the overall discussion is always a possibility. I would like to continue that discussion, whether it be blurring the lines in writing, by putting ourselves in the place of others. Or, perhaps, just keeping an open mind to the other lives and possibilities...

I never got to see Sebadoh back in the vaunted "Alternative" 1990's.  After I saw them on 120 minutes for the first time, I was extremely impressed with their live performance of "Rebound." Once I had Bakesale and The Sebadoh in hand, I quickly consumed the rest of their catalog, buying up anything related to Lou Barlow that I could find. Sebadoh records were always good -- Barlow's confessional songs slotted in smoothly next to Jason Lowenstein's rock and roll/hardcore rave-ups -- Barlow's solo records were spotty and, ultimately, less satisfying. Gems popped up on each Sentridoh album, but Barlow seemed more interested in putting all of his songs out, warts and all, than crafting a cohesive record. As he himself admits, many of the songs were the work of a pothead, who thought his lyrics were deep. Offset by the dross, the great songs shine, yet it wasn't until Barlow released his "first" (this can be debated) solo record, Emoh t...

I have an odd habit of finding drawings in library books. Here are my recent findings:   The "Badest Jack Ass Around" "Indie Bands and Labels" "Pen and Ink Portrait"

Although today is sunny, the last few have been filled with thunderstorms, downpours, and mere sprinklings. The rain has always been special to me. While others love sunny days, I often hope for rain, even when there is no drought. Standing in an open field as the hard, cold rain splashes in your face is life-affirming. Sitting inside while raindrops hit the roof can't be beat either. We tend to take these situations for granted, remaining in our bubbles, unaware of how important the rain really is. It revitalizes the earth. It revitalizes our spirits, perhaps promising escape from our daily lives. When the sun finally comes out, we are refreshed. We are ready to open our eyes. In honor of the rain that never comes (or comes too often, depending on your opinion), I compiled a short list of my favorite rain songs. I hope to expand and revise this list, as I discover new songs, and as I come to terms with my conflicting feelings about the rain. 1). Whiskeytown  "Sit and Li...

Dark, murky dusk on a river finds the boys around a raging campfire. Logs are twisted in sharp directions, poking precariously towards the graying sky. The music that comes out of the immense Cerwin Vega speakers is a crackly, tinny selection of mostly old school country and rock 'n' roll, interspersed with metal, punk, indie, and Deep Purple. The portable record player does its best to keep up with the steady stream of dust and dirt from long forgotten grooves. Drinks and beers are lofted skyward in respect for new friendship and ancient camaraderies. The whiskey mixes with the beer in an interminable amount of Krunt pulls, swigs straight from the flask, and attempts at shoddy mixers. Yet the music blares on, not impeded by the sound of a car door cracking or a drunken stumble through the mud to the far away outhouse. The night eventually winds down. A crack of light is seen in the sky. Political discussions, story-telling, wrestling on the rocky ground, will all drift seaml...

I'm listening to Damnation as I get ready to go see the new Batman film. I'm scared that it won't meet expectations. As one of the minority who believes that Batman Begins was superior to The Dark Knight , I don't know what to expect from The Dark Knight Rises . I want it to be old school. I don't want it to be anything like the Tim Burton films. Sorry, but I just can't see Jack Nicholson as the Joker. The man just played himself. He did a great job with One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest , but as the Joker he was subpar. Even Heath Ledger did not capture the Joker of "Death in the Family;" he explained himself too much, and gave off a decided church lady vibe. Take that, Dana Carvey. I'm hoping the new film will satisfy my youthful Batman needs. The original Tim Burton movie floored me as a kid. I never saw anything quite like it -- I collected the movie cards with relish; I still have all of them. I remember the first Batman comic that I eve...

In the interest of reviewing seemingly left field (at least for this blog) records, I bring you some thoughts on several of my newest summer finds. The Ruiner. EP by Atlanta's Whores really surprised me. Given their name I was expecting another black metal or generic hardcore band, but the record recalls the best early moments of Helmet or Unsane complete with staccato rhythms, crunchy guitars, and the like, all blended into a sweet cacophony of sound. Christian Lembech's vocals even recall young Page Hamilton before he blew his voice out. The lyrics are introspective without being overly artsy. On "Daddy's Money,"the guitars lead a call and response with the vocals and the lyrics discuss typical social striations, but the band has enough melody and chops to make the track definitive. On "Fake Life," similar themes are explored under even more seductive riffs. "Shower Time" finds the band slowing down. The staccato guitar riffs are anchored by ...