29 November 2007

Look, mostly I listened to Townes Van Zandt this year. Exclusively. We were going steady for a strong six months before I had to go to camp and then the feelings faded. I also loved The Pretty Things’ SF Sorrow, Clap’s Have You Reached Yet, and that Left Banke collection more than I like any of the following. But hey, I’m fucking old, and it happens. Eat the proverbial fuck, whinemeister. The Ipod is good for about one thing, and that’s recording the number of times you played something. So I’m going with Bangs’ theory that the best records are the ones you listened to most, and I have the itunes numbers to prove it. Fuck criticism- these got the most play-

1. King Louie and the Loose Diamonds- Memphis Treet- summer anthems, really, and perhaps a trip to a woodsy wedding that reunited me with old friends and made me feel all warm and gushy made this the best fucking record released in 2007. It’s not even half good, but finding a complete record in the digital age may be impossible. Get it for “Gypsy Switch” alone, as it's the best loser anthem since Beck.

2. Dinosaur Jr.- Beyond- a miracle, really, that these hypersensitive bastards could reunite and not silent treatment each other into retirement homes, let alone produce a startlingly listenable and non-embarrassing full fucking album in the year of Obama. I actually like Lou Barlow’s songs, for god’s sake, and that means one of us has changed. I’m betting on him.

3. Black Lips- Good Bad Not Evil- Ok, it ain’t Let It Bloom and the live shows weren’t the Independent, but Conan was a hoot and this is ¾ fine and dandy. Fuck you Katrina haters- that song taps my toes, and “Bad Kids” is this teacher’s 2nd best anthem of the year (see “Gypsy Switch” and then call your school board).

4. Brother JT- Third Ear Candy- some suggest I have an unhealthy obsession with Mr. Terlesky, but I humbly object to that characterization. I’d say following someone who plops out annual variations on the same style is a sign of aborted emotional development and a fear of the unknown, or life. So, I embrace my JT fandom, and I welcome each new Bethlehem offering as a gift. My gratitude is especially turkeyesque this year, as the weird sounds, odd time signatures and kooky lyrics add up to another intensely original creation and a first-class listening experience. You can have your 4/4- I’m riding with JT.

5. Beasts of Bourbon- Little Animals- I’m noticing a pattern here- all these bands are established in my memory (except maybe Louie, whose solo work I’ve never really gone for) with a relatively long track record, another sign of a listener’s advanced years and fear of the new. Anyway, this is something like their loose attempt at ACDC, but with S&M and explicit drug references. Only the lead track really explodes, but I like most of it, and hate only the title track, which is just fucking embarrassing. Really.

6. The Assemble Head in Sunburst Sound- Ekranoplan- heavy psych action, dude, right here in the land of the hippy. Not quite as heavy as I’d like it to be and occasionally bleeding over into trippy areas I’m loathe to pursue- overall, though, it begs the peace pipe and brings head music away from the dance floor and back to the long hairs, where it most certainly belongs.

7. Cheater Slicks- Walk Into the Sea- what can you say at this point? If you don’t get it by now, you never will. This ain’t one of my favorites by ‘em (and anybody know why they left IntheRed?), but it has your Sunday Morning Coming Down Fuck the World back. So few others do.

8. Eddie Current Suppression Ring- S/T- groove punk? Can I patent the name? Punker dudes like to show off their moves, too, and these Aussies lock in and allow the pit to spread out for maximum bodily expression. Oh, and the songs are really good, too. Somebody said somewhere that they sound like The Intelligence, which is like saying bacon tastes like tofu. Nah, just high energy dance punk music without the sparkles or the cosmos.

9. Mark Sultan- Sultanic Verses- few surprises, but plenty of grins, BBQ himself forms a kinda band and then does what he does best- write great songs and sing them with that voice. No new ground, unless you consider fine songwriting and expressive singing new, and almost every day, I do.

10. Steve Earle- Washington Square Serenade- no love songs to Condi here folks, but he does weigh in with an equally embarrassing gushfest to his adopted NYC hometown called “City of Immigrants.” Earle is purty darn predictable at this stage. He’s gonna give you four or five drop dead gorgeous stunners, two or three stinkin’ to high heaven stinkers, and several more to fill out the twelve. I like this record fine, but I think I like the look of his new wife and his long grey beard even better.

Oh, it's Scott's birthday. Wish him a happy last 365 days until he's the new 50.
Barclays Saturday 1pm

It's Big Game time Saturday, and Barcs is serving elk, boar, venison and alligator. Game starts at one, but I say noon for good table. Let's do this.
You stunk it up for 46 minutes, but then...

27 November 2007

Here is a list of last year's top ten, followed by the order of airplay they got in the year of their lord 2007-
1. Fucked Up- Hidden World-
2. LiveFastDie- Bandana Thrash-
3. FeFiFoFums- Shake All Night-
4. Ray Davies- Other People's Lives-
5. Boris- Pink-
6. Jay Reatard- Blood Visions-
7. Hank IV- Third Person Shooter-
8. King Khan and BBQ Show- What's For Dinner?-
9. Country Teasers- The Empire Strikes Back-
10. Jack O and the Tennessee Tearjerkers- Flipside Kid-

1. Jay Reatard
2. Jack O and the Tennesse Tearjerkers
3. LiveFast Die
4. Fucked Up
5. King Khan/BBQ Show
6. Hank IV
7. Country Teasers
8. Ray Davies
9. Boris
10. FeFiFoFums

What does it all mean? Nothing really, or maybe that one-year-later judgments are better than shorter ones, or that tastes change (shocking!) over time, or that you get something more heartily later than you did originally, or something was so good you played it to death and burnt it right on out. I don't know. Which of these will I listen to in ten years? Probably the Ray Davies, but predicting the future is a sucker's game. Come over then to pry my drooping ears off the stained couch to find out. Your anticipatory breath excites me.
Why do I seem to be infected with all things Belgian? Thanksgiving was a time for gratitude indeed, when the shoppers-that-be returned from the posh market with an assortment of ales, not one of which dripped in under 9%. Pre-family bracers never went down so deliciously and effectively, and the subsequent table squabbling was more silly and less depressing.

The Trappist Café has a grand opening date, and with Christmas vacation right around that celebratory corner, how many dusky afternoons can I pretend I’m in Ghent again amidst the revelers? Does this place have a view of a 15th century church outside its windows?

Finally, Hugo Claus is considered the greatest Belgian writer of the post-war era, and while his 600-page masterpiece, The Sorrow of Belgium, sits unread and hardly beckoning from the basement shelf, I stumbled upon a shorter work of his on a street side sale cart, and for one dollar why the hell not delve into a Flemish man's take on two louts who leave the comforts of their small village pub life to make it big in Vegas. Sadly, the premise teases but the man does not deliver. This reads like a series of sketches, rather than fully realized scenes or characters, as if Claus spent a few days in LA and Vegas and was so inspired by the absurd spectacles that a novel just had to be written. Desire makes it appear that inspiration dwindled considerably when Claus returned home. We get the requisite strip bars and hookers and devastating gambling losses, but there ain’t enough there here to care about either one of our heroes, the lummox Jake, guilt-ridden for having left his long-suffering wife with their broken daughter, or Michel, a seedy underworld half-breed of indeterminate origin who plays the womanizer but who's probably gay. Subplots unfold limply back home, but without much conviction.

This one is thin, and that’s unacceptable for a Belgian, which ought always to have the fullest of bodies.

26 November 2007

Hello,
We finally have a Grand opening scheduled, December 7th & 8th at 4 pm. The following week we open on our regular schedule of Wednesday &Thursday 4pm-12am, Friday & Saturday 4pm-1:30am, Sunday 1 pm to 11 pm.Closed on Monday and Tuesday.

We have over 30 different kegs on order and will tap 15 fresh ones on the 7th, check out the link to see whats coming.http://www.thetrappist.com/ontap.htm Hope to see you all soon !

Brother Chuck
The Trappist
460 8th StreetOakland


RIP Kevin DuBrow. You were a dick, but you liked Slade. Break-even, I say...



19 November 2007

The self-imposed weight of life precludes sustained thought on any single issue, and besides, some small creature will be tugging on my shirt sleeve within seconds. Here's what I have between the tugs-



Ford Madox Ford's The Good Soldier is vastly underrated, and I blame Hemingway for scathingly besmirching this man's character in A Moveable Feast. It may also have kept legions of prospective spouses from hooking up in the old sense, as this delivers the worst marriage has to offer from multiple angles. Victorian propriety does build up a mighty lust behind the cloak room door. Long live the unreliable narrator.

Dawn Powell's The Locusts Have No King had me playing the tune of underappreciated gem in my head until tedium kicked in near the end. That said, salty dialogue and scathing satire make this Dorothy Parker-snide for the long haul of a novel. Good enough to try again, which I'm doing in about four minutes with what big boys say is a better effort, The Golden Spur.

Richie Unterberger has written four thousand books about 60's rock, and god bless his diligence. He doesn't, however, make you need to check out his subjects' music, as the 19 "overlooked innovators" in his Urban Spacemen and Wayfaring Strangers are interesting stories told in workmanlike prose with dry critical detachment. Facts and judgment but no passion. This ain't the New York Times, so a little fanboy enthusiasm never hurt in the rock crit business. Still informative, though, so excuse me while I download the Bonzo Dog Band discography.
Kingsley Amis is not funny in Stanley and the Women, and his misogyny is not aggressive enough. Shockingly, there's not even enough booze.

Pete Dexter's Paper Trails is night table reading for those who look forward to bad dreams. And I'm not just talking about the Mrs. Dexter columns. He celebrates his "simple man" ethics a few too many times and tells too many stories of domestic violence unpunished, but the lean prose and comic timing kick most of the time. Amazingly, he didn't hurt his sizeable reputation with this one.

The Rolling Stones' Got Live if Ya Want It is a fucking monster, and King Louie and His Loose Diamond's Memphis Treet is still the record of the year.
This has been short-attention span theater.

14 November 2007

[dabrasha] wtf with the ban, asshat?
[licurgo] no files shared.................banned
[dabrasha] i have 3 songs. you want them they're yours
[dabrasha] grow up
[licurgo] vai tomar no cu
[dabrasha] va fan culo, cazzo
[dabrasha] get a life, and a girlfriend. spend your time on things that matter, not soulseek. that advice is free
[licurgo] sharing your files..........or BANNED!
[dabrasha] have you heard of a firewall, or are you as stupid as i think you are? add me to your list and do a file search if you want to share. you're kind of a cunt, ya know?
[licurgo] stupid is your mother, babaca.
[dabrasha] i'll pass that on to your mother when i'm done with her in the morning, capice?
[licurgo] italiano escroto, não enche. vai embora.
[dabrasha] hahahahahaha!
[licurgo] he he he , BANNED
[dabrasha] again, i'll let your mother know of your behavior in the morning. Right now, she's performing quite well...

08 November 2007


When pumpkins drink bad beer...

05 November 2007