Merry Christmas!!!

VH1 Classic is a goldmine for latenight metal indulgence. In the last three nights, I've caught two Classic Album episodes of Motorhead's Ace of Spades and Metallica's Black Album, and a Behind the Music on Pantera. Some thoughts-

Filthy Animal Taylor has tremendous gray hair in his middle age. I felt strong envy.

Lars Ullrich is a douche, but an effective one, like a bidet on powerspray.

Phil Anselmo is the biggest prick ever captured on television.

Lemmy's face warts continue to expand, and he appears not to notice. Do those Sunset babes kiss around them?

Kirk Hammett has always been a gentle dunce, and he came up with the "Enter Sandman" lick. Lars desperately takes credit for "adjusting" it.

Dimebag Daryl was murdered on stage, perhaps by a man distraught at Pantera's breakup. I knew this information but it did not register at the time. Wow.

The first police officer at the scene found a Damageplan roadie being held by the gunman, and that roadie had already taken three bullets. The cop did not hesitate and shot the gunman dead. Manball.

Ace of Spades has no time damage. It floats in some aural vacuum, with the Ramones' first record and Highway to Hell.

Sidenote- why didn't anybody tell me that Rod Stewart led ACDC in the 70's? Check out Rose Tattoo- holy shit!

Top 5 movies I did (or will) not see in a theatre and I am waiting for on Net flicks (who the hell goes to movie theatres anymore?). Can anyone tell me if they are as good as I have made them out to be in my own mind?

1. American Hardcore
2. The Departed
3 Casino Royale
4 The Good Sheppard
5 Last King of Scotland
6 Jackass Number 2
7 Little Miss Sunshine
8 Thank You for Smoking

Is this man the most intriguing figure in Hollywood? Can you really think of anyone else? I just saw Apocalypto and after seeing Passion of the Christ last month have come to the conclusion there is no one in entertainment today who is as crazy pesonally, artistically and financially as this guy. His personal "issues," not least of which is booze frankly make him even harder to ignore. Still, who else makes films of such wild violence with big subject matters using totally unknown actors that don't even speak English that have enormous budgets USING HIS OWN MONEY and is as wildly successful as this guy? Balls, huge anti-Semitic, crazy balls from a guy who could have easily remained the Australian response to Bruce Willis.

Top 5 Rock and Roll of 2006

1. The Bloody Hollies- Fire At Will. RAWK as it was intended with razor sharp guitar licks and singer who just wails. A Grunnen Rocks find.
2. Electric Eels- Eyeball of Hell. Odd stuff, and Im not sure I mean that in a friendly or funny way. Just odd. I think Sonny told me about these guys.
3. Guilty Hearts- ?. Stole this on Soulseek. If you liked The Tearjerkers you'll dig these guys from LA (I think). Might have heard this on Little Steven's show.
4. Tokyo Electron s/t. The Master Race is back.
5. Wau Y Los Arrrgh.- Found out about this spanish speaking garage band on Grunnen Rocks. Extremely compelling stuffand leads you to the surprising conclusion that the Spanish language kinda works with garage music. Who knew?

Honorable mentions include: Human Eye, The High Tension Wires, Manikins and Sons of Cyrus.

Tuna and Tab might lead to this...

The New Yorker just published some hacks' take on RK Narayan, so I thought I should post this hacks' take penned over a year ago. 1000 words for a blog? It can happen again, methinks...

Bombay and tonic

R.K. Narayan is the grand and god father of the Indian writer writing in the English language. Prior to the hype of Rushdie, Lahiri, Roy, Ali and Mistry (Naipaul too, if you want, but he wouldn't) there was Narayan, whose first novel Swami and Friends found publication in the UK in 1935 thanks to the assistance of Graham Greene, his early champion. It wasn't until 1953 that he found an American publisher (University of Michigan Press, then Viking), and another nine years until he found literary fame, thanks to a New Yorker profile by Ved Mehta.

Narayan published some dozen novels during his long life. I've recently reread four of his middle books. The latter books are not very good, but his first three novels work. Narayan pulled a unique feat with his first books, writing three semi-autobiographical coming of age novels in succession, each with different characters but each also mirroring experiences of the title characters: Swami and Friends involves a scamp in a world of horrible teachers and cricket-stardom dreams, The Bachelor of Arts tells of a struggling college student trying to make sense of acquired knowledge and the monotony of adulthood, and The English Teacher tells of a man making his way with a profession and a wife, only to lose interest in the job and lose his wife to illness. The English Teacher was designed to break your heart and it does; it doesn't get easier to reread knowing Narayan lost his young wife to disease and thereafter remained in celibate mourning for the next 60 plus years of his life.

Narayan's action takes place in the fictional town of Malgudi, a smaller cousin of his native Mysore. Malgudi is Yoknapatawpha with comic charm rather than southern Goth. Main characters in his novels make cameos in the other books, but setting is not as relevant as the revelations that turn the action in Narayan's books. There is a spiritual devoutness that his main characters initially resist, but then when they are forced into a crisis adopt. It might seem illusory to have identity issues neatly wrapped by the last page of a book, but Narayan's books work because he can entertain the reader and implement believable character development through direct consequence of actions.

The Guide (which made Bloom's canon) was his biggest success, The Man-Eater of Malgudi might be his best, but The Vendor of Sweets (made the Burgess 99) was written post-Mehta profile and did what every hued author of a multicultural bent has failed to do; write a great book about East-West culture clashes that doesn't preach, that is well written, that entertains, and that holds up nearly 40 years after publication.

Jagan is a niggardly proprietor of a sweet shop that makes the best fried eats in Malgudi. He is rolling in dough (floured and rupee) but has known disappointment. He failed his quest for a BA and used an arrest under the auspices of helping out the Mahatma with civil disobedience to cover his education failures. His wife passed away ten years after Mali, his son, was born, and the son, now in college, drops out because he wants to be a writer. Jagan is concerned at first then boastful of his son's decision ("Did Shakespeare have a BA?"). But the son loafs for a year and then pilfers his father's cash for a trip to America to attend a "novel-writing school".

Mali returns three years later but he's not alone. He's brought along his wife, a Korean-American, who is affront to Jagan, his caste and extended family. Jagan soon becomes kind to her when he hears out Mali's plans for the future; he intends to raise capital to manufacture a story-writing machine ("Most magazines in the US use them. One knob is for number of characters, another is for theme..."). Jagan senses that his son is a moron, and when he can't be open with the new girl in his house he turns to Hindu scriptures and looks for a new life away from what his current has wrought. Jagan becomes a 60-year-old Indian Gatsby, in retreat of romanticism instead of for it.

Narayan's books work because his characters, though comic, are not without purpose and reason. Narayan's India was the population of the US today and it is refreshing to know that out of a mess of derelict citizens and ineffectual governance great literary art can rear, make one laugh, and endure.

Didn't have a single record really get on top of me this year, other than Slayer's Reign in Blood. I'd say the Moylan's Hopsickle Imperial Ale is the substance of the year, but you bastards cling to the water or to lo alc Irish mud sludge, so what would you know? Here's some good, if not transcendent, music from the year of Amy, 2006-

1. Fucked Up- Hidden World- the year I came back to aggro and even metal, this ruled that particular angry roost. Not as good as Epics in Minutes, but good enough.

2. LiveFastDie- Bandana Thrash- weird punk with teflon, at least half of these won't leak out the escape hatch. Absolutely awful live, but that's probably fitting in a year that found me asleep on the couch every Friday night at 8:30.

3. FeFiFoFums- Shake All Night- grand prize winner in the lo fi sweepstakes, this includes song of the year, "My Baby Got the Boom Boom," Lucas's personal fave.

4. Ray Davies- Other People's Lives- Ray killed morning depression dead on several occasions simply by crooning "Life After Breakfast" from my kitchen speakers before I had even warmed the self-pity up to love-me levels.

5. Boris- Pink- Nipponese metalmeisters were big winners during Lawton latenights (after 9)- I even dig the My Bloody Valentine wanking and I support Motorhead worship in any form.

6. Jay Reatard- Blood Visions- in which our hero crafts sensitive paeans of wistful yearning and Gaia worship- OK, well, he pops it up and synths it out but still delivers hook after hook after hook with all the hate you grind your teeth for.

7. Hank IV- Third Person Shooter- listen to the second side first and you'll get it- listen to the first side first and you might lack the patience for the second side, but you'll be wrong again as "Got Got" gets it just right in the Old Man The Fall midlife crisis catharsis party.

8. King Khan and BBQ Show- What's For Dinner?- better than first listenings, but like Daisy Buchanan before them, ain't no music gonna match the expectations that listeners will store in their ghostly hearts after the first record masterpiece.

9. Country Teasers- The Empire Strikes Back- moodier and less immediately available to the faithful's demand for politically incorrect Fallisms, this still further solidifies Mr. Wallers as one of the only islands out there doodling.

10. Jack O and the Tennessee Tearjerkers- Flipside Kid- solid Jack is better than a greatest hits package of post-72 Stones fodder.

RIP Ahmet Ertegun

Comments are down. The summer/winter downturn is affecting the blog early this year. Time for a turnaround. Put your best foot in your mouth forward - coffee is for commenters.

Walter Tevis is the mystery man behind the books that became much more famous movies: The Hustler, The Color of Money and The Man Who Fell To Earth. The latter two films blew, but I'm here to tell ya that Tevis delivers on two novels I read last weekend, The Hustler and The Queen's Gambit. Both concern mano a mano game obsessives- Fast Eddie Felsons pool mania and Beth Harmon's chess visions. Tevis intimately understands the complexity of the psychological ramifications of ego in competition, as it stands alone, naked and vulnerable. Both novels treat alcoholism and drug addiction as alluring and curable, without self-pity, rehab or counseling. The Hustler is tough guy fiction with moments of philosophical clarity, and The Queen's Gambit is insidiously gripping, sucking you into Beth's mind and world without manipulating your heartstrings or tugging on your tear ducts. I cannot get her out of my mind, and the chess scenes were riveting, even though I couldn't understand any of the moves. Tevis is tough, honest and perceptive, and he refuses to buckle into easy emotional escape routes for his characters. A new discovery at my age? Yank that ankle out of the dust, old man.

The mind is a terrible thing to waste.

Hipster alert...

Check this LP

Joe Carducci's Rock and the Pop Narcotic is the most obnoxiously provocative, insightful, entertaining and offensive tome on music I've ever read. If you believe rock criticism has been a sick joke led by aging boomers desperately clinging to those glory years and keeping the masses from learning about the best stuff coming out, Carducci is your man, as he insults every rock critic you've ever heard of and many you haven't. He has an opinion on just about every band to appear in the last fifty years. He hates liberals. He calls out the conventional narrative of blues birthing a baby called rock n roll. Hell, he calls out just about every cliche rock "truism" the "rock press" accepts as historical fact. He calls Depeche Mode lovers 'fags.' He loathes Dave Marsh, which should be enough for anyone. He's also hilarious.

Buy at once.