Archive for September, 2010
“If You Don’t Know Me by Now” by Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes is so bone-rattingly sad it shifts reality like a warp pipe in Super Mario. Couple it with “Guilty” by Randy Newman and the one-two Revolver punch of “This Bird Has Flown” and “For No One” and I ain’t getting out of bed all week.
Background: I helped clean out my dad’s basement this week and emptied a few closets and just recycled ten years’ worth of bad poetry. I used four lines from one 2000-era song and some images from a 1999 story and one anecdote scribbled on a receipt. Ten years of garbage for half a page. It’s not even that good of a half a page. Not even Don’t Tell A Soul good (although you know that’s my secret favorite).
Got some new flashbulbs for the Big Shot and plan to start a portrait series of Jackson artists and musicians this week. Can’t hardly wait. But need happier music.
Lost at Sea, Polaroid 600 film & some Smith-Corona bashing, Baton Rouge, like, 2005, man.
The novelist tells me
that I missed out because
I was never fifteen and listening to Simon & Garfunkel’s Greatest Hits
as I fell asleep, dreaming
of America, of poor Julio
scamming down by the schoolyard.
I tell her that boys like me
had no use for Paul Simon once
he stole Princess Leia away from us,
a tiny Darth Vader, black helmets
She laughs and wipes her nose. The
vegetable soup I made is too spicy, there’s
too much pepper, but she laughs and
says it’s a good thing, I am a rock, I am an
In 1993 I was eighteen and starving to death for music and gulping down whatever there was—Metallica, Lucinda Williams, Pearl Jam, the Beatles, Mother Love Bone, anything. I had just started watching live music in Birmingham and had no idea what I really “liked”—I just liked everything. Basically, I wore flannel shirts wrapped around my waist and had swoopy Slater-skater hair and a diamond stud earring in one ear and oh my God I actually drove a Camaro unironically,* and oh yes, I was terrible.
Take Me Piece by Piece, mixed media 2010, expired Polaroid 200 film mounted on vinyl (detail).
They say that Frank Sinatra
(a buffoon to some, Perseus to others)
was an impeccable dresser
(on this there is no debate). Frank was
especially fastidious about his
shoes, dress & otherwise.
Polish and glossy shine a must.