Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Welcome Back!!
Now I could blog about how I participated last week in a Save Star Trek campaign, the underappreciated mid-60s work of the Everly Brothers, the favorable outcome of the Grammys, and the virtues of our lovely dog Buster (who is by far the greatest dog in the history of canines) but it would be a profound disservice to more pressing matters, such as reprinting these lyrics from a recently discovered (by me anyway) hidden track from the 1973 Styx Album "The Serpent Is Rising":
Plexiglass Toilet
Written by John Curulewski
Lead vocals by John Curulewski
Don't sit on the Plexiglass toilet
Said the momma to her son
Wipe the butt clean with the paper
Make it nice for everyone
But don't sit down on the Plexiglass toilet yeah
A boy of 5 stands close to the toilet
Holds the lid up with one hand
Won't let go the lid for fear that
On his banana it will land
Don't sit down on the Plexiglass toilet yeah
Boy goes up he eats the enchilada
With the sauce that burns the heart
Family comes to visit family
Momma says don't belch and fart
Don't sit on the Plexiglass toilet
Said the momma to her son
Wipe the butt clean with the paper
Make it nice for everyone
But don't sit down on the Plexiglass toilet yeah
Everybody Sing!
Don't sit on the Plexiglass toilet
Said the momma to her son
Wipe the butt clean with the paper
Make it nice for everyone
But don't sit down on the Plexiglass toilet yeah
***Leave to Styx to finally provide the avid music fan a "hidden" track (albeit one from a 32-year old album) worthy of listening to.***
It's a rock 'n roll feeling!
Now I could blog about how I participated last week in a Save Star Trek campaign, the underappreciated mid-60s work of the Everly Brothers, the favorable outcome of the Grammys, and the virtues of our lovely dog Buster (who is by far the greatest dog in the history of canines) but it would be a profound disservice to more pressing matters, such as reprinting these lyrics from a recently discovered (by me anyway) hidden track from the 1973 Styx Album "The Serpent Is Rising":
Plexiglass Toilet
Written by John Curulewski
Lead vocals by John Curulewski
Don't sit on the Plexiglass toilet
Said the momma to her son
Wipe the butt clean with the paper
Make it nice for everyone
But don't sit down on the Plexiglass toilet yeah
A boy of 5 stands close to the toilet
Holds the lid up with one hand
Won't let go the lid for fear that
On his banana it will land
Don't sit down on the Plexiglass toilet yeah
Boy goes up he eats the enchilada
With the sauce that burns the heart
Family comes to visit family
Momma says don't belch and fart
Don't sit on the Plexiglass toilet
Said the momma to her son
Wipe the butt clean with the paper
Make it nice for everyone
But don't sit down on the Plexiglass toilet yeah
Everybody Sing!
Don't sit on the Plexiglass toilet
Said the momma to her son
Wipe the butt clean with the paper
Make it nice for everyone
But don't sit down on the Plexiglass toilet yeah
***Leave to Styx to finally provide the avid music fan a "hidden" track (albeit one from a 32-year old album) worthy of listening to.***
It's a rock 'n roll feeling!
Friday, February 11, 2005
Dear Rev.Speats's Beard,
You've kept my face warm and somewhat grizzled since '04 turned into '05. You saw me through a French New Year, two inflight screenings of Rudy and a three hour-plus screening of The Big Red One.
You've proven your growth potential and ability to cover my face admirably. I shall hold the memory of your service to my chin in high esteem. Your's is a beard that put the ZZ in Top, the Grizzly in Addams, the Hank in Hank Williams, Jr.
When I shave you and send your earthly remains to sea, I shall do it with pride, a Mach 3, and the memories of a face well served.
Yours In Eternal Gratitude,
The Rev.Jeffriah Speats
You've kept my face warm and somewhat grizzled since '04 turned into '05. You saw me through a French New Year, two inflight screenings of Rudy and a three hour-plus screening of The Big Red One.
You've proven your growth potential and ability to cover my face admirably. I shall hold the memory of your service to my chin in high esteem. Your's is a beard that put the ZZ in Top, the Grizzly in Addams, the Hank in Hank Williams, Jr.
When I shave you and send your earthly remains to sea, I shall do it with pride, a Mach 3, and the memories of a face well served.
Yours In Eternal Gratitude,
The Rev.Jeffriah Speats
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Well here we are...I turn 33 today, or as I prefer it, I celebrate the 30th Aniversary of My Third Birthday.
I know its gonna be great year 'cause my boss gave me a DVD bootleg of Let It Be and welcomed me this morning by blasting The Beatles playing Happy Birthday from an old BBC broadcast. Not a bad way to start off the day...
Perhaps the best news of February is that the Bright Eyes/Conor Oberst Backlash has officially begun.
I had faith that it wouldn't take this no-talent-pseudo-sensitive-bighead Ryan Adams 2.0 very long to prove he's the Emperor's New Dylan (no thanks to 105 year-old L.A. Times music critc-turned-lemming Robert Hilburn - who would probally hail my turtle at this point as the next Dylan "with the passion of a young U2 and the burning hunger of early Springsteen", the fuckin' ass hat! - I'm serious, Hilburn's been with the LA Times longer than I've been alive, I think he probally compared Thomas Edison's records "to a young and Hungry Bob Dylan, who won't be born for another 40 years" -). This guy probally wrote his first reviews utilizing Gutenberg's movable type!
But I digress..
The All Music Guide recently put it best when assessing Bright Eyes's latest abomination:
"I'm Wide Awake is designed as a nakedly honest singer/songwriter album, somewhat inspired by the classics of the genre in the '70s — he even recruits Emmylou Harris for some harmonies, hoping that some of the old Gram Parsons' magic will rub off — but its directness reveals that the emperor has no clothes. . .Oberst's music seems not simpler, but simplistic, the plodding music acting as a bed for monochromatic melodies that merely serve as a delivery mechanism for all those words he's poured out on the page. Far from being the second coming of Dylan, Oberst is as precious as Paul Simon, but without any sense of rhyme or meter or gift for imagery, puking out lines filled with cheap metaphors and clumsy words that don't scan...the whole enterprise has a sense of phoniness that's only enhanced by its unadorned production."
I think it just plain sucks ass. Let the backlash begin!
I know its gonna be great year 'cause my boss gave me a DVD bootleg of Let It Be and welcomed me this morning by blasting The Beatles playing Happy Birthday from an old BBC broadcast. Not a bad way to start off the day...
Perhaps the best news of February is that the Bright Eyes/Conor Oberst Backlash has officially begun.
I had faith that it wouldn't take this no-talent-pseudo-sensitive-bighead Ryan Adams 2.0 very long to prove he's the Emperor's New Dylan (no thanks to 105 year-old L.A. Times music critc-turned-lemming Robert Hilburn - who would probally hail my turtle at this point as the next Dylan "with the passion of a young U2 and the burning hunger of early Springsteen", the fuckin' ass hat! - I'm serious, Hilburn's been with the LA Times longer than I've been alive, I think he probally compared Thomas Edison's records "to a young and Hungry Bob Dylan, who won't be born for another 40 years" -). This guy probally wrote his first reviews utilizing Gutenberg's movable type!
But I digress..
The All Music Guide recently put it best when assessing Bright Eyes's latest abomination:
"I'm Wide Awake is designed as a nakedly honest singer/songwriter album, somewhat inspired by the classics of the genre in the '70s — he even recruits Emmylou Harris for some harmonies, hoping that some of the old Gram Parsons' magic will rub off — but its directness reveals that the emperor has no clothes. . .Oberst's music seems not simpler, but simplistic, the plodding music acting as a bed for monochromatic melodies that merely serve as a delivery mechanism for all those words he's poured out on the page. Far from being the second coming of Dylan, Oberst is as precious as Paul Simon, but without any sense of rhyme or meter or gift for imagery, puking out lines filled with cheap metaphors and clumsy words that don't scan...the whole enterprise has a sense of phoniness that's only enhanced by its unadorned production."
I think it just plain sucks ass. Let the backlash begin!
