post 761. neil finn.

post 760. hanging out with mary ellen.

post 759. agent scrantom sits by the camp fire.

It was a strange thing. But then, isn't everything? In a way? We all look back, always back, well, of course we can only look back with certainty. You can't look forward with certainty...only the past is concrete. Only the past is facts. Places. Dates. Things happened. But the perception of those events...yes. To me, it was a strange thing. Grown men, whizzing around on skates, slapping at a piece of hardened rubber. Someone thought, "I should use these ice skates and"...and ice skates? Who thought that up? You have to go back. Always back. Always something before. The hockey, the skates. The skates - some fool was falling all over the ice. And then, because he was a loon, he thought - and really, think about how silly this is - "I'll put some knife blades sideways on the bottom of my shoes and whip around the ice." Think of how stupid he looked. Or she. Whatever. This isn't about he or she. Someone had that thought. So then that first fool, if they didn't break their ankle, showed another fool, and soon enough, there you have it. People on skates. Probably hunting or something. But then somebody ELSE said, "let's compete in someway." Now racing I can see: the most basic form of competition (athletic, that is) comes in the form of racing. One fool has to be faster than the other. I don't besmirch NASCAR; the Romans killed each other with chariots faaar before hockey. But. Where was I? Surely, someone started bloviating about how good they were at skating. And then they were racing. And then someone had sticks and started hitting things, who knows, a dead cat, perhaps. But hit it into what? Let's see if we can make a goal of some kind. And then it grows. It blossoms. Someone makes better skates; someone spends hours, days, YEARS, perhaps, making the perfect hockey stick. Then, soon enough, the dickhead in the group tries affixing rules. People get hurt; more rules. A team is made. My city has a better bunch of hooligans whizzing around on skates smacking a dead cat into a goal area than your city. Then there's a whole blossoming of people playing this sport. And the ones who are no good become referees, and the ones who know better become spectators. And there you have it. Hockey. Such a strange thing. Why don't you invent it? Invent what? Hockey? Invent hockey? Well, my savage friend, the sport is played on ice. Which doesn't happen here. And besides. I've taught you English, and that is a triumph. But I can't skate. So you're a referee? (Laughs.) Ah, you're paying attention. Well done. Well done. No, I just find it strange and have better pursuits. Shh! (Listens. Pulls out knife. Whispering.) What do you hear? (Pause.) Nothing.

post 758. eli.

post 757. russel brand.

post 756. banksy in nyc.

post 755. a man's world.

A Man's World, August - October 2013., a set on Flickr.

post 754. tunes of 2012.

FAVORITES OF THE YEAR:

Jack White, Blunderbuss. Juuust far enough from being a White Stripes record to keep it fresh, but juuust enough of a White Stripes record to make it great.

Fiona Apple, The Idler Wheel... So she's nuts. She's also pretty damn good at what she does. Luckily, though, I'm not a bigger fan; the pain of not having more releases from her would eat at me like a crow pecking out that Greek God's eyes, whoever that was. Or Roman God's. Or whatever. It'd suck, is all I'm saying. So here's to waiting until 2043 for the next record from Fiona.

The Hives, Lex Hives. You know how those scientists all say that last year's earthquake in Japan was so powerful it took one-millionth of a second off our day and tilted the Earth's axis a few inches? This record brought it back. That's rock fact, if not science fact.

How to Destroy Angels, er..."How to destroy angels_," An Omen EP. "Ice Age" is my favorite song of the past year, and you can tell that someone other than Trent Reznor is writing the lyrics: they're pretty good.

Spectrum Road, Spectrum Road. I'm not a big fan of jazz fusion, and seriously, I think the only people who are fans are mostly old white guys who trade stories about how they never open their 180-gram vinyl reissues of Pink Floyd records. Of course I'll defend anything Vernon Reid does, so this supergroup of jazz vets is worth the price of admission on the song "Where:" 12 minutes of jazz, noise, nifty solos, cool rock stuff...or, if you'd prefer, 12 minutes of listenable fusion.

Adele, "Skyfall." First listen: "Boooring." Third listen: "Meh. Not that bad." At 3 AM, when you've woken up from a lovely slumber with its melody snaking in your head: "I MUST HEAR THIS IMMEDIATELY AND MUCH OFTEN."

NEED-TO-HEAR-MORES OF THE YEAR:

Deftones, Koi No Yokan. Who the Hell let these guys back in? 'Cause whoever did needs to get a pat on the back. If rock bands had tag lines, Deftones' would be "The Last Vestige of Good Nu Metal" or, if "good nu metal" is too much of a paradox in terms for you, maybe "Please Don't Lump Us In With Limp Bizkit."

Skelator, Agents of Power. Stupid, stupid, wonderful, "let's-play-video-games-and-get-stoned-and-eat-cookies" metal. Lots of fun.

The Sword, Apocryphon. I like The Sword, but I have yet to hear a completely awesome record from them. A song here, a song there, so...I'll give this a few more spins.

DISAPPOINTMENTS OF THE YEAR:

Sleigh Bells, Reign of Terror. You know, every person on the planet that likes women and likes chugging guitar noise wants Sleigh Bells to succeed. I mean, they've got noise, they've got a woman with some vox power (and yes, that IS the reason I listen to them...mostly), but...well...here's to hoping they weren't a one-album pony. Next time, gang. Next time.

Supermachine. Look, Supermachine: I knew Scissorfight. And while the two ex-members of Scissorfight that are in your band might be agreeable to the fact that you are not Scissorfight, I am of the mindset that you most DEFINITELY aren't Scissorfight, so I pass. Mess With The Bull had more balls than you did.

Post 753. R A N T.

post 752.

MCA, by Terry Richardson.