Gwynnie and Chris are scared. Scared of what? Ghosts, apparently — or at least a ghost.

Friends of the 33-year-old actress and her Coldplay star husband say the pair have become increasingly anxious about the alleged spectre.

One said: ‘It’s well known Chris had a lot of trouble writing his latest album ‘X&Y’ and he’s linking it to the haunting.’

I think I read an article where he said X&Y is about sex. That’s kinda strange, then. Was the ghost disturbing their sex life? Doesn’t seem to be the case, as Paltrow has yet another [apple] tart in the oven. Did he get solicted by the ghost? Hm.

When Kanye West’s song “Gold Digger” hit the airwaves, it was an instant hit.

Of course, when that happens, the parodies ensue.

Everyone has a few Christmas songs that they don’t like, nay, despise, that play on the radio this time of year. I have never really liked the campy “Feliz Navidad”, although part of that is probably by nurture — I don’t think anyone in my family likes it all either. I also like neither “Jingle Bell Rock” nor “Mistletoe and Holly”, both of which make me think of middle-aged dads from the 50s or 60s wearing cable-knit sweaters, strutting around their wood-paneled living rooms in their argyle socks, playing guitar and trying to look hip as bevies of family members and friends look on.

A new one to my list, however, is one that I am surprised I’d never heard before this year: “Dominick the Donkey“. It’s perhaps the most absurd Christmas song I’ve ever heard.

Hey! Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
It’s Dominick the donkey.
Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
The Italian Christmas donkey.
(la la la-la la-la la la la la)
(la la la-la la-la la-ee-oh-da)

Ugh.

What songs do you dislike?

Okay, let me be the first to say it. I don’t know if this was a local thing or whether it’s national, but the version of Green Day’s “When September Ends” that I heard on the radio in Detroit yesterday, the one mixed with all the hurricane Katrina sound bites, is terrible.

They did this years ago with Styx’s “Show Me the Way”, using Gulf War soundbites. Later on, they did it again with Springsteen’s “Secret Garden” and “Jerry Maguire”

Now, the first one was alright, and it was kind of neat hearing an older song brought back in that way. The Jerry Maguire one was pretty bad, in all honesty — but at least it was related to the movie, i.e., it was on the soundtrack.

This “When September Ends/Katrina” mash-up, however, is a different story. I am wondering if it was done with the permission of the band — although I don’t think they’d care too much — because the album, and that song in particular, has a very certain focus and message; I wonder if they’d be disappointed in the notion that this might dilute it.

Artistically, though, the thing sucks, too. At least the first two mentioned tastefully chose sound bites and placed them at key points in the song. The recent one takes a chest full of sound clips and places them willy-nilly throughout the song, at every point where there’s a pause in the lyrics.

It’s pure cacaphony… with the emphasis on “caca”.

To whomever put this together — it was a nice idea, okay? However, it’s been done at least twice before, and they were done in a far more tasteful manner.

From the London Times (UK) Online: “Business elite hopes for a future without the poor”

COULD the new New Orleans be a place of low poverty, low crime, good schools and minimal racial tension? Some affluent exiles, all white, hope so. In a private meeting in Dallas yesterday they urged the mayor, Ray Nagin, to embrace a controversial vision that could transform the city from a Democratic stronghold into a Republican one.

…
Most of the 100,000 residents who lived on or near the poverty line, have been removed. Thousands have found jobs and homes elsewhere. Some will never return, and this historic shift is being built into projections for the future.“About half the dispersed population is likely never to come back,” Mary Comerio of the University of California at Berkeley said. “It will change the character of New Orleans.”

From the Hartford Courant: “Fashionable Uptown Neighborhoods Hanging On”

The power elite of New Orleans – whether they are still in the city or have moved temporarily to enclaves such as Destin, Fla., and Vail, Colo. – insist the remade city won’t simply restore the old order. New Orleans before the flood was burdened by a teeming underclass, substandard schools and a high crime rate. The city has few corporate headquarters.

The new city must be something very different, Reiss said, with better services and fewer poor people. “Those who want to see this city rebuilt want to see it done in a completely different way,” he said. “I’m not just speaking for myself here. The way we’ve been living is not going to happen again, or we’re out.”

Can you imagine New Orleans without its vast diversity?

Goodbye blues clubs, goodbye jazzmasters; au revoir to R&B, creole and zydeco. They’d all be replaced by the amalgamated din of thudding techno beat, Papa Roach and Barry Manilow.

The dingy, dusky music bars replaced with strip malls and Applebees. You might hear the occasional, distant strains of New Orleans music, only to realize it’s been bastardised to fit the elevator muzak for stacks of condos.

Ugh.

Sometime during the day, room service apparently switched the clock radio in my hotel room from some old thing to a new Doubletree-branded alarm clock. On the top of this clock, there are five buttons, each labelled something differently. There is a button for aux connections (MP3 player, etc.), and then others labelled “Pop”, “News”, “R&B”, and “Classical, presumably preprogrammed by someone…?

Checking out the different buttons, “Pop” was playing Elton John’s “Candle in the Wind”. “News” featured some dude calling up a talk radio show. “R&B” was playing none other than Biz Markie’s “Just a Friend”.

“Classical”, on the other hand, is currently playing some techno-dance remix.

Must be neo-classical. Or something.

Tomorrow — or today, actually — I will be heading into downtown Raleigh to see a free Violent Femmes show (warning: link is loud). Sponge will be there too, and although I know I heard them back in the day, and in fact probably saw them at one point or another, I can’t remember any songs of theirs.

I have seen the Femmes about three other times — HFStival ’94, Smoky Mountain Jams in… ’97, I think — and one other time which escapes me. In any case, as the above shows are pretty indicative, I didn’t go to specifically see them — but they’re still a band that I could see a million times… they’re fun.

Maybe the third time was at DC101 chili cookoff? That doesn’t seem right, but I can’t remember.

Acts/Shows I’ve seen (per Wikipedia, with some editing for clarity)… I am sure I am missing some:

* Lollapalooza:
1993: Main Stage: Primus, Arrested Development, Alice in Chains, Dinosaur Jr., Fishbone, Rage Against the Machine, Tool, Front 242
Side Stage: Sebadoh, Cell, Mutabaruka, Luscious Jackson, Mosquito, Mercury Rev
(didn’t watch anyone on the side stage for this one though)

1994: Main Stage: Smashing Pumpkins, Beastie Boys, Green Day, A Tribe Called Quest, The Breeders, L7, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Boredoms Side Stage: Stereolab, Charlie Hunter Trio, Shonen Knife, Lambchop, Guided By Voices, The Flaming Lips, the Verve, Boo Radleys, Cypress Hill, Black Crowes, Luscious Jackson
(probably not all these played the side stage when I was there. I was introduced to Charlie Hunter Trio then, though. Fantastic)

* HFStival (1994):
Cracker, Toad The Wet Sprocket, Meat Puppets, Counting Crows, James, Pavement, Rollins Band, Violent Femmes, Afghan Whigs, Gigolo Aunts, Tuscadero, Greenberry Woods, Lotion, Madder Rose, Edsel

* Saw Emmet Swimming and that one-hit wonder, “For Squirrels” in 1995 or so. They were still milking that song about Kurt Cobain, so it had to be sometime not too long after 1994.

* Saw Atari Teenage Riot in 1996 or 1997. That was a waste of $10.

* Smoky Mountain Jam (1997):
V-Roys, Violent Femmes, Widespread Panic

* DC101 Chili Cookoff (2001):
The Go-Gos, Train, and a bunch of other dumb bands that fall under the by then-dead horse “alternative” label. Sponge was probably there, actually.

* Seen the Pietasters a few times too, once way back in about 1993, when they were WAY local, and then sometime around 1997 or ’98 at Virginia Tech

* Bob Dylan sometime around 2001 at MCI Centre. It was post-Love and Theft

* Paul McCartney sometime around 2002, also at MCI

* B.B. King sometime around 2003 at Wolf Trap

* Aretha Franklin around the same time as B.B. — was the same summer, anyway, I think. Also at Wolf Trap

Kid Koala, Jack Johnson and Ben Harper in … oh, 2003 or so.

Also, saw Vince Neil and Poison right around that same time — hey, they were free tickets. Got there too late to see Skid Row, sans Sebastian Bach

Suzanne Vega played as part of a free show at Herndon Days, perhaps also in 2003, or maybe 2004.

I think I saw Amy Grant when I was about 12 years old, too.

Also – am I the only one who finds Jack Johnson just kinda… boring? I dunno. I’ve only heard a bit of his stuff, mostly radio, and I didn’t really dig it, nor was I particularly impressed when he opened for Ben Harper a few years ago. Am I missing anything?

I was flipping through the channels today and saw that VH1 was re-airing the Live8 show. I wasn’t really paying too much attention to it, but the TV remained on, and then I heard Pink Floyd come on. I liked the set a lot. They dedicated it to Syd.

I did a google search on Syd, and came across this article from last month. Kind of interesting.

I decided to try and play a few Floyd songs on the guitar today. I already know “Time” and I just about picked up “Comfortably Numb” today, too. I also somewhat re-learned “Wish You Were Here”, although I still can’t do the intro solo stuff right.

Everytime I hear “Shine on You Crazy Diamond”, I think of Chaco, sitting in the lobby, singing it and/or playing it with the Crazy Russian. That night he seemed really into it – it felt so… authentic? Like he was really singing it with Syd in mind or something.

Across the planes of other internal matters, I can’t help but wonder if some things are coming to a head, here. Not a pleasant way to spend a weekend. I’ve been bored out of my mind on the weekends lately, but it’s a never-ending cycle. I get bored, and then get lethargic and apathetic, which means I get even more bored. Playing guitar helped a bit. For some reason the voice was really working well, too – I was tuned in quite well, oddly enough.

I did have a pleasant lunch today with some of the Carolina Kossacks, which broke some of the monotony. The gyro was pretty tasty, but I was still hungry afterwards, and I left kinda wishing I’d gotten some hummous or tabbouleh.

DB, I will hopefully get to that book tagging thing soon enough. It’s hard for me to remember, off the top of my head, which books I like, other than one or two which really bit me. I’ve never been good at remembering details, and that includes book titles. I’ve always been better at absorbing ideas.

I am thinking about buying a notebook tonight to do some writing, but I seem to do that once or twice a year, and nothing comes of it. I mean, nothing at all. I couldn’t name the last time I was able to write anything, much less anything decent.

I think I need to take up meditation or something. Things move fast.

So, this commercial has been out for a while now, but it still astounds me… I mean, I can’t make the Darius Rucker – Burger King mental leap.

How far has Hootie fallen, where Rucker is doing commercials like this? Then again, Brooke Burke is in it, and I’m not sure if any of those others are celebs (besides the Dallas cheerleaders).

Regardless — it’s a kinda surrealist commercial, and I still can’t figure out how the heck Mr. “Let Her Cry” fits in to the picture.

Update: So it seems that there are other well-knowns, or relatively well-knowns — that apparently is the booty girl herself, Ms. “My cellphone was hacked too”, Vida Guerra (site only marginally SFW).

Also: Boondocks fun (mirror).

… but I gotta admit it. It’s nothing intentional, but it’s happening nonetheless.

I’ve had Meryn Cadell’s “The Pope” stuck in my head for the past several days.

We all here to see the Pope, pope, pope, pope, pope…

Shortly after moving down here, Scott told me about “100.7 — The River“, a new station that doesn’t air very many commercials, and to my knowledge, except for the sports talk stuff at night, doesn’t seem to have any on-air DJs. The music selection is pretty diverse, and generally pretty good. It’s also pseudo-”edgy” with regards to its station IDs and promotions, i.e., “The conspiracy continues”. I say pseudo because it is nonetheless a Clear Channel station, and I share Scott’s moderate scepticism.

Recently, during one of their station commercials, they said something, again in their edgy way, to the effect of “you won’t hear a repeat until we think it’s time you should”… something like that anyway.

Well, to tell the truth, I heard my first repeats today, since I started hearing the station at the beginning of the week. Unfortunately, despite all the good music they play, the three songs I’ve now heard twice on that station are “Walking in Memphis”, “She’s So High”, and “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone”. What luck.

On the other hand, I did hear “Sympathy for the Devil” (Rolling Stones) and “Buffalo Soldier” (Marley) on the way home, so I guess I can’t complain too much.

So I’m here looking at this Wedding Music site, and can’t help but be amused that, apparently, three people have chosen The Donnas’ “Take it Off” as the Mother-Son dance.

Amusing.

For their current DVD promotionals, two of the movies Papa John’s is giving away are Durango Kids and Corinna, Corinna.

Someone over at PJ’s is a Dylan fan, I’d guess….

So the buzz over on Livejournal’s Bob Dylan community concerns the recent appearance of Dylan himself in a recent Victoria’s Secret commercial. His music was in one before, apparently, but this time, he actually makes an appearance.

Meanwhile, I found it cool/funny/whatever, but I knew that, somewhere in the back of my head, I remember reading about someone asking Dylan, years ago, if he would ever sell his music for commercials, and if so, what kind of venue would it be… to which Dylan said, “Women’s underwear”. Maybe it’s in the Shelton bio or something. Anyway, I never knew definitively that it occurred… until now.

Glad to see that someone found archived video footage of it.

Q: If you were going to sell out to a commercial interest, which one would you choose?
A: Ladies� garments.

Actually… there’s a lot more to this story than meets the eye.

Article saved below…
(more…)

The song was a soulful limerick from the “Purple Rain” days of Prince, whose voraciously fey Jheri-Curl Lothario act worked its spell even on the most suburban set. It was, at the time, the dirtiest song we knew.

Way back when, my aunt dubbed Purple Rain for me. Man, I forget how old I was, but it must have been around third grade, because I remember listening to this bad quality tape (it was recorded, literally, from one boom box to a tape recorder, over open air) in my friends basement, in the old neighbourhood.
During those years, I thought it was “master bedroom in a magazine”. I thought she was flipping through an old issue of Home and Gardens, or something, from the lobby.

(bad pun, there)

So it seems Pavarotti is entering the pop music biz…

Yet for years he rebuffed attempts by his record label, Decca, to record a non-classical album, as many of his operatic peers have done. He was finally convinced after one of his three adult daughters prodded him to listen to material she thought would be perfect for his legendary tenor. The result is a collection of sweeping ballads that has been a top seller on the classical crossover charts since its release in late September.

Well, now he’s gone and done it. I guess it’s only a matter of time before he’s spied topless in People magazine and goes off having 55 hour marriages…

Rolling Stone‘s recent issue contained a list of their “Top 500 albums of all time”. Now, while such a list is going to be controversial, and while doing such a thing is only going to lead to hordes of OMGWTFKTHX letters in the coming months, I gotta hand it to RS – they did a great job on the promo material. I can only guess how much advertisers spent to get in this issue.

The coolest part, however, is the RS500 Super Audio CD Sampler. The disc is dual layer SACD, meaning that those of us with SACD systems can hear the Dolby 5.1, while standard CD players can still read the redbook layer. While I guess you could call it propaganda, of sorts, seeing as the SACD proponents are at odds with those who are backing DVD-A as the next-generation of music mediums, in my mind, the consumer wins out here, because it is one fantastic selection of music on this disc.

On the disc:
Bob Dylan – “Simple Twist of Fate”
Pink Floyd – “Money”
The Who – “Pinball Wizard”
Herbie Hancock – “Watermelon Man”
Norah Jones – “Come Away With Me”
Elton John – “Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road”
Billy Joel – “Movin’ Out”
Miles Davis – “Blue in Green”
Aerosmith – “Sweet Emotion”

While there are a few on this disc that, given the chance, I’d replace with something else, none of them are terrible; considering that SACD is relatively new and has something like fewer than 1000 titles remastered to its name, This isn’t a bad collection at all.

Found the “lyrics” to this. It’s a fifteen-minute spoken bit off the Rollins Band Album, Get Some, Go Again. Probably some of the truest words I’ve ever read, in my opinion, it reflects pretty accurately the pain I feel when I listen to today’s radio.

Pretty sure the words are right. Italicising and emphasis have been added by me. If you want to hear it, I’m sure I can rustle up an MP3 somewhere along the way.
‘L.A. Money Train’ — Rollins Band

Alright, everybody. We’re here in Los Angeles in the wonderful Cherokee Recording Studios, and tonight we’re gonna vent some steam and talk about this town. And hangin’ out and jammin’ with us tonight is one of the great guitar gods of our time, none other than the brother Wayne Kramer. So, Jason, are you ready? Alright. One! Two! Three! Hit it!

Yeah. I wanna talk about the LA Money Train. Hollywood, California. The place where people come to make it. The train makes many stops on its route. And many try valiantly to get on. Like the rock star from Portland, who works at the office supply store for years getting his hair together, waiting for that train to stop and take him to fame and financial excess. And then there’s the actress from Houston, who’s spent six years preparing for her big screen debut, by dancing naked on a stage, and ends up realizing her celluloid dreams by going straight to video, co-starring in “Ten Miles of Tough Tongue.” Hey, it’s work. You gotta keep working. You gotta keep working it. Some people will do anything to get on. Sounds pretty wild, right? All aboard, y’all.

Yeah. Now what about that new visionary turned big spender, taking all those musical genres and puttin’ ‘em in a blender? The music shake he makes made the critics get up on their little hind legs and exclaim: “Now this is what’s happening!” Ah! It’s just more crap from a culture that’s evaporating. Stealing from here and there. He’s on the cover of every magazine with his deer caught-in-a-primetime-limelight stare. Really cosmic. Pretending to be totally unaware as to what all the fuss is about as the record company moves with ruthless efficiency and lightning speed to attract every last cent from his listenership before they move on to real drugs, sex, and suddenly find his music one hundred percent unnecessary. You know the situation. Feel free to choose one or utilize any combination. You loose your job. You get your ass kicked. Your woman leaves you. You spend a night in county jail. Reality gets all up in your face, and says: “Hey, man, the rent’s due.” And all of a sudden that Offspring record just doesn’t do it for you anymore. Did I just say that? Man! So what if it’s true? Yeah. Money train. Money train. Just get on. Just get on the money train, man.

“But, fellows, you know… You know we got brother Wayne Kramer here. So we gotta get outta the way, so he can step up and get into it. Alright, brother Wayne. You got it, man. Go ahead. Yeah.”

Yeah. Yeah. Alright. I wanna talk about some more people on the train. I wanna talk about some more people ridin’ that money train. You know sometimes failure brings success and I got the proof. I heard about a man, who’s ridin’ on the train right now, who got kicked out of the 5th floor window and landed way up on the roof. Right time, right place, good rap, nice face. We have the same analyst. Lose your integrity, sell your soul, kiss the right (ass) and up you’ll go. From the lofty heights you’re residing in they look like ants and their flesh tastes just like chicken. Boy, if your friends could see you now. The ones back from the old town that you left to come out here to get on the money train. You know what they’d say? They’d say: “Uh, were your teeth always that straight and white?” Forget about it, man. As long as you’re on the A-list you’re in the mix, you’re the man. You got the force, the power, the vision, the intensity, the focus, the drive. You are the master of your destiny. Sure to get what you want. Sure to get on that train. Sure to get on that train. Yeah.

You know, in this town, what you drive up in determines who you’ll be driving home with. How you dress determines who you’ll be undressing. Makes a man wanna get a nice car, cool clothes, and get in touch with his haircare products. On the other hand, you can always go to the video store and see the guy who used to sell millions of records and then snorted, drank and burned his fortunes. All he has left is the dyed hair, eyeliner, and attitude. The receding hairline, gut, and double chin only add to the visual intensity. And from him you can rent a video, and watch his old girlfriend, who’s now your next-door neighbour, do things that are definitely moving too fast for primetime. It’s an option. Yeah.

“Hey, Jim. I don’t wanna leave you out, man. So if you wanna step up and get some, go ahead. Jim Wilson.”

Yeah. I get so tired of all the drama. I get so tired of all the drama. I get so tired of all the fakes jumping up and making it. Hard to see all the people who really believe in the soul power of music, standing on the side and getting run over by those with perk breasts, dyed hair, and wonderful cheek-bones. So tired. At this point all I’d like is the truth. At this point all I’d like is the truth. I get so tired of hearing the stories of people who worked years and years, and their lives are nothing but bitter, burning tears, falling into their shoes as they wait on the boulevard for the bus as the man with no talent drives by in a brand new BMW 540i. Yeah. Disgusting. Disgusting on an epic scale. Disgusting like huge Godzilla-size disgusting. Obscene the way they go to the bank with. Obscene the way they stretch it out. Obscene the way they’re so self-satisfied. As the real soul goes down the drain. As the one triple nine rolls over to the two triple zero. You’ll see that the only heroes left, are the ones who are railing in the dust, punching their fist to the sky, still burning with soul intensity. As the smirking fakes just say: “Whatever, man. It’s cool.” Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.

For years I’ve waited. For years I’ve waited for the real thing to come along. For years I’ve waited, for nights I sweated. And in all the small rooms I occupied, I thought to myself: “It can’t last for long. This facade can’t stay up forever. Someone’s gonna come along and knock it down.” Well, many tried and many fell away. Many tried and many left with nothing to say. And they were seen as losers, and they crashed and burned into the sea. Or went up north and vanished or slid back to the midwest. Or were burned and scattered in the south or smashed to bits by the brutality of the east. Yeah. Yeah.

Now I don’t mean to sound like they beat us or anything, but sometimes I think it’s all over. Sometimes I think it’s all over. No more Coltrane. No more Duke. No more Monk, Jimi, Otis, Aretha, J.B., or Sly. And no one seems to stop and wonder why. And I turn on the radio and it makes me wanna cry. Because I know it’s never gonna come around again. And it makes me cry because I know that there’s so many people who’ll never get to hear Mahalia Jackson, Mississippi Fred McDowell, Lightning, Lemon, Curtis, Marvin, and the Reverend Al Green.

The airways are clogged, and it’s not looking good. In fact it’s looking pretty mediocre out there, but I digress…

You hear that saxophone player in the background? Yeah. We brought him in, so you could get a glimpse of my new found maturity, and still get a sense of my street credibility. He’s a session guy. He doesn’t even know my name. He’s no fool, he’s gettin’ that session work. He’s ridin’ the train. Yeah. Good work if you can get it. Just like a stuntman. Just like a pornstar. Oh, wait a minute. He’s an actor. “Hey, man, what was your motivation for that last scene?”

Yeah. Yeah. Money train. Money train. Sometimes I too wanna get on and ride just like you. Sometimes I’m just like you, man. I wanna get on and have a ride. I wanna get on and ride, and take these fakes for every penny they got. Yeah. Yeah.

Oh, and uh, don’t forget to keep it real. You always gotta keep it real. Ah-ha, ha, ha, ha! Ah-ha! Ah-ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Keep it real, man. Yeah. Yeah. Ha, ha, ha, ha. Whoo…

I dunno, way too much. Thursday the 15th, I saw an unbelievable Bob Dylan show. What a setlist. Amazing. And now, I have seen the two acts I wanted to see before they die, BB King and Bob Dylan — both this year.

Next morning, I commenced the trip that, at its completion, will become the shiny new tacoma’s longest trip yet. Made it to the Raleigh suburbs in about 5 hours…. wonderful weather, just unbelieveable. Non-stop trip…. unless you count the stop-and-go traffic I was in for 30 minutes, and about 5 miles, as I got stuck behind a truck carrying a house, down the two-lane NC Route 42. I am not talking one of these modular houses. No, his house, taken up off its foundation and moved, presumably to another section of open land down the road. Weird.

Hit the bar that night with family, met up with an old friend of mine. Knew him in HS, and roomed with him a while back in fairfax,… he’d moved to Raleigh, so he and his wife came out to Fuquay to toss back a few beers.

Got back in relatively late — around 1.30, which left me a little drunk and utterly tired, after no more than 5 hours of sleep, either of the previous two nights and the long drive.

I woke up the next morning, fairly groggy. We got on the road around 10.30, en route to the Outer Banks, took our time, relaxed, and got here at 4.00, Saturday afternoon.

Since then, it’s been a lot of drinking, a lot of eating, with a few things in between, like watching the Leonid meteors and soaking my sore bones in the hot tub. I’ve still got a week more of this to do ;). Everytime I come down here, I get the itchin’ to buy a beach condo.

Anyway, time to crash for the evening. Later.