A few weeks ago, August and I went to Omaha, Nebraska because neither of us had ever been there. It was a blast! After having a delicious “Omaha” steak dinner Saturday night in the Old Market district we walked around and came across Homer’s Music. August has grown up around my record collection but he’s never seen an actual record store. There are things from my past that are disappearing (think Blockbuster) quickly and record stores like Peaches, Sound Warehouse, Tower Records and then all the local shops, are no longer a part of our city landscape. In my youth every Saturday was spent mulling over hundreds of albums trying to zero in on the one album I’d spend my $7 on. It was with great pleasure I saw my son attempting to do the thing that came so naturally to me when we stepped inside
Homer’s. I came across one of my all time favorite albums that my sister originally bought back when it was originally released in ’73, Brain Salad Surgery by Emerson Lake and Palmer (ELP). The record looked like it had never been played and the cover was in great condition. The artwork is an HR Giger die cut and still holds up to my “cool” factor 40 years later. I will be reviewing this record later, but for now here’s a little taste of ELP
A friend of mine is moving to California this week. He asked me for suggestions of places to see on his road trip. I told him to make sure he pulls over to see Cadilac Ranch outside of Amarillo, Texas. This morning he texted me a picture of said place. I was laughing when I saw it and proud that he had taken one of my suggestions. Have a good trip Mike.
I love this country and I love all the shit it stands for – most of it anyway. Where else in this world can you drive down a highway and see this?
It’s hard to buy American but it’s damn easy to experience it. Music is a great example of this. There’s no denying the fact that we have the best fuckin’ music anywhere in the world, bar none. In 1985 I lived in Paris, France. One day on my way back home I was walking down the winding streets of my neighborhood. I walked past an open window blaring Steely Dan. My god that made me home-sick. The fact that Hey Nineteen, she dont remember the queen of soul can elicit the same feelings with some french fuck as it does with me is, well magical. Salude mon ami.
Music has so much power behind it. It brings us together and it can tear us apart (no pun intended). We Americans love our arena rock where we can find a brotherhood of rockers with our index and pinky fingers standing tall at attention and shaking in the air as we bond together with AC/DC ringing in our ears. It’s a moment of rock bliss and that’s why we’re willing to throw down $125 for shitty seats on the third balcony. I mean, what the fuck?
American rock and American culture go hand in hand. It amazes me how much we take things for granted in this life we live, but we never take our music for granted. Next time you hear Back in Black throw your fist in the air and shake your head like there’s no tomorrow because the way things are going, tomorrow may never come.
I often listen to Rock101, a radio station in Mexico City where I grew up. They play more good eclectic music than any station I’ve heard anywhere. A song called Chick Singer, Badass Rockin’ from Ray Wylie Hubbard’s new album, The Ruffian’s Misfortune has found its way in their rotation as of late. After hearing this song, I had to buy the album, not the CD or mp3 but the record album. My investment of $13.00 was well worth it. This is one of the best hard hitting records I’ve heard in a long time. Ray’s ability to write lyrics with actual meaning behind his words has me laughing and feeling a kinship with a fellow rocker who has lived the life he sings about. At 68 Ray has more balls and lyrical power than the Stones have had in the last 25 years. He has stayed true to his roots not selling out to Nashville (think singer song/writers that Mr. Hank III points his middle finger at). I gave up drinking Jack over 20 years ago. But every now and then I find a reason that I must pour one and this was definitely one of those occasions. I’m not one to quote lyrics and I’m not going to either because I feel it’s important for the listener to discover them on his/her own. But for christ sake, any song with a title like Chick Singer, Badass Rockin’ is going to make you want to get up and kick the neighbor’s son for listening to Justin Beaver.
Please, please, PLEASE check him out. You will not be disappointed – unless dance music is your music of choice in which case, get the fuck out of here!