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best of 2007


Man, this year really went fast, didn’t it? Seems like I’ve been saying that every year since I was about twenty, but it just seems like it doesn’t take as much time as it used to get around the sun.

I’m a year older, a year smarter, and have heard a year’s more music. And, because 1) I couldn’t think of anything to write tonight, and 2) I had the 2007 “best of” list already completed, you’re getting it today instead of Friday. Anyway, a Thursday post gets more exposure than a Friday one, after all. So, without further ado, I present my top thirteen (yes, thirteen) albums of 2007. Check it out:

13. The National – Boxer

‎‎Yes, people went crazy over Boxer. There’s good reason for it, as it’s a great album, to be sure; but it just wasn’t the album for me that it was for everyone else. I enjoy its lyricism, its somber fragility, and I even enjoyed seeing The National play it out in Orlando earlier this year. It’s an important album, and I do truly enjoy it, it was just always flying just below my radar and didn’t chart. Don’t let that turn you off.

Listen to The National at the Hype Machine.

12. Los Campesinos – Sticking Fingers Into Sockets EP

OK, so this might have crowned higher on the list were it a true “full length” album. I don’t know why I use that yardstick as a criteria, but I do. EPs don’t cut it. That being said, this is one solid lo-fi bedroom-produced party record. It’s the kind of music where you envision the band actually enjoying themselves while they make it, broad grins on everyone’s faces as the plod at the bass, pluck the guitar, or beat on the drums. Fun stuff, great for energizing a room or car-full of people, just a little lacking on the bottom-end. We’ll see if their forthcoming debut full-length LP can carry the weight.

Listen to Los Campesinos at the Hype Machine.

11. Panda Bear – Person Pitch

OK, go ahead. Heave the taunts of “frontrunner!,” “sunshine patriot!, “fairweather fan!,” whatever you’d like. I’ll admit that I just didn’t get this album at first. I even devoted an entire entry in this very lexiconical-compendium to the fact that the album just didn’t “work” for me. But, I never gave up. People kept pissing their pants about it, so I kept giving it a shot. And then, something happened. I listened to Person Pitch completely alone, in the dark.

I don’t tend to get a whole lot of “alone time.” I go to work, I go home, I enjoy my “together time” with my wife and daughter and friends. Sometimes, in between all the together time, I get a little piece of time to call my own. This year, I can recall a time when I was walking on the beach, not alone in truth, but alone enough for my noise-canceling headphones and this album cranked loud enough to make it seem blissfully so. I walked along listening to “Take Pills,” watching the sunlight glint off the water as it capped and frothed while forming swells. And I thought, for a minute, how cool it would be if it wasn’t glimmers of reflected sunlight at all, but thousands of little underwater people instead, blinking their tiny underwater flashlights or flashing the flashbulbs on their tiny underwater cameras.

Person Pitch was made for these snatches of “me time.” This is not an album you’d want to socialize too, unless you’re getting together with a bunch of your buddies at the opium den. This album is for your ears, and your ears only. Do them a favor and play it while you hide in a dark closet, removed from all other human interaction.

Listen to Panda Bear at the Hype Machine.

10. Caribou – Andorra

Andorra sat on my digital shelf for months after I’d acquired it, relatively unlistened-to and unloved. Then, a raving note from the brother of a friend persuaded me to pay it a little more attention. Giving it its first real evaluative spin in the car one morning on the way to work, the percussive-drive psychedelia of “Melody Day” as an album-opener cut through the post-sun fog grey and spoke right to my then-perked ears. Fitting right in the psych-pop theme I seem to have going on with 2007’s best-of, Caribou deliver a rollicking set of string-accompanied, pedal-slurred, falsetto-drenched, psychedelic goodness. What’s more, with just enough electronic bric-a-brac thrown in to modernize their revived-60s sound, Andorra comes of like a well-done reincarnation that post Summer Of Love sizzle that infused 1968. Recommended as a summer album, but would go well with winter drear I suppose. Get it either way, you won’t regret it.

Listen to Caribou at the Hype Machine.

9. BC Camplight – Blink Of A Nihilist

Whoa. A sleeper. I’m not sure I’ve ever even mentioned this album on the blog before now, and that’s a shame. BC Camplight is one dude, his music sounds a little like Ben Folds at times, or sometimes the Beach Boys maybe. I got deep into this album around the end of May, and it fit well with that summer mood. I remember playing it while we shared a meal with friends on the porch outside, having to go inside to skip over the too-oddball “I’ve Got A Bad Cold” so as not to frighten away our guests. But, for an album made by a mentally-unstable one-man-band, it’s got too many moment of pure pop bliss to pass over in the top ten. Go check it out.

Listen to BC Camplight at the Hype Machine.

8. Animal Collective – Strawberry Jam

Yes. I admit it. This album is good. Quite good.

Once again, I am forced to eat my words. Sometimes, when I’m grooving to this album, cranked up to insane volumes, I wonder, “Do I really like this?” If you’ve been reading here for a while, you’ll likely be familiar with my issue here. Did I just follow the other lemmings off the Animal Collective cliff? What happened between this entry and this list?! Well, for both Panda Bear and this record, I have to believe that I had some sort of awakening. Have to believe this, see, because, otherwise, I’m just a no-good poseur… and, I don’t want to be a no-good poseur.

But, you know what? The more I listened to this album, the more I realized how good it is. Yes, it’s different than what normally draws my ears, but that’s a good thing. It’s all “tingly” and full of seemingly misplaces warbles, bleeps, and unidentifiable noises – but it really pulls together into a nice bouncy pop record. You can actually bob you hear to the rhythm, scream along with the vocals, enjoy yourself. So, if you’re old like me, and perhaps set in your ways, I urge you to get this album and give it a fair chance. It’s good, I promise, despite what you think on your first, or second, or Nth listen… you’ll get it eventually.

In closing. Yes. I admit it. This album is good. Quite good.

And besides, in some small way, actually liking it (I do, right?) gives me renewed faith in both my youth and my golden-ear. So, there’s that too…

Listen to Animal Collective at the Hype Machine.

7. The Most Serene Republic – Population

So. Much. Sound.

The Most Serene Republic has released two albums before Population, and each one has ended up on my year-end lists. So, in keeping with tradition (not my tradition of ranking them highly, rather their tradition of making outstanding music), here they are again. The Most Serene Republic’s music is like tightly controlled cacophony, melodies forced more by a tidal wave of sound rather than a single instrument. The busyness suits me well, but I know it tends to confuse and overwhelm some folks, which is why I think this band may often get ignored on a many otherwise respectable year-end lists. It is indeed awash in musical goings-on, but the tunes are brilliant, the themes are grand, the choirlike harmonies ring, and the horns are oh-so shiny and brass. Don’t let that limpwristed sentence fool you, either, this is rock record… for sure. Anyway, go get it… spend a few hours mentally unknotting the dense layers, you’ll be smarter and happier for it.

Listen to The Most Serene Republic at the Hype Machine.

6. Arcade Fire – Neon Bible

Back when I put Neon Bible on my half-best-of list, I wrote “This isn’t Funeral – it’s Neon Bible… it just sure ain’t Funeral.” Then, I wondered if perhaps I’d ruined the album by over-anticipating it. By dissecting each individual track as they slowly leaked one-by-one onto the web. I had. I’d ruined it. But, turns out, in retrospect, it was just a less-good album than the Fire’s superstellar untouchable debut. I won’t lie, I’ll admit that I thought Arcade Fire might be some amazing can-never-do-wrong outfit who’d surpass even the greatness that was Funeral on their second time out, I think a lot of people did. Didn’t happen. But, don’t let that dissuade you from this record. It’s still good. Good enough to sit in the top ten (for me, at least). It’s just not Funeral II.

Listen to The Arcade Fire at the Hype Machine.

5. Spoon – Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga

Somewhere in my head, I’ve long known that Spoon was “kinda good.” Years ago, I got pretty hung up on the bouncy “Everything Hits At Once” from their 2001 Girls Can Tell album, and I’ll be the first to admit that I was guilty of undervaluing their last effort. With that in mind, I grabbed this new Spoon album determined to give it it’s fair chance. Turns out, I didn’t need a ton of convincing, as I could tell the record would be solid from the moment the needle locked into that 1st groove (or… the laser interprets that first “pit” as a 1 or 0… whatever). Britt Daniel’s raspy voice has always mated perfectly with the punchy guitars that punctuate the archetypal Spoon number, but on this record the guys mix it up with irresistible tracks like “You Got Yr. Cherry Bomb,” and haunting little bits like “The Ghost of You Lingers,” this album has an eclecticism that’s hard to beat. If you’re into good music, you won’t want to miss it.

Listen to Spoon at the Hype Machine.

4. Andrew Bird – Armchair Apocrypha

I first got into Andrew Bird a couple years back when someone listed his previous album, Andrew Bird and the Mysterious Production of Eggs, as one of the best overlooked albums of that past year. Indeed, I was intrigued by that album, and ended up falling quite in love with Bird’s softer tunes and thoughtful lyrics. So, when I saw Armchair Apocrypha hit my favorite legal source for purchasing music with real currency (hahaha), I snapped it up in anticipation. Simply put: this album is gorgeous. I can recall the first time I put it on the headphones. I was flying to Oregon and had only loaded it on the iPod that morning. As we rocketed into the skies, the lead track, “Fiery Crash,” a song about envisioning a plane crash, seemed to know right where I was and what I was doing. Throughout the flight the album kept delivering, track after track – and, although on a plane may not be an appropriate location for everyone to have their first “Fiery Crash” experience – I recommend you track this down and pay attention.

Listen to Andrew Bird at the Hype Machine.

3. The Shins – Wincing the Night Away

So, the 2007 Shins album leaked waaay back in October of 2006, with a street-date of January 23, 2007. I first wrote about it here. In fact, this album gave me issues when I was working hard to compile last year’s top ten, as I had to constantly remind myself it was a 2007 album and shouldn’t rank with the other contenders, despite the fact that it was illicitly one of my favorite albums of calendar-year 2006. It’s hard for me now, actually, to get my head back where it was all those months ago and really understand the awesomeness I felt while first getting into this record. But, one reminiscent spin on the iPod and the joy comes flooding back. The Shins are one of the most consistently brilliant bands I’ve heard in a long time, and this album is no exception. Their music is fresh and wonderfully structured: just complex enough to delight music-o-philes with its interesting twists, turns, and hooks; yet “everyday good” enough to hook even the casual Top 40 minded listener. Give this a listen, and try not to swoon just a little bit at amazing moments like singular instance of a harmonized rise of “seaa legs” in “Sea Legs” – that’s a personal challenge.

Listen to The Shins at the Hype Machine.

2. Radiohead – In Rainbows

It’s hard for me to write objectively about Radiohead. I have such an admiration for the band, and I bucket them in that “untouchable” category where an artist can do no wrong. Sure, they’ve failed me to one degree or another over the years, but looking at it from an entire-catalog perspective, the percentage of tracks rated as “amazing” would certainly be unprecedentedly high – up there with something like early 70s Yes; unstoppable, unwavering, consistently brilliant and ahead of their time. In fact, I daresay that, in my opinion, Radiohead are the Beatles of our time – they are just that good. So, having laid out my everything-they-touch-turns-gold case, I’ll now try to convince you that this is an unbiased and deserving second-place finish.

Really though, when news broke on the ‘net that Radiohead were about to release what fans called “LP7” online, and that I could name my own price for it, and that it was coming out in ten days… it really threw me for a loop. I can remember putting on my headphones as I lay down for bed the night it was released, anxious to hear this new piece of work. Didn’t take but a few bars of “Nude” to make me realize that Thom and crew had done it again. In Rainbows is 100% Radiohead… and 100% deserving of the #2 spot on 2007’s list.

You have to have this album. When, after watching Behind the Music, the ‘00s on VH4 one day in 2024, your kids will want to know, “Dad (or Mom), did you used to like Radiohead? VH4 said they were ‘vanguards’ of your generation. Dad (or Mom), what’s a ‘vanguard?’”

The battle for #1 went the full ten rounds this year, but, in the end, the next album won out by narrow decision… Vegas oddsmakers still contest the controversial judgment. But there it is.

Listen to Radiohead at the Hype Machine.

1. Of Montreal – Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?

Hissing Fauna had to win; nothing else could. Nothing else released this year tells a story like this record does. Start to finish, you’re in it song-for-song.

This music makes me want to be something completely different than I am. Someone completely different, even. I hear the plodding rhythm of “The Past Is A Grotesque Animal” and I want to be this guy: floating through Scandinavia on the verge of breakdown, experimenting with drugs and sex, trying to figure out God and love and women. Timeless themes of good music, archetypal rock and roll struggles set to the bounciest glampop/rock that’s been put on wax in recent memory. I sometimes think, if I can just turn it up loud enough, it’ll somehow mix with the resultant blood from my ears and burrow into my head, where it can be my memories, where I can be the story. The brilliant neurosis of this lovesick nomad could be mine, could be me. I could’ve been there falling in love with Meg, flirting with Gods, battling for control of my own personality. It’s an inspired album, a story to get swept away in.

Get it. Bounce to the beats, but listen to the words too. You won’t be sorry.

Listen to Of Montreal at the Hype Machine.

Well, that’s it my friends. Another year gone and another year-end list done. This year, I made iPod playlists for all my past years lists, just to see how well my picks have weathered. I gotta say, not bad.

Hope you enjoyed it. Until next year’s list, keep listening. Goodnight.

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been busy


Been busy. Been really busy.

Play with Keaton. Write a blog. Work. Listen to that new album. Play with Keaton. Kiss Sharaun. Write another blog. Work a little on my screenplay. Play with Keaton. Mail some packages. Do some PowerPoint (work). Feed the cat. Take a shower. Pack a suitcase. Do some laundry. Refill prescriptions. Play with Keaton. Kiss Sharaun. Write another blog.

Been busy.

Monday was a rainy day in sunny California. A cold, grey, rainy day that started sometime in the night when the sound of it in the drainpipe woke me up. Having just the day before turned reluctantly turned on the automatic drip system to the wheat for want of precipitation, I actually hauled myself out of bed in the middle of the night and went into the garage to turn it right back off as the drop drummed on the roof – high-stepping across the concrete garage floor in bare feet like it was a frozen lake. The wheat project, I’m afraid to report, seems to have stalled significantly (another reason why I turned on the irrigation, however briefly). The wheat sprouted, looked to be taking off, and then stalled at about a foot high, where it’s been now for over a month. I’m not too familiar with the growing cycle of winter wheat, but I doubt there’s a massive stalling period at a foot… Who knows what’ll happen there, guess I’ll have to wait and see.

The wooden bar in our closet fell off its little holders the other day, sending unknown pounds of clothing to the ground in crumpled lumps. Ironically, everything’s still on the hangers, snug on the rod, which know lays askew, pointed at the sky through a bunch of hangers stuck in the pile of clothes on the ground. Sharaun said it made a loud noise when it happened, scared her. I was out of town, so I don’t know. I do know that I was here all weekend, and even took Monday off, and I didn’t touch the massive heap that’s spilling out the opened door into our bedroom hallway. I kept telling myself that, while Keaton napped one day, I’d go in there and clean it all up, re-hang the bar, and have it back to normal for when Sharaun got home. But, I never did. As much as I bug Sharaun for not getting “enough done” during the days when I’m at work, I kinda realize how hard it is to be motivated to do work during the short few hours where you can actually get some rest. Empathy… I know thee.

Well, I’m off. On the plus side, I managed to finish off my year-end “best albums” list in addition to this entry tonight, and now all I have to do is format it up and set it to magically auto-publish at midnight Friday. I know the interweb is just wet with anticipation. Goodnight.

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pardon the disappearance


Sorry folks, had a traveling week at work. Late nights and busy days make for bad blogging conditions. Anyway, last week is so last week. The real story here is the weekend. A weekend where I, your average American everydad, was left in charge of the baby all by myself. Yeah, that’s right. What’s more, I’m happy to report that, although it is Sunday, the third day of my four-day single-parent trails, Keaton’s managed to retain all her appendages, her original hair color, and her well-fed, robusto plumpness. In fact, I’ve really been enjoying my daddy-daughter time. I like feeling more solely responsible, it’s kind of empowering. Who knew I could nurture? Maybe I shouldn’t get ahead of myself, I suppose she could still end up down a well or something tomorrow. I better stay on my game.

Anyway, let’s get to this thing. It’s mostly about music today (well, the baby, too), and I’ll likely close out this week the same way, as I’m just about done with my “best albums” list for 2007 and should be ready to post it by Friday.

Today, while Keaton slept, the Sufjan’s song, “Casimir Pulaski Day” shuffled up on the iPod. I’ve long been in love with the song, and it effected me no less today than it ever does. Sure, I couldn’t listen to it with “my boys” in the car on the way to the bar after paintball or anything, but I still love it to death. Such an un-formulaic “sad song, the narrator laying out his heartbreaking case for being angry with God. Sufjan seems to alternate between extreme economy and verbosity with the words he uses to tell his stories, and this is one of the more straight-forward cases (hit up “Flint (For the Unemployed and Underpaid)” as an example of the former). Anyway, I don’t want to ruin it, but I do want you to listen to it. OK? Can you do that for me? Click here and tell me if it makes you want to cry (manly) tears the way it does me.

Way back in the day, before Keaton was born, I wrote an entry dedicated to what I had chosen to be her “first song.” Those who know me know that I tend to mark events, milestones, and the passage of time with musical memories (here are one, two, three, and four examples – and that was only from memory). From the minute I chose it, I knew her “first song” was the right one. The Beatles’ track (which is really more of a McCartney track) “I Will” is a simple, heartfelt, and soothing song. True to my idea, it was the first thing she heard on the way home from the hospital, I think we go through it twice in those few short minutes.

Now, every time I put her down, be it for a nap or at bedtime, I sing it to her as a lullaby. The brevity of it works well for this, as I can usually get through the pre-bedtime diaper change in right about the same time it takes to sing the thing through. The lyrics go like this:

Who knows how long I’ve loved you
You know I love you still
Will I wait a lonely lifetime
If you want me to, I will.

For if I ever saw you
I didn’t catch your name
But it never really mattered
I will always feel the same.

Love you forever and forever
Love you with all my heart
Love you whenever we’re together
Love you when we’re apart.

And when at last I find you
Your song will fill the air
Sing it loud so I can hear you
Make it easy to be near you
For the things you do endear you me to
Ah you know I will
I will.

On that very last “I will” at the end there, Paul jumps up an entire octave and hits a high note to close out the song. Being a Beatles purist, I do my best imitation of this high-note as I finish off Keaton’s lullaby each night, my voice often breaking around the strain. Keaton has oviously learned to recognize this point in the song, because, at the past two night-night concertos, she’s squeaked out the high note right along with me at the end. At first I thought it might be a fluke, but now there’s no denying she knows the song enough to realize when that finale is coming, and hearing her little voice try to match my wavering attempt at alto completely melts my heart. Not only because we can share that “moment,” but also because… she knows the Beatles! Hehe.

Oh man, I have to tell you guys about this Led Zeppelin bootleg downloading spree I’ve been on. I don’t know why, but I just went nuts and started downloading all sorts of live ‘Zep recently. I actually think it started when all the hooplah about their recenr reunion show was boiling over on the internet. Anyway, I ended up finding a couple of simply amazing sounding “soundboard” shows. For those not acquainted with the terminology used to rate the sound quality of live music, soundboard means the show was recorded direct from the mixing board where the band’s engineer monitors all the audio sources and makes them sound good for the audience – it’s the best quality you can hope for in a live bootleg. Anyway, one of the shows is from Dallas in 1975 and one from Paris in 1969. Oh man, you gotta hear these shows… online bootlegging is the way of the future.

Oh, and, on the down-low, ‘Zep’s reunion show from last week has totally already leaked online… you should check it out tout-de-suite (look for the “slowburn” version until something better comes along).

Sorry it was all music. Goodnight.

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not cool eyebrows. not cool.


I should be packing right now. Had plans to be done early. Maybe sit around and write a little before going to bed early. But, the best laid… something… Things went askew when a friend dropped in and found some beers in the fridge (quite against the norm in my fridge, to be honest). He cajoled me into joining him for one, and we sat and gabbed for an hour or so. Not an hour of wasted time, by any means, but an hour I should’ve spent packing, or writing, or putting more CDs on Ebay. Alas, here it is now closing on nine o’clock and I’ve done nothing.

The kitchen is a wreck from dinner, my carry-on is still in the closet, and I’m only up to here on tonight’s blog. I leave for Oregon tomorrow. There for three-ish days for training. Up in the mountains, at some lodge in the snow. I’d be excited if I wasn’t going for a work seminar. Have a lead on some tickets to see the Shins in Portland on Wednesday night – hoping it materializes. I’ve seen them twice before and they always put on a good show. I don’t wanna pay double face-value though… I’m a discerning scalpee like that.

I had Keaton tonight, one of Sharaun’s twice-weekly volleyball games. I don’t mind, I enjoy spending time with her just us. In fact, this weekend, after I get back from up North (I should be packing right now), I’m gonna have her to myself for four whole days. My longest stretch as a single parent yet, as a matter of fact. Sharaun is going down San Diego way to volunteer her time and clean up the burned wreckage from the recent fires. So, while she’s off getting checkmarks by her name in Peter’s log, I’ll be here taking care of Keaton. Oh, I’ve got plans: We’re gonna go to the park (I’m gonna pull her in the wagon); we’re gonna go water the wheat outside (she loves that, I got her a little watering pail so she can help); we’re gonna walk down to the mailbox together (one of her favorite things to do) and I’ll let her turn the key. Yeah, it’s pretty much gonna be bombs.

Hey, eyebrows, what the stank is up with this?

C’mon. Really? You’re gonna do that to me?

Not cool, eyebrows. Not cool.

Goodnight.

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play-by-play hyperbolized-realism


First off: Yes, the James story was fiction. I couldn’t think of anything to write, so I decided to tell a story. Thanks to those who mentioned enjoying it. Somehow, though, I don’t think storytelling is my thing – so I stick to the regular play-by-play hyperbolized-realism I seem to be better at.

Ready for an abbreviated weekend report? OK:

Friday: Anthony calls me around 10am to say he may have an extra ticket to this big ol’ rock show going down in the city. Asks me, if it becomes available, would I want to go. I say “yup.” Noon, the ticket is mine, and I’m to be at his house by 3pm. We arrive in San Francisco sometime around 6pm and stand in line in the freezing cold with eight-thousand other mods-‘n’-rockers to get in. It was a packed bill at six bands. I was excited to see Modest Mouse and Spoon, but the entire show ending up being quite enjoyable. Anthony and I even braved the very young crowd to crush right up into the guts of the floor by Modest Mouse’s set. Home by 2am.

Saturday: Used the morning to catch up on three days of little sleep, woke up at 10:30am. Took a shower, pulled on some jeans, and made the conscious decision to not don a shirt. I intended to remain shirtless the entire day. Sharaun went on a Christmas shopping odyssey and was gone all day, stopping home only briefly around 5pm to bring in a take-and-bake pizza, cook it, eat a slice and head back out. I spent most of the day playing with Keaton and taking picture of CDs I’m selling on Ebay. Never did put on a shirt, either. Not even when a friend dropped by unannounced later in the evening on the way between two bars. I stood there in the living room and had a half-hour conversation barefoot, barechested, and bedenimed. A great lazy day spent being daddy.

Sunday: Church. Driving there we saw a bum on the offramp holding a ridiculously small scrap of cardboard, on which I assume a standard plea for assistance. You know, something boilerplate bum-verbiage, including go-tos like “God bless,” “Vietnam vet,” “anything helps,” and “hungry.” The little piece of cardboard was so tiny, though, that we had no chance of reading it. I jokingly said, “You need a bigger piece of cardboard, buddy.” Sharaun made some comment about him needing one of those big spinny arrows or placards like the sign-people on the corner use to bring in potential homebuyers or lure people to the Cheesesteak joint. Sounded like a brilliant idea to me. I predict panhandlers will soon turn to this more animated form of begging. After church I repaired some of the faux-stonework that has fallen off the front of our house. The fallen pieces stayed where they fell for years now, and the guys were giving me crap about it the other day. So yeah, Sunday I made fun of bums and did home repair.

For some reason the other day, Sharaun had Keaton’s old bouncer out from storage. She took a picture of Keaton sitting in it, and I thought it would be fun to compare that with a picture of her in it when she really used to use it. So, for a lark, here’s three months and twenty-two months. Pretty sure she’s over the weight limit in that second one…

Moving on…

Back some time ago, I made the decision to digitize (convert to MP3) my entire CD collection. After which I sold off all my then-redundant physical discs for profit. If you’ve been with me for a while, you’ll remember that the plan took a long time, but was ultimately wildly successful. I ended up selling ~600 CDs, making a little money in the process. Not bad. In fact, it financed a bit of my Lasik surgery, so it was well worth it. When I sold my discs, though, I held onto all my prized Beatles bootlegs (as well as some other prized bootlegs from various other artists). I knew that, one day, I’d start selling them off too –but I hung onto them partly because of my strong attachment to them, and also because I figured they could fetch more if sold properly (“marketed” as sufficiently rare, etc. – which they indeed are). Anyway, I wrote this whole mess because I wanted to share some statistics:

Selling non-bootleg CDs, I made a somewhat respectable amount per CD. Bootlegs, however, have proven to be much more lucrative. Over the past couple weeks, I’ve been slowly but surely offloading my entire Beatles bootleg collection online. What’s amazing is that, on average, I’ve been making more than ten times what I made selling my “commercial” discs. Not to mention I’ve got another pile of bootlegs from artists who aren’t the Beatles, which I’m hoping will pull just as much dough. As an example of this insanity, while packing up one nine-CD set for sale, I happened upon my original purchase invoice from back in the mid 1990s. Right now, it looks like it’s actually going to make money over that cost, meaning the dang thing actually appreciated while I owned it. Unbelievable.

As you can imagine, I’m working frantically to get all the discs up for sale, as I suspect this is the season where I’ll realize the highest profit on them, capitalizing on Christmas gifts for collectors. It’s bittersweet, selling them off. It feels good to make money, but those things were such a big part of my life at one point. It was such fun acquiring and hearing them for the first time. Scouring obscure record bins for high-priced “imports,” dealing with shady mail-order joints advertised in the back of Goldmine, ordering from “contacts” in Japan and Europe… it was all a big game of cloak-and-dagger where the reward was untold joy at getting to hear Beatles stuff I’d never before heard. It’s sad to see them go, but it’s not that sad… I still have the music, after all.

Anyway, dolla-dolla-billz y’all. Dolla-dolla-billz. Can the RIAA send me to Rikers for this?

Goodnight.

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the day james died


The day started like any other day, I woke up in my bed at home. A few people had crashed at the house, I’m sure their parents thought mine were home. Instead they were states away visiting family. Being sixteen and excited about the prospect of having a real “my folks are out of town” party, I had declined to join them. Chris’ older brother got us the keg. It was a wild night. Someone brought cocaine.

James was already dead when I walked out of my bedroom. Everyone else was still asleep. Mark was on the couch, Eric was on the chair, Tim and Scott both on the floor, next to James. We’d all tidied the place a bit just before calling it night, as the early light was filling the sky; it was only just hours ago, so things looked pretty unremarkable – only the quarter-full keg in the laundry room to give us away. James was plenty alive then. We all were.

Beer and weed; then the coke. I think it was Mark who brought that, not even he’d tried it before. No one wanted to, of course, but we all did. It was glorious; what God must’ve intended sixteen to feel like. We bounced off walls. We sat around the table in the dark outside, the screened-in porch lit by the moon and the cherries from our cigarettes alone. As the hours passed and the sky began to go from black to grey, we all came down pretty hard. It was the last time we saw James alive.

He didn’t look dead. He looked like Tim and Scott, sleeping on the floor in front of the entertainment center. He looked pretty much like he’d always looked. I walked right past him, right out the front door to get the paper. Mark sat up as I came back in the door. We shared a sly grin; silently acknowledging a shared rough night’s sleep. I threw the paper at Eric, hitting him in the leg. Tim and Scott were up now too. Scott kicked James, and no one was concerned at his lack of reaction

It was probably fifteen minutes later when Mark shouted to the porch that there was something wrong with James. Tim, Scott, Eric and I were on the porch again, having morning cigarettes and trying to shake the cobwebs. I remember the day being warm, even in the mid-morning. Tim and Scott went inside, Eric and I stayed to finish our cigarettes. No sooner had they left than did Scott come rushing back out. “James won’t wake up, man. Something’s really wrong.”

I can remember the immediate crushing fear that dropped down onto me, even before I’d put out the cigarette and followed them back into the house. I think I knew as soon as I heard them. Everyone of us knew what was wrong; none of us knew what to do. Eric and I wanted to call 911. Tim was doing CPR, saying how they just did it at dive practice and he remembered how. Scott was back on the porch with a new cigarette. We all watched Tim, hoping James would wake up. He stopped, and it was silent.

When we piled into the car, we put James in the middle seat between Eric and Tim. Scott stayed at the house to wait, Mark rode shotgun. I remember what was on the radio, and still can’t listen to it. Tim went into the emergency room while we all waited in the car, parked in the drive-up loop. He came back with two guys and a nurse following. No one said a word to any of us; they just took James and left. Parking, we went inside.

I thought we were all going to jail. James was dead. We’d done drugs; we’d been drunk; James was gone. No one spoke at all. We sat in the waiting room and looked at our feet.

Ten minutes later, a nurse came out and told Eric we’d brought our friend just in time; that we’d done the right thing and he was going to be OK.

And that’s how James came back from the dead. Not a single one of us was asked to fill out any paperwork. No one ever asked our names. We simply gave the desk attendant James’ full name and phone number, and were told we could go. No one wanted to know what happened; they never even asked.

His parents never knew who brought him. He never told.

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George Foreman is a dirty liar


Well, we made it to December, blog-readin’ friends. If you’ve been around a while, I’m glad to have had you with me for another year. If you’re a newbie, hopefully you like what you’ve seen and might decide to hang out in ’08. I promise I’ll do better, OK? OK.

Sunday night and I just finished doing dishes. Let me tell you, George Foreman is a dirty liar. Every time I see that Sharaun’s hauled down that Foreman Grill to cook a chicken breast, my head sags. Just the thought of having to clean that thing out: the awkwardness of getting it positioned just right so I can direct the flow of water onto it while keeping the critical not-waterproof parts clear of moisture; the cumbersome need-three-hands job of holding the thing in place, open, and scrubbing it; and the detailed labor of cleansing every last toasted bit of chicken chicken from the ruts in the uneven grooved surface. I can’t believe they were allowed to market this thing with a phrase like “Cleanup is a snap!” Maybe a snapped-neck from the yoga-like positions you have to contort into in order to get the thing clean. Maybe that.

OK, moving on. Hope everyone had a good weekend. Here’s some stuff that made mine nice.

Keaton woke up around 7:30am this morning, hollering “Get out!, get out!” It was my morning to go get her up and changed, and after I did I brought her back into our room where Sharaun was still in bed. And, as is good to do on cold Sunday mornings before church, we all three climbed into bed together and snuggled under the covers for a while before getting up and getting going. While there, I asked Keaton if she had a good night’s sleep. “Did you have any good dreams?,” I asked. “Yes,” she replied. “Oh,” Sharaun said, “What did you dream about?” “God,” she replied, and then, “Frog… hiding.” “God and a hiding frog?,” we asked. “Garbamane,” she answered (her pronunciation of “garbage man”). The way I figure it, she had an awesome science-fiction like dream where God, hiding himself in the body of a frog, was trying to escape an evil garbage man. Sounds like a pretty cool dream.

Saturday and Sunday both, Sharaun and I spent time each day while Keaton napped assembling and decorating our Christmas tree. We haven’t even put up the tree the past two years, as we usually head to Florida around mid-December and it just didn’t seem worth it only to have to come home and take it all down again. But, since our annual Christmas-in-Florida trip doesn’t start until later in the month this year, Sharaun suggested we setup the tree. I was reluctant, as I still hate the thought of having to come home and take it all down after I’ve already “done” Christmas, but I agreed. In the end, I’m glad I relented. I forgot how much I enjoy putting up and decorating the tree. Putting the iPod on a Christmas shuffle, drinking some hot chocolate, and bickering over whether or not I’d hung two Santas to close to each other or gotten the “peaks” of two strands of garland “too aligned.”

Anyway, here’s some photos of the process we thought you might enjoy (sorry for all the grain… high-ISO, low-light, and I did my best to de-noise and re-gamma them… I’m just no photographer):

Anyway, it was a nice “family” weekend, and now, with the lights out late at night, the glow all those little multicolored lights on the tree help to remind me of how much I love this time of year.

That’s all folks. I love you all, but I’m outta here. Goodnight.