DownerMan Revival
Random Bits
by Alek Grabinski - e-mail me
Someone told me that the mail in Seattle is sorted by a guy in
Mexico. A guy in Tijuana or Guadalajara or Juarez watches a video monitor
of the mail as it passes through the machine in Seattle; he reads the ZIP
code, keys it into a keypad in front of him, and the machine in Seattle
prints out a label and attaches it to the piece of mail. Turns out it's
actually cheaper that way. Ain't NAFTA grand?
I'm going to lose my big toenail. Has that ever happened to you? A
little accident, and boom, it's on its way to leaving me. I never
expected the degree of shit I'd have to take for wearing sandals to
work; it's like closed-toe footwear keeps your brains in or something.
People today are incapable of being bored. That's a valuable skill to
have, tolerance of boredom; despite what TV might suggest, our lives
cannot be thrill-a-minute festivals of action. Cultivate your sense of
inner slowness.
I saw the Disco Biscuits last month, my third live show. The audience
was the typical hard-to-rouse Santa Cruz bunch, only half-filling the
venue on a school night, so maybe my perceptions were colored by those
facts. But I couldn't help thinking two things: "I wish I were stoned, so
I wouldn't have to think Thought #2" and "These guys have managed to
combine that smooth, comforting Moody Blues sound with
well-executed-but-simple power-chord I-IV, I-V, and I-V-VIII
progressions." Live, it's great - it's majestic. Live and stoned,
it's The Greatest - which is why discussbiscuits has a greater
preponderance of "I was/am so wasted..." posts than rmp ever did.
Gary Zukav writes that impatience is the ultimate hubris. It
puts your needs over the needs of the Universe - the zenith of
self-aggrandizement. Think about that next time you're caught in the
wrong line at the post office.
I think there is a large group of people who buy cellphones so that
they can be contacted by their friends with instructions on how to live
their lives. The message is that it's always more exciting somewhere
else, and that someone else's needs and desires are more important than
yours. Our local newspaper ran a photo of a bride and groom at the altar,
and prominently attached to the husband-to-be was a pager. How f*cked up
is that?
Beck's Midnight Vultures is a perfect album. It is to the Los
Angeles scene what Paul's Boutique was to Brooklyn - encapsulating
the elements of the local culture, and congealing them into something
innovative and special. A local music critic dismissed this album as a
retread of something Prince - sorry, TAFKAP - could have released fifteen
years ago. Sorry, Brad, but Prince never wrote a line so unmistakably
Beck as "wearing hepatitis contact lens."
Man's at home. Doorbell rings. He opens the door, but there's nobody
there except a snail on the stoop. He picks up the snail and hurls it
across the street. A year passes, and the doorbell rings. It's the
snail; "What the hell was that all about?"
Something I'd like to see a resurgence of? The dope slap. Without
fear of getting shot or stabbed in return. Do something obviously
stupid? *slap* "Ow, that hurt!" "Damn right, fool, you gonna do
it again?" (sulking) "No..." Why do we have to defend the right of any
and every fool to be unwaveringly dumb?
Phish's televised performance on ABC over NYE was perfect - the
Grateful Dead lead-in, the not-terribly-rocking choice of song, the decent
close-ups of the band. It left millions wondering, "So... what's the big
deal?" But Peter Jennings was respectful of the band and the
phenomenon. I never got to find out: Was this the largest concert of the
worldwide millennial celebration?
It didn't strike me until just now that I miss Ray
White more than I have let myself realize. As I sit here, late as
usual with this column, I believe it's too late to get myself into the
1999 Highlights column. So I'll tell you what it was: KVHW at the
Fillmore, 2-26-99. A jam combo at the top of their game, only thirteen
months old but already with a solid stable of tunes under their belts and
an infinity of possible paths. Exciting, mostly instrumental music - with
the soulful antics of Ray White exhorting me to do what I wanted to do; he
wasn't going to tell me who to sock it to. Farewell, Ray; part of me
wants to finish that sentence with, "you dumb bastard", but it's your
journey; may you find the prize.
DM
