I switched around the tracks on that second mix cd a bit. I edited the post below to reflect the changes. It's better and more consistent now. Went to see the Decemberists with Jeff Hanson and Mary Lou Lord tonight at the Knit. Mainly I wanted to see the Decemberists, but was also curious to see the sound of a girl come out of Jeff Hanson. It's kinda weird. He is a dude, talks like a dude, but sings more like a girl than John Flansburgh ever will. I mean, it's kinda like if you stuck Elliott Smith's nards in a vice grip. Matt said "Guys just don't sound like that." And I said "Not guys with testicles." But he was really good. And apparently, very friendly. Then again, everyone is friendly to Matt. Sometimes I feel like I live in a sitcom called "Everybody Loves Matt Orphan," and I am the jealous Robert to his beloved Raymond.

The Decemberists were fucking phenomenal! The breadth and depth of their music had me in awe the entire set. Hints of Hitchcock (Robyn), Belle & Sebastian, Kurt Weill, Bertold Brecht, and more...they even sample diaogue from Guy Maddin's film "Archangel" on their full-length cd Castaways & Cutouts. If you haven't checked them out, they have a track on the new Kill Rock Stars compilation Mollie's Mix entitled "I Don't Mind." Jeff Hanson also has a song on that. Many people left after the Decemberists' set, and frankly, I don't blame them. I find Mary Lou Lord nothing much more than a folky indie-rock jukebox. I mean, I don't dis her for playing mainly covers while not emphasising her originals (I am told she does indeed write songs, but I've not paid enough attention to care), but more for the fact that her covers don't do much for me. I'd rather go see Lois Maffeo, Richard Thompson, Guided By Voices, Daniel Johnston (on a good day, anyway, though I am led to believe not many of those happen anymore) and Bevis Frond, rather than hear her sing-songy, monotonous renditions of these artists. I'm sorry, but she does nothing for me at all.

Excited about the 80's-movie-type painting party at my house this saturday afternoon. Details forthcoming. Sleep notwithstanding.

j.

Just in case you were curious as to the exact tracklistings for the "J-Ro's Cry Cry Sad Music Series" Volumes one & two, here they are....

Volume One: When You Get Back From Wherever

1. Buffalo Tom "She Belongs To Me"
2. Radiohead "Where I End And You Begin"
3. Interpol "NYC"
4. +/- (Plus/Minus) "Summerlong [Boy Version]"
5. The Postal Service "Nothing Better "
6. Wilco "A Magazine Called Sunset"
7. Hayden "Waiting For A Chance To See Her"
8. Wolf Colonel "Thinking About You"
9. Kill Creek "Hardly Accounted For "
10. Long Winters "Carparts"
11. Uncle Tupelo "Wherever"
12. Pete Yorn "Black"
13. Railroad Jerk "Rollerkoaster"
14. John Vanderslice "Time Travel Is Lonely"(With Spoon)
15. Rhett Miller "Come Around"
16. Elliott Smith "Happiness"
17. Decemberists "I Don't Mind"
18. Idlewild "American English"
19. Six By Seven "The Way I Feel Today"
20. U2 "All I Want Is You"

Volume Two: When All My Trials Are Over and All My Friends Are There

1. Alkaline Trio "Nose Over Tail"
2. With Every Idle Hour "El Camino" (rough mix)
3. Eugenius "Blue Above The Rooftops"
4. Boo Radleys "Lazy Day"
5. Guided By Voices "Idiot Princess"
6. Bright Eyes "From A Balance Beam"
7. Ben Folds "Still Fighting It"
8. Ben Kweller "Make It Up"
9. U2 "Bad"
10. Foo Fighters "Everlong"
11. Sunny Day Real Estate "Two Promises"
12. Josh Rouse & Kurt Wagner "That's What I Know"
13. Pearl Jam "Thumbing My Way"
14. The Get Up Kids "Out Of Reach"
15. Wolf Colonel "That's My Life"
16. Bedhead "What's Missing"
17. Emmit Rhodes "Somebody Made For Me"
18. Flaming Lips "Knives Out"
19. Elbow "George Lassos The Moon"
20. Wilco "More Like The Moon"

Second volume is all done, except for the editing and "mastering." It is soooo good, and it seems to have a couple accidental themes running through it. Go figure. Right now, though, I'm listening to the new CD by Mull Historical Society, entitled "Us" that I got for renewing my Magnet subscription/prescription. I don't know why there isn't a bigger buzz on this guy, because he's really freakin' good. I'm sure he'll get a buttload of comparisons to Joseph Arthur for a multitude of reasons, despite the only Peter Gabriel connection for Colin MacIntyre is the album title...as far as I know, anyway. But MacIntyre is a briliant arranger and songwriter, as evidenced on even just the first listen...as I listen to it more, I am sure more subtleties will expose themselves and envelope me. For fans of The Chamber Strings, Hollies, Zombies, New Pornographers, Destroyer, Zumpano, etc.

In other news, I think my left foot is trying to secede from my body. It's not a very pretty sight. I don't know what's wrong with it, but I thought it was getting better before, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe some help from fast actin' Tinactin will do the trick? I hope my foot doesn't grow a boil that turns into another head like in "How To Get Ahead In Advertising." That'd be craaaaaazy!

I think that's it for now. Maybe more rambling later on. Who knows? Nobody knows...but Jesus.

not Jesus,
j.

Listening to the newer mix cd I've been making this week -- adding a couple songs here and there after work in the mornings and whatnot. It's pretty much all over except for the editing and level-adjustments. Yes, I am the most anal mix-maker ever. I once made a girlfriend of mine COMPLETELY REDO a mixtape because the level fluctuations were too erratic. In all fairness to me, half of the songs were recorded too hot, and were distorted as all hell, while others were coming from a cassette source and barely audible. The remade mixtape was much improved, but there was astill at least four bad songs, including one by Slapshot and some weird Albany band.

I've been so disenchanted lately with sitting in front of this computer screen. It makes me feel trapped when I am inside this room. I'm so obsessed with finally moving across the driveway that I feel as if the downtime between here and then should be a magical time filled with an internet fairy allowing me access to do all sorts of crazy things from the comfort of wherever isn't this room. Of course, I have yet to buy my Apple Powerbook laptop, and with Sallie Mae breathing down my neck and charging me a late fee for loans that started incurring debt 12 years ago, which I find just a trifle ridiculous, as they've been charging me interest since about 6 months after my graduating a SUNY school with a degree that I have barely put to use in the 8 years since. I think college loans should only be paid back when it is truly appropriate -- as in the case of certain nameless friends of mine who make 6 figures a year, as opposed to my barely making poverty level for 2002.

As some of you may be aware -- my job schedule is killing me slowly but surely, ensuring that I will never see my friends on the nights I am off, for they are scheduled to be off on the days I work, and vice versa. My friends really mean the world to me, and not seeing them (especially when I feel as low as I did last night) really takes its toll on me. Otherwise, there are things to rejoice about... I am currently in the throes of fixing-up the little house on the other side of the driveway with the intent to move in before the end of this month. There will be a 80's movie-type painting party (probably next weekend, say Saturday the 17th -- Shauna should have a handle on the deets), with the obligatory Howard Jones songs, paint-splattering fights and ensuant make-out extravaganza, all done-up montage stylee, and culminating in Demi Moore's character (parts to be auditioned, but you'll have to be out Cassie for it) christening "The House" (or should I just be ridiculous and name the house "The Boat" in honor of the best teen movie ever (if you don't get the references by now, you are not invited. Sorry, them's the rules)? I will need one of my more contact-friendly friends to call Mr. Goldthwait's agent to get him and to show up as Egg Stork (I think I can send someone else to scour the streets to look for Tom Villard -- maybe some village's Prodigal Idiot hath returneth from whence he came hither).

In other fun news, Nico has added me to her group of blog-buddies who can post on her "team" as it were, alongside others, some known to me, others not. Should liven things up a bit around these bloggy depths. I would ask people to be part of this blog, but I am selfish. I would like to find a way to add a comments dealy, though. Because, I am selfish and egotistical. Yet I have unhealthy bouts of self-doubt. Nothing ladies love more than an insecure egocentric with delusions of adequacy.

Did I mention that "The Boat" has little secret compartments in the faux-wood paneling that my crazy grandfather made? It's true. I also am somewhat expecting an oven/furnace thingy on par with Dr. Klopek's. However, the basement in question is one of those "enter through the trap door in the backyard, not really connected to the house, but merely underneath it and dug out of the ground almost as an afterthought to the modern age once the well ran dry (yes, there is a shaft/empty well in the backyard, where water was once actually supplied for my great-grandparents...I can show you the hole), so it's really, really, really, really, really (we're talking John C. McGinley, aka Dr. Cox on "Scrubs," quick, machine-gun-like, repetetive "really"s here), really, really, really, really, really, really musty and creepy down there, I'm sure. I mean, there USED TO BE a washer and dryer down there. I think it got eaten by something. Considering the eerie shadow of the former Kings Park Psychiatric Center that my neighborhood falls under, nothing would surprise me. After all, I HAVE A DRIED-UP WELL HOLE IN MY BACKYARD!!!! And did I mention the other random hole in my backyard? There is a random hole, about 6 inches in diameter, in the center of a concrete circle, itself about 4 feet in diameter, in my yard, that we used to use as first or third base, depending on which direction we were hitting the balls. The covered-up well-hole was third or first base, accordingly.

Well, I must say that, although I was hoping to not stay up until 8am, that I am feeling much better having typed whatever the hell it is that I have typed, though I would dare say I'd be happier still if plans ever worked out the way they should for once. Such is life. Therefore, I recommend you all pick up the long out of print EP "What Is There To Smile About?" by the Close Lobsters, for the song "Let's Make Some Plans." (The Wedding Present did a smashing cover of it for the Hit Parade series, if you prefer that). If you can't find that, I can always burn it for you, along with the full-length "Foxheads Stalk This Land" which I stupidly bought INSTEAD of the import version of "In Utero" by Nirvana for $7 used at Music Den in Port Jeff, and later returned my domestic copy of said title to Tower, only to go back to Music Den and have the import be gone. The opposite of "bonus." As if the Close Lobsters cd wouldn't have been there from that moment (in 1996), until recently, when Music Den closed its doors...Ground Control to Major Dumbass...

I finally purchased an import copy of "In Utero" at one of those outlet stores in the Tangier Outlet place while unemployed this past winter. The dumbest part of the whole saga is that I've owned "Gallons of Rubbing Alcohol Flow Through The Strip" on the 12" single for "Heart-Shaped Box" since the day WNYO received two copies of it in the mail, and Keith Schroeder and I immediately pulled out one copy and placed it on the office turntable, and set the needle down gently, as we heard the first "official" new Nirvana song since "Curmudgeon." I have to say that it was one of the last moments of my life that I've remembered being so excited to hear a brand new song by my favorite band. Some things have come close, but I think Kurt Cobain took a little of that excited eternal youth with him to his grave that day in April of 1994. I actually ripped all of my strings out of my guitar when I heard the news.

My Grandpa Elliott died exactly a year later, one month before my college graduation. He and my Grandma Muriel bought me my first guitar when I was three. It was too big for me, and I was only three years old. I didn't know what the fuck I was doing. I was wearing a ski-cap on my head (pre-pre-Grunge, mind you), often shirtless, and prone to sticking my tongue out like Gene Simmons (even at three I was cognizant of KISS, somehow). Years later, the decaying carcass of my first guitar could be seen in my grandparents basement, near the out-of-tune upright piano that I always will associate with time spent at 762 Durham Rd. Of course, by the time my grandfather passed on, I had searched for this relic of my past, but found nothing. Sadly, when my grandmother eventually sold the house, I was in Seattle, and could not save the piano, either. Mind you, I am not a piano player by any means; I am no Dudley Moore, to be sure...but there are calming effects brought on when I tickle the ivories. Well, maybe not for those unlucky enough to hear my butchering of the language of music...

That's enough of that...sorry for the rollercoaster ride. So much more I could say, but so little desire to cry.

n.p. Destroyer - Thief

This has been a crazy week so far, and it is only Wednesday night/Thursday morning. Sitting here listening to a pretty decent indie-rock release by a band called Late Night Television. Some good, rocking songs in the vein of early Superchunk and stuff, with great song titles. Songs such as "My Life As a Bad Movie and an Even Worse Soundtrack," "Sometimes I Forget I Hate Myself" and "I Wish This Was Funny" kinda take me back to 1994, when I was all innocent and naive and only 21. Now, I am cynical and naive and ona collision course with 30. Hell, the fact that the album is entitled "A Personal Account of How I've failed at Everything" is reason enough to give it a spin.

I made an awesome, depressing mix cd yesterday with my free time. It is sad, but it also rocks out. Artists included on it are Interpol, Wilco, Hayden, Radiohead, +/-, Buffalo Tom, Wolf Colonel, The Postal Service, The Decemberists, Uncle Tupelo, Kill Creek, The Long Winters, John Vanderslice, Railroad Jerk, Elliott Smith, Rhett Miller, Pete Yorn, Idlewild, Six By Seven and U2. It run the gamut. Stuff that didn't fit on it will be included on the next mix cd, which I've started, and will contain Ben Folds, Ben Kweller, Pearl Jam, Josh Rouse + Kurt Wagner, and more TBA. If you want a copy of the one that's finished, email me and let me know. Maybe make me a mix, too.

Saw Pearl Jam tonight at the Colisseum. Fucking amazing!!! It was my third time seeing them, and by far the best. Matt Cameron is such a great drummer. His arrangements on the older songs totally blow away Dave Abruzzese's stick work on the tours for Ten and Vs. And the newer songs just keep getting better. They opened with "Long Road" and it was phenomenal...I've always been a big fan of their darker, more dirge-like material, and they played a nice selection of these tunes, including "I Am Mine" and "Thumbing My Way." Matt and I just had such a great time. They played a smattering of old songs as well, spanning their entire career thus far. One highlight was definitely during "Elderly Woman..." when Matt & I were swaying to the beat, holding each other and singing along. Few people on this earth I would rather see a Pearl Jam show with. He was so psyched, that it kicked up my excitement level even higher. I'm glad that I got the coolest brother in the world and you didn't.

I just find myself disappointed in the caliber of intelligence of the people in attendance. I mean, you kinda go into a Pearl Jam show knowing Eddie Vedder's (outspoken) political beliefs. I mean, it's fine and well to disagree with him, that's not the issue. But most people don't pay $40 or whatever to boo the message the performer is trying to convey. You would think that for 3 hours of an honest-to-God amazing rock show, you could shut your dumbass "I'm proud to be an American living in George Bush's eminent domain" mouth. I mean, Christ, I don't go to your mom's job and jump up and down on the bed, do I? Let the man speak his mind. At first, I thought that maybe these people were just booing the latex Gee Dubya mask Vedder strolled out in during the second encore. Turns out, these folks were booing Eddie for singing a song (Bush Leaguer) about the president being stupid (which he is -- I mean, there should be no debating that! Listen to the shit that comes out of his mouth when he talks!!) and a lousy businessman (also true). Vedder was a good sport, though, and encouraged open debate. I heard enough people chanting "George Bush suck!" to not get completely discouraged. I thought the kid with the mohawk running around with the G.W. mask had the right idea. Sometimes I find it hard to believe that we manage to all co-exist on the same planet, let alone the same country.

Of course, the after-show political discussion between Matt and I about how we can never talk about politics with anyone reminded me that I get too upset when I discuss politics, because it just all makes me so angry. I had to stop reading the good political publications because every little thing would just make me froth at the mouth. You might not know this about me, but I do believe in things other than music...it just upsets me too much that nobody likes to bring up politics in my presence for fear of awakening the sleeping berserker within me. But I do enjoy it when Matt and I get into a political discussion, because it is nice to hear intelligent things coming from someone else's mouth other than my own. But the show was still so incredible, regardless. They played a few of my favorite cover songs they've ever done -- "Crazy Mary," "Last Kiss" and "(Keep On) Rockin' In The Free World."

Can't wait for the shows at the Garden in August! Downside is that it reminded me of all the Pearl Jam vinyl and cds I no longer own because of the ex-girlfriend with no turntable who still has them all. I can kiss all that stuff goodbye. It's been two and a half years, and I don't even know if she is alive or dead. I probably don't care, either, except that if she dies, I want that stuff back. But hey, I still have the LP of John Fahey's "The Yellow Princess" that her dad gave me. I consider that hazard pay for having to spend time with him and his Deer Hunteresque Vietnam-induced dementia. But I seemed to have veered off-topic just a bit. Sorry 'bout that.

So how about me being the Consummate [sic] Hipster? How did they know I worship DeLillo as a literary deity? That wasn't even a question. Weird thing is, I have never worn a leather jacket. But I do love my coffee. Just try to take it away from me. I dare ya.... Didn't think so. I was gonna apologize for not updating this enough... but whenever I do, it's this huge freaking monstrosity of a post. Speaking of "freaking" (as an adjective, not as a verb to describe a fun activity), Finnamore suggested last week that I start a "Freakin' Jar" because I say "freakin" to freakin much. I don't know what the fuck he's freakin' talking about. No, really. I don't freakin' get it.

You are the Consummate Hipster. Newbies bow to
you, everyone else just stares, as you swagger
down the street with "Little Green
Bag" stuck in your head.


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