The Impulsive Donut Purchase

It was supposed to be a routine stroll through Albertson's on a Sunday night. I was there for a few items, and a few items only: onions, zucchini, bell peppers, olive oil, milk. No frills, no gratuities.

Suddenly, there they were: Entenmann's chocolate-covered donuts. It hit me in the gut, right off the bat. Just from the picture on the box, I could already feel them sliding sweetly into my mouth. A voice cried out in my head. "Aw, whaddaya need those for?" it said pointedly. "You know you're only gonna eat one and then you're gonna be sick." Maybe so. Maybe it would only be a foolish waste of my money. But it was too late to turn back. I'd already tasted their fluffy goodness in my head, and I'd be damned if I let caution stop me now. I picked them up and threw them in my cart.

Finally, after a scrumptious dinner of black bean soup, I opened the box. With trepidation, I grabbed the first donut. It was just as I'd hoped: soft, tangy, expansive, sugary. Thrilled by having read my appetite so successfully, I reached for a second one. It was then that I began losing momentum. The voice inside my head was right; I couldn't even eat two of these things. Midway through the second donut, I maxed out.

The refrigerator came through, in the clutch, to save the day.

The Eternal Question: Bueller or McFly?

Who's "cooler," Ferris Bueller or Marty McFly? - IMDB Message Board

Think about it. At first, the question seems simple. But upon further investigation, the matter becomes quite thorny. Each character is "cool" in his own distinct way. Bueller may trump McFly in a certain department, but McFly will dominate Bueller in a separate department. After thoroughly dissecting the issue, I've concluded that there really is no definitive answer.

The Lynch Effect

A mild mannered husband and wife, successful and happy, watch the David Lynch oddity propaganda piece Inland Empire, and then decide to release their perfectly normal and unassuming album of indie folk ..... BACKWARDS!

See the whole story over at Pitchfork.

"...it's not just boring, it actually becomes depressing."

Pink Floyd: The Wilderness Years (1968-1972) - Part II

Before I give a track-by-track breakdown of my amazingly well-chosen Wilderness Years mix, I'd like to provide a cursory overview of each of the six albums that comprise the Wilderness Years (I've linked the AllMusic reviews to each title):

A Saucerful of Secrets (1968): As Syd Barrett became more and more unreliable, the band initially held hopes that, even if he wasn't able to tour, maybe he would still be able to write studio material a la Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys (and we all know what a great arrangement that was). Eventually even that proved too much to ask for the young Barrett, and suddenly the rest of the band had to slap together a decent follow-up album and hope that nobody noticed their lead singer's almost complete absence. Considering the circumstances under which the album was recorded, then, it's amazing that it's as good as it is. Fortunately for us, the standards for albums at the time meant that even half-assed albums were pretty eclectic and rewarding. Sure it's a hodgepodge, but it's never a boring hodgepodge; not every song is a highlight, but they all at least have something to offer. Rick Wright continues his apparent lead singer duties with the pleasant (if dated) "Remember A Day" and See-Saw," while Waters rumbles his bass for 6 minutes and calls it "Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun." The entire band freaks out on the 12-minute title track, and if it seems a bit like album filler, at least it's interesting (also keep in mind that this was still 1968, and that this stuff must have seemed pretty far out at the time - at least with the aid of cough syrup or whatnot). Syd gets his last gasp with the delightfully warped "Jugband Blues," in which he brought a Salvation Army band into the studio and told them to play "whatever you want." Judged as a debut album (which it essentially is), A Saucerful of Secrets is pretty good. I probably like it more than their real debut album.

More (1969): Here's a soundtrack album to a film nobody has seen. While most Pink Floyd fans will agree that the album is wildly inconsistent, with some great highs and some skippable lows, no one actually agrees on which songs are the highs and which songs are the lows. There are at least four or five short instrumental pieces that aren't exactly real songs, but were never meant to be either, so they're enjoyable as such. Let's just say that, for a band that didn't know how to write lyrics yet, soundtracks must have seemed like the perfect career move.

Ummagumma (1969): Here's a document of a group that really doesn't know what to do with itself, and figures it might as well fart up its own asshole. Ummagumma is a half-live, half-studio double-album set. The live album is pretty terrific, but the truth is, aside from a seriously reworked "Careful With That Axe, Eugene" (which was only previously available as an obscure B-side), it's all old material. With the studio album, they decided to copy the Who's formula of A Quick One While He's Away, and divide up all the songwriting equally among the four members. That's right, drummer Nick Mason gives it a shot with "The Grand Vizier's Party, I-III." Gilmour and Waters come the closest to actually writing real songs, but it's clear that even they still need more practice (although Waters does come up with the memorably titled "Several Species of Small Furry Animals Gathered Together in a Cave and Grooving with a Pict"). The end effect of the album is basically: "Here's a bunch of stuff we tried." Nevertheless, Pink Floyd still prove that, even when they're not very good, at least they're interesting.

Atom Heart Mother (1970) : Floyd begin smoothing out their rough edges, and as a result they make an album that's pretty even all the way through. The first half is a side-long collaboration with an obscure British composer that doesn't really go anywhere great, but it doesn't go anywhere bad either. The second half consists of a Waters song, a Wright song, a Gilmour song and a whole band song (Nick thankfully wasn't asked to contribute a piece of his own). Surprisingly, Rick Wright comes up with the most enjoyable number, the Kinks rip-off "Summer '68". Waters' folky "If" at first seems like a throwaway, but it improves with repeated listens. Gilmour's "Fat Old Sun" isn't amazing but it's nice. The band ends with the meandering jam "Alan's Psychedelic Breakfast," which is exactly what it describes: the sound of their roadie Alan eating breakfast. As Rolling Stone so aptly put it in their 1970 review, "Try freaking out again, Floyd!" In sum, it's an album or fans only - but fans will probably like it.

Meddle (1971): It might have seemed like Floyd had been making genuine albums for the past fews years, but in retrospect, they were pretty much slapping them together. Saucerful was recorded with the line-up in transition, More was a soundtrack album, Ummagumma was half-live, half-studio, and Atom Heart Mother was an orchestral prog rock experiment. Meddle is, for all intents and purposes, the first real post-Barrett Floyd album. That's not to say, however, that it still isn't a Wilderness Years album. The first side is the typical grab-bag, with a Doctor Who-ish instrumental, a lounge jazz number, and a bluesy throwaway sung by Gilmour's dog. Sure, they were still filling up the album space, but they were getting better at it. Side Two's "Echoes," however, is basically where the Wilderness Years end: stylistic chaos gives way to carefully-blended atmospheric and compositional control. Millions of frat boy stoners were waiting around the bend.

Obscured By Clouds (1972): Tossed off in a week, it's hard to believe that this album officially precedes Dark Side of the Moon in the discography. If anything, it really belongs between Atom Heart Mother and Meddle. If you're not expecting too much, this might be the most underrated Floyd album of all; almost every song has a memorable hook and the production is pleasantly warm and pastoral. Most of the lyrics, however, are extremely dopey. Anyone expecting something along the lines of "Did they get you to trade/Your heroes for ghosts/Hot ashes for trees/Hot air for a cool breeze/Cold comfort for change" will be best advised to look elsewhere.

Some other bits and pieces:

Early singles: If you want to witness a band in its actual moment of awkward adolescence, these are worth checking out. As serious attempts at psychedelic pop, "Paintbox," "Julia Dream" and "Point Me at the Sky" are pretty laughable, but they're extremely evocative of late 60s Swinging London. To hear Waters, Wright and Gilmour try to be the next Donovan is a bit like getting your own private glimpse of the universe before it expanded.

Zabriskie Point soundtrack: Floyd also cut a couple of stray tracks for Michelangelo Antonioni's entertainingly clueluess late 60s counterculture movie (in which a rebellious young man answers the phone by saying "Goodbye?"). The highlight is a reworked version of "Care With That Axe, Eugene" with the much-improved title of "Come In Number 51, Your Time Is Up."

Still Playing

I put the Clockwork Orange soundtrack on after 2001's. Wow, is that music annoying when listened to outside of the movie. The pieces that are interesting are the snippets of Beethoven's Ninth, and let's be honest, the Ninth would sound good played by my dog on a toy fiddle.

Oh, that song 'I Want to Marry a Lighthouse Keeper' by Erika Eigen is pretty good. I don't remember actually hearing it during the movie but it would be a good song to put into a band's set list as one of those cute old songs that somehow are more fun to listen to than anything the band has actually written. I'd love it if you'd polish my lamp by the light of day Erika.

Next up on 'Great Things Taken Out of Context' I'll read Dostoevsky to a starving man and paint my kitchen with scenes from 'Antigone'.

Until then, watch this amusing new anti-drug PSA.

Now Playing

So I found a copy of the 2001:A Space Odyssey Soundtrack in my pile of records and I have to say, Kubrick was cheating. I just watched the sunset and was spooked out. Just a normal sunset, no volcanoes or dramatic cloudscapes to gussy it up, and it was more disturbing than watching Blow-Up alone and in a romantic mood.

No wonder a camera spinning around some crappy models seemed impressive. Now that I think about it, where would Star Trek be without the great theme music--original and Next Generation? Can you make a movie about space without some sort of Bachsploitation soundtrack? Would anyone but science majors and their prospective suitors enjoy it? Maybe I need to make a silent movie in space, in the interest of realism! OR a reggae movie set in space. What's a reggae movie? Stay Tuned.

Milos Forman Fest!

I didn't really plan it this way, but on my latest DVD purchasing spree I bought two films by the same director. Both One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest and The People vs. Larry Flynt had been on my "to buy" list for a while, and their numbers just kind of came up at the same time I guess. Milos (pronounced "mee-low-sh") Forman is one of those "dependable but stylistically amorphous" directors along the lines of Sidney Lumet and Roman Polanski: ie., he made a lot of great movies but he isn't really an "auteur." He actually started out as an acclaimed Czechoslovakian director in the 60s (The Fireman's Ball is supposed to be really good), but fled Czeckoslovakia because...well...because it sucked, I imagine. He is also the director of Amadeus and Man on the Moon (otherwise known as The People vs. Larry Flynt Part II).

Czech out these features:

One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest

Commentary by: director Milos Forman and producers Michael Douglas and Saul Zaentz
New 2001 digital transfer from restored elements
Soundtrack remastered
"The Making of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," a 48-minute documentary featuring the actors, the moviemakers, and writer Ken Kesey recounting the history of the original novel to its stage and movie adaptations
8 additional scenes

The People vs. Larry Flynt

Commentary by: actors Woody Harrelson, Edward Norton & Courtney Love, writers Scott Alexander & Larry Karaszewski
Deleted scenes with optional filmmaker commentary
Two featurettes: Free Speech or Porn?, Larry Flynt Exposed
Photo gallery
New York Times film review

Pink Floyd: The Wilderness Years (1968-1972) - Part I

People often talk about Pink Floyd as if they were just one band that did their Pink Floyd thing and that was pretty much it. But in reality, like the Beatles, Pink Floyd were a long, consistently evolving entity that, by virtue of their own artistic instability, never recorded the same album twice. Most people haven't taken the time to explore their entire output, and until recently, I was one of those people. But in the name of completeness, considering that I call myself a serious fan, I finally decided to listen to every single Pink Floyd album. Instead of confirming the conventional opinion (often voiced by the gleefully ignorant such as myself) that they floundered around in half-baked psychedelic mediocrity until they hit Dark Side of the Moon, what I've discovered has only deepened my absolute, limitless allegiance to the band.

Part of the pleasure and fascination inherent in this period in the band's discography is that most people barely realise it exists. There are millions of hard-core Pink Floyd fans, particularly in America, who've never really felt that they were missing anything. To them, Pink Floyd began with Dark Side of the Moon, and everything before that was just a meaningless prelude. Then there are the snobby, cultish Nuggets fans who worship at the altar of Syd Barrett and heap scorn upon the frat guy masses trying to cue up Dark Side to The Wizard of Oz while stoned because they've never even heard of Piper at the Gates of Dawn. But what about that period between the flame-out of Syd and the ascention of Roger? We know one part of the story, and then we know another part of the story, but what about all those years in between? How did they get from Point A to Point B? Or to paraphrase Tom Waits: "What were they building in there?" Since nobody really knows about this era of the band, and since this period consisted of a relative lack of direction (when compared to the periods before and after), I have dubbed this period "The Wilderness Years."

The Wilderness Years represent a rare occurence in the rock world: namely, a situation where a famous and successful rock band suddenly consisted of four people who hadn't really planned on actually being in charge of a famous and successful rock band. Syd Barrett wasn't just any old member of the group: he was the lead singer and songwriter. It would be like if Pete Townsend went crazy and the other members of the Who suddenly had to cover for him. Forever. In other words, by all rights and privileges, post-Barrett Pink Floyd should have sucked big donkey balls. But talent works in mysterious ways, and by some strange combination of skill, chance, situation and luck, Pink Floyd not only remained a good band, but, in my opinion, actually became a better band.

Nevertheless, as a result of this situation, Pink Floyd spent several years grasping (some would say floundering) with their sense of artistic identity. At first, they tried to do imitation-Syd, but they soon realized that they simply weren't mentally deranged enough to do it right. So then they tried anything and everything, throwing songs at the wall and seeing what stuck. They did Kinks-style music hall pop. They did bad "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds"" rip-offs. They did Grateful Dead-style country rock. They did Hendrix knock-offs. They did Nick Drake-esque baroque folk. They did long, meandering sonic freakouts - not so much because they liked doing them, exactly, but probably because they didn't require the band to come up with any actual lyrics. Even Roger Waters at this stage had no idea what the hell he was doing. Often you get the sense that they were just trying to fill up the album space.

So while this means that the era is inconsistent and disjointed, it also means that the era will hold a certain fascination for people who think of Pink Floyd only as the ultra-cautious AOR mega-concept album monsters of the mid-to-late 70s. While that Floyd was meticulously crafted and allowed little room for the chaos typically associated with great rock and roll, the Floyd of the Wilderness Years could be a lot more off-the-cuff and unpredictable (they were a little more Velvet Underground, a little less Eagles). So while most mainstream music fans will probably find the Wilderness Years mostly half-assed and annoying, certain indie rock fans might discover that this is the only Floyd for them. I've always felt that no matter what a person's taste, there is almost always, without fail, at least little bit of Pink Floyd that they will like. Because, contrary to popular belief, Floyd dabbled in a little bit of everything.

Probably the most interesting aspect of the Wilderness Years, for me, was discovering that these guys I thought I knew so well had tried out styles I simply did not associate them with. "What if Waters tried to write a love ballad?," you ask. Turns out he actually did. "What if Gilmour tried to sound like Jimmy Page?" He did. "What if Rick Wright became their lead singer?" For a time, he actually was. Since Pink Floyd were not yet "Pink Floyd" as we know and worship them, they displayed traits and influences at this stage that they would eventually abandon entirely. Instead of being a detriment, it's actually this era's strength. It's like discovering that The Rolling Stones tried to do Sinatra, and didn't suck at it either. Or it's like learning that the boring girl in the cubicle across from you used to be a stripper. Just when you thought you knew Pink Floyd, you realize you didn't know them at all.

Ultimately, for the fan like myself that is sick to death of the famous albums, exploring the Wilderness Years is like suddenly finding six brand new Pink Floyd albums. While I can admit that these albums are not as "good" as the famous ones, I'm more inclined to actually listen to them, because they still have some secrets to give up. Nevertheless, for every hidden gem they threw out there, there's an equal amount of pure wankery. Thus I felt that a compilation would be the best way to show off the virtues of the Wilderness Years, both for myself and for others.

To be continued...

MY Favorite Singers

As Dave Berman once said, 'All my favorite singers couldn't sing'. I pretty much agree completely. Tom Waits, Bob Dylan, and Captain Beefheart are the three singers that add something to their music with their voices. I've heard many people say that those guys aren't good singers, and while I can understand this on a technical level, they are my favorite voices. When I listen to most other music I'm aware of good singing, but it doesn't make or break the song for me.

I can, however, think of some songs that wouldn't be any good sung by someone else. 'Oh Darling' would be crap if McCartney hadn't sung it. 'It's a Man's World' would come across terribly if James Brown himself didn't concede that 'it wouldn't mean nothing without a woman or a girl'.

New Malkmus Album

Read over at good old realiable Pitchfork.

The news guy over at pitchfork mentions 'hyper-literate slackers' and Pynchon. What a fallacious stereotype!