Auditor - Britt Daniel/Brian Reitzell - Stranger Than Fiction(OST) - 2006

We ate lobster rolls on the water at a place called The Chart House, which I gather was at one time John Hancock's counting house. The history nerd in me couldn't help but be amused by this fact. We sat outside, next to a family gathering of sorts. There were two older parents, with their adult son and his girlfriend/wife/fiancee and an additional man who I think was the other son, but who said very little. In fact most of them said very little, save for the daugher in law (or whatever) who did not shut up through the entire meal. Her father in law, clearly detested her and would occassionally attempt to talk to the men about the Red Sox, only for her to dominate the conversation the whole time.

The thing that always baffles me about people who talk loudly and constantly in public, is that they seem completely unaware that they are broadcasting information about themselves to everyone around them. They are giving everyone ample opportunity to judge them...and generally with this type of person, there is plenty to judge. This woman was clearly shallow and materialistic, petty and amused by awful things. She told a story about how as a child they'd take vacations where her family would drive an RV to a destination only to sleep in the hotel. It never seemed to occur to her that this might make her appear pampered and awful. She never thought of these things, all she could think of was how wonderful it was to have people listening to her, to be the center of attention...regardless of whether that attention was meritted. The arrival of her food did not stop her verbal diaherria.

Following our meal, we went to the Aquarium, standing in line for nearly 1/2 an hour to get tickets. Nearly a decade in NYC has made me forget a truth about museums of any type in American places that are not NYC, a lesson I should have remembered from my trip to DC. NYC, due to it's booming tourism industry and self appointed need to be seen as a cultural epicenter, regards its museums with a sort of European air. Museums are places where adults go to be edified about culture or educated about science. Museums in any other American city are places you take your kids so you can pretend you are doing something "educational"

The Aquarium itself was impressive, with it's central cone of water with a descending ramp wrapped around it and individual exhibits on the oppossing wall. The problem is, you couldn't get anywhere near these exhibits due to the sheer mass of children between you and what you'd want to see. Being polite, I'd stand aside and wait for a group of kids to clear...as soon as they did I'd step up and look at what I wanted to see...only for another group of kids to decide that the space between me and the glass was a place they could stand to get a better view...never mind that someone else was there first and viewing the fish. After about 45 minutes we gave up...there was just no way the kids were going to be polite, and no way that we were going to get to see what we want. With a few exceptions, it was $21 down the drain. If I had wanted to be annoyed by children, I could have just gone to Park Slope for the day.

Listening to these songs in alphabetical order means that I have heard this brief instrumental, performed by Britt Daniel of Spoon on the Stranger Than Fiction soundtrack, several times immediately following "Audience with the Pope"...the problem is that for the first few listens, I assumed that this was just an outro to the previous song. It actually works really well, in fact I think they are even in the same key and the same basic tempo. What is ultimately a coincidence of the alphabet and my particular tastes makes sure that "Audience..." well always sound a bit too brief without it's "Outro".

Ashes of an American Flag - Wilco - Yankee Hotel Foxtrot - 2002

I'm going to take a quick break from talking about my trip, so that I can talk about St. Patrick's Day...there is probably no day on the planet that I am more conflicted about than the day we celebrate my heritage.

On Saturday I was in Central Bar watching Arsenal give a tremendous 4-0 whipping to Blackburn...the match wrapped up about 1 and I went to go grab some food, only to find that the streets of the East Village were flooded with NYU students in green t-shirts and ridiculous plastic hats. They jammed every bar with their obnoxious behavior and loud boisterous ignorance. I realize I'm shaking my fist like an old man (which I am) at the kids these days...it just seems as if...

Ok first of all, St. Patrick's Day was on Tuesday not Saturday. If you are going to celebrate, celebrate on the actual day. You're college student's for fuck's sake...I'm an adult with a job and I still went out and drank on a Tuesday night. What excuse do you have? Second of all, again, you're college students...why do you need an excuse to get hammered? Just go out and get drunk, you don't have to do it in asinine green costumes that make you look like an asshole and makes my people look like drunken fuck-wits. It's exactly like my argument against Halloween, if you want to dress like an idiot or a whore...just dress like and idiot or a whore, why do you need a holiday for it?

But on the flipside, I must acknowledge that it is a nice thing to have a day celebrating Irish heritage...even aside of my own since of cultural aggrandizement, the Irish have played a significant part in the building of this nation. We've worked in it's police departments and firehouses, we've acted in films and plays, we've sang in bars and concert halls alike, we've built skyscrapers and railroads, and we've even had one of our own become one of the greatest president's this nation has seen. It's just a shame that our holiday is also mingled with so many idiots and amateurs who just want an excuse for public urination.

It is both oddly appropriate and wildly ridiculous that I'm attaching this rant to Ashes of an American Flag. Wilco's celebration/lament for modern American culture has also become one of the touch stones of liberal reaction to the Bush years...and to this day it's haunting atmospherics, oblique lyrics, and world weary tone still ring true. We may have a new found hope, but we are still digging out from the ashes of the past, and no hurdles are encountered everyday...AIG for instance. It's a tough old world, but the only place to go is up...right?

The Apt. - Times New Viking - Rip It Off - 2008

As an avid drinker and a nine year resident of the city of New York, I have complicated relationships with many bars in this city. There are the now defunct bars that I hated at the time, but romaticize in the past (The corny MC Exchange that was the bar of my Dotcom, the truly awful Village Idiot that used to sell cheap pitchers when i lived in Manhattan). There are the bars that I used to haunt but am now too old and cranky to tolerate the young clientele (Blue and Gold, Soda). The bars from my old neighborhood (Enid's, Matchless) that I don't visit so much anymore. The places I went with co-workers, the places I went to meet up before concerts, and the places I just found myself all have complex histories, but none is more convoluted than my relationship to Nevada Smith's.

I'm sure I must have talked about Smith's at some point, but for a quick recap: Smith's is a bar in the nether zone that is niether the East Village nor quite Union Square. It is uniformly dark, not especially cheap, generally smells like an arm pit, and it's owner is a cranky old asshole of the highest order. It remains the only bar I've ever been thrown out of in my entire life...but I've probably at this point clocked more hours in this bar than any other in the world.

You see, Nevada Smith's is the bar to go to, to watch English Premeire League Soccer. If my team's game isn't being shown on cable, it's basically my only option, and I am a devoted enough fan that I am willing to go to a bar at 730 AM if need be (for a 1230 kick off in London). This means that no matter how much I may hate this place, no matter how many times I've sworn that I'll never step foot in that place again...as long as EPL games aren't all on TV, I'll be forced to go (Well, "Forced").

But as I was there on Saturday to watch Arsenal beat Portsmouth, I stopped to realize how much the place had changed in the five years I had been there. When I first started attending, a heart broken young man looking for an excuse to drink in the mornings and finding it in soccer, the place was almost exclusively attended by Brits. We Americans were the intruders, the interlopers who would never really understand the sport. There were many colorful charcaters and even more colorful language. The Arsenal corner was ruled by a Frenchman named Andre who was always there and knew more profanity than the devil himself. Andre once broke his hand pounding on the bar during a frustrating match.

Gradually through the years a new type of patron began attending who was niether us nor them: NYU students looking for a place to keep an all night bender going or to kick start the day with beer. They knew the place was open at 7AM, and if the abuse of a few brits was the price to be paid then so be it...but gradually these obnoxious kids picked up the sport, and in a step me and my friends didn't even take, the culture.

I was struck by this moment on Saturday, when I realized that there was just as much singing as always in Smith's but not a single one of the singers was british. These kids had learned the songs and taken up the mantle, but had also driven their British teachers away. It was an odd moment, on one hand seeing American's embracing soccer and "football culture" was a source of pride, on the other it's sad to see the old replaced by the obnoxious new. I certainly left with my complicated relationship with Smith's even more complicated than ever.

Anyway, I get the deal with Times New Viking, they play catchy garage rock, but recorded at earbusting levels so that it seems that their engineer has no clue what they are doing. This is the same trick that has gone on since The Beatles first learned to use feedback, i.e. cover something sugary in so much noise that the listener has to dig to find the sweetness. Usually I'm a fan of this strategy, but frankly, to further put on my old man hat, I just think the sonic mess is too great...it just sounds badly recorded...and not even a "recorded in a dumpster" way that The Thermals sometimes pull, but in a "I can't hear the actual song" way that I just don't care for.

Kids these days!

And I Remember Every Kiss - Jens Lekman - Night Falls Over Kortedala - 2007

Jens Lekman can occassionally knock a song out of the park. "Pocketful of Money" for instance is really great, and probably the only non-annoying use of Calvin Johnson's voice ever recorded...but...and I know I've touched on this before...I just don't understand the current trend towards overblown grandiosity.

Stuff like this, Beirut, Anthony and the Johnsons, and The Fiery Furnaces baffle me. Why in the world would you want to sound like the special guest singer on the Lawrence Welk show?

Advance Cassette - Spoon - A Series of Sneaks - 1998

So, I gave new meaning to the term douchebaggery last night. In the span of one evening, I managed to crash a corporate party of a company I haven't worked for in almost a year, insult a pregnant woman, aggressively hit on an engaged woman in front of her fiance, not pay for a single drink, eat two plates of calamari, neither of which I ordered or payed for, bum two cigarettes and somehow came home with a fifth of JD in messenger bag...and on the plus side the calamari was quite tasty. Good times, good times.

Anyway, A Series of Sneaks is either the first Spoon album on which they sound like themselves, or the last one in which they were a traditional guitar band...depending on your point of view. I like that ten years later this song is already obsolete. I can see school children right now saying "what the hell is a cassette?" But I remember when you'd get that sneaky cassette copy of a bands new album before the official release...and I'd be pissed if I lost it too.

Action Figure Graveyard Part I - Lazarus Beach - 2007

I can see the beginnings of the generation gap forming between me and those who will come after me, and what I find most amusing about it is that it seems to be the opposite of every previous generation gap since the 1950s. Whereas my parents (and their parents) had conversations that were usually some variation on "Turn down that noise", I find my response to so much new music is "Why the fuck are you so delicate?" Don't kids these days want to burn the world to the ground? Don't they have utter contempt for absolutely everything? What's with all these gentle lilting melodies and softly strummed guitars? What happened to Nihilism?

Does no one gaze into the abyss anymore?