Last night's show was a good time, a bunch of new material getting consolidated for a new recording project. It was good to be nervous about a set with new corners to turn. Poor channel-switching on my part led to a radical pooch-humping of "peace freaks." "Kickball Queen" really had zip. Heavenly Oceans was in fine form.
I've pretty much been captured by The Fall's BBC/John Peel box set. I'm familiar with a slender section of their discography starting with Our Nation's Saving Grace, which I trace back to a pummeling version of "cruiser's creek" by Hot For Chocolate at The Oregon Grind in 2003...twenty people sitting in the grass listening to Chris B holler that song, very memorable. My impression is that there is something sharper and more focused about these versions--normal studio/band conventions not being in play when you have to knock it out in a day. (Always the way to go, as far as I'm concerned...like I'm gonna comment on this band with 50 plus records and how they go about their business.) I'm reading up on the history and find scant attention paid to Mark E. Smith's lyrics, how they spring fully loaded into narrative through the fragmented, the offhand, the peripheral. Strange little stories. Like Mike Watt's writing, or Pollard's, but with a sociology aspect that is spat out, intoned, full of spleen. More in common with NWA..."squid law," now there's a gangster song.
I finally got a real bed, my grandpa Harry's maple set from Cozad, NE 1947. I've been sent a cease and desist letter by Futon Sellers Ass'n for my offbeat critique of the futon in "dang that futon stomp." If anyone has a futon that actually works as either a couch or a bed, write the editors and send photos.
Futons are closer to the core of the earth and help the newly single burn off toxins.