[Radiohead is playing a concert in Cincinnati tonight, so I’m reposting a blog entry from May of 2016 below – I’m 53 now, but the sentiment still holds.]
I’m an old man, but I have young ears. I like to listen to cutting edge indie rock/alternative/never-heard-of-them-before artists. I go to way more concerts by up-and-coming bands than a 51-year-old should. Pitchfork would give me a 7.9. But I’ll go ahead and risk losing all my street cred with a single, solitary statement: I don’t really care for Radiohead.
I know that’s considered blasphemy among the music snobs, but I don’t care.
95% of the Radiohead songs that I’ve heard put me to sleep, including the ones from their brand new album. Sure, there are a few that I like… the usual suspects like “Creep” and “Karma Police”. But by and large, I find them to be supremely soporific. We have satellite radio in one of our cars (not the 2003 Honda minivan) and I listen to Sirius XMU, the hipster station. Sometimes when I’m driving and listening (in that order), if I hear a song that’s boring to me, I’ll reach to change the station and realize that I’m changing from a Radiohead tune. Same goes for Thom Yorke solo stuff… actually I find that even more bland.
Music cognoscenti, including many of my music-head friends, will wax rhapsodic about how amazing, brilliant, mind-blowing and genius Radiohead is, but I’m not hearing it. And I’m certainly not feeling it.
If you can sing, I’m jealous of you. I can’t carry a tune, even if you give me a five-gallon bucket.
Let’s don’t.
If you can really belt it out, with a voice that sounds like a gift from the heavens, I admire you. This past weekend, I saw several singers with “killer pipes”… Thursday night, it was local performer Krystal Peterson, a jazz/soul/funk dynamo.
Friday night, it was Fleet Foxes. Their lead singer’s voice is not of this earth, and the vocal harmonies are jaw-droppingly good.
Last night, it was a triple bill. I went mostly to see the middle act, Drive-By Truckers, and they were great, as always. But I was also blown away by the opener, Marcus King, who sounds (and plays guitar) like the love child of Janis Joplin and Stevie Ray Vaughan.
And the headliners were Tedeschi-Trucks Band, and Susan Tedeschi has one of those rafter-rattling blues voices that sounds timeless.
All those great singers were so inspiring that maybe I’ll start to sing more…
… or maybe I’ll just go to more concerts. Yeah, that’s the ticket!
Jason Isbell is a wonderful poet. He just doesn’t get as much credit as he should because he sets his poetry to music.
I saw Jason Isbell and his fantastic band The 400 Unit a couple of nights ago.
There were several “goose bumps” moments during the set… I just love his way with lyrics. He’s also a heckuva guitar player, and has one of the most soulful voices around. With his band, he can turn on a dime from all-out rockers to heartbreaking ballads.
Anxietydeals with the internal struggles he goes through, even when to the outside world he has it all – successful career, lovely and talented wife, adorable daughter:
It’s the weight of the world But it’s nothing at all Light as a prayer, and then I feel myself fall You got to give me a minute Because I’m way down in it And I can’t breathe so I can’t speak I want to be strong and steady, always ready Now, I feel so small, I feel so weak
Anxiety How do you always get the best of me? I’m out here living in a fantasy I can’t enjoy a goddamn thing Anxiety Why am I never where I am supposed to be? Even with my lover sleeping close to me I’m wide awake and I’m in a pain
White Man’s World deals with “white privilege”:
I’m a white man living on a white man’s street I’ve got the bones of the red man under my feet The highway runs through their burial grounds Past the oceans of cotton
I’m a white man looking in a black man’s eyes Wishing I’d never been one of the guys Who pretended not to hear another white man’s joke Oh, the times ain’t forgotten
There’s no such thing as someone else’s war Your creature comforts aren’t the only things worth fighting for You’re still breathing, it’s not too late We’re all carrying one big burden, sharing one fate
I’m a white man living in a white man’s nation I think the man upstairs must’a took a vacation I still have faith, but I don’t know why Maybe it’s the fire in my little girl’s eyes Maybe it’s the fire in my little girl’s eyes
Last of My Kind is a fish-out-of-water tale of a farm boy from Arkansas living in NYC:
So many people with so much to do The winter’s so cold my hands turn blue Old men sleeping on the filthy ground They spend their whole day just walking around Nobody else here seems to care They walk right past them like they ain’t even there Am I the last of my kind? Am I the last of my kind?
Daddy said the river would always lead me home But the river can’t take me back in time And daddy’s dead and gone The family farm’s a parking lot for Walton’s five and dime Am I the last of my kind? Am I the last of my kind?
And Cumberland Gap reflects the struggles of a guy in coal country when the industry is fading and his town is dying:
Remember when we could see the mountain’s peak? The sparkle off the amphibole? Like a giant golden eagle’s beak Now they say no one wants the coal
I thought about moving away But what would my mama say? I’m all that she has left and I’m with her every day As soon as the sun goes down I find my way to the Mustang Lounge And if you don’t sit facing the window You could be in any town
Maybe the Cumberland Gap just swallows you whole
I highly recommend that you catch a poetry reading this summer or fall.
Take a gander at all the fabulous things I bought during Amazon Prime Day:
Sorry that I didn’t get sucked (or suckered) into your retail vortex, Mr. Bezos. First of all, “Prime Day” is a contrivance intended merely to get us to open up our wallets, much like the Tooth Fairy, Sweetest Day and Cincinnati Bengals home football games. And secondly, what you’re peddling is all just “stuff”… and “stuff” doesn’t bring long-term happiness. In fact, buying stuff actually brings us down.
All the gadgets, gizmos and geegaws are no substitute for a walk in the park, playing catch with your kids or having lunch with a friend. When you start selling that, let me know.
Over the weekend, my older sister sent me a link to this article in Time. WeWork is taking meat off the menu, and won’t pay for meals that include meat:
The startup has told its 6,000 global staff that they will no longer be able to expense meals including meat, and that it won’t pay for any red meat, poultry or pork at WeWork events. In an email to employees this week outlining the new policy, co-founder Miguel McKelvey said the firm’s upcoming internal “Summer Camp” retreat would offer no meat options for attendees.
“New research indicates that avoiding meat is one of the biggest things an individual can do to reduce their personal environmental impact,” said McKelvey in the memo, “even more than switching to a hybrid car.”
This is bad news for Arby’s.
But it’s good news for a planet that desperately needs it. WeWork’s new policy is a bold move – one that’s sure to get some backlash, yet one I applaud with my wimpy vegetarian hands.
Don’t worry, I’m not going to go full Morrissey on you.
I gave up meat 27 years ago for health, environmental and economic reasons, and it’s worked for me, but I try to avoid prosthelytizing… usually. To each their own.
But “going veg” doesn’t have to be an all-or-nothing proposition. Perhaps there’s a less-meaty middle ground. Even a “meatless Monday” every week would be a big boon in reducing greenhouse gases, improving health and saving the planet.
Livestock alone account for more than 14% of global greenhouse gas emissions, and by 2050 the food sector could account for half if cuts are implemented in other sectors along the lines that countries have committed to doing. A vegan or vegetarian diet could cut those emissions by 70% and 63%, respectively.
Changing dietary patterns could save $1 trillion annually by preventing health care costs and lost productivity. That figure balloons to as much as $30 trillion annually when also considering the economic value of lost life. And that doesn’t even include the economic benefits of avoiding devastating extreme weather events that could result from climate change.
A trifecta of odds and ends for your morning perusal.
It’s the finals of the World Cup, with… that one team… playing… some other team. (Sorry, I know fútbol is the most popular sport in the world, but I just can’t get into it.)
I’m with Michael Cera
2. It’s hard to enjoy the fruits (and vegetables) of your labor in a backyard garden when your garden looks like an illustration from a Beatrix Potter book:
Sorry for the fuzzy shot… my flip phone is only 3 megapixels, and I didn’t want to bother the bunnies while they were having dinner.
Those little buggers ate all of my cherry tomatoes. But they don’t like basil, apparently. Pesto, anyone?
3. I may not be into soccer, but it’s been fun watching the Reds lately. After an abysmal start, they’re actually playing decent ball. And they have the best defensive centerfield in the game:
It’s not the first time Billy’s stolen a homer from Matt Carpenter:
Kevin Sullivan on Life advice from a man who lived it: “A good one Damian. Bring our lens into focus after the long weekend or our long life journey.” Jul 7, 09:38
Thomas Kuhl on We’re alive, because nothing happened.: “That is why we should celebrate every day when our feet hit the floor. Another to enjoy and share with…” Jun 25, 04:33
Thomas Kuhl on We’re alive, because nothing happened.: “This simply explains why we should celebrate every day our feet hit the floor. Another day to enjoy and share…” Jun 25, 04:31
You done said…