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Friday’s Quizzlet: Gooning In A Winter Wonderland.


in Monday's Quotelet

Appetizer: Name something someone has done lately that impressed you.
I was momentarily impressed with Sean Penn’s shotgun-equipped foray into New Orleans. Until I found out that the photographers who snapped those famous pictures were on his payroll. Maybe he can take his shotgun with him on his next self-serving visit to Tikrit and put it to some good use vivisecting his precious insurgents.

Soup: Do you have any relaxing rituals? If so, what are they?
Would gooning a six pack of Canadian count? My friends and I got so ‘relaxed’ in Newport last weekend that we’re all taking this weekend off. If I had gotten any more relaxed Saturday night I’d be playing golf with Farley and Belushi right now.

Salad: If you could spend the winter somewhere else, where would you go?
I like the winter. I am tired of the eternal sweating I’ve endured this summer, and I’m looking forward to dusting off my space heater, cling-filming my windows and saving a fortune on dry cleaning for the next 6 months. Bring it on you frosty bitch.

Main Course: When and where was the last time you had dinner out?
I had jalapeno poppers followed by the Bobby Orr steak sandwich Monday night at The Fours with Mike and Joanna. I normally go for the Flutie, but as I said to the waitress, it’s nearly hockey season and the Orr seemed more appropriate. She agreed. She also offered that next time maybe a tip would be appropriate, too – if I want to drink there before Bruins games in the coming months. I’m only kidding. I punched her out and ran before the check even came.

Dessert: If you had a boat, what would you name it?
PyeSeas II. That was the name of the 25 foot cruiser we had when I was a kid. My last name coupled with my father’s astrological sign. Incidentally, the boat was also imaginative, sensitive, compassionate, kind, selfless, unworldly, intuitive, sympathetic, secretive, vague, weak-willed and easily led. Uncanny.

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Wednesday Wadio: Don Lennon’s ‘Really Dave Matthews’.


in Wednesday Wadio

“Lennon’s fans love his farcical, enigmatic lyrics and his crystalline pop sensibility for what they are. And if he’s not yet a big name in his home town, he may soon be able to look forward to a wider audience in the Gulf region. As one reviewer writes on that populist arena of rock-crit discourse, Amazon.com (where Lennon’s three-album average is a solid 4.8 stars out of 5), “Play this CD for the people of Iraq and they would agree that the USA is good.” – The Boston Phoenix

If a little Lennon is all we need as an endgame for Iraq, we should be able to wrap it all up by this time next week. Anyhew, I hate Dave Matthews. But that’s not why I like this song. Nor do I like it for a certain aforementioned reasons which were touched upon yesterday. Rather, I love Really Dave Matthews because in addition to themes of loneliness, awkward youth and autumn, it’s a practical example of the insane lengths intelligent males will go to to get their noodles wet.

When Don Lennon’s 3rd album, Downtown, got reviewed by Pitchfork and the Village Voice, it was a special day for all of us. It was validation for friends and fans everywhere that Lennon had finally arrived. 3 years later, although you’ve still never heard of him, he’s known and respected by his musical peers and actually has quite a sizeable following across the pond and in pockets of the American midwest. Don told me once that getting to Sweden to do a show and watching a large crowd sing his lyrics back to him was a truly mind-blowing experience.

“Musically, Downtown sounds a little like Belle & Sebastian fronted by Bruce McCulloch from “Kids in the Hall.” – Pitchfork.

There are songs of Don’s I have grown to like better in the days since 2002, but Really Dave Matthews is what I always shove on to the uninitiated. His first 2 albums are also very special in my opinion, but it’s best not to dig too deeply into the crates right off the bat. Because RDM is a perfect summary of some of the bigger guns in Lennon’s developing arsenal – subtle humor, pop culture references and tunes so catchy that you’ll inevitably be asked to stop whistling one or two of them at some stage. Aggressively.

“I’m not really making fun of Dave Matthews. It’s hard to point to one line where I make fun of him. You just couldn’t do it.” – Don Lennon

The song’s protagonist is a first year college student who pretends to like Dave Matthews in order to impress a girl. He’s a better man than I. Sure, I’ve pretended to be things to impress a girl before – sensitive, a good listener, heterosexual – but to lower myself to the level of the DMB army just to get a little dorm room action? That’s a grenade not even I would be willing to jump on. It’s sweet, earnest and I dare you not to whistle the denoument/outro to yourself at any point today after listening. You know the Routine – Listen to Don Lennon’s “Really Dave Matthews” right now on Last.FM.

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The Unwritten Sidewalk Rule


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I hate to use this site as a sounding board for my own personal whinginess (like every other mediocre blog in the free world), so please forgive me while this post degenerates into little more than a moany gripe today. And for all the sex killings.

Even though we’re well into September, Boston’s sidewalks are still teeming with tourists and will be for some time. As a result, navigating my daily walk to and from the Theatre District from my home in the North End can be nothing short of infuriating. I bite my cheek and remind myself that one day I’ll live in the country.

But there’s one particular irk I just can’t stifle – and that’s the myriad of daily portages I am forced to make around people who go against the grain on the city’s sidewalks. My perception is thus – a sidewalk can be considered a highway for people on which one should keep to their right as much as possible. If they fail to do so, they should be ‘chin-checked’ or, at the very least slapped with a whale cock. But this hasn’t been festering for a long time or anything.

If I went to Scotland, rented a car and started zipping around on the wrong side of the road, I’d eventually be arrested or even killed in a head-on collision. But it’s not just tourists that careen all over the bustling walkways – there are plenty of native bumpkins and simple idiots who do it too. So am I a lunatic, or is this wrong-side-of-the-sidewalk grievance something that many others share? I am genuinely curious.

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The Return Of Don Lennon.


in Uncategorized

‘Don‘ and I went to high school together. And just recently Montreal. But I want you to know that has very little to do with my love of his music. He’s an original, and his shizzy is tight. But don’t take my word for it – look for him on Wednesday Wadio tomorrow, and save this date if you know him or are just a curious live music fan – he makes his triumphant return to Boston October 14th at the Milky Way. Sometimes one must actually go to Jamaica Plain.

His new album, Routine, is out now and you can buy it using PayPal by clicking the link. With song titles like “What SNL Stands For” – and an entire ditty about the day John Ritter died – the mold will continue to be broken, stomped on and fed under a steamshovel for a long time to come. Welcome back, Don. Can’t wait to have a listen or 14.

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Congratulations Chris & Heather!


in Heartwarming

The finish line was crossed this past weekend when I attended my final Summer 2005 wedding-related event. And it was a gasser. But enough about me – my friends Chris and Heather have been together for a very long time and finally made honest Newportians out of eachother Saturday afternoon. A reception followed at the Glen Manor house, but the festivities started long before then. By the time I crawled across the threshold of my apartment late last night, I’d been burnt, punched, pickled and even lost at sea. But in the midst of all the zaniness, one of the best weddings I’ve ever been to took place.

Jim and I drove down Friday night after work, and met Kinger, John and Steph, Clarkey and Detroit Velvet Smooth at the Sports Ticket around 10pm. We then headed over to the Cheeky Monkey where the rehersal dinner was held to meet up with the rest of the gang. An open bar, speeches, old friends, hugs and a narrowly averted street brawl with liquored locals rounded out our stay. After a quick shot one street up at Sabina Doyle‘s, and a fly by of Via Via to look for particularly intoxicated females to take back to our phatio roofdeck patio (I wish I were kidding) – we rolled back to the house we were staying at on Goodwin street. I once heard that when Michael Caine was researching this role, he hung out on main street for a night with Kinger.

A great time was had by all, and it flowed (literally) into Sunday where after an exceptional catered brunch we took to the high seas, only to have the motor cut out and be set adrift. Luckily some helpful fishermen pulled us back to the dock just after dark, and I’m not currently writing this on a laptop made out of an anchor and coconuts. I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves. I have SO many so I’m going to pick 40 or thereabouts and put the rest up when I get around to them (never). Thanks for having us, kids – and here’s to a long, wonderful life together.

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Wednesday Wadio: The Doves’ ‘There Goes The Fear’.


in Wednesday Wadio

“A seven-minute outburst of pure joy… I’m certain I will not hear a better song for the rest of the year. I dare any artist to top this one. It won’t happen. – PopMatters.com, 2002

I first heard There Goes the Fear whilst sitting on my couch and instant messaging with Moynihan. “You’ll love this song” he said. “NME voted it the single of the year , and you already like the Doves. So download it.” Not one to have my music spoonfed to me, I reluctantly obliged, fired up the long-irrelevant but once magnificent AudioGalaxy and sat alone in my living room waiting to be friggin’ gobsmacked by this remarkable song I’d heard so much about. I wasn’t.

“One of the bouncin-est seven-minute verse/chorus/verse brit-rock epics with a jungle-percussive outro Radio 1 has ever spun.” – Pitchfork

I listened to it a second time while writing an article for the website I was working for at the time. And then again while making dinner that same night. I wasn’t crazy, I decided – the song really wasn’t all that special and I filed it away mentally alongside all the Flaming Lips Mike’s been trying to get me to listen to for the past decade. But the next morning, as if possessed, I put it on as soon as I got up and probably listened to it 20 times that day. I wish I were joking. Who am I kidding? I still love it and am listening to it right now.

“A fantastic anthem where the excitement builds with each twist and turn before exploding with the chorus: ‘Think of me when you’re coming down, Dont look back when leaving town’. These lines reveal the album’s theme; admitting wrong and refusal to regret. Resolutely look to the future instead.” – BBC

Something miraculous happened in those 8 hours I was asleep – I ‘got it’. And for the next 3 years (and still counting) I would listen to the song at least once a day without fail. It’s been on 90% of the mixes I’ve made since that fateful moment, and I’ve continuously pushed the song on all of my music-loving friends like a crack dealer with an overdue Lexus payment. But what is it about the song that makes it so special to me I’m asking myself right now? How do I relay it originally without just pasting in a bunch of quotes? Um, like this gem, for example:

“Personally, I think the song’s about taking a big bag of Es and dancing elatedly and completely uninhibitedly through the night and next morning.” – DrownedInSound.com

If I had to pick a word to associate with it, that word would be ‘euphoric’. This song is Friday night. It’s driving long distances with your best friends. It’s the adrenaline rush of a jetski ride. It’s fuck off work and hello Newport. It Ebbs and flows with many different layers, details and influences. I can count triangles, a wa-wa pedal, cowbells – and some tribal insturment right at the end that sounds like a monkey being wanked-off – amongst the sounds buried in the mix. It shares the slow e-brake pause of a Pixies verse with the catchy sing-along chorus of a Celtic drinking song – all the while powered by a Brazilian rhythm so intricate that I can never accurately remember it for the purposes of air-drumming – even after literally thousands of listens.

I feel like I’ve pulled my pants down somewhat having now admitted my unhealthy obsession and unnatural love of this masterpiece. But if you’re nothing else after reading this, you’re very fucking curious. Have a listen on Radio Pye in the left-hand column. There Goes The Dave.

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On Giving Your Seat Up On The T. On Donner. On Blitzen.


in

Rarely do I relinquish my seat on any form of Boston public transportation, with good reason. In a litigious, bleeding-heart stronghold like this – clean cut white males like myself run the risk of being called racist, sexist or ageist before their bum is even out of the seat. “What, you think that just because I’m an older, Latino woman that I’m lazy and need to sit down!?” “No ma’am, you just shat yourself.” No one really fouled themselves this morning, but I did have yet another attempt to be thoughtful and considerate to others swatted down and vilified by a patronizing ‘do-gooder’.

An older gentleman got on the train at Government center, and as he walked past my seat I noticed he was having a hard time navigating and holding on the the rail. I readjusted the laptop, coffee and gym bag I was burdened with and got ready to stand up and suggest he take my place. As I looked up towards him, a 20-something hipster chick with Buddy Holly glasses and an iPod was shooting me a look from across the car that couldn’t have been nastier if I’d just badmouthed Interpol. I ignored her and sat the very gracious old-timer down.

Chivalry is not dead. It’s doing 5-10 in Fulsom for choking someone to death with a Nano cord.

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How To Ruin A Pop Career In 4 Easy Steps.


in Musical

1. Marry a guy who’s only God-given ability is to wear hats that Sinatra would have referred to as “faggotty”. The guy in question should also have been previously married very unsuccessfully. This is key.

2. Make sure said spouse already has two kids from a previous marriage whom he never sees. Cause things will be different this time around, and the second time is always a charm. No wait… yes that’s right. The second time.

3. In the tradition of Posh Spice (Brooklyn) and Madonna (Lourdes), name said baby well before it is born and after a city you’ve been to once yet pretend to have a deep connection with. I have a bigger connection to London and can’t even fit into a half-shirt.

4. On the subject of half-shirts, since your career was basically founded on them, make sure that the eventual birth results in a cesarian section scar so enormous that Islamic fundamentalists begin to pray in front of it.

Yes, kids. My former imaginary girlfriend, Britney Spears, gave birth today. I’m not saying anything every other man, woman, child and dungbeetle on the planet isn’t also thinking today. When I moved back from England in 1999, Spears had just broken onto the scene and was poised to embark on a long and lucrative career. But she’s shat it away in a short year like an Arby’s roast beef sandwich which was eaten too fast and had horsie sauce all over it.

Even Madonna waited until she was 40 to pop out a sprog. You can be goddamn good and certain certain there was no need to give her a C-section. She could have easily given birth to a gas truck by that pont. She timed the pregnancy extremely well, though – as she’s happily married, pushing 50 and set for life with a long exciting career behind her. And at least one vagina.

But age 23? Kevin frigging Federline? Girl – you could have committed suicide. You could have been killed by overzealous paparazzi. You could have overdosed. Britney – I’m very disappointed in you. Because you see, Brit and I have this little arrangement. I provide her with wisdom and guidance – and in return she doesn’t know who the hell I am.

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The Big Haunt 2: Gettin’ Scary In The Suburbs.


in Heartwarming

“Just when I think I’m out – they pull me back in“. – Michael Corleone.

I wasn’t going to try and duplicate the naughty nightmare that was last Halloween’s The Big Haunt, but the people have spoken and we’re going to do it all over again. The people have also requested a change of venue, and an offer just fell into my lap. I believe they call this sort of coincidence a harmonic convergence or something. For the sake of my karma and chi, BH2K5 is officially a GO! And this year – it’s taking place in a real live haunted house!

In addition to the genuinely spooky suburban fall atmosphere, there will be a DJ, food, booze, prizes and games. There will be plenty of non-alcoholic options for the designated drivers, and plenty of places to sleep for those who think that designated drivers are for pussies. We haven’t worked out exactly what the costs to you are going to be, but they will be well within reason and certainly worth the short drive to Concord.

Will the Victoria’s Secret angel and the rest of the Canadians return? Will the gay biker drop in to beat the frig out of another kid in the living room? Will I actually spend more than 10 minutes on my costume? I don’t know – but I promise it’s going to be fucking legendary. I also promise not to drink an entire bottle of pucker and crap myself. Stay tuned for the Evite tonight, and keep Saturday, October 29th open for the Haunt. This is going to be one for the ages/Concord PD.

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The Doves At Avalon In Boston.


in Uncategorized

For a Monday, last night was especially fun, silly, sonic and special. I can finally scratch ‘see The Doves play There Goes The Fear live‘ off the list of things I have to do before I die. Now if I can only get around to ‘sleep with a woman without paying her’ and ‘break into FBI headquarters and destroy a certain batch of DNA evidence’ – I’ll be able to shuffle off this mortal coil once and for all. Or at least live out the rest of my days knowing there’s no way I’ll ever be tied to that mouthy, missing stripper. I’ve said too much already.

Dead sex industry workers aside, this is an amazingly talented band from Manchester England who are quite huge over in the UK. To see them at Avalon was a treat, as they play venues 10 times the size across the pond. When Jimmi walked out on stage, after a great opening set by Longwave, he made a remark about feeling like the ‘house band’. After they got over themselves, they put on a long, amazing show which J-Rock, P-Cips, Yuki and myself fully dug. Check out the associated gallery here, and look for my full explication of ‘Fear’ tomorrow on Wednesday Wadio.

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Friday’s Quizzlet: Many Monkey References.


in Monday's Quotelet

Appetizer: Who is the easiest person for you to talk to?
Probably my Grandmother, because she never remembers a word. I could tell her the house has been surrounded by killer purple space monkeys bent on the domination of Earth, and 5 minutes later she’d be making me a grilled cheese.

Soup: If you could live in any ancient city, which would you choose?
Based on all the filthy, deviant sex portrayed on the new HBO series, Rome – uh, Rome. Friends, Romans, countrymen – show me your titties.

Salad: What is the most exciting event you’ve ever witnessed?
I saw a woman get fatally hit by a car in the old Combat Zone around 1989. What I was doing in the Zone at 14 years of age is anybody’s guess. But if you were to guess ‘procuring a fake ID’ you’d be correct. I was also at the Triumph the Insult Comic Dog DVD taping, and will probably be all over the new live Pixies DVD. Anyone who knows me is well aware of my vast library of stories. On a related note, stay tuned for the re-launch of my old “30 Tall Tales” feature. In the meantime you can read about Evil Inka and the Attack of the Spider Monkeys.

Main Course: If you were a celebrity, what would you do for a publicity stunt?
I’d grow a goatee, don some aviators and travel around New Orleans in a rickety boat – in 2 feet of water. I’d also make sure the boat was crammed with my entourage, including a photographer who would capture my impromptu selfless deeds for prosperity. There’d be so many people on board, casually documenting my narcissistic rescue efforts, that the boat would eventually sink – leaving me to look quite the soaking wet twat. Oh darn – someone beat me to it.

Dessert: What do you consider the ideal age to have a first child?
My parents had me when they were both 33, so I am using that as my benchmark. Which means I have exactly a year and a half to find my baby’s momma. Is that enough time to fall in love, copulate, spawn, fight and have a restraining order filed? I think yes.

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Have You Seen The Size Of That Boy’s Heeeed?


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There was a parcel on my desk when I got into the office this morning, and I eagerly tore into it knowing full well what it contained. Last week I decided I was in desperate need of a baseball cap, and after being upsold during the checkout process on lids.com I ended up with a blue Maple Leafs and red Canadiens cap. And they’re beautiful. And they’re XL. And they couldn’t be smaller and more ill-fitting around my ginormous skonz if I were Willie Mackenzie himself.

When football season started at Vermont Academy, even though I was a starter I had to go through hell week helmetless – because a large one had to be special ordered for me (private school). The year before at CCHS, I had to make do by jamming my head into the only helmet that came close. This left my chin fully exposed and subsequently got me knocked unconscious by Jodice during the WestPoint drill one day at practice (public school). So this sort of hardship is nothing new. But somehow, as I looked at the XL on the sizing chart last week, I figured I’d be OK – and momentarily forgot that if I’d been in Louisiana last week near one of the broken levees, I probably could have saved thousands of lives by simply nodding a few times.

I’ll send them back and get a refund. There’s a 30 day guarantee. In the meantime, I shall remain hatless – and will also try to block out the time I went up to my roofdeck for a smoke and it was mistaken by scientists around the world as a lunar eclipse. I’m here all weekend. Tip your waitress.

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Wednesday Wadio: The Smiths’ Bigmouth Strikes Again.


in Wednesday Wadio

“Sweetness, sweetness I was only joking when I said, I’d like to mash every tooth In your head.” – The Smiths – Bigmouth Strikes Again

Where to begin. As far as I’m concerned, 1986’s The Queen Is Dead was the pinnacle of The Smiths‘ short lifespan. And I’m not alone: It regularly tops various ‘all time best’ charts with the likes of the Beatles, Elvis Presley or David Bowie. Everything the band is known and loved for – angst, humour, politics, wit – is best represented on this album. The first Smiths tape I ever heard in its entirety was Meat is Murder, which was given to me by Nick Allard in the parking lot of LPSS in 1987 (This was also the very first CD I ever bought) – but quickly transfixed by this strange Manchester outfit, I soon had all 4 of the proper albums and ‘The Queen’ strode to the front of the pack as my fast favorite.

Bigmouth Strikes Again is the first song on this album that will really grab you by the throat, but eventually I ended up preferring the title track. Still, Bigmouth is a great introduction to the band, and I don’t want Radio Pye to get too obscure. Truth be told, if I had to pick my favorite Smiths song, it would be a toss-up between The Headmaster Ritual and You Just Haven’t Earned It Yet, Baby. Truth be told, Morrissey would also probably prefer to grab you by the cock.

A was going to write a quick explication of the song, but surprisingly found a great one it’d be hard to top: A bombastic single with a powerful performance from Marr and a biting vocal. A speeded-up Morrissey occasionally accompanies the vocal proper, giving an eerie effect (this is credited to Ann Coates in the “The Queen Is Dead” sleeve, a pun on an area of Manchester). I’ve found that most people new to The Smiths initially pick this track as favourite, whereas later it tends to grate a little bit. Morrissey marries the old with the new in these lyrics, mentioning Joan of Arc’s Walkman, seeming to imply that the situation under discussion (i.e. the protagonist saying very much the wrong thing, like his thoughts of angered violence) has been going on forever and will go on forever. Of course, he is pointing out a similarity between him and Joan of Arc rather melodramatically, lending a quite comical tone to what could have been an empty vessel. Painting Joan of Arc’s talk of God’s communications as something that “just slipped out” is in stark contrast to his harsh sentence upon himself “I’ve got no right to take my place with the Human race”. The sleeve lyrics to this song provide one example of Morrissey’s Wildean propensity to capitalise nouns such as Human and Love.

If that wordy and pretentious take made any sense to you whatsoever, you desperately need to spend some time with the Smiths. If not – I think Motley Crue is coming back to the Worcester Centrum in November.

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