Wednesday, October 22, 2008


there are about fifteen albums worth listening to in this world. will tell you about them later. not one of those is tonight's the night. neil young wrote the songs on this album for his friend and former crazy horse bandmate danny whitten and his former roadie, bruce berry. note former. opening track tells us that they both died out on the mainline. in order to make this set of depressing numbers even less appealing, he proceeded to haul the rest of crazy horse into the studio and get completely smashed, and then start recording. which is ok, coz he can't sing anyway. are you still reading?

Well, tell me more, tell me more, tell me more. I mean was he a heavy doper, or was he just a loser? He was a friend of yours...

one small problem. in addition to being entirely and completely unlistenable, it is the best distillation of pain ever to be found on a rock record. pain like the old blues, not clapton. pain like someone is dead. pain not like she left me, pain like she now likes someone else. pain like trying to keep your tired eyes open when you know sleep will bring you no peace.

Please take my advice
Please take my advice
Please take my advice
Open up the tired eyes
Open up the tired eyes

man walks into a bar. mumbles the same lines over and over. he's drunk, but no one's laughing.

Monday, October 13, 2008

Sunday, October 5, 2008


They advanced slowly. The clouds loomed behind them, as if summoned by the ghost of Sergio Leone to add a dash of doom to the proceedings. There were no smiles on their faces. There were no scowls either, which was sort of unnerving in its own way. As they walked slowly towards the quivering posse, they reached into the right hand side pockets over their long weathered leather beige overcoats. The onlookers flinched but stood their ground, like brave extras in a bad movie. They watched the hands withdrawing from the coats, they saw the shine of gleaming metal, and questioned their purpose for the first, and ironically, probably the last time in their lives.

Meanwhile, the petrified posse could do nothing but look on in disbelief. Their main weapons were more psychological than anything else; they only used the real ones on unarmed bystanders and defenseless women and children. Their strength radiated in their conviction in their own ideology, a strength that became diamond-hard when used in oppostion to a conflicting viewpoint. But these ones were different. They could tell.

When they reached close enough to see the shaking knees and the unshaven faces losing colour, they stopped. One of them stepped forward.

'I speak for both of us', he said.

'Believe me...'

'We know what's going on'