Liam. Nice.

Not exactly putting the “new” in news, but Oasis has split up, surprise! Liam and Noel Gallagher aren’t getting along so, you know how that goes. I once had a fight with my brother when he said the KFC Colonel was a racist. I say he’s just waiting for the south to rise again. Bygones, I suppose.

Now, Liam Gallagher says he will start a new band with all the other members of Oasis, not including Noel. That’ll be the name of the new band, “Oasis, not including Noel.”

It’s times like these that I wonder how real this stuff actually is. There is so much money to be made by a band breaking up and then getting back together after an undetermined amount of time for a “Comeback Tour”. The Police in 2007 grossed $358 million in 2007 when they went on tour. That’s a lot of money that went toward hungry children (‘hungry children’ is what Sting calls prostitutes).

That being said, doesn’t it make sense for Oasis to break up and get back together to rape concert goers’ wallets in about 5 years time? Oasis hasn’t exactly been groundbreaking for a while now and how much is an 8-ball going for these days? They could use the cash.

But, could someone please tell me the plot of this video? Xmas party, people drinking, dancing, Bob Dylan hosting, and then some guy flips shit and starts throwing glasses and breaking everything in sight. He totally drank the bong water, am I right Bra?

But the song itself is…is…is a Christmas song, how can I be critical of a Christmas song that’s like giving Baby Jesus the finger.

Here’s the link for the video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JLZ8LPIh4Xc

and here’s the audio:

Scroobius Pip, not Dan Le Sac

Today I’m in the mood to tell you what to do, so here is Dan le Sac Vs. Scroobius Pip’s Thou Shalt Always Kill. I couldn’t find the album version, but if you ever get a chance to buy it (and by that I mean download illegally, you black-hearted socialists) you should do that, because the whole album is siiiick, as the kids say. I’d describe it as nostalgic quasi-beat hip hop that embodies pediatric maturity, but also like seeing two black cats, simultaneously, signifying a glitch in the matrix. Yeah, it’s that good.

Here you go.

“I don’t want you to play any of that B.B. King shit, none of that fucking blues…I want you to play something else,” said Bob Dylan in 1965, to blues guitarist Mike Bloomfield when he was summoned to play on Like a Rolling Stone¹.

Like a Rolling Stone never was a number one hit, never won a Grammy and was not folk, much to the chagrin of diehard Dylan fans. The song itself is hard to define, it has the anthemic sound of rock, the ragtime piano of the earliest of popular music and the combination of tambourine and harmonica relay more of a folk appeal. Contextually, it gives a punk-era message of antagonism in one respect and an introspective reflection in another. The quote at the beginning of this essay is one that embodies the attitude behind the creation of this song, and forethought on Dylan’s part.

The song showcases seven different musicians playing seven different instruments that all seem to be completely oblivious to each other except on a higher plain. All the instruments, except the harmonica and piano, combine together to create a monstrous, messy rhythm. Although clearly orchestrated by Dylan, the song seems so have a spirit of spontaneity and only at the end of the song can you be assured that it’s supposed to sound the way it does. Drummer, Bobby Gregg, is almost non-existent, except for the low-mixed drum fills, opting for instead, Bruce Langhorne’s tambourine. The unrelenting bass line of Joseph Macho Jr, the scratchy guitar of Bloomfield and the cerebral organ of Al Kooper meld together and lay down the foundation of the song. Most of the chaos comes from Paul Griffin on the piano who twinkles away for the entirety of the song. It’s reminiscent of old rag-time piano work suggesting that this song isn’t totally about breaking new ground. Finally, in true Dylan fashion, the harmonica breaks up the song and although it is the most anarchistic of the lot, it gives the song an interesting structure. The harmonica adds an element to the song that is like reading white text on a black page; it’s its absence that gives it sustainability.

Although this song’s musical prowess is completely remarkable, it’s Dylan’s lyrics that makes the song stand up and sing. It’s important to note that the meaning of these lyrics changes with time. It’s almost as important to recognize who is singing this song and when it is being sung.

Firstly, when the song was written, in 1965, America was going through very radical changes. Dylan was known for his protest songs and Like a Rolling Stone can invariably be interpreted that way. If we could set our minds back to 1965, how would this song be interpreted? In the time, this song seems to speak out against a certain lifestyle. Free thinkers of the day would see it as a statement against bureaucrats, corporate fat cats and celebrities; a statement against the lose of priorities and an impending demise.

“Once upon a time you dressed so fine/You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn’t you?/People’d call, say, ‘Beware doll, you’re bound to fall’/You thought they were all kiddin’ you.” Dylan opens the song singing about someone who is obviously well-off, but he speaks of this person in past tense as if they don’t have that anymore. And to this used-to-be, the world she finds herself in is one they do not understand or comprehend.

“With the mystery tramp, but now you realize/He’s not selling any alibis,” sings Dylan explaining that even in this world of common-folk, your money is no good here. He continues with this allegory and illustrates how they may become of these lesser people, by singing, “At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used/Go to him now, he calls you, you can’t refuse/When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose/You’re invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal.”

Like a nail in a coffin, the ultimate question that Dylan wants to ask is, “How does it feel?” He asks these has-beens how it feels to be bottom wrung, what is it like to be like the rest of us? Dylan seemingly asked this question on behalf of his audience of poor, or middle class listeners. More over, he seems to be asking, “How does it feel to be like us?” and that is the essence of an anthemic rock song.

Fast forward 20-25 years and listen to the lyrics again. They take on a completely different sentiment and meaning. In roughly four decades, Dylan has become one of the most influential musicians of all time. He’s older, wiser and has a clearer view of the world and himself. So what do these lyrics reflect, even now as Dylan is in his twilight years? In 1965, these lyrics reflected a disdain for an upper class. Being one of the most influential singer-songwriters ever is a lucrative profession and with money comes stature. Now, if this song is listened to with the present day Dylan it must be taken as an exercise in introspection. Dylan sings a song to the character of himself. All the aforementioned lines now pertain to the profitable life of Dylan and come off as sort of hypocritical if sung in the same 1965 sense. But like Dylan, the song has evolved.

The old adage says, “A rolling stone gathers no moss,” and taken in the context of this song in 1965 this is a message of freedom and non-conformity. ‘If you just keep truckin’ then nothing can slow you down’ is what the song’s title infers. But now, in a wiser, more mature setting, these lyrics give off the sense of complete loneliness in a room full of friends. Dylan has spent his life being like a rolling stone, gathering no moss, planting no roots, having no lasting relationships because he had lived such a fast life style. Now Dylan is lamenting, “How does it feel?/How does it feel?/To be without a home /Like a complete unknown/Like a rolling stone?”

Seemingly as an act of genesis, Like a Rolling Stone came from nothing and has been around for many years. There is something to be said about a song that ages so well, something that not even the best rock critiques could have foreseen; a song that will have more meaning the older it gets. After studying this song in detail, the emotion I am left with is curiosity. How does it feel? That is something only Dylan could possibly know.

Yep, that's Bono

ANYWHO, U2 sucks. They really do. But don’t just take my word for it, their home town can’t stand the sound of boring music either, but I may be editorializing. The city of Dublin (that’s in Ireland, you waifs) fined U2 $52,000 for 12 different noise violations over 3 days. It was mainly due to the 44 hours of construction time it took to build the stage . I’ve seen the stage they play on, it’s impressive, sure, but so is a donkey show.

And this is Melissa Etheridge

AND, Aerosmith is also old. But, more over, they are having domestic troubles. Since Steven Tyler took that header and busted himself all up, he’s kind of been acting like…well a little bitch. They have separate managers, and by that I mean, Tyler has a manager and the rest of Aerosmith has a manager and now there’s word of Tyler going solo and Aerosmith finding a new singer. Who would want that job? That’s like answering a casting call for fat naked guy on Friends, after the original fat naked guy, who has already appeared fat and naked said it was beneath him.

ALSO, Red Hot Chili Peppers have announced a comeback tour scheduled for next summer and I can’t stop vomiting blood. And that’s all I have to say about that.

So, that’s wraps everything up nicely for today, consider this blog the carpet you wrap the victim in. Here’s your Daily Tuneskies.

In a brilliant move by Them Crooked Vultures (is it too soon to call them TVC?), their entire self-titled album has been released, kinda, onto Youtube so it can be streamed for free. Naturally, I rocked this bitch all day.

In case you are Helen Keller, and by that I mean in case you are dead, then this next factoid isn’t really news. But for Jesus, TVC is a supergroup comprised of Josh Homme of Queens of the Stone Age and Eagles of Death Metal, Dave Grohl of Nirvana and the Foo Fighters and John-Paul Jones of Led Zeppelin, so what? No biggie.

The 13 song album starts off with No One Loves me & Neither Do I. Homme’s guitar tone is in perfect sync with Jones’ bass guitar all through the album, they go perfectly together. One of the highlights in this song is the use of cowbell, listen for it. A self loathing rock song that is dark, sexy, methodical with a twist and flick at the end.

Dead End Friends is like going to see a horror movie where the killer is played by a 1982 IROC. I mean, it’s a song that is made for driving. And if Dead End Friends is made for driving  fast cars, then Elephants was made to listen to while your ass is strapped to the Challenger rocket. I don’t care that it exploded, don’t be a pussy.

Something else remarkable, by that I mean worthy of remark, is the last tune on the album, Spinning in Daffodils. The piano breaks up and segregates this song from all the others. With gritty, driving songwriting like this, you feel like you are in the presence of rock royalty.

You want to waste an entire afternoon? Check out the comments on Youtube about this album (click the post below). “This album will change music” says one dick fixture. “This is what music should sound like,” says another. I appreciate the zeal of many of these people and don’t get me wrong the album is very good. But, like sex after about 3 and half minutes, it gets boring all too quickly. Not with me  though, baby *wink*.

Below is the best song on the album, Gunman. This song makes me want to do the sprinkler dance, while sacrificing a chicken. That’s how awesome it is. Oh, what’s the sprinkler dance you ask?

And her is the awesome song:

The inaugural offering is The Pixies’ Hey. This song reminds me of the backseat of my old ’86 Caprice. It was so huge, you could have a full game of touch football in the back of one of those.

awesome.

It takes a real smooth criminal to make 90 million dollars. Especially considering all this money was made after Micheal Jackson was brutally (read: subtly) murdered last June. 

Like most rock stars, the greatest career move MJ ever made was to just say “yes” to drugs. Between record sales, radio play and the movie, the Jackson estate has grossed over 90 million dollars, posthumously.  It was the battle of the Kings when MJ bumped Elvis Presley for most money made after they had died. (below is a list of the top ten DEAD earners from forbes.com)

1. Yves Saint Laurent – $350 million
2. Rodgers and Hammerstein – $235 million
3. Michael Jackson – $90 million
4. Elvis Presley – $55 million
5. J.R.R. Tolkein – $50 million
6. Charles Schulz – $35 million
7. John Lennon – $15 million
8. Dr. Seuss – $15 million
9. Albert Einstein – $10 million
10. Michael Crichton – $9 million

Glad to see the good Doctor made the top ten, but I have to say I’m a tad disappointed with the list. Who the hell is Yves Saint Laurent? Isn’t that the kind of hand cream I use  my mom uses?

"What's a trouser snake, you ask?"

A lot of things were popular in the 80s. Hair Metal, tighter jeans, going back to the future, coke and Synth-pop. Conversely, The Smiths, a band fronted by a much younger and healthier Steven Patrick Morrissey, came on to the scene. Well…um…in the 80s…there…fuck! I’ve got nothing, plainly the 80s sucked and the only good thing to come out of that miserable, bloated decade was my generation of apathetic bloggers. That and C.H.U.D.

ANYWAY, Morrissey is dead. Not really, he just collapsed on stage after he sang “The Charming Man”, a.k.a. “A song you’ve never heard”

He’s stable and recovering in a hospital now, which is boring.

In other unrelated news, This Is It, the Michael Jackson concert picture opens on Tuesday. There’s really nothing like feeding off the death of a celebrity. I remember after Tupac died I wrote a poem about it. Here it is.

Tupac, your death has left me glum.

Cuz’ you got shot up, my fair chum.

You’re like the black john kennedy

or like the honorary at a bullet charity

used and thrown like a can of Raid

Hopefully this poem will get me laid.

I once read this poem to a girl at a bar who had just thrown up on the bar and she let me cup her breast, so I guess you loose some and you win some. I didn’t get any money from it, but I got to get tagged out between first and second base.