WTFF=What the !#@% factor

Tomorrow...

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 05:54:00 +0000

...is my son's surgery, and I'm still nervous as all hell. Please keep us in your thoughts; my guy goes in around 1:30pm, and after surgery will be our first indication how he will do with the brace. THAT'S the part that is the big variable, to put it mildly.

In the meanwhile, here's a great band still at an arguable peak of their powers:

You need to buy these...

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 04:12:00 +0000

I know that for most of you out there, you don't have most of these CDs. So without dwelling on it, here are a clutch of CDs that will automatically make your CD collection that much richer:

Joni Mitchell, The Hissing Of Summer Lawns
My Bloody Valentine, Loveless
Love Nut, Baltimucho
Original Soundtrack, The Harder They Come
Sugar, Copper Blue
Yes, 90125
Todd Rundgren, Hermit Of Mink Hollow
Pete Townshend, All The Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes
Wesley Willis Fiasco, Spookydisharmoniousconflicthellride, and
The Differents, Fate's Going On

...which is a preview of an interview I'm going to do. Stay tuned, more info coming....

Rock humor

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 04:11:00 +0000

Stevie Ray Vaughan dies and goes up to rock 'n roll heaven. St. Peter shows him around, and introduces him to Jimi Hendrix. Stevie enthuses, "Mr. Hendrix, I've always been a huge fan of yours, it's an honor to meet you." Jimi says, "Hey man, it's cool. Call me Jimi. Let's jam sometime."

Next, St. Peter brings Stevie to Muddy Waters. Again, Stevie is awestruck. "Mr. Morganfield, I think that you made the most wonderful music in the world." Stevie then bows to Muddy, who gently chides him by saying, "Naw, there's no reason for that. We're both bluesmen. Let's jam sometime." Stevie agrees, and can't wait to gettin' to jammin' with all of his heroes. St. Peter looks on from the side, smiles at Stevie's unabashed fandom, then says, "Come on. I have another person you're going to want to meet."

St. Peter tells Stevie, "I'd like to introduce you to Bono." Confused, but raised to be a polite Texan, Stevie shakes the Irishman's hand, saying, "Bono, I've always really liked your music; it's a pleasure to finally meet you." Bono sort of dismisses him and says, "Yeah, it's a pleasure to meet you too."

After they've walked on a bit, Stevie pulls St. Peter aside. "Now something might have happened between the time my helicopter crashed and now, but the last I remember, Bono was still alive."

St. Peter rolled his eyes, and said, "Yes, that's really God. He just likes to pretend he's Bono."

This weekend was great

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 04:24:00 +0000

This weekend was really a great weekend. I know that sounds trite and boring, but here's why to me it was great that this weekend itself was wonderful. My son is going in for hip tendon surgery this Thursday, which will lay him up in bed for2 weeks, and a total recovery period of 6-8 weeks with a hip brace which he has to wear at ALL times during that period (and during which no weight can be borne on his hips at all), then wear the brace for an indefinite period overnights after that. A little background: my son is on the autism spectrum, with a high-functioning flavor of it, thank goodness. Sensory issues are frequently hallmarks of autism spectrum disorders; one of the ways it manifests itself in my son's personality is that he doesn't like having to wear even a Band-aid at all. However, he developed a hip disease/condition called Legg-Calve Perthes. The particulars of this condition is that due to lack of blood flow to the top of the ball of where the femur bone fits into your socket, the bone mass of his ball joint has deteriorated. It will naturally grow back, but since his femur has slipped out of the socket, it could grow back less-than-spherically (which would be really bad). The surgery he will have will make sure that his bone goes (and stays) back in the socket, and a tendon will be cut which will restore full range of motion to that hip which has been lost due to this condition. I have faith that the surgery will be without issue, and that it won't be a problem (we're going to Children's Memorial). I am simply scared shitless that the recovery and brace-wearing will be incredibly hard on my son, both physically and psychologically. I am hoping and praying that my mind is overstating things, but this time I'd rather fear the worst and be surprised by the best.

With all that looming ahead, it's great that all of us had such a wonderful weekend before this surgery and recovery period. I'm hoping it won't be forever until we have another great weekend. And I didn't write this post to crassly drum up sympathy for what we're going through; I just wanted to share how and where my mind is / has been / probably will be for a while.

My Kids Will Rock You!!

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 04:59:00 +0000

My kids are still a little young (my son is 5 1/2, my daughter is 2) to be getting into my music. However, every once in a while, my son has wild ways of letting me know that we do actually have points where our tastes intersect. Apparently, at the daycare center he goes to, someone put Queen's "We Will Rock You" onto a mix CD; whenever it comes up, my son really gets into it. Since this was unbeknownst to me, imagine how shocking it was when I heard him start singing it one day out of nowhere at home. So today while we were running our typical 1,001 Saturday errands, I decided to bring with my copy of Queen's Greatest Hits (the British one with the original cover as seen here, with 17 tracks). I put it on track 16, and watched my son go nuts!! My daughter really loves her brother, and even though she's still learning to talk more or less, she was right there singing along with him. I was even teaching him that he has to slap his knees twice then clap; he was getting into it!! So now I want to get him into some of the other great songs on that CD, like "We Are The Champions", "Flash" (God, does sci-fi camp have any better anthem than this?), and "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" (which appears on another somewhat surprising point of intersection between us, my copy of Chipmunk Punk). And I know he likes Madonna's "Cherish", which is pretty cool for a five-year old. It's still too soon to expect him to dig My Bloody Valentine's "You Made Me Realise", but I'll work him up sloooooowly to that!!

Top Ten Joe Jackson Albums You Should Own

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 18:27:00 +0000

Please don't criticize me too harshly; top ten lists are awesome quick-and-dirty filler posts for someone who is typically crazy-verbose but is trying to post one-a-day posts for a particular month. Besides, they're fun to see where they compare next to the same list you would make for yourself. (And I reserve the right to post twice in one day if the mood so strikes me...)

Joe's got a great catalog, but these stand up as essentials:

Laughter And Lust (1991) -- This was actually my point-of-entry to becoming a fan. While he continues on in the same well-crafted pop vein of his previous Blaze Of Glory, he doesn't need to wed it to a concept like his previous album had. The result are some wonderful songs like "Obvious Song", "Stranger Than Fiction", "It's All Too Much", and even an excellent cover of Fleetwood Mac's "Oh Well". All killer, no filler, and a cool place to start.
I'm The Man (1979) -- For JJ's second album, he avoided the sophomore slump by delivering a set of tunes arguably stronger than those on his debut, Look Sharp. Think about it; how many artists can you think of who follow up their debut with an excellent follow-up IN THE VERY SAME YEAR?? Not a whole lot. Definitely a keeper.
Look Sharp (1979) -- There's a reason his debut album is so damn popular: it's got great, tight pop songs on it. I'm just gonna assume that if someone is so inclined to delve deeper into the catalog of JJ, that this is going to be one of the first CDs they're gonna get. And I say wholeheartedly to run with that assumption; you will be rewarded with a killer batch of songs.
Night & Day (1982) -- This album early on established JJ as a sort of a musical Renaissance man. Gone are the wiry, punchy songs of the first three albums. In its place are jazzy, Latin-inflected, sophisticated, and mature compositions. Most artists take time to build up to masterworks like this album; Joe just seemed to punch out excellent works as if it were of no consequence. Although you probably know the hits off this one, be sure to pay attention to the album cuts like "Another World", "Real Men", and the amazing "A Slow Song". The out-of-print MFSL gold disc has great sound, but the 2-disc Deluxe Edition is going to be a great way to collect a lot of otherwise hard-to-find JJ rarities.
Big World (1986) -- For some ungodly reason, this album has always been hard to find. It wasn't in print very long during its initial release period, and subsequent reissues have been in non-USA territories. If you want JJ at the top of his form, go with this one. Not many of the songs are well-known, but nearly all of them are excellent. (Extended review from me is here.)
Body & Soul (1984) -- Joe recorded this mostly-live-without-an-audience in a gloriously echoey room, lending its wonderful songs a majestic hue.
Volume 4 (2003) -- Joe reunited with the band of his first three albums, and the resultant album sounds as if time hadn't passed. JJ doesn't repeat himself here, yet most of the songs recapture the fire and magic of those initial bursts of energy. Make sure you listen to "Awkward Age", "Chrome", "Love At First Light", and "Still Alive" (which has an embedded reference to Steely Dan's "Barrytown", which I hope is intentional) The tour behind this album was cool as hell, too.
Night Music (1994) -- While I don't recommend this album to neophytes, it is a wonderful, nuanced album full of its own quiet glories. Don't let the bad reviews fool you; this album has some truly great songs, like "The Man Who Wrote Danny Boy", "Ever After", and "Nocturne #1".
Blaze of Glory (1989) -- This is a neat collection of pop songs segueway'ed together into two suites of songs which are loosely autobiographical. Strong points are "Nineteen Forever", "Rant 'n Rave", "Down To London", and "Tomorrow's World".
Night & Day II (2000) -- A worthy sequel to the first one. While the first one is split into "Night Side" and "Day Side", this one is one long suite of individual segued songs. There's a lot of looking back, both musically and lyrically, and it's a wonderful listen. This was another great tour.

COFFEE MUG REVIEW: The Contigo Autoseal

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 04:40:00 +0000

I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that the Contigo Autoseal travel coffee mug that I purchased from Target for around $20 not less than two months ago is the finest travel coffee mug I have owned. It keeps your drink warm, doesn't spill, is easy to use one-handed while you drive, easy to clean, and a general joy to own. I definitely would recommend it. Plus, Contigo is a Chicago-based company, even though the mugs are manufactured in China.

As a matter of fact, I love this mug so much that I'm gonna buy it twice. D'OH!! Yes, your faithful correspondent was in such a hurry this morning to pack off both kids to day care that I didn't realize that I had left the coffee mug on top of the roof of my car until I reached the first stop sign from my house. Clatter, clunk, CRACK!! The top busted in a bad spot, rendering my beautiful Contigo an expensive dribble cup. So it's back to Target to get me another one. But let me reiterate that it's a worthy purchase!! It just sucks that I need to re-buy it because I'm a big ol' dork.

Shame on you, Maine

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 04:43:00 +0000

Yesterday, 52% of Maine voters struck down pending state legislation which would have allowed for same-sex marriage. This sickens me. The fact of the matter is, one's sexual orientation does not invalidate that person's ability to love deeply, to commit one's entire heart, soul, and life to another person. Being gay is not a choice the same way that choosing to be vegetarian is; it is just who you are. (Think of your eye color; did you have any choice in the matter?) The rhetoric of hate, bigotry, and lies unfortunately prevailed in the decision to repeal the law which would have allowed same-sex marriage. While some people might say that since the margin was so slim can be seen as the turning of the tides, a loss is still a loss. To allow voters to suppress one group of people's rights in this fashion would be akin to allowing voters back in Lincoln's day to repeal the law abolishing slavery. It's the same thing, folks; don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

I honestly think that the huge problem we have to overcome (aside from institutionalized bigotry at the pulpit in way too many organized religions) is the fact that the religious sacrament of marriage, and that ostensibly-religious term "marriage" has unfortunately been secularized in code of law to refer to the legal definition of the relationship between two people. This is unfortunate; many persons who claim to be religious point to the fact that their religion of choice doesn't allow same-sex marriage, so therefore our country shouldn't allow it as well. This mindset flies in the face of our separation of church and state; without that defined separation, the religious group who shouts loudest would create our laws, sometimes at the expense of other people's valid religious beliefs that might run contrary to the prevailing majority. If there were only a way to take away the religious meaning behind the word "marriage", this might not be as hotly contested of a debate. Washington state yesterday did pass an "everything but marriage" bill, thankfully. Each and every state-controlled right that opposite-sex couples enjoy when they get married is now afforded to same-sex couples who want to marry. While this law does not afford all of the federally granted rights of marriage, it is a huge step forward. Shame on Maine for falling for the lies and scare tactics of the campaign against same-sex marriage.

I do believe that ultimately, same-sex marriage will be legal within my lifetime; it's a shame that it is taking so long to overcome people's ignorance and bigotry.

Top Ten Power Pop Classics

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 04:25:00 +0000

The following cuts are quintessential examples of my favorite subgenre of rock 'n roll, Power Pop:

Big Star, "Back Of A Car"
Game Theory, "24"
Matthew Sweet, "I've Been Waiting"
Todd Rundgren, "Couldn't I Just Tell You"
The Who, "Pictures Of Lily"
The Beatles, "Paperback Writer"
Love Nut, "Casualty"
The Safes, "Eternity"
Material Issue, "One Simple Word"
XTC, "Earn Enough For Us"

Now granted, this is by no means a complete list. And ask me again tomorrow, I'd probably swap out a few. But if you've heard even a few of these classics, you might have a fair idea what people mean when they talk about power pop.

Elvis Costello - This Years Model

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 04:38:00 +0000

I mean, c'mon; you need ME to tell you this is one of the finest albums of all time??? And you want me to tell you why?? Well, okay, but honestly, the best way for you to discover is to just buy it yourself; you won't be disappointed. For as many albums as this man has put out, this is still his finest hour. After an excellent debut album (My Aim Is True) recorded with the band that would evolve into Huey Lewis & The News, Elvis found THE band that perfectly matched his musical vision: the Attractions. Bruce Thomas, Steve Nieve, and Pete Thomas not only excel as players, they completely take great material and make it PHENOMENAL. The songs are wiry-yet-literate screeds of anger, sarcasm, neurosis, self-doubt, and rebellion. Elvis didn't beg you to like him; he dared you to not like him. "This Year's Girl", "(I Don't Want To Go To) Chelsea", and yes, even the overplayed "Pump It Up" tumble out of your speakers with a tangle of emotions and imagery. But for me, the finest moment is the closing cut on the US version: "Radio Radio". Issued in the UK as a standalone single, Columbia Records tacked this onto the US version of This Years Model (no apostrophe in the title of the album). I think it's a perfect closer for the disc, and I'm glad that since 1994, all CD versions have included both the UK-only "Chelsea" and "Night Rally" and the US-only "Radio Radio".

Which brings me to the real purpose of this blog post: the differences between the original LP releases in both the UK and the US are striking. In the UK, this was an independent label (Radar) release; in the US, it was released by possibly the biggest label you could be on at the time (Columbia). From what I remember, Columbia felt that they'd be "improving" the album by striking the two songs (according to Elvis, Columbia felt those songs' lyrics were "too English", AARGH!!), and adding "Radio Radio". They were right about the latter point, but I think they did US listeners a huge disservice by waiting until the odds-n-sods collection Taking Liberties to release these two cuts. Put all together, the two track configurations when combined make a most-excellent thirteen track monster.

Not only was the tracklist modified for its US release, so was its cover. For any degradation in quality that they accomplished via track deletion, Columbia scored higher points in my book with the alternate photos that they chose for both the front and back covers of the US version of the LP. On the UK version, Elvis seems to be saying, "Now don't bring your hopes up too high; I've never used this camera before." On the US cover, Elvis is hiding his face partially behind the camera; his eyes are open wide. His face seems to be saying, "I'm as excited as all hell about this; look what I have here!!" Which, upon listening to the album, it seems he had a stunner of an album there.

On the rear cover of the UK album, the band is just lolling about. "Here we are, take us or leave us." On the rear of the US album, it would seem that Elvis is putting the delayed-shot timer of that camera on the front cover to use; he's sprinting to get into the frame, and almost misses being in the shot. It's comical to think that for the camera on the front cover (ironically, an older camera being used for an album called This Years Model), even this year's model still acts quirky. This joke is missed on the UK version of the cover.

Finally, Columbia Records did something truly cool for the label on the first pressing of the album. I can best explain it with photos. The label pictured for My Aim Is True is the standard Columbia Records label which had been in use since the late '60s/early '70s. Take a look at the yellow perimeter print on the label for This Years Model. Too cool.

And one last thing; if you haven't heard this album yet, listen to it. It's a masterpiece.

Visit the Wesley Willis Tower!!

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 19:31:00 +0000

Wesley Willis was a rock 'n roller
He was diagnosed with chronic scizophrenia
He made music with his Casio keyboard, and whupped a llama's ass

Wesley Willis, Wesley Willis
Wesley Willis, Wesley Willis

Rock over London, Rock On Chicago
Touch and Go, serving up Steve Albini records since 1987

There are a whole lot of people who have no idea that in the '90s, the city of Chicago was home to one of the most unique individuals to have ever made alternative rock. Wesley Willis was a chronic schizophrenic street artist; with only magic markers and tag paper, Wesley would make the most intricate renderings of city skylines and urban landscapes. However, Wes had friends who inspired him to indulge his musical "gifts", and gave him access to recording equipment and pointed him in the direction of CD manufacturing. His solo material was simplistic, quirky music. Typically, his songs were merely him narrating in his spoken voice something he'd heard, a person he'd known, a significant event that had happened in his life, or a concert he'd been to. Although most people wouldn't consider his music great by any stretch, I find it fascinating (in small doses). Think about it; here's a guy who was dealt a really bad set of circumstances, and with the help of some friends, made a better life for himself. His music and concerts gave him the chance to travel the U.S., and make friends all over the place. He was even signed to Rick Rubin's American Recordings label for two albums, oddly enough. He had a good working relationship with Jello Biafra, who released many WW albums on his Alternative Tentacles label. Wesley Willis was a tireless self-promoter, and worked hard for all the acclaim that he had. Whenever he met his fans, he'd lightly head-butt you with a "rah!!" I met him three times, and was a recipient of his gracious head-butts. He was a hell of a guy.

For me, Wesley Willis's finest moment was when he was a part of the Wesley Willis Fiasco. Wesley's longtime partner in crime, Dale Meiners, got together some like-minded band members, and put together a hard punk group to supercharge Wesley Willis's lyrics. There was something phenomenal about a guy bellowing over hard punk. Their sole album, Spookydisharmoniousconflicthellride, is a great listen. Unfortunately, the band broke up due to the irregularities of Wesley's moods; like anyone with a mental disability, he had good days and bad days.

There are a whole lot of ways to approach the phenomenon of Wesley Willis's fame. Some cretins superficially laughed at Wesley's disability, as if a person with Down Syndrome were trying to sing Sinatra (the circus freak syndrome, if you will). Others were indignant at the perceived exploitation of someone with an obvious issue, and found the whole idea of his music repugnant. Myself? I really liked his music on its own terms, but more importantly, really rooted for him. I thought it was a great way for him to make himself more well-known, and a way for him to have a better life. I really liked his shamelessness, and his energy was tireless. Please make no mistake; no one was better at exploiting Wesley Willis than the man himself; apparently, he went to each and every record store in Chicago with his bag on his back to sell them his CDs, repeatedly. I still love the WWF stuff.

Unfortunately, Wesley Willis died in 2003 from leukemia. Although he's no longer with us, he should forever be remembered as one of Chicago's treasures. And I think it's a wonderful tribute to him to have renamed the Sears Tower here in Chicago to the Willis Tower in his honor. We really should always call it the Wesley Willis Tower, to drive that point home.

Halloween Music, anyone?

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 04:15:00 +0000

I know I only have mere moments to get this in before it's no longer timely, so I'll just rush through a quick list of what I feel to be excellent Halloween music. Top of the list is:

1. Tom Waits, Bone Machine. This whole album is classic Halloween music in mood and tone. Classics such as "Earth Died Screaming", "Dirt In The Ground", and "Murder In The Red Barn" are perfect for making any mood instantly spooky. And besides, it has the original "I Don't Wanna Grow Up" on it, which may not scream out Halloween, but is an excellent song anyways.
The Cure, "Lullaby".
Joy Division, "Dead Souls". Also, the excellent Nine Inch Nails cover of this.
Dave Edmunds, "Creature From The Black Lagoon" Cliched, I realize, but still great for the day.
Warren Zevon, "Werewolves Of London". See note for #4.
Bobby "Boris" Pickett, "Monster Mash". Yes, cliched, but so what?
The Who, "Boris The Spider"
Quasar Wut Wut, "Thankful Hank and the Guzzard". Deliciously mysterious, perfect for the day.
Lou Reed, "Halloween Parade". Yes, of course I know what it's about, but titularly it's appropriate. And of course,
Ministry, "Every Day Is Halloween".

November is NaBloPoMo...

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 03:45:00 +0000

...Which translates to National Blog Post Month. My wife found out about it, and is honoring it with one post for each day of November. Just for grins, I think I might try it, too. Now I want to reset everyone's expectations; I might not be able to crank out my huge album reviews one per day; they might be just smaller posts. And they might not all be music- or movie-related. But I will try my damnedest to post something every day.

Today's music recommendation: Pete Townshend & Ronnie Lane, Rough Mix.

Jellyfish -- Spilt Milk

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 17:47:00 +0000

There are so many reasons that a person can fall so hopelessly in love with Jellyfish’s 1993 masterpiece Spilt Milk:

Their uncanny ability to pay reverent bent-knee sonic tribute to the bands which influenced them without straying into the lazy band’s realm of wholesale theft (World Party, I’m looking at you).
The balancing act which they make look so easy between obvious production obsession and emotional music which hasn’t had its passion produced out.
The SONGS, man! Each one of them is a winner; songwriters Andy Sturmer and Roger Manning, Jr. really brought the goods this time out.

To label this album merely a ‘90s power pop would be technically accurate, but insufficient in relating the genre-crossing treasures within. Jellyfish takes the intricate, glorious harmonies of the Beach Boys, the theatrical hard rock of Queen, the thundering crush of noise that MBV made famous, and even throws in the carnival kaleidoscope that the Beatles let us take a peek through with Sgt. Pepper’s, and layer all of these sonic touchstones together like the finest musical lasagna.

In a lot of ways, I liken Jellyfish to Steely Dan, but not in the ways most people would think. In terms of genre and musical influences, the two bands couldn’t be further from each other. But Steely Dan had the uncanny ability to start with excellent songs, demand perfect performances from their musicians, and end up with a masterly crafted record you actually listen to repeatedly just to catch new details that you missed the time before. And like Steely Dan, that very same studio obsession ended up blowing the respective bands apart, leaving excellent records and broken-hearted fans in their wake. I can’t help but wonder if Jellyfish had their own inevitable demise in mind when they titled the album Spilt Milk.

The album starts oddly enough with the loveliest of lullabies, “Hush”. Sweet Beach Boys harmonies coo and swoon behind a gentle un-ironic lyric to bring on the sandman. But the lull is temporary…

The next song thunders in like a rhino. In a perfect world, “Joining A Fan Club” would be universally hailed as one of the classic raucous Rockers of all time. (Think Queen’s “Tie Your Mother Down” and Led Zep’s “Celebration Day”. Yeah, it’s THAT good.) Not enough superlatives can be heaped upon this song; it’s a shameless stomper that really captures what Rock should always strive for.

“Sebrina, Paste, and Plato” is one of the sunniest songs ever written. Mixing equal parts exuberance, absurdity, and whimsy, Jellyfish captures child-like happiness in a bottle (just as Prince did with “Starfish and Coffee”), while deliciously paying tribute to the Beach Boys. Now before you start thinking that all they are about is lovin’ the California surf band, please keep in mind that to truly approach the beauty of that Beach Boys Pet Sounds-era majesty is no small feat. “Sebrina…” contains kettle drums, sleigh bells (remember “Wouldn’t It Be Nice?”), spinet piano, and yes, the aforementioned beautiful harmonies a la Brian Wilson.

Power-pop perfection is achieved with the next song, “New Mistake”. Electric piano and castanets never sounded so beautiful as an interlude between layers of strings, clavinet, big ol’ Queen guitars, and soaring melodies, all in the service of a clever lyric warning against unwanted pregnancies and romance with rockstars. The song fades down gently to the sound of crickets.

Andy Sturmer sings quietly over an acoustic guitar at the start of “Glutton Of Sympathy”. Subtly, one instrument or vocal part at a time, the song builds to a beautiful soaring denouement. Utterly brilliant; any sort of objectivity is erased in the face of songs as perfect as this.

If your radio stations weren’t cool enough to play “New Mistake” on the radio when this album was released, you might have been fortunate to have heard the next song on the airwaves, “The Ghost At Number One”. It’s a cynical, angry screed against an egotistical former rockstar, or is it? The Partridge Family keyboards they employed so wonderfully on their previous album Bellybutton (“Baby’s Comin’ Back” most notably) are back here in a nastier song, as are the sleigh bells and kettle drums.

Who would have thought that a polka could be pulled off so well by power-poppers with a retro sense of theatricality? “Bye Bye Bye” was actually demoed for their first album, but fits in on this album wonderfully. Accordions, tubas, and mandolins, oh my! The Grim Reaper is really dressed in leiderhosen, and invites his elderly clients to merrily skip their way to the gates of the Hereafter; who knew?

The next song, “All Is Forgiven”, sticks out like a sore thumb among the rest of the songs; on it, thundering drums and cacophonous guitars create a frenzied, claustrophobic maelstrom of ugliness. But that’s the point; the lyrics are sung from a third person who sees a woman take back her lyin’, cheatin’ man. This third person thinks the woman is making a huge mistake, and makes no bones about it, calling the man in the tale “hypocrite, four-flusher, snake in the grass / just a swindler and wolf in sheep’s clothing, LIAR!” In this song, there are hints of My Bloody Valentine, just in the punishing layer of guitar. It took me years to appreciate this song, due to its level of difficulty; it’s not an easy pill to swallow. But I think its greatness lies in creating such a high level of antagonism; it’s a very well choreographed musical anger.

After a crescendo of anger, “Russian Hill” comes in as a pastoral, quiet song which lulls you back into placid waters; after war comes peace (if you’re lucky). This song is the musical equivalent of lying on your back in a park on the grass on a sunny summer day, just watching the clouds peacefully roll through the sky. Flutes and strings float past each other like butterflies. Life is groovy; pass the Cheez-Its.

Jellyfish songs had a funny way of popping into the strangest places; one of their songs ended up on a Nintendo musical compilation album (“Ignorance Is Bliss”). The next song ended up for some weird reason on the soundtrack to a bad Stephen Baldwin film, Threesome. “He’s My Best Friend” catches that sunny ‘70s groove, but its subversive lyric is really about, ah, shaking hands with yourself. I’ll avoid any double entendre puns beyond that, especially since the band hits upon most of them cleverly within the lyrics to the song. This song joins other fine songs written about the same subject; the Who wrote “Pictures Of Lily”, Jackson Browne wrote “Rosie”, and the Vapors gave us “Turning Japanese”. And oh, who could forget Cyndi Lauper’s “She Bop”?

Although the title conjures up Deniece Williams and Johnny Mathis, “Too Much Too Little Too Late” keeps its ambitions economical when compared to its predecessor songs, but it’s a truly wonderful power pop song nonetheless.

The album caps off with “Brighter Day”, a carnival-esque denouement to the world of wonders which precede it. “Strike the tent, un-prop the paintbox / Pack the carriages with the flesh-freaks of fear”. The spectacle of it all is both celebrated and debunked simultaneously; the circus gives joy and cynical ugliness in equal measures. Trumpets, oom-pah beats, and organ grinders beckon you to “come and join the big parade / It’s going to be a brigher day”. The album began with a double-tracked violin which fades in and twinkly toy piano; it ends similarly. When all else has gone away, the double-tracked violin fades away into the distance.

Honestly, Jellyfish couldn’t have made a more perfect album. Even they must have agreed; the pressures that they put upon themselves to arrive at such perfection (and purportedly the volatile personality mix of the band members themselves) drove the band apart, as if a CD spinning at 500 RPM suddenly shatters under the stress of it all, the pieces flung to all four corners of the room. I still wish Jellyfish could have given us more music beyond the two albums they delivered to us, but if Spilt Milk was always meant to be their closing chapter, what a peerless masterpiece to end the band’s career on.

Postscript: This CD is one of many of my personal collection which still bears the scars of the infamous Dr. Pepper incident. When I was on the air at WLUW doing my show The Midnight Zone, I would buy 1-liter sized bottles of Dr. Pepper or Mtn. Dew to give me that great sugar-rush to keep me yappy between songs. As I was finishing up what I imagined in my head to be an excellent intro to the next song, I accidentally knocked a half-full bottle of Dr. Pepper into the duffle bag of MY OWN CDs which was on the floor next to the console. As I looked down in horror to the sticky liquid which was currently permeating what was then a very important slice of material happiness in my life, I shouted the famous F-bomb twice without thinking, without realizing that my microphone was still open. Marinating in both the dual horror of soaking my CD collection AND spectacularly breaking an FCC rule, I quickly started the song and closed the mike. Blotting up the Dr. Pepper with as many paper towels that you can grab quickly only does so much; to this day, certain irreplaceable CDs’ booklets and tray cards have telltale sodapop stains and damage. While this CD might be called Spilt Milk, the moral of that horrible day is to not cry over spilt Dr. Pepper. Especially with an open mike.

Michael Jackson Has Died.

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 03:16:00 +0000

It seems surreal, and very UNREAL, to be typing those words. I'm honestly shocked. I was shocked like this when I found out that Stevie Ray Vaughan, John Belushi, John Lennon, and Mayor Harold Washington had died. Those people... you just don't expect them to DIE at that point in their lives. It's almost like you want this to be one huge April Fool's joke, except 86 days late. Something tells me this won't be the case here. That really bums me.

I was a child of the '80s, and when Thriller came out, Michael was inescapable. And we all ate it up. I got both Thriller and Synchronicity for Christmas in '83, both wrapped in the same package. I never owned a single white glove, but I did sort of learn a half-assed version of the moonwalk, and took breakdance lessons at the Olympia Park fieldhouse. I remember Michael on the American Music Awards, and later that year at the Grammy's. Memory isn't serving me; I can't remember if he was a part of that very first MTV Music Video Awards, but I certainly remember him winning a whole lot of moonman statues that night. Now that I think of it, I think he WASN'T there, but that Diana Ross collected those statues on behalf of her close, personal friend, Michael Jackson. I still remember that on the LP of Thriller, the track "Billie Jean" (side 2, track 2!) has what appear to be zebra stripes on the surface. I know now that's because of the way that backbeat translates out to vinyl grooves, but at the time, people said it was proof that the song was a hit, or was powerful, or something. I remember that my folks didn't have MTV, but that my Aunt MaryJo did. I was staying overnight at her house around that time, and was finally able to watch the legendary, landmark video for "Thriller". Say what you will about it today, but at the time, that damn video was KILLER!! Especially for a 10 year old like myself. And for my generation, he was the new hardest-working-man-in-showbiz. He took James Brown's intense stage act, modernized it, and set the stage on fire. It was truly a fun time to be a Michael Jackson fan.

When Bad finally came out in 1987, I had moved on. I didn't begrudge him any of his success, but I certainly never was moved to go out and buy it. I do think that a whole lot of music industry executives (and to an extent, Michael Jackson himself) always asked themselves why they were never able to replicate the massive success that he had with Thriller. To me, that magical time of 1982 to 1984-ish represented a period when the man could do no wrong. When you look back at the red-and-gold-fringe jacket Michael wore to the AMA's, you think, "How the hell did he pull off wearing that crazy jacket??" But back then, none of us even questioned it. (David Lee Roth was afforded the same luxury; anyone who would have thought of wearing that crazy costume he wore for the "Jump" video would have been laughed off the planet. But DLR was given a pass... because he was DLR. Same thing for Michael.) Even back in the height of his popularity, most of us dismissed his peculiarities as, "That's just Michael." For him and his handlers to even have thought that he could even match the success of Thriller (or to be disappointed that they couldn't match it) was, in hindsight, delusion on a huge scale. Thriller was a once-in-a-lifetime event, that while it made Michael, very well could have ultimately undone him, too.

As the years went by, Michael remained an electric performer, and could still be counted on for great entertainment... until about 1995. At that point, his weirdness and scandals slowly brought down what was left of his good reputation. It was sad to see him dragged through the mud like that. I honestly always felt sorry that (purely in my opinion) here was a man whose childhood was spent being a superstar, to the point that he never truly knew what it was like to be a normal kid. Supposedly, he spent a significant portion of his adulthood (and fortunes) trying to be a kid again as an adult. This, of course, caused a boatload of problems for him, and probably not all of them his fault. Regardless, the man was the target of a whole lot of nastiness, I'm sure a lot of it undeserved.

I still don't believe it. But since no one is telling me otherwise, I guess I'm going to have to accept it. Michael Jackson is dead. Michael, thank you for all of the entertainment that you gave us; you will never be forgotten. May you be at peace now.

Some photos borrowed from www.photofeatures.com / Chris Walter. They are marked as such.

My Name WAS Earl; another one bites the dust

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 04:24:00 +0000

Why is it that ALL of my favorites go away? Prematurely ended in their prime before they get the chance to continue all that they have to say (except the Who; they don't know when to say when, frankly). It has just been announced that the recently-cancelled-by-NBC My Name Is Earl has just run out of its last "second chance". TBS was apparently very interested in picking up the show after ABC and Fox passed on renewal of the series. However, TBS could only accept the show if the show's producer, 20th Century Fox, could "cheap down" the show's production costs. The studio (sadly, to their credit), felt that this move would compromise the show's quality. And so ends another one of my favorite shows. And what a drag; it was technically on a cliffhanger episode; the identity of Joy's second child's father, always assumed to be Darnell "Crabman" Turner, has now been cast in doubt. Earl discovers that he is most likely the father to Joy's first child, even though she thought all this time that Dodge's father was Little Chubby.

Thanks to all of the cast and crew of that show; you really were my favorite on TV. This cancellation news really hurts.

This is starting to get me really nervous; I almost don't want to choose another "favorite show" in fears of watching it die a slow, inevitable death.

In the meantime, here is a clutch of Earl-related links. Go to the NBC website while you can, and watch as many of these episodes while you still have the chance.
The show's official NBC website
Examiner article on the show's ultimate demise
The show's Wikipedia page
Another article with a few more details and quotes on the show's fate

Thank You Friends: An Open Letter To Eric Lowen and Dan Navarro

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 05:05:00 +0000

Dear Eric and Dan:

This might be a tough letter for me to write; I really don’t want to leave anything out. As I’m writing this, I’m listening to the wonderful 100th Loft Session that you both performed on XM Radio with the incredible Phil Parlapiano. The three of you really know how to gel as a tight unit; you sort of re-define simpatico.

Last weekend, the two of you performed your final shows as a duo. I was not fortunate enough to have witnessed what I’m sure were beautiful, wonderful historic shows. But I have been fortunate, living in Chicago, to have caught you guys in concert twice. I’ve heard you on Steve Dahl’s show, cracking him up, playing music, and really sharing some wonderful stories with us. It’s through his show that I first really heard you guys. From that May 2006 radio show, I was skewered; I had to hear more. I’ve since gotten all of your CDs except the most recent one, and that omission will be rectified soon, rest assured.

Your music means so much to not only me, but to my wife and kids as well. When I played her the Steve Dahl show as well, she also ended up loving your music as well. My wife and I were blessed enough to catch you in January 2007; not long after that wonderful show, we found out she was pregnant with our daughter. We also saw you guys at the Taste Of Randolph fest; in that sense, my daughter has been to two LowNav concerts before she was even born in September. It’s been my tradition when each of my two kids were born to compile a lullaby CD for each of them. On my daughter’s CD, I included “Cold Outside” (the Steve Dahl show version, from May 2006), “Maybe Later”, “I Don’t Believe In Yesterday” (which, incidentally, makes a wonderful song to segue into coming off of John Lennon’s “Imagine”), and “Broken Moon”. My 5-year old son almost subconsciously sings along with “Cold Outside” whenever it comes up on that CD. Trust me when I tell you your music means a LOT to us!!

Not only have you blessed us with your wonderful music through the years, you’ve shown us humor, incredible strength, and grace when life deals you a crummy hand. Eric, the public face that you’ve chosen to show us in the face of your diagnosis with ALS has been so inspiring. For all of us fans, it’s been heart-wrenching watching the inevitable elements of this disorder play themselves out. But you’ve only chosen to share with us the fact that somehow, despite the horrors that ALS deals out to you and 5600 others annually, it is possible to continue to function, to continue to create, to continue to inspire, to continue to cause laughter, to continue to touch hearts, to continue to want to find a cure for ALS, but most of all, to continue to entertain. In that respect, you’ve never flagged. And Dan, you’ve been an inspiration yourself not only by being an active voice and advocate for ALS (you’re still an advisory trustee in the Greater Los Angeles ALS Association), but an unfailingly loyal friend to Eric. As cliché as it sounds, both of you will always be inspirations to me.

So now, as you’ve reached El Fin Del Camino, I’m choosing to see this as a beautiful, happy celebration. Eric, as far as I am concerned, you are retiring from performing life with full honors; you and Dan have given us a legacy of infinite music and laughter, genuine emotion and true beauty. I’m looking forward to reading your blogged thoughts on your website. You and your family will always be in my thoughts and prayers. Dan, I know that you are continuing on; I can’t wait to see you the next time you come through town. You will no doubt continue to bless all of us with your music, and I hope that you also continue to play with Phil Parlapiano. But as the performing duo of Lowen and Navarro heads off into the sunset, please don’t ever doubt the rich legacy of musical wonders that you’ve blessed the world with. You’ve certainly touched my life forever, and I know that you will continue to touch souls everywhere.

Sincerely,
Jack Murphy

BOOK REVIEW: Bullets: Growing Up In The Crossfire, by Kat Hibbard

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Fri, 08 May 2009 15:46:00 +0000

For all that I gripe about it, my job as a field engineer in IT does introduce me to a lot of cool, interesting people. I go to client sites, resolving their PC workstation and server (and sometimes even network!) issues. About three weeks ago, I was doing an upgrade of ten users’ workstations when I met Kat, the author of this book. Transferring data from one computer to another is easy; making sure that each of the specialty programs which were on the old computer work on the new computer is the FUN part, letmetellyou!! So when I try to log her onto this company-wide application, the typical username wouldn’t log me on. Kat suggested a different name, casually adding to me that “I change my name every so often.” I can only hope I had my poker face on; it’s none of my business what a person does. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find it mildly curious, like a lot of us might think. But a sense of professionalism compelled me to let it pass.

Work on her computer continued into the lunch hour, and while I’m working, we got to talking. I don’t recall how it came up, but she mentioned a time in her high school career that she had cut class for over thirty days. Astounded, I asked if she’d be comfortable relating the specifics of that to me. I found out that not only was she relatively comfortable sharing the details of that particular adventure, but that she’d written an autobiography detailing even more such colorful chapters in her life. She graciously gave me a copy of her book (and kindly inscribed it for me when I asked), which I set about reading a couple days later when my evening schedule cleared up.

I stayed up to 1:30am reading the whole thing in one sitting; it kept me rapt in attention. Silly me.

The next day, I jokingly complained to her that it was her fault that I’d stayed up late the night before!! She laughed, but thanked me when I complimented her on her book.

And what a story it is. Kat grew up in a home full of all sorts of discord, unhappiness, and strife. Her parents’ marriage was not a happy one, and she and her siblings grew up in the shadow of their unhappiness. To say that Kat has issues with her father is like saying there’s a little bit of water in the ocean. His behavior (in the book, she refers to her parents with a capitalized He and She) was erratic and abusive, fuelled by alcohol and bitterness. The book details all sorts of nightmare episodes where he brought his family down with him into despair and fear.

This turbulent home life led her to make a lot of other personal decisions under duress which she seems to imply she’d do differently had circumstances been different. The book details her truancy, battles with her weight, appearance and self-worth, and even struggles with drugs in order to be accepted socially. The struggles to overcome these trials of growing up are relatable to most of us; the degree of extremity woven in her own set of circumstances will make most of us really glad that in hindsight, maybe our own troubles weren’t so bad after all.

Yet in tale after tale, there isn’t a whole lot of time devoted to self-pity. The facts are presented brutally and unflinchingly raw in a lot of these tales, but there really isn’t a whole lot of hand-wringing or “woe is me” pervading the tone of the narrative. For Kat, these are just the stories as they went down, raw emotions and all. She’s not above casting aspersions on herself; she doesn’t only blame others for her choices. But while her prose does indeed conjure up the emotions of the time, they don’t beg for your pity.

The story does have a happy ending; Kat is a very well-balanced, happy person these days. I told her that after reading her book, I’m surprised that she still walks upright, that she isn’t broken by her past. She laughed, and told me that she has a good support system. She is a mother of two, likes her job, and relates her story to others in order to share with readers that it’s possible to emerge out of horrible circumstances in one piece, with a sense of pride and happiness. Her autobiography is a page-turner, and keeps your attention. I highly recommend it.

If you’d like to buy a copy of this great book, please email Kat here. Or visit her website for more information.

Blame Pete!!!

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 20:15:00 +0000

This was a piece that I wrote for Glorious Noise. Jake (ed. in chief) decided to judiciously edit it for space reasons; he might have had a point. Here is the unedited version of that article, plus a couple of additions and revisions. I will let you decide if he was right to "trim the fat".

Brothers and sisters, I gotta testify; my name is Murph, and I’m a Rockaholic.

I place the blame squarely on Pete Townshend’s shoulders. Roger, John, and Keith are just as guilty, complicit as they are in catalyzing so pervasive of a conversion to the Rock side of your loyal correspondent. But the songs were Pete’s, so he ought to get the lion’s share of the blame. I was only seven; my resistance was already low, when an album that came out three years before I was born pushed me so completely over the edge of no return deep into the depths of Rock fandom from which I will never emerge from. Not that that’s a bad thing, necessarily…

My very own rock opera

In 1979, my father got an 8-track recorder from my uncle, who had just made the upgrade to cassettes. At the time, Saturday Night Fever was still huge, so my parents borrowed the soundtrack record from my uncle and taped a bunch of Bee Gees, Tavares, and Yvonne Elliman onto the first two tracks of an existing 8-track that came with the recorder. But on the remaining two tracks were the greatest songs I’d ever heard in my 7 years of life; a deaf, dumb and blind kid who had an evil cousin, the Christmas he couldn’t appreciate, a quack doctor who couldn’t cure the kid, and of course, the fact that the kid was a pinball wizard. But best of all, the kid was named Tommy, just like me. I wore glasses at the time, and listened to that 8-track loudly on those classic black-and-clunky headphones, so I figured I was 2/3 of the way towards the same fate. But it killed me that my parents didn’t know who sang the album; their idea of great music at the time was Makem & Clancy, Helen Reddy, and John Denver. However, Santa knew who sang it; that year, under my Christmas tree was possibly the coolest present a kid could ever ask for: the glorious double record of the original 1969 Who rock opera Tommy, in its famous three-panel gatefold sleeve. Sure, I wondered what the hell that big ball on the cover was, and why the guys were inside the ball. Why were they waving their hands? But all that was secondary to the music: two records worth of the coolest songs I’d ever heard. I was hooked, and a lifelong love of Rock was born.

Who needs baseball cards when there’s Who’s Next?

Frankie O’Malley and I hit it off immediately in first grade; we were the only two kids our age who’d even heard of the Who, let alone had their records. Later, we found out that Mike Robinson was a fan. Mike got me The Who By Numbers for my birthday that year; like the kid I was, of course I connected all the dots on the cover, d’oh!! I also picked up the “You Better You Bet” 45 and (not long after that) the Face Dances LP. I didn’t know at the time that I was coming into the group at the nadir of their career, but even then, I knew that By Numbers was a far better LP than Face Dances.

Life is really so much simpler when you are in the second grade. Language gets taken for face value; multiple metaphors get lost at that age. Again, I was hanging out with Frankie O'Malley at his house, and wanted to show his mom that I knew how to play guitar (I think I'd been playing for two years at that point). So what song did I choose to play for her? "Squeeze Box", of course. What can I say? The song only has three chords, and it's easy to remember. Too bad that a second grader has absolutely no way of knowing that it's crude slang for female genitalia; back then, I thought it was just an accordion. Lord only knows how she must have thought her poor son Frankie's friends were already warped at such a tender age.

Some kids spent all their lawn-cutting money on baseball cards, video games, or candy. Not me; I distinctly remember borrowing a copy of Who’s Next from my guitar teacher, loving it, and saving my grass-cutting dollars to buy it at Rainbow Records in Park Ridge. The record store opened at 10am on a Saturday; I was there at 9:45, nose pressed against the glass like a cat eyeing a goldfish. And you know that it was worth the wait, to crack the shrink-wrap and set the needle into the groove to hear the bubbling synth of “Baba O’Riley”.

That year, the Who toured for their first “final” time. Mike Robinson had the proper pay-per-view channel which was showing the last show of the tour in Toronto. WLUP was simulcasting it as well. Frankie, Mike, Mike’s buddy, and I were all in second grade at that point, and had one hell of a sleepover party to see out the Who’s career (or so we all thought at the time). The music was cranking, and it was a blast.

Ain’t no cure for the Mom-intercepted-my-copy-of-Quadrophenia blues

When I was in fourth grade, our local Chicago Public Library actually had a copy of Quadrophenia in the stacks. Being curious about another Who record I hadn’t heard, I took it out along with my Choose-Your-Own-Adventure and Encyclopedia Brown paperbacks. But then my mom, as only a mom can, decided to take a closer look at the thick libretto that came with the Who’s second rock opera. Well, between the big picture of Jimmy the Mod with all the centerfolds on his wall and the drug lyrics in “Cut My Hair”, there was no way she was gonna let me listen to the album, despite my protestations to the contrary. Then, to top it off, we returned the record to the library without the book; my mom had to sheepishly return it weeks later as soon as she discovered what she’d done. Serves her right, I say.

Empty Glass extortion and other childhood lapses of judgment

Being a kid, I wasn’t able to wrap my brain around one tiny aspect of The Who Sell Out album. In the run off groove of the second side of the UK pressing, there is an actual track called “Track Records”, the UK record label which the Who had partial interest in. However, in their infinite knowledge, Decca Records in America had the bright idea to obscure the track’s only lyrics, “Track Records, Track Records”. To my ten-year old kid’s ears, they made the remaining noise sound like ghouls going “hah ha-hah, hah ha-hah”. I knew it wasn’t ghouls, but nonetheless, the sound made my skin crawl. So what did I do? I took a paperclip to the run-out groove to scratch out the offending sounds. Dummy… good thing it was a blue-sky label MCA reissue copy, not an original Decca pressing.

Little by little, the rest of my classmates caught up to me with their own musical tastes. [Name withheld for privacy; I was actually gonna use this guy’s real name when I first submitted the article.] knew I was a Who fan, and offered to sell me for three bucks his only-slightly-used copy of Pete Townshend’s Empty Glass, one I didn’t have yet. For three bucks, I knew it was a deal and a steal, and gladly offered to take it off his hands for him. But like a fool, I wasn’t wearing my poker face that day. When I got to his house to close the transaction, the price mysteriously had risen to an intractable five bucks. Despite all the names I called him, the price would not budge, and I begrudgingly parted with my Abe Lincoln, making a mental note to never do business with [this dude] again.

“Mom, can I cut class??”

Once in a while, your parents shock the hell out of you. You think you have them pegged, then they throw a fast one your way. In 1989, the Who miraculously reunited to celebrate their 25th anniversary with a tour. They were coming to Alpine Valley, and at the time, had only planned one show. Tickets went on sale on a Friday, a school day for me. But St. Patrick’s High School had a half day that day. That Wednesday, I took a long shot chance, and pled my case to my mom that I needed to cut class that Friday to buy tickets to see the Who’s glorious 25th anniversary reunion concert, fully expecting her to ix-nay the plan out of hand. In a move that still shocks me to this day, she agreed that it was okay for me to call in sick to school that day, so that I could buy tickets. Not only that, she drove me to the Sears in Golf Mill (which had a Ticketron outlet) at 3:45am so I could wait in line. In hindsight, she completely righted the damage done by the Quadrophenia fiasco. I bought four tickets, so my cousin, his two buddies, and I could enjoy what I still think to this day was a kickass concert. When they opened the show with a glorious rendition of the overture from Tommy, I knew I could die a happy man.

The death of the Ox

With the Who now essentially back in action on a more-or-less regular basis, I had the chance to catch them in 2000 with my now-wife, at the New World Music theater in Tinley Park. Little did we know we were witnessing the last time a truly viable lineup of the Who would come through Chicago. They still knew how to put on a hell of a show, and it was a thrill, if not as thrilling as 1989 for the sheer novelty’s sake of seeing a freshly-reunited Who.

John Entwistle’s death was so senseless; you’d like to think that Keith Moon’s death might have counted for more. As far as rock deaths go, it was pretty disgraceful to die of a coke overdose when you knew in advance you were suffering from a serious heart condition. The shame of it all was somewhat positively mitigated with a bit of good old-fashioned rock ‘n roll sleaze when it was later rumored that he died in the arms of a Vegas showgirl. It was John’s death that first inspired me to post to the Glorious Noise message boards, and find out how other like-minded music geeks took the news.

The remaining two continue to tour, and really ought to call themselves Who’s Left, if you ask me. I mean, it would be like Paul and Ringo going on tour as the Beatles. Pete, Roger, and John, I’ll buy that. But then there were two, and so ought to endeth the name the Who.

Pete’s scandal

When Pete got in trouble for admitting to accessing a child pornography website, it broke my heart the way it was sensationalized. First off, the whole thing is one of the most bizarre chapters in Who history. Don’t get me wrong; child pornography is a horrible crime against humanity. But I truly believe Pete’s explanation that he was trying to dig deep into his own psyche to discover whether or not he’d been molested as a child. Unlike Gary Glitter, Pete was not found with scores of images on his hard drive (that we know of). When he claims that he looked once and was repulsed by what he found, I believe him. However, I’m not naïve enough to believe that it could be that as a lifelong fan, I want to believe him. Regardless, I do think that he went about the whole thing in a wrong (and naïve) way; he probably didn’t need to go to that site in the first place. But worse was the treatment he received at the hands of a merciless, scandal-hungry press. I don’t think that much less of Pete for what went down, but the whole episode breaks my heart.

My (next) generation

Now that I’m a father myself, I’m introducing my kids early on to the classics; my son as an infant would fall asleep every night to a Beatles lullaby CD made by Jason Falkner. And one of the songs which routinely calmed him down was Big Star’s “The Ballad of El Goodo”. My daughter, though she is still sometimes shaky when she walks, tries to play the guitar with me whenever I am playing it. I created lullaby comp CDs for my kids, with Verbow, Tom Waits, and yes, The Who among the included songs. Unlike my own pre-Who diet of John Denver and Helen Reddy, I want to give my kids an appreciation for the finer tunes, or at the very least point them in the direction of good stuff. And who knows… if early signs are any indicator, the kids may take after the father and become music fanatics. Heaven help us if that happens; Pete Townshend will then be guilty of corrupting two generations of Murphys!!!!

What the world sees...

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Fri, 27 Mar 2009 05:02:00 +0000

What I See...

Internet Weirdness

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Fri, 27 Mar 2009 03:29:00 +0000

OK, just for fun, I was googling the terms "Dr. Teeth" and "inspiration" (yes, to see where my previous post falls), and made a very interesting discovery...

Someone in mainland China wholesale copied my page, put it up on some other weird page, and didn't attribute me.

I'm honestly not sure whether to be flattered, offended, or... I don't know. I mean, granted, the content of that last post of mine wasn't wholly original. But the concept of it, and the way I phrased it was mine. I gleaned all the images. If this is a way that Chinese people can get to read my blog that they otherwise wouldn't be able to, then I guess I don't mind. But to see my blog post just slapped unattributed up on someone else's anonymous blog-bot is a weird sensation.

And what the hell is a Sophia Lauren Wikipedia anyway, and what the hell does that have to do with the Muppets???!!?!?

More to come soon...

Dr. Teeth & The Electric Mayhem: A Primer

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Thu, 12 Feb 2009 04:00:00 +0000

There's a certain subset of my generation for whom the Muppets will always hold a special place in our hearts. I still remember watching The Muppet Show faithfully every Saturday at 6:30pm, and seeing Elton John, Paul Simon, Olivia Newton-John, and a bunch of other celebrities mix it up with Kermit, Miss Piggy, and the rest of the gang. I'm doing my best to make sure that my kids know the genius which is Paul Williams' excellent "Rainbow Connection". To that end, my 5 year old son loves The Muppet Movie, and already is on his way to knowing the lyrics to that song by heart. If he takes away nothing else from my musical tastes, I've done a good thing.

Which brings me to Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem, the house band of the Muppets. When you look at them closely, you see that Jim Henson and his merry men were clever when they conceptualized the members of the band. Each of the Electric Mayhem's members has some form of real-life couterpart, to whom they were created in tribute. Gentle readers, it is my pleasure to break it down for you all...

First up is the leader of the band, Dr. Teeth. It's relatively easy to see that he's based on New Orleans pride and joy, Mac Rebbenack himself, Dr. John. Both play piano, both sing a bit scratchy-voiced, and both are most definitely colorful characters.

Next up, Floyd is an unusual one. His full name is Sgt. Floyd Pepper, which sheds a bit of light on his preference in clothing. But also... the man has pink eyebrows. Get it? So Roger Waters AND the Beatles have played into the character. Personally, I always thought he resembled Mick Fleetwood or John McVie. Floyd has a great quote about the music he composes: "If I didn't know I was a genius, I wouldn't listen to the trash I write."

Janice is a relatively simple one to draw a connection to; her name is derived from Janis Joplin. But some musician friends of mine thought that personality- and musical-inspiration-wise, she might have a bit more in common with Joni Mitchell. This may very well be true, too.

Zoot the saxophonist definitely takes his name from Zoot Sims, the jazz saxophonist. But apparently, looks-wise Zoot was designed to resemble another jazz saxman, Gato Barbieri. Zoot always struck me as the perpetual stoner of the group, which is kinda cool that the Muppets were subversive enough to include that in their group.

Rowlf, though perhaps not officially a member of the Electric Mayhem (at least not initially), is most definitely modeled after Nighthawks At The Diner-era Tom Waits. Jim Henson was hipper than we give him credit for!!

And finally, the most beloved member of the band, Animal? Easy; Keith Moon. Think about it: both are crazed, both play with intensity, and both have a predisposition for destruction. For Keith, it was hotel rooms and Lincoln Continentals; Animal was kept under lock-and key, with that nutty dog collar that Floyd always had him on. Can you imagine Pete Townshend keeping Keith Moon on a short leash, with a fetish collar and the whole bit??

In case any of you need to be reminded just how cool Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem could be when firing on all cylinders, I submit to you their masterpiece, "Can You Picture That?" from The Muppet Movie. Even today, this song rocks; I don't care what you damn indie snobs think!!

With $21.5 Grand, you could buy yourself...

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Mon, 05 Jan 2009 04:28:00 +0000

...a whole lot of really collectible gold CDs and other rare CD-shaped audio discs. Consider that if you will; in this day and age, where some of us are wondering where our next paycheck is going to come from, when the goodship Economy is gonna right itself, and even if we don't have such dire concerns in the here and now, how are we gonna eventually pay for our kids' college tuition. But hey, if you are so inclined, $21,499.99 will buy you 135 of some of the rarest, most desirable CDs in the world. Hell, why haven't you fled this site to go check it out yourself right now???!?!

A lot of backstory, and I'll try not to make it boring. The CDs in question are indeed made of a microthin layer of gold between the standard slices of poly bicarbonate strata. Most were made between the mid-80s and the late '90s by (primarily) two companies: MFSL and DCC. Both of these California-based companies, when they started making their CDs, made an important discovery. Some people out there weren't satisfied with the sound of the standard-issue compact disc of their favorite albums. Furthermore, a subset of this group of people were willing to pay $30 per CD (instead of the typical $15 per CD) for the chance to have a version of this CD that sounds better. Thus, a niche was born, and these two companies (both since defunct, although MFSL has been relaunched within the past 4 years or so) had the market down cold. And for those of us who purchased said gold CDs (this writer included), we usually were happy with the results. Since 99% of these gold CDs cannot be purchased for anything near the original $30 per disc that they cost back in the day, it makes for a wonderful opportunity for someone who had the foresight to buy the discs in some quantity while they could.

Enter MyMusicFix. This is a lone-dude eBay seller based out of Lake Forest (Illinois? I'm not sure...) who knows the value of hype, collector's cred, and an attempt to use hyperbole to market these discs to whoever is willing to pay his collector-with-ca$h-to-burn prices. Don't get me wrong; this in no way is meant as a slam against the man. He is more than entitled to make a good living selling music collectibles. (And if he's based out of Lake Forest, IL, he's doing just fine, I promise you.)

I guess I'm just astounded that someone out there in the world (in this economic climate might be willing to close this transaction. I know it isn't me, but if you look at the dollars and cents of it, this $21,499.99 investment (in a wildly speculative, if-the-planets-align-just-right best case scenario) might make sense. Let me break it down: one of the SEALED items he has in this offer is the MFSL gold CD version of Pink Floyd's The Wall, a wonderful mastering of this album in deluxe packaging. I own it myself, and can attest to its excellent sound quality. But I purchased mine used way back in the early '90s, when it was still relatively available, for $30. I look at people selling (or attempting to sell) this set in similar condition for $100+. That's a hell of a return on my original $30 investment!! Now don't get any ideas, I don't have any real intent of selling my copy. But on your lowest days, you do occasionally look at the trinkets you've amassed, and wonder how liquid some would be if you had your back against the wall. Now using the MFSL gold The Wall as one example, and keeping in mind how we know that eventually, the economy will right itself... is that $21,499.99 investment the deal of the century, after all?

By the way, happy new year, everyone!!!

Images borrowed without permission from MyMusicFix and another eBay seller aamuuzme; my simultaneous gratitude and apologies to both.

Blue Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 19:19:00 +0000

Gilda Radner was right; it’s always something. Usually, I like to think of myself as a realistic optimist; jaded in places, yet still ultimately hopeful that good will prevail, and that those who don’t respect themselves or their fellow man will be someday shown the error of their ways via the forces of karma. Maybe they’ll realize that’s what hit them: the cumulative force of their actions coming back to haunt them. Or maybe not; maybe they’ll just carry on doing as they do, rue their bad luck, and not connect the two. I don’t know what will happen; I don’t have any control of these forces, nor do I try to wish ill on even the worst of my perceived enemies.

All that said, I do try to live a good life for the most part myself, and try to respect those forces which govern the universe by living right for myself and others. That’s why I sometimes have a hard time coming to terms with life’s little tragedies when they hit me and those I love.

Two weeks ago, my wife and I found out we were pregnant with our third child. We couldn’t be happier, and were looking forward to seeing the little blinking heartbeat on the ultrasound, at which point we’d be able to add some wonderful news at the dinner table on Christmas Eve. Yeah, well………..

Yesterday, we found out the results of her most recent blood test, which seem to indicate that we are going to lose the child. It’s a bit like having that red carpet rolled out for you, even though you’re not entirely sure why… and then having it violently yanked out from under you.

Now don’t get me wrong; I realize that my wife and I are truly blessed to have the two most wonderful kids in the world already. Don’t ever think for a second that I’m taking either them or that fact for granted. I realize that there are folks who don’t even have child number one, worthy folks who are willing to go (and do sometimes go) to the ends of the earth to know what it is like to be a parent. God has truly blessed us. That knowledge, as precious as it is, is only scant consolation when you learn that for some reason, the lightning that you thought would strike a third time was merely some random static electricity, here and gone without a lasting effect.

What makes it a bit worse is that aside from my wife, who is going through her own potent brand of dark teatime of the soul, I don’t really have a whole lot of people I feel comfortable sharing this with. My folks? I love them to death, but in their good intentions, they sometimes say THE WRONG THING. Maybe it’s a Catholic thing… My friends? I dunno; that’s complicated, what with all the wives and such, and they’re all connected on the Internet, sometimes in crazy little soap operas. So as pitiful as it seems, I am sharing this with you, my blog reader, just to get it off my chest. Thank you for reading this, even though chances are high that I don’t know you in real life (yet). And it’s weird; I don’t think I’m looking for sympathy necessarily, but maybe I am. I know I’m not looking for an empty, meaningless, anonymous faux-sympathetic “That sucks, man.” If you’re gonna say it, mean it, LOL. And I want to be there for my wife, to help her pick up the pieces as well; I just don’t necessarily know how to do that, yet. She reads this blog, so Honey, please don’t ever forget how much I love you. I will always be there for you, through good and bad. That will never change.

It’s like, I want to cry, but I feel numb instead. I feel like a knife has stabbed my heart, and it’s really sore, but not bleeding all over the place. It’s like, shit happens to me, why should this be any different? But it is; I know damn well it is, since it involves a child of ours that we’ll never meet. I prayed to God yesterday that he guide that little soul back to Heaven, and to keep it safe. Ah, there we go; typing those words made me well up a bit. Maybe I do have a heart, after all.

All I know, man, is that this sucks. I hate feeling this way, and I hate even more that my wife is hurting just as badly as I am, probably worse. You can’t help but ask yourself, why did this happen? What did we do wrong to have this occur? Is this bad karma I earned coming back to bite me? Did I wrong someone and fail to acknowledge it? I honestly don’t know. I also don’t know how many of these questions are even relevant at this point. I will continue to check myself, to examine what I do to look for clues to the answers to those questions. But I’m not expecting any easy answers. And I’m not expecting this to be the happiest of holiday seasons. I’ll put on a happy face for my kids and family, but inside it’s gonna be rough for us.

Sorry for the downer; I kind of felt I had to share, with somebody, anybody. I promise the next one is gonna be happier, and probably entertainment-related. Thanks for listening; I needed that.

Image available at www.digitalblasphemy.com, look up “blue Christmas” without the quotes.

Radio Apocalypse: Steve Dahl Is Off The Air

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Sat, 06 Dec 2008 05:57:00 +0000

I kind of had a hunch. It wasn't anything tangible, but my spidey sense told me it very well might happen, and maybe even as soon as today. My wife and I had the day off today; our own personal economic situation, while far from poor, dictated that the Caribbean cruise we had originally scheduled couldn't take place this year. We'd managed to get a refund, and converted the existing requested vacation into a stay-cation. As we're driving in the car today, our kids at home being watched by the nanny, I tuned the radio station in to The Jack, to listen to Steve Dahl's daily morning show. I mentioned that I knew he'd been having serious ratings problems, and that it wouldn't surprise me if he were off the air soon. I even mentioned that I had already been mentally preparing myself for the day it happened. She and I had been talking, so I didn't explicitly hear what Steve had said, but I heard the lyrics to what ended up being Steve's final song. It didn't exactly fill my heart with joy when I heard the lyrics:

If you see me gettin' smaller I'm leavin' don't be grieving
Just got to get away from here
If you see me gettin' smaller don't worry
I'm in no hurry I've got the right to disappear

During the song, I turned to my wife, and said, "It wouldn't surprise me if this was Steve's last day." Then the voice of the station, a normally smart-alecky persona who did voiceovers, came on and confirmed that this was indeed Steve's last day. The voice identified his real name as Howard, and paid a fine tribute to Steve Dahl.

God, sometimes it sucks being right. My wife thought it was spooky how I had forecast that.

For those of you who don't follow Chicago radio, Steve Dahl is a local broadcasting legend. Although he's most famous on a national level for the infamous 1979 radio stunt known as Disco Demolition, he proved to we his audience that after thirty years of radio in one market, he was no one trick pony. In a nutshell, Steve and his one-time radio partner Garry Meier once were kings of their own brand of talk radio. For them, there were no rules; they more or less invented the style of radio which morphed into "shock jock". Many point to Steve as an early influence to Howard Stern, although the skinny NYC jock has vacillated between admitting Dahl's influence and flat-out insulting him. Steve was once known for his excesses; he has now been over a decade sober. He had been with CBS Radio over two radio stations since the late '90s, achieving consistently strong ratings in his key demographics. Most recently, he'd been on The Jack, the jockless CBS station which had become Steve Dahl's radio home since the dissolution of the all-talk WCKG. In order for him to continue to work during the period of his contractual obligation to CBS Radio, they worked out a deal which made him the morning man at the until-then jockless music regurgitator. This move, while it ruffled feathers on the morning-drive fans of jockless radio, gave we the Dahl-fans an extension of more than a year of Steve's show. But Arbitron's recent conversion from ratings diaries to the ostensibly more accurate automated People Meter rating collection devices caused a sea change in radio which was equivalent to Billboard magazine using SoundScan to track record sales. Many radio stations received an unexpected increase; just as many found themselves the unlucky recipient of sometimes dramatic declines in their ratings. Steve Dahl, unfortunately, fell into the latter category; media wags predicted that the end would be near.

Just because I saw it coming doesn't make Steve Dahl's departure from radio any easier of a pill to swallow. I really enjoyed his show; I had been a big fan since discovering that he had Buzz Killman and Wendy Snyder as his co-hosts. Both Buzz and Wendy were seasoned Chicago jocks who I'd enjoyed, and their presence coaxed me into listening to Steve. Before that, I honestly thought that the Steve and Garry show was kind of flat, and definitely more mean-spirited at times than I usually liked. But with Buzz and Wendy, Steve's humor was less cruel; it was a bunch of old friends who'd worked together for years at The Loop (WLUP-FM) now in a new venue. I really liked the easy humor, the fact that they all knew Chicago well, and that in a lot of ways, I could see them as just regular folk like myself. I became a fan. I realize that Steve's style of radio isn't everyone's cup of tea; there are deliberate pauses, while Steve gets information and then reacts accordingly. But you know what? I saw it as radio in real-time. Steve was clever; he didn't feel the need to manically fill every last second of dead air with snappy patter or crazy talk. Life gets hard if you consistently live your life at that speed. Steve didn't ever seem to have a problem sharing his life with us, and seemed to listen to his callers. And he was definitely funny; there was no question about that. I followed him from the late lamented 'CKG to the Jack. It sucked not having him in the afternoon drive, but that gave me the chance to catch up on my CD listening.

As of today, Steve Dahl still has two-and-a-half years remaining on his contract with CBS Radio. The good news for him is that means he'll be paid; they have to honor that. The bad news for us is that he won't be able to get another radio gig during those 2 1/2 years, barring some deep-pocketed corporation working out a deal with CBS. In today's times, and in light of Steve's most recent ratings, that seems unlikely. This sucks; why is it that I always get really fond of entertainment options which seem to be all-too-finite? Like my wife said, I seem to have a knack of picking winners. An even darker thought dwells in the back of my mind; this contractually-imposed radio ban could end up being a career-killer for Steve. In today's get-results-quick-or-change-plans-right-now corporate mentality, it lessens his chances of finding a substantive gig once the ban is over. This situation disgusts me; in any other time, Steve would be able to continue his show at its current level. With everything swirling down the porcelain bowl, sometimes even radio legends get cruelly silenced.

Steve, thank you so much for all the great radio you've given us so far. I really hope and pray that this isn't the end of your career; I dig your show too much to hear that happen.