music you missed
Oh, I almost forgot! But on to this week's entry:
Artist: Paul McCartney
OK, so a former Beatle really doesn't count as "obscure", but show of hands, how many people own, or have ever even heard (of), this album? Yeah, that's what I thought. So stay with me here.
For several years of my life, I was a hardcore Beatlemaniac, with a special preference for Paul. I was younger then and dippy songs about love sung by a cute guy really did it for me. I'd be the first to admit, though, that lyrics were never McCartney's strong point. And Wings, while churning out many timeless & beloved hits, was really a shitty band, skill-wise. On Flowers in the Dirt, McCartney's lyrics are far better than usual (boosted by a collaboration with my hero Elvis Costello), and he's got a solid band backing him. Like Play, beautiful melodies, thoughtful lyrics, sweet singing, and rich arrangements combine into a very pleasant musical experience. Well, until the last 3 songs, when it all falls apart on the lyrics front. But still.
Now I can't say this is the album where he turned it all around in his weak areas. Tug of War came years before and is uniformly wonderful (although not as mature lyrically), and Band on the Run, before that, is also terrific, but those were both hitmakers that people have actually heard of, so this is where the "obscure" criteria for these little reviews comes in.
Favorite tracks? Everything up til those last 3 songs. He really should've quit while he was ahead.
this is not a drill
I've got my joie de vivre back, and this time I'm not kidding, and I'm not jinxing myself.
That said, I will kill anyone who proves or causes otherwise. Don't test me, I have super powers.
Today I am exactly one day older than I was yesterday. And so are you! Wow, what a coincidence. We could be twins!
I'm also 33 today, and since 3 is my favorite (not lucky, just favorite) number, that seems significant. Surely it means something. Wait, I know: It's my favorite number TWICE!
Hey, at this point, I'll grasp onto even the tiniest bit of goodness, however lame it may be.
the most awesomest thing I have ever seen
I can die now, because I don't know how anything else could ever top THIS.
tallulah conveys an emotion
And that emotion would be amusement, cuz this site kept me laughing for a good 10 minutes tonite.
cultural enlightenment made easy
Oh, the things I do for (and sometimes to and with) you people...
I just decided I'm going to start a new weekly feature here called "Music You Missed", in which I will tell you about some semi-obscure album I like that I think you should check out, some of which I may have already covered here, but no matter. It's just another way for me to enrich your lives with my exceptional good taste and infinite wisdom. Alas, some of these treasures may be out of print and thus hard to find, but the best things in life do not always come easily, my pets.
Now onto this week's feature!
One last note, however, about the liner notes. These are presented as the script of a play (hence the album title), with the song lyrics appearing as dialogue and incorporated into the stage directions. Being a gal who likes to have a lyric sheet so she can sing along, this presentation is a little difficult to muddle through for that purpose, but I must concede that it is quite clever.
Now then, rush out to your local used CD store and see if you can't bag this beauty for your very own!
Someday I'm going to categorize the entries for this site, because Moveable Type will let me, and because I find my own redunancy amusing. Possible categories could include:
It's amazing what a little denial can do for a person. Why think what you think, feel what you feel, or know what you know, when you can avoid it completely, squash it down and out and simplify your life immensely. One must be thorough with the squashing, however, lest it come bubbling back up, but still, it's really quite handy. So clean and comfortable. Of course it's possible to become rather empty and disconnected this way, and at worst it could trigger some sort of psychotic break from reality, but I'm sure that's just in the really extreme cases, like with serial killers and such. The rest of us are fine, I've no doubt.
I'm not a morning person, nor do I play one on TV
Every work day: Struggling to drag my ass out of bed by 8, sometimes 9, a.m.
I can't win.
I'm sitting here at Kinko's playing with a Mac and it turns out that there's some text on my homepage (right bottom archive, search, and copyright stuff) that is appearing in dark blue instead of black like it's supposed to and I DON'T KNOW WHY. The hell?
the bourgeois bakery
At approximately 1:50am Thursday morning, I was awoken by someone shouting outside my apartment.
"...you fuckers! How 'bout some NICE, HOT DONUTS!"
There was more leading up to the "you fuckers" part that I wasn't quite awake for, the jist, however, seemed to be decrying the bourgeois suburban nature of my apartment complex, possibly the whole town. The donut line was delivered with taunting disgust. "If your values are so shallow that all you care about are things like donuts, HERE, have some, you vapid capitalist swine," it seemed to say. I fully expected the thud of a sack of donuts hitting the building/ground/neighbors to follow, but it did not. The shouting seemed to fade in gradually, as if the perpetrator was riding by on a bicycle, or in a car.
I sat for several moments waiting to hear more, but there was only silence. I wondered if the neighbors had heard it, or if they had done it. I wondered if I had merely dreamt it, but thought that impossible as my eyes were wide open and I was already awake for the donut bit. Finally I noted the time, decided that it was the work of a disorderly drunk en route from the neighborhood bar, or a band of idealistic teenagers rebelling against their community, and went back to sleep.
Later, I recounted the tale to my best friend, Janis, and we giggled over this ridiculous, pastry-based, social commentary. "It's even BETTER that you aren't sure if it was real or not," she said.
That evening, we pondered the episode, and I noted that the day before, I had concluded suburban life was not for me. We had also discussed how Janis would never fit in with our 'burb's prissily perfect Stepford moms.
Then I recalled how earlier in the week, I'd spent an entire work day anxiously waiting to go home and eat some donuts I'd bought, only to be disappointed when I found them hot and melted after sitting on the kitchen counter in my stuffy apartment all day.
OK, so it was pretty obvious it was a dream. Then Janis pointed out that the way the sound seemed to fade in gradually, then stopped shortly after I became fully conscious..."I think YOU'RE the one who was doing the shouting." And we died laughing, because we both knew she was right.
That's right, I was shouting in my sleep. Angry, indignant shouting. At 2am. About donuts. NICE, HOT donuts.
And to think all this time I've been worried about the neighbors hearing me sing. I should be more concerned that they're going to have me put away!
Did you miss me? I missed you! Oh, it's so good to see you again. Pounce, kiss, grope, sigh. OK, that's enough, get the hell off me now.
Seriously, sorry about the longish absence. Not the new web host's fault, btw. Totally Tallulah-not-properly-backing-up-her-MT-database-before-leaving-the-old-host-and-then-not-knowing-what-to-do-about-it-and-ultimately-having-to-rebuild-everything's fault. But that falls under the category of boring technical crap, doesn't it? So instead let's say that I was off having an exciting adventure involving many colorful characters in an exotic locale.
So? I've been trying to plan a vacation. I'm convinced that lolling on a beach for a few days will cure much of what ails me. Man, am I going to be disappointed when I'm still completely fucked up when I return. Worth a shot, though. Feel free to contribute to the cause, cuz it'll be my birthday soon and I'm still pretty hurt that you haven't bought me any DVDs or otherwise tried to buy my affections, you selfish jerk.
Also, I'm having a little anxiety attack over renewing my apartment lease. It's funny, I'm all about monogamy and letting go of things I love is unbearably hard, but I practically have to be sedated to commit to things like living quarters and career paths and major purchases and sometimes even plans for the weekend. I must always have an Escape Route, if only in my mind. This is just one of many reasons why I will probably never marry, except perhaps to a narcotics dealer, or my prison warden.
My new favorite TV show is Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. I want a group of experts to come and make over MY life. I don't care if they're gay, straight, or curved, I just want them to get the job done. And I'm not just talking hair-makeup-wardrobe-decor, I want the whole damn thing overhauled. The visuals are the least of my troubles.
What amazes me about this show is how cool the makeover subjects are with being fussed over by a bunch of gay men. Most of the straight men I know would be mighty uptight about that. It's too bad, too, because the guys on the show look pretty damn hot after the Fab 5 have their way with them. Which is not to say the straight men I know aren't hot. Never mind, I quit, goodnight!