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Archive for February, 2013

keep your hands off the shade baby, no one gonna care when the moon goes dead

Yes, I’m still talking about being born in the ’60s, 1963 to be exact. Which means my pop music exposure reaches back a decade or two before that time—think Mairzy Doats or Dream a Little Dream—all the way up to now.

I just heard a great set on an indie station here and damn if I hadn’t heard this song in about 25 years.

The Dream Syndicate always sound like sex to me. Loud dark dirty sex. Trying not to be loud dark dirty sex. Sex like you are in your 20s. Sex and dancing and lowdown drunkenness. And more dirty sex. And something not quite wholesome. Drunken sex. Wrong sex. Bad sex. Bad good sex. Good bad sex. Sex because your dad is dead sex. Depression sex. Yes, you get the picture. Their trippy sound, the squanking guitar and steady rhythm. Steve Wynn.

I remember riding the subway in NYC, my first time there, 1982, with one of my best friends and we must have looked pretty ridiculous. Yes, we had our faux-punk clothes, but they really missed the mark in terms of New York and all the grit that went before, the real Punk movement just before our time and across the ocean to boot. Thankfully, we were a beautiful pair. Nobody minds too much if you are young and pretty. She was tall and thin, with long legs, a curvy butt, dark hair and dark-rimmed golden brown eyes. She was and always will be one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever known. I had the boobs, the blond hair and the blue eyes, a bit more on the curvy swaying side. We never lacked for male attention.

We went to a club, god knows where, and rode the subway to the wrong place, drunk, at about 3 am. I think a taxi figured in after that, but who really knows? I know we got back to where we were staying with all of our limbs attached.

It really is a wonder that nothing terribly terrible ever happened to me when I was drunk. Not one car dent (those all happened later, in my mini-van, sober, married), not one incident of being somewhere I didn’t want to be, not one man I couldn’t name. I think I threw up only once in my life from drink. I never passed out unless it was in my own bed. I swear. But don’t think I’m not an alcoholic, because of that there is no doubt. Wouldn’t it be great if all drunks got out as scratch-free as I did?

I don’t mean to say I didn’t suffer, that I didn’t have a lot to learn that others seem to “get” simply by virtue of not being drunks. Like how NOT to burn cigarette holes in the roof of a car, the little things. But I drank, like any good alcoholic, because it spoke to me, like this music does, this dark sound that comes from the place we’re not supposed to look.

And their magnum opus.

The original studio version is not on youtube, but this is a close second. I can’t believe I used to make it through the whole thing. I musta been drinkin’.

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What I was going to write was “fuckin’ A, it’s the Silos on youtube after all these years”…but I felt like it would be bad form to have the word fuck in my blog title. The day may come that warrants the use of the word as such, but even with all of the crap that the Congress expects us to eat, chew, and swallow, I have not yet felt the need. I did have my day on Facebook using the word fuck in my status update, but that was not a first; even children, teens, and the elderly read that! Egads man.

Actually, since nobody seems to read my Facebook updates, the news feed flying by by the milisecond as it does, here is what I posted:

Fuck you Wayne LaPierre and all of your ilk. Between the gun irrationalists and the rest of the GOP trying to make the fact of my anatomy some reason to legislate the hell outta my constitutional rights, fuck you. Saying fuck you feels offensive to me, but I’m gonna use a liberal meme and say the offensive thing is the behavior and lack of reasoning of the GOP and TEA partiers. What I’m doing is using words, not legislative action to shut people down. Our nation is being held hostage by corporate interests and lunatic fringe fear-mongering cavemen and women. I’m so tired of it. No wonder we feel defeated. I know I don’t have a million bucks spare to pay off a congressperson.
Okay, now that that’s out of the way, let’s get on with the raison d’etre of this post. THE SILOS! Relief….

If you liked that, I highly recommend listening to more of their stuff. Here’s another one of my favorites:

And another, prolly the only reason I have ever wanted to know Spanish. In the meantime, you can think of me as the girl who really knew how to use the word fuck, in English.

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