A little over month ago two friends of mine were married in Vegas. That setting totally matches their wedding and them to a tee. The Little White Wedding Chapel was the scene of their union. The air-conditioning unit at the chapel was on the fritz (or so they claimed, it was working quite nice in their office) so the ceremony was a testimony to the cooling properties of a handkerchief, a fan, and ice-water. The groom wore green, silk pajamas and the groomsmen (myself included) wore black pants (I opted for Dickies), a black t-shirt and a hat of some sort (I chose a black, straw cowboy hat.) The bride wanted the wedding dress (she looked gorgeous, just beautiful) and the bridesmaids were in spectacular, red numbers. The girls were visions draped in their habiliments of the occasion.
The most memorable part of the trip (minus the actual ceremony and reception, of course) were the trips up there and back. Nothing is better than a road-trip with three of the closest friends in one's life. We ate at a Chili's in Surprise, AZ. I ended up getting sloshed at the restaurant (I guess four Beam-and-Cokes plus two Grey Goose Dirty Martinis with three olives will do that.) I hadn't had any sleep because I was coming off a twelve-hour shift. I was blasted.
We loaded into the car and headed to Vegas. I passed out for a couple of hours until we came to a gas station where we stocked up on libations to satisfy our thirst for the potions that would aid in the tomfoolery that would ensue on the trip. The guy at the station offered to sell me some marijuana. I had to decline but I'm sure he didn't mind. The gas station seemed to be chock-full of waiting customers.
Up until now I didn't pay much mind to the music (probably due to the fact that I was out cold) but at this leg of the journey i was up and ready to rock. We were listening to quite a bit of good, old-fashioned punk music. AFI, Authority Zero, and various other three-chords-and-the-truth bands were spun. None of them played all the way through. It was a mix-and-match of good music. As soon as one sing-along was over the record was switched and another choir of discontent was started in it's place. It was fun. Very, very fun.
Everybody balked at Slayer, Converge, Refused, and Pantera. They were having none of it. So I decided to unleash the country and roots music. I had brought quite a selection of Americana and country influenced artists and was determined to listen to them during our trip, even if it was by myself while passing out in the hotel room. Everybody dug Johnny Cash, of course. Patsy was a hit as was the new Kris Kristofferson album, This Old Road. The Old Crow Medicine Show took a while for them to warm up to. It was turned off twice in a row before I demanded that we listen to at least one song all the way through. After they heard "Tell It to Me" they were open to listening to the OCMS a bit more. I put on Eleni Mandell but they complained it was just too soft and mellow for the trip. I tried some Wilco but all I had was Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and that is an album best absorbed by oneself and a bottle of wine. Ryan Adams was kept on for a minute. Everybody loves his version of "Wonderwall" and this was no exception. But, as it delved into some of his other tracks, he too was cast aside.
I was about to tell them to go back to the rock until I decided to try once more and I handed Sweetheart of the Rodeo by The Byrds to the person in charge of the stereo. First off, everybody didn't want to hear "Mr. Tambourine Man." I assured them that this was a departure from that great song. Next I got the "If we're gonna listen to sixty's music can we listen to Beatles instead?" question. Yes, I had some Beatles with me but I told them to just give it a listen. Then came the "What's next? Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young?" query. I said if the wanted to we could listen to CSNY (I didn't have a CSNY album on me but I had to call their bluff.) Once The Byrds kicked into "You Ain't Going Nowhere" they were fixed into this music. They were hooked.
The album was a revelation for them. I had brought down the third tablet from Mount Sinai and on it was written "Thou shalt listen to Sweetheart of the Rodeo." We ended up listening to this record for a good majority of the trip back Plus we replayed a few tunes over-and-over. "Hickory Wind", "Lazy Days", "The Chiristian Life", and "You Don't Miss Your Water" were in heavy rotation.
It's not hard (from my humble point-of-view, of course) to see why they loved this collection of great songs. Sweetheart of the Rodeo is one of the records that has changed my life, literally. Along with Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables by The Dead Kennedys, London Calling by The Clash, Downward is Heavenward by Hum, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band by the Beatles, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, and Pet Sounds by the Beach Boys (plus a slew of others that would take too much time to mention) Sweetheart of the Rodeo is one of those albums that changed my life, literally. It is one of those tributaries that has entered my soul and completely rewired my tastes. The album is so full of pain, heartache, redemption, murder, La Luz de Jesus, El Diablo, love, warmth, and above all, hope. The music, of course, kicks ass but it's just a wind for the poetry to glide on. Though many of the songs were not The Byrds own ditties to begin with, they made them theirs. They took their influences (well, Gram Parsons' influences, for the most part) and forged their own sonically strong gift to humanity. I seriously love the fact that I ran across it and gave it a chance. I put in the time and effort to absorb this classic and I have reaped the benefits a million times over.
There is quite a bit of music that molded me into the adult I have become. I became interested in world issues because of Rage Against the Machine, Public Enemy, The Dead Kennedys, and Marvin Gaye, to name a few. The first time I heard "By the Time I Get to Arizona" by Public Enemy I remember thinking about the fact that at the time AZ was one of the only states without a Civil Rights Day and it was barely acknowledged in our school system. In fact, even the texts we used were very short when it came to this very important part of American history.
"Moon Over Marin" by The Dead Kennedys brought forth a sense of ecological preservation as did "Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology)" by Marvin Gaye. Listening to Jello Biafra warble on about the 1969 Santa Barbara Coast oil spill or hearing Marvin Gaye pose the question "Where did all the blue skies go?" instilled a sense of ecological importance. I just can't comprehend how much of a negative impact we've had on our planet. Our home. Of course, I can always be comforted by the great George Carlin waxing about how "The planet will be here for a long, long, long time after we're gone, and it will heal itself, it will cleanse itself, 'cause that's what it does. It's a self-correcting system."
I've always had a soft spot (an overly tender, vulnerable soft spot) for the loving side of life. This is attributed to my parent's divorce when I was nine. I was at an age where I was most malleable and this single event bended me into the infatuated fool I am at present. It also sharpened my grasp of the "love song."
I found love while "Black" by Pearl Jam was playing. Actually, I lost my virginity while that song was coming through the tiny, four inch speakers of my, at the time, girlfriend's boombox. That song is a large part of my sexual awakening. That song can issue forth and I am brought back twelve years and many miles to a point where I was discovering the many affairs of the heart. "Black" is just one soldier in an army of songs that have the ability to recall that sense of loving (or lusting depending on the situation) that emptys many a young man's wallet in the oftentimes fruitless search for companionship, no matter be it a long-term relationship or a one-night engagement.
Procol Harum's "A Whiter Shade of Pale" is another creation that never ceases to enthrall me. It rivets my heart in place and forces me to conjure false images of skipping a light fandango and turning cartwheels across the floor. When Matthew Fisher, the lead singer of Procol Harum, launches into the chorus I find it hard not to proclaim "AND SO IT WAAAAAAAAAS" while trying (and ultimately failing) to match his sincerity in the deliverance of this simple line. My favorite part of the song is Fisher's Hammond organ. The lines that stream from the Hammond touch--no--grab my heartstrings and tug away, guiding me through the emotions hidden in this gem, as if I'm a simple marionette. I gladly give leave for this to happen.
This expounding of my obsession with music was brought on by the passing of a gentleman today. I didn't know know him. I just happened to speak to his spouse after he suffered and, unfortunately, succumbed to a fall in his home. She told me of her love of him without even meaning to. They were together for 61 years, he fought in three wars (I correctly guessed World War II, the Korean War, and Vietnam), and he had a habit of falling down. Speaking to her was a blessing. Our brief conversation shows me that it's tales like their's that offer gleams of hope in a dreary society. It is dreams of lives like their's that provide the one of the major backdrops for the art musicians provide. I've witnessed the joining of two people and experienced the breaking apart of two others in a short amount of time. Both occurances have impacted me. I wish her the best of luck.
As a side note, while speaking to her I could hear "The Very Old Man" by Hum playing ever so slightly, somewhere in the background...
The most memorable part of the trip (minus the actual ceremony and reception, of course) were the trips up there and back. Nothing is better than a road-trip with three of the closest friends in one's life. We ate at a Chili's in Surprise, AZ. I ended up getting sloshed at the restaurant (I guess four Beam-and-Cokes plus two Grey Goose Dirty Martinis with three olives will do that.) I hadn't had any sleep because I was coming off a twelve-hour shift. I was blasted.
We loaded into the car and headed to Vegas. I passed out for a couple of hours until we came to a gas station where we stocked up on libations to satisfy our thirst for the potions that would aid in the tomfoolery that would ensue on the trip. The guy at the station offered to sell me some marijuana. I had to decline but I'm sure he didn't mind. The gas station seemed to be chock-full of waiting customers.
Up until now I didn't pay much mind to the music (probably due to the fact that I was out cold) but at this leg of the journey i was up and ready to rock. We were listening to quite a bit of good, old-fashioned punk music. AFI, Authority Zero, and various other three-chords-and-the-truth bands were spun. None of them played all the way through. It was a mix-and-match of good music. As soon as one sing-along was over the record was switched and another choir of discontent was started in it's place. It was fun. Very, very fun.
Everybody balked at Slayer, Converge, Refused, and Pantera. They were having none of it. So I decided to unleash the country and roots music. I had brought quite a selection of Americana and country influenced artists and was determined to listen to them during our trip, even if it was by myself while passing out in the hotel room. Everybody dug Johnny Cash, of course. Patsy was a hit as was the new Kris Kristofferson album, This Old Road. The Old Crow Medicine Show took a while for them to warm up to. It was turned off twice in a row before I demanded that we listen to at least one song all the way through. After they heard "Tell It to Me" they were open to listening to the OCMS a bit more. I put on Eleni Mandell but they complained it was just too soft and mellow for the trip. I tried some Wilco but all I had was Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and that is an album best absorbed by oneself and a bottle of wine. Ryan Adams was kept on for a minute. Everybody loves his version of "Wonderwall" and this was no exception. But, as it delved into some of his other tracks, he too was cast aside.
I was about to tell them to go back to the rock until I decided to try once more and I handed Sweetheart of the Rodeo by The Byrds to the person in charge of the stereo. First off, everybody didn't want to hear "Mr. Tambourine Man." I assured them that this was a departure from that great song. Next I got the "If we're gonna listen to sixty's music can we listen to Beatles instead?" question. Yes, I had some Beatles with me but I told them to just give it a listen. Then came the "What's next? Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young?" query. I said if the wanted to we could listen to CSNY (I didn't have a CSNY album on me but I had to call their bluff.) Once The Byrds kicked into "You Ain't Going Nowhere" they were fixed into this music. They were hooked.
The album was a revelation for them. I had brought down the third tablet from Mount Sinai and on it was written "Thou shalt listen to Sweetheart of the Rodeo." We ended up listening to this record for a good majority of the trip back Plus we replayed a few tunes over-and-over. "Hickory Wind", "Lazy Days", "The Chiristian Life", and "You Don't Miss Your Water" were in heavy rotation.
It's not hard (from my humble point-of-view, of course) to see why they loved this collection of great songs. Sweetheart of the Rodeo is one of the records that has changed my life, literally. Along with Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables by The Dead Kennedys, London Calling by The Clash, Downward is Heavenward by Hum, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band by the Beatles, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, and Pet Sounds by the Beach Boys (plus a slew of others that would take too much time to mention) Sweetheart of the Rodeo is one of those albums that changed my life, literally. It is one of those tributaries that has entered my soul and completely rewired my tastes. The album is so full of pain, heartache, redemption, murder, La Luz de Jesus, El Diablo, love, warmth, and above all, hope. The music, of course, kicks ass but it's just a wind for the poetry to glide on. Though many of the songs were not The Byrds own ditties to begin with, they made them theirs. They took their influences (well, Gram Parsons' influences, for the most part) and forged their own sonically strong gift to humanity. I seriously love the fact that I ran across it and gave it a chance. I put in the time and effort to absorb this classic and I have reaped the benefits a million times over.
There is quite a bit of music that molded me into the adult I have become. I became interested in world issues because of Rage Against the Machine, Public Enemy, The Dead Kennedys, and Marvin Gaye, to name a few. The first time I heard "By the Time I Get to Arizona" by Public Enemy I remember thinking about the fact that at the time AZ was one of the only states without a Civil Rights Day and it was barely acknowledged in our school system. In fact, even the texts we used were very short when it came to this very important part of American history.
"Moon Over Marin" by The Dead Kennedys brought forth a sense of ecological preservation as did "Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology)" by Marvin Gaye. Listening to Jello Biafra warble on about the 1969 Santa Barbara Coast oil spill or hearing Marvin Gaye pose the question "Where did all the blue skies go?" instilled a sense of ecological importance. I just can't comprehend how much of a negative impact we've had on our planet. Our home. Of course, I can always be comforted by the great George Carlin waxing about how "The planet will be here for a long, long, long time after we're gone, and it will heal itself, it will cleanse itself, 'cause that's what it does. It's a self-correcting system."
I've always had a soft spot (an overly tender, vulnerable soft spot) for the loving side of life. This is attributed to my parent's divorce when I was nine. I was at an age where I was most malleable and this single event bended me into the infatuated fool I am at present. It also sharpened my grasp of the "love song."
I found love while "Black" by Pearl Jam was playing. Actually, I lost my virginity while that song was coming through the tiny, four inch speakers of my, at the time, girlfriend's boombox. That song is a large part of my sexual awakening. That song can issue forth and I am brought back twelve years and many miles to a point where I was discovering the many affairs of the heart. "Black" is just one soldier in an army of songs that have the ability to recall that sense of loving (or lusting depending on the situation) that emptys many a young man's wallet in the oftentimes fruitless search for companionship, no matter be it a long-term relationship or a one-night engagement.
Procol Harum's "A Whiter Shade of Pale" is another creation that never ceases to enthrall me. It rivets my heart in place and forces me to conjure false images of skipping a light fandango and turning cartwheels across the floor. When Matthew Fisher, the lead singer of Procol Harum, launches into the chorus I find it hard not to proclaim "AND SO IT WAAAAAAAAAS" while trying (and ultimately failing) to match his sincerity in the deliverance of this simple line. My favorite part of the song is Fisher's Hammond organ. The lines that stream from the Hammond touch--no--grab my heartstrings and tug away, guiding me through the emotions hidden in this gem, as if I'm a simple marionette. I gladly give leave for this to happen.
This expounding of my obsession with music was brought on by the passing of a gentleman today. I didn't know know him. I just happened to speak to his spouse after he suffered and, unfortunately, succumbed to a fall in his home. She told me of her love of him without even meaning to. They were together for 61 years, he fought in three wars (I correctly guessed World War II, the Korean War, and Vietnam), and he had a habit of falling down. Speaking to her was a blessing. Our brief conversation shows me that it's tales like their's that offer gleams of hope in a dreary society. It is dreams of lives like their's that provide the one of the major backdrops for the art musicians provide. I've witnessed the joining of two people and experienced the breaking apart of two others in a short amount of time. Both occurances have impacted me. I wish her the best of luck.
As a side note, while speaking to her I could hear "The Very Old Man" by Hum playing ever so slightly, somewhere in the background...
This was a good entry, though. I read the whole thing, you can quiz me on it later.