Monday, November 22, 1993

R.I.P. Anthony Burgess

Anthony Burgess snuffed it, O my bratties. A cruel mesto this world is. The cancers he craved gave him the like-eemyaed disease. Irony, that. The rest is, like, silence.

Saturday, March 27, 1993

Looking backwards

I’m a writer and a cartoonist. IMHO, I’m damned good at both. But I’d rather be musician. As Zappa once said, music is the best. Nothing gets into the soul like music, cuts right straight through, right past the traffic cop/censor at the center of your head.

I remember, around 1970 or so, hearing this profound, new, weird, deep, honest, clean sound. Think it was at some trip to USF with Jeff Scarbrough to see “Easy Rider.” In that Brutalist concrete building, I heard a fragment of a Crosby Stills and Nash tune on somebody’s radio. File-not-found as to title, but a weird, trippy, flowing thing. (Heard it again on a cassette tape that got mobius-stripped –- it sounded just as good backwards.)
Later on, got more tastes of that new sound.

Graham Nash’s “Please Come to Chicago.” 

That bizarre backwards guitar riff Hendrix plays on “Are You Experienced.”

Santana shredding into "Black Magic Woman," not the chorus, but the bubbling, noodling improv parts that the Stones seemed to copy in “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking.”

And Clapton. “Sunshine of Your Love.” “White Room.” As the graffito said, “Eric Clapton is God.” That’s taking it a bit too far. But not that far. Goddamn, this was something new! Hey, the music was a revolution! Hearing that music, it was easy to believe there’d be a revolution. This music was going to CREATE a revolution. Rock would save our fucking souls.

A few years later, it was all Disco Duck and fucking John Travolta.
Two years from now, I'll be 40. Ain't that a laff?
Now, with the objectivity and equanimity of incipient decrepitude, I can see that de gustibus non disputandum est, and that so many hopping, bopping young folk had a jolly time to the metronomic, robotic, cocaine-inflected shiny, plastic disco beat.

But I hated the 70s like Napoleon hated Elba. There I was, exiled at the University of Virginity where the spirit of the 60s had fled, at least from where I stood. Feeling cheated, like the snotnose punk I was. The party was over, dude. You missed it, by just a few years. Now we’re all clean-cut preppies wearing Izod Lacoste polo shirts and Sperry Topsider shoes and we talk for hours about the joys of onion soup and THINGS, all the nice stuff we’re going to buy when we move into positions of power in the Beltway just like our parents. If you took a shot of tequila every time one of these fuckers mentioned a brand name, you’d be puking blood in 15 minutes.

But punk was a rearguard action. Punk gave me hope.

By the mid-1980s, there were glimmers of light in the hairband darkness. The early 90s has been pretty fucking cool.

Goddamnit, I love grunge.

Ain't no revolution yet. Not much chance of that. I know that now.

But at least there's some cool tunes.

Monday, February 15, 1993

What this is

Wake up, wake up. The culture is on fire.

Actually, it's not. It's more like a dry, old cereal box, allowing for some settling of contents. All the desicated flakes have settled towards the bottom. Occasionally, some shmuck comes along and rattles the box, creating the illusion of movement. Me? I'm the government-approved percentage of rodent hairs and feces. Where was I?

OK, a statement of intent. It may all seem very random at first. Actually ...

This blog contains:

1) Cultural commentary and reviews.
2) Sketch comedy.
3) Thoughts and ripped-off content about science fiction, technology and the future in general.
4) Random shit.

OK, it is pretty random. This blog resembles nothing so much as the contents of my brain, God help me. Much of it has been reposted from the droppings I've deposited on the AOL forums, reinserting, heheheh, the eff-word where appropriate. It's not that I wanna be a potty mouth but, y'know, the right word for the right job.

Friday, January 15, 1993

Props where props due

Props to Fred Glass for the term "New Bad Future." All credit where credit is due.

Thursday, January 14, 1993

Coming Attraction

So, you’re sitting in a darkened movie theater. Watching the credits. Here comes the Paranoid Pictures logo. Then: “Welcome to the not-too-distant future, a brutal world of chaos, anarchy and high-tech terror. Only one man …” Blah-blah. You get the idea.

It occurs to me we’re living in that grim, not-too-distant future now.

Soon, we may all be Devo.

No, my friends. We are all Devo. Now.

So, welcome to my blog. Sit back and enjoy the movie. Let this cautionary tale be a warning to us all.