Rest assured, Australia. I’ve done my bid to oust that lying, nefarious Little Man from office. I’ve responded to the call of democracy and humanity. I’ve voted
If you want to hear a supremely confident, swinging jazz album, I suggest sampling Cannonball Adderley's Them Dirty Blues
. An improviser at the peak of prowess and style; a switched-on, lock-tite band, a consistently great album of tunes. If only all jazz could be like this. Forever. Alas.
Also, since I’ve imposed a ban on the purchase of new books and discs on myself (excepting the momentousness of Smile), I thought to try something different re: Tom waits’ new album, Real Gone
(rather placidly reviewed here
). I’m going to consume and participate in this album purely in degrees removed, through reviews, online snippets or related forum-opinions and articles. Through press promos and marketing dribbles and third-rate and/or tepidly composed opinions. I’m going to do everything except
purchase the album. And then, later in time, because it’s unlikely his back catalogue will go out of print soon, I’ll compare the reality of the sounds and beats of the album with the mental picture created by all that secondary media. Hey, like, how shiftily ironic for a review website!
Oh, and I can’t remember laughing this hard for a while; but I'm gonna do a special edit of Oliver Stone’s The Doors
with a laugh track. Whistles, Harpo-hoots and bells; BargeArse voices. And possibly some lifted commentary by the late Rodney Dangerfield. That film is so laughable, so tarnished with age and decay, so willfully naïve in narrative scope and editing, it had me stapling my sides to the couch with glee. What was he thinking? That man Stone is an unacknowledged master of comedy.
After about the third repeat now, I still draw a hearty chortle at Homer's
'Oh, save me Jebus!'