The Shit List #3

1. Ticketmaster – Pure unadulterated highway robbery.

2. Larry King – De-animate his corpse and let the man rest.

3. Auto-flush toilets that flush too soon – They spatter your ass with your own shitwater and ruin the whole experience.

4. Bitches.

5. Ho’s.

-Keesup & Scrib.

P.E.O.P.L.E. in the City

The French band Air has a song called “People in the City,” that describes the cadence and stricture of urban life. The lock-step rhythm mimics the plodding of commuters up the dirt-blackened stairs of the 14th street 6 train, and the chanted verses, “Moving, watching, working, sleeping, driving, walking, talking, smiling,” speak to the numbing repetition we experience as city dwellers. But the song opens up after the second chorus, giving a sense of the excitement at being surrounded by so many people, each with myriad webs of relationships, dreams, and frustrations. The song is really rather bad, but it speaks to an essential experience.

My own zombie shuffle was interrupted last Tuesday, when a beautiful young woman tapped me on the shoulder and gave me her business card, saying simply, “My number” (the Scribblerist is just as shocked as you, dear reader). I called her and we hung out and as it turns out, she’s pretty cool.

It’s got me thinking about how we move through the city as social creatures. In breaking the silent-but-iron-bound taboo about speaking to strangers, I feel this girl has given us both a small transcendence. Why shouldn’t we speak to people who seem interesting or give off a comforting energy? We’re all interdependent anyway, right? What stops us from acting like it?

When I first moved to New York from Missouriananois I made eye contact with everyone I passed on the street. It was an unconscious gesture, and the preface to a friendly Midwestern “hello!” I soon realized, however, that people were either uncomfortable with friendliness or worse, downright hostile. A few weeks later, I had mastered the art of moving down the street without noticing other people, Ipod strapped to my side like a gun, a private universe unto myself.

This is a horrible, lonely way to live life. Cities are supposed to be sites of great meeting, discussion, collaboration, and exchange. Wrong. New York is like a shattered pane of glass, with each shard representing a self-contained social group that thinks, incorrectly, it has no need for any of the other shards. New York is, indeed, diverse – a profusion of non-intersecting subcultures.

Crossing those lines is courageous; hence, my admiration for the subway girl (who shall remain unnamed for her protection). What prevents me from doing this more often? To start, I’m shy, but I’m sure there are deeper behavioral and social reasons, too. I’m afraid this post is a non-starter: I have no answers to the collective gag rule in New York.

Still, I can’t help but ponder. I’m imagining a group of people from all different sub-groups gathering just to talk about ideas…

Then again, perhaps Air could just rock us out with their mellow European psychedelica.

Heavy-Handed Poltical Allegory by Keesup

Once there was a boy who wanted nothing more than to be President of the United States of America. He was from a very important and rich family, and he imagined that matters of state would just come naturally for him.
But while the boy had much ambition, he lacked wisdom and compassion. He squandered the money his father poured into his education, barely managing to graduate; and despite the shame it would bring to his family’s name, he engaged in behavior that would make Bacchus weep with shame. But his father was nothing if not loyal; and as the boy grew into a man, the father used his influence to find very lucrative jobs for his son. But, again and again, the son made poor decisions and dedicated little effort to his work. For years, the father was amazed at how his son could find new ways of failing. Despite the destruction he left, the son never forgot his dream of becoming president.
After the son managed to bankrupt a particularly large company, the father had had enough. He refused to help his son ever again. The boy (really, in his heart, he was still little and selfish) was despondent – how would he ever become president now? He tried drinking to forget his problems, but it only made things worse.
One night, in his drunken stupor, the man stumbled on to a beach. At his wits’ end and covered in his own vomit, he clenched his fists and pleaded to the heavens, “Please, if there is anyone is up there, help me!” Suddenly visage appeared before him, shining like platinum. A bearded man floated above the sea.
“Yea, do not be afraid, for I am the way, and the truth, and the light. No one comes to the Father, except through me,” said the floating man.
“Superman?” asked the frightened and lost man.
“No, I’m Jesus Christ, dummy.”
“Jesus! I’ve heard about you. Can you help me become President?”
“If you repent of your sin, and trust in me as your Messiah, you will be blessed and I will grant you eternal life in heaven.”
“I’ll do it! Thanks, Jesus.”
“No problem,” said Jesus as he rolled his eyes and glanced at his hands.
“What’s wrong?” asked the man.
“Nothing, don’t worry about it. You’ll find out soon. Oh, one more thing. You have to give up alcohol. You clearly have a problem and it’s holding you back.”
The man agreed. He gave up drink and met a woman who loved him. They had two beautiful daughters, and the man was content. But despite his devotion to Jesus, he still found no success in his career. This was no presidential resume! The desperate man returned to the beach where he had been saved and called for Jesus.
“Hey, George, what’s up?” asked Jesus.
“Jesus, you said I would be successful and happy if I trusted in you.”
“Yea, for in all things, God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.”
“Cut the bullshit, Christ. Am I going to be President or not?”
“Look, I can’t promise you anything. It just means that you get to go to heaven and God will provide for you as best as he sees fit.”
“So I definitely get to go to heaven, but I might not be President?”
“I cannot say such things.”
“Hmm. Is there someone else I can talk to?”
In an instant, Jesus disappeared. A plume of smoke and fire blazed near the praying man. Out of the flames appeared an impish figure with horns and a cunning grin.
“Hey buddy, need some help?”

Happy Mix CD Fun Time Awesome!

Hi. My name is Keesup, and I’m addicted to making playlists.

*Hi, Keesup.*

I wasn’t always like this. I mean, I’ve always loved music, probably more than I should, but then iTunes came out for PC. It just made organizing my music so much easier, and then you could create new mixes in such a short time. Sometimes I even burn them onto CD’s and give them to people.

There are far smarter people on the Internet and in literature who have expounded on the fine art of the mix. I just thought I would share the thought process that went into a mix I recently made for a (female) friend. I might share more in the future. Maybe it can be our thing.

Recently, I’ve been into the idea of creating a loose narrative with a set of songs. It adds a wrinkle because, in addition to the expected perfect flow of a mix, now you also have to work in a subtle natural progression – audible without being obvious.

Given the myriad songs about love (agape and eros), the project lends itself to some kind of romantic story. If anyone can come up with a narrative not using a single love song, let me know so I can steal your brain and absorb your power a la Sylar.

So here it is – rise and fall, just like Scorsese.

1. “Change Your Mind” by The Killers: A crisp overture that sets the tone for the disc. So catchy it’s sick. I have an idea for a TV show, and I totally want this to be the theme song.

2. “Police On My Back” by The Clash: The Beatles of the initial punk explosion. This one actually has nothing to do with the story, it’s just a kick-ass song that ups the ante of the first track via the accepted “High Fidelity” rules of mix-making.

3. “Maybe Katie” by Barenaked Ladies: An underrated song by an underrated band. BNL have always been trapped as a cult item – they are in the dangerous territory of simultaneously being a guilty pleasure and an acquired taste. I really dig the crunchy middle eight sections sung by Ed (the one who isn’t fat). Also, works like gangbusters if the recipient of the mix is named Katie.

4. “Summer, Highland Falls” by Billy Joel: Recorded at the crucial moment right after he got famous but right before he hooked up with Christie Brinkley and stopped trying. Did I mention the whole “narrative” idea was really loose?

5. “Automatic Stop” by The Strokes

6. “Annie’s Song” by Me First and The Gimme Gimmes: Say you want to include a gorgeous but incredibly cheesy song, like this classic piece of tripe by John Denver, but you just don’t have the nerve. Well, what if I told you there was a version that discarded the gently strummed acoustic for thrashing downstrokes and clocked in at only 102 seconds? That’s pretty much the whole basis of existence for Me First and the Gimme Gimmes, a underground pop-punk side-project cover band supergroup. ‘Cause even the headbangers get butterflies sometimes. (Couldn’t find a video on YouTube, so here’s another by the group. You quickly get the idea.)

7. “She’s A Rebel” by Green Day: Clearly we’ve entered the meet-cute/head-over-heels part of the story now, what with two hooky, boppy valentines back-to-back. This might be my favorite song from Green Day’s monumental album – a love letter to an adorable terrorist.

8. “Some Mistakes” by Brad Paisley: This pick will get snickered at in some circles (looking at you, Scribblerist), but I have to cater to a country-loving demo here. I will expound more on this song’s and artist’s great worth in a future discussion.

9. “Sugar Sugar” by The Archies: Historians say this is the apotheosis of bubblegum pop, and who am I to argue with the validity of a cartoon band based on a soapy teen comic book sold for ten cents at the checkout of the grocery store? Scorsese would probably score this to a scene of his main characters doing coke, the sick bastard.

10. “Move Your Feet” by JUNIOR SENIOR: Man, is that capitalization pretentious or what? This group is from Sweden or Iceland or something weird like that. It’s rather uncanny – if not for the white-as-all-fuck rapping, this could be a great, long-lost Michael Jackson outtake circa 1981ish. I guess this is the crazy fun dance party – the climax of a couple’s experience together. Interestingly, I could see coke getting snorted to this song also.

11. “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard: Dirty, dirty sex.

12. “Crimson and Clover” by Tommy James & The Shondells: More dirty sex (and possibly more coke). But all slow and intense and stuff. Is it obvious yet that I’ve never had sex?

13. “All I Need” by Radiohead: The wheels start to come off. It starts out pretty, but something is clearly wrong – it’s just barely simmering under the surface until it just gets kind of creepy and scary at the end. Try that with your giant bank of supercomputers, Greenwood!

14. “Beyond Belief” by Elvis Costello and The Attractions: Density is one of EC’s calling cards, and there aren’t many denser songs than this wordy mother. Melancholy introspection at its finest.

15. “Silver Lining” by Rilo Kiley: This is the chick coming to terms with the break-up. “I never felt so wicked as when I willed our love to die.” Notice that I used the term “chick” because I’m a misogynist asshole.

16. “Gone” by Ben Folds: Ditto for the guy.

17. “Wendy Clear” by blink-182: The closing trilogy is the most important aspect of a mix for me. Hopeful and wistful at the same time is what I’m going for, so I started with the pop-punk version of that.

18. “Wheel” by John Mayer: The road-tested pap in which Mayer specializes can be quite effective in the proper context; but really, can’t any cheesy song seem perfect if the moment is right? This to me is the moment that he stepped out of his preppy shell and realized, “Hey, I don’t need to write songs whose express purpose is to get me laid! I can just let it flow and women will slobber on my cock anyway!”

19. “All These Things That I’ve Done” by The Killers: Yeah, I broke the rule of only one song per artist. But I couldn’t end the CD any other way. Actually, I would have used “Backstreets” by Springsteen until I just expanded a whole Bruce best-of for the same person. And, in fairness, this might be the coolest song of the decade (non-rap division). “Don’t you put me on the backburner . . .”