Daily Update #25: "We came to see the mobscene"

[This entry was written amidst a sub-Third Reich display of Neanderthalic fandom for the New York Giants outside my office on Broadway that gave off increasingly bad vibes.]



Eighty minutes until this goddamned parade starts and they're already stirring up a chorus of shouts, boos, whoops, hollers, and a few female screams that, given the recent spate of sexual crimes in the city, are certainly jarring. All this in honor of a group of guys they've never met, will probably never meet, and all they did was move a ball from point A to point B better than the other guys.

I watched the game, and it was compelling. Everyone likes the sort of white-knuckled competition. I didn't even go into it rooting for a team, but I still found it fascinating.

I'm not anti-sports at all...but I'm definitely anti-sports fans. If Morrissey really wants to denounce a group of people as a "sub-species," rather than turn to the Chinese, how about he takes a look at our football/soccer hooligans? Continued chants, warbled like the masses in Triumph of the Will, jump right up to us on the third floor.

"Let's go Giants!" *Clap-clap, clap-clap-clap* (8x)

"Hey Jets! YOU SUCK!" (4x)

In a perfect world, the Lord above would hear my prayers that the Occupiers would come and crash the parade, armed only with gigantic mirrors to hold up to the crowds, literally giving them the chance to reflect upon who and what they really are. It could single-handedly usher in a cultural renaissance where we become a nation that actually practices self-awareness and accountability.

Then again, they'd probably get torn to shreds, like a flock of gazelles wearing steaks on their backs trotting into a lion's den. At least they'd have the mirrors to break into shards as a means of self-defense. Not that it would help them too much, since a lot of them are strictly nonviolent.

But in reality, one placard-waving hipster shows up and they'll get maced, tased, and booed back to their trust-funded apartment in the 'Burg.

It's only gotten louder. One hour to go and I'm taking aspirin with my morning coffee. They'll be coming up Broadway from Bowling Green, and upon arriving at City Hall will receive the key to the city from His Dishonor, who will give a verbally rousing but visually austere speech about how these athletes represent everything that is good about our city, all while the City University of New York faces crippling tuition hikes, gentrification continues to displace and disenchant all but the wealthiest and whitest, and the derelicts that usually populate this segment of lower Manhattan are conspicuously absent.

No matter. To this army of identical revelers - overweight chumps with immaculately trimmed chinstrap beards, diamond-stud earrings, and aviators, paired with a barrage of blonde bimbos with orange skin, unnaturally white teeth, and eating disorders - the athletes really do represent some warped rendition of the American Dream™, a world of opulent living as a reward for little more than a specialized skill.

I suppose it's unavoidable. We think of the negative side of sports and we have images of NASCAR, beer guts, wives serving up nachos for her husband and "the guys," and the parochialism that these championships inspire. At least the chance of a truly violent riot is remote compared to the soccer crowd in South America or Europe.

But still, I'd have a great view.

Daily Update #24: Journey To The Center Of The Mind

Rereading everything from the late spring and early summer of 2010, I have to say I really was a bit of a mess. It's funny now to look back and see how all that rambling about Sikhism and trying to find "the answer" rapidly devolved into me staving off loneliness with my daily updates. Those really were some weird dreams that young man was having during that period...poor fella.

It's interesting to note that as soon as he/I found some solace in a steady girlfriend, he/I fell off the map. Don't feel bad, readers (all zilch of you - and for the first time I'm not saying that as a joke, I'm convinced that literally no one is reading this), I didn't just abandon you. I abandoned a lot of places and people, for better.

No "for worse." It was all for the better. Even with the blog - spend too much time in a venue like this and you'll find yourself way too far in your own head...which is fine every now and again as a way of confronting oneself with some difficult, introspective, and even existential questions. But do it daily and you'll become a monk - and I'm too much of a fan of the world and its inhabitants to endorse asceticism. Deep thinkers, whether religious or otherwise, belong among the people.

It got bad for a while there...casual hookups, drinking and smoking a little too much and a little too often...I'd seen people with real problems and I always knew that I had some control over myself.

And that's what they all say.

After a casual hookup on a Saturday afternoon that turned into a sleepover (my guest missed her ride home for the evening), I drank and smoked...let's just say a lot...that Sunday evening. Long story short, I'm convinced the Reaper himself tapped me on the shoulder, panting, to say, "Hey, man, you gotta slow down." I fainted.

At the top of a flight of stairs.

Lucky for me, I fell backwards instead of forwards. All I can remember before it happened is that I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open. During what I simply perceived as a prolonged blink, I remember opening my eyes and everything being a shade of yellow. I saw Shelley. She said something to me, but I can't remember it.

Then I opened my eyes for real. I had a throbbing pain in the back of my head and neck, realizing I'd fallen backwards, hit my head on the brick wall, and had been lying on my back. I slowly sat up, shaky and sweaty and probably concussed. Clinging to the bannister like my life depended on it - and it probably did - I made my way down the stairs to the bathroom, where I puked until only water was coming up.

I told no one.

A friend gave me a ride home, and still slightly high I decided to watch The Magic Christian. I got about 35 minutes into it before I finally went to sleep.

Not to propose a true delusion of grandeur, but my fall reminded me of Bob Dylan's motorcycle accident - details vary as to how badly he was hurt, but he clearly used it as a way to escape the public eye for the better part of 18 months. It was a wake-up call of sorts for him, to lay off the speed and settle down.

It's not the same at all, but evocative enough that I felt it bore mentioning. For me, cracking my head (and still getting chills when I think of what if I had fallen forward) was my wake-up call. This all happened between Daily Update #14 (6/9) and #15 (6/15).

Just a couple of days after that, I got a message on OkCupid from a girl who used the handle "filmstress" that started "Valley girl, she's a valley girl...I grew up loving that song!"

That was Chelsea. She's the girl I was glowing about those last couple times we spoke - an "unknown unknown." I can't believe I even tried to be so strategic about finding a steady girlfriend. She came out of nowhere, and the more we got to know each other, the better it got. Like many young men in love, I let this preoccupy my world while I continued working for the Census Bureau throughout June and July.

I promised myself I would do things differently, and at that point in my life I felt that included putting an end to maintaining this blog along with the one with album reviews on it.

For another cliffhanger, I did gain an outlet for my writing...more on that later.

Daily Update #497: Another Day Of Living

Hello, how are you?



Here it comes, the standard "it's been too long!" intro before I wax poetic on how groovy life has been these past 16 months, like a prolonged conversation I'd have with a former high school classmate, the one you never expected to bump into, but there you are, making a run to Wal-Mart to get some small grocery item for your mom and then you make that inevitable crossing of paths.

"So, how are you?"

I'm good, man. I'm good.
<Nervously swills beer, takes last gulp>

Aaaaaaaaaaand scene!

Too much has happened between that July afternoon and today for me to get you caught up to speed. Not just in my world, either, but in the world as a whole.

Today, a pizza magnate is going on a book tour masqueraded as a run for the White House, Wall Street has had protestors camping out on it for two months, and this spate of revolutions in the Arab world is fulfilling Guru Townshend's prophesy of "Meet the new boss, same as the old boss," with the Egyptian military still firmly in control, the flag of Al Qaeda fluttering in Libya, and the highly probable invoking of Sharia law in these newly "liberated" countries.

Oh, and Osama is dead.

And me? Oh, you know...this and that. I work in Tribeca at the main office of a company that offers music lessons four days a week and one day a week I'm an adjunct professor at St. John's University up in Queens. Chelsea and I also cover the arts and entertainment beat for a women's website called Woman Around Town. We've done a lot of restaurant reviews, but the past couple weeks we've been branching out and doing press junkets. This usually means free entertainment, hors d'oeuvres, and drinks in exchange for some forced (but generally smooth) conversation. It's an even sweeter gig than it sounds.

How did this all happen? I don't know...right place at the right time?

Anyway, I'm coming back here because I've found myself oddly inspired. I write a lot about other people, other things, other places...but rarely about me. Over the past month and a half (give or take) we watched the entire series run of Six Feet Under, and to be frank it kind of changed my world. It gave me a new lease on love, friendship, family, life, and death - and not a minute too soon.

We'll go into details some other time. The pot of gold is that I've truly come to value my existence - "I just want to celebrate / Another day of living / I just want to celebrate / Another day of life."

How did I get to that conclusion? Well, let's just hope the suspense is enough for you to come back later.

Daily Update #22: A Dream Come True

I have dreamed of this for years, but never quite thought it would be an actual scenario that would play out in real life. My girlfriend's dad is celebrating his birthday today.

What, pray tell, did I get him? I burned him a CD of Zappa. Not because I'm one of those lunatics who goes "YOU HAVEN'T HEARD FRANK ZAPPA WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU I WILL BURN YOU SIX CD'S OF HIS MOST ESSENTIAL SONGS NO WAIT MAYBE I'LL JUST BURN YOU SEVEN TO MAKE SURE I DON'T MISS ANYTHING!" - though I might have been at one point.

No, no, it's because he's a Zappa fan. Not a die-hard or anything, but he apparently has some records. So I made him a CD - just the one! - of my favorite Zappa tunes.

Alex

Daily Update #21: "Another Girl"

Well...the first date I talked about in the last entry, an "unknown unknown" that just sort of popped up, is now officially my girlfriend. And I'm her boyfriend. (Got to reciprocate.)

She's very vivacious, constantly smiling, we make each other laugh...things are good.

Daily Update #20: "I've Just Seen A Face"

...but then I have a night like tonight, and suddenly everything just seems right with the world.

It was just a first date, but it was just what I needed. Someone with a big, contagious smile, laughs a lot, similar interests, and um...as interested in me as I am her.

This is nice.

Alex

Daily Update #19: "A Rock And A Hard Place"

You know what is both a blessing and a curse? Morally ambiguous situations. I'm glad things are never just black or white, but at the same time - at least for an indecisive boob like me - weighing one's options is torture.

Damn that free will, huh?

Alex

PS - Happy birthday Ray Davies!

Daily Update #18: "Old Man"

This song still haunts me - in a good way - no matter how many times I hear it.

I talked to Dad for over an hour tonight, wishing him a Happy Father's Day, updating on some things going on in my life before a really nice chat about religion. We don't believe in the exact same things, but we're on the same page.

Alex

Daily Update #17: "C'mon And Take It Easy..."

...on the other hand, what's the rush?

Alex

Daily Update #16: "Lollipop"

Enjoy the new color scheme.

Me, I'm waiting so patiently...to make a subtle Stones reference...hoping for a sign of where to go and what to do. Not that I'm afraid of taking risks, it's just I took a big one getting back with Shelley. Two and a half years later and we're on opposite sides of the country; save for maybe a polite visit because one or the other of us happens to be in the same town, we won't see much of one another ever again. I miss her as a friend and I miss the idea of her as a partner, if that makes sense. Sometimes I still think of where things went wrong, and even though (or maybe even because) we're better off now I occasionally wonder if it was even worth pursuing. The $849 hole in my pocket for that engagement ring, plus the meager $65 I got pawning it, seem to say no...while all the good times we did have seem to say yes and that I'm a damn fool for asking.

Okay, maybe I'm a little afraid of taking risks.

There is a safe option. A guaranteed winner, without much difficulty. But it's average. Decidedly average. The less certain option is a definite - now to cite Donald Rumsfeld - a "known unknown." But I like what I've seen. Easily more of a risk, maybe even a little dangerous. Then there's all the "unknown unknowns" out there, ones yet to be encountered. All I know is that each is enticing, but I really can't see myself pursuing the safe bet. Not to come across as haughty, but I feel like I need to hold out. See what lies ahead.

I wish I could just look five years into the future and ask myself what's going on, who I'm with (and if I'm married), and how I'm doing.

Sorry. This means nothing to you.

Alex

Daily Update #15: "Australia"

I had a wild and crazy dream last night that involved me hitchhiking in San Francisco; the people who picked me up (which included my ex) said they were eventually going to hit my hotel. But then, like in the movies, there was one of those scenes of a map with the tiny plane going from one place to another. The plane went from San Francisco to Tokyo to Manila to Australia. The song "Australia" by The Kinks played and there was this goofy montage of me, my ex, and some strangers having fun in Australia, which included me exclaiming "I don't even have a passport!"

Weird, right?

Daily Update #14: "Speak Now Or Forever Hold Your Peace"

(Not going to lie, for a band that didn't specialize in covers, Cheap Trick knocked it out of the park anytime they DID do a cover. This is no exception. This feels like a demo.)

Is it wrong that, in spite of the fact that I don't intend on getting married anytime soon, I still get upset and maybe just a little bummed when I see someone I know (especially if they're younger than me) has taken the plunge?

Alex

Daily Update #13: "I Had Too Much To Dream Last Night"

I'd love to know what's causing me to have such weird dreams. It has to be the heat. First of all, my school was more like a high school than a college. I had to retake part of my final for Style Criticism by writing about one of Chopin's Mazurkas - which I had no problem with - and then I was with a study group of students who all matched the characters from Community, except it was people I knew from Brooklyn College.

And apparently I was the Jeff Winger character. The smart-ass. I guess that works.

Anyway, I woke up thinking it was real. But it wasn't.

Alex

Daily Update #12: "Lightning Strikes"

I had a fantastic date the other night. We went to Staten Island, talked about bodily functions, ate Sri Lankan food, wandered around some more, headed back to Manhattan, and then brown-bagged vodka and orange-pineapple-banana juice on a stoop in the Financial District until 5AM, occasionally shooing away rats and cockroaches. We only ended things because the sun was coming up, otherwise we could have stayed there for quite some time.

It was awesome. Hopefully I'll see her again soon.

And how was Staten Island? This deliciously weird hybrid of Bloomington, Brooklyn, and Louisville.

Alex

Daily Update #11: "In Dreams"

In my dream last night, I was stuck in a car with Shelley and her dad, waiting for the right moment to break up with her and to tell him off. Oh, and I was also apparently still in high school?

So, in other words, I had a nightmare.

Alex

Daily Update #10: 'Rubber Soul'

I talked with my friend Andrew for about two and a half hours. We had a lot to catch up on. Among the highlights were that he'd gone on a date and my recent exploits. Our conversation ended with us comparing mix CD's we'd made for girls in our respective lives. I went into "serious Alex" mode and offered some encouragement, the kind of stuff I've ruminated on here on this blog. Stuff like how he should just take things easy, and understand (as I'm trying to) that failure, striking out, and things ending up differently than one expected are all a part of life. Plain and simple.

"Learn to enjoy losing."
- Hunter S. Thompson

Anyway, he mentioned "If I Needed Someone" being on his list, which got me listening to Rubber Soul at this late hour. "Nowhere Man" is on now...and in spite of everything going on in my life, I'd be lying if I said this song hasn't put a lump in my throat. It's not that I am a nowhere man anymore - I certainly have a point of view and know where I'm going to, thank you very much - but I look back at the point in my life where I referred to this song as my anthem.

It was never really that bad. I was just being dramatic. Then again, Shelley did help give me a sense of purpose. Before I met her I'd had a series of one-night stands, a fairly abusive (and thankfully short) relationship with an arrogant, anorexic, man-hating, and bi-curious feminist. I'd really thought I was shit. But then came someone who told me I wasn't. It was the right person, at the right place, at the right time.

Say what you/I/they will about Shelley, that's one indisputable fact that can't be ignored.

I need to stop thinking girls are "out of my league." I'm learning more and more that I may be surprised. I need to stop thinking I'm boring. I mean, shit, at this point I've been green-lit to do a thesis on Frank Zappa's music. That's not boring. Plus, I do have a sense of humor...and people seem to like that. At least, the people who actually get my jokes. I don't have time for the ones who don't.

That last paragraph is because I let someone know that I had a straight-up crush on them, but that I'd assumed she was "out of my league."

My Facebook status right now:
"Listening to 'Rubber Soul' in the dark after a two and a half hour conversation with [...]. This moment would be considerable if there was some incense, a bottle of (decent) wine, and maybe someone else."

Three things:
I definitely would like to emphasize that last part. I'm not perpetually lonely, at all. It's nice sleeping alone. It's nice to talk to myself in my room...to just have space to myself. But right now, it's the middle of the night on the tail-end of what was a three day weekend for the working world...and I could use some company.

Second, there's a specific person I had in mind. Don't worry, if you're reading this, it isn't you. It's the girl I've gone out with on a few dates. I really like her a lot. We could just kick back on the floor, stare at the ceiling, and just enjoy a moment.

Third, there's something else in that equation I voluntarily omitted thanks to my Mom being on Facebook. Grass. There. I said it. On my bucket list, among other things, is to get high and listen to Help!, Rubber Soul, and Revolver back-to-back. I'm sure it will just be 90 minutes of laughter as opposed to some sort of deep, meaningful experience...but why not?

In Andrew, I see a version of myself. He's closer overall to who I am on the inside. I'm a huge nerd, and I'm pretty shameless about that, I just happen to be pretty good at hiding it with aviator sunglasses, stubble, and long hair. But he's got a contagious passion for the things that interest him, he's got a big heart, and he's shy when it comes to girls. He's working on it.

And so am I.

Now "In My Life" is on. Love songs are weird to listen to when you have no one to dedicate them to. Still, a song like this, meditating on past friends, lovers, and places certainly brings all of the above to mind. I wonder how they're doing. I wonder what it will be like to see Bloomington again. My great fear is that things will just feel...different. And not in a good way, like one of those poignant episodes of a decent show or in a movie or something where the hero goes back to revisit his past and finds nothing worth staying for.

God, never mind there are two girls in Bloomington that, if they moved to New York, I would ask out in a heartbeat. I'd be a damn fool if I didn't look them up when I visited, right? Or would that be foolish, selfish, and inevitably bittersweet?

...and I'm saying all of this right in time for "If I Needed Someone."

"If I needed someone to love
You're the one that I'd be thinking of
If I needed someone

If I had some more time to spend
Then I guess I'd be with you, my friend
If I needed someone

Had you come some other day, then
It would not have been like this
But you see, now I'm too much in love"

Chills down the spine, mate. Chills down the spine. I'd hate to actually be in a situation where these lyrics applied. It will happen eventually, right?

Thank God that I don't have any old flames. I put those out a long time ago.

Before I start boiling tea for this pity-party, I should do the right thing and put myself to bed. I've got some growing to do. Not growing up...that will come naturally. Just growing.

What do I want? That's a good question.

Alex

Daily Update #9: "Dedicated Follower[s] Of Fashion"

I can't stand hipsters. Most of them, anyway. If they're nice, unpretentious people who have a flair for dressing/drinking/living kitschy, okay, fine. But the worst of the worst, the ones who swear by vinyl, the ones who will preach to you about why you need to ride a bicycle (even though they had to take a plane for their inevitable semester abroad - usually Paris), the ones who will try to guilt you for eating meat, the ones whose knowledge of a band is verbatim from the Pitchfork website...and they exist, I met quite a few of them as an undergrad...those are the ones I can't stand.

One time at a Halloween party, I went as Zappa. Some hipster chick cornered me and tried to outshine me with her knowledge. I won the first round when I asked her if she'd heard Thing-Fish. She had not. Things escalated when Captain Beefheart was brought up...yeah, yeah, she'd heard Trout Mask Replica, and that's great. More people should. She told me how much she loved Beefheart and his whole aesthetic...then I asked if she'd heard Safe As Milk, his first album.

Her response? "No, are they new?"

I won.

Look, I'm not a music snob. At all. I will admit that, when challenged, I might grow fangs, but I don't like when people are "ashamed" to tell me what sort of stuff they're into, as if my taste is superior or something. It isn't. I've tried to make this my manifesto over at my review blog. You like what you like, and sometimes you can explain it - "I think Zappa is funny and he writes good melodies" - and sometimes you can't - "Captain Beefheart...just needs to be heard to be believed."

I'm especially not going to let someone whose knowledge of music is spoon-fed to them by various media outlets get away with such pretentious posturing.

What I find most maddening, and I'm paraphrasing what I thought was a poignant, if a bit acrid, statement from the show Community, is how many of them have been able to see the world but still don't get it. I'm not an incredibly serious man, although my friend Luke pointed out that when I start talking history I go into "serious Alex" mode, and I'm sure as Hell not about to tell people how to live their lives.

But I'm certainly allowed to see how much it clashes with my own value system and subsequently bitch about it. And they're entitled to the same.

Having spent more time than normal this past weekend on the subway - specifically the L train - I got to see plenty of hipsters. And since I was out quite late, most of them were calling it a night.

It wouldn't be entirely honest to say I didn't have some sense of schadenfreude, knowing that some of the people I saw stumbling around the subway stations would go home and feel like shit in the morning. But there was a tugging sense of pathos. I wondered if they were so deluded that they would wake up, reflect on what they can remember from the previous night, and say that they had a great time.

"I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,
starving hysterical naked,
Dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix,
Angel-headed hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
Who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat
up smoking in the supernatural darkness of
Cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities, contemplating jazz..."
--- Allen Ginsberg, "Howl" (1956)

He said it better than I ever could.

Anyway, I took a quiz. I'm not a hipster.

Unhip

You're not trying to be hip and you don't give a shit what hipsters think about you.

Personality Quiz: Are you a hipster?

Daily Update #8: "Here Comes Summer"

I promise I'll eventually stop dwelling on how stoked I am that school is out until September.

Anyway, tonight was a good night. That's all I feel like saying.

We went to a goodbye party for a friend of mine from IU who's going back home for a litany of reasons, including maybe going back to grad school out in - of all places - San Francisco. Of course, home for her is New Orleans, which is nothing to sneeze at either. I'd love to go back there again. It was a really enchanting place, and that's just based on wandering around the French Quarter with Dad. I'd love to see the rest of the city, good, bad, and ugly.

It's a little sad to see one of my few connections to Bloomington (and until my friend got here for her summer internship, my only connection) going, but that's just how it goes. It's not like I'm without friends from school.

On a related note, my friend Luke was approved for a Fulbright grant in Egypt. He and his wife Caity will be going in September. I have to say, they really were the first true friends we made here. It's going to be a real bummer to see them off, they're very kind and generous people.

Also, go see City Island. It's a great farcical comedy...really good. I laughed a lot.

Alex

Daily Update #7: "The Door Into Summer"

Hello, summer, my old friend,
Should be nice to hang again.

Man, oh, man, have I been anticipating the end of the semester for some time! The thought of summer in New York just seemed so remote, so far off, the light at the end of the tunnel...

...okay, my semester wasn't that bad, but I was ready for it to end. I also hated the little teases of warmth we got in March and April, only to have it 35 degrees and rainy the next week. At least the weather here is simply bipolar, unlike Indiana weather, which has full-on schizophrenia.

The transition from student-during-finals-mode to holy-shit-it's-summer mode was an easy one. Over the course of this week, I...

+ Got to party on a yacht
+ Drank on a weekday during business hours twice
+ Used my insomniac skills in a non-academic setting
+ Replaced the Kenneth Anger DVD's that I lost in my could-have-been-a-divorce
+ Realized I now have a network of friends within the Conservatory, not just mere acquaintances
+ Left the house Thursday at 7PM and got back Friday at 10AM.
+ I might or might not have fallen asleep on the train and missed my stop, waking up at the West 8th Street/NY Aquarium stop. (Okay, I did.)

And that's just the stuff I can talk about. (I can say no more.)

I don't think I did anything close to this as an undergrad. Don't worry, I will not be making this a regular pattern of behavior; the fact is that I needed this. It was a means of releasing tension.

Anyway, I've got my fourth date with a certain lady tomorrow. Things are just looking really good right now...and they have been for a while.

Alex

Daily Update #6: "I'm Not What I Appear To Be"

(Note: this is not a reflection of my current or recent mental state. I just like having music to go with my writing.)

Someone said to me last week, "It's really cool you can get away with maybe doing your thesis on Zappa," and that kind of pissed me off...granted, I was polite about it, assuming this person had the best of intentions, but still. I don't think I'm "getting away" with anything in doing this. The guy was a clever songwriter and composer, and coverage of his works in writing have been plentiful...just not that good.

There's the token "journalist with some sort of axe to grind" type of biographical sketch, and those are no fun. The worst is Barry Miles' book; he starts off painting a fairly good portrait of the man before getting downright mean in putting down anything Zappa did post-1972. In discussing the 1988 tour, where the entire band wanted Frank to fire bassist Scott Thunes because of his abrasive demeanor during rehearsals, Miles writes that Zappa wouldn't have thought twice about firing Thunes if he'd been doing drugs on the road. Shit like that just comes across as the author trying to get back at Zappa for some reason or another.

And then there's the books written by fans. Some of it is borderline samizdat-type publications, with at least two of my books rather mercilessly copying and pasting (with citations, mind you) from assorted Zappa sites.

THEN there's the academic approaches. Ben Watson's The Negative Dialectics Of Poodle Play comes really close in offering a great discourse on the material. However, there's also some head-scratching parallels that he suggests, such as "Dinah-Moe Humm" being inspired by one of John Ruskin's letters, or "Don't Eat The Yellow Snow" having something to do with King Lear. Sometimes he needlessly overextends his analysis. Watson also falls into one of the great traps with die-hard fans of any artist: no other artist or musical group comes close. For no real reason at all, Watson trashes Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band as a way of building up how We're Only In It For The Money is a vastly superior record. He fails to acknowledge the latter would not have existed without the former, opting to make a sweeping generalization about the culture that embraced Pepper rather than giving the album itself a fair assessment.

It came out fairly recently, but Kelly Fisher Lowe's The Words And Music Of Frank Zappa comes really close to being the best. It doesn't quite make it. I'm not saying one absolutely HAS to be a musician to successfully write about music, but Lowe's attempts at describing the music he's analyzing gets pretty amateurish. He also has little to say about Zappa's instrumental works, glazing over a substantial chunk of Zappa's output as a result. I don't like playing the "Oh, well, he clearly just doesn't get it" card, but his lack of appreciation for Burnt Weeny Sandwich seems to stem more out of not appreciating the music, wondering instead where all the political or scatological lyrics are.

And that's another problem: Lowe is too politically correct. Any time he discusses one of Zappa's potentially controversial songs, he distracts himself by justifying the content against contemporary mores. It gets in the way of his enjoyment of the music at times, denouncing "Carolina Hard-Core Ecstasy" as something that is sick and "not at all funny." I personally think he could have had a simple disclaimer in his foreword about how Zappa approached satire with a sense of carnivalesque humor. Making it as offensive as possible challenged the values of his listeners, causing them to wonder what makes it offensive to their ears.

Then there's his foreword, where he bitches about how much of his book he had to amend because he committed the cardinal sin of letting Zappa's widow know about his book. There's a lot of dog-shit about "fair use" and "composer's intent," and even though Watson was able to quote screeds of lyrics throughout Zappa's canon, Lowe could at most cite three lines from a single song. I understand that most academic texts aren't exactly million-sellers. The book wasn't going to be in the display window at Barnes & Noble, so Lowe should have just had the book published.

A tinge of melancholy hovers over the book, as Lowe passed away a year after its publication; first of all, he died young. Second, this means there won't be a revised edition, no chance for an intellectual discourse between the two of us, not even a chance for me to say, "Hey, I really did enjoy your book." It sucks.

I haven't had a chance to give Dangerous Kitchen: The Subversive World Of Zappa a serious read, but I remain optimistic.

How did this turn into a literature review?

Anyway, I don't think I'm "getting away" with anything in writing about rock and roll music, thank you very much. It's still not getting the proper treatment by academia, with a bunch of Rolling Stone-minded goons on one side acting like rock and roll was theological text and that nothing by today's standards will ever beat the music that came out in [insert best year of said critic or scholar's life HERE], but then (and even worse) are the writers who denounce anyone who puts rock music on a higher shelf than pop music as a "rockist," implying that their tastes are racist and sexist simply because a majority of the rock genre was made by white middle-class males.

It's like the assholes behind such rubbish as The Gospel According To The Beatles (don't get me started) have already tilted the playing field, resulting in the other batch turning out such deliberately provocatively-titled books as How the Beatles Destroyed Rock n Roll: An Alternative History of American Popular Music, which - go figure - even has five-star reviews on Amazon saying it's a good book with a deceptive and sensationalistic title.

Not quite sure where I was going with this, but I think a middle ground exists. Frankly, I like acknowledging that Zappa, Lennon, and Hendrix were in fact mere mortals who had bad days and had their own dark sides. They weren't messiahs, they weren't anything more than men of extraordinary talent. Of course, I wouldn't spend my whole time focusing on that, it's just a point worth making. I like that pragmatic approach: The Beatles weren't the be-all, end-all for popular music. I recognize that.

But it's material meritorious of studying. We can even incorporate post-modernism, tonal theory, and all that fun shit to make it legitimate.

Alex