Friday Evening Prayer Meeting

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If you have about 8 minutes to spare, go grab your earbuds, jam them in your earholes, and give this a listen.



The personnel and sound of this ensemble are so different from the original lineup that it always seemed odd to me they would retain the name King Crimson. (Compare it with this sound, which I posted last year.) It's an assemblage that might still be considered experimental today for its combination of Mellotrons, other deftly deployed electronics, violin and viola, and more percussion devices than you can shake a stick at. And that's not to mention Robert Fripp's guitar, John Wetton's vocals, or drums by Bill Bruford, who flew the coop from Yes as that group was stagnating into a mess. King Crimson can and does sound sweet, dense as a rainforest canopy, art-rocky, fraught with portent, and even lummoxy in turn, as they please.

"Exiles" and the tune that precedes it ("Book of Saturday") comprise the "pretty" passage of the album, with moody but heartfelt lyrics about loss and healing. This one begins with a swelling, impressionistic collage of electronica that evokes the narrator's "banana boat ride" from the prior track. The "actual song" begins about 2 minutes in. Every musician stays in his own register, integrated well enough to sound whole while clearly conveying the sense of isolation that the lyrics paint.

There's much, much more to this album, though, and I wish I could play the whole thing for you, loud as hell, in hi fi, with a nice pair of Sennheiser cans clamped to your skullbone.

Exiles, King Crimson (1973, from Lark's Tongues in Aspic, Atlantic SD 7263), via YouTube, embedded for noncommercial critical discussion and educational purposes.

And now, Mr. Crutch

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But first, a word from our alternate universe sponsor:



I say "alternate" because Camel studs were only my second choice of smoke back when I was immortal. At heart (and lung) I was a Philip Morris Commanders man. Pall Malls were inferior to both, but acceptable when Commanders weren't available. Luckies, however, were the only cigarette that burned your mouth even before you lit the goddam thing.

What Americans think about "big government"

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Steve Benen, who writes the Political Animal blog for the Washington Monthly, pointed the other day to an opinion polling question that probably doesn't get asked enough in an impartial way---and certainly the results of this question rarely emerge from the black hole of corporate newsrooms. The NBC/Wall Street Journal poll asks this of its respondents:

“I’m going to read you two statements about the role of government, and I’d like to know which one comes closer to your point of view: ‘Government should do more to solve problems and help meet the needs of people’ or ‘government is doing too many things better left to businesses and individuals.’”

If you click through to Benen's post you'll see the responses provided in this poll as graphed over time (1994 to the present). From the early Clinton years through 2007, the trend lines for both responses are clear, and track in opposite directions as you'd expect. I have no idea what might have happened starting in 2007 to ratfuck the trends, or why the stats today haven't reverted to their 2007 peaks (considering what the crash has done to employment and the safety net), but the basic reality is clear: a majority of Americans want government to do more to solve problems experienced by ordinary people.

I suppose the tangle of trend lines at the end of the record might make fodder for some informed speculation, but I'm just not feeling that well informed this pee em.

In my opinion, though, the significant datum here would seem to be the fact that we never hear a whisper by US corporate media (including NPR) about this curious fact that most Americans want the government to do more to solve the nation's problems.

All of us can have a good laugh about what Jon Stewart confronted Chris Wallace with on Fox News Sunday last weekend (i.e., that the Fox News Network is Lies, Inc.). But the "polite" corporate media are the most important perpetrators of misinformation about public affairs in the US. They do it by ignoring whole swathes of reality. I'll have some more examples in a few days because it's somewhat off-topic here.

(Incidentally, if you look at the Stewart clip at the second link in the previous graf, the apology he offers at the beginning was unnecessary: Politicfact "factfuct" him.)

RIP Clarence Clemons

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Yikes---the E Street Band's imposing saxman, Clarence Clemons, died of a stroke yesterday in Florida. He was 69. I did not know he was that old---an age that is not that far in the future of any Baby Boomer, but pretty old for a touring rocker in a rowdy band. Live performances by Bruce Springsteen can never be the same, in my opinion.

I was privileged to see Clemons twice in during fall and early winter of 1975 at the Auditorium in Chicago, when for a brief period a sort of SpringsteenMania swept the nation (for young adults, at least). Apart from Springsteen, Clemons was the salient presence on the stage and in the music. This 1978 clip gives a few glimpses of the Big Man and what he contributed to the lineup.



10th Avenue Freeze-Out, Clarence Clemons with Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band (19 September 1978, videotape transfer of live performance at the Capitol Theater, Passaic, NJ), via YouTube, embedded for noncommercial critical discussion and educational purposes.

Saturday Night Fish Fry

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Has this ever happened to you?



It didn't happen to me, exactly. However, my 7th grade teacher, Miss Kilmartin, left the employ of Woodland School, Illinois School District 152 and a half (no joke!) around Thanksgiving 1966. Coincidentally, it was about that same time I'd laid my hands on a copy of Playboy (stole it from Timmy Rogers big brother, if I remember correctly) and what to my wondering eyes appeared but a Playmate falling out of her sweater who was a dead ringer for Miss K. I was preoccupied with this mystery for a few weeks late in 1966. My dad, who was a member of the school board during that era, might have shed some light on the subject for me, but I couldn't think of any way to approach the subject with him.

Ahem. Anyway, "Chicago's own" Cryan Shames never hit the charts very hard in other parts of the country, but "the Shames" were one of the Windy City's big three rock bands in terms of local pride during the mid-1960s. In my personal mythology, the golden age of Chicago pop bands (including the Buckinghams and the New Colony Six) was 1965 through about mid-1967, with the Shames coming on fast in 1966 and then pretty much finished along with The Summer Of Love.

That's too bad; I wonder why. It's easy to hear that this band had a lot going for it in this 2-minute gem. Listening to it tonight I was surprised how "California" it sounds, with impressive four-part harmonies like the Beach Boys, jangly Byrdslike guitars, and the peppy good-clean-fun pop sound of The Turtles. Very catchy; very slick. A flawless piece of pop that totally flashes me on getting too much sun during the summer of '66---heard it coming out of transistor radios everywhere.

Unfortunately, I don't remember the story of which band member was infatuated with which model from which magazine, or if he ever got his gal. Probably not. But feel free to chime in if you know the tale.

I Wanna Meet You, Cryan Shames (1966, 45 rpm single Columbia 43836), via YouTube, embedded for noncommercial critical discussion and educational purposes.

You've been having more fun than me lately

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About half a year ago I made the ace move of overcommitting myself editorial work that competes with the important things in life such as booze, pills, and frails.

In particular, an oversize chicken came home to roost earlier this month in the form of an upbraiding from an author with whom I'm working---completely understandable and justifiable on his part, incidentally---with respect to my epic procrastination on a book manuscript I'm editing. In terms of my professional craft, it's an interesting project, but my procrastination hasn't been along my usual lazy lines: I've been about two-thirds baffled by this job, which involves converting a web site about construction management into a dummies-style text for general contractor types. But since I'm a fucking genius, as all my dear friends know, I've made great strides over the past 2 weeks to tame this monster. But it has left me depleted in terms of fulfilling my duties to the Fifty50 community.

I've found this state of affairs to be intolerable, so I'm trying to wade back into it now. But the water feels a bit cold. (Deep, too.) Posting may be light through the end of the month, but not if I can help it. Please stand by, and thank you for your attention to this matter.

Saturday Matinee!

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This nut may prove dangerous.



Here's a nice cartoon to let all my babies know I didn't abandon them! This is the very first Superman animated cartoon, dated late 1941, produced by the Fleischer Brothers. Dumb plots told in a setting of gorgeous eye cocaine. Unfortunately, this transfer is "ass," but there are a few affordable DVD collections that are very faithfully restored, and the visual style and animation "physics" are still astounding.

Let's say this cartoon is a parable. What do you think it's about? (Audience participation time!)

Posted quickly; will follow with information on provenance later. RubberCrutch is a busy man these days.