Killing Chuck Klosterman to Live

I like to think I’m rock-n-roll. I just turned 34, an age that many rock icons fell short of. So, as my academic compulsions run -- yes, I think I’m a rock-n-roller, but I have academic compulsions – I decided Chuck Klosterman’s Killing Yourself to Live, an account of his tour of rock stars’ death sites, would be appropriate, and possibly entertaining or enlightening.

I was entertained, to an extent, by someone who has some similar interests to mine, namely being clever and being a rock snob of sorts. E.g., I loved the wordplay:

"Flipping back and forth on the car radio between an "'80s Retro Weekend" and an uber- conventional classic-rock station, I hear the following three songs in sequence: "Mr. Roboto," "Jumpin' Jack Flash," and a popular ballad from the defunct hair-metal band Extreme.

Well, that settles it: Styx and Stones may break my bones, but "More than Words" will never hurt me." (132)

However, Klosterman’s credibility evaporated with me when he stated that the only two long songs that classic rock stations play daily are “American Pie” and “Stairway to Heaven.” Now, I worked at a classic rock station for 5 years. I don’t remember ever playing “American Pie.” “American Pie” is one of the songs that somehow, when they divided up songs for radio formatting, that song went to Oldies. I’ve never quite figured out the formula. The Guess Who gave Oldies “These Eyes,” but “No Sugar Tonight” is classic rock. “American Woman” plays both sides. Most CCR stuff is bi-format, too. The Beatles got divided with the early stuff as oldies, and all post-Revolver albums as rock. Someone somewhere makes these decisions. Three Dog Night and America are Oldies; they lack rock clout despite being of the era, and in the light of Don McLean calling Bob Dylan “the jester” and Mick Jagger “Satan,” Classic Rock said “no, thanks.”

We did play “Stairway,” however, not that often. Even to fulfill the needs of the nightly “Get the Led Out” feature, we didn’t have to play “Stairway” that often. Zepp had plenty of other songs to pick from. Sorry to put a bustle in your hedgerow, Chuck.

In fact, I can think of a colossal number of long songs we played more often than “Stairway.” Off the top of my head (although the times were looked up):
*“Slow Ride” by Foghat (8:15) – Chuck even dissects the philosophy of this song elsewhere in the book, but overlooks it here.
*”Layla” by Derek & the Dominoes (7:07 through the piano coda) – Again, mentioned elsewhere, but forgotten on a long song list? He’s got Clapton on his knees.
*The Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again” (8:32) – He could’ve mentioned this one and than made a snarky comment about it being a “CSI” theme song.
*Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” (5:55 – on the short side of a long song)
*George Thorogood’s “One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer” (all downed in 8:28)
*J. Geils Band’s live version of “Must Of Got Lost” (6 ½ minutes) – Klosterman is from the Midwest, and it’s possible that this is a Northeast thing.
*The Doors with “Riders On the Storm” (7:15) or “Light My Fire” (7:08).
*Frampton’s “Do You Feel Like We Do?” (14:15) – many a DJ saw this song as an opportunity for a B.M.
*”You Can’t Always Get What You Want” (7:28) – I want rock writers who display some knowledge of rock.
*”Free Bird” (9:10) – Klosterman had visited the Skynyrd crash site 47 pages prior, but still doesn’t remember them.
*Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” (8:28) or “When the Levee Breaks” (7:07) – And he’s a Zeppelin fan.

Klosterman talks about how every guy goes through a Zeppelin phase… Well, maybe his was limited. But that contention strikes me as false, anyhow. The closest I got to a Zeppelin phase was turning up “The Lemon Song” when I had to play it on my air shifts.

Chuck talks about his glasses at one point, and I’m betting he needs them because he is shortsighted.

He admires the Great White fans in Rhode Island for their authenticity and lack of irony or pretension. And then, in Clear Lake, Iowa, he talks about the victims of the plane crash there:

"…the Big Bopper (best known for “Chantilly Lace”), Ritchie Valens (best known for Lou Diamond Phillip’s winning portrayal in La Bamba) and Buddy Holly (best known as the precursor to Rivers Cuomo…)" (144)

His love of authenticity is brushed aside for his lust to be clever.

The previously-mentioned and momentarily-liked Styx and Stones joke doesn’t even make sense, when you look at it. It was a stretch; it feels too forced or rehearsed. It seems like something that may have been a spontaneous groaner one night by a barroom jukebox. But now, Chuck plays the three songs every time he goes into that bar, to repeat the joke. I’m guessing this, because it’s something I’d do.

That’s my biggest problem with Chuck Klosterman: he’s a little smarter than the average bear, but he writes like he’s an authority (but then again, all rock writers do); he rails against hipsterism while making sure he’s postured as a hipster; he pulls hamstrings stretching for jokes; and in the narrative, he spends too much time whining about girls. And he gets paid for it, and I don’t. I could probably do what he’s doing. I bet I could write how pieces of pop culture relate to my life.

Probably.

Horton Hears The Who

So, I've got myself one of those jobs. Because I have to, because I've got those bills. And at said job, I share an office with a supervisor. And to survive the hours in said office, I play music, sometimes the music of a band called The Who. And The Thing about The Who is that, if you play them quietly, then what's the fucking point?

Which is the very question she asked me one day. "Why The Who?"

And I could hear Roger Daltrey sing, "Now tell me why The Whoooo."

And upon hearing that melody ("Who Are You," for those of you lacking my incredible imagination), I realized that CSI's worst victim ever has been The Who. Let's investigate that crime, that these rock anthems have been reduced to TV themes. When did Mike Post leave the scene? CSI uses the above mentioned. CSI: Miami uses “Won’t Get Fooled Again.” And the New York unit gets “Baba O’ Riley.” If they open another franchise, will they use “Squeeze Box”? Or maybe they’ll set one in Alabama and use “Going Mobile”?

So it's not my coworker's fault she doesn't have a clue. I gotta lay it out montage-style a la William Petersen.

Because of my frustration at our society lowering art, because I need to have a job and pay bills and be supervised – well, that's a pretty good start at explaining why The Who.

Real rock-n-roll was always about rebellion and the frustration of youth. Take Eddie Cochran’s “Summertime Blues,” for example. You got dads and bosses and congressmen giving you guff, and all you want to do is borrow the car so you can take your girl out. And it’s no coincidence that The Who covers that very song on Live At Leeds, and when they do, it’s amplified in all ways.

And The Who were the F-f-f-Francis Scott Keys of writing anthems to the revolutionary cause. Is anybody writing anthems anymore? (That’s a whole other write-up/rant.) “My Generation” was the Declaration of Independence in the 60s Revolution against the Establishment. And it was a violent, caucophonous riot that birthed punk rock a decade or so later.

“Won’t Get Fooled Again” was not only on the surface about revolution, but with Roger Daltrey’s primal scream in the middle of the song, it became a song about the frustration of realizing that all the fighting was fruitless. The new boss was the same as the old boss.

By the way, if I could voice my existential angst with screams like that, I wouldn’t need therapy.

“The Seeker,” too, was about the hopelessness of even bothering to try. “I won’t get to get what I’m after, ‘til the day I die,” laments Roger. Which, by the way, he hopes is before he gets old, and who can blame him when he faces such dread?

And where’d a British band get such French philosophy?

The frustration wasn’t all so academic. Much of it was just blue balls, looking for relief via Maryanne’s shaky hand or from some pornographic “Pictures of Lily”. Why are the guys so eager to buy that “Magic Bus” to see their girl? And what’s worse than begging, “I want it, I want it, I want it,” and then being adamantly told, “You cannnnn’t have it!”?

The Who set Freudian problems to a Maximum R&B beat. It was Greek tragedy the kids could dance to. No where is it more obvious than in Tommy, their magnum opus about a boy who’s stricken deaf, dumb, and blind to repress having witnessed his father jealously killing his mother’s lover, who happens to be the boy’s uncle. I’m not sure if it’s his paternal uncle or maternal. And the boy’s then exposed to religion, acid, sex, an abusive cousin, and another uncle who molests him. I’m not sure what side of the family they’re from, either.

Or there’s the song “I’m A Boy,” in which Roger plays a kid whose parents wanted a girl and therefore dress him like one.

And the thing is, all of our parents fucked us up, even if for most of us, it was a little more subtle. I once lost the ability to taste “tangy” after being given a timeout.

For all the psychosexual BS The Who delved in, they always did it without an air of menace. They never sneered evilly like Jagger’s Devil or Morrison’s Lizard King, and they were never as overtly lascivious as Mick singing “Parachute woman, land on me tonight,” or Jim creeping in the back door. Pete Townshend was willing to write the emasculated male, the guy who was more threatened than a threat. In “Tattoo,” Roger, to prove his manhood, gets a tattoo with his brother, only to be beaten by his father for getting one that said “mother.”

The Who, especially Keith Moon, could play the fools onstage. Keith was a clown, even donning a jester’s cap. He and Pete became known for throwing climactic temper tantrums and trashing their instruments. With the exception of stolid bassist John Entwistle, they all exhibited show-offy flair, Keith with his windmill strumming arm, Roger with his lariat-like mic twirling, Keith with nothing but the bombast and eyebrows that inspired Animal. If I tried twirling a mic like that, I’d kill somebody.

They did everything with a sense of irony. When Pete first broke his guitar, it was a mistake, but he played it off like he meant to. When they released The Who Sell Out, they were sending up commercialism with phony advertisements, but they themselves were benefiting by being comped for plugging Premiere Drums. And when the bills for the totaled instruments stacked up and prevented them from using a string section on Townshend’s first rock opera, “A Quick One While He’s Away,” they instead sang “cello, cello, cello.” Tommy was about becoming free by blocking out external influences, but he was a pinball wizard because one of England’s big rock critics was a pinball fanatic.

I could write volumes on this, but volume speaks better. I’m not trying to write a Townshend libretto. Put on some Who and put it on loud. It’s cheaper than real therapy, although I’m waiting for the day when my shrink trashes her couch.

Please, Please Don't Go

This week, America lost an important figure from the era of the 60s and early 70s, a politically charged, conflicted era that this man should be credited with restoring hope to.

Not Gerald Ford. I'm talkin' the Godfather of Soul.

Ladies and gentleman, the deadest working man in show business...

James Brown is no longer living in America, or anywhere for that matter. But he always will. He's answering the age-old philosophical question, does the soul live on after the body?

The JB was one of a handful of performers whose legacy is still solidly burning (See Chuck Berry when you can). He was exponentially influential. In the most obvious way, James was an antecedent to Parliament-Funkadelic, and the Commodores and all of 70s funk, and I'm doing him disrespec' by using words like "antecedent" and "exponential" to talk about him.

But, brothers and sisters, and I'm testifying, because James taught us to do that... Musically, James begat the P-Funk, which begat hip hop ("It Takes Two" has to rock every party; it starts with a James sample), and also begat rock acts like Rage Against the Machine and the Chili Peppers. And we're skipping all the acts Soul Brother Number One fathered on the straight-up soul tip, cats like Otis and Tina and Wilson and... I could go on – I'm in a ramblin' mood, but it probably has something to do with this leftover eggnog spiked with brandy and sitting at room temperature for a day, or two --, but I'm gonna take it to a bridge.

James begat sex-talkin' and groove-layin'. I mean, he was, was a Sex Machine. James preceded Marvin Gaye and Al Green and Barry White, which begat many begittings. And I rely on records by these cats to convince girls in my dimly lit cave that they are with a smooth and large Black man.

Like I said, he testified like no other. He was one of the first acts to get political... And how timeless does "Funky President" feel? And he never did it at the expense of the jam. He was never David Crosby blithering like an idiot at Monterey about grassy knolls, or anything along the lines of that dated 60s Freedom Rock. You didn't realize you were getting the talking-to. You were too busy gettin' down with your bad self.

Many of the acts that are now considered greats copped part of their stylings from James. Robert Plant (the blonde guy from Zeppelin, kids) whelped like him. There was Jim Morrison's groovy stage patter. There's Mick Jagger's dancing, except for that weird chicken move.

Without James Brown's model as to how to work a crowd, Public Enemy would have been Flavorless, and probably a little heavy-handed. And Flavor Flav would've been a sign spinner for some condos on Ventura and Coldwater. FLAV: (pointing at clock necklace) "I think it's time you got a luxury apartment. That way, G." And VH1 may have to show some music videos.

And you still see precision and showmanship shining that stems with Mr. Dynamite. Go to YouTube and watch some OK Go! videos.

I could drop paragraph upon paragraph until I had stacks and stacks of paragraphs, and never get to all the facts, brother. Hey! I mean, no James Brown, no Prince, but I've done said what I got to say; and all these words jus' in the way. Go and dig yourself some James Brown. Get his "20 Greatest Hits" CD, or "Live at the Apollo."

And if you need to mourn the departed, well, the best way to do that in this case is to get up offa that thang and dance 'til you feel better.

Reeling in the Years

I turn 33 today, which is more than a lot of my rock star heroes ever did. Inevitably, as with any event in my life, my mind sets to work on what I’d put on the soundtrack. How Cameron Crowe of me.

On the way to work, I rocked out the way a 33-year old should: with some Paul Simon. I had put the CD in for "Still Crazy After All These Years." And Paul may be mellow and sentimental, but others on my list will be guilty of worse, and Paul is rock-and-roll, man. He never took himself as seriously as James Taylor (or Art Garfunkel, for that matter). I remember him on The Muppet Show, straight-faced singing "Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme" surrounded by puppets. Or on SNL singing "Still Crazy..." in the most ridiculous turkey costume ever, because yes-there-are-degrees-of-foolishness-in-turkey-suits.

And then I was flipping tracks, and came across "Kodachrome," replete with untacky nostalgia, and how can you not relate to poetry like "When I look back to all the crap I learned in high school, it’s a wonder I can think at all." And it’s a fucking fantastic idea to bring all the girls I knew when I was single together for one night, and maybe I wouldn’t have as many as Paul would, but mine’d take up as much space. AND the nostalgia contained in this here song is amplified by the coming of digital cameras. If you ask me, everything looks worse in pixelation.

And since I’m looking back, I’ll revisit my youth for a song about revisitng youth, and pull out "Come Dancing" by The Kinks, which may be their most punk song ever since they said "Fuck it!" and went mariachi. OK, it doesn’t compete with Ray Davies taking a razor to his amps way back when, but it was still a move as brassy as the song’s trumpets, and it’s a mistakably forgotten song.

Ooh, and another twofer on Radio K-BRI. Here’s The Kinks again with "Where Have All the Good Times Gone?" The title says it all. But it’s not as heavy as it sounds. There is some hope.

Sometimes.

But not until after I realize that I don’t have as much time left for good times. And good times aren’t as easy to come by as they used to be. Just like Kodachrome cameras. My peers, at least in numerical age, all have "careers" and "wives" and/or "girlfriends." At any rate, most of ‘em never drink before noon anymore. So "No One to Run With" by the Allman Brothers, huh? This little Diddley-type ditty sprang from the album Where It All Begins which weren’t no Eat A Peach, but it wasn’t the pits, either.

Running with "running," well, I’m older now but still running against the wind. Brother Bob Seger testifies. When he says, "Wish I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then..." Right, Bob?

More wisdom: "If I only knew what I knew now, when I was younger... Say ‘Oo la la.’" Oo la la, indeed, Mister Stewart.

And with the knowledge I now have, I won’t get fooled again. I didn’t need The Who to teach me that the new boss and the old boss are the same, or that 32 and 33 will be SSDD, but I’ll audit that class, anyhow.

Because I’ve been fooled before, at least been foolish before, it’s the "Story of My Life" by Social D, the best D that’s not Tenacious. "Time goes by so fast and you only wanna do whatcha think is right..."

Ain’t that the truth? I mean, I still get overwhelmed trying to deal with "adulthood." All that responsibility and shit. When does it end? When will I really be a man? The answer’s "Blowin’ in the Wind." If you don’t know the artist, well, I’m sorry for ya.

"That was before my time," the kids’ll say. Yep, it was before mine, too. But the kids these days... I used to think "Hey Nineteen" by Steely Dan was about an older guy who wasn’t hip, but now I realize it’s the young ‘un that ain’t hip. She doesn’t know Aretha? That’s just disrespectful.

While I give mad props to the Queen of Soul, The Stones best summed up how I feel about trying so damn hard to be "Respectable." I sneer and pout and chicken-walk at the people who even strive for it.

Why am I even trying so hard with this list? Fuck it. "I Don’t Wanna Grow Up" – Tom Waits.

"It’s My Life" – The Animals.

"Life’s Been Good" – Joe Walsh. Yep, there are ups and downs... You get an Italian sportscar, and then lose your license; the party’s great but you’re so drunk you can’t find your way out.

But I can get drunk if I want to, because "now I’m a man, way past 21, and believe me, woman, I have lots of fun. That’s me, Mannish Boy," like my man (I say M) Muddy Waters laid down.

I’m glad I turned out so mannish, I say as I hawk a louie and adjust my crotch. Because I wondered as a lad how will things be when I grow up to be a man? (Beach Boys).

And, because it’s my birthday, "Birthday" by the Beatles.

And "It’s My Birthday" by Luke Skyywalker.

BUT the song that I feel best sums up all the complexities of being as a young-thinking and reckless but world-burdened grown-up IS... "No Nay Never" by the Irish Rovers. It says, OK, I’m settling down, earning, investing; I’m being responsible. But first, another round!

A Bigger Bang for my buck

Here's what Eric buys with a $125 gift certificate at Amoeba Records:


*Rolling Stones - A Bigger Bang - The best they've put out since Tattoo You. The only way it's not a great rock-and-roll album is when you compare it to their great rock-and-roll albums

*Joss Stone - Soul Sessions - and it has pictures of her inside.

*Ike and Tina Turner - The Best Of -- probably my fave of the purchases...You can't beat Tina Turner. Well, unless you're Ike.

*Aerosmith - Honkin' On Bobo - They finally got away from Bruckheimer balladry and back to the blues

*Skynyrd - The Essential - Turn it up.

*Black Crowes - Shake Your Moneymaker - 5 out of 10 songs on this album were rock hits.

*Love - Forever Changes - The Doors wanted to be these guys. Classic psychedelic mariachi folk soul

*Nazareth - Classics - Screw Blue Oyster Cult; the best rock cowbell ever rings through "Hair of the Dog."

*Risque Rhythm - a compilation of innuendo-filled 50s jump blues. Lots of songs about big penises, including the original of the song "Big Ten-Inch Record" later redone by Aerosmith. Hey, it's the only thing longer than this list.

*Otis Redding - Otis Blue/Otis Redding Sings Soul - as opposed to his other albums wherein he doesn't sing soul. Because he was inventing it.

*The Animals - Retrospective - They're just a band whose music was good; Aw, Lord, don't let it be misunderstood.

*Slade - Get Yer Boots On; The Best of - Quiet Riot was just a tribute band to these guys. Real, raucous rock and roll. And Noddy Holder has one of the coolest names and the best muttonchops in rock history.

*New York Dolls - self-titled- These ugly chicks palyed some ballsy rock.

*Louis XIV - The Best Little Secrets Are Kept - Because I can't live entirely in the past. Although, they are reminiscent of T. Rex's swaggering boogie.

*Blind Boys of Alabama - Atom Bomb - because I could use some churchin' after all this music about the temptations of the flesh. Even if it is churching via Norman Greenbaum and Eric Clapton.


By the way, the gift certificate was for $125. I spent $155.

The Doors of Misconception

A co-worker of mine recently saw Jerry Hopkins and Danny Sugerman’s Doors bio "No One Here Gets Out Alive" on my desk. This guy likes music, so a conversation started that ended with his declaration that he thinks The Doors are the most over-rated band in rock history. He should have his credentials sent to the house of detention for such a statement.

Here’s why he’s wrong:

Nowhere is the sex-and-drugs-and- triumvirate more complete. They managed ethereal and earthly all at once. They paired Bach and Bacchus. And while they may have borrowed their blues elements and even a couple numbers from the blacks, they made it their own. They didn’t just thieve it like Zeppelin.

They paved the way for other artists to merge jazz and contemporary, which can be witnessed in acts from Jeff Beck to Steely Dan to Tribe Called Quest to Ben Folds.

They let rock be smart, with literary influences, which was later carried on by acts like Dire Straits and Elvis Costello, who, if you listen to the keyboards, you can hear Ray Manzarek’s influence. As you can on most New Wave, e.g., The Cars.

Yeah, they pretty much invented the rock of college radio.

Regarding their intellect, where but in a bio about them could you find an event described as "like an Ingmar Bergman film, as written by Bertolt Brecht and staged by Ionesco" (Hopkins and Sugerman describing Jim’s meeting with Nico).

Because their delving into darker motifs paved the way for acts like Velvet Underground and, oh, all of grunge music.

The loud and then soft thing that Cobain did so well can be heard in the Pixies, too...But years before that, Jim was doing it. "We want the world and we want it...NOW!"

Because the sense of revolution they brought in songs like "When the Music’s Over" and "Five to One" paved the way for punk. X even covered "Soul Kitchen."

Because their stuff is 35 years old and doesn’t sound dated.

Jim Morrison was the iconic front man. The leather pants, the good looks, the swagger (both cocky and drunken), the persona. He was the first real character of a lead singer, which led to The Stooges and David Bowie, and today, Marilyn Manson. The sense of theatrics led to acts like Alice Cooper and the New York Dolls. Cooper’s guillotine isn’t far removed from Jim’s execution by firing squad during "Unknown Soldier."

Because Jimbo started the booze-and-broads Sunset Strip thing that was the mainstay of 80s rock. Axl Rose is a parody of Jim Morrison.

The Doors were the first real fighters against censorship. The war that Eminem’s still waging started during "The End" at The Whiskey, continued with "Light My Fire" on Ed Sullivan, and was brought to the stage in New Haven and Miami (where he never actually exposed himself, but the fact that the myth continues is a sign of their impact).

How many other music acts could engage/provoke the audience like them? Jim knew what he was doing, and he invented stage diving, could lead the crowd in a conga, and could make them shut up and really listen, and think, or dance, yell, and riot. Dig a live performance of "The End."

And lastly, because without them, what song could’ve given such a foreboding start to "Apocalypse Now?"

This dude at work further commented, "They wouldn’t be remembered if Jim hadn’t died." The Doors borrowed myth, and then made their own, and, yeah, Jim was a martyr to it. But then again, you could say the same thing about the Christians.

***
So all this beggars the question, then who is the most over-rated artist? My contenders:

Elvis - clown, puppet, and thief.

Zeppelin – thieves, and for all their striving for mysticism, they were about as deep as a can of Red Bull. Fuck them and their hedgerows.

The Dead, man – did more for the drug culture than for music. Because you had to be high to think that was how the blues should sound.

Nirvana – Because there’s a band that really would be forgotten if the lead singer hadn’t died.

All apologies. Now show me the way to the next whisky bar.

Rock and Roll Girls, Part 2

How could I have forgotten Debbie Harry? Oh, now she'll never Call Me.

And I need to add Pamela Courson, the girlfriend of Jim Morrison. Well, one of 'em, anyhow (He was a Backdoor Man, after all). She lived on "Love Street," and put up with polygamy, drunkedness, moodswings, and buffoonery, but that's what you get for dating a poet.

Volunteers of America

I haven't written in a while. I've been out living life. I've been laboring long hours at Maggie's farm on weekdays. Saturdays I spend drunk or asleep. Sundays, I go to down to Venice and try to forget that I need to rejoin the chain gang on Monday. I might get brunch with beer in the early afternoon, read on the beach or walk the boardwalk, and in the evening dance at the drum circle, or stop by Venice Bistro and dig the Doors tribute band.

They won't let me order a pitcher by myself. I think that's what all my malaise comes down to. The jive-ass job at the salt mines with long hours and no pay, the discontent with my living situation (which now needs to change by October 1st), the lack of a lady. I'm going down to Venice, to Hippie Haven where they ought know about communal living, and I'm grooving to tribal beats because I want to plug in to the cosmic consciousness and share with someone.

In my rock-and-roll curriculum, I've been studying the late 60s, the Flower Power era, from the Summer of Love to Woodstock, and all the great music with its sometimes trite but still worthwhile messages. And then I look around the round world today, and I see all the red-state/blue-state division, and you read about ridiculous litigation, and people get shot on the highways, and it's the FCC versus free speech, and women want power over their own bodies, oh, and there's a war going on. Also, we're being homogenized with fashion mags, and ironic hipster clothing being sold at malls, and hype about reality TV, and Jack FM's play-it-safe programming. They're trying to get us all on the same page, but it's just a glossy page that's hawking Axe body spray. We're numbers, tax returns and credit reports, ISP addresses. That's how we're viewed by the powers, and as a result that's how we start viewing ourselves. We speak of "identity theft," but I really hope my identity goes beyond a nine-digit number The Man gave me.

It's a lot of strong feelings and strife, and I think, man, that's what was going on in the 60s, and look what came out of it.

Dylan and the Doors are as apropos today as they were then. It's time for another cultural revolution. We want the world and we want it...now!

Yes, it failed before, thanks to Altamont and Manson. But try, try again, right? And look what it reaped last time as far as the arts. The cinema of the period is some of the best ever..."Midnight Cowboy," "Bonnie and Clyde," "Butch Cassidy," "Cool Hand Luke," "Cuckoo's Nest," "Easy Rider" (Maybe we just need to start killing our heroes again). They were all born to rebel against the status quo, to praise the ones who saw the system as faulted.

And the music...MAN! We're still catching up to Hendrix.

Being political today means putting a bumper sticker on your car. I saw one on an SUV the other day that read, "No War For Oil." The young people of the 60s, everything they did was a strike at the system.

Volunteers of America, let's start a revolution. Here's the manifesto:

*****Get your politics through philosophy, not ideology.

*****Let's strive for utopianism where people help each other, and the government can fuck off. Give a bum a dollar. Welfare and the like should spring from humanism, not communism.

*****Drugs were a big part of the counterculture. They were trying to think outside the box. I can't believe I just used corporate terminology like that. But we're surrounded by it. We need to alter our consciousnesses (ah, the fact that it's plural is part of the problem). It is a statement...The world sucks, so I'm going elsewhere.

Seriously, we don't celebrate our drunks anymore, but they usually have the most vision. Look at all the great poets and authors. I wish Bush still drank. And let's face the fact that marijuana is only a problem because the government has made it one, because Anheusser Busch throws money at them to do so. If the freeway shooters had some pot, I'd sit higher in my seat. And, I'm willing to bet that a good hit of acid's more entertaining than watching Elaine's boss from "Seinfeld" cha-cha.

*****Let's lose the hang-ups. I can't believe the knee-jerk reaction to Janet Jackson's tit. The NFL and CBS wouldn't have had a problem if she had the Budweiser logo on it, although...Was that a pull-tab?

I hate the argument, "But kids might have been watching." For the early part of life, the breast is a source of essence, and then you turn around and attach shame to it? That's got to do a number. And if you've got kids you're worrying about protecting, it means you did some "dirty" things with a member of the opposite sex. So you're a hypocrite. Next time have the missus swallow.

So, my original point there was to lose the hang-ups. If you show me yours, I'll show you mine.

*****Free love. This one we really need to bring back. Everybody would be a lot looser if they got laid more often. No pun intended. Please, someone fuck some snipers.

Ladies, you're at war constantly over abortion. You don't want the men in government telling you what you can or can't do with your bodies. But every time you make a guy wait for sex, you're buying into the values of an ages-old Judeo-Christian patriarchy. Free love was a form of feminism, and I am volunteering for the cause. Get on all fours, babe. Aw, yeah, you like it when I smack your ass?

*****As ironic as it is to post this in a blog – Technology ain’t helping. The mass media’s making us mindless drones. And all the stuff that was going to create the "global village" and bring us all together like Coca Cola kids on a hillside had actually bred solipsism. I’m acting like I’m on a soapbox in a revival tent full of people, but the truth is, I am alone. I’m talking to myself.

*****We need ritual and rite. "Stopping at Starbucks is part of my morning ritual." No. You need communion, not coffee. We’ve lost our religion – to each their own – but we’ve also lost the connectivity of consciousness that comes with it. Look at the musical events of the 60s. Watch Woodstock, and the bottles of wine being passed down the rows for whoever to take a swig. Consider Jim Morrison asking a crowd, "Is everybody in? The ceremony’s about to begin." And then consider Live 8, which people watched in their own living rooms on their TVs or their PCs.


This weekend, let’s start this revolution off over some Sierra Nevada. Come on, people, let’s buy another pitcher. Everybody get together, try to love one another right now.