MOG - Kid Charming's Posts

Memo From Turner

Kid Charming — Fri, 07 Nov 2008 01:03:02 GMT

('coz I gotta jump on these game bandwagons)

Stolen (a few steps removed) from http://mog.com/Hello_Mimi/blog/230581, none of whom's songs could I guess...

Step 1: Put your music player on random.

Step 2: Post the first line (or so, some are hard) from the first 21 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing the song.

Step 3: Post and let everyone guess what SONG AND ARTIST the lines come from.

Step 4: Strike out the songs when someone guesses correctly (No lyric hunting! That is cheating!).

Step 5: After doing the 1st 21, listen to one more random song and post it as your title.

Thief's Note: I did "cheat" a little, by omitting songs under the following circumstances: the song was an instrumental (for obvious reasons), the song's first line was the title, or the song's first line was completely incomprehensible (see: Cocteau Twins).

1. How long, baby, how long has that evening train been gone

2. You cats keep beatin' up your chops

3. Tell me what you know about Cowboy Dave (Happy Mondays, "Cowboy Dave") - ANNA

4. I will wait for you in the green, green spaces wearing our post-industrial faces

5. Black satin rules my life

6. Waitin' for my baby, waitin' for my baby

7. Me and this girl, we've been falling in love

8. One more step, baby, you'll survive

9. Glass is all we're really made of

10. I sensed a scare, but there's no scare there

11. I'm in love with the girl that works at the store, but I'm nothing but a customer (The Replacements, "Customer") - ANNA

12. Where is the beautiful family home I was promised on the news at ten

13. Scatterbrained and crying in the rain

14. Bang and here we go, watch the road and don't drive so slow

15. Do you remember when you were a little itty bitty kid?

16. The hoods are up on 9th Street

17. I know that I've been mad in love before (Massive Attack, "Unfinished Sympathy") - ANNA

18. Never think to ever look around

19. I can say what I want to say; I don't know if there will be time

20. Irresponsibility's my closest friend

21. This is not the first time you tried to get away

I Keep On Hoping You Might Know

Kid Charming — Sat, 28 Jun 2008 03:27:06 GMT

The thing about longing is the space of it. It takes up so much space, but uses so little. It's a fog of mirrors and magnifying lenses that fills every corner of your room and makes your door, your typewriter, your guitar, your telephone, all seem so far away. It's so wide that you feel lost, unable to even begin to find what you're longing for, so you wander slowly from wall to wall and watch for glimmers out of the corner of your eye, until you realize you wake up every morning facing the same direction.

Desire is something else entirely, simpler, easier. It's a burning line from you to its object, and it will lead you blindfolded through a forest. It's sharp and thoughtless and selfish and unaware, and, unlike longing, it accepts no blame.

Ain't No Right?

Kid Charming — Sun, 02 Dec 2007 02:20:51 GMT

Missouri is playing Oklahoma for some pretty high stakes tonight. I don't follow college football, but I remember when I lived in Columbia, the team sucked, so it's kind of nice to see them doing well this season. Good for them, and all that.

So I'm sitting in a bar when the pre-game warmup stuff starts coming on TV. And doing this quasi-intro, sort of-commercial thing (think Hank Jr.'s "Are you ready for some football?" musical intros for NFL Monday Night games) are Kelly Rowland, 50 Cent...

and Perry Farrell.

I honestly have no idea how I'm supposed to feel about this.

Please help.

To All My Friends Who Say I Think Too Much

Kid Charming — Mon, 12 Nov 2007 23:19:02 GMT

Nya-nya-nya!

Crash

Kid Charming — Tue, 23 Oct 2007 04:48:58 GMT

Thank you for sharing your taste and style and talent and skill. Thank you for your energy and wit. Thank you for your open mind and your open heart.

You touched many lives, and all of us are the richer for knowing you. Rest well.

Watch The Sun Rise, Just To See It Pass Through You

Kid Charming — Sat, 25 Aug 2007 03:59:22 GMT

I said her name quickly, while she was in mid-stride. She stopped suddenly, in front of the window, just as I wanted. She looked at me, the question in her slight smile, and I knew it would only be a moment before she moved again, before it was over.

The sun shone through the glass, shattering itself and crystallizing again around her. There were golden fingers through her hair and a crimson touch against her robe that turned her skin into silhouette. Strands of light gathered in her eyes, diving and splashing through her lashes as she blinked. The sunrise touched her, and she touched me.

Only a moment, but it would be enough. The sunlight, the window, her hair and her skin and her robe, I cut them all out of the world, a whole piece. I took it and wrapped it and kept it. It would stay with me now, sometimes hiding, sometimes blazing through me when I needed to sleep. I knew that in my old age it would sneak up on me, and when it did, I didn't know if I would take her hand and smile that secret smile she had seen so many times before but never deciphered, or if I would clutch her photograph and silently cry. But whatever happened, it would be worth it.

Just before she could ask, I smiled a small, secret smile and said, "It was nothing. Nevermind."

Lots of Pink, Baby Blue (A Boy/Girl Pop Debt To Dachmo)

Kid Charming — Wed, 22 Aug 2007 03:41:56 GMT

So I drunkenly promised dachmo this weekend I'd post a couple of good boy/girl harmony songs to repay his post here. As I try to be a man of my gin-soaked word, here they are.

The first is from the pop band Game Theory. Vocal harmonies, either with bandmates or overdubs, were always an important part of their sound, but the chorus of this song has always stood out to me for the way the harmony seems to expand the space around it while simultaneously condensing itself.

The second's in the comment.

Anything You Can Break, You Can Probably Mend (for chucky)

Kid Charming — Wed, 01 Aug 2007 04:29:59 GMT

Chucky, I caught your comment about the Madder Rose song I posted a week or so ago making you sad. And I don't think that was the first time that has happened, so I wanted to post something that might make it up to you and show that, while I do love them sad songs, I don't listen entirely to sad bastard music.

Dressed for Punk Wars

Kid Charming — Tue, 31 Jul 2007 04:04:20 GMT

Ain't There No One Here That Knows How I Feel?

Kid Charming — Sat, 14 Jul 2007 21:14:57 GMT

Woody Guthrie was born on this day in 1912 in Okemah, Oklahoma. There's not much I can say about Guthrie that hasn't been said earlier (and better), so I'm going to stand aside and let Bob Dylan talk about him. His "Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie" is, to my mind, the best tribute out there.

There are a lot of words and music out there about how important Guthrie was, both to nearly every American musician (whether they know it or not), but to nearly every American (whether they know it or not), but so much of it seems to miss the point, I think. They speak and sing words like an incantation, as if they could conjure him back, but this time there would be no metaphors scribbled on his guitar; this time the fascists really would be doomed. And, I have to admit, it's a tempting dream.

Dylan's five pages may flow like he's trying to cast a spell, but all he's trying to raise is a memory. He's not talking about the Guthrie who fought giants, who inspired movements; he's talking about the Guthrie who sang to you, who let you know that you're not alone in a world that seems to want only to feed on your isolation. He's talking about the Guthrie who made you believe, not that you could be part of an army of progress that would change the world, but that you could be part of this world without losing yourself to the fear, loneliness, and despair the fascists and feeders cultivate and rely on. He's talking about the Guthrie whose songs didn't ring with the magic of social and political change, but with the magic of personal hope.

Say Your Name In That Way

Kid Charming — Fri, 13 Jul 2007 04:59:35 GMT

Dachmo made a post earlier with his idea of a "beautiful" song (and a pretty good idea it is, by the way). In response, I'd like to share one of the most beautiful songs I can think of right now.

This is a song I keep going back to when I need something soft and beautiful to rest with. It sounds like falling in love.

Haven't Had A Dream In A Long Time

Kid Charming — Sun, 08 Jul 2007 04:37:23 GMT

We all learn at a relatively early age, I think, that desire is not enough. We run into that wall with all our might, sure it will collapse under the sheer power of our want, armed only with our disbelief that we could get anything except what we're asking. And when we're sprawled on the ground after hitting that wall, before we can even assess what's broken, it tells us that, no matter how much we want it, we won't get it.

To learn that there are times that, no matter how much we want it, we shouldn't get it, takes longer.

Just 'Coz The Kid Is Grumpy Today

Kid Charming — Fri, 23 Feb 2007 13:49:18 GMT

Harmony and interweaving vocals make me happy.

So. Can You Guys Stop Breathing Until, Say, Tuesday?

Kid Charming — Wed, 07 Feb 2007 17:51:21 GMT

So, it looks like I'm going to be living for a while underneath a cloud of smoke from various unnamed chemicals that are burning away nearby. Here's what I'm going to be singing along to as I breathe in the doom.

"Sauget Wind" — Uncle Tupelo "Try Not to Breathe" — R.E.M. "Let It Blow" — Richard Thompson "Yesterday's Cloud" — Graham Parker "A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall" — Bob Dylan "Silicosis Blues" — Gob Iron "Speak to Me/Breathe In the Air" — Pink Floyd "Sounds Great When You're Dead" — Robyn Hitchcock "The Wind Cries Mary" — Jimi Hendrix "Little Black Cloud" — The Cardigans "Blow, Wind, Blow" — Tom Waits "You Gonna Take Sick and Die" — Boyd Rivers "Western Front 1992 CE" — Julian Cope "If I Could Talk I'd Tell You" — The Lemonheads "Obscured By Clouds" — Pink Floyd "Aerodeliria" — The Loud Family "Take My Breath Away" — Berlin

(just kidding about that last one)

'Coz Literary Icons Have to Relax, Too

Kid Charming — Sun, 04 Feb 2007 00:27:10 GMT

Pitch 'n' Putt with Joyce 'n' Beckett

I Wonder Where She Lost Me

Kid Charming — Sat, 03 Feb 2007 09:23:59 GMT

He was a pale and sickly boy, from a region famous for producing the pale and sickly. His mother (who, although she wore a layer of powder thick enough to allow her to rival her son's complexion, was as ruddy and hearty as an alcoholic lumberjack) considered protection and imprisonment to be the same methods applied to different ends. And the child's fragility led her to pursue her protective duty with great zeal, so that the child was never allowed to leave the house without supervision, and even then, he was never allowed far from its walls. The small lake, the garden, and the hedge maze were all distant countries to the boy, countries whose borders he could never cross.

As many children in his circumstances will, the young boy turned to the library, exploring with his imagination where he couldn't with his frail body. He read about kings and queens of past and present and strange lands where God, four arms flowing in victory, danced on the conquered body of Lucifer instead of casting him down. He loved all these stories, but it was the insects that captured him. From the moment he saw his first frontispiece drawing with its sharply jointed legs and its face, cruel in its expressionlessness, contrasting its delicate thinner-than-paper wings, he was obsessed with these strange creatures. He read, re-read, and read again all the books concerning insects.

While his mother didn't approve, thinking so much interest in such pests and vermin a sorry pasttime for a child of hers, she decided an obsession that had seemed to curtail the boy's ambitions to walk around outside should at least be tolerated. Until, walking into his room unannounced (as was both a mother's right and duty), she startled him, making him drop the box he had been examining. Ants, beetles, and spiders scurried in a panicked swarm, disappearing into the floor and walls before her expression of horror could even set itself on her face. Buffeted by a fury that cracked dark red fissures in the woman's face-powder, the child was forced to admit that he had been sneaking out to gather his living treasures, and the fact that he had never taken more than two steps from the door did nothing to appease his mother. And so he was denied the outside completely, and his precious books were confiscated.

A month passed, and during that month, the locusts came. They covered the countryside, leaving trees and bushes jagged and half-eaten. The garden was decimated, as were the reeds around the small pond. The hedge maze, however, remained mysteriously untouched. The boy was hypnotized by flying creatures, spending hours standing with his hands against the window, staring at the locusts as they landed, twitched their wings and oversized hind legs, and took off again. His mother wasn’t nearly as taken with the invaders; instead, the constant buzzing seemed to drain her strength and will, leaving her with nothing but nerves stripped raw.

Finally, the buzzing and raps against the windows became more than the woman could handle. She resolved to pack her son away and leave until this plague passed, but when she hurried to his bedroom first, then the library, she found both of his favorite rooms empty. In a growing panic, she visited the parlor, the kitchen, even the attic, but the child was nowhere to be found. As her search reached full circle, she realized the cracking against the windows had stopped, although the buzzing was as loud as ever. Looking through the window overlooking the pond, she saw nothing but a clear sky, which frightened her more than anything. She steeled herself, walked to the front door, and slowly stepped out. Over the center of the still-pristine hedge maze, she saw a dark cloud with edges that seemed to shiver and twitch. As if seeing her, the cloud turned and, for a moment, appeared to change its shape before floating upward, dissolving into the horizon in a gradually diminishing hum that left a silence louder than anything she had ever heard. (The woman lived a long life, and for all those long years, she never told another person that she was sure that cloud had shaped itself into a face, a rough and clumsy feminine likeness, before it disappeared.)

With powder dripping in thick white streams down her bodice, she ran through the hedge maze, driving herself into a greater frenzy as she hit dead ends and was forced to retrace her steps. She finally reached the center, finding nothing but a strange brown earthen shell, five feet tall, rounded at the bottom and tapering slightly at the top, standing on a mound of empty insect husks. She frantically called for a servant to bring an axe and a pick to break into the ovoid shell. It was nearly dark by the time he found his way to the center, but the earth broke quickly and easily underneath the pick. It only took a few minutes to open it enough to see the into its hollow interior. At first it seemed empty, until the last ray of sunlight slipped through and reflected off of something half-buried inside the shaped earth. Forgetting all pretexts of matronly delicacy, the woman leaned inside and scrabbled with her fingers to dig it out, and as she stared at the broken lenses of her son’s spectacles, she realized that as protector and jailer, she had failed.

I'm Made From Molded Plastic

Kid Charming — Sun, 28 Jan 2007 17:38:04 GMT

Do you like your New Wave synthesizers brandished with some old school punk 'tude? Do you have a love of electrical tape that borders on a fetish? If so, the Epoxies may just be the band for you!

"Need More Time"

Yeah, there are a lot of bands slinging a retro sound these days, but few of them can sound authentically New Wave without making you wish you were listening to old Devo albums instead. And if you need more women who rock in your life, give Roxy Epoxy some time. This is the Good Stuff, children.

"Synthesized"

I Had A Dream, Joe

Kid Charming — Thu, 25 Jan 2007 16:34:31 GMT

You know what the real bitch is about dreams?

You always wake up in the middle, and you never get to see how they end.

Mississippi Sunrise

Kid Charming — Fri, 05 Jan 2007 21:56:38 GMT

After nearly thirty years as one of St. Louis' go-to music venues, Mississippi Nights is closing. The 1000-person-capacity club has hosted groups like the Police, the Pogues, the Ramones, and Nirvana (the only time they played St. Louis), and They Might Be Giants included a song about it in their Venue Songs album. Their current location on Laclede's Landing (the one Wilco's Jeff Tweedy sings about in "Heavy Metal Drummer") was bought by Pinnacle Entertainment, a casino company, in 2005, and the going rumor is that the space will be bulldozed for a parking lot.

There are plans to re-open. Other locations are being considered, but no final decision has been made. The venue is hosting a final "goodbye jam" on January 19.

I only got to see a show there once, as I don't spend much time on that side of the state (New World Spirits in '96 or '97), but it was a great time. There aren't many places like Mississippi Nights in the Midwest, and it will be missed.

It's A Shame When Morning Hurts

Kid Charming — Mon, 01 Jan 2007 16:51:36 GMT

My head feels like a leaking sandbag.

Red Red Wine

Kid Charming — Mon, 01 Jan 2007 04:45:04 GMT

"As long as it is red, let's set 'em up until we're dead."

I've killed my New Year's bottle of wine, and it's only 9:30. So please consider the following either drunk MOGing or my beginning to fulfill a New Year's resolution I don't want to go into the details of.

Anna: You are a shining example of all that is good about these internet social networks. Dale: You are a rare example of someone who is willing to make the necessary sacrifices to actually live by the tenets of the faith you claim, and I admire that greatly. ROCKNROLLPIMP: You are proof that capital-R Rock (aka Rawk) can have soul. QueenofHell: You are elegance that can get down. chucky: You are my MOG-crush. And is that a craps table in the background of your avatar pic? Jeromy: You are in the trenches, giving the music to your community. lemontwist: You are the princess of bass and database. Peggah: You are penguin-alicious. Mark Mordue: You are the one I wanna write like. Jess Horrible: You are just damn cool.

I haven't mentioned everybody here who has affected me in the last three or so months, and if I've left you out, it doesn't mean you're any less important to me or the MOG experience. It means I have a bottle of wine in me, and I need to stop typing now.

(Damn, I wish I had a cigarette.)

Happy New Year, you crazy kids.

Thieves Like Us

Kid Charming — Sun, 31 Dec 2006 07:27:09 GMT

From watchbatteries:

Step 1: Put your iTunes or equivalent on random. Step 2: Post the first lines from the first 30 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing. Step 3: Bold the songs when someone guesses correctly. Step 4: Looking them up on Google or any other search engine is CHEATING !

1. Pushing through the market square, so many mothers sighing (sureshot) 2. In the haze of the morning, China sits on eternity 3. Keep on truckin' like a :title: hurricane 4. I cruise around with the radio on, make me feel all right 5. I left you last night on the left coast, I'm writing you a letter right now 6. When I was but a young man, I was young and full of fire 7. :title: almost wrecked my life 8. Some say the world is spinning faster, some say it isn't fast enough 9. Well, you cut me to the quick with some kind of abandon 10. :title: has a cat, a beautiful cat 11. The average guy that lives next door has never been in love before 12. :title: to telephone ya, why you holding your company? 13. In the wake of wasted days, burning at both ends 14. I see you out, and it's hard not to turn in shame 15. Poor girl, no Ma, nothing much to speak of but a rough diamond 16. I've been looking to save the city, looks like the biggest thing 17. Winded is the sailer, drifting by the storm 18. As soon as I got a paycheck, you ask me to make it high tech 19. :title: everybody, :title:, have a party 20. Erica's gone shy, some unknown X behind the why 21. Press your fingers against the strings, this is where the song begins 22. You know that I'm still hurting, I can't turn the other cheek 23. We were meant to be lovers, I know the truth 24. The sea lingers here 25. Take your word like it was gospel, I'm so eager to please 26. Heart holds mouth to words, said it's gone beyond the line this time 27. In the great Book of John, you're warned of the day 28. My name is Cupid Valentino (chucky) 29. :title:, goodbye house, goodbye stairs 30. If today the sun should set on all my hopes and cares

Sometimes I Swear That I Can See Them There

Kid Charming — Sat, 30 Dec 2006 05:40:35 GMT

I can't even come close. There's a quote from Elvis Costello I run into every so often that I can only paraphrase: "Trying to write about music is like trying to dance about architecture." Every time I see that, it annoys me for some reason I've yet to put my finger on. But the man with the serious spectacles has a point. I can't impress upon you with any of my words anything truly at the heart of this song, or any other. I can't describe guitars that percolate between chimes and bubbles — I can stretch metaphor to absurdity; I can reduce chord structure and technique to mathematics and wave graphs, and neither would bring you any closer to understanding the sounds in my head. I can't explain the desperate, lonely joy I hear in Pat Fish's voice when he sings, "Sometimes I swear that I can see them there." Even if you listened to the song yourself, it wouldn't be enough. You would know your song, but I can't bring you any closer to my song.

But I do try, sometimes. I tell a little story that clumsily tries to illustrate something about the song — how it makes me feel, in what direction it points my memories and imagination. I think that maybe if I mark a trail, someone following it through the music may pick up a little of what I'm trying to get at. But even that feels like trying to explain winter to a Saharan nomad with nothing but fairportfan's snowflake creator.

For this, I would probably write up something about hallucinations in the middle of the night, standing in the middle of a room full of ghostly, glowing people you could hear talk to each other as if from very far away, people who couldn't hear anything you said or feel a touch that passes right through them. But even the words for that aren't there tonight, and even if they were, they wouldn't be the words that tell you what a song really is.

So I've Sat and I've Watched an Ice Age Thaw

Kid Charming — Fri, 15 Dec 2006 05:10:16 GMT

They all call for patience. The Supremes tell you that you can't hurry love. Your mother tells you not to settle, not to worry about the years passing faster and the stacks of marriage announcements and invitations. Your friend tells you the waiting will be worth it; all the disappointments, false starts, and sputtering endings are turning you into the person you will need to be when the time finally comes.

So, you wait. There are bars. There are friends of friends. There are personal ads you read but never answer. There are empty evenings and parties and conversations on the bus with strangers. There are water cooler days and front row nights.

You can't stop trying; nothing will fall in your lap, and nothing will come to you if you don't approach it first. But you can't try too hard; you'll only see frightened animals darting past the corner of your eye. You begin to doubt. Maybe you don't really want it enough. Maybe you've grown too protective; you fear a fragility that grows with each loss until you can no longer offer yourself unguarded. Maybe you're looking for something that doesn't really exist at all, and this is only a fantasy that something out there could stand substitute for something missing inside. Or, most frightening of all, maybe it was right in front of you once, unrecognized, and you left it standing alone in the street.

But the doubt passes; belief returns because it must. Your want gives you clarity, and you know that if it didn't exist before, the focus of your desire has created it and made it true. And when it's close enough, you will make no mistake, because your heartbeat will echo in the space between you, and your blood will whisper, "Now."

Like your friends say, it will be worth it, because you will make it so. Be patient.

Too Much Bass? (or, Will This Make Anna's Head Explode?)

Kid Charming — Wed, 06 Dec 2006 01:22:19 GMT

So a new supergroup is on the horizon: New Order's Peter Hook, The Smiths' Andy Rourke, and the Stone Roses' Mani, all bass players, have started a new group unfortunately named Freebass. All three will play bass, of course. They plan on adding a vocalist, but they don't have anyone specific in mind. No word on whether the vocalist will also play bass, or whether they'll spring for some variety and have him or her just play really low keyboard parts.

Unless Mr. Hook is just yanking our collective chain.

Do Ya?

Kid Charming — Wed, 29 Nov 2006 05:25:35 GMT

I can't tell you that I watched you through the entire concert. I can't tell you about that look of pure happiness on your face as you played that made you more beautiful than I had ever seen. I can't tell you I was jealous of the song and the strings and the bow in your hand, because that look on your face was for them, and I knew it would never be for me. I can't tell you about the music I hear in my head as I fall asleep or the dreams I have of you playing in my room, just for me, and the way your hair falls over your eyes every time. I can't tell you how long I've loved you.

But I can ask you to dance.

Since I Met the Devil, I Ain't Been the Same

Kid Charming — Sun, 19 Nov 2006 07:00:12 GMT

No, that's not a bass you hear; that's a heartbeat — a heartbeat of someone not quite like you and I, but similar enough to have a heart that beats and bleeds (and, sadly, leaves). It's a heartbeat buried deep and far away, but still strong enough to vibrate two metal strings and broadcast itself out to you (and make no mistake: there are things standing nearby that you cannot see listening to frequencies of those vibrations that you cannot hear).

Drums kick in — there are things in the next room; they know you know they're there, and they don't have to be quiet anymore.

The saxophone circulates through the room, thick and immaterial as fog. You can feel it brushing against your skin as if you could open your hand to catch it, but it slips through your fingers as they close. It slips around and through those two strings, pulsing a compliment that steps and hesitates like someone about to open a door.

And the voice, smooth and rough like ash still hanging from a cigarette. With no regret, it tells you a story of offers, temptations, a piper followed. You can see the path, close and clear enough that it seems you can follow that voice out of that room to ... you're not sure what that voice will lead you, but you know that when you tell the story to another, you'll tell them that since you met the devil, you ain't been the same.

(Dedicated to our absent insane Greek.)

It's Like Christmas!

Kid Charming — Wed, 08 Nov 2006 18:06:52 GMT

Apparently, Rummy's stepping down.

Is this a capitulation to the new Congress, a gesture of good faith, or is some deeper strategy at work?

Throwing the Election

Kid Charming — Tue, 07 Nov 2006 16:44:37 GMT

Yep, another voting post.

If you run into anything at your polling place that's not kosher, call 866-OUR-VOTE to report it to Election Protection.

Your Favorite is What?

Kid Charming — Thu, 02 Nov 2006 16:51:31 GMT

About a year ago, I was having a conversation with a friend about The Decemberists' Picaresque. We had both recently purchased it, and we were comparing opinions. We both liked it, but I was a little surprised when we started talking about specific songs. Her favorite song on the album was "The Sporting Life". Now, I like the song, but I never expected it be anyone's favorite. Surely she couldn't like it more than "We Both Go Down Together" or "Eli, the Barrow Boy". Right?

The moral of this story: One ear's filler is another ear's favorite.

Songs for the Dead

Kid Charming — Wed, 01 Nov 2006 02:21:45 GMT

So I'm not dressing up for Halloween this year. Chances are, I won't even have my traditional readings from Poe. But I did whip up a quick playlist for the holiday, and in the interests of sharing, I'm ... sharing.

Tom Waits — "T'ain't no Sin" The Jazz Butcher — "Old Snakey" Laurie Anderson — "The Day the Devil" The Cure — "Three Imaginary Boys" Robyn Hitchcock — "The Bones in the Ground" Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds — "Red Right Hand" Eurythmics — "Greetings from a Dead Man" Beck — "We Live Again" Book of Love — "Witchcraft" The Jazz Butcher — "Truck of Fear" Camper Van Beethoven — "O Death" The Cure — "Charlotte Sometimes" Richard Thompson — "Sam Jones" Tom Waits — "Black Wings" Jeff Buckley — "Witches' Rave" Graham Parker — "They Murdered the Clown" Benett — "My Death March" My Favorite — "Le Monster" Eels — "Teenage Witch" The Cramps — "TV Set" Robyn Hitchcock — "Lady Waters & the Hooded One" The Velvet Underground — "After Hours"

And I'm linking to a poem that I think captures the holiday spirit:

"Lines Inscribed Upon a Cup Formed from a Skull" (Lord Byron)

At Least We Tried

Kid Charming — Fri, 27 Oct 2006 04:40:38 GMT

Sometimes she sneaks up on you. It doesn't matter how many years have gone by or how many others you've placed between the two of you. Change your wardrobe, change your address, change your mind — most of the time, it works. But every now and then, out of nowhere, she comes back. Perhaps it's an old song, perhaps it's a similar face in a car going the other direction as you're driving home. Whatever it is, it leads her right to you like a signal fire; you look over, and she's sitting next to you, wearing the same dress she wore that afternoon you spent together when the entire landscape was nothing but a frame for her to stand in. She makes herself at home, and you make dinner, clean up, watch television, trying to pretend she's not there. It gets late; you grow tired and give up. So you sit and look her right in the face and remember how you threw everything you had and everything you were into it, and how, for a while, it burned bright enough to light your way. She smiles a little, and she nods. And it helps some. But it doesn't make her go away.

Every Answer's Buried In A Song

Kid Charming — Fri, 20 Oct 2006 03:18:14 GMT

That Joe Pernice really knows his way around a melody. I've had the new Pernice Brothers album, Live a Little, on pretty heavy rotation since I picked it up a week or so ago, and I feel as if I'm still scratching the surface of these songs. I'm unable to get past those damn melodies. I sit down to really listen to these songs, the arrangements, the instrumentation, the words — and I just can't reach them. I follow the tune like a road, and the trip's finished before I know it. I catch bits and pieces as they flash by (the bongos of "Microscopic View", the guitar lick after the chorus of "Automaton") and remember phrases half-overheard: "Pull the trigger, I don't care which myth I kill", "In my defense, I was kinder to her than I think I've ever been", "Crimsoned my clover-leaf". But at the end, those melodies overshadow everything.

I'll Play...

Kid Charming — Wed, 18 Oct 2006 18:58:21 GMT

So I shuffled my shuffler and played that "soundtrack of your life" game that's making the MOG rounds. The results follow in a comment.

Boys Can Fake-Rock, Too!

Kid Charming — Fri, 13 Oct 2006 01:03:25 GMT

So I've noticed those lovely and clever ladies of MOG have at least two imaginary bands going now, but what of the handsome and witty men? Our air guitars do not shred. Our daydream-stadiums do not reverberate with fans singing along with us. Our fake managers do not satiate us with ethereal groupies and drugs and whiskey.

And it just ain't right.

So I'm starting one, and I'm calling it Oedipus Sex. We will pretend to cover X-rated Depression-era blues songs and music from '70's pornographic movies.

Coming soon to a mind's eye near you.

How Do You Mix?

Kid Charming — Sun, 08 Oct 2006 20:57:04 GMT

So I had been thinking about joining the MOG wars (but I thought too slowly and missed the deadline). Then the reports started coming in, and it occurred to me that I would have died so fast, because there's no way I could put a mix together in a competitive timeframe. So I started wondering about others' mix routines — here's mine:

1. Pore over my collection, making a "master" list of around 50 possible songs. 2. Try to pare the list down to around 30 songs, marking any must-have songs. 3. Choose the mix's first and last songs. 4. Choose and arrange the rest of the songs until I hit the desired length (usually around 40-45 minutes). 5. Realize it sucks and scrap it. 6. Repeat steps 3 and 4. 7. Create test recording to check song flow, amount of time between tracks, volume normalization, etc. 8. Either 8a. make slight adjustments to list and recording options from test, or 8b. Repeat steps 5-8a. 9. Create another test to make sure everything's ok, and make any changes accordingly. 10. Make final recording.

So how do you make yours?

This Album is Lonely, Part 2 (What Would We Do Without You?)

Kid Charming — Wed, 04 Oct 2006 02:29:05 GMT

In my last post, I asked you to revisit a long-neglected album from your collection and tell us about it. Since I'm not the kind of guy who will ask the troops to do something I'm unwilling to do, I sat down this morning, tabbing through my albums for something I hadn't heard in a while. I found Kate Bush's The Sensual World, which was the first CD I bought, back in 1989. I was 16 or 17 and a year or so away from college.

I hadn't really been a Kate fan before this album; I vaguely remembered "Running Up That Hill" and the "Don't Give Up" duet with Peter Gabriel, but I didn't like either of them all that much at the time. Then I saw the video for "Love and Anger", fell in love with both her and the song, and bought the album. I've listed to a couple of songs from it recently, but it had probably been two or three years at least since I've listened to it in its entirety.

So I hit play — from the beginning, I was a little surprised by how familiar, yet different, it sounded. The breathy, warm "Mmm, yes" that opens the album sent a little thrill through me, just as it used to. I was young and pretty new to sex and sensuality, and "The Sensual World"'s interpretation of the conclusion of Ulysses (which I hadn't read at the time, but I was familiar with some of Joyce's other work), coming through my speakers in that voice, with those beautiful eyes looking out from the album cover, gave me one of my first inklings that sex could be more than what I knew of it, that the word sensual wasn't just a synonym for sexy. Today, the beauty of the song is still there, but some of the power is gone, as the message is no longer new.

Then the reason I bought this album in the first place, "Love and Anger", came up. As I've said, I loved this song, but I now realized I never really knew why, aside from purely sonic reasons (the layered voices singing "What would we do without you", Gilmour's guitar, and, of course, that voice). Today I realized that song carries elements of the sort of love affair I've always been looking for: something intense, a little scary, occasionally sad, and gorgeous.

Then something strange happened, and I still don't really understand it. About halfway through the song, I nearly broke down. There I am, at work, sitting in my office, a breath away from crying my eyes out. For the rest of the song, all I could do was sit there staring blankly at my computer screen, letting it all wash over me as I fought it. It wasn't nostalgia, it wasn't disappointment, it was ... I'm not sure. I wish I could explain it better, but I can't.

After that, the rest of the album was less intense. I connected to first and last songs more than the middle then, and I still do, although hearing "Deeper Understanding", about a person looking to cure loneliness through computerized technology, is a very different experience today than it was in '89.

As a whole, this album stands up remarkably well to me. It doesn't sound like it was made in this century, but it doesn't sound especially dated, either. The production and mastering hold up much better than they do in many '80's CD's, and the work Bush did with the Trio Bulgarka on this album has aged pretty nicely. The songs still speak to me, and the voice is still beautiful. So are those eyes.

This Album is Lonely

Kid Charming — Tue, 03 Oct 2006 01:28:31 GMT

We all have them — those albums that we've had forever and are gathering dust. Perhaps we loved them to death and played them over and over until our roommates threatened to test that new-fangled garbage disposal with them, and they slowly faded with time a familiarity. Perhaps we thought they were just ok and they were lost in the shuffle before we listened enough to form a full opinion. We scan our collections for the next album we want to hear and see them, and we feel comforted — we may even think about how long it's been since we've listened — but we pass them by every time.

So here is your assignment: Find one of those albums of yours. The longer it's been since you've listened to it, the better, but it should have been at least a year. Get reacquainted and report back. Has it held up? Does it take you back, or do you pull it forward?

What To Do with These Bare Walls?

Kid Charming — Sun, 24 Sep 2006 01:31:57 GMT

Hi, there. I just stepped in the door here, and my little corner sure looks empty. Sadly, I won't be able to let the MOG-o-matic do the heavy lifting for me, since most of my collection is in OGG format [Edit: It looks like I was wrong about this one -- the Mog-o-matic is OGG-friendly (as it should be, 'coz of the MOG/OGG rhyme if for no other reason). Whee!].

So, a few introductory words to start filling the space. I'm a web developer for a print media company, and I live in Kansas City, Missouri. Pretty close the center of the country, just beneath the heartland -- the diaphragm of America. Aside from the obvious love of music, I enjoy reading, playing darts, and watching far more cartoons than I should at my age.

Musically, my tastes vary pretty widely (as I assume most everyone's here do). I meander through classical, jazz, reggae, and blues, but I tend to center on country and pop. By "country", I really mean americana/folk/alt-country/old country as opposed to Nashville standard, and by "pop", I really mean indie rock/college rock/power pop/'60's rock as opposed to Top 40. But that's far too many slashes for any answer to give somebody sitting next to you at the bar, so I just say "country and pop", and leave it at that.