This was a dollar at the Dollar Store: I had to buy it, right?
Hoo boy, I think I might have found a more tedious book than Patti Smith’s Just Kids (which admittedly I only read half of while sitting at Target one day). Cash’s book is pretty boring—for someone who’s the daughter of a music legend, and who has spent her entire life hanging out with famous people, and who had released a dozen albums herself at the time of the book’s publication there’s not much of a narrative, or any kind of actual story here (there’s not even really very much about music, which seems odd considering what Cash has done with her life) which isn’t a problem, exactly, it’s just that the actually quality of the writing, the tone (like Smith’s) is just so goddamn serious—pompous, really. Stuff like this:
I relish the opportunity to write about my life in this book—not to set any record straight, but to extend the poetry, and to find the more subtle melodies and themes in a life that upon reflection seems much longer than the years I have lived. Documenting one’s life in the midst of living it is a strange pursuit. I have always wanted to live as a beginner, and writing a memoir in some way defies that notion, but I consider this book as a first installment in an ongoing story.
I cannot stress how badly I hate to read this kind of over-proper pseudo sophisticated writing. It sounds like it was written by Frasier Crane. 
I read the entire thing in about three hours. What a lousy book. I should have tossed it in the creek. 

This was a dollar at the Dollar Store: I had to buy it, right?

Hoo boy, I think I might have found a more tedious book than Patti Smith’s Just Kids (which admittedly I only read half of while sitting at Target one day). Cash’s book is pretty boring—for someone who’s the daughter of a music legend, and who has spent her entire life hanging out with famous people, and who had released a dozen albums herself at the time of the book’s publication there’s not much of a narrative, or any kind of actual story here (there’s not even really very much about music, which seems odd considering what Cash has done with her life) which isn’t a problem, exactly, it’s just that the actually quality of the writing, the tone (like Smith’s) is just so goddamn serious—pompous, really. Stuff like this:

I relish the opportunity to write about my life in this book—not to set any record straight, but to extend the poetry, and to find the more subtle melodies and themes in a life that upon reflection seems much longer than the years I have lived. Documenting one’s life in the midst of living it is a strange pursuit. I have always wanted to live as a beginner, and writing a memoir in some way defies that notion, but I consider this book as a first installment in an ongoing story.

I cannot stress how badly I hate to read this kind of over-proper pseudo sophisticated writing. It sounds like it was written by Frasier Crane. 

I read the entire thing in about three hours. What a lousy book. I should have tossed it in the creek. 

Katy Perry’s music—her whole persona, really—is so strange: this weird mix of sugary, little kid-type innocence mixed with a sort of Marilyn Monroe-style look-at-my-big-tits sex kitten quality. Which is fine! It’s just strange to me. I imagine she appeals both to little girls and their pervert fathers equally, for different reasons. 

I’m not really trying to come off as some kind of Katy Perry expert or anything here, and I’m not really even trying to Figure Out What She Means, Culturally. I’m basically just trying to say that I hear this “Birthday” song all the time on the radio, and I recently saw the video, and I think it’s strange that the video for a song that appears to be about licking cake icing off someone’s dick features the artist surprising birthday parties full of kids, like she’s one of the Wiggles or something. 

Go on with your lives, people. Nothing to see here.

Hung out with this dog the other day.

bigredrobot said: What movies are your personal "canon"? How about records/songs?

hyenabutter:

Boy. This one could go on forever. OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD: Raiders of the Lost Ark, Pulp Fiction (a movie that I’m not that crazy about now, but it was one of those sort of life-changing experiences when I first saw it), almost any Coen brothers movie, Rushmore (the best Wes Anderson movie by an incredibly wide margin), Dead Man, The Assassination of Jesse James By The Coward Robert Ford, half a dozen Robert Altman movies, Jaws, most of Paul Thomas Anderson’s movies. I dunno. I have excellent taste in movies, but not in a real film school sort of way.

Records and songs is an even deeper well—again, just spitballing: Astral Weeks—the first five or six Van Morrison albums in general, actually—Bone Machine by Tom Waits; “No Moon On The Water” and “Farewell Transmission” by Jason Molina/Magnolia Electric co; Summerteeth, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, Warren Zevon, Red Headed Stranger by Willie Nelson; Scar and Short Man’s Room by Joe Henry. “The Tennessee Waltz” by anybody. “Red River Valley” by anybody. “Peace In The Valley” by anybody. Any song about valleys, it seems. The first Son Volt album. “Ghosts” by Albert Ayler, this one version I downloaded years ago and have no idea where the recording actually comes from. Every pre-hiatus Steely Dan album except Pretzel Logic. ”Dublin Blues” by Guy Clark. Sam Cooke singing “Lost and Looking”. Every Lamchop album. This list is endless and I’ve barely started. 

Been thinking about this just a bit and I gotta make an amendment:

I went down to Lafayette this weekend to visit my friend Charlotte, who moved down there back in December of 2012, and is soon—in less than a month, actually—to pack it up and head for Portland, Oregon, hometown of Ramona Quimby, Art Alexakis, and Mel Blanc. I’ve only seen her a couple of times since she went back to Lafayette, and I haven’t visited her there at all, so this was as good a time as any, I guess. 

There’s a couple of songs that would get played a lot around our place when we lived together. We’d have people over quite a lot, either to just sit around and hang out or maybe have dinner or every now and again an actual party. And hanging out with Charlotte this weekend while she was in the process of packing up and selling literally almost everything she owns, a lot of that came back to me. 

The songs that got played back then are John Prine’s “Angel From Montgomery”, the first scratchy side of Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere, lots of Sam Cooke, “Bankrupt on Selling” from The Lonesome Crowded West, the title track from In The Aeroplane Over The Sea, "The Love You Save May Be Your Own" by Joe Tex, Charlotte’s own arrangement of "I Have The Moon" by The Magnetic Fields, “Just Be Simple” by Magnolia Electric Company. Others.

About a week after she moved back down south, I remember putting on Car Wheels On A Gravel Road, an album I hadn’t listened to in years, and when the last track rolled around, I had to physically stop the stereo. I absolutely could not listen to it. I’m not sure if I’ve ever had that visceral a reaction to a piece of music. I guess it goes in the canon, huh?

(Reblogged from hyenabutter)

The Platonic Ideal? 

7 April 1928—19 July 2014

bigredrobot said: What movies are your personal "canon"? How about records/songs?

Boy. This one could go on forever. OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD: Raiders of the Lost Ark, Pulp Fiction (a movie that I’m not that crazy about now, but it was one of those sort of life-changing experiences when I first saw it), almost any Coen brothers movie, Rushmore (the best Wes Anderson movie by an incredibly wide margin), Dead Man, The Assassination of Jesse James By The Coward Robert Ford, half a dozen Robert Altman movies, Jaws, most of Paul Thomas Anderson’s movies. I dunno. I have excellent taste in movies, but not in a real film school sort of way.

Records and songs is an even deeper well—again, just spitballing: Astral Weeks—the first five or six Van Morrison albums in general, actually—Bone Machine by Tom Waits; “No Moon On The Water” and “Farewell Transmission” by Jason Molina/Magnolia Electric co; Summerteeth, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, Warren Zevon, Red Headed Stranger by Willie Nelson; Scar and Short Man’s Room by Joe Henry. “The Tennessee Waltz” by anybody. “Red River Valley” by anybody. “Peace In The Valley” by anybody. Any song about valleys, it seems. The first Son Volt album. “Ghosts” by Albert Ayler, this one version I downloaded years ago and have no idea where the recording actually comes from. Every pre-hiatus Steely Dan album except Pretzel Logic. ”Dublin Blues” by Guy Clark. Sam Cooke singing “Lost and Looking”. Every Lamchop album. This list is endless and I’ve barely started. 

pamelab said: What is the last book you read that totally floored you?

While I’ve read a lot of his stuff since that hasn’t touched me anywhere nearly as deeply, I’m probably going to say Airships by Barry Hannah. I’ve read plenty of good books in the meantime, but nothing has lit me up like that in a while. 

texts:

James: Listening to Zevon’s "Jungle Work" on repeat while reading back issues of Soldier of Fortune and cleaning my uzi.

Me: You only own one uzi?

James: Good point. It’s not really jungle work if you’re not dual wielding. 

debbiecountry said: What is the latest on your brother???

Having not spoken to him since…Christmas, I guess? he contacted me via Facebook a couple of weeks ago, asking if I could get him a job where I work. Since he lives 90 miles away and doesn’t have a car, that would require me to take him into my home until he’d saved enough money to get a vehicle and then a place to live, something that would take—and I’m being conservative here—forever. That, and the fact that he’s completely unreliable in any sort of work setting led me to telling him I would ask about hiring while knowing full well I’d do no such thing. Probably for the best, it seems, as barely a week later I began to see him posting weird declarations of True Love to some lucky lady, which means—I guess—he found some dummy to take him in for awhile, and I’m off the hook. For now.

(Source: memewhore)

(Reblogged from -lovelymoon)