Summer Solstice

Summer officially arrived a couple days ago, and in my boredom at work on Friday, I got to thinking about what exactly this meant. Typically for me, and for most college students, the understanding of seasons goes something like this: Winter (December-January), Spring (January/February-May), Summer (May-August), Fall (August/September-December). I'd say for most Louisianians the seasons fall along these lines: Winter (December-Mardi Gras, which falls somewhere in February or early March), Spring (Mardi Gras-June), Summer (June-October), Fall (October-December).

Summer as represented in popular culture is typically much different from summer in my personal experiences. I guess the best way to say this is far less Len- "Steal My Sunshine" and De La Soul- "A Roller Skating Jam Named 'Saturdays'" and far more Drive-By Truckers- "Bulldozers and Dirt" and Steve Earle- "Someday." The music of summer, in my mind, is always filled with a heaviness, a stickiness, and something a little dirty. The heaviness of Drive-By Truckers, Whiskeytown, and Steve Earle, the stickiness of "Spottieottiedopaliscious" by Outkast, and the dirtiness of The Meters always represent summer in my mind far better than the breeziness of all those "Boys of Summer" jams. This is mainly due to the fact that I have spent the past two summers, and now Summer 08, in relative isolation, working my ass off.

Summer 06 was filled with spinning Whiskeytown and Uncle Tupelo during dreary, sultry kitchen hours. Late-night drive homes following the closing of the restaurant fuelled on my 87th coke of the night and numerous "cigarette breaks" behind the restaurant (even though I didn't smoke) remain the most lasting images of that summer. Yes, it was terribly boring.

Summer 07 was spent working outside. I got paid cutting grass on a private golf course and driving a golf cart around an enormous piece of property doing odd jobs. I spent a lot of time careening around dusty back-woods trails and mindlessly cutting down fairway grass in the blazing June-July-August heat. I listened to a lot of Widespread Panic ("Chilly Water, "Driving Song," "Tall Boy") and Drive-By Truckers ("Carl Perkins Cadillac," "Bulldozers and Dirt," "The Southern Thing,"). I can vividly remember getting cans of "Sparqs" at 10 a.m. break and slamming them in mere seconds to get a morning kick (Godawful), drinking tall boys at lunch in the woods, and occasionally, when everybody else was away, sneaking copious amounts of Jack Daniels into my fountain coke and then spending the rest of the day driving around on a golf cart drunk out of my mind. It was a lot of fun, but there was nothing worse than working out in the fucking scorching Louisiana heat and humidity for 8, 9, 10, even 11 hours at a time. I have probably never sounded more like the Catholic-school middle-class poli-sci major that I am, but God did it seem like July would never end. I don't mind dust in my hair, dirt on my hands, or sore muscles, but I do mind that relentless sun and heavy air.

Summer 08 has been one of mindlessly shuffling papers and running files to lawyers. Nights have consisted of studying politics and drinking bourbon and whiskey. At work I mostly try to ignore the idle chatter of the office receptionists or the cheeseball girls talk about how many cheeseballs they cheated on their cheeseball boyfriend with. Perhaps the most memorable moment at work was attempting to convince the receptionist to go to the dentist and get a tooth pulled so that she could get a Percocet prescription, and then selling that shit to me. Alas, this failed.

Monroe is a perplexing town for me. I have spent nearly my entire life in the New Orleans area, one which is at least as French as it is Anglo-Saxon, and most of the time, way more French than Anglo-Saxon. This is not a minor triviality. Everything is different.

Chiefly involved with a budding poli-sci major from down south such as me is the approach to alcohol. Luckily this does not extend to my grandfather, who was finishing his second Bloody Mary of the day when I got out of bed this morning. On the other hand, I have found that few will laugh at jokes about the "Holy Spirit" and that many kids celebrate drinking by "drinking and driving at breakneck speed out in the sticks." Ooh, cheating death behind the wheel in Calhoun, Louisiana is sooo much fun.

But even the racism is different here. In New Orleans, racism is largely glossed over because people are not that overtly racist and there is so much cultural mix, especially when considering local festivals, the music scene, etc. In Monroe, however, I have encountered the word "ni**er" more times in a few short weeks than I think I ever have around New Orleans. Conversations constantly feature such statements as "Goddamn, that little ni**er can run" or "I don't know what it is, but I just don't like ni**ers." In Monroe, the black and white societies, are clearly, and I mean clearly divided.

The ironic thing is though, the racial problems in New Orleans, are definitely much worse. One only has to look at the example of Hurricane Katrina to see this. Through decades and decades of historical patterns, blacks in New Orleans simply do not have the same chances and opportunities. Thus you see the only decent schools in the city are the private schools filled with upper-middle class white kids and the stands at Hornets and Saints games are filled with suburbanites. Voting patterns in New Orleans are constantly, and by constantly I mean always, split by racial lines. The only compromise is a sort of white-friendly black-person, such as Ray Nagin pre-Hurricane Katrina. The two main political factions seem to be dominated by white business leaders intent on maintaining a business-friendly environment (which largely doesn't exist) and black leaders of the Jeremiah Wright type, neither of which do anything to move toward "the middle." This does not even begin to approach the drug problems in New Orleans that infuse the vibrant drug community. If one dwells on the subject of New Orleans for too long, it tends to get depressing.

However, New Orleans, is still far-and-away the greatest city on the planet. Perhaps in another post I will delve into this phenomenon.

The topic of drugs leads to some other thoughts. Just recently 16-people were busted for various drug-related crimes in Monroe. These ranged from some poor college kid having $100,000 bail for "conspiracy to distribute marijuana" (I am sure it was like 10,000 ponds of it, and he was probably pretty sinister, but I like giving the benefit of the doubt to people busted with weed) to larger-scale crack, cocaine, and crystal meth "operations." Being neither "inner city" or "small town, middle of nowhere," I have no relation or understanding to the crack and crystal method epidemics. My closest encounter with either is some hooker looking for drug money on Beale Street and the song "You and Your Crystal Meth" by Drive-By Truckers. But I can say that I am just as scared on a daily basis of Xanax-addled soccer-moms driving around gigantic SUVs as I am of anything (well maybe not bored kids drunk driving cause they ain't got nothing better to do).

But back to the original focus, summer. It involves so much waiting. Waiting for the new semester, waiting for something to happen, waiting to get out of this hell-hole (its not that bad). It also involves a ridiculous amount of reflecting, because there is often nothing better to do. In a present that is so slow and still, you can't often help but reflect on the past and the future.

As I reflect on this, I realize that seasons don't begin and end according to the moon, or according to the beginning of semesters, or changes in weather, or the dates of holidays. Rather they begin with personal "sea-changes." I won't get much into this, but I realize now that summer began in May, in Baton Rouge, when I listened to "A Ghost To Most" by Drive-By Truckers about 15 times in-a-row at about 4 o'clock in the morning, drunk on Shiner Bock and whiskey.

Real music posts will return when my grandparents get rid of their technologic isolation. But for now, one of my favorite summer jams, a real killer from Heartworn Highways. And some excellent live-Truckers.

Big Moon, Frozen Tundra

Well the Big Moon was out tonight, meaning it was freakishly big and freakishly yellow. It was pretty much the best thing to hit the skies since, well the last time the Big Moon was out. Being a fan of all things lunar, I took the opportunity to sit out by the pool with a glass of whiskey and the Fleet Foxes album and moongaze.

I was a bit wary of Fleet Foxes at first. The comparisons to early-Jacket and Band of Horses left me a bit unsure, since I love/like both of these bands, I'd rather they not be endlessly re-hashed. I downloaded the album when it initially leaked, but never got around to listening to it until a few weeks ago. The 9!! rating that Pitchfork gave the album pushed me to actually getting around to it to see what the fuss was all about.

Well Fleet Foxes certainly passed the whiskey test. Being endlessly compared to My Morning Horses, I felt it necessary to indulge in grainy drinks while kicking it. My immediate reaction was, yes, this does remind me of MMJ/BOH. But while early Jacket reminds me of silent, southern fields at night, and Band of Horses reminds me of late-night autumn strolls, Fleet Foxes evoke a setting wholly unfamiliar to me. This is because I have never lived outside of Louisiana, and while it snowed once in New Orleans when I was 2, and it snowed one Christmas in the suburbs, it is safe to say that "winter" is a pretty alien concept.

Listening to Fleet Foxes, I get the feeling that I am huddled up by a campfire in the middle of some God-forsaken Siberian tundra. This would be an uninviting prospect, but Fleet Foxes are really fucking good. The fact that it reminds me of well, 40 degree weather, rather than Louisiana's stifling summer heat is an added bonus.

Their songs seem to take two shapes: A) Majestic winter snow-flurry spiral ("White Winter Hymnal" and "Quiet Houses") or B) Caterpillar-butterfly snow-flurry metamorphosis ("Blue Ridge Mountains" and "He Doesn't Know Why"). Each is wonderfully enchanting. The vocals and constant ringing of the guitars and piano match evenly to paint a picture of, you guessed it, winter out on the frozen tundra.

This is a phenomenal album, certainly one of my favorites of the year. And until I embark on a pilgrimage to Nepal or get exiled to Siberia, this will probably be as close as I will get to that curious season they call winter.

Guess I Must Be Having Fun

I've always thought haikus were incredibly stupid. However, in the past couple of weeks or so, my mind no longer views the haiku as an excercise in idiocy. This change in mind can be atttributed to my stumbling on the haikus of Matsuo Basho while reading The Snow Leopard by Peter Mathiessen.

In only the lightest of readings of Basho's work I have discovered the appeal of the haiku. Its strength is in its simplicity, and while I may be stating the obvious, I think that has to be underscored. Much of the world's most fascinating features and its greatest joys can be found in its most simple treasures. Basho's poems and writings take a simple approach to these simple joys, and this leaves them touching and poignant.

I am one
Who eats his breakfast,
Gazing at morning glories.

This somewhat loose translation is only eleven words long. And yet, it expresses emotions that can take a lifetime to explain. Basho's haiku brings to mind the joy of waking up to a new day, and savoring the world around you.

There is nothing you can see that is not a flower;
There is nothing you can think that is not the moon.

While this is not a haiku, it serves a similar purpose. The two lines illustrate the beauty and wonder that is found in everyday life.

This may sound rather mushy (I am in love with life, what can I say) or overly-Buddhist (Basho was, and Matthiessen is Buddhist, I am Catholic) or something like that. Nevertheless these are the immediate thoughts that struck me as I read Basho's poems.

They also reminded me of my all-time favorite song. There have been times when I have played "This Must Be The Place (Naiive Melody)" by Talking Heads from the live album Stop Making Sense on repeat for hours at a time.

Like Basho's haikus, "This Must Be the Place" succeeds in its simplicity. The rhythm and melody repeat throughout the song (thus the "Naiive Melody"). David Byrne's lyrics reflect simple contentment. Both piercingly self-aware ("I'm just an animal looking for a home, and share the same space for a minute or two") and ecstatic ("Feet on the ground, head in the sky"), this track reflects the happiness Basho felt in eating his breakfast, looking at flowers, etc.

Monday was my 21st birthday, and I had a nice self-reflection to go along with my last bourbon of the night. Needless to say "This Must Be The Place" was playing in the background. I couldn't help but feel completely happy about my life, and where I was going. Indeed, this must be the place.

I'll compensate for that lame post with a non-lame video:

My Morning Jacket- Evil Urges

My Morning Jacket is probably my favorite band in existance at the moment. Jerry Garcia has passed away, as has Fela Kuti, thus rendering The Grateful Dead and Africa 70 null. Talking Heads don't seem to be reuniting, and for the moment, neither do Phish. Thus it My Morning Jacket it is.

The foundation of my love for all things My Morning Jacket is their performance at Bonnaroo 2004 (which I will post when I can). I was not present, but sometime in 2005 I downloaded their set, and was blown away by it. This was more or less my introduction to My Morning Jacket, and since then I have been a sucker for all live Jacket. While I appreciate the studio stuff, I feel strongly that the transcendent experience of a My Morning Jacket show, is largely missing from studio releases. Such is the nature of studio albums. My appreciation for The Grateful Dead, Talking Heads, and Phish is largely built on this same idea.

It is with this in mind that I approach Evil Urges. Maybe it is a mistake, or maybe it is not true artistic criticism to view the songs in terms of whether or not they will bring the house down, rather than as an expression as an album. I don't know. I really don't care. As I said, the true MMJ experience is in concert.

In a way, this album does not meet expectations, but not in the way, that Easy Tiger or Sky Blue Sky missed expectations last year. I knew Evil Urges would sound much different than Z or It Still Moves, etc., and perhaps because of this I was hoping for something transcendent. This is not easy to accomplish.

Nevertheless, Evil Urges is a very strong album. The title track gives off a weird pop vibe (almost like Lenny Kravitz), but its quirky funk is fun, and yes, it will kill live. The twin tracks "Touch Me (I'm Going To Scream)" part 1 & 2 are both soaring, classic Jacket. Part 2 adds a newer disco-electronica flavor that was mostly unheard in earlier Jacket. "Aluminum Park" is a fun rock-out in the vein of "Lay Low" or "Dancefloors" and will be another highlight of Jacket live shows.

My personal favorites are "I'm Amazed" and "Smokin From Shootin." "I'm Amazed" succeeds in being fun and simple, pop-rock for a new century. Its hard not to smile and sing along to all the joy you find in life, and while it may be somewhat childish in nature, this is what is essential in the song. It isn't supposed to be something re-defining.

"Smokin From Shootin" is probably the best track on the album. The buildup is amazingm and Jim James' vocals are in his classic reverb style. There is no doubt that this will be one of the highlights of future MMJ shows.

I leave "Highly Suspicious" up to personal taste. Its fun and silly, and I have grown to like it. Perhaps music critics take their hobby/job too seriously, and I find nothing wrong with MMJ wanking around in the studio, especially after providing us with so many delectable tracks over the years.

Grade- B

On and On and On

-Pitchfork gave Evil Urges a 4.7, thus confirming they usually miss the point. I'll provide a full review later, but I respectfully disagree with this assesment.

-Netherlands 3 Italy 0... I was unable to see the full match, but I was shocked by the result. The Oranje really played as one unit, and did well in pressing the Italians when they had the ball, and pushing forward with style and intelligence. I am very confident in the Oranje's chances in the group now, especially with Les Bleus looking like dog shit.

-Tha Carter III is out. Check this excellent write up on the album.

-As I was typing David Villa gets his hat-trick for Spain. I have my doubts about La Furia Roja being able to put together a full tournament, but they seem impressive at the moment. Anyway, look to see David Villa leaving Valencia this summer. Possibly to play in England.

A Necessary Update

Well, for the moment, my conncection to the interwebs is still rather limited, and as such I am still unable to post the music I've been listening to for the last few weeks. But I can still type, and so I am.

-Several members of my family have a rather unhealthy addiction to American Idol. I have resisted the urge to rail against American Idol anytime it has come up in conversation, but how long my strength to do so will remain is a rather uncertain prospect. I've never really understood the appeal of glorified karaoke, except maybe in the case of my younger sister, so I won't go through the motions of presenting broad social theories to explain it. I do know that it is somehow related to the need for my red-blooded American grandparents, who work in construction and in the Church, to watch Entertainment Tonight! every evening. I long ago reached the conclusion that most people listen to music just for the sake of having easy-to-listen-to background noise. Maybe they watch TV in the same vein. I'm not really sure.

-Unlike some of my former jobs, I have no control whatsoever of the radio in my office. Because of this, the radio is constantly tuned to the local country station. While occasionally they may play some "Gram Parsons Project" (as one of my co-workers referred to Gram Parsons), this usually means I get to comtemplate suicide every 30 minutes when the mandatory Rascal Flatts song gets played. Maybe one day I will hijack the radio and throw in a Fela disc and count how many seconds it takes for somebody to complain.

-On the other hand, my grandfather is now a fan of The Hold Steady. Who knows... maybe he partied too hard in the 80s.

-To quell the onslaught of bad country music, I have been feeding on a heavy dose of Nas, My Morning Jacket, and El Guincho. The excellent new MMJ album comes out on Tuesday, and needless to say I am eagerly awaiting the Pitchfork slandering of it.

-Also, to celebrate the release of Tha Carter III, MTV Jams was playing a heavy amount of mid-to-late 90's New Orleans jams. Whenever I wasn't watching soccer, tennis, or LSU baseball, the TV was glued to MTV Jams as I indulged in my fantasies of growing up in the Magnolia Housing Projects.

-Obama v. McCain... yada yada yada. I wonder how many people have realized that the states with the highest proportion of black voters are all solid Republican states? Also, how many people have realized that McCain's supposed advantage in foreign policy is rendered null by the fact that his plans are mostly idiotic? (From the FT: 1, 2, 3)In other news, oil prices are rising yet again, and every car ad I have seen in the last three weeks is for a truck or an SUV. Somewhat related to this is the fad of moving to New Orleans "exurbs" from the "suburbs," making the necessary commute even longer. Again... who knows.

-All the while I continue to study politics at an unhealthy pace. To quote de Quincey, author of "Confessions of an English Opium Eater": "In this state of imbecility, I had, for amusement, turned my attention to political economy."

-Euro 2008 has started and my love affair with the Dutch national team continues. With Ryan Babel out, Robin Van Persie somewhat injured, and Arjan Robben due for injury any day now... well disappointment looms. The fact that the Dutch back line is about as reliable as the New Orleans levee system does not help either.

-For now my money is on Germany. They looked rather impressive today against Poland, and I don't expect the form of Podolski, et al. to drop off any time soon.

Well that's about it for now. I'll be spending the rest of the week penning verses to "Monroe State of Mind."