Location: Loveland, CO.
Preoccupations: God, words and tunes.
For the REALLY morbidly curious, see the links below. :)
Todd77 on Making the Dream ...
Anonymous on I hate it ...
Anonymous on Making the Dream ...
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burninglight on Making the Dream ...
timbyrnes on Making the Dream ...
burninglight on Making the Dream ...
aristorano on Making the Dream ...
burninglight on 13er #1(or #2, ...
Anonymous on 13er #1(or #2, ...
About me
Cosmic Bud and the Librarians -- music, or something like it, anyway
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A toast to the lot of you….
I just gotta review this thing. It’s already made me smile and broken my heart too many times to not give it its due. And yeah, I’m still playing it.
Thank eMusic again for the freebie that opened the door here. And to think I almost deleted it. Out came this crabbed voice that sounded like Dave Bazan trying to sound like Jonathan Richman. Which is also to say, my first and understandable reaction was, “Is this guy even trying to sing?”
But I let it live a bit longer. Then about a minute in, the awkwardness began giving way to atmosphere, suddenly rapturing you up into the chorus as you realize “He sure as heck is singing. And why the heck am I tearing up, anyway???”
And thus was my intro to “Iris,” the song that opened the gates to all things Scattered Pages, and in this particular case, their 2006 album Lazy Are the Skeletons. And as previously mentioned: Move over Yo La Tengo and Kamikaze Hearts, that “Belated Best Album of 2006” title’s a triumvirate now.
Incidentally, the singer/songwriter on “Iris,” bassist Kurt Coburn, isn’t the regular lead (although he does regularly appear on a couple other songs per album). That honor belongs to Brandon Hancock, who often writes and sounds (especially on this album) like some Tex-Mex version of Morrissey. Yeah, feel free to read that again. Needless to say, the melancholy here is generally couched in a lot more fun. Or that the considerable fun here gets regularly couched in melancholy. Either works. (And also to say that this is probably the only place west of Manchester where the words “pestilence” and “decadence” are regularly cited, if not flat-out rhymed.)
Rounding out the lineup is Andy McWilliams, for whom I’ll just quote liberally from their site: “andy mcwilliams is the workhorse of the scattered pages. his load includes, but is not limited to, sound engineering, drumming, mixing, guitar and strings, carpentry, equipment repair, painting and studio upkeep.” (And incidentally, it’s worth visiting their site just to READ said writeups. http://www.scatteredpages.com. Duh.)
So, on to the cause of my bittersweet glee….
There’s a fellow ex-Jerseyan/ex-garage band guy who I often share an exercise room with here at work (and, needless to say, have a lot in common with.
) Every time I play this CD (which, by the way, is performed at a perfect workout pace) and he hears the opener, “Alice to Wonderland,” he asks an unusual but appropriate question: “Is this Roy Wood?” Understandable, given Coburn’s heavy fuzz bass here and elsewhere. (For those too young to remember all things Move/Wizzard, think Robert Sledge’s great work all over Ben Folds Five’s Whatever and Even Amen.) It’s fun and eery, more than a little music-hallish while growing into a Coburn-led bass stomp, and in short lets you know you’re gonna be in for one heck of a ride, “And on, and on, and on and on and down and down we go / like Alice to Wonderland, oh no, oh no, oh no….”
“Deadpan Dirge” might be the former but definitely isn’t the latter. Actually, it’s the first of several songs that tell you that these guys must be a hoot live. After the strummed opening lines, “This where you were born, my dear / And you’ll die here / It’s a criiiiiime….” everyone cuts loose like T-Bone Burnett with a death wish.
The fun gets upped a notch with the simultaneously winking and stomping country-western/gospel carnival tune “Eternity Waits”:
Look ye there at the stones
Gather round ye the bones
Of a great many kings
And a great many queens
Who did oft a daisy pluck
See now how well they push them up…
And any day may be your last
Honey baby, you can bet yr ass
So don’t linger at the gates
My darlings, eternity waits.
Siiiiiiiiis-ters aaand bru-HUH-thers…
Praaaaaaaay fooooooooooor eeeeach uh-HUH-ther….
Seldom has death sounded this fun.
Which comes in handy, because “The Baptist” – which, to re-introduce the Smiths analogy, sounds like a more relentlessly minor-keyed “Panic” -- turns things a bit darker, and for that matter opens with a image even somewhat more grisly than hanging one’s DJ: “Finish it, she said / And cut off his head / For he’s the reason why / I can’t sleep at night….”
Then comes the aforementioned “Iris.” Again, picture if you will Jonathan Richman, fresh off that classic first Modern Lovers album and mere days before the breakdown that would hurdle him into permanent second childhood. That’s a lot what this sounds like. Beautiful, fragile, yet determined to try one last time. The pathos of, “She meant a lifetime before I could think twice / And we met a lifetime ago… Now Iris won’t stay at home / And I can’t be left on my own….” gets me every time.
“I Was Never Someone in Love” brightens things up considerably – musically, anyway:
You’re wrong
If you think I ever loved someone
But go on thinking that if you want
Everybody knows
I’m some kind of gigolo…
I was never someone
Someone in love
I never called her name
I never cried out in pain
When she tore my heart
And had so many laughs about it….
Back to those C&W stomps that they need to come to Northern Colorado and play live someday. “Annie Get Yer Gun” is a bouncy little two-step with a big howling ending courtesy of Mr. Hancock, while “We Could Have the Lot” picks up the C&W baton and turns it decidedly campier, “I’ve heard of a such a debauch / Kings couldn’t afford to watch…. Say friend, say friend, what’s it gonna be? / Must we always sit back quietly / While others dance to violins? / We could, we could, we could have the lot / From the whiskey to the decadent / And just as well, a mademoiselle….” And yeah, the Coburn fuzz bass adds even further to the fun here. And McWilliams is having a hoot of a time on guitar here.
Anyway, “Countryclub and Love” is the second of the three Coburn tunes, and the most upbeat of the three. Once it gets past a slow woodwind-y intro, it kicks into an arrangement not entirely unlike what might occur if Doug Sahm had kicked Jimmy Destri the heck off his keyboard and wrested the rest of the musical helm of Blondie away from Chris Stein. (Yes, I do have quite the fun with these cross-genre-ational analogies – why do you ask?) And yes, more fun stomping bass to be had by all. I’m a sucker for that too, obviously.
“I’m Ashamed” is about as cry-in-yr-beer as this album gets – “I’m ashamed / for having said these foolish things…” – but even this one does some more serious winking in the once-again-but-this-time-slowly-stomping chorus, “So talk -- to me / With your – body…”
“You From ’32,” the last Coburn tune, is by far the most fragile and Bazan-like of the bunch (except that Kurt knows what a falsetto is). And while not quite as touching as “Iris,” one sure can’t fault the lyrics for trying:
Until my father passed away
I’d spent all my years for naught
And I’d never taken chances on a girl….
Until my father passed away
I couldn’t find the words to say
Or share a single act of kindness
Please God, forgive me for my blindness
Oh, to think of my mistakes.
And onto the big ending we go, and it’s BIG, even if it technically comes a song early. “The Empire Complete” starts like every great ‘70s ballad that sounds like a ‘50s ballad you’ve ever heard (and trust me, you’ve heard a lot more than you think you have). A quiet acoustic intro, punctuated only by some slightly off-beat McWilliams percussion, gives way to a string-laden bridge that explodes into a epic chorus that would’ve fit VERY comfortably on an early Bowie album (or at the very least, Steve Harley): “The walls fall around us / The empire complete / The buildings tall, the cars, the street / They’re crashing around you and me.” And some more great Hancock howling at the end. I still don’t know what the heck this song’s about -- heck, it might just be about some building that got knocked down, and Hancock thought it’d make a nice analogy for the “decadence” liberally seeded elsewhere throughout this album -- but listen to it and just try not to be affected.
But in the spirit of “we take ourselves seriously – just not too seriously” that’s all over this album, our heroes instead choose to end with a Tex-Mex stomp that doesn’t even take two minutes to complete, but which is probably worth reprinting at length... well, just because....
I didn’t get this dressed up
Just to stand around the club
I didn’t wear these shoes out
Just to hold the carpet down….
I may be wrong and impolite
But you looked like you weren't having a good time
Forgive me if I lead you astray, hey-hey-hey
It’s just that you were depressing me
I can’t go for that, you see
I have faith in you
In you
In yooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo-ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo-oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooou…
(BUM-BUM-BUM!)
Buy this. Fund their trip to northern Colorado. Houston's a whole lot closer than Albany, you know (sorry, K-Hearts, just being practical). Make the dream real here, people.
