Carnival barker, huckster, hip philosopher–– pull up a bar stool and let’s go!
I didn’t discover the wonders of Tom Waits until the mid-’80s, but once I got my head out of my ass, I dove deep into his catalog.
Discovering an artist late is good because you can sample his wares and gorge on the buffet he’s produced. This baby is his second album, the title track a tribute to Jack Kerouac.
When you drop a diamond on this disc, it’s clear Waits is one way gone daddy–– balling the jack on his piano pedals and taking listeners on a journey through sweaty smoke-filled bars stinking of cheap booze and desperation. He understands lonely crushed souls nursing tender heartaches, and he does it with sweet beat poetry and woozy jazz sensibilities.
Waits is a fine aged whiskey to savor. He’s an incredible songwriter, profound poet, charismatic performer, sideshow barker, and emotional huckster.
Pour me another, buddy–– it’s going to be a long night, and I’m loving every moment.
Should you ever have the chance to catch Waits live, which is about as rare as a dodo bird riding a unicorn, grab a ticket fast. The guy is a masterful performer.
The mutant clone of Buddy Holly, a force to be reckoned with.
His birth name is Declan Patrick MacManus, but that moniker doesn’t have the rock buzz of Elvis Costello. His debut album in 1977 solidified this mutant clone of Buddy Holly as a songwriting force to be reckoned with. The band backing him on this disc is Clover, an American west coast band. Costello would soon form The Attractions and later The Imposters to back him.
When the Sex Pistols bagged on playing “Saturday Night Live”, Elvis and The Attractions got the nod. Lorne Michaels forbid the band to play “Radio Radio” because NBC corporate owned a shit ton of radio stations and the song was critical of commercial airwaves. Costello agreed not to play the song. When the show was live, the band started playing “Less Than Zero”–– Elvis yelled “Stop, stop!” and kicked them into “Radio Radio”. Michaels was royally pissed and put the hairy eyeball ban on the band for the next 12 years.
He lost his money and he lost his wife, those things don’t seem to matter much to him now.
While “Born To Run” was the album that made Springsteen a sensation (he was on the covers of TIME and NEWSWEEK, not too shabby), this one is my favorite one.
It’s dark, bleak, brooding, introspective–– with glimmers of hope, optimism, and determination to carry on. It’s a young man struggling to find his way (don’t we all?).
When he toured for this album, I somehow wrangled my way into working security for the show at The Richfield Coliseum in Cleveland. I then talked my way away from the duty of inspecting women purses to being a security guard guarding the seats behind the stage and making sure no one sat in them.
I did my bouncer duty before the show, then plopped my ass in a seat to the side of the stage. I then enjoyed an incredible four-hour show.
The songs on this album are all emotional lightning rods. They strike to the dark places within, the yearning that’s hungry to be satisfied.
Years later, Bruce would confess he deals with depression issues. He does so through his music. This album is a prime example. It’s therapeutic, cathartic. As The Boss bleeds, strap into your car and enjoy this emotional roller coaster ride (please keep your arms inside the car for safety’s sake).
I think this band will be pretty big if only they would get haircuts.
I was recently invited on a social media platform called “Facebook” (why not just call it “Cover”–– that’s what the face of a book is!) to participate in a game of selecting ten albums that are important to you.
This seemed an innocuous enough task, and I suppose it is if you just make your ten picks, sit down and shut up.
I didn’t. I obsessed and went down rabbit holes of research and traveled down memory lanes I hadn’t visited in ages. It starts innocently enough, but then–– you’ll see.
It ended up being a time-consuming but enrichening process. They will be shared in ten separate posts.
They are not in an order of preference, that would be silly and way too difficult. Enjoy and feel free to give your two cents.
Here’s day one. Beatlemania was in full swing, the boys rocked Ed Sullivan and owned the airwaves. Then, in 1964, they made a movie about living in the madness of pop stardom. In a beautiful black and white film, we followed the lads as they smoked cigarettes, were chased by mobs of girls, and played rock songs with more hooks than a Bass Pro Shop to adoring fans. What boy didn’t want to be a Beatle? I was all in on the devil’s music. Where are the old man’s smokes?
“Jared calls MBS a couple times a day,” an anonymous White House insider told The Lint Screen. “They even talk at bedtime. I think it drives Ivanka nuts. Sometimes, I’ll be down the hall from their bedroom and hear Jared on the phone saying, ‘No, MBS, my broski bro, you hang up first! I’m not hanging up first — you do it!’ It’s kind of cute, really.”
The source disclosed the two devil-may-care pals are forming their very own journalism club called THE HONEST TRUTH TELLERS!
“Both men have a great respect for the freedom of the press,” the secretive blowhard bleated. “They think the president and the Saudi government have not been given a fair shake by the liberal mainstream media so they want to join the journalism conversation and set the record straight.”
The media brouhaha concerns the bad press MBS and the Trump administration have received since the killing of Saudi journalist Jamal Khashoggi, who ended up on the business end of a bone saw.
“The bestie boys, MBS and JK, think the whole Khashoggi thing was just a big misunderstanding. They think it’s time we all moved on since the past is the past and there’s nothing to be done. They’ll soon be publishing their report telling the world there’s nothing to see here so let’s move on. Also, no collusion, end the witch hunt!“
The deep throat said THE HONEST TRUTH TELLERS are building their very own clubhouse, a $48 million treehouse.
“It should be pretty luxurious. Jared says the treehouse will be a branch office of Mar-a-Lago, get it — branch office treehouse! Then Jared giggles uncontrollably and MBS chortles like a mule coughing up a Smith Brothers Cough Drop. These guys are real zany madcaps, I tells ya!”
Thanks to a sneaky mole, The Lint Screen has obtained a top secret transcript of Friday’s discussion between Team Trump and Team Pelosi inside the White House Situation Room.
SCENE OPENS IN THE WHITE HOUSE SITUATION ROOM WITH THE FULL CAST SEATED AT A LONG OBLONG TABLE. DT SITS AT THE HEAD OF THE TABLE ON A PLUSH THRONE WEARING A GOLD JEWEL-ENCRUSTED CROWN. ALL OTHER CAST MEMBERS ARE SITTING ON MILK CRATES. MP HAS A SPIKED LEASH AROUND HIS NECK, DT HOLDS THE END OF THE LEASH IN HIS PUDGY, TINY HAND.
DT: I want my wall. Give me my wall!
NP: No. There’s no money budgeted for your stupid wall. Not one penny.
TRUMP TURNS TO AN ARMED SOLDIER STANDING GUARD AT THE DOOR.
DT: Kill her!
CS: Mr. President, you can’t do that. You would be charged with murder and murder is a serious crime.
DT: So what? I’ll pardon myself. Kill her!
NP: Mr. President, I advised my staff that if I don’t return, they should immediately alert the media. It will be bad press for you.
DT: Then give me my wall money. I need my big, beautiful concrete wall.
NP: I’m not buying your numbers, Kirstjen. They sound like total bullshit. And why do you spell your name that stupid way?
KN: It’s distinctive, Nancy. I even dot the ‘i’ with a heart! Listen, if we don’t have a wall, all Americans will be killed by illegal terrorists. And their blood will be on your hands. Over 100,000 innocent Americans are killed daily by terrorists, according to the paper in my hand from Fox News.
NP: Those numbers sound fake.
DT: If I don’t get my wall, I will kill a Guatemalan child every hour, I swear I will. I’m just crazy enough to do it!
NP: You’re bluffing.
DT: I’ll also kill cute puppies.
MP:
DT: What’s that, Mike? Did you say something? Did you?!
MP:
DT: That’s what I thought you said.
MM: Mr. President, you can’t kill kids and puppies, it’ll ruin your poll numbers. The base loves puppies.
NP: Mr. President, since we’ve been here, the Democratic Party controlled Congress has issued 204 subpoenas into the Trump organization. If you let us out, we can persuade those wild Democrats to stand down.
DT: Okay, Nancy, you win this round, but I want my wall. You go back and tell Congress to give me $50 million for a wall.
CS: I thought it was five million, Mr. President.
DT: We have some Trump Company management fees that have accrued because of the delay in funding.
NP: Sorry, Donnie. No wall for you. Suffer.
DT: Give me my wall money!
NP: Get it from Mexico, like you promised.
NANCY RISES FROM THE TABLE. SHE GRABS SCHUMER BY THE SHIRT AND DRAGS HIM BEHIND HER AS SHE MUSCLES PAST THE DOOR GUARD. SHE QUICKLY DISARMS HIM, SNAPPING THE WEAPON IN TWO AND TOSSING IT ON THE GROUND. NP AND CS EXIT. TRUMP LOOKS AT HIS COWERING COMPANIONS.
DT: You guys are worthless. A disaster. A disgrace. I swear I have to do everything! Mike, get me Rush on the phone. I need to hear what I’m supposed to do next.
He lost his money and he lost his wife, those things don’t seem to matter much to him now.
