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Clunk.

No, not crunk. Clunk. The sound of a shoe hitting the floor, onomatopoeiacally speaking, or of a coin dropped through the slit in a wooden offering box; I like how “clunky” has become a visual adjective as well. Perhaps the word also refers to the past tense of Werner Klemperer’s most famous character… also, metaphorically, clunk is the sound my plan to write about the Sandy Denny box set has made, since one of the discs is not in the box! OCD emergency! Oh well, I’ll get caught up on some strays and do another box set once I catch up, and I’m sure to find the Denny CD as I go onward through the CD fog.

208) Kate Bush: The Sensual World

I think I can understand why people wouldn’t dig Kate’s voice, it is pretty high in the register, and is also warbly, and sounds at times like a room full of crepe paper. But I like all those things just fine, and she writes really interesting, challenging, occasionally pompous songs, so what the hell. And, this CD allowed Maxwell to make one of the best cover versions ever.

209) Paris Combo: living room

Whoo-boppa! Gypsyish jazz from France, a little Django, a little Edith, and, of course, modern haircuts. Fun to dance to, songwriting a little too derivative to be considered wonderful.

210) Macy Gray: On How Life Is

I also can understand how folks might not dig Macy’s voice, sometimes it sounds like she’s faking it, the tone is cartoonish. But I dig it, and she can write a good song when she doesn’t get lost in the smokey production room cuteness…

211) Oingo Boingo: Anthology

Punk/New Wave was an opportunity many folks leapt at, the doors were thrown open to weirdness, even as a set of conventions emerged… which explains groups like Oingo Boingo, who had absolutely nothing to do with, say, the Dead Kennedys, but they got out through the same doorway. That door, the record company embrace of artistic exploration, is shut now, but people are beginning to notice that the wall the door sits in is just a stage set, and you need simply walk around it and see the fields beyond.

Once a month won’t cut it…

Well, I suppose there’s nothing to cut, but I really should improve my woeful posting rate. Just finished Chris Hedges Empire Of Illusion, yet another screed that I find myself agreeing with in spirit, but that glosses over so many particulars that it makes me questions my own reasons for wanting to agree. Much like Barber’s Consumed, Hedges’ book attacks the way US society is growing more compartmentalized, asocial, and vapid at the same time, and while Illusion is much tighter than Barber’s book, it’s surprisingly a-historical and oddly selective in its choice of targets: porn, professional wrestling, ivy league universities, positive psychology… and like so many of the voices bemoaning the collapse of our Democracy, his solution is vague enough to be a bit embarrassing: we should love each other more. Well, yes, but… we should also dislike each other better, I think. Maybe I should write a book like that, since I fault all these other authors so much. But in rhyming couplets.

Got some newish poems up here: tinfoildresses, mine are near the bottom.

I’ve been listening to my box set (reward for getting to  #200), Sandy Denny, such lovely music, but I hjave a pile of single CDs here that I really should blog before I forget, and I want to listen to Sandy some more. So…

205) UB40: Labor of Love II

Robin Campbell’s voice can be grating is you are in the wrong mood; for some reason, it sounds like urine hitting cold water to me. But I like peeing, so–I often like UB40, though this isn’t quite my favorite collection. Still pleasant, squeaky clean, reggaeish fun.

206) The Knotwells: Blood River Melodies

My friend John played drums on this disc, a thrash-folk rave-up of sorts, several really excellent songs and several moods pieces that fill in the gaps–except the mood, in this case, is wine addled hipster disillusionment. Rock on! Folk on?

207) The Damned: The Best Of

There’s a lot of the Damned worth exploring, and a whole lot of shite, but this grouping is pretty strong–I really want to go sing “Jet Boy, Jet Girl” on the sidewalk at the next Molson Canal Concert thing in Lockport. Look for me, I’ll be by the tower, getting my ass kicked by the junior high lacross team.