Archive for July, 2006

grrr

Just wanted to let everyone know that I wrote a lovely annotated trend update on what I’ve been into lately. However, Firefox crashed (possibly from Diigo, a what I thought to be great new Delicious-like thingy) and Blogger apparently never saved a draft even though I’d been working on it for 10 minutes, so it was completely lost.

This just gives me more ammo against technology. I’m not a fan any more.

So here’s a brief list of what I’m into:

And here’s a brief list of what I’m soo not into:

  • heat & humidity
  • annoying/stupid people
  • and just added: technology not working as designed

As we wait for a better post…

Minnetonkascenes: Where is Mr Jimmy?

I’ve been thinking about, and partially composing, a post about the similarities between pop art and folk music. But until I finally get those thoughts in the world wide web, this will have to do.

This blogger tells the story that a big Stones fan claims to be true:

On 6/12/64, the Rolling Stones played a concert at Danceland in Excelsior, Minnesota during their first ever US tour. At the time they were a little-known band, performed poorly and drunkenly, and got booed off the stage.

During this visit (in fact, the next morning), Mick went into Bacon Drug Store, an Excelsior store with a soda fountain, to get a prescription filled. Jimmy Hutmaker, a.k.a. “Mr. Jimmy”, a “local color” guy who had met Mick at the concert then night before, and who has some mental difficulties (although is pretty lucid most days–he still wanders the streets of Excelsior every day visiting with everyone he meets, he’s now around 75), was in the store in line in front of Mick at the moment, ordering a cherry coke. Problem–they were out of cherry juice. So the guy behind the counter gave Mr. Jimmy a regular coke. Jimmy shrugged his shoulders, turned around to Mick, and commented that, “You can’t always get what you want”–and a mega-hit was born.

This version of the song’s origin is confirmed by both Mr. Jimmy and the pharmacist who made Jimmy the soda. The references in the song to Mr. Jimmy, Mick’s prescription, a cherry coke, and others, are all believed to refer to this encounter. In fact, most people familiar with the story believe that there is no reference to Chelsea Drugstore in the song–it’s just a misheard reference to Excelsior Drugstore (the middle two syllables of “Excelsior” sound a lot like “Chelsea”, hence the misunderstanding).

–Bill Verkuilen
Brooklyn Park, MN

But like Minnetonkafelix says, “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” was written a long (stylistically) three years later. I mean, it might be true, but it’s also difficult to believe that Jagger could have a prescription filled in the U.S.

Interesting story, nonetheless.

Fun with Pictures

Is this photo:
a. An Upper West Side Muslim woman hip to the latest Diesel head dress?
b. A German man protesting Bush’s environmental policy?
c. A Chinese welder wearing an improvised mask of denim on a construction site?

Leave your answer as a comment to this post! I’ll let you know if you are correct or not.

Nevermind

Update: I am a total moron. It’s because Lennon is dead. Paste was going for best living songwriters.

Normally I don’t get all huffy when it comes to magazine’s “best of” lists. I mean, they’re just editors and critics–they lack a lot of the intelligence I have.

But seriously, who cares? I mean, it’s nice when “the pros” recognize artists you really like as a fan, but the new Paste Best Songwriters Ever list leaves out someone no one would ever guess would be left out.

John Lennon.

And guess who #5 is.

That’s right, Paul McCartney.

Not that I disagree with putting Paul in the top 10, but to compltely ignore John Lennon is careless and unfair to the largest degree. He died at 40 and gave the world some of the best songs ever written, spanning from “She Loves You” to “Imagine” to “Instant Karma”–who else can make such a claim? Was there not enough to go by? Is he too overrated these days? Are Silly Love Songs fashionable now? Come on Paste, fess up.

P.S. #47 is Bruce Cockburn. This cockburn is making me thirsty!

Another reason why MySpace sucks

I don’t really think MySpace sucks, but I figured such a search phrase was common to Technorati and Google.

I get, on average, three friend requests per week. These are not from friends, these are from bands and musicians. I usually accept the requests, but if I honestly don’t like the music, I deny them. Apparently I have even better taste than I could ever imagine because typically these bands I’ve denied ask to be my friend again. Once, a local band asked me every day for a week, just to be the pseudo-punks they are. Go write some shitty songs–stop spamming me. Today some random singer-songwriter asked me to be his friend for the second time. His rhyming is terrible, why would I accept?

Anyone else have similar MySpace experiences?

Old-Timey Stuff

This weekend has been full of old-timey stuff. I’ve been alone for most of it, which takes me back to middle school and high school summer vacations where I’d be playing guitar, reading, or working on some sort of project until 2:00 a.m. just because I could. I’ve always been good at keeping myself amused.

Today my mom visited. We went to my great aunt and uncle’s place in one of the oldest suburbs of Minneapolis. They built their house in the late 1950s, but my great aunt (and grandma) actually grew up six houses down from their lot, which her father built in the early 1910s. I didn’t know that until my mom and I had dinner at a nearby Embers. She mentioned that the house had a “For sale by owner” sign posted on it. Being the crazy ladies we are, we decided to go back and pretend that I was interested in the house. (This was partially a bad idea because we sort of lied to our hosts when we left–they assumed we were going our separate ways but really we were going to dinner.)

Anyway, as we pulled up to the house, I saw a dark-skinned man in the front yard getting the mail. Of course my mom says NOTHING as she carefully walks on the tiny sidewalk up to him. I was so embarrassed. Just as I whispered from behind her, “well say hi,” the man said hi. My mom cheerfully responded. (He was Hispanic, which apparently my mother never realized because she had to ask on our way back to my car. She didn’t even recognize the Spanish they were speaking.) Of course after my mom realized that English was not his native language (he spoke very rough English), she started talking like she does to her mostly deaf cousin. Gotta love her…

So he showed us around the grounds, which were in pretty poor shape, but they were making improvements. Finally we got to go inside. It was disgusting, but remnants of the old place were still very clear. The original cupboards were amazingly still there, painted white. The dark wood trim all around still looked beautiful. The open staircase–an amazing mission-style (?) banister and a cris-cross pattern of the dark wood on the wall under the railing were brilliant. Upstairs we saw what my mom later told me was the bedroom she stayed in when she came for visits. It was off a deck on the second floor, which must have been super fun as a kid. The basement was huge and strangely barren.

The only time I really thought about the house’s history was in the basement when I pictured jars of peaches and pickles lining the walls of a small room probably used for food storage. In the car after the tour, my mom said that the only thing really different was the upstairs bathroom off the kitchen, which had been a pantry. After she said that, I felt remorse, wishing I had tried to feel my grandma’s presence there, try to feel the house’s past more. I’ve been thinking a lot about my grandma lately, so seeing the house she grew up in was sort of the pinnacle. I’m glad we did it.

The other big old-timey thing I’ve been up to lately has been folk music. Like real folk music–the stuff Dylan was into. This new trend has been quietly mustering in the back of my head for several months now…I borrowed the Anthology of American Folk Music from the library but didn’t listen much to it, I finally got into Bob Dylan, I felt like playing guitar again, learned that my grandpa played fiddle, I had been into Johnny Cash for a while, one of my friends kept talking about the Carter Family…all these things have added up to a new obsession. It seems easy to say that the Carter Family are quickly becoming a new favorite, but maybe it wouldn’t be easy to say for some people. The music is astounding, I can’t get over it. It drains me every time I hear a song. I crave it when I’m not listening to it. Same goes for much of what’s on the Anthology of American Folk Music.

Ok, long-ass post. Thanks for reading, if you’ve even gotten this far.

Oh those zany journalists

Being a Beatles fan has got to be the worst in terms of how journalists report on your favorite band. They’re the band everyone knows, the band who’s songs the journalists grew up with…so they think they generally know what they’re talking about. They add little tidbits like, “McCartney started off calling ‘Yesterday’, ‘Scrambeled Eggs.’” Fascinating.

The other thing about the Beatles journalists love to exploit is using their song titles for “clever” headlines. For instance, when word of Paul’s separation from Heather went public and all the stuff about her sluty past came out, there was, “She was a day stripper, but Paul didn’t know“.

But I think the worst one I’ve ever seen appeared after the Love show opening on Friday. Everyone was there–Yoko, Paul, Ringo, Olivia, Dhani, hell–even Julian and Cyn were there. So of course the old “ooo, will Yoko and Paul have it out this time?” came up. Well, they didn’t. Here’s the headline:

See, they don’t look awkward together at all. And they’re both single! Love is in the air!


(taken from an article called “Love is all Macca and Yoko need to end feud“, which should have been “Love is all Macca and Yoko need to come togeher”. COME ON YOUR BRITS, YOU CAN DO BETTER.)