A New Record...Faster, Stronger...

Today I ran five miles in 39:40

Mile average: 7:56

yay!

I'm quite happy with this. My diet is stalling on me again, but we'll get it figured out.

T.

The Fitness Plan Week 7....

Progress Made:

Weight Lost: 21 lbs

Fastest Mile: 7:30 min

Fastest Average: 8:30 min

Fastest 1.5 Mile: 10:40 min

Average Rate: 9 min

Average Distance: 6-7 miles (5 in morning, another 1 to 2 in the evening)

Sit ups: 50 (one set)

Push-ups: 34 (one set)

Caloric Intake: 1200 - 1300 calories daily

The trick is proving to be to choose the most pure forms of fuel to put in, since I only get so many calories, what is going to give me the biggest bump in nutrition, energy and satisfaction? It's become something of a game. I don't crave too many junk foods any more. Average meals: 5-6 throughout the day, although its a bad idea to eat anything after 8 o'clock.

How will this change over the next few weeks as my routine is interrupted? I will simply have to find a new routine, and not make any compromises. Especially on the diet.

Tomorrow's my light work-out day. I'm going to help my friend move instead of going to the gym... Carrying a desk down seven flights of stairs should prove to be adequte.

T.

P.S. Secret bonus: The veins running the length of my biceps are reappearing. I find it terribly exciting. Testosterone at all time highs.

Music Review: The Black Keys: Chulahoma EP: the songs of Junior Kimbrough
Junior Kimbrough was a bar owner in Mississippi and died in the 1970’s. In addition to fathering an enormous family, he was also a blues song-writer. This homage by the Black Keys features six of his songs.
I must confess that I had not previously heard of Junior Kimbrough, nor any of the songs that are featured on this EP. Being very familiar with the Black Keys’ signature sound, I was curious to see how the Keys took on another artists’ songs, since most of their work is original material written by guitarist/singer Dan Auerbach. It was pretty apparent that they had a deep respect for these songs, so it was interesting to see how carefully (or carelessly) they decided to handle these songs.
Knowing these songs would’ve originally been played on acoustic guitar and voice, the Black Key’s recipe of voice, electric guitar and drums would seem a drastic change. And indeed, it has taken several listen-throughs for me to become comfortable with the adaptation of their sound. The Keys’ original tunes usually are built around Pat Carney’s funkified drum stylings, so the scaled-back approach to his playing on this project was a little surprising. Indeed, if there is a weak point to this project, I would have to say it is the drum line, which at times I feel was a little tacked on. The other elements, (voice and guitar) were already written. The only truly concocted part of this project was the drum beats, and Pat Carney’s decision to play down his presence is understandable, but it is a sad misuse of his unique drum stylings.
The songs themselves are sprawling, relaxed and slow-paced. It is an easy picture to envision Junior sitting outside his bar in Mississippi singing these songs. Obviously Junior didn’t have anywhere to go real quickly, but the Keys’ interpretation adds a restrained intensity. In part to the drum’s insistence, but also Auerbach’s fingers seem reluctant to let go of any note, giving a great tension to the songs.
I would not consider this the Black Keys’ greatest work. In fact, I would put it last on the “need to own” list for the Keys’ works. But it is obviously a labor of love for the boys from Akron – a project that they felt very strongly about doing, and in honoring one of their favorite songwriters. And as the band's final release under their contract with Fat Possum records, it is a fitting swan song. The Black Keys have moved to Nonesuch and are opening for Radiohead in the next several months. Now there's a weird concert to go see...
Grade: B-

Music Review: The Raconeurs Broken Boy Soldiers

Lauded as "Jack White's other (insert 'better') band," stands poised to take the title of rock supergroup of the year. Who they're taking it from is another less interesting story.

Jack White (of the White Stripes) teams up with fellow Detroit native Brendan Benson for this collaborative effort which also features rhythm being provided by members of the Greenhornes, their personalities and names inconsequential. All we are concerned with is the genius of Jack White and the melodic wanderings of Mr. Benson.

I speak tongue-in-cheek, of course. Reading reviews over the last few months about this anticipated release has allowed music critics to let it slip that they would've always much preferred the White Stripes had it actually had a better drummer and a bass line. Shame on you all.

But we are here to discuss the Rac Pack...

Benson and White take a total 50/50 credit on the writing of these songs. Listening through the whole album, each of their hands is very clear. Knowing Benson's Alternative to Love and virtually all of Jack White's output, it is fairly apparent when one songwriter takes the helm from the other. Their styles are vastly different, but do work together to create a genuinely unique and unusual sound. Some of the songs harken back to an older generation, such as Store Bought Bones which recalls early psychadelia, or the closing track Blue Veins which is straight-foward blues.
The majority of these tracks, however, are truly a hybrid style of White's growling guitar riffs and howling vocals and Benson's melodic turns. Add to it the solid but never over-powering backbone from the Nameless Ones, and you have a collection of songs that really doesn't sound like anything else on the shelves right now.
On the track Broken Boy Soldiers, Jack White shows why he is still one of the best blues rock singers going at it right now. But this time, enough vocal damage has occured so that White sounds more like an old woman than a 31 year old man.
On the track Yellow Sun, Benson's ability to create a captivating melodic/chordal combination plays out nicely in a chorus that catches the ear every time.
Oddly enough, only three of the tracks on this disc start without any sort of weird ambient lead-in or studio noise. What's the deal? Also, the art design for the CD case is decidedly disappointing. The photograph on the front cover looks as though the band took a cheap polaroid photograph of themselves in poorly done makeup, with no attempt made to clean up the photograph, sharpen the image or to deify them in any way. The disc itself as well as a border around the photograph features a great deal of golden script filagrie which seems to have no pattern. In short, it's confusing to the eye and I found it more of a distraction. Often times I'm able to tell what sort of design influence a package has had, but with this album, I am confused. There seemed to be little thought put into the look of the bands image. Even looking at the band's publicity stills I get the sense of four men standing in frame together, but there isn't a cohesive sense of uniformity between the bandmates. If the band's intent is to remain a coalition of individuals, that is fine, but at least shoot the photographs in black and white so we don't have to enjoy your clashing choices of clothing.

The Grade: Music: B+ (Because of a few weak tracks)
Art Design: D

The T. has spoken.

I've Realized There are a Few Things I Could Do Now...

...now that I have the time...


...there are a few things I would like to try my hand at:

Learn Karate
Learn to Dance
Knife Fighting
Learn Guitar
Learn Drums
Learn the Stock Market
Juggling Axes
Raquet Ball
Bull Fighting

...I think I might keep myself pretty busy...

This is my sister...

...and she is worried about climbing on an airplane?

The First Taste of Summer...
I felt it today as I was moving through my house.

You usually have to be moving in order to sense these sorts of things. If you sit still, the air itself can't breathe.

I felt it as I was going up and down my stairs. It was there.

That humidity. That sticky resistance between the skin of my foot and the wooden stair.

And I could feel it when I stood still.

The heavy stillness of air laden with summertime rain, waiting for the right moment to soak the earth.

I could smell it as I moved through my house. Flowers smell differently in the summer.

I enjoy it now because one day I will realize it is summer. It will be too warm and still, and I will go around with the perennial moist spots beneath my arms and between my shoulders.

I can enjoy this stillness now. I can enjoy it and I can see ahead.

T.

In effort to memorialize my current circumstances a little bit
...I ran around the house with my camera and snapped these pictures. Some of them turned out pretty well... the sum is more interesting than the parts. Enjoy

T.

I'm Still Rather Proud of Myself...

Movie Review: Mission Improbable III

When will the super-spies learn? The minute you have a wife, girlfriend, children, puppy, sportscar, or a goldfish, your nemesis will exploit it and seek your downfall by holding your beloved hostage.
You would’ve thought that any of the other spy/thriller movies where the hero’s lover is taken prisoner and held hostage at the hand of some diabolical and fantastic instrument of death would begin to be a roadmap to destruction for the spies who would follow later. But as smart as they are, they don’t seem to learn. This leaves the helpless movie-going audience no choice but to shout out advice to the characters on the screen hoping they’ll learn from others mistakes.

Interestingly enough, this movie managed to be just as entertaining as MI: II with only a fraction of the plot.

Thinking back, I can’t even remember what the plot was intended to be. Quite obviously, it was inconsequential. What was important was the elaborately conceived action sequences which effectively destroyed one-quarter’s worth of the gross national product. And then when they blew up all they could, they went to Shanghai and started chipping away at the Chinese industry.

The Premise: Tom Cruise revisits the ready-made American hero Ethan Hunt, star agent of the IMF (“Impossible Mission Force”? Does that really sound as retarded as it looks?) who is now training other agents to go out into the field. Apparently battling John Voigt inside the Chunnel just adds a few too many grey hairs. Know what I mean?
This time around Ethan has found a nurse that he wants to marry, so the early scenes are spent establishing Ethan’s relationship with her family at an engagement party. Ethan is eventually convinced to go back into the field to rescue an agent he trained. She dies in his arms (how poetic) and sends Ethan on a hunt to find the black market wizard Davien (played by Philip Seymour Hoffman before he got his Oscar) who is set to make a $800+ million dollar sale of something elusively called the “Rabbit Foot”, which we frustratingly never learn what it does. Since Ethan has disturbed Davien’s nefarious going-ons, Davien uses Ethan’s wife as leverage to get Ethan to find the Rabbit Foot for him.
The fact that this is the extent of the plot should give you a sense of how important probability and plausibility is in this film.
The first MI film was accused of being too confusing and too hard to follow, so director John Woo’s second installment was the antithesis, featuring an abundance of slow-motion shots of Tom Cruise walking amongst flames with doves slowly flying from beneath his feet…truly a poetic chaos.
The third film exchanges Woo’s graceful choreography for the currently popular hand-held camera use, which makes for grainy, out-of-focus and unsteady footage. Obviously meant to de-stabilize the film and add to the tension of the scene, it has been over used. Filmmakers need to uncover new techniques.
Early criticism of this film said that the character-building scenes were weak and just strung between one action sequence and the next. I didn’t feel that to be the case, though. You don’t sit down in this movie expecting to delve into the psyche of Ethan Hunt, we want to watch him blow stuff up. And on that bill, the film delivers.
To its credit, the action scenes did stay rather creative and memorable, and I could probably recall most of the individual scenes and mention something cool about them.

As far as the acting goes, we haven’t seen any new tricks out of Tom Cruise since the Last Samurai, (a good film) but now whenever Tom feels it necessary to truly be emotional, he puts on the same waterworks show combined with a heavy breathing. By this point, its not effective any more. Knowing Tom Cruise’s pride at doing all of his own stunts, and knowing his recent bizarre behavior, I found myself wondering if he ever took a nose dive off the roof of the Chinese skyscraper and the film crew just watched him go ‘splat’ on the ground 400,000 feet below. Everything we’ve seen at the film’s promotion is actually a cyborg, built out of state-of-the-art bionics and what they managed to scrape off of the sidewalk.
Philp Seymour Hoffman’s character has obviously been examined closely since his win for the film Capote, but I would have to say you would be disappointed if you were looking for a great film character to be born here. Hoffman’s character is sadly one-dimensional. The film knows that he’s there for us to hate, and we need not know anything more about him than that. His character actually devolves through the course of the film. His dialogue is more revealing and lengthy early in the film, and then by the end of the film he is reduced to the evil mastermind clichés including kicking Ethan Hunt in the face while he’s laying on the ground.

Overall, the film entertains. It’s a popcorn muncher, and if its any indication of what the summer season will look like, then we’re in for another high-octane low-content season.
Yippee!
Eventual Grade: C+

T.

Quick Reviews of Music I’ve Chewed Through Recently
A lot of classic bands and their recordings that I really knew nothing about, and my valiant effort to try and rectify that.


Talking Heads: 77
I was attracted to the Heads’ music because of their place in the lexicons of rock ‘n roll. I kept running into their names and images during a casual flip-through of any “history of” book that I might find on a shelf.
So I get a hold of a copy of 77, which I didn’t purchase, thankfully, and I have to say, I just don’t think this is my bag, baby.
As I often tell myself, “as important as knowing what you like, is knowing what you don’t.”
I think I can safely say that I don’t find the music of the Talking Heads all that appealing. So this isn’t so much a review of the album as it is an impression of their music all together. Sorry Talking Heads…
Grade of all things Head Talking: D


Black Sabbath: Paranoid
Discovering the classics is so much fun.
For those of you who read my luke-warm review of Wolfmother a few days ago, we all have this album to blame. Had I encountered Wolfmother a week before I discovered Sabbath, Wolfie might’ve been spared its C+ songwriting.
From the authoritative and extensive search I did to find the greatest Sabbath album I was lead to Paranoid, which was the first release by the band with a younger, more entertaining Ozzy Osbourne on lead vocals. Guitarist Tommy Iommi created some of rock’s most memorable and inextinguishable riffs on this album, and he did it with only two actual working fingers.
The story behind Sabbath’s sound is really a fun one to tell, but its too long for this moment, so if we ever get really bored on this blog, perhaps I’ll endulge you all…
As with any study, its important to know your historical timeline, so that the beginnings and endings of things can be traced.
Knowing that Sabbath was the first in so many musical styles and tastes really makes you appreciate their altering of musical taste all the more. So many bands owe their sonic palette to Black Sabbath, its amazing.
Aside from their inventive stylings, the thing that stands out was how quickly they mastered their new-found toys. These songs are really fun to listen to and despite an obviously limited style, their songs never get old.
Grade: A+


The Yardbirds: Roger the Engineer
More classics…
I mostly picked this one out because it’s the Yardbirds. Another band that has its place held in history for them. If for no other reason, than certainly to be known as the starting place for the likes of Eric Clapton and Jeff Beck
Of course this record has their hit Over, Under, Sideways, Down, but what I found myself listening to the most was the stylings of guitarist Jeff Beck on songs like Jeff’s Boogie and the Nazz are Blue which really showed off the young guitarist’s ability, and ultimately foreshadow music’s departure from the Beatles formula of song-writing.
Entertaining, yet does not engage you song-for-song the way even an early Beatles album still can.
Grade: B-


Jamiroquai: Emergency on Planet Earth
Hands-down the best name of any band I’ve listened to recently. (Pronounced Jam-ear-o-kwai)
Known for back-to-the-roots funk stylings, Jamiroquai has been turning out dance hall hits for quite a while now. This album, released in the earlier ninties is perhaps one of the better samplings of Jamiroquai’s talents and abilities. Even jogging to this music made me step a little bit faster and higher. Reminiscent of the by-gone days of the discotheque, Jamiroquai has perfected a recipe for funked-out disco that combins the Bee Gees with James Brown. Not a bad idea. . .
Grade: B


Motion Picture Soundtrack: The Life Aquatic
A musical supervisor has one of the most overlooked yet influential roles in a movie’s construction. Pick the right tunes, and a simple scene of dialogue can have unexpected tensions or emotions that would otherwise never be explored.
Wes Anderson’s Causteau-esque comedy about washed-up and washed-out oceanographic explorers features some of the most unique music I’ve heard in a while. What attracted my ear most was the tracks contributed by Mark Mothersbaugh, who wrote all original tracks for this film. Mostly of narrative nature, his tracks have titles like “Let Me Tell You About My Boat” or “We Call Them Pirates Out Here” and are used in specific moments throughout the film. His signature use of electronic sounds used with great restraint and control makes his music feel very controlled and tense, even though they are tremendously fun to listen to. Round out the soundtrack with several selections from Seu Jorge, a French singer who covers only David Bowie sung in French, and you have a zany collection of familiar and not-so to accompany perhaps Anderson’s best film.
Grade: A

T. out...

Music Review: Wolfmother

I mentioned this band a few months ago as the greatest thing to come out of Australia since kangaroos or something, but I wish now to make ammendments to that statement.

They are almost the greatest thing to come out of Australia in a while.
Today is the release date of Wolfmother's first full-length album in the U.S.
If my information serves me correctly, they've already had one release overseas, which received warm reviews. This U.S. release is a lot of reassembled materials from that first album, plus a few tunes from their already released EP.

Now that we've covered their history, its safe to say that Wolfmother is still a relatively new band. We're not talking about a band that has had three albums cut already. This is why I have great expectations for Wolfmother in future years. I expect their songwriting to only improve and their music to gain depth and breadth.
This is a fun, easy to listen to taste of retro-rock, but all of this is said to imply that this album falls short on a few key areas. Mostly, that of creativity and exploration.

Wolfmother has a built-in fan base by choosing to make music in a style alike Black Sabbath or the Who or Led Zeppelin or any other number of bands that have enjoyed a resurgence in popularity in recent years (partially due to crummy contemporary music, and partially because everyone's been wearing Stones' t-shirts, someone finally decided they should actually know what their music sounded like.)
This being the current trend, Wolfmother could very easily play off as opportunistic and kitschy if they're not careful.
The problem with this album is that the songs don't show the musicians actually having any fun with what they're doing. The songs all sound formulaic and scripted. It's a fun ride, but in another year or so, I doubt many people will be listening to this, simply because its not that creative or interesting.
I will look forward to their next release. If the trio is going to stretch it legs at all, this will be their opportunity to show us what they're capable of. But if they stick with the reciepe-for-success formula, watch their album end up in the $5.99 bins within 12 months.

Final Grade: Catchy, bubble-gum rock with no bitter after-taste: B

So here I am a week into my physical make-over.
And dad was worried....hah!

Of course these pills are making me feel a little weird.

I ate steel wool today for breakfast. Is that weird?

I have a craving for more...

It's been going great! These shots I have to take every day are expensive, but whatever. The 14 pounds of muscle I've managed to put on in the last 72 hours is worth it. Of course it'd be better if it wasn't all in one leg, but hey, you gotta start somewhere, right?



I'm packing up right now.

Everything I've managed to assemble over the past six years is once again being boxed up and set aside. I decided to organize a few things this time, though. Like all of the bills and what not that I've been getting in the mail for a while. (There are a lot of them too! It's like they send this crap every month or something.) A great deal about student loans and what not, but I just decide it's best to continue using those as toilet paper, as I have been for the past couple of months.

Crazy, isn't it? You get a job, and you're poorer than ever. Oh well. I'm getting by. I found an old toothbrush I thought I threw out behind the toilet yesterday. It didn't look quite as worn out as the one I had, so I started using it again.

The word "toilet" turns a lot of people off. As though some people think its something dirty. More girls have stopped talking to me when I start talking about the toilet. What's the big deal?!! If it was dirty, it would be something we cleaned all the time! But look at mine! I haven't cleaned it in months and it still works just fine!

Stupid girls.


One of the things I've encountered in packing up is my box of photographs which has been collecting all of the photos I've snapped since freshman year. There were a few things I'd forgotten... like how bad a photographer I am. How much happier I am with the digital camera that allows me to make mistakes and not find out about them until AFTER I have the pictures developed...
anyway, I was rather revealingly able to track my weight gain over the past six years through these photographs. Here's a breakdown:

Freshman year: Skinny little do-gooder kid from the farm. High and shining aspirations, even shinier forehead. Acne control a thing of the future. Slim, but no threat to the ninjas which regularly stalk the hallways of my dormitory.

Sophomore year: The pinacle of good looks and fashion. Have crazy roommate and crazy girlfriend who school young farm boy in the ways of fashion and stupid behavior. Student proves to be a remarkably quick study. At least in one of the lessons.

Junior year: Sad times, and the aspiring violist turns to late night snacking to fill the void once occupied by studying. Times are rough, but so are the gastro-intestinal episodes. Student's body responds to emergencies by calling in reserve forces which set up camp next to the student's existing chin, reinforcing this position. Waistline at this point decides to abanon all hope of finding the 32-inch pants that it lost, so decides theres no longer any reason to wait around for them any more. Time to grow up(out) and throw out the childish notions of svelte good looks and atheletic prowess. Buttockular region decides this is phenomenal idea and alligns its efforts with the waist and forms a coalition to fight against all clothing the student owns. Eventually, victory is assured.

Senior year: Student convinces family and friends that "weight training" has added to his girth and bulk, and he is now in a stronger place than ever before. The flesh on his shoulders laughs (behind his back, of course.)

Graduate years: Buys couch, and it is the end of existence as we know it.

This pretty much brings us up to date.

I've taped some photos of sophomore year to the wall of my room for inspiration. I know this is what I'll have to get back to in order to take the job with the Air Force, and I will get there. It's just been a long ways since that time. God grant me strength.

(I know I'm gonna hear about that "crazy girlfriend" thing in a while...)

T.

...The Next New Nextest Thing I'm Waiting For...
Jack White refuses to get bored. Whether it be the gradual 180-degree turn from blues-rock (which has not been entirely abandoned) to bizarro-songcraft, or his newest venture, the Raconteurs, his fingers and mind are continually find ways of keeping busy. And also keeping the music world buzzing. If negative press is still good press because of the attention, then there's been no lack of attention thrown Jack's way these days. Not to say the press has been negative about the music, but we're getting a glimpse at the true feelings behind many music journalists plastic exteriors. More than once has it been said (in some form or another): "finally! Jack White is stepping out of the White Stripes to pursue music-making with other minds besides his own!"
I.E. "We haven't really liked what he's been doing since the release of White Blood Cells, but it would've tarnished our hipster appearance to backpedal on any band we once worshipped. So we'll swallow down Elephant and Get Behind Me Satan for solidarity, but really...thank god!!"

You'll not hear such rubbish spewing from this mouth. I'll admit I was hesitant and scared when I heard that Jack was beginning his side project. (Traditionally this can mean the end of an era for many bands; a sign that someone has gotten bored.) Yet I have enough faith in Mr. White's enigmatic, fish-in-a-fruitcup mentality that leads me to rest assured that the daring and dynamic dynamo that is the White Stripes will resurface to obliterate musical conceptions once again.

For the meanwhile, we are left to muse over the aural offerings of the Raconteurs, the shotgun marriage of Jack White and Brendon Benson, the power-pop songsmith from Detroit. Apparently Jack and Brendon used to share diapers or something. In any event, we are led to believe that the connection between the co-songwriters is deep and mystical.
The quartet is rounded out by two people who no one seems to notice or care about because they only play drums and bass in another band, the Greenhornes which hails from Cinncinati. They also don't offer much in interviews, so they're generally disregarded as furniture.

Usually such supergroups (in the "I've never heard of any of these guys" category) end up leaking a great deal of their bounty over the internet long before the album is released. My own personal research can testify to the fact that the vault has remained securely locked on this project, and the only tastes of Raconteuristicisms that we will be allowed to have come from their already-released single, Steady as She Goes and the far more intriguing Store Bought Bones which recalls dark psychedelia and sensless mumblings in the stead of lyrics. Awesome.

The claims that the songwriting remains absolutely "50-50" between Benson and White seems fairly aparent, although oxy-moronic (the idea that they should exchange letters of the words and still come up with a coherent sentance? Impossible!) alternating between Benson's talent for hooky melodies and riffs that you later try to remove from your head with a board, and White's confounding ability to still find sounds in an electric guitar that I've never heard before. And be a eccentric weirdo, of course.

So despite the copious amount of verbage being slung around this column, I am anxiously awaiting the proverbial dropping of this album on May 16 (US.) It should prove to be one of the more interesting records that will be released in recent months. (That is right after the special anniversary re-issue of Captain Beefheart and the Spider Monkeys.)
The only bone I'll pick with the boys is how a "full-length" album can constitute only ten tracks (which isn't the big deal) but can clock in at only a shade over thirty-four minutes! This album had better sell for about $5.86 at Wal-mart to ensure we actually get our money's worth.

T.

This is excerpted presumeably from a German newspaper. Its original home is not really of consequence. What's important is how loudly this column screams the truth. We are much closer to repeating recent history than we think. European Jews have known this for some time.

"German news commentary
March, 2006

It's fascinating that this should come out of Europe. Mathias Dapfner, Chief Executive of the huge German publisher Axel Springer AG, has written a blistering attack in DIE WELT, Germany's largest daily paper, against the timid reaction of Europe in the face of the Islamic threat.
This is a must-read by all Americans. History will certify its correctness.

EUROPE - THY NAME IS COWARDICE (Commentary by Mathias Dapfner CEO, Axel Springer, AG)

A few days ago Henry Broder wrote in Welt am Sonntag, "Europe - your family name is appeasement." It's a phrase you can't get out of your head because it's so terribly true.

Appeasement cost millions of Jews and non-Jews their lives, as England and France, allies at the time, negotiated and hesitated too long before they noticed that Hitler had to be fought, not bound to toothless agreements.

Appeasement legitimized and stabilized Communism in the Soviet Union, then East Germany, then all the rest of Eastern Europe, where for decades, inhuman suppressive, murderous governments were glorified as the ideologically correct alternative to all other possibilities.

Appeasement crippled Europe when genocide ran rampant in Kosovo, and even though we had absolute proof of ongoing mass-murder, we Europeans debated and debated and debated, and were still debating when finally the Americans had to come from halfway around the world, into Europe yet again, and do our work for us.

Rather than protecting democracy in the Middle East, European Appeasement, camouflaged behind the fuzzy word "equidistance," now countenances suicide bombings in Israel by fundamentalist Palestinians.

Appeasement generates a mentality that allows Europe to ignore nearly 500,000 victims of Saddam's torture and murder machinery and, motivated by the self-righteousness of the peace movement, has the gall to issue bad grades to George Bush... Even as it is uncovered that the loudest critics of the American action in Iraq made illicit billions, no, TENS of billions, in the corrupt U.N. Oil-for-Food program.

And now we are faced with a particularly grotesque form of appeasement. How is Germany reacting to the escalating violence by Islamic Fundamentalists in Holland and elsewhere? By suggesting that we really should have a "Muslim Holiday" in Germany?

I wish I were joking, but I am not. A substantial fraction of our (German) Government, and if the polls are to be believed, the German people, actually believe that creating an Official State "Muslim Holiday" will somehow spare us from the wrath of the fanatical Islamists.

One cannot help but recall Britain's Neville Chamberlain waving the laughable treaty signed by Adolph Hitler and declaring European "Peace in our time".

What else has to happen before the European public and its political leadership get it? There is a sort of crusade underway, an especially perfidious crusade consisting of systematic attacks by fanatic Muslims, focused on civilians, directed against our free, open Western societies, and intent upon Western Civilization's utter destruction.

It is a conflict that will most likely last longer than any of the great military conflicts of the last century - a conflict conducted by an enemy that cannot be tamed by "tolerance" and "accommodation" but is actually spurred on by such gestures, which have proven to be, and will
always be taken by the Islamists for signs of weakness.

Only two recent American Presidents had the courage needed for Anti-appeasement: Reagan and Bush. His American critics may quibble over the details, but we Europeans know the truth. We saw it first hand: Ronald Reagan ended the Cold War, freeing half of the German people from nearly 50 years of terror and virtual slavery. And Bush, supported only by the Social Democrat Blair, acting on moral conviction, recognized the danger in the Islamic War against Democracy. His place in history will have to be evaluated after a number of years have passed.

In the meantime, Europe sits back with charismatic self-confidence in the multicultural corner, instead of defending liberal society's values and being an attractive center of power on the same playing field as the true great powers, America and China.

On the contrary - we Europeans present ourselves, in contrast to those "arrogant Americans", as the World Champions of "tolerance", which even (Germany's Interior Minister) Otto Schily justifiably criticizes.

Why? Because we're so moral? I fear it's more because we're so materialistic, so devoid of a moral compass.

For his policies, Bush risks the fall of the dollar, huge amounts of additional national debt, and a massive and persistent burden on the American economy - because unlike almost all of Europe, Bush realizes what is at stake - literally everything.

While we criticize the "capitalistic robber barons" of America because they seem too sure of their priorities, we timidly defend our Social Welfare systems. Stay out of it! It could get expensive! We'd rather discuss reducing our 35-hour workweek or our dental coverage, or our 4
weeks of paid vacation... Or listen to TV pastors preach about the need to "reach out to terrorists. To understand and forgive".

These days, Europe reminds me of an old woman who, with shaking hands, frantically hides her last pieces of jewelry when she notices a robber breaking into a neighbor's house.

Appeasement?

Europe, thy name is Cowardice."

To all who do not yet know. . .

YIPPEE!!

I'll catch y'all in DC. . .

T.

Introducing Wolfmother.
The Best Australian Band since. . .AC/DC.

I'd better be careful with what I say. I'm sure there've been other really good bands since AC/DC. I probably don't listen to them though, and that means they must suck, so then Wolfmother really is the best band since AC/DC.

Enjoy my logic?

The stupid photo loader on blogger isn't working right now, so I'll get some images as soon as I can.

This Australian power-rock trio comes at the height of a retro-rock era where bands that sound (but especially look like) the bands of yester-year are finding great success.
Suddenly all of the hipster garments and fashions from thirty years ago are popping up all over in various underground clubs and music bars where many of these bands are carving their niche and recruiting fans to their cause.

I bring this band to light here because I have only recently discovered their music, and in about three weeks they will be playing here in Cleveland, and I hope to be in attendence for the show.

Wolfmother is made up of Andrew Stockdale, Chris Ross and Myles Heskett, who play guitar, bass/keyboards and drums, respectively. Their combined songwriting style combines the flavors of MC5, Led Zeppelin, the Who, Black Sabbath, the Doors, and virtually every other awesome hard rock/psychedelic group that existed in thirty to forty years ago.

Their style is nothing original or terribly unique, but it is a fresh take on what has grown to be one of my favorite genres and periods of rock ‘n roll music making. I view them as a Who or Black Sabbath for my own generation.

Their comparison to fellow Aussie rockers Jet is inevitable, but hardly fair. They are both signed to the same label, and both represent a certain “dirty rocker” image, but their songwriting could hardly be less similar. Jet has a few good hooky tunes, but it is difficult to listen to their entire album. Wolfmother’s tunes, on the other hand, all have a unique and different appeal to them which keep their songwriting fresh and listenable.

Check out some of their tunes at the band’s website (www.wolfmother.com) and wait for the release of their full-length album here in America.

T.

Review: New York Philharmonic, Avery Fischer Hall, New York NY, March 11, 2006
Christoph von Dohnanyi conducting
Schubert : Symphony no. 8 “Unifinished”
Bartok : Bluebeard’s Castle
Anna Sophie von Otter - Soprano

I had the pleasure of finding myself in New York this weekend, and the similar pleasure of hearing one of America’s greatest orchestras.

Now everyone knows that the Cleveland Orchestra is the best in the country, quite possibly the world – no one denies this. But its still good to hear the contenders for oneself so that you can stay in solidarity and know that what you speak is true.

I have now heard three of the “big five” orchestras – that would be Cleveland, Philadelphia and now New York. (Leaving Boston and Chicago.)

So far, Cleveland maintains its grasp on the prize.

The first thing one must consider when comparing these orchestras to each other is the vehicle in which they play. Severance Hall in Cleveland is the standard of America (I’ve not yet heard another better) and Avery Fischer is a hall not even the Philharmonic praises highly.

Acoustics aside (fortes and pianos sound startling similar in the space) aesthetics are ridiculous compared to Severance. The surfaces in Severance are all acoustically tuned and useful, but also beautiful.

Avery Fischer looks as though they started out going for the aesthetic, but forgot to consider the acoustic properties of the materials they were using. Or the shape of the hall. As a result, there have been obvious and clumsy attempts to remedy the halls‘ deficiencies by hanging acoustic panels and sheets of various shapes and textures on the stage’s shell, ideally in an effort to put the NY Phil’s best foot forward.

This brings us to the orchestra itself.

The first thing that is always noticed about orchestras outside of Cleveland is the attention to ensemble. Cleveland is like listening to a finely-tuned recording at every concert, or in the words of one member of the orchestra, Cleveland “picks up where everyone else ends.”

So the ensemble was not as picture perfect as could be, but what as even more alarming was the level of technical profession on some of the more noticeable passages and exposed writing was startling below my expectations.

The principal oboe was consistently flat throughout the evening, the principal horn had what seemed to be a lot of articulation problems, while the clarinetist seemed to suffer from poor breath support, ending with what seemed to be a weak vibrato, which any orchestral player knows, for a clarinetist, is simply a no-no.

The string players had the benefit of hiding bad playing amongst their numbers, but there were select moments when the ensemble was terribly off. In truth, the only string section that really sounded great was the viola section. (Wouldn’t I have the most to say badly about them?)

Part of me wanted to blame their inconsistencies on the fact that their normal director (Lorin Maazel) was not on the podium, as well as the fact that Glenn Dicterow, (their concertmaster) was taking the week off.

Dohnanyi’s conducting is well known to me, since he finished a 20+ year tenure with the Cleveland orchestra during my first years in that city, so I trust his musical ideas and instincts. For some reason, the tempo (particularly in the first momvent,) felt terribly slow, and the entire performance felt very uninspired. It would seem unthinkable that a professional orchestra (particularly of such repute) should give performances which risk sounding “notey” but that is precisely what happen to the Phil on Saturday night.

On another note, the audience at Avery Fisher that night, while seemingly well-dressed and affluent enough, and yet during the two movements of the Schubert symphony there was a smattering of applause from a confused audience. I was amazed. How can a city of such high culture and high-browed better-than-thou approach to most everything they do have at least twenty people in the concert hall who don’t know better than to clap in the middle of a performance? This is truly concert-going 101.

So at the end of the evening, the NY Phil does have a collective “sound” which I find only in the finer of the orchestras, but I found their performance this past weekend to be lackluster and sloppy. It IS a professional ensemble, and regardless of personnel changes or different directors, it is the musicians job to get the achieve the performance and the get job done.

T.

The Best Movie. . .Ever.

What happens when Jack Black and the director of Napoleon Dynamite join forces?

Welcome to the world of Nacho Libre.

I have to say I'm impressed by Jared Hess (director) and his cinematic vision thus far.

The premise:

Monks who secretly want to be wrestlers. They wear their outfits under their habits and moonlight as cheesy Meixcan wrestlers, i.e. El Chupa Nibre.

Throw into that phenomenal idea that Jack Black plays the lead, (wrestling alias Nacho Libre) and what more anticipated film could be released this year?

Seriously. This is one of the coolest ideas for a movie in a while.

T.

What's Spinnin' In My Player These Days. . .

It's always fun to be in a mood where it would seem that everything you encounter is great music that you want to absorb and enjoy.

This is what its been like the past few days. Discovering/re-discovering a lot of really neat stuff.

So what have we discovered?


Cake - Prolonging the Magic
Third album from funked-out fedora-touting hipsters who don't seem to care much about conventional songwriting - as long as you get to put a good bass line to it.


The Mars Volta - De-Loused In The Comatorium
Bizarre prog-rock's journey through the dreams of someone in a coma. Sounds like the perfect thing for a rock album, right? Complete the picture with a very unorthodox approach to recording and you have some of the most unique music to be released today.


John Mayer - Heavier Things
The sophomore follow-up by pussy-boy Mayer shows he wasn't a one-hit songwriter. This album is thoroughly enjoyable to put on and listen through. Kudos for anyone who's willing to dress up like a bear and insult his own music to his most die-hard fans.


Presidents of the United States of America - Self-Titled
This is reaching back to a by-gone era who almost predates the opaque gloom of Kurt Cobain and a the millions of offspring that were spawned. Devolved song-writing left the trio with a three-stringed guitar, a two stringed bass and as simple ingredients as the Presidents could think to distill themselves to.

Always good stuff. Always something new.

T.