TedInSaltLakeCity

TO THE RESCUE BOOK REVIEW

2010-09-06T08:15:00.000-07:00

I have reviewed many books in my day, but never one written by a living prophet. Not until now, that is…

An advance copy of To the Rescue, by Thomas S. Monson, appeared on my desk this morning. I don’t know who put it there. I don’t know why it was left. All I know is I have been privileged to read a tale with a message so radical it just might put readers in a state of shock.

But before I make any comment, I feel I must address some of the criticism I’ve received regarding my past reviews of some 300 books that fall under the category of “LDS Inspirational,” all plucked from my aunt’s bookshelf (I, her caretaker as she lay in a coma for the past 27 months). I haven’t given any of them less than a five-out-of-five star rating and therefore stand accused of lacking objectivity and impartiality. Let me be clear -- I have nothing to gain from writing positive reviews because I WORK PRO BONO! I am prepared to pan any book that deserves panning. It just so happens that as of yet, none of them have…

To the Rescue is no exception.

It is the riveting tale of a young lad (Monson) freshly out of law school in 1922 who faces the challenge of a lifetime: How to retrieve the family cat from the ol’ weeping willow tree in Henderson’s field.

Based on a true story, Monson masterfully relates the tale while drawing comparison to an important gospel message relevant to our day and age.

This book is not for the timid. The cat, for instance, dies a horrific death. So does farmer Henderson, for that matter.

Also, a chapter where Monson travels to Pocatello and witnesses a failed lynching seems oddly out of place, and might have readers scratching their heads in confusion. However, things become clear at the chapter’s end when Monson explains why a brand new noose would, against all probability, snap apart during the key moment in an execution (hint: look up Cain and the curse of immortality).

After the weeping willow incident and throughout his life, it seems as though Monson makes an effort NOT to help others. Indeed, his words and deeds might strike readers as downright sadistic, like in 1938 when he truncheons an assistant for spilling a grape soda on him, screaming, “That cleaning bill is coming out of your pay, you clumsy fart!” Monson tells the story with a tone of glee, as though he is proud of his actions, bragging that he indeed extracts money from the assistant, despite him being an unpaid volunteer! Incidences like this abound throughout the narrative, implying the opposite of what the title, To the Rescue, would suggest...

The reader might suppose as such. But should he?

Herein lies the brilliance of Monson.

On the surface, the title might appear as an ironic jab at the rampant do-goodery plaguing modern-day America, led by liberals and progressives who haven’t a clue how the system really works.

But his attack is much more sophisticated than that, and truly indicative of a person who takes counsel from on high.

His subtle admonition to us all: Ignore people and their problems. Even go so far as to create obstacles for your friends and loved ones. Make their lives miserable. Then leave them alone to work things out for themselves. By so doing, you afford them the opportunity to overcome adversity and grow (unlike the family cat).

Such a sentiment is bound to be met with derision. Foolhardy critics will stand at the periphery and sling their mud - they always have and always will.
Sadly, radical ideas put forward by inspired men (Monson) are instantly rejected, only later to be embraced years after there is time to give credit where credit is due...

(I don’t want to be indelicate, here, but I feel I must remind the reader that seven current members of The First Presidency and The Quorum of the Twelve are hendecagenarians - their time with us might be limited - and Monson is senior most among them.)

Regardless, he tirelessly strives to rescue the world with his revolutionary ideas and yet can rely on no one to applaud his efforts (except we, the elect).

And we can help by buying his book. A list price of $34.99 might seem high. But Deseret Book is offering it at only $29.74. What a deal! Now go buy a copy. Its fate will be the same (thrust upon a dusty bookshelf), whether or not your aunt is in a coma when you hand it off to her for her 93rd birthday. In fact, buy a copy for all your aunts! Do the math:

[All faithful LDS nephews and nieces (7,573,812)] X [All their aunts - coma or not - (1,997,617)] = [(15,129,575,606,004) units sold!]

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if a prophet had a best seller instead of that pervert, Stephen King?

INTRODUCING SPARKS

2010-08-29T06:42:00.000-07:00

Jenn and I select our favorite songs from a Sparks album and play them for you here and discuss why Sparks is the greatest band in all of tarnation, by golly.

TED: On February 6, 2009, I wrote, "So, Introducing Sparks is next - let's not make our audience of three readers wait too long for it... "

JENN: I think we may have lost one or two of our readers after eighteen months, but with THIS very important review, we should get at least one of them back, eh? I'm going to go down to the car to find the disk so we sort of know what we are talking about. I'll be back.

T: So little hinges on our next few moves.

T: I think we may have lost one or two of our Sparks CDs after eighteen months.

J: Well, I know I went on a Meat Puppets craze, and then the Mastodon sort of took over the vehicle, but where the hell did that album go? I can 'buy it now' for $8.91 on Amazon... I think we had an Opeth road trip in there too somewhere, when it was likely lost. That trip was CRAZAE!

T: I don't want to get too esoteric on our audience, but perhaps Introducing Sparks is our lost 116 pages.

J: If that were the case, we'd have to fabricate some fabulous Lucy Harris that took our beloved manuscript and did away with it, and I'm not sure I can deny that we've really just been lazy.

T: Agreed. Sheer laziness. Now stand up and be proud, if you can manage it.

J: Okee dokee, then. We've lost Introducing Sparks. Not on purpose, but just as well. It's really not very good. The covers are creepy, and aren't all the songs about underage girls or something? This is all just from wild vacation memories, as I can't find the album, of course.

T: That sounds like a description of Big Beat. Seeing as how Introducing is even worse, I'll allow the confusion between the two.

J: You'll allow it because I've got nothin' else to give you on this one. I suppose Ron and Russell could blame all this on the complexities with their record contracts at the time, and releasing the thing on vinyl exclusively until much later, but really, when it comes right down to it, they should have released "A Big Surprise" as a single and called it a day. "Gone to re-hab. Back when we are awesome and brilliant again."

T: I've seen a lot of vintage videos from around that era. Ron is doing that bust apart the piano bench in all of them. I'm convinced it's legitimate hostility at play. Not a symbol, like Townsend smashing his guitar. Actual rage. I am frightened.

J: Well - they were done with that era. They were brimming with the next. That said, "A Big Surprise" is a pretty fun song when Ron's piano is working and not in pieces, and Russell is looking into the camera at you, not at the empty space behind you.

T: "Over the Summer" is good, too.

J: How do you know?

T: Because we used to own the CD. Then Satan stole it from us.

J: Well, either your memory is better than mine, or you have been secretly checking out the songs on the album on the googles. I'll let both pass. Now back to "A Big Surprise," because that is the only song I know. Russell's voice really is great, and the tempo is just slow enough that the whole thing must be them just takin' a piss (as they say in the UK).

T: It's laid back California surfer music. I miss their frenetic stylings from the Kimono era. Songs like "Something for the Girl with Everything." Isn't this more of them trying to gain popularity in the States? If so, they fail. But that makes me happy because if they had wanted to succeed they would have had to sound like REO Speedwagon or Styx.

J: You obviously weren't a surfer, but again, I give you a pass. This music isn't laid back. "A Big Surprise" is sorta like Wayne Newton attempting to be part of the eighties with loungie uncomfortable glitter, falsetto singing, and an overwhelming presence of not belonging. These guys (Sparks) were ready to splay the world in two with a new style of music, and had to send the seventies out with the anti-introduction.

T: Your theory is that they had their future transformation into synth pop duo in mind while they made this album? I always thought that was a spontaneous move on their part. But we can explore that more on our next review - No. 1 in Heaven. See you again in eighteen months.

J: My theory is that the Sparks zeitgeist was changing, yes, when they made this album. That is the rage you see in Ron, and the hollow despair you see in Russell. I'll see you in less than eighteen months, as I can get a raging full-on for No. 1 any day of the week. Ciao.

T: Ciao bella.

"A Big Surprise" by Sparks

No use in our pretending we don't know what we know

We know a lot of things
I know each muscle on your back and every toe
But you've held out on me, I can tell from your eyes
Disguising the ace that you hold

I want a big surprise tonight
A really big surprise tonight
It's boy meets girl and here we go once again

Where is that Yankee ingenuity
Somebody told me how the motion picture would end
I turned and glared at them
And then I read the way the world was going to end
With a whimpering sound, not a banging away
I'm sorry I gave it away

I want a big surprise tonight
A really big surprise tonight

It's boy meets girl and here we go once again
I want a big surprise tonight
A really big surprise tonight

It's boy meets girl and here we go once again
Where is that Yankee ingenuity
I want a big surprise tonight
A really big surprise tonight
It's boy meets girl and here we go once again

Where is that Yankee ingenuity
Break the rules and make a fool out of me
Where is that Yankee ingenuity right now

I want a big surprise tonight
A really big surprise tonight

"Over the Summer" by Sparks

You've got to trust in summer, miracles can happen if you do

'Cause all that heat speeds change in everything, maybe even you
If you're a summertime believer
If you're a summertime believer
July, you were the plainest of Janes
Through August, you got rearranged
September, you're not just a brain
Over the summer, over the summer, over the summer
I tried to find myself this summertime,
I found you instead
And please forgive me Karen, but in June you were kind of dead
But, then we had that three day hot spell
You really turned into a bombshell
July, you were the plainest of Janes
Through August, you gor rearranged
September, you're not just a brain
Over the summer, over the summer, over the summer
Over the summer you're under the summer sun
Over the summer you're under the summer sun
Over the summer you're under the summer sun
Lying there, lying there, lying there, getting hot
You know the records that I got in June don't sound good no more
And all the clothes I bought in June are now rotting in my drawers
But you're a different girl, much better
A little redder, but much better
Was it just the heat of the sun
Was it that you had lots of fun
I wish that the summer weren't done
Over the summer, over the summer, over the summer

Classic MySpace Blog - Bob Lonsberry on Pat Ramsey - Friday, August 18, 2006

2010-05-28T15:17:00.000-07:00

If Richard Dutcher is the Manowar of "Mormon cinema," Bob Lonsberry is the Manowar of talk radio.

A lovable fuckhead.

What's on his mind?

Pat Ramsey.

Isn't she just the cat's pajamas?

Quite possibly, now that John Carr's confessed...

To hear Mr. Lonsberry pontificate on the matter was sheer bliss. With a straight face (I assume), he suggested that by dying last June, dead Pat Ramsey was able to team up with dead JonBenet and help inspire living investigators to finally track down her true killer. How this all works, he wasn't too sure. But certainly it was plausible...

No way on earth this guy's not fucking with us.

BOOK REVIEW - THE REMARKABLE SOUL OF A WOMAN

2010-04-25T08:04:00.000-07:00

IN DEFENSE OF REASON

THE REMARKABLE SOUL OF DIETER F. UCHTDORF

The Remarkable Soul of a Woman by Dieter F. Uchdorf is not selling well.

"A book like this usually generates great revenue... but not this time," said T. Peter Gulf, president of sales at Deseret Book Company. When asked to explain why, Gulf collapsed against the side of a downtown building and wet himself. He then waved this reporter off. His whereabouts are currently unknown.

An LDS bookstore manager (asked not to be identified) spoke of its unpopularity, stating, "They had us put it storefront - hundreds of hardbacks going all the way up to the ceiling next to a huge cardboard standee of Uchtdorf - but people seemed really put off by it, like it was some kind of assault to their senses. I've never seen a reaction like this before."

Samuel F. Turling, Professor of Modern Languages at Brigham Young University, refused to read and review the book after hearing its title. He explains, "I just don't get it. Every noun, adjective, and preposition - even the definite and indefinite articles - are just wrong wrong wrong. I never want to hear those words in that particular order again, or I might have to puke."

Why such a hostile reaction?

The answer might be simple.

History is replete of instances where native speakers of German, when trying to express themselves in another tongue, are met with hostility, to the point of being attacked by angry mobs.

Uchtdorf is no exception.

His book is one long list of troublesome, idiomatic expressions understandable only to Germans, the greatest example being the title itself...

The German word, bemerkenserteseelevoneinerfrau, literally translates as, "the remarkable soul of a woman," and probably serves as Uchtdorf's inspiration - sadly to his demise.

If only non-German speakers knew the richness of the word!

A five-year-old German boy might be heard to exclaim, "Bemerkenserteseelevoneinerfrau!" after suckling from his mother's breast.

So, too, a Herr when his Frau prepares him a hearty meal.

But the connotation goes way beyond that. Its use is not strictly confined to male speakers seemingly pleased by the actions of a female (such would be a gross indictment against the term, pointing to chauvinism). For example, a German woman, gazing at a sunset, might be heard to exclaim at the wondrous scene, "Bemerkenserteseelevoneinerfrau hat die Welt neue Darm der Tapferkeit gegeben!" meaning, "The remarkable soul of a woman has given the world new intestines of fortitude!"

Hmm.

I feel like I have to stop, here, because the more I try to defend Uchtdorf's work, the more bizarre it sounds.

I'll leave the reader with this message, however. Men at the top of the Mormon hierarchy are paid a mere stipend for their tireless efforts. They rely on book sales to supplement their incomes. Even though this book might make you gag, you should buy it and put it next to all the other LDS books of inspiration you own and haven't read. Before long, it will collect dust like the others.

Its title, indiscernible.

Its horrifying effects, gone.

And Uchtdorf, redeemed.

Classic MySpace Blog - MASTODON - CLUB VEGAS - 3/24/07

2009-08-13T19:48:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

MASTODON - CLUB VEGAS - 3/24/07

I'm dressed for the roke - sweater and slacks.

Bright slacks at that.

PF Matt keeps calling. Pete, too.

They insist I get my ass down there for Mastodon.

I'm all thinking to myself, aren't they playing with Sevendust?

Wouldn't I rather put a steak knife through my eye than be anywhere near Sevendust?

Turns out them homos have canceled - but their supporting acts are still playing.

Matt's all, Jesus, I'll get you in free, fool.

Katie?

Yeah, her too.

Given that Mastodon rocks hard, Matt really shouldn't have to beg me to come. Sometimes I can be a giant dick...

This will be the second time I see them without throwing any money their way (they opened for Slayer for the free show last summer).

Now I'm in their debt - a scary prospect. They're fucking strange. How will the universe even things between us two in order to acheive Mastodon's satisfaction? God only knows.

There's, like, signs posted all over which read, MASTODON KINDLY REQUESTS ALL SMOKING BE DONE OUTSIDE OF VENUE.

Well, at least it wasn't, THANK YOU FOR NOT SMOKING, which always makes me want to light up and anounce, since I'm smoking you don't have to thank me.

I'm dressed like a preppy but I'm tougher than all posers who surround me and I've got to prove it so I head straight to the mosh pit and get bounced around and the one guy standing at the edge who catches my sorry ass whacks the back of my head before pushing me back in. I take my leave with zero dignity in tact.

I miss California pits where the mosh goes in one direction. A giant, swirling thingamajig where face/fist encounters are less frequent.

Some kind of car exchange program happens after the show - the details of which are sketchy. I do remember making it to Pete's car - a four door sedan - where so much trash is piled (to the ceiling) there's barely enough room for his two passengers.

That car used to be mine. I sold it to him four years ago with the stipulation he keep it clean. Well, relatively... this is Pete we're talking about.

CLASSIC MYSPACE BLOG - JEFF POHL/JAC NOEL

2009-04-01T11:46:00.000-07:00

In the late eighties I wanted to write write write, but a lot was in the way.

Zeus was off taking the form of god-knows-what in order to get a little and it would be decades before he would drop Myspace at my feet.

Until then it was notebooks and that just wouldn't do because my kind of writing in this instance called for gallons and gallons of white-out, of which I could not afford. I know what your saying: pencil and eraser, duh!

I don't like the feel of writing with a pencil, okay?

Fuck.

Totally harshing my buzz.

Anyway, I was troubled because it was so gosh darned funny. Trent knew it was Jeff Pohl, but he kept calling him Jac Noel, mostly behind his back but even to his face.

Funny, like, times a trillion.

Alex was encouraging me to write and I was like, how could I explain how funny it is, this thing Trent does?

Not possible.

Alex wouldn't have it.

Certainly with some amount of setup -- some context -- my sentiment can be aptly expressed.

Yeah, probably.

But today I'd just write:

Jeff Pohl entered Ted's apartment and sauntered past the table-top Asteroids, announcing, "I've gotta take a huge, steamy-gooey shit."

Trent was all, "Hey Jac Noel!"

CLASSIC MYSPACE BLOG - THE DILLINGER ESCAPE PLAN 11/19/05 SAN FRANCISCO, CA @ 12 GALAXIES

2009-03-30T07:45:00.000-07:00

Originally posted Thursday, June 1st, 2006

In sixth grade Alex and I hopped on BART and travelled into The City where we attended a Star Wars convention. On our way back I got us all going the wrong way on a train bound for who-knows-where and started to cry. Alex could have made a big thing of it, but then he wouldn't have been my friend for the past quarter decade. A wise move.

Fast forward to almost now (relatively) and we both were in SF again eating cheese fries while Amie was recuperating in the ER, having almost croaked in a flower bed outside a gay karaoke nightclub.

Both experiences vie in my mind for most beloved memory, but I think The Dillinger Escape Plan show takes the cake.

I wait for Alex at a bar down the street from 12 Galaxies knocking back tequila shots. Dillinger singer guy comes in. I recognize him off the bat because he wears the same Whitesnake tee he wore on Headbangers Ball days before.

I'm all, hey!

He comes over. Friendly guy. Digs my Locust tee. I offer him a drink of his choice. He politely refuses. I insist.

That's my tour manager over there. He'll kick my ass if he sees me drinking before a show.

We talk about his band.

Have you seen them before?

I'm all, fuck yeah!, relating my epiphany when they opened for Mr. Bungle at the top of DV8 and months later in the basement when the power fuse kept blowing up.

Etc.

It strikes me as strange he keeps referring to his band as "them".

Such a humble guy for someone with biceps the size of tree trunks. Few people could bring him down, let alone some scrawny tour manager.

At thirty seven years of age, I head to the front of the stage.

Foolish.

Alex is wise to keep to the rear.

Whenever consructing a sentence with him involved, "Alex is wise to..." always works.

I'm still bruised. I get some good shots off, though, and brave it with kids half my age.

Why isn't singer guy still in his Whitesnake tee?

The only flaw of the evening.

Singer guy stands outside the venue after the show. Kids surround him and ask how to make it in the biz and whatnot. I sense Alex would just as soon pass the whole scene by. I stop. Alex keeps walking. Singer guy seems to recognize me from before. Gives me a welcoming glance. I approach.

Man, that was awesome. You guys rock.

Thanks.

I gotta tell ya, Miss Misery never comes out out of my CD player.

Um, that's all well and good, but Miss Misery is an Elliott Smith song. Our album is called Miss Machine...

Oh. Well, okay then, bye bye.

CLASSIC MYSPACE BLOG - MORMONS LIKE TO DIG HOLES

2009-03-27T08:38:00.000-07:00

If God had equipped me with a brain bigger than a golf ball, I would have finished school.

A big-brained Ted was not in His grand scheme, though - a reality I've come to accept in past years. According to the faith of my fathers I chose my, um, condition in the pre-existence, where I once battled Lucifer. In Mormondom all bases are covered... if your lot is to go through life confined to a wheelchair, you were probably a great athlete before coming here. You chose that challenge, valiant bad-ass mother fucker that you are. I chose not to be the greatest thinker of all time as I most certainly was when I advised God Himself on how to bring down a third of the host of heaven.

I would have thought all this to be rather obvious to my friends and family.

Duh.

To this day I am asked if I still drive shuttles, as though my CAREER was some sort of twelve-year transition between the mediocre Ted and Ted the Übermensch.

People, this is all I've got.

Deal with it.

But I digress...

If I had finished school I probably would be a quantum physicist by now so I could tell Brian Greene to take his M-theory and shove it up his ass.

Or I'd be a cultural anthropologist so I could explain this whole Mormon thing to others.

The best I can do is tell you Mormons like to dig holes - way more than other people. You can claim I haven't tested my premises, but I have a gut feeling on this one.

WAY WAY more than others.

I think this stems back to the founder himself, Mr. Joseph Smith, jr.

Look him up on the Internet. After an hour of study, you'll come away convinced all he did in his young life was dig holes and unbury shit.

Unlike marrying more than one lass, this tradition has not only survived to this day, but has become more pronounced, as is the case down the street from me where they've taken out a whole city block right in front of church headquarters.

CLASSIC MYSPACE BLOG - THE URINAL WARS

2009-03-19T07:37:00.000-07:00

Note: This first appeared on my MySpace blog Wednesday, June 14th, 2006.

The signs above the urinals started out innocent enough. You'd encounter something like:

Please be considerate and remember to flush.

These were accompanied by smiley faces and whatnot.

Somewhere along the way it got ugly, probably after hippie guy down the hall felt he needed to chime in:

Also realize we live in a desert. A DESERT! We must all pitch in to preserve our natural resources.

Yeah, definitely uglier from here forward:

Fuck you, you fuck.

And so on.

I started visiting the restroom even when I didn't have to pee. Most every morning a sullied, vitriolic addendum would put a smile on my face.

This one nearly killed me:

Every time you do not flush I will eat an animal!

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CLASSIC MYSPACE BLOG - RABBID LASSIE

2009-02-24T12:17:00.000-08:00

Note: These accounts first appeared in my MySpace blog. I'm reposting the ones I'm particularly proud of - giving my Facebook friends a chance to see them. The obnoxious blue background on the illustrations is a relic from the MySpace format. I could change it, but I'm too lazy, so blue it stays. In reviewing what I wrote last year, I've noticed I never really completed the story. (I think I had grown frustrated with the MySpace blog and had given up on the enterprise). Needless to say, there's more to be said, here, so stay tuned...

RABBID LASSIE PT 1
(originally posted Monday, July 30th, 2007)

Fall, 1985. Music equipment costs hundreds, even thousands of dollars. In my entire career as a senior at California High School, I'm up about a buck thirty-seven in change. Sure, Grandma Hansen sends me ten dollars on my birthday but I use it to buy pot from Suzie Knudson. She's all, dude, chill, as she rests her head against the wall of the smoking area in back of the school. My Mormon hands tremble as I hand over the cash.

Near penniless, I don't know how I've come to possess a drum kit. Some of its components Dad brought home from his compulsive scouring of garage sales, thrift stores and flea markets. The rest I think Jef got me. I'd feel indebted to him, but he got gain by ripping off all them old Alamo cunts while filling their prescriptions at Thrifty's. So I guess I'm indebted to them.

Half my drum sticks are frayed if not entirely busted at the tips. None of them match.

RABBID LASSIE PT 2
(originally posted Tuesday, July 31st, 2007)

The toms are wrapped in purple felt.

The bass pedal is held together with shoestring.

The high hat cymbals look as though they've spent their days beneath the tire of a Mack truck.

I don't know I'm supposed to cinch up the wire below my snare so it hangs rattling below.

These are but a few examples of the challenges I face, but of greatest concern: I have absolutely no sense of rhythm and belong nowhere behind a drum kit.

RABBID LASSIE PT 3
(originally posted Friday, August 3rd, 2007)

TRENT
We're somewhere around age fourteen. We see each other often at church and Boy Scouts. On a hike one day he shows up with a tape recorder. One of these dohickeys:

Trent: I started a band.
Me: Oh yeah? Who's in it?
Trent: I am.
Me: Oh.
Trent: I call it Miller's Delight.
Me: Huh.
Trent: Wanna hear a song?
Me: Okay.

He hits the play button. It's him singing, punctuated by the sounds of certain novelty toys from his mom's preschool, namely one of those cylinder things that makes a moo-cow sound (which he has also brought - for reasons unknown - on the hike).

He invites me over to his house to sit in on his next "session." I play the triangle and a bongo. He, a toy guitar. One of our songs is called "Impaled on a Sharp Stick."

Later he gets a real guitar. I - as I've mentioned - amass a drum kit. For the next couple of years we play with various combinations of friends under band titles like SO/80, Pippi and the Fux, and Decent Phlegm. Senior year we start Clam Plate Orgy with Joey and Mike.

RABBID LASSIE PT 4
(originally posted Monday, August 6th, 2007)

After jamming one evening, Trent and Jeff Anderson wait for me to leave the room, then dump pencil shavings all over the surface of my snare drum. Apparently they're out to test their theory that I never practice my instrument. A couple weeks later I spot them hovering around the set and snickering as they find the snare just as they had left it - in the same messy state, untouched. After owning up to their plot to expose me I'm all, Christ, I could have told you I never practice. Every time I go near that thing I want to put a steak knife through my eye. Now who wants snickerdoodles?

Back then, why do I think Lars Ulrich possesses a drumming ability that extends beyond that which is humanly possible and into the realm of the miraculous?

Hypothetical Dad who is in tune with my needs as a developing human: ...and so Son, that's where babies come from. Oh, and Lars Ulrich fucking sucks. Proceed accordingly.

But no, no one sets me straight and I end up approaching the drumset with nothing but fear and trepidation. This reflects on the bands I help create and the music we play - mocking, I suppose, more serious minded performers - all the while being very jealous of them and their talents. Trust me, if the Good Lord had seen fit to endow me with any amount of ability, I would have run with it, yes sirree Bob.

With the creation of Clam Plate Orgy, I expect more of the same. I envision another short-lived project where we jam a half-dozen times after school in my garage as Mom's daycare kids run amok all around us. We push them out of the way and record a few songs. Trent dubs a bunch of copies and prints up cassette cover art and lyrics. I contribute very little in the process, but reap many of the rewards. As we distribute our product in the halls of California High, girls actually break from tradition and pay attention to me.

That's what I expect, but nothing can be further from the case. For one, Mike and Joey hate the name Clam Plate Orgy and Trent is siding with them.

Rabbid Lassie is our new name. We've kind of composed a song, "Negri." The guys had been listening to a lot of DRI lately and one can easily recognize the influence. The lyrics, I think, were penned by Trent and Jef Barber. In scope, they're limited to the boundaries of California High, as they warn of a nasty vice principle. They harken back to the attitude we once had in all our previous band incarnations which I am trying to cling to, though it is obvious things are going in a different direction.

Joey writes his vocals from here on out. He is serious about hardcore - true to the cause. They reflect classic Reagan-era angst and also make repeated appeals for unity within the scene. I'm hearing a lot of this lately. Slogans like keep the scene tight get bandied about. Try as I may, I can't identify with the sentiment. I'm left wondering how long I will last with so many strikes against me. I want out but I don't want to let Trent down.

Bassist Mike is well connected. Almost as soon as we're up and running, there's talk about booking shows...

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BIG BEAT/SPARKS LIVE IN LA

2009-02-06T08:48:00.000-08:00

Jenn and I select our favorite songs from a Sparks album and play them for you here and discuss why Sparks is the greatest band in all of Tarnation, by golly.

JENN: So, Ted – I know it's been a while since we posted a Sparks review, and it is time to get back on track with Big Beat, but I want to make sure our fans know the reason for the break. I mean, I wasn't feeling worthy for a while after meeting such amazingly knowledgeable and committed fans at the concert we attended at UCLA. Plus, seeing the Ron and Russell live for the first time sort of put me in shock at how truly cool they really are…

TED: I used to be pretty cocky because I knew of Sparks in the 80s, but we met people who were digging them back when Kimono came out. I was in awe. I kept asking all of them what it was like to be a fan back then. A common answer was that all their friends at the time thought they were nuts!

J: And still do! Because once you get sucked in, the tendency for us Sparks fans, I've found, is that we get a little obsessive. A bit like you are a member of a secret society that gets something about the world that the non-members don't. We should re-cap the highlights of our concert experience here, in addition to selecting our favorite songs from Big Beat, an excellent, but poorly produced album.

T: Sounds like a plan. Let's start with that nasty drive from Salt Lake City to LA. A major challenge the Universe dealt us!

J: Well, aside from encountering skating rinks rather than roads, pea soup fog from Provo to Scipio that forced us to stop dead in our tracks for over an hour, an average speed of twenty miles per hour for half a day, and snow from St. George to LA, I think the drive was very uneventful. I mean, a fifteen and a half hour commute? – well worth it for Sparks, though.

T: We're heading down this incline in thick fog and there's, what, five vehicles that have rolled off the road and people milling about who we very well could slam into if we do the same! I tap the brakes and it's all slip and no traction. I thought we were doomed...

J: It was so frightening. You could feel the car floating on the ice. There was no grip, and it was only six in the morning so it was so dark and eerie.

T: That motel in LA was pretty shabby and in a shady part of town – but I was just happy to have made it there alive.

J: As far as I was concerned it was the Taj Mahal. We had planned a big night out in LA weeks prior, but we almost immediately crashed after retrieving some very tasty (and authentic) Mexican food at the attached restaurant. I think we were both just overwhelmed by the day - we turned on the television and slept right through whatever we were planning on watching.

T: The next day - an amazing sushi meal, then beers with other crazed Sparks fans, then Sparks!

J: Oh yes. Valentine's Day in Westwood. It rocked. And thank God for that Sparks fan meet-up because our attempt at getting to UCLA without a map or a guide would have been a joke and a failure. The committed Sparks fans we had hooked up with had already made and timed the walk to Royce Hall from the brewpub. And then, Peter Rabbit math teacher made it his personal mission to get us there in due time.

T: I don't know if you noticed, but tears in my eyes during the first three songs of their set. I mean, here is this band that I have such a deep-seeded pubescent attachment to, PLUS all the emotions I associate with the start of our relationship and our (re)discovery of them... it was just enough to knock me out cold.

Ron and Russell Mael of Sparks, Los Angeles, 2009

J: I had butterflies. After watching so many of their shows on the Internet last year when they were in London, and then seeing them 3-D. Jeeze. I had a hard time containing myself. And I screamed my thirty two-year-old lungs out like I was fourteen, and the bitchy woman in front of us who didn't even like Sparks crusted me out like a wicked clam face.

T: Ha! Usually people like that severely harsh my buzz. But nothing was going to stop me that night from having my Sparks epiphany. Plus, the two highly amusing flamboyant queers in back canceled out the bad mojo ahead of us.

J: Those guys ruled. And they knew nothing of Exotic Creatures of the Deep, so they were in ecstatic shock for the first half of the concert. I think they were as happy about our weekend getaway as we were. Plus we gave them the cool Brangelina line that we wouldn't get married until they had that right. Hehe. It was good time all around. Soooo... back to Big Beat. What's your song, Ted?

T: Before I reveal my fav from Big Beat, might I mention the blackjack boon to our trip fundage upon entering the Rio, which enabled us to upgrade to a luxury suite... and Penn and Teller working their magic, selecting us for the front row, and Teller, like, winking and nodding in our (your) direction, and my four wild deuces, Jesus Christ, man, what a coup!

J: Don't worry, Ted. We'll get back to the trip. I just don't want to lose track of the purpose of the blog... two songs off of every album. I'm going to pick “Nothing to Do,” track number three, but I've got a case for “Everybody's Stupid” as well.

J: I think “Nothing To Do” rocks the house.

T: Well, "Everybody's Stupid" does contain the downright funniest lyrics ever known to anyone living in the Bonneville Basin and beyond, yes:

I traded you for Jean and Myra
I traded them for the Mormon Choir
Now I got some music and the Lord
And I'm feeling dumber than before
(Oh yeah) Everybody's stupid, that's for sure

But my song is going to have to be the solid rocking opening, "Big Boy." Mixed/produced poorly, but I do love this song!

T: The drums are way too loud. And where are Ron's keyboards? An afterthought, it would seem. But I've been exposed to enough Sparks for my brain to reassemble the slight production mess into something I can drool over...

J: “Big Boy” is a great song. Agreed. My name is David, he don't care! Hahahahahahaha! But, the production. Aaarrrgh. I mean, yeah, yeah, the guitars are played great on the entire album, but is that all we need to hear Mr. Producer Dude? Still, I've got to agree with you, Ted, again, this album has some of the funniest lyrics ever written. Ron is insane.

J: In my song, Ron complains that two thumbs just aren't fun enough to twiddle. If he had a million, then there would be something to do... Pahahahahahaha!

J: I WANT YOU, I WANT YOU BAD! Russell is the coolest singer ever. Hands down.

T: In a league of his own. What else did I want to mention about this album? It marks their return to the States. It is their last Island Records release... and what else?

T: A pretty twisted cover.

J: Hmmm.

T: They sure do nail down their contrasting personae in one photograph.

J: Gotcha. I thought you were talking about the Corrosion of Conformity song we were listening to, and was like, this is a cover? Of course you weren't. The Big Beat cover is brilliant. If that is Russell's real upper-body, which is likely, he is one of the hottest mo-fos on the planet. Stallion. But, Ron? Man is he an awkward cat.

T: There is just the richest pool of comedy to be tapped by contrasting the alpha male with guy who ain't getting any... and in the case of Sparks, well, only they can put out "Funny Face," a song where the speaker wishes he wasn't so goddamn handsome, and then turn around and release "I Wish I Looked a Little Better," where the speaker is "ugly as sin!"

J: Well said, Ted. In fact, a similar theme comes out in your pick for Big Beat. “Big Boy” lyrics reflect on the David and Goliath dichotomy in men -- there are some that have it, and there are some that just don't…

J: I suppose the irony there though, is that David wins :-)

J: Ron, it would seem, rarely does.

T: A long time ago they adopted the two extreme archetypes and they've been pretty good at mining it for all it's worth, decade after decade. I consider myself to be like most guys, falling somewhere in between the two extremes... There are times in my life when I am ashamed to have been that spank-ass weakling, and then there are the fond memories of when I reigned supreme over everything and everyone! Perhaps that's why I so solidly identify with this band?

J: I do feel like Sparks, as self-proclaimed Pop band, is able with their lyrics and image, to portray the full spectrum of the human condition and not come off like they don't get it, but rather, they do get it and are able to find humour in it all. They are the good and bad, the pretty and ugly, and together they make an in-between that comes off as comfortable, but never generic because of their wit.

T: Amen to that. In summary, Big Beat needs to be remixed – tone down the drums and bring up Ron's keyboards! Now, back to the concert, how shitty of us to doubt that British bloke who was all, "Yeah, Ron and Russell were in my bedroom – I interviewed them for MTV Europe."

J: I called bullshit! real quick, but the Maryland family was buying tequila shots, so I hope the Brit forgives my immediate disbelief. He was a darling guy, and a most committed fan for making it to the LA show from some “shire” over there. He sent me verifying pictures to prove it, and I'm thankful he put me in my place.

T: Ha! Me, too.

T: So, Introducing Sparks is next - let's not make our audience of three readers wait too long for it...

J: Okay, Ted. That's a wrap. I recommend everyone give Big Beat a chance, but listen to the first release, the extra songs that come with the 21st Century Edition, sorry, they don't do anything for their cause.

T: You're like a talk radio show host who purposefully misspeaks by saying, "The Godfather was made by the great director, Martin Scorsese," in order to elicit calls of outrage. Are you hoping for another lambasting in our comments section?

J: I'm just warning my friends and family that the grotesque Beatle's cover, “I Want To Hold Your Hand,” was not on the original release and should not be held against them.

T: It's like you're sticking your head in the noose. Your funeral...

J: I'll take the heat. For the Mael brothers. See ya next time.

T: Roger, over and out.

Two thirds of the set list. Jenn and Ted got one. Peter Rabbit got the other.

"Mom and Ted went to LA and all they got me was this crummy Sparks tattoo. Actually, it's pretty cool!"

"Big Boy"

The earth is shaking, so am I
If you don't run, it's suicide

Big Boy, Big Boy

My name is David, he don't care
He's never nice, he's never scared

Big Boy, Big Boy

Big Boy comes around
Throws his weight around
Throws our girls around
Leaves without a sound

Big Boy, Big Boy

He's well-equipped, the girls are sure
Is that a guess, or something more

Big Boy, Big Boy

We're bored to tears until he comes
And then we're crying cause he's come

Big Boy, Big Boy

Big Boy comes around
Throws his weight around
Throws our girls around
Leaves without a sound

Big Boy, Big Boy

The earth is shaking, so am I
If you don't run, it's suicide

Big Boy, Big Boy

"Nothing to Do"

I want you
I want you bad
I need you
I need you
I do, I really do

Better drop the requirement that
everything be great
Nothing to do, nothing to do
Nothing to do, nothing to do

I come home
I throw my coat down
I spin round
I plop down
Gimme a break, a break

Better drop the requirement that
everything be great
Nothing to do, nothing to do
Nothing to do, nothing to do

If I had a million thumbs
I'd twiddle, twiddle
But I just have two
Nothing to do, nothing to do
Nothing to do, nothing to do

I see you
I don't want much
Just something
A little something
To do, to do

Better drop the requirement that
everything be great
Nothing to do, nothing to do
Nothing to do, nothing to do

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BILL HICKS JUSTICE ON LETTERMAN

2009-01-30T23:13:00.000-08:00

In 1990, if you were living in East Providence, RI as a Latter-day Saint missionary, you were damn lucky happening upon a radio/tape recorder when you moved into your next apartment. I mean, guys left shit behind, like used up socks, toasters full of crumbs that smoked out the neighbors, pillows that were most-def going directly to the dumpster, and food that was long outdated - foul, and not the least bit amusing; but, hardly EVER electronics, and almost NEVER electronics that worked well enough to be labeled survival gear - the gear that got you through that mission alive.

I happened upon one of these rare and most valuable devices, and having recently realized The Comedy Hour on an FM station in another area, began taping the sacrilegious blasphemy that 'normal,' well, rather, 'non-Mormon' humans called "comedy acts."

Bill Hicks blew my mind.

Tonight, David Letterman, for some universal fucked-up reason that I’m not privy to, let me know that he had realized Bill Hicks was ahead of his time and had to make right what he had done so wrong back in 1993 - right before Bill died. David nixed airing an amazing Hicks stand-up act for what he described as really "no reason at all" on his show and attempted to make amends by having Bill’s mom on, and playing in full, the clip he cut that is still so relevant today...

CBS told Bill that his material was unsuitable for their audience. Letterman admitted it was his decision to cut the act, and he meant to make it right tonight, January 30, 2009.

Thanks, Dave, and thanks, Bill Hicks.

Dead, you are STILL ahead of your time.

-Ted

I'LL LET MY OUT-OF-STATE FRIENDS WHO VISIT ME IN UTAH MAKE UP THEIR OWN MINDS ABOUT THIS PLACE, THANKYOU

2009-01-27T08:53:00.000-08:00

Russell M. Nelson

The Utah State Legislature began its 2009 session this week with an opening prayer given by Mormon apostle Russell M. Nelson. Once upon a time, he was a damn good heart surgeon. Sadly, he now spends his days toeing the line of church hierarchy by dressing like your dickhead boss and speaking to conference audiences like no one out there has gotten past the first grade. Among his achievements: taking a 55-year-old second wife at the age of 81 and proclaiming that dirty talk during lovemaking is a no-no, even among married couples. The logic goes that Heavenly Father is there during the "sacred" act in a kind of extra-dimensional three-way but scedaddles if his name is profaned, as so often it is, during orgasm. God also flees the scene if body parts are matched up in an "unnatural" manner. This begs the question, how can two people by way of action in bed have any influence over an all-powerful being? We'll leave that to the theologians to ponder...

In his prayer, Russell M. Nelson asked Heavenly Father to have visitors to the State of Utah "leave in peace and recollections of righteousness."

Now, if they don't (and they're bound not to - at least I know of a bunch of Californians who would leave without recollecting one iota of righteousness in this place), does it mean that God has failed? Or does it mean that Nelson is a rambling old fool with just enough old-guard nerve to make a silly, superstitious appeal to his deity in what is supposed to be a secular governmental session?

INDISCREET

2009-01-26T13:47:00.000-08:00

Jenn and I select our favorite songs from a Sparks album and play them for you here and discuss why Sparks is the greatest band in all of Tarnation, by golly.

Ted: Hey Baby, less than three weeks till Sparks in LA... excited?

Jenn: I am starting to feel it! Yeah!

T: Where are we at in our LP reviews?

J: We need to be discreet about Indiscreet, methinks.

T: So I shouldn't jump out and say, not my favorite?

J: Hahahahah. Or, you could go that route, yes.

J: Not my favorite either.

T: Yeah, definitely down on the list for me. The critics seem to love it, though.

J: For me, I feel like Indiscreet lacks a certain energy that their previous albums had. I mean, where is the guitar? They are in this awkward in-between phase of really having a unique sound and showing it off a bit, but not taking it to the next level yet, they aren't breaking any new ground with this album, nor are they improving on what they've done before.

T: How can I hate the lack of guitar on this one and then applaud the lack of guitar on No. 1 In Heaven?

J: Well, No. 1 is a completely different sound. They have totally evolved from 70's pop-rock band at that point to immersing themselves in the electronica of the 80's.

T: Helping invent electronica of the 80s...

T: But let's save that for later.

J: True that. I do have to say that while the music on Indiscreet leaves something to be desired for me, some of the lyrics are just fucking hilarious. "Tits?" That is one of the funniest lyrical songs ever.

T: I must confess, I haven't checked out any of the lyrics besides the one in my song choice, "Get in the Swing."

J: Well, you should, 'cause they are the best part of the album. "Get In The Swing!" Excellent choice. I remember viewing Russell singing that one for the first time and almost falling off my chair when he started talking back to his 'creator.' Hahahahahaha.

J: Still gets me every time.

T: It was one of the first, if not THE first of the vintage Sparks we saw on YouTube. Drummer guy from Bay City Rollers introduces them!

J: I'm going to have to go with Happy Hunting Ground. Musically, I think it is one of the strongest on the album.

T: HHG definitely has the guitar that I feel is lacking on most of the other tracks, and the vocal refrain at the end is impressive.

J: Agreed.

T: What is that Kate Bush song? When I hear it, I'm convinced she's borrowing from HHG.

T: Maybe I'm up in the night.

J: I'm not sure what you are talking about. I'm sure you are right though. Not one Sparks album goes without being ripped off.

J: I think the important thing about Indiscreet is that it ends their first UK run, and they start going in a different direction after this album - would you agree?

T: Yeah, I think the story goes that they bailed on England with the coming of punk and went back to the States to try to establish an audience there.

T: Which leads us to the two intermediary albums, Big Beat and Introducing Sparks, before they managed to get back on the charts in Britain with No. 1 In Heaven.

T: See ya soon for those reviews?

J: I'll be here with bells on, so to speak...

"Get In The Swing"

Get in the swing, pal
Get in the swing
With everybody and everything
(repeat)

My friends are here
Mind if you go out and not come back again
Well, thanks a lot
Hooray, hooray
The night is younger than the girl who's got the touch
But not by much

Well, I ain't no Freud, I'm from L.A.
But I know certain things
That they also serve who sit and wait
They're cheaper than painting
And don't need explaining

(Chorus)

When Salmon spawn
A ton of water blocks their motion,
Spoils their game
But on they go
Thrashing 'til their mission is fulfilled or else
Oh, but they have their friends
And have a warm bed waiting
Just like I do with you
I'm happy, so happy, I'm happy, oh happy

(Chorus)

All for one, one for all

(Chorus)

Hello down there
This is your creator with a questionaire
Hello up there
I don't have the time to fill out questionaires

"Happy Hunting Ground"

Happy hunting ground, happy hunting ground
They don't talk or act like you do
Happy hunting ground, happy hunting ground
No they sure don't look like you

Who, what, when, where and why everyday
Identify every disease
I drew a blank in my language
And latin and Spanish and Greek
Thrown out, thrown out, so happy at first
I danced 'til I wore out my shoes
Now I'm in trouble, I know it
Please let me back into school

Back in the happy hunting ground
Where all around are fair, fair game
I need the happy hunting ground
'Cause all around it's not the same

How to say it, and not to offend
Well, you're still inside it's OK
As soon as a girl leaves the refuge
Out go the reason they're great
Hips are spreading, and never a smile
They always demand that they drive
Well, I've got to get back inside there
Back where at least they're alive

(Chorus)

Happy hunting ground, happy hunting ground
They can sort of dance like you do
Happy hunting ground, happy hunting ground
But they just can't last like you

Some are coming to learn how to read
Others to learn how to write
But I want a better selection
It's larger but poorer outside

It's fair, fair game inside etc.

(Chorus)

It's fair fair game inside etc.

(Chorus)

THE FISHING CHRONICLES, MONDAY, JANUARY 19TH, 2009

2009-01-20T11:51:00.000-08:00

The weather inversion is killing us. Jenn and I are determined to get up into the mountains above the muck, Lou in tow. With barely a dollar between us, we certainly can't afford lift tickets to ski. But that's okay, because we have annual pass to any Utah State Park. We had our hearts set on the Jordanelle Reservoir to fish the open water on the south end, still not frozen. But Jenn's folks had gone up the day before and reported a "pretty frozen" lake. Hoping that they were just plain wrong, we headed up and, to our dismay, found no place to cast our fishing lines. Jenn wanted to try the Middle Provo River. I was against it because I was unsure about where the bait and catch restrictions were in effect and also I knew there would be a lot of fly fisherman around, and they intimidate me. I insist that we go check out Deer Creek Reservoir and even become slightly grumpy when I sense I'm not going to have my way, which I apologize for. Upon approach, we see a very, very frozen lake. Ice fisherman abound. We round the mountainside and thankfully spot open water. Jenn and I had been up a month earlier and were forced to hike down from the guard shack, the road down to the boat ramp having been unplowed. We are delighted to discover that this time there had been some snow removal and we were able to drive all the way down to the top of the ramp. We got four lines out into the water with power bait on treble hooks. Another guy had two lines out nearby. We were there for two hours and didn't catch a thing! I'm starting to think there's something to the solunar chart, which forecasted and average day (every time I've fished on days rated excellent, I've caught at least one and had all sorts of action on my line). But catching a fish was not our goal. We simply wanted to get away from the air pollution, so mission accomplished. Plus Lou looked to have a great time with his sled on the tiny incline above the lake...

On our way up we were talking about how nice it is to escape the smog, but what a bummer it is to have to descend back into it. But never did we imagine it would be as bad as what we saw pictured below. Brownish yellow mucky haze extending all the way past East Canyon, BLECH!

PROPAGANDA

2009-01-17T12:58:00.000-08:00

Jenn and I select our favorite songs from a Sparks album and play them for you here and discuss why Sparks is the greatest band in all of Tarnation, by golly.

Ted: Hey Baby, ready for a hefty dose of Propaganda?

Jenn: Exactly- You can't have anything BUT a hefty dose of Propaganda! You bet I'm ready.

T: We're in the middle of "the Island years," reviewing Sparks releases from the mid-70s, when they were signed to Island Records.

J: They were living it up in the UK, making cash and laughing their asses off, methinks, continuing to write songs that were unlike anything anybody else was doing.

T: It seems like the consensus among critics is that this is "Kimono Pt II" - which is not a bad thing...

J: No not at all. And, I'll agree with them. At this point in their career, this album was anything but ordinary, compared to other bands, but fans could say, 'oh yeah, that is definitely Sparks' sound,' which upon listening to the album is an impressive sound to call your own.

T: When I think of a song from one of the two albums, I'm often at a loss as to which one it is on, so, yeah, very similar. I've chosen "At Home, At Work, At Play" as my song selection for the sheer fact that it sends tingles down my spine.

J: Now wait a minute! That is soo my song!

J: It might be because we had it pumping at full volume during our entire road trip to see Opeth, but, besides that, it is just too well crafted to ignore.

T: I think if a case were to be made for Queen ripping off Sparks, evidence would be found within the content of this song, especially in Russell's vocals.

J: It is a mature song, with a strong beat - none of the strange child chorus that muddies up some of the others on the album, in my mind - and it just makes you ready to listen to the rest of the album. I mean, the opening just comes out belting!

T: The transition in Russell's voice between the opening lyrics and the line "You gotta catch her when she's still at home," floors me. Intense, then delicate, back and forth, throughout the song and building to its climax. Wow!

J: Yeh, yeh. He's got skillz. They're unmatched on the album anywhere else.

T: That soft/hard formula is often copied and repeated in other rock n roll climes. Didn't I read somewhere that Cobain was a fan of early Sparks?

J: He was, yes. I do want to say that the crafting of the rest of the album is brilliant, though. This whole war/romance, strange-ass theme that they just OWN is incredible. The two singles that were up there on the UK charts were worthy of the attention they got. In fact, I think that our obsession with "Don't Leave Me Alone With Her" should not go unmentioned.

J: There are puppets on our bookshelves...

T: Yes, I should mention that we have endeavored to set an operatic puppet show to that tune...

T: Let's make that our second pick, then.

J: It would have to be the forementioned for me. "Don't Leave Me Alone With Her" is one of the funniest songs Ron has ever written. There are so many songs about love and hate and strange women in this world, but this one - it just takes the cake.

J: Russell is just a master of expressing desparation with his vocals, and the falsetto is great in this song.

T: That is so well said, I think we should leave it at that! See ya next time for Indiscreet?

J: I'll be here. Ciao!

T: Ciao Bella!

"At Home, At Work, At Play"

At Home, At Work, At Play
I know youre unavailable from dusk to dawn
Or if you were availible youd bring along
A lot of what could only be a hindrance to me
I aint a glutton for a lot of sweaty company
You gotta catch her while shes still at home
You gotta catch her while shes still at work
You gotta catch her while shes still at play
The only way is at home, work or play

Time really flies when it aint that much time
You better shave half your face at a time
And brush the front of your teeth, leave the rest
And be with her when shes not with the rest
Stop, theres gotta be a million girls like her, though
I cant think of one
So you catch her while shes still at home
And you catch her while shes still at work
And you catch her while shes still at play

Don't let her calendar be any cause to pout
There is a bit of time when there are a few about
Im gonna skirt the issue of her popularity
And just avail myself of all the time that she is free
You gotta catch her while shes still at home
You gotta catch her while shes still at work
You gotta catch her while shes still at play
Cause half the day shes at home, work or play

And time is fleeing the scene of the crime
The act of passing out wrinkles and lines
To every person regardless of race
To every person regardless of face
Stop, theres gotta be a million girls like her, though
I cant think of one
So at home she says you butler well
And at work she says you're typing well
And at play she says you caddie well

Stop,
theres gotta be a million girls like her, though I cant think of one
So you catch her while shes still at home
And you catch her while shes still at work
And you catch her while shes still at play

I'm gonna love you under incandescent light
I'm gonna love you under flourscent light
The glaring sun above should not inhibit us at all
I'm very glad to know that your libido never palls

Stop, shes unique, espscially at home
Where youre butler, maid, and often cook
And at work together juggling books
Or at play between the tennis sets
Or at play before shes placed her bet
Or at play while shes still slightly wet
Or at play while she is dripping wet

"Don't Leave Me Alone With Her"

The Exodus is on
The impetus is gone
Nobodys having fun
How about another drink
Or maybe just a snack
The rest will be here soon
Here, let me take you mac
I know its started slow
Theres still no need to go

Dont leave me alone with her
Every home is Rome alone with her
And if you all go, who'll say no to her
Dont leave me alone with her
Dont my sweat and shaking register
Cause if you all go, who'll say no to her

You look at her and say, "She looks OK to me"
I look at her and say, "She looks OK to me"
The reasons very clear
You're watching her with me

Dont leave me alone with her
Every home is Rome alone with her
And if you all go, who'll say no to her

Unwitting chaperons, how come you cannot see
Unwitting chaperons, how come you cannot see
A Hitler wearing heels
A soft Simon Legree
A Hun with honey skin
De Sade who makes good tea
Dont leave me here to be
Dont leave me here yo be

Dont leave me alone with her
Dont my sweat and shaking register
Cause if you all go, who'll say no to her
Dont leave me alone with her
Dont leave me alone with her
Dont leave me alone with her

Dont leave me alone with her
Every home is Rome alone with her
And if you all go, who'll say no to her...

KIMONO MY HOUSE

2009-01-05T10:50:00.000-08:00

Jenn and I select our favorite songs from a Sparks album and play them for you here and discuss why Sparks is the greatest band in all of Tarnation, by golly.

Ted: Here I've been, listening to some of our most recent Sparks purchases - the ones recorded in the eighties - totally forgetting the masterpiece, Kimono My House!

T: Just hearing it again all the way through tonight, wow!

Jenn: I feel the same way, Ted. Every song that came on tonight, listening to Kimono again, I was like - Jeeze! That is a great song!

T: I wonder, did the Brits assume Sparks were just as big in the States? Or did they know we were the biggest bunch of dumbfucks for not acknowledging the greatness of this band?

J: The Brits have always had reason to assume we were dumbfucks, and besides the last eight years of the Bush Administration, I think the smart ones over there most likely put 'Yankees Don't Get Sparks' as number one lame Americana on the list.

J: But, in all seriousness - Kimono My House is one of the most killer albums ever written. Influenced some of the best - not just in the UK, but all over the world.

J: What's your pick, Mr. Ted?

T: Listening as we type, I'm all, that one, no wait, that one...

J: I know, I know. Ron was on. Russell, well, he was on. The guitar is ripping, the entire band executes masterfully some of the most original music of all time. The lyrics - God. I mean I can't understand a damn word Russell says and I like the songs, then I use the internets to figure out what they are saying and I'm like, FUCK MAN! This is too good!

T: And it's like, well Bowie was brilliant back then... but the thing is, people know that! It's just a crime thinking how limited our understanding of the Brothers Mael was before the internet opened things up for us...

J: Yes, Ted. I remember us jizzing juice when we realized all of the bands that had covered "This Town." Some of the greats. Remember Siouxsie & the Banshees playing it from a gazebo or something? Dear God. Russell does it best though. It is a Sparks song through and through. If you aren't going to pick a song - I guess I'll take the first hit. On this AMAZING album, I'm going to take....

J: "This Town Ain't Big Enough for Both of Us"

J: I know, I know. You say everyone picks it, but I just cannot believe the mastery of that song. To open an album with such a gutsy drama, such rapid pace! Wowzas. Wowwowzas.

T: I'm just hearing Russell's falsetto crescendo. Pure genius.

T: I seriously struggled with picking one song from this album, but pressed, I think it's going to have to be "Amatuer Hour," as it comes right off the heals of "This Town," and just keeps up the intensity of the album...

J: As much as I hate to be the 'yes woman,' I'm going to have to agree with you, Ted. "Amatuer Hour" was nearly my pick. I sing along with both of those songs, and they just fly by. It is really a short album, but just explodes at the get go.

T: Yes, yes-woman, yes. I can't think of a stronger LP opening. Ron's lyrical wit is in full force, here. And how would you describe Russell's singing? His vocal inflections just kill me!

J: Oh dear, yes. Russell is making every choral teacher proud, here.

J: His range is its widest ever, clear as a bell - from Italian-boy soprano to hearthrob pop singing - he brings it all.

T: I was about to go on and on about how I can't put my finger on his singing, but I like how you put that.

J: Thanks, darlin'. You know how I like my Russell... I'm going to have to say in closing, if you don't have this album already, go buy it. If you don't, you don't get a good percentage of the music that came out from kids that are famous now, that were listening to it on big headphones in their bedrooms in the summer of 1974."

T: Indeed. This album is solid from start to finish, which is why I'll create a link to it on the Sparks MySpace page. I would encourage all to go there and hear how incredible it is, and then buy the darn garn thing.

J: But pretty please post the lyrics to the songs we picked, Ted. They are brilliant.

T: Oh yeah, standard procedure applies, here. The two songs posted via YouTube with lyrics. Anything else I can do, besides being your Sparks-fan-comrad-in-arms?

J: We'll get to that when we're away from the blog, baby. See ya next time! PROPAGANDA!

T: PROP-A-GAN-DA! PROP-A-GAN-DA!

(Note: YouTube would not allow me to upload the two songs, so I'm using someone else's submission. You can listen to the album in its entirety at myspace.com/allsparks. Go to the MySpace music jukebox and scroll down at the bottom left until you see, you guessed it, two asian gals dressed in kimonos. Click on that and you're set.)

This Town Ain't Big Enough for Both of Us

Zoo time is she and you time
The mammals are your favourite type, and you want her tonight
Heartbeat, increasing heartbeat
You hear the thunder of stampeding rhinos, elephants and tacky tigers
This town ain't big enough for both of us
And it ain't me who's gonna leave

Flying domestic flying
And when the stewardess is near do not show any fear
Heartbeat increasing heartbeat
You are a khaki-coloured bombadier it's Hiroshima that you're nearing
This town ain't big enough for both of us
And it ain't me who's gonna leave

Daily, except for Sunday
You dawdle in to the cafe where you meet her each day
Heartbeat, increasing heartbeat
As twenty cannibals have hold of you, they need their protein just like you do
This town ain't big enough for both of us
And it ain't me who's gonna leave

Shower, another shower
You've got to look your best for her and be clean everywhere
Heartbeat, increasing heartbeat
The rain is pouring on the foreign town, the bullets cannot cut you down
This town ain't big enough for both of us
And it ain't me who's gonna leave

Census, the latest census
There'll be more girls who live in town though not enough to go round
Heartbeat, increasing heartbeat
You know that:
This town isn't big enough,
not big enough for both of us
This town isn't big enough,
not big enough for both of us
And I ain't gonna leave

Amateur Hour

Lawns grow plush in the hinterlands
It's the perfect little setting for the one night stands
Now the drapes are drawn and the lights are out
It's the time to put in practice what you've dreamed about

She can show you what you must do
To be more like people better than you

Chorus:
Amateur Hour goes on and on
When you turn pro you know she'll lets you know
Amateur Hour goes on and on
When you turn pro you know
She tells you so

Girls grow tops to go topless in
While we sit and count the hairs that blossom from our chins
Our voices change at a rapid pace
I could start a song a tenor and then end as bass

Choose your partners everyone
If you hesitate, the good ones are gone

(Chorus)

Dance, laugh, wine, dine, talk and sing
But those cannot replace what is the real thing
It's a lot like playing the violin
You cannot start off to be Yehudi Menuhin

(Chorus)

A WOOFER IN TWEETER'S CLOTHING

2009-01-02T09:25:00.000-08:00

Jenn and I select our favorite songs from a Sparks album and play them for you here and discuss why Sparks is the greatest band in all of Tarnation, by golly.

Ted: Hey Jenn, ready to discuss Sparks' sophmore effort, A Woofer in Tweeter's Clothing?

Jenn: You betcha, Ted. It is a very interesting album, and really, depending on the day, there are a couple of songs I could choose to be my favorite.

T: Funny you should mention "a couple of songs," because that is what I'd like to submit, if you'll allow me to bend the rules for reasons I feel are justifiable...

J: Oh really. Two songs? I thought we had agreed we were going to have to pick one. I've labored over my choice, you know. You better have a good argument!

T: Combined, they clock in at under three minutes...

J: "Batteries Not Included" and "Here Comes Bob?"

T: Yes!

J: Hahahahahaha! Okay. I'll give em to ya.

T: I think they serve so well as little gems in between the other, lengthier songs.

J: Oh yes - I do agree. I, on the other hand, have followed the rules, and made a solid choice for "Whippings and Apologies." A great rock song, with a spectacular beginning, and still manages to follow the surreal flow of the album to make for a solid finish.

J: AND - I just love to sing along with Russell, "Over and Over!"

T: Oh yeah.

T: Some of the reviews of Whippings I've read say it anticipates punk and post-punk rock. I'm inclined to agree.

T: I'd say it could be a Coheed and Cambria song, but I know how much you despise them...

T: So I won't say it. Even though I just did.

J: I'm not even going to give that comment a second thought. Complete crap. I would agree that "Whippings" is one of their most anticipatory songs, and it comes on an album that is full of risk-taking lyrics, melodies and beats. They sure weren't trying to repeat their first effort, and they don't get bogged down by the pressure to write a one hit wonder or something.

T: I'd like it as much as, if not even better than their first, were it not for the deplorable cover of "Do Re Mi." Ugh.

J: Oh god. What were they thinking with that? I skip over it every time it comes on, so I nearly forgot it was there. I'm going to give the brothers this one pass because they didn't screw up that bad on any of their next 19 albums... I think.

T: A youthful indiscretion.

J: Perhaps Ron had the hots for Julie Andrews in her nun costume in The Sound of Music. Could also explain the lyrics to "Whipping and Apologies." A whole nun theme.

J: Still- a terrible cover, that shows up on a great album.

T: I sure dig the strings on "Here Comes Bob," a good preview for their next three albums and, eventually, their opus, L'il Beethoven.

J: Their opus?

T: Sparks have called it "their genre-defining opus!"

J: They give too much credit to themselves for their new stuff and choose to ignore how great they were earlier than that.

J: My second choice on Woofer would have been "Nothing Is Sacred." From what I understand, Ron didn't write the lyrics on that one.

J: I'll have to take that back- maybe it was another song.

T: I also enjoy the first track, "Girl from Germany." Hilarious lyrics.

T: In summary, I'd say this album and its predecesor allowed Sparks to test the waters of experimentation and, finding no audience in the States, but a welcoming one in England, come out full throttle with their next release, Kimono My House. Can't wait for our next review!

J: Well said, Ted! I'll leave it with that as well.

"Batteries Not Included/Here Comes Bob"

I brought it home and I opened it up

And a smile came to my face for the first time in a while

Yes a smile came to my face for the first time in a while
I turned it on
But nothing happened when I did
Nothing happened at all
I kicked it down the stairs
I threw it at the wall

Hey kid, batteries not included

-----------------------------------------

When I spot a driver worth a second glance
Foot to floorboard, impact soon achieved
Here comes Bob, I ain't subtle in my ways of making friends
Girl this rubbled mess was caused by my neglect
Of course I'll pay and by the way my dear
Here comes Bob
I ain't subtle in my ways of making friends

But here comes Bob
Sometimes I will stoop to hitting two-door coupes without the frills
But that is just for casual acquaintances, for stripped-down thrills
Your car girl or mine it doesn't matter doesn't matter no
But for affairs with staying power I go after limousines
It's always nice when something big is acting as your go-between
For a group encounter I'll hit busses, mobile homes or trains to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

It's hard to make acquaintances in our big town
Most eyes stare at nothing much at all
But here comes Bob
I ain't subtle in my ways of making friends, friends, acquaintances

Instant adulation comes to some at birth
Born to queens or corporate entities
But here comes Bob
Someday they'll put me away
I'll think back on active days
Most were worth the minor scars
Some were worth the damaged cars
And the judge will say to me
'Bob, You've got a bad means to a worthwhile end'

An end

Whippings and apologies
Over and over they did it to her when she disagreed
Whippings and apologies
Over and over and over and over
You know it's not right
For she has holy water running through her veins
And now it's me that she hates, it's me that she hates

SPARKS/HALFNELSON

2008-12-31T15:02:00.000-08:00

Jenn and I select our favorite songs from a Sparks album and play them for you here and discuss why Sparks is the greatest band in all of Tarnation, by golly.

Ted: Hey Jenn, guess what I'm busy doing?

Jenn: Hey there, Ted. Whatcha doin?

T: Loading another Sparks song onto YouTube, because you changed your mind on your favorite from Sparks/Halfnelson!

J: Well... upon a very thorough listening this morning, I couldn't help myself after bobbing my head to the bass line joy in “Saccharin and the War."

T: An excellent alternate choice, so how can I complain? For some reason, I thought it was on Sparks' second album, A Woofer in Tweeter's Clothing.

J: But alas, no. Just another brilliant example of how the Mael brothers came out of the gates of pop-rock running, and have not slowed down at all.

T: Indeed, for the last, what, thirty seven years? Astonishing.

J: How about your choice on the first album, Ted? It will be hard to beat “Saccharin."

T: "High C."

J: An excellent choice. A great example of what Russel is capable of, with his vocals, and how Ron's songwriting is more than just different than other bands from that era, but sets the bar for songwriters in the future. The lyrics are also ridiculously funny.

T: "High C" kind of tugs on my heart a bit - though I think its lyrics are tongue in cheek.

J: Yeh yeh. So romantic. Something like - "Come home with me and we can almost hit High C singing together." Pahahahahahaha!

T: So remind me, when did the Sparks universe open for us?

J: ‘Twas in December of '08. We were taking advantage of the slow time on campus, after students had left for the semester, and I had a small little temporary office near yours because my real office was being remodeled. You were giving me a funny ‘80s band education using the YouTube.

T: That's right. Up until that point, I had thought Sparks was a goofy throw-away act from the ‘80s. I had no idea how rich their history was. We watched their "Cool Places" video - the one where Russell duets with Jane Weidlin of the GoGos.

J: I thought it was ridiculous. And Russell, well, if you are watching "Cool Places," without knowing anything else...umm - total weirdo.

T: I was embarrassed to admit I used to like it...

J: THEN - to find out shortly thereafter that they were setting the standard for so many of those cheezy 80's bands years before that!

T: Exactly. It's one thing to think, oh yeah, Sparks and Devo and Oingo Boingo were probably working off each other... but then to discover what they did, for instance, in '79 with "Number One Song in Heaven"! Just mind blowing. That one influenced tons of bands.

T: The more we dug into the internet, the more we were falling off our chairs in disbelief...

J: Yes. It's true. We are getting ahead of ourselves by talking about how they influenced other bands in the late 70's and 80's because we started looking at their really early stuff, and could not believe the transformation they had taken as a band, themselves. Sparks/Halfnelson was a solid album. We bought it shortly after our YouTube frenzy and songs like "Saccharin" and "High C!" My god.

T: Yes, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves… but hopefully our discussion will (Spark s)ome interest!

"Saccharin and the War"

Fifteen years the bus had waited

Before it moved on into the town

Eye liner worn by all their girls

Through the night the war was fought
Each "eye liner" took two small drops
Reaction - Elation - Joy, Joy, Joy

Every girl took in a doctor
The Constitution says: "you must house the men"
Each doctor undermined a plot

All the weight that was soon lost
They erected as a golden cross

Remember the weight is no longer here

Through the street girls sang
The marching bands brought on the rain
The Doctors stood by the gold cross

One "eye liner" she had an idea
She read the Book, the Golden Book
It seems another Man had come across a cross

Dr. Jones they crucified

But, all their weight was returned back

Ha, Ha for all the girls now

"High C"

A picket fence, I leaped it
Through your screen door, I gotta meet you

High C up and High C down
Since you left the opera you just frown a lot
and mumble, "I'm humble."

Press clippings hang from torn wallpaper
A dust covered phone, no one would ring her

High C up and High C down
Since you left the opera you just frown a lot
and you tell me

Tell me of the times when you were so big
in Vienna
And the people paid good money just to hear
you in your splendor

But that's all over now
That's all over now

Limited tastes, I wish I could help you
A rock-headed lad, I have got to help you

High C up and High C down
Since you left the opera you just frown a lot
and mumble, "I'm humble."

Come on home with me and will sing our little hearts out
We will hit High C or maby somewhere thereabouts

AND THE PRIZE FOR THE FINEST COMBINATION OF WORDS EVER TO EXIST IN THE TITLE OF A BOOK GOES TO...

2008-12-31T14:58:00.000-08:00

You can buy this timeless masterpiece at Walmart for thirty one dollars and forty six cents.

At first glance it might seem pricey. But remember, these are the words of an Apostle, presented to us for our spiritual edification.

Cost should be no object.

Not convinced? Then allow me to use my literary skills to parse the extraordinary title of this book. By doing so, I aim to demonstrate it is worth every dollar spent!

MINE
ERRAND
FROM
THE
LORD

Clearly the author expects no monetary compensation for the words FROM and THE.

The word LORD, however, comes at a cost... which is entirely justifiable.

According to the Gieshecker Group (a premier marketing firm), putting LORD in the title of a book can increase its value by six dollars and fifty cents per unit sold - but only if the author holds the proper priesthood authority to invoke the Lord in a title!

(Some hacks in the world of LDS literature have attempted to pass themselves off as such, only to face the dire consequences promised to them by the Lord, such as a failing, critically panned talk-radio show and the onus of being made to select from the scrap-heap of words in Mormon literature available to those who have overstepped their bounds, such as the frightfully embarrassing "Cumorah.")

But I digress.

Does the six dollar and fifty cent LORD justify the cost?

By itself, no - but we still have a couple more words to consider.

ERRAND

Take a moment to say it out loud.

Oh, how it rolls off the tongue!

Some words in use today have survived as relics from past languages. In the Garden of Eden, Adam conversed with Heavenly Father in a pure tongue known as Adamic. In my opinion, when God had a job for Adam to do, He would refer to it as an ERRAND, exactly as we hear it today!

Indeed, it can increase the value of a book.

But authors be warned. Don't go running off all willy-nilly, throwing ERRAND into your book titles. You might be messing with powers you don't understand, for many in the publishing industry have gone literally insane over ERRAND!

Because of this, assessing its title value can be very dangerous. One must approach ERRAND with the kind of reverence and respect it deserves, which I shall do as I soundly make the following inductive inference without flaw:

It certainly isn't worth zero dollars.
Its value cannot approach anything like LORD ($6.50)
Therefore, the value probably lies somewhere in between, at $3.75

Here, we begin to see the worth of the book adding up:

MINE (?)
ERRAND ($3.75)
FROM (Free!)
THE (Free!)
LORD ($6.50)
TOTAL ($10.25)

Ten dollars and twenty five cents!

This is about a third of the cost of the book and we haven't even accessed the value of one remaining word...

MINE is worth about fourteen trillion dollars.

So:

MINE ($14,000,000,000,000.00)
ERRAND ($3.75)
FROM (Free!)
THE (Free!)
LORD ($6.50)
TOTAL ($14,000,000,000,010.25)

Fourteen trillion, ten dollars and twenty five cents in value!

And we're all going to quibble over a price tag of around thirty bucks?

Not I, and neither should you.

Now go buy a copy for your fat aunt for Christmas. You know, that one aunt who inexplicably has a bald patch above her left ear.

You may want to bundle a bunch of ostrich feathers at the end of a stick and hand it off to her as well, since nothing collects dust like the smug, sanctimonious writings of Boyd K. Packer.

"Yourn Errand," I've got it hanging for you right here, bub.