Ole! Zee ko-lumn, eet ees: bay-gueennnn!
Ah ‘ave, af-tour much’a suhcheen ud da soo, day-cidead to wrii now, wid dis fonnay ack-a-cent, toe see ip it g’wan bay fezzibell on dey fu-choar wan day, or knut. Eeeeeet’s a new soun’ for may, an’ now for da ko-loam azswill! Wallll? Waduyu tinnnn?
Ok, ok, I’ll stop. Let’s go back to regular English (yawn), and also of course apologizing for whatever I wrote last week (I certainly hope none of you were seriously injured); in particular for my saying that local hoodlum “seven-string” guitarist Fred Fried played every Wednesday at the Penquin Grill in Hyannis -WHICH HE DOESN’T, as he was so kind to remind me recently.
(Bear in mind that Fred seems to be the kind of guy who doesn’t even bother trying to hide the fact that he’s simply using more than the regulation amount of strings, that he is clearly over his allotment. Sure, he sounds great - who wouldn’t? The guy’s clearly using at least one extra string -and that’s just the one you can see!)
So, anyway, what I’m trying to say is, I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him; but according to him, he doesn’t play at the Penquin Grill on Wednesday, he plays there on Friday. Friday. OK? I apparently got that wrong. It’s Friday. I didn’t mean nothin’.
Actually, I have to admit that Fred was really nice on the phone. He even seemed a little contrite about ...using the extra strings (well, only one, technically, but over the years he’s probably changed it hundreds of times, maybe even ...well, no, probably not.) He said he’d consider going down to six again for a certain amount of time, and asked if I thought I might be able to let up on him.
And I thought to myself, you know, Fred’s actually trying to be nice here. He’s actually offering to try to make up for the way he’s behaved. And then my blood started to boil....as if he ever could make up for all those years of cheatin’! All those years of -of too many strings!
I lost it. I just had a complete mental breakdown right then and there. I screamed (and I was in a hardware store at the time on my stupid cell phone) “you can never make up for this, Fred! Never!!!” And I tore out of there as fast as I could considering it was my first day on the scooter, crying and shaking and just so upset! But then I gathered myself together and went home.
Certainly, this hadn’t been my dream phone call; but in the days to come, there would be many phone calls such as this. Still, I know that I can never change Fred Fried, for he is as wild as lightning and as free as the wind. That is why they call him, Fred Freed! But still, I ask of him that he use only five strings for the next couple of decades or so, because only then can he average out.
Anyway, it’s Fred Fried, Penquin Grill, [underlined]Friday[end] (not Wednesday.) But let us talk of happier tidings.
My Friend Judy Laster up in Falmouth has been doing all kinds of interesting film programs up there for the Woods Hole Film Festival, and she sent me a program for this week’s presentation of the Best Shorts of the Boston Underground Film Festival, and it sounds very interesting and includes an Acadeny Award winner or two. Best day to go would be Saturday, March 16 at the Redfield Auditorium in Wood’s Hole, for that is the very day when it occurs! Promptly at 7:30? -who knows? Ms. Laster is very nice, but she’s not the type of woman to be a slave to her career. Just hold your horses.
Mrs. Kelp, by the why (if you’ve never seen her; and if you have, tell me, where? WHERE?! WHERE DID YOU SEE HER? YOU’RE A LIAR!!) is still extraordinarily attractive, and always happy to remind me that I know nothing, and that all of my opinions are less than snowflakes upon the salt of time. That she doesn’t need me, but if she did it would only be to bring more champagne. I like her. The woman intrigues me.
I’ve found a new kind of wine I like! Details next week, when I can read again. (Short ko-lumn ahhh knuhh. Cue picture of Fred.)
Thursday, March 14, 2002
Friday, February 13, 1998
Tonya & Nancy - Together Again!
Before we get on to the real "meat" of this week’s column (which is, as always, pork), let’s rejoice together for a moment about the recent Nancy Kerrigan-Tonya Harding reunion, which plays right in to my winter olympics coverage, extensive and in-depth as always.
First, a brief re-statement of my central theory on winter sports: people who willingly go out in the snow for any reason are idiots, especially if they’re not getting paid. Therefore, the main part of the winter olympics that I really enjoy is seeing a skier tumble down a hill after some grievous mis-calculation, or the simple exhilaration of watching a great athlete attacked by the hired thugs of another great athlete. My dream for the current winter games is to see the snow people adapt that whole Tyson-Holyfield thing in some new, bizarre way; I believe what’s needed here is one more bold step towards cannibalism. So, yes: I’m psyched for the olympics this year!
Which is why seeing Tonya and Nancy together again was just the perfect way to kick off the year’s events, even though the attendant padding -an hour and forty-five minutes of it before the main bout, making this the best entertainment bargain since Geraldo revealed the contents of Al Capone’s vault -was indeed grueling. But wasn’t it all worth it to get to the heartwarming interview segment, wherein these two great champions proved they hadn’t lost a step after all that time? Ah, the tears, the anguish, the irony, as Tonya told Nancy her hair looked good! as Nancy acknowledged how much their initial competition had done for the sport! as the interviewer incisively focused on the pain of their encounter, never mentioning the enormous dough they both must’ve bagged as a result.
What can I say? It was another proud moment in the history of American sports, and I’m proud to have taped it. Mrs. Kelp (the Divine Ms. K) and I were both whelmed. And now, back to pork.
There’s a good little stack of enticing new releases out, dominated by either entirely new or relatively obscure faces, a good portion of whom are working the pop side of the fence (definitely the side of the fence that needed it). Possibly my favorite of the newcomers is Ray Wonder, a Swedish quartet from the town of Umea (which is one of those towns you pretty much. need a Swedish typewriter to spell correctly, and even though I really like the group, I’m definitely not budgeted for a Swedish typewriter. Just draw a little circle over the "a").
The music on their latest, "Good Music" (NONS) is energetic, quirky and slightly neurotic, somewhere between XTC and the Ben Folds Five, very melodic and inventive, cool chord changes, definite Kinks references too -certainly good enough to make me real curious about the rest of their catalog, which seems to be five or six cds strong. (It’s all in English, too -at least it is on "Good Music" -so you don’t have to worry about getting into any tussles with any of those nasty foreign languages.) NONS (which stands for North of No South) is a Swedish label that is supposedly seeing general American distribution; but if you can’t find it, you can e-mail them at nons@nons.se; or write to NONS, P.O.Box 14128, Minneapolis, MN 55414.
Also firmly in the quirky, melodic pop category (always one of my favorites) is Trunk Federation, whose new "The Curse of Miss Kitty" (Alias), which comes out in early March, sounds like an American cousin of Ray Wonder in a grungier, more specifically alternative kind of way; the other obvious reference points being the Flaming Lips, who are less concise and more flamboyant, and occasionally (in their quieter, less hyper moments), Papas Fritas. Though their consistent invention makes the album an interesting listen, bland vocals and lyrics that aren’t particularly affecting prevent it from striking a deeper chord; still, there’s a lot going on here, especially in terms of arrangement and orchestration, and this one’s a big improvement over last year’s debut, so I’ll keep rooting for them.
Then there’s Snout, a new Australian band whose new CD "The New Pop Dialogue" (Au-Go-Go) I found occasionally amusing, largely for its occasional Beatles, Kinks, and Who references; one has to conjecture that if they funneled these influences more effectively, they’d sound less like Cheap Trick, but there’s still some good moments.
And next on our ascent up the scale of noise is Sixteen Deluxe, who, on their debut "Emits Showers of Sparks" (Warner Bros.), occasionally manage to sound like a Pretenders/Curve hybrid, pretty noisy and Anglo for a bunch of folks from Austin, Texas. When it works, as on "Lullaby" and "Honey", it works great; when it doesn’t it still isn’t terrible -just a little relentless.
So there -go forth and dig the pop music (and if you’re in that mood, don’t forget about the You Am I album on Reprise). And R.I.P., Carl Wilson, who will be sorely missed.
First, a brief re-statement of my central theory on winter sports: people who willingly go out in the snow for any reason are idiots, especially if they’re not getting paid. Therefore, the main part of the winter olympics that I really enjoy is seeing a skier tumble down a hill after some grievous mis-calculation, or the simple exhilaration of watching a great athlete attacked by the hired thugs of another great athlete. My dream for the current winter games is to see the snow people adapt that whole Tyson-Holyfield thing in some new, bizarre way; I believe what’s needed here is one more bold step towards cannibalism. So, yes: I’m psyched for the olympics this year!
Which is why seeing Tonya and Nancy together again was just the perfect way to kick off the year’s events, even though the attendant padding -an hour and forty-five minutes of it before the main bout, making this the best entertainment bargain since Geraldo revealed the contents of Al Capone’s vault -was indeed grueling. But wasn’t it all worth it to get to the heartwarming interview segment, wherein these two great champions proved they hadn’t lost a step after all that time? Ah, the tears, the anguish, the irony, as Tonya told Nancy her hair looked good! as Nancy acknowledged how much their initial competition had done for the sport! as the interviewer incisively focused on the pain of their encounter, never mentioning the enormous dough they both must’ve bagged as a result.
What can I say? It was another proud moment in the history of American sports, and I’m proud to have taped it. Mrs. Kelp (the Divine Ms. K) and I were both whelmed. And now, back to pork.
There’s a good little stack of enticing new releases out, dominated by either entirely new or relatively obscure faces, a good portion of whom are working the pop side of the fence (definitely the side of the fence that needed it). Possibly my favorite of the newcomers is Ray Wonder, a Swedish quartet from the town of Umea (which is one of those towns you pretty much. need a Swedish typewriter to spell correctly, and even though I really like the group, I’m definitely not budgeted for a Swedish typewriter. Just draw a little circle over the "a").
The music on their latest, "Good Music" (NONS) is energetic, quirky and slightly neurotic, somewhere between XTC and the Ben Folds Five, very melodic and inventive, cool chord changes, definite Kinks references too -certainly good enough to make me real curious about the rest of their catalog, which seems to be five or six cds strong. (It’s all in English, too -at least it is on "Good Music" -so you don’t have to worry about getting into any tussles with any of those nasty foreign languages.) NONS (which stands for North of No South) is a Swedish label that is supposedly seeing general American distribution; but if you can’t find it, you can e-mail them at nons@nons.se; or write to NONS, P.O.Box 14128, Minneapolis, MN 55414.
Also firmly in the quirky, melodic pop category (always one of my favorites) is Trunk Federation, whose new "The Curse of Miss Kitty" (Alias), which comes out in early March, sounds like an American cousin of Ray Wonder in a grungier, more specifically alternative kind of way; the other obvious reference points being the Flaming Lips, who are less concise and more flamboyant, and occasionally (in their quieter, less hyper moments), Papas Fritas. Though their consistent invention makes the album an interesting listen, bland vocals and lyrics that aren’t particularly affecting prevent it from striking a deeper chord; still, there’s a lot going on here, especially in terms of arrangement and orchestration, and this one’s a big improvement over last year’s debut, so I’ll keep rooting for them.
Then there’s Snout, a new Australian band whose new CD "The New Pop Dialogue" (Au-Go-Go) I found occasionally amusing, largely for its occasional Beatles, Kinks, and Who references; one has to conjecture that if they funneled these influences more effectively, they’d sound less like Cheap Trick, but there’s still some good moments.
And next on our ascent up the scale of noise is Sixteen Deluxe, who, on their debut "Emits Showers of Sparks" (Warner Bros.), occasionally manage to sound like a Pretenders/Curve hybrid, pretty noisy and Anglo for a bunch of folks from Austin, Texas. When it works, as on "Lullaby" and "Honey", it works great; when it doesn’t it still isn’t terrible -just a little relentless.
So there -go forth and dig the pop music (and if you’re in that mood, don’t forget about the You Am I album on Reprise). And R.I.P., Carl Wilson, who will be sorely missed.
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