Scranton PA is a shit hole. The more people who realize this the better for me and everyone else who has to go through it.

Anyway, went to Boston this weekend, awesome city. Walden Pond was another stop and it was equally awesome. Very enlightening. Peaceful calm and centered in the world. Too bad there were about 45 high school girls talking about how many boys they’ve kissed. Ugh. Anyway, it was a wonderful time and I recommend anyone go up and check it out. More posts to come soon, as well as a new web comic; Matt Heuston and I are making it. You can find it eventually at unachievers.wordpress.com.

And don’t let the new blog name trick you, it’s the same angry bull shit that I normally think about and write.

The next day  I went to the police to file a report. I did not go the night before since I was tired and irritated. It was an inconvenience just for me,  not to the person who did everything wrong. So the female officer at the front desk gave me all sorts of attitude. Protect and serve my ass. After she was done being a bitch, I told her the make model and license number, and got to talk to a real cop. He was much better at everything. Within an hour they found the car, and I got in touch with the insurance. It was good. So I got my car appraised and everything is slowly working out.

So if any one of you assholes out there run after hitting a car, go fuck yourself. That’s about it. If this has happened to other people I am sorry. It’s lame. Dealing with the inconvenience is the worst part. I imagine criminal charges may be pressed, and then I will be a plaintiff as opposed to a defendant.  That’ll be neat.

There is a semi-familiar alt country glow to this album that takes me back to the beginning days of Jeff Tweedy and Wilco, it’s a bit polished, but very live and warm. The production is tops, especially for Oberst who has had some issues in the past with poor quality sound. One major complaint from  most people about this album is that Oberst “let” his band mates record some lead vocals and tracks. I don’t know what I think is worse, that some asshole thinks this wasn’t a good idea or that they think Oberst “let” them do it. The band was a collection of artists Oberst knew personally and wanted to work with. “Worldwide” was written by Oberst for the bassist.  Some of the tracks written by the other band members stand as the best tracks off the album. “Eagle on a Pole” features Jason Boesel as the lead with Oberst as backup. The other singers offer a wider variety of voices and ranges, giving more choice to find the right fit for a song.

The instrumentation is on like always, with the screaming licks in  “Roosevelt Room” to the subtle chords in “White Shoes.” Oberst’s voice has improved too, it doesn’t sound like teenage angst. It is stronger and more competent in delivery. Oberst is becoming the songwriter that he should be at this point in his life. While the anger and passion is still there, it is focused on more adult and global causes. In general, Oberst has matured beyond singing hopeless songs about girls he likes. And that is far from a bad thing. His audience has (hopefully) matured along with him.

With  more variety in the songs, and the talent to deliver, this album just does not stand together as a whole. It isn’t coherent together. There are a lot of good songs here. But they don’t relate to each other well. It jumps. One minute I will be hearing a jaunty pop tune like “Air Mattress” the next I will hear a psychedelic rock song “Big Black Nothing.” Conceptually it falls short. It seems like the musicians just wanted to get their ideas out and on a recording. Which isn’t bad. In fact, it can be quite good. But this particular case falls short.

A lot of people scream for Conor Oberst to get back to his depressed teenage roots. I disagree. Oberst clearly is growing each album, shown just through listening from “Lifted” to “I’m Wide Awake it’s Morning.” He has matured, and as he matures he delivers new ways of hearing his brilliant songwriting. I would like to hear the next Bright Eyes album, after “Cassadaga” I was excited for where the group would grow out.  But I think if we keep expecting the norm from a song writer well known for doing what he wants and not what critics want, then we will be disappointed. If we have to expect anything, it would best be change.

First of all, this album is a change for even the story-telling Decemberists. As I am sure most of you have read, it is a concept album; the plot of which is deep and often hard to comprehend. A lot of the faults in the story telling come from Meloy’s odd choice of words in certain parts. The language is thick, even for the literary. Many people have mentioned that in order to understand the story they read the lyrics. Good idea. I personally just listened to it enough to get it down. Maybe that’s why I enjoyed it so much. It is a challenge, especially in a culture that finds the simplistic to be the most common. The depth of the story is hurt by this complexity at times, but for the most part still comes through. It is a story of love, jealousy, kidnapping and death.

Several complaints of the album comes from its mixing of genres. Some people say it is prog rock and musical masturbation with no intent. Others say it is a bloody mess of heavy metal and British folk. I say, it’s a bit of all of that, done with a purpose. This is not the first time the Decemberists have turned on the distortion and worn the rock pants for an album. Some of the longer, more intricate stories on previous albums had a similar feel, the beginning of the epic “The Tain” for instance, feels like hard rock mixed with Colin Meloy’s haunting melodies. “The Crane Wife,” the Decemberists last album, had several songs moving in this direction. In this context, “the Harzards of Love” continues the trend and actually improves upon it, giving the songs meaning within the whole of the tale. Songs like “Queen’s Rebuke” are loud and angry, reflecting the mood of the Queen, and following the vocal patterns of the wonderful Shara Worden of My Brightest Diamond. Following that is the amazing “Annan’s Water,” a song in which the hero pleas with the river for safe passage to his love, told in classic Decemberists folk fashion, but keeping the pace of the songs before it. The riffs create a feeling, which is Meloy’s intent with the entire album. There are some unnecessary parts, a riff that repeats too many times, or a few misplaced uses of the instruments, but that is all done with intent from the author. It just fails to hit through with the general audience.

That is not to say that the album is a failure by any means though. The vocals throughout the entire 58+ minutes album never misses to pluck the heart string or convey an image. The production is tuned down from past Decemberists ventures, sometimes seeming shallow only to convey the idea behind the words and story. They did away with extra strings and horns that had been prevalent in past albums. The focus of the cd is to pay attention to the vocal movement, following the characters as the plot plays out. As far as a concept album goes, it has been some time since one seemed so wholly joined together to keep the original story and purpose of the album. If the album was to be classified as anything, I would call it a musical without a visual piece. It borrows evenly from a variety of genres, places them in a context and does it with as much success as I think that sort of expirement will get. But if you don’t like prog rock, heavy metal mixing with folk, or for that matter, the Decemberists in general, this album is not going to tickle your fancy, but will leave you with a frustrating, complicated mess of meaning and a disjointed feeling to the songs. I see both sides of this album, but the feeling and emotion that plays out through the piece as a whole more than makes up for the few lapses in style. Substance is key here, and Meloy nailed the substance.

It’s not about hating work is it? No of course not, preposterous. But there is something that just feels so right about not giving your all on a day like this. Mother nature wanted me to be outside. It’s like Ferris Bueller, and we all secretly want to skirt our responsibilities and go on an adventure out there in the sun and breeze. But we can’t, we’re all saps with jobs who have some twisted sense of propriety that keeps us staring at a grey cubicle wall as opposed to a sunny field or at the very least a sunny window.

You know what I recommend? Fucking it, peacing out early, kicking on some awesome tunes and taking a drive. Gas prices are down again, why the hell not? And if your boss gets mad, tell him he should probably hit the links while it isn’t raining. Enjoy today people, because soon it will be too damn hot to go outside anyway.

Sitting in Jiffy Lube I was drinking the awesome free coffee and watching the awesome Jiffy Lube TV channel. And that’s when she came on. Like some banshee shrieking into the night, the bitch popped onto tv. I had hoped not to be drawn into the world of these little teen stars and their fucking popularity, but there, staring me down in an epic gunslinger-esque duel, was Miley Cirus. I don’t know who she is or where she came from. I also don’t care. I hear the name constantly enough, and wonder how it is that people who are 15 have any right to celebrity status or to be thrown into the faces of decent human beings. I’m sure she’s a nice girl, but after what seemed like an eternity (5 minutes) of her blabbing on about some asinine movie, I couldn’t understand the following. She spoke like every one of those girls that you end up ignoring anywhere else. The lack of intelligence was palpable. And painful.

But this is the state of modern pop culture. The art of it is gone. It is replaced with attractive non-threatening young people. Elvis would shit himself, if he didn’t have that one medical problem, to see who the American public screams and flips a shit for today. That one medical problem is death, by the way, being dead at the very least means you can no longer poop. Good thing too. I think the next batch of youngsters to take the lime light need to keep in mind the level of intelligence that seems to be waining from the public spotlight these days. Also, be at least 18.

I am NOT sticking up for the government. Nor am I saying that other people’s ideas are worse. All I am saying is that suriving with what we still have is the key. I’ve been hungry and poor, I know how hard it is to make ends meet. You choose food or gas or rent. Sometimes two out of three. Sometimes just one. It’s a shame. And I feel for anyone who was well off and now has become desperate.

So I guess, in this very somber and serious post, what I am saying is hang in there. Crime will rise. Alcohol sales will rise. Depression will rise. It’s all good though my friends.

Now that the serious part is done with, I want to say, I hate people who lick a pencil before they write (thanks Kelly). Why do they do it? Does it taste good? Do they get fucking inspiration whispered to them through their tongue?

Also, the movie Twilight. Who the fuck cares? Can’t anyone see the ridiculousness of this fad?

And last, one more thing to think about, the people who drive a convertible with the top down, but the windows up (Bill Orr thank you). If the point of a convertible is for the top to be down, wouldn’t you want the windows down too? Maximize your airflow mate. It will make that last little bit of pretentious-ness that you have been staving off come flowing in like the combover on your head poofs out.

If Obama can't get it done, at least we have some backup

Hope that I want to believe in.