I suppose the headline says it all. After five years, it’s time to close the doors on Popcornworld.
Note: The following contains profanity. Duh.
I love profanity. Not saying it so much as reading it and, more importantly, hearing it. True, to some, dirty words are just placeholder syllables, the sign of a weak vocabulary. But to others, the ones who know how to use words as tools, it can be pure poetry, as angelic a sound as your more family-friendly portions of the English language.
I was griping on the social media a while back about my brand recognition fatigue and how, in this Age of the Franchise, I was desperate for something new. My mind, prone to wandering, soon began wandering to something I learned long ago from an old friend: the Blue Duck Philosophy. Continue reading
It’s been quite the weekend for me. My brain chemistry had a bit of an explosion, first slamming me into the worst depression/anxiety mix I’ve had in years, then overcompensating by tossing me into heavy manic mode. As mental discombobulations go, this was one rough ride. I got through it in part, as I often do, with the help of some favorite songs. Consider this a virtual mix tape of some of the tunes, both high and low, that rambled through my brain in the past few days. Happy songs, sad songs, and, for the advanced manic-depressive, happy songs that sound sad and sad songs that sound happy. As lame excuses to just post a bunch of videos go, this one’s not too shabby. Enjoy. Continue reading
As you probably know, posting around here has slowed to a… well, whatever’s slower than a crawl, let’s call it that. (I was going to go with “plate tectonics,” but even that’s speedier than my output of late.) To keep this blog somewhat clean in presentation – that is to say, to keep it from getting cluttered with nothing but “What I’ve Watched” posts – I’ve moved the entire What I’ve Watched set-up to a companion blog, which I’ve cleverly named What Dave Watched. Cute, huh? This should help keep my personal OCD list-making and diary-keeping away from the random blatherings that make up the rest of this blog. Or, in other words, it’ll separate the stuff people want to read here from the stuff they don’t. The diary will still be updated on a daily basis, but it’ll be over there, not here. Sound good? Good.
It’s not the holidays until Darlene Love belts it out. Merry Christmas, everybody!
Casey Scott’s Creep City is hands down the best album nobody heard in the 90s. The singer/songwriter/poet/artist and her backing band, the Creeps, cranked out a masterpiece blend of rock, spoken word, and itchy, twitchy angst. It’s tempting to call the album raw – it has a rough vibe, as if recorded on the fly in quick, angry bursts – but the band is airtight, working out some challenging rhythms and inventive sounds, their expert craftsmanship betraying the garage atmosphere.
It’s been a busy month for me, with little time to update much of anything around here. That’s my flimsy excuse for why I didn’t do a Nifty YouTube Thing series this year, but I couldn’t overlook my tradition of posting Thriller on October 31. I’ve praised it twice before, so you should now by now why I find it to be perfect Halloween viewing. Continue reading
My entire high school career, from fall 1987 to spring 1991, aligned perfectly with the Golden Age of the Power Ballad. It was a strange point in pop music – the decade’s burst of new wave was fading just as my middle school years did, while the rise of grunge wouldn’t occur until I landed in college. There, squarely in the middle, were four full years of hair metal and its glorious, down-tempo offshoot.
With their fourth studio LP, Lifes Rich Pageant, R.E.M. established themselves as a major artistic force capable of delivering somber, intelligent pieces like “Fall on Me” and “Swan Swan H” and full-on high energy alt-rock with “Just a Touch” and “I Believe.” The album is playful yet heady, a celebration of a wide array of Southern sounds that ranks among their finest career work.