And Now for Something Remarkably Similar
Every purse was loaded with almighty cashAs Ranaldo softly strummed,
And then Thurston bit into a blackened old pear
But he'd rather have a plum!
Fandom is fun, but it can cost a ton.
And we gently nudged the unsightly smudge
Until the stain was gone
From the pants that we won
In an online auction.
Stay tuned for "Unclabbered and Admirable Palsy".
The Nectarine No.9: These Days
3 Comments:
Nice!
"Every purse was loaded..." called to me. At least it seemed loaded in the wake of your Notekillers prompt.
The hardest thing sometimes, I think, is to divorce the ear from the heralding, the hype, the poisoned harangue. The paint by numbers.
Well. The last time I watched SY play was an unhappy affair, if only because it wasn't in my living room. I went home and listened to some Yandek, got sick on that too, and headed off into some Miles. On the Corner.
Miles was a genuinely miserable motherfucker. Right to the end. Straight into the coffin, without the faintest whiff of remorse.
Oh, baby. Pickpockets, whores and compulsive liars. Like Lester at the gates of Oz.
On the subject of Miles, it is hard to reconcile the pettiness of his character with the grandeur of his music. Maybe it's better not to know about the man behind the curtain, or the mouth behind the horn.
I've seen the Sonic Youts twice: once on the "Flaming Telepaths" tour (with fIREHOSE), and again when SY and Social Distortion opened for Neil Young. Good shows, both. I'd rather listen to Bad Moon Rising or Evol than anything they've done since then. Now they seem less youthful, and not hardly as sonic.
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