Today, my reserve copy of the SuperHeavy CD arrived at the library so I rushed over to pick it up. On the subway ride home, I flipped through the booklet to get a better idea who to blame for specific lyrical atrocities. Alas, no lyric sheet is included, but I think it is safe to say that given the songwriting credit splits, whoever delivers the line penned it. That being said, thanks to Jagger for this gem:
My love and laser will regenerate your heart. No need for anesthetics, I'll go check your charts.
Haven't listened to or thought much about the ‘Foot in three days. Grades are due tomorrow. It's been a long week. A lot of Tom Waits, They Might Be Giants, and Mission of Burma driving to and from work. Great as those records are, they've faded in and out of my awareness as I race home each night. I've been staying late working on report cards but also trying to get home before my kids are in bed. I'm wiped. Last night I was asleep before my son. Second time this week.
And still Sammy Hagar has made his presence known. He's become the challenge of this 10-day journal. I know I'm not going to like the Chickenfoot disc. But maybe I'll reconsider Sammy.
Maybe it's ADD, or OCD, or whatever condition modern man is afflicted with that prevents us from listening to a whole album without getting up to look out the window at the Russian masonry guys taking a smoke break, attempting to cut matted fur off the cat's ass, or neatly tearing the mailing labels off of unread issues of Smithsonian.
I decided to skip ahead to the last song, “Something Going Wrong.” Judging from my pace over the first three days I am not likely to finish the record.
I'm gonna buy myself an ark – Noah built one. Sammy's going to buy one. Craigslist, I'd imagine. Just have to drive out to the valley to pick it up.
That goes seven, seven, seven – Sammy's on the side of the righteous as the album closes. One can only assume that he sent the young lady from “Last Temptation” back to her room. Chastised her, politely but firmly, demanded that she gain control of her hair, requested that she cease stop trying to “show it” to Sammy, and insisted that she take her leave.
About one minute into "SuperHeavy" — the opening track from SuperHeavy , by, you guessed it, SuperHeavy — Mick Jagger warns the listener: "you better watch your step and keep your distance." Presumably, Jagger delivers this line to evoke the menace of "Sympathy for the Devil" or any number of dark protagonists from the Rolling Stones pre-irony glory years. That Jagger has been a self-parody for the better part of the last 30 years is a given, but here — amidst the migraine-inducing clatter of Bollywood techno-toasting and white soul wailing — Jagger sounds more like a parody of Jemaine Clement aping Jagger. Had "SuperHeavy" not dragged on for an excruciating five minutes, it might have made a funny set piece for Flight of the Conchords .
Should I listen to Tom Waits or Chickenfoot? I feel ridiculous posing the question, but there it was as I shot up the southbound 84 on-ramp. I opted for Tom Waits. I'm trying to stretch my boundaries by listening to Chickenfoot III, look for something of value in a record that repulses me in many ways. But I haven't lost my mind. I've been going back to Orphans a lot lately, especially the Brawlers disc. And yet Chickenfoot's “Last Temptation” and “Alright Alright” popped into my head repeatedly during work.
Yesterday, I listened to the SuperHeavy stream in its entirety, doubling back on a few tracks to take notes. It was draining. As I slammed my laptop shut, my wife offered a pithy review worthy of vintage Christgau: "next time you listen to that, please wear your headphones."
It was my band's first show in New York. A club named Street Level on Houston Street. Now defuct. Or at least relocated. I think they call it Nice Guy Eddie's now. Nice Guy Eddie sounds like a guy who spends an inordinate amount of time placing gun muzzles to skulls. Nonetheless, there we were. Three underwhelming dudes wearing matching bowling shirts and about to bring our brand of mild punk rock to the Big Apple for the first time.
Upon accepting the unenviable assignment of living with, and reflecting upon, SuperHeavy (1) for 10 days, my first task was to find a way to obtain the record free of charge. Since I'm too old to understand illegal file sharing, I gravitated toward the public library.
Election Day 2011. Ohio voters defeated Issue 2. Overwhelming support for collective bargaining rights. I should have celebrated. I'm a public school teacher. I did celebrate but my joy was tempered because I didn't vote in my local elections here in New York. I didn't do my part. I intended to but at 6:30, as I was driving home from work, I realized I hadn't changed my registration to our new town. Not voting locally left me on the sidelines, outside looking in, at least in the political sense.
