Last night, I met with Faloon to discuss how we would wrap up our Masochist Supergroup Project. After reading his Chickenfoot blog posts I felt like maybe SuperHeavy wasn't that bad after all (so disgusted was he with Hagar, et. al. that he deleted the files from his hard drive, the 21st Century equivalent of throwing the 8-track in the Goodwill bin). Whatever precious time was lost listening to these records was redeemed by laughing about them over some Neapolitan pies and beer at PizzArte.
Today was nuts and I had no time to dedicate to SuperHeavy. I did Google "SuperHeavy + Interview" though, just so I would feel like I contributed something to the exercise.
The first search result was a GQ interview with Dave Stewart and Mick Jagger that mostly confirms what you would expect: that they made these songs up on the spot in the studio. And that they were drinking martinis.
When I have the time, I love to walk. Sometimes I'll just wander for 50 or 60 blocks looking at buildings and people. Unlike a subway commute, where I want to shut the world out, I never listen to music on my walks — it's a time to let my mind wander. Because of my dedication to this project, I broke my rule today and listened to SuperHeavy in its entirety while strolling up Broadway.
As if I needed to be reminded, Jagger has reggae cred. Walking down the street today I glanced into a shop window only to see Sir Mick's giant-ass grin staring back at me. He's sandwiched between Bob Marley and Peter Tosh and whatever they were smoking seems to have made them pretty happy.
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.
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.
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 .
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."
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.
