Oh America, don’t get me started. Most days you still make me HOWL. But like that Brother Ali lyric, “almost feels like we got it right this time. I might just go and plant a flag in my yard.” Thank you Seal Team Six, thank you White House Cabinet and Staff, and everybody else.
A few years back I remarked how Camper Van Beethoven’s New Roman Times, Green Day’s American Idiot, and 10,000 Years from The Honeydogs were the Album Of The Year. All three of them at Number One. You’d best believe it, bitches.
Those times were so hard to endure, the rampant illogic, disrespect, courting of aggression worldwide, the abject height of American moral atrocity in my lifetime.
Adam Levy and the Honeydogs gave us what in the perspective of 2011 stands taller than either of the other 2.
Their record 10,000 Years was teased briefly ahead of release on The Current and online, if I remember correct.
The near-impotent fury of every right-and-just headed American at that time was nearly deadly on many occasions, and not just on the battlefield. The shock and awe induced every night on the evening news when George W. Bush pressed his asscheeks to your face and wiggled around like a manic gunslinging lapdancer as he did it…this intrepid writer could not be the only one who entertained, even and however briefly, suicide as a kind of Bush-free bliss, no matter how fucked up it absolutely is.
Early upon one cold weekday morning I readied to trek hours away from home to try and find out if my rapidly aging college credits were worth a nickle’s weight in free beer. (I never intended to halt my pursuit of a 4-year degree, might even have been considering grad school before I was told, in no uncertain terms, to leave my state college, directly by their administration and several staff members – however little they had any right to do so.)
That morning I dropped 10,000 Years into the car stereo mostly unheard. I’d been saving it up in the few days since I bought the disc, a goofy trick a friend in college once taught me to do – intentionally or sarcastically – with a Tori Amos album back then. I knew the powerful experience of the title track and the first couple, but the rest remained uncharted territory.
I don’t think I’ve ever had anything described as a “concept album” come off as effortlessly, avoid continuity issues for those who are only hearing one song at a time, or do so much to offer selflessly a catharsis America so righteously deserved.
By the time I made it to the 10,000 Years release party at First Avenue’s Mainroom, I had the record utterly memorized. I could sing along to every track, I know the words to this day. Even the hard parts. That will go down as one of my probably top 10 concert experiences in this life.
[From seeing Prince play in a dark, empty room, barely 10 feet in front of me; the only time I ever smelled ganja at Paisley Park that night George f’n Clinton played; helping the Squirrel Nut Zippers schlep their gear in for an in-store at uptown cheapo and then The Fine Line; Faith No More at the metrodome with a thunderstorm accompanying; happily taking off my Cat-in-the-hat hat to let my fellow sardines see Soul Coughing at Let It Be Records; or singing and clapping at the RNC riot squads under their helicopter spotlight with Nellie McKay and a cast of brilliant Minneapolis musicians in September 2008.]
I enjoyed the album release party that night. The Honeydogs ripped through 10,000 Years in order, even with Michael Penn doing the opening as he did on the album. By the time they’d wound their way through the chaos, insanity, brutality, tears, war, mayhem, death, destruction, madness, and triumph…I was literally shaking my ass in every which direction for the closing number, 23rd Chromosome. [So thank you gentleman from the bottom of my (insert organ name here.)]
(Hell I think even Bard Meier from American Paint opened that night and I recall being one of few people there early enough to actually get out on the floor when he did his incredible amazing song “Albe Maybe” among others.)
It took us 10 years but we made it. I just wish if I were king high muckymuck of some molehill someplace I could give the Honeydogs a Presidential Medal of Thankees for helping those of us who were chafing about the neck under the Bush Regime keep our eyes on the prize and stick around to see President Obama bring us back our Dignity with a side of Justice.
Much as it hurts me to use the phrase I hate, Make No Mistake! This is not revenge, this was not vengeance, this is not bloodlust. A surgical strike against a tumor, that’s what this was, hoping to contain the damage and let the patient live, the wound close, the healing begin and spread outwards from there. That’s what America stands for.
I just wish George Carlin had lived to see all this. Despite whatever vitriol he could concoct, I doubt he would tell us NOT to be happy. I’d like to think in my teary-eyed candy-coated patriotic unified American heart, even that Magnificent Bard Among Us Bastards(-who-call-ourselves-men) known as George Carlin would be happy, too!
Maybe now we can say goodnight to the last 10 years. At the very minimum…
Goodnight to the last 10 Years…
Published May 10, 2011 Uncategorized Leave a CommentTags: 10000years, 10years, 911, America, comment, concert, honeydogs, lyrics, memory, OBL, opinion, review, thanks, thoughts
Oh America, don’t get me started. Most days you still make me HOWL. But like that Brother Ali lyric, “almost feels like we got it right this time. I might just go and plant a flag in my yard.” Thank you Seal Team Six, thank you White House Cabinet and Staff, and everybody else.
A few years back I remarked how Camper Van Beethoven’s New Roman Times, Green Day’s American Idiot, and 10,000 Years from The Honeydogs were the Album Of The Year. All three of them at Number One. You’d best believe it, bitches.
Those times were so hard to endure, the rampant illogic, disrespect, courting of aggression worldwide, the abject height of American moral atrocity in my lifetime.
Adam Levy and the Honeydogs gave us what in the perspective of 2011 stands taller than either of the other 2.
Their record 10,000 Years was teased briefly ahead of release on The Current and online, if I remember correct.
The near-impotent fury of every right-and-just headed American at that time was nearly deadly on many occasions, and not just on the battlefield. The shock and awe induced every night on the evening news when George W. Bush pressed his asscheeks to your face and wiggled around like a manic gunslinging lapdancer as he did it…this intrepid writer could not be the only one who entertained, even and however briefly, suicide as a kind of Bush-free bliss, no matter how fucked up it absolutely is.
Early upon one cold weekday morning I readied to trek hours away from home to try and find out if my rapidly aging college credits were worth a nickle’s weight in free beer. (I never intended to halt my pursuit of a 4-year degree, might even have been considering grad school before I was told, in no uncertain terms, to leave my state college, directly by their administration and several staff members – however little they had any right to do so.)
That morning I dropped 10,000 Years into the car stereo mostly unheard. I’d been saving it up in the few days since I bought the disc, a goofy trick a friend in college once taught me to do – intentionally or sarcastically – with a Tori Amos album back then. I knew the powerful experience of the title track and the first couple, but the rest remained uncharted territory.
I don’t think I’ve ever had anything described as a “concept album” come off as effortlessly, avoid continuity issues for those who are only hearing one song at a time, or do so much to offer selflessly a catharsis America so righteously deserved.
By the time I made it to the 10,000 Years release party at First Avenue’s Mainroom, I had the record utterly memorized. I could sing along to every track, I know the words to this day. Even the hard parts. That will go down as one of my probably top 10 concert experiences in this life.
[From seeing Prince play in a dark, empty room, barely 10 feet in front of me; the only time I ever smelled ganja at Paisley Park that night George f’n Clinton played; helping the Squirrel Nut Zippers schlep their gear in for an in-store at uptown cheapo and then The Fine Line; Faith No More at the metrodome with a thunderstorm accompanying; happily taking off my Cat-in-the-hat hat to let my fellow sardines see Soul Coughing at Let It Be Records; or singing and clapping at the RNC riot squads under their helicopter spotlight with Nellie McKay and a cast of brilliant Minneapolis musicians in September 2008.]
I enjoyed the album release party that night. The Honeydogs ripped through 10,000 Years in order, even with Michael Penn doing the opening as he did on the album. By the time they’d wound their way through the chaos, insanity, brutality, tears, war, mayhem, death, destruction, madness, and triumph…I was literally shaking my ass in every which direction for the closing number, 23rd Chromosome. [So thank you gentleman from the bottom of my (insert organ name here.)]
(Hell I think even Bard Meier from American Paint opened that night and I recall being one of few people there early enough to actually get out on the floor when he did his incredible amazing song “Albe Maybe” among others.)
It took us 10 years but we made it. I just wish if I were king high muckymuck of some molehill someplace I could give the Honeydogs a Presidential Medal of Thankees for helping those of us who were chafing about the neck under the Bush Regime keep our eyes on the prize and stick around to see President Obama bring us back our Dignity with a side of Justice.
Much as it hurts me to use the phrase I hate, Make No Mistake! This is not revenge, this was not vengeance, this is not bloodlust. A surgical strike against a tumor, that’s what this was, hoping to contain the damage and let the patient live, the wound close, the healing begin and spread outwards from there. That’s what America stands for.
I just wish George Carlin had lived to see all this. Despite whatever vitriol he could concoct, I doubt he would tell us NOT to be happy. I’d like to think in my teary-eyed candy-coated patriotic unified American heart, even that Magnificent Bard Among Us Bastards(-who-call-ourselves-men) known as George Carlin would be happy, too!
Maybe now we can say goodnight to the last 10 years. At the very minimum…