TOP STORY: Nothing
Suprisingly, nothing of merit has happened this week, no new plays, no big events, no massive HW (Tho I still can't do anything fun), I've had to halt the THUGficial for a page for class, no fights with rock legend Elliot Easton. So, what do I talk about? I really don't know. I don't know, I'm sorta down, tho, cause the homework haze is starting to lift off a little (I only had five hours), but everythings still empty and sucking. I just need the break to come and kick back, and fuck everything, and relax. I'm not too bad tho. My play is awesome, once they master their accents it's going to be good. It's not perfect, but that's great. If it was the ideal play, it'd just suck, I'd be bored as hell, it'd just be static, but things are happening and the cast is jelling. They know things, get things, they don't resent being worked with. This is going to be something, a lot of unschooled actors. I thought I wanted to re-school people, but I'm starting to understand how good things are going. I totally fucked up English this week (Or was it last, yeah last). I forgot to turn in an assignment. I never do this. Cummon. I'm gonna be an English major, I can't believe I'd do something like that. Now I'm going to fail. It's sorta Spradley's fault, too. She doesn't know how to teach. She gives you one of those impossible, all answers are equally correct, and the right one is the least justified quizzes, then won't do anything to pad those grades. The concept of an English class is to challenge students with assignments they can never pass, then pass them on fluff. Oy.Album Review: "After the Gold Rush" by Neil Young
This is a hard call. It's one of the best albums I've ever heard if I judged it on musicianship. This is one of Young's more mature albums, not like a lot of his CSNY material, where he fumbled around with the guitar and forgot lyrics to his own songs. This album presents us with a more mature Young, leading a quiet charge of folk ballads, country, grunge, and early pop. The songs are peaceful, though filled with underlying tones of cynacism and pain. They have an effect on you, even if you aren't paying attention to the lyrics, you begin to brood, get taken over by the feel of the songs without realizing it. Though he jumps styles artfully, all of them have a similar feeling, "Nothing is new, nothing can change, we are eternally fucked, sit and cry as the world crumbles." It's friggin' heavy stuff. That's why the title's so appropriate, it was a bridge between the young Young and the mature Young, the mad dash for riches has ended, now's the time to look around at the ghost town we're left with. My only problem is Southern Man, an obscenely activist proto-grunge song. While some of the words are true, it goes for sick hyperbole in an effort to piss the listener off. I understand that Young was going for emotional effect on the album, but it's like what the old director says to the student filmaker when he asks him how he can get people to go into the theatre, "Show your film in the streets." Considdering the South was Neil's #1 audience, calling South -erners, slaveholding oppressive masters some 10 years after civil rights and 100+ years after emancipation, to the tune of a fuzztoned country chord anthem just pisses off the listener. After eating out of Young's hand for the entire album, we listen to Southern Man and challenge ourselves not to turn it off. There are so many damn good songs though (Even Southern Man is has a great melody and solo, I believe provided by guitar god/Springsteen lead man Nils Lofghrem). Oh Lonesome Me is pure genius as the band gets into a country "Drinking Song" while he lays down near-inaudible Link Wray-ish power chords, "When You Dance I Can Really Love" is a prequel to the Music of Crazy Horse, though it fits suprising well, even within on of his solo albums, Tell Me Why reamains strong, though I believe it is the only Young song I like better in its CSNY form, mainly because they harmonized so well on it, but this ver -sion is great in its own right, where two guitars, one fingerpicking, the other laying down seemingly random chords, after this Young launches into a several piano-driven ballads, then finishes with Southern Man and Till the Morning Comes (One of the the most hopeless-sounding pop soungs I have ever heard). My opinion of Southern Man (It's just and opinion, after all), the album is a triumph, sophisticated, beautiful balladry by a man grown up from nowhere: SCORE:
of 5 penguins.
Haiku For the Taco Bell Chicken Quesedia (If Elvis Wrote it)
Feat of Strength #10
Until Next Week... Have fun and give it up to the Dutch.
