the mansions of glory have been condemned...

...and the suicide machines have been sold as scrap metal to China.

Driving used to be fun. I'm not misremembering that, am I?

Today I had to drive my wife and her elderly rabbit Jack to the vet's office in Wellesley. It's not that great a distance as the crow flies, but the route there is circuitous and ends up being a fifty mile round trip through some of most aggravating stretches in the MetroWest/Northwest area. Vet trips aren't meant to be of the same character as leisurely Sunday drives, but the experience really brought home how my love of behing behind the wheel has soured in the past couple of years.

There are many reasons for this shift in attitude:

- The mass migration of aspiring homebuyers looking for better deals beyond the 495 Curtain has led to massive rush hour traffic jams stretching fifteen miles north and south of Boston, especially since the announcement that the Big Dig was officially finished caused a large number of public transportation riders to start commuting by car again.

- The overdevelopment of inner ring suburbs, where massive condo complexes and retail centers have been plunked down on postage stamp-sized lots off back roads, has dumped massive levels of traffic on roads not designed to handle it.

- The rise of "bigger is better" vehicle culture has led to an escalating arms race mentality on the roads, even for drivers who don't opt for a Escalade or Hummer. Even the armchair liberal Prius driving set will more often than not switch into full offensive mode as they pull out of their driveways.

- MOTHER. FUCKING. ASSHOLES. WHO. USE. CELL. PHONES. OR. TEXT. MESSAGE. WHILE. DRIVING. I don't care if it's hands-free or Bluetoothed up the wazoo, using that shit while driving needs to be a heavy finable offense. (Or violators could be lined up against against a wall and summarily executed. I'm okay with either course of action.)

- The inevitable jadedness that comes with commuting to work every day by car. It doesn't take long for the luster to flake and peel off when the material embodiment of your freedom and mobility pulls double duty as the thing that bears you into the drudgery of work every morning.

The love hasn't left me entirely, though, just gone dormant like a desert flower awaiting the rain. Times like a few weeks ago, when I went to pick up Maura at the subway station late on a Sunday night, it all comes flowing back to me...

The tree-lined darkness of South Border Road on the warm summer evening, feeling the hum of Super Lumina's V6 coming up through the steering wheel and accelerator pedal, a hand picked selection of favorite songs blaring from her CD player...

If only heaven was half as nice.

Amen Corner - Expressway to Your Heart (from The Collection, 2001) - This British (Welsh, to be more specific) Invasion act's definitive moment of glory was "Scream and Scream Again" the theme song to the not-so-great horror film of the same name, but their other stuff isn't half bad, either. No one will ever touch the magificence of The Soul Survivors' orginal version of this song, although I enjoy the slightly "off" vibe that radiates from the Amen Corner's 1968 cover.

Republica - From Rush Hour with Love (from Speed Ballads, 1998) - It's odd to listen to Republica now and think back to a time where the band was tagged with the "electronica" label. Some of the elements are there, but their overall sound is pretty decisively pop-slash-rock, and doesn't bleed across genre boundaries as much as either, say, Carter USM or Helen Love did.

The Modern Lovers - Roadrunner (from The Modern Lovers, 1976) - Yeah, I posted this track way back in the early days of this blog, but given today's topic, I couldn't not include it. The only serious choice for the official pop song of the Bay State; no dissenting opinions will be tolerated.

My current driving experiences would be more properly represented by Johnny Rotten's rendition/mutilation of the song, but that is what's great about a good piece of music -- it can enable one to transcend vile reality.

I went looking for the spirit of 1956 today while I was on Route 128. It was buried under a pile of abandoned CRT monitors some cheap shitheel left abandoned by the side of the highway.

input/output

As I mentioned in the Firestorm post, our attachment to things from our childhood tends to be predicated on personal context (i.e. simple nostalgia or other associative factors) and the sad fact our younger selves lacked the capacity to know crap when they saw, heard, or ate it. That’s not a dismissal; it’s an important part of the growing up process, empirically developing internal filters to separate sheep from goats. It leaves splinters, though, pockets of exceptionalism that get carried into our adult lives.

For a many a kid who came of age in the Golden Era of Videogames (roughly 1977-1984), the 1982 movie Tron is something of a holy text. It’s innovative art direction, pioneering use of CGI, and excellent console and arcade game tie-ins perfectly captured the zeitgeist of the brave new world of digital entertainment.

As with other popular franchises of that period, there have been efforts -- a couple videogames, a comic book, and re-release the old toys -- to recapitalize on its magic as a means of parting nostalgic adults from their disposable income. None have been particularly successful, but the old affection still remains.

I consider myself a fan of the franchise (well, as much as a notorious stick in the mud can be a “fan” of anything), but I have a hard time getting around one bitter realization: the movie is a retread of old Christian epics, with light cycles taking the place of chariots. From the epistemological discussion of the relationship between the creator (“users”) and creations (“programs”), to Flynn’s godhood made digitally incarnate, to the mention of prophecies and portents, Tron is as much an theological delivery system as the Narnia novels are. Like my discovery of the ideology behind those C.S. Lewis books, the realization left a bad taste in my mouth.

It’s not the message so much as the oblique means of delivery. Despite being a “filthy little atheist,” I think Cecil B. DeMille’s The Ten Commandments is a delightful film, even if I think the theology is a load of hokum. I’m less charitable when someone tries to slip some covert propaganda using the pretext of disposable entertainment. (This is also why I’ve never warmed up to vegetarian meat substitutes. If the food is tasty enough to justify eating it, it shouldn’t have to wear a mask.) Art is by definition manipulative, but I draw the line at being slipped an ideological roofie.

I won’t say the film has been spoiled for me (there’s that aforementioned exceptionalism in play), but it has diminished the film’s entertainment value by a noticeable degree. My love for the Wendy Carlos score remains unchanged, however. Now I just need to find a way to reconcile the film’s Christian undertones with friend Zartan’s shocking expose of Tron sex (Not a hoax! Not a slashfic!).

That article, along with the other many fine pieces he wrote for the late, lamented Zeroes Unlimited, was one of the earliest inspirations that eventually led to the creation of Armagideon Time. In honor of that, here are three obscure synth/new wave tracks that I think of as being the Tron universe equivalents to a Barry White LP.

JYL – Computer Love (from JYL, 1984)

The Metronomes – A Circuit Like Me (from a 1980 single)

The Units – Digital Stimulation (from Digital Stimulation, 1980)

and I tell you, baby, that something’s wrong

Ah, the break-up song, the musical accompaniment for punching parking meters and showing up at an ex’s workplace to beg for “just one more chance, baby.” Or one could go the other route, as I once did, and crawl into a dark, dank broom closet of adolescent rage and nurse a grudge with the aid of generous helpings of Black Flag and Ministry.

Magnanimity and equanimity in the face of romantic defeat is hard to come by, and most of us lack the savior faire about such matters that a certain good friend of mine (who suggested today’s topic) possesses.

Oingo Boingo – Goodbye, Goodbye (from the Fast Times at Ridgemont High OST, 1982) – Danny Elfman is a very, very pink and orange man, but I did know a man who was even pinker and more orange. He was the sort of fellow who could contract melanoma by looking at a bottle of Sun Light dishwashing liquid.

Scandal – Goodbye to You (from the Scandal EP, 1982) – Before she shot at the walls of heartache (bang-bang), Patty Smyth and her band recorded this stellar piece of new wave pop. Love that synth organ riff on the bridge. There’s a gimmick just begging to be brought back.

Squeeze – Another Nail in My Heart (from Argybargy, 1980) – For more information, please refer to my forthcoming dissertation, Temptation and Black Coffee: An Examination of the Collapse of Romantic Relationships in the Working Class as Depicted in Blue Eyed Soul Songs of the Late 1970’s and Early 1980’s.

Buzzcocks – What Do I Get (from Singles Going Steady, 1979) – “It’s like fucking bookends,” I told a friend when he asked about a failed relationship. “It started off with ‘Love You More’ and ended with ‘What Do I Get.’ How perfect is that?” Ten years later, I hear the song being used in an SUV commercial, further cementing my hatred of those gas-guzzling, earth-wrecking status symbols for obnoxious assholes.

The Eyeliners – Think of Me (from No Apologies, 2005) – That closet of angst and vengefulness? It’s open to both genders, although women haven’t quite caught up with the guys on the punching parking meters thing yet.

The WTF Files: Volume #2 – And I’m not so sure just where I stand

Celebrity status doesn’t just enable one to get an easy pass for making anti-Semitic remarks while being stopped for driving while intoxicated, or a slap on the wrist for killing a child crossing the street while attempting to illegally pass on the left. It can also mean a record deal, quaint notions about so-called “musical talent” notwithstanding. (It’s an obsolete concept anyhow. The pop music production combines in Stockholm and London run 24-7 these days, turning sows’ ears into…sows’ ears with heavy overdubbing and pitch-shifted vocals.)

Most of these misguided attempts to cash in on reps made elsewhere crash and burn, often finding new life decades later as prized camp collectibles. The TV and movie stars-turned-troubadours featured in today’s post, however, all met with chart success, if only for a brief shining moment. Not included are teen idols of the Shaun Cassidy and Leif Garrett variety, as their musical careers were part of the total media saturation plans organized by their handlers. Rick Springfield isn’t included because his musical career predated his General Hospital stint by over a decade, and he even had a minor hit “Speak to the Sky” in the early 70’s.

David Soul – Don’t Give Up on Us (from Playing to an Audience of One, 1977) – Who knew Hutch invented emo? Now, Antonio Fargas Sings Cole Porter – that would be worth listening to. (Yes, Soul was a moderately successful folksinger before he landed the Starsky and Hutch gig, but this track isn’t folk, and it rode on the back of his TV stardom.)

John Schneider – It’s Now or Never (from Now or Never, 1981) – Bo (Duke) knows overproduced country music corn.

It’s really hard to explain to someone who didn’t live through the era just how huge the Dukes of Hazzard was to impressionable grade-schoolers in the late 1970’s. It meant making the “Dixie” horn noise when we jumped our banana seat Huffy bikes over the dirt mound by the railroad tracks. It meant slathering a layer of sticky, stinky Testor’s orange enamel paint over our favorite Hot Wheels cars. It meant being too young to notice we were watching utter, utter shit.

Jack Wagner – All I Need (from All I Need, 1984) – Rick Springfield set a really bad precedent for General Hospital hunks, although Wagner’s effort pales in comparison to the horrors of Stamos unleashed.

I admit I have a slight fondness for this song. It reminds me of junior high dances I attended where I’d lean against the cafeteria wall watching various puppy love affairs play out on the dance floor as the DJ cued up some cheesy prefab love song. Depressed and lonely, I’d sulk in the shadows and wonder if I’d ever find a girl that understood me, or whether or not the Fantastic Four would manage to defeat Psycho Man.

I take it back. I hate this fucking song.

Eddie Murphy – Party All the Time (from How Could It Be, 1985) –The album title says it all.

Don Johnson – Heartbeat (from Heartbeat, 1986) – From an Amazon.com user review for this album:

I always keep hearing people badmouth this album and I am sick and tired of it. This is not a bad album! If anything this sure as hell is better than any of today's music...and by that I mean anything made in the last 16 years.

Since the album was released in 1986, and the review was written a month ago, I wonder what 1990 song/album marked the reviewer’s cutoff point for good music. I’m going to make a guess and say Jane Child’s “Don’t Wanna Fall In Love.”

David Hasselhoff – Looking for Freedom (from Looking for Freedom, 1989) – Yadda yadda yadda ironic hipster affection for mediocre faded celebrity yadda yadda yadda the Chuck Norris thing was bad enough yadda yadda yadda just stop it, please.