night turns to day

Election 2008 -- this time it's personal.

It's not about validating a flawed system of governance or overreaching hopes for meaningful change or some lingering vestiges of patriotic idealism.

It's about spite, an opportunity to flip the bird at the sanctioned looters and their legion of sanctimonious thugs which have run roughshod over everything that is sane and decent for the last eight years.

That's more than enough for me.

A Popular History of Signs - Land of the Free (from Comrades, 1984) - I suppose I could have went with Arcadia again, but why settle for post-Duran leavings when this New Order-y slice of obscure synthpop will suffice?

A final note to my readers in the Golden State: You are voting "no" on Proposition 8, right?

and it opened my eyes

From AT's inbox; the names have been changed to protect the guilty:

In regards to your blog, we would like to ask you to write a piece on PSEUDO-CLEVER BAND NAME's new album "UNINSPIRED TITLE". With a diverse range of influences, from LEGENDARY JAZZ PERFOMER and LEGENDARY REGGAE ARTIST to WELL-LOVED INDIE ROCK BAND #1 and WELL-LOVED INDIE ROCK BAND #2, the band still manages to bring it all together and create something that sounds fresh, with hooks akimbo, and a lust and fear for all things cyber-televisic.

Sweet Providence, where do I even begin?

First up, dropping a fistful of self-consciously eclectic musical "influences" is the quickest way to get on my bad side. I have yet to listen to an artist or outfit which indulges in the practice that sounds even marginally like any of the acts they cite. It's a music marketing tactic that simply doesn't work, except maybe on the morbid curiosity, are-you-effing-serious, let's-stare-at-the-bloody-trainwreck level. Better to be up front and just honestly and simply state the truth: "shamelessly apes Joy Division," "wishes they were The Clash," or "sounds like every other lousy jam band."

The same knee-jerk distaste of mine applies to contrived buzz-words and phrases like "hooks akimbo" and "cyber-televisic," which convey the diametrical opposite of the message the PR flack is attempting to transmit.

The part that really caused me to grit my 75% amalgam teeth, however, was the opening line, phrased as a passive-aggressive corp-speak imperative. I'm sure many of you know the drill: "We would like to ask you to conduct a massive time-intensive revision of the database even though we plan on switching to a new front-end interface in two weeks which will make your revisions obsolete" delivered with a smile and unblinking stare. Do they seriously think I'm going to play the role of unpaid PR proxy in exchange for some weak-cheese ego stroking?

Even if it was a paying gig, I'd still turn it down. And not out of any sense of personal honor, either.

I get a fair number of emails asking me to promote or review songs, albums, or artists on Armagideon Time. It comes with being a music blogger (such as I am), and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't slightly flattered by the requests even though I'm baffled why they put me on the mass email list to begin with.

I have never set out to be an arbiter of public taste here. I'm temperamentally unsuited for the role of a "serious" music critic (if such a thing even exists) because I am able to acknowledge the subjectivity of my views. My concept of "good music" applies to me and me alone, and in truth encompasses a lot of what might be deemed, sans malice, as "utter crap." I can live with that burden without trying to redefine the definition of "quality" to conform to my singular tastes.

What I can't, or rather won't, do is regurgitate PR hype or presume to shatter the dreams of a basement studio auteur because I have a venue to do so and an ego in need of gratification. I'm not a gatekeeper. I'm the eccentric old man who lives in a shack by the junkyard, showing off my collection of mismatched depression glass and spouting off rambling philosophical anecdotes to any person foolish enough to stop by.

It's a narrow niche that I've cut out for myself here, but it's a very comfortable one, too.

Pretty Girls Make Graves - Speakers Push the Air (from Good Health, 2002) - My synesthetic take on this track: The sun setting behind Horn Pond Mountain in October, as viewed through the trees in my backyard.

Halloween Countdown: October 7 – by the dark river's side

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...


...Riverdale High's goth population. A more clean-cut and wholesome coven of children of the night you'd be hard pressed to find.

I'm not really seeing a "clique," so much as two Dungeons and Dragons enthusiasts who've purchased black trenchcoats at the local Kohl's in order to impress that one girl in the drama club. You know, the one who swiped her older sister's Best of Bauhaus CD and who writes angsty poetry about how hard it is to find a decent vintage clothing store or a place that sells clove cigarettes in the wasteland of well-heeled suburbia?

Okay, so maybe it is an accurate representation of the American goth subculture, apart from the utter absence of body piercings...

Blue Orchids - Sugar, Sugar (from Mystic Bud, 2004) - A darker shade of bubblegum, kind of like Black Jack, I guess.

Flesh for Lulu - Subterraneans (from Flesh for Lulu, 1984) - "The cruelest camouflage" referring to wearing a black crushed velvet longcoat, knee-high leather boots, and a quart of industrial white pancake makeup during the middle of August in a sunbelt subdivision.

On a non-snide bastard note, it's interesting how many 80's college radio staple acts from the U.K. started off with goth affiliations, only to vehemently repudiate the tag once they "made it."

(A special thanks to Chris Sims for bringing the Rivergoths to my attention.)

but I thought it was just for fun

(The Mikester made me do it.)
The San Diego Comic-Con is upon us, offering the fan-faithful an opportunity to get the advance scoop on this year’s iteration of Snakes on a Plane or receive the official word about the creative team involved in comics’ NEXT BIG THING from the mouth of a weary publishing rep (as opposed to from the comics internet, where the info has been common knowledge for a few months now).

SDCC’s shift in focus from a gathering of fans and creators to multimedia trade show has been the subject of much discussion. Is it validation of the medium’s (by extension, its affiliated subculture’s) significance outside its traditionally small realm? Or proof that the scene has been co-opted by deep-pocketed marketing flacks from outside the comics’ biz for their own purposes? To me, it means too many people (with a significant proportion possessing dubious personal hygiene habits) crammed in with too much stuff in too confined (relatively speaking) a space.

To tell the truth, I’ve never been a big fan of conventions, even when I used to attend them with some regularity. Attending cons was a necessary evil, a means to an end – that end being the acquisition of fan ephemera unavailable from my usual suppliers. My typical con sojourn involved getting in, getting what I came for, and getting my ass out of there as briskly and efficiently as possible. The panels, symposiums, and creator appearances held zero appeal for me.

I’m apathetic about whole hobnobbing with celebrities (and I use that term in the broadest possible way) deal. While it’s nice to be able put a face behind a work I happen to enjoy (or despise, for that matter) or to pick up some contextual insights through an interview or article with a creator, I have a hard time imagining a scenario where I could offer more than a terse “I liked/hated -----” at a face-to-face meeting in a noisy venue. This is why I always disappoint when asked one of those “which five people living or dead would you like to meet” questions. My natural introvertedness and my aversion to hero worship have effectively killed my interest in meet-and-greet affairs. I did once shake hands with Larry Storch, and I quite literally bumped into Brett Anderson prior to an in-store appearance by Suede in the mid-1990’s.

I also really, really hate crowd scenes (which has also restricted my concert and club going to only the top tier of “must see” acts), and even the most sparsely attended cons make me feel claustrophobic. After a few minutes spent flipping through a longbox of poorly sorted teen humor comics, with several hundred pounds of Dorito-fed fanboy pressing in on either side of you, a two week stay in the Black Hole of Calcutta seems like a welcome alternative.

I’ve been trying to think of any amusing stories from my con-attending days, but so far I’m drawing a blank. Maura, on the other hand, has several. That crazy gal loves the con scene and makes the effort to travel to at least one of the bigger events every year, usually of the anime variety, though she’d like to eventually make it to the Small Press Expo or SDCC in the near future. My favorite story of hers has to do with an Anime Weekend in Atlanta even she attended a while back where the non-convention guests staged a minor revolt at the check-in counter over the all-pervasive aroma emanating from the otaku herd. Way to counter the stereotype, guys.

So, yeah, no nerd Hajj for me. It’s just as well, as I lost my faith some time ago and I’m fully content with being a comics agnostic.

Translator - Everywhere That I’m Not (from Heartbeats and Triggers, 1982) – “You’re in San Diego, but I’m not! You’re paying five bucks for a bottle of water, but I’m not! You’re stuck in line listening to a cosplayer dressed like Speedball loudly summarize his Generation X slashfic, but I’m not!” Actually, this song is a catchy bit of guitar pop honoring John Lennon, from a SF new wave outfit that, like too many bands of that era, never got the attention they justly deserved.

The Go-Go’s - Vacation (from Vacation, 1982) - Former Go-Go Jane Wiedlin is going to present the Eisner Awards at this year’s SDCC. For those unfamiliar with things comics-related, the Eisners are like the Oscars, but don’t really mean anything to folks outside the insular little scene.

Okay, so they’re more like the Tony Awards, then.

I know I posted this track last year (in a post about waiting for Maura to return from a con, oddly enough), but it fits perfectly with the Wiedlin-SDCC connection and the fact that my second vacation of this summer began a couple of hours ago. Synchronicity trumps all.

arf arf effing arf

What’s that, Addy-girl? Andrew is buried under a bunch of household chores, made more time-consuming than usual by an unexpected trip to Medford? And as much as he’d have liked to have put up one of the long form essays he had planned for today, he had to cop out and opt for a really lame gimmick post?

Wow, Addy, that sounds…

The Primitives - Really Stupid (from a 1986 single, collected on Thru the Flowers: The Anthology, 2004) – Breezy, cutesy indie pop that I love just fine in small doses. More than two or three tracks at a time though and the sweetness gets unbearable.