Top 5 John Carpenter Films

 Top 5 John Carpenter Films

Some might scoff at my admiration for a director who has never received the appreciation he is due from the film community at large, though horror fans have always celebrated him as a true visionary.  This is a guy who has provided numerous signature films in the genre, and in doing so he has provided us with several iconic characters who stand out in cinematic lore.  Carpenter has also engineered some truly memorable scores, and should we give him extra credit for helping Kurt Russell make the leap from Disney to Snake Plissken?  I think so.

I have honestly enjoyed all of John’s films going all the way back to Dark Star, a college film featuring the late, great Dan O’Bannon, another gifted filmmaker who never really found the reception his work merited.  Let’s hope America finds a way to embrace Carpenter for who he is and what he has done within the motion picture industry before he leaves us as well.  And while I’m wishing, I sure wouldn’t mind seeing Kurt and John work together once again before either of them calls it a career.

Every time I set out to compose one of these lists it proves difficult, but this was easily the toughest one yet.  After some intense debate that took entirely too long (just ask Tony) I wound up with 9 films that I had a very hard time whittling down to 5, and ranking those 5 proved even more difficult.  In the end, this is what I came up with, though I’m sure I got it wrong at some point.  It was too hard not to.

 1)    The Thing (1982)

It still baffles me that this wasn’t received better when it hit theaters in 1982.  I know it was the summer of E.T. and the gore factor in The Thing is off the charts, but this is a landmark film that is ripe with atmosphere and intensity.  Whether critics panned it or not, fans have always lauded it as one of the finest horror films ever, an argument I back with enthusiasm.  It is utterly unique in a number of ways that extend far beyond Rob Bottin’s magical effects work, chiefly the claustrophobic introspection centered on an all-male ensemble cast stranded in Antarctica.  It isn’t long before these unfortunate residents of a remote outpost discover that their ranks have been infiltrated by a shape-shifting alien monstrosity that can replace any of them.  Before long, no one knows whether or not the man next to him is still human, and everyone is staring down a frigid doom that cannot be defeated.  The setting is as much a part of the film as the throbbing score, and Kurt Russell sports cinema’s finest beard* as R.J. MacReady, a hero so believable and vulnerable that he seems as real as you or I.  MacReady is a quick thinker with guts, and that’s really about it.  At no point does he morph into some sort of action hero, he’s just a fairly smart guy in a hell of a pickle who isn’t welling to give up without a fight.  The realistic way the characters behave is remarkable, and the way anxiety gives way to suspicion, anger, and fear keeps the film grounded while building unbelievable amounts of tension within the audience.  Then the effects extravaganza begins, and these terrific actors make the most of the clever script as the inescapable horror stalks them through a bleak landscape of gusting wind and snowbound terror.  The grim ending is a perfect epitaph to this somber piece that somehow becomes a rollicking good time fueled by fear and masterful direction.  This is a movie that can stand proudly alongside genre masterpieces like The Exorcist or The Shining, and perhaps it should be noted that each of those films are revered for wonderful performances and stirring plots as well as gruesome setpieces and ghastly things that go bump in the night. 

 2)    Assault on Precinct 13 (1976)

1n 1976, John shot Assault on Precinct 13 in 20 days.  This was 2 years before he directed Halloween, and yet this might be his true masterpiece.  It boasts his first fantastic score and clearly paves the way for the tense stories the director would share with us over the years.  Though the budget may provide limitations and there are a few miscues along the way, it is impossible to ignore the ferocity of this loving ode to the westerns Carpenter treasured as a boy.  One can see pieces of Snake Plissken in anti-hero Napoleon Wilson, expertly played by John’s one-time neighbor Darwin Joston, who is a perfect fit for a suave killer who is equal parts Doc Holliday and John Wayne.  Some of Wilson’s dialogue is lifted directly from Once Upon a Time in the West**, a loving nod to my favorite western.  Austin Stoker plays Bishop, a black cop who is given the assignment of presiding over a precinct that is being closed down, a precinct that for all intents and purposes has already closed.  The assignment is clearly an insult, and Bishop’s superiors enjoy rubbing it in.  Bishop doesn’t have long to stew, however, because things get out of hand shortly after he arrives.  First, infamous killer Napoleon Wilson is transferred to the precinct by mistake shortly after the phone service is switched over to the new precinct.  Then, a man who has unwittingly started a war with the local gang arrives in search of refuge and all hell breaks loose.  The precinct is surrounded by the gang, who lay siege to the skeleton crew of cops and the desperate convicts inside, a divided band of rugged survivors cut off from any hope of rescue.  Soon Bishop and Wilson are fighting side by side, and the raw action comes fast and furious as the body count grows.  Assault tells a simple story, but it does so with vigor, and the end result is a riveting action film that clearly signified the arrival of a powerful director.  Though this is one of his earliest and smaller efforts, Assault on Precinct 13 stands as one of Carpenter’s most significant contributions to the cinema.  Truly gripping.

 3)    Big Trouble in Little China (1986)

This film was regarded as a flop upon its initial release, though it has since gained a cult following due to its tremendous humor and flair.  Big Trouble is easily Carpenter’s most entertaining film, and Kurt Russell has never been more likable.  Jack Burton is a hilarious character, a fast-talking trucker who shows just how creative Carpenter and Russell were at their apex.  Here is a film where the roles are essentially reversed.  Jack Burton may be the main character, and he’s certainly a lovable loudmouth, but he clearly plays second fiddle to Dennis Dun in the sidekick role as Wang Chi.  Confused?  You shouldn’t be.  Jack does all the talking and Wang does all the heavy lifting while Jack tries to get his bootknife out of its sheath.  The story pits them against a powerful necromancer (Jack’s take on Lo Pan: “Tall guy, weird clothes. First you see him, then you don't.”) and three supernatural warriors, as well as legions of kung-fu cultists.  Or something like that.  The laughs are plentiful, the action is thrilling, and the movie never slows down.  Throughout this goofy odyssey, Russell lights up the screen as Jack Burton, an egomaniac who constantly offers up gems like “When some wild-eyed, eight-foot-tall maniac grabs your neck, taps the back of your favorite head up against the barroom wall, and he looks you crooked in the eye and he asks you if ya paid your dues, you just stare that big sucker right back in the eye, and you remember what ol' Jack Burton always says at a time like that: ‘Have ya paid your dues, Jack?’ Yessir, the check is in the mail."  Kim Catrall, James Hong, and Victor Wong are also on hand for a whimsical adventure with an absolute buffoon on center stage, which makes for a hell of a show.  Big Trouble in Little China is an absolute blast, and Kurt Russell gives another unforgettable performance as one of the most unlikely heroes ever.

4)    Halloween (1978)

I honestly wanted to put Prince of Darkness here because it is a far more frightening film, but it doesn’t have the cultural significance of Carpenter’s smash hit on a shoestring budget.  Halloween is a film that may have given birth to the so-called “slasher” films of the 70s and 80s, a craze that proved lucrative for the industry while inspiring pointed debate about motion picture violence.  Jamie Lee Curtis became a star here, and the term “Scream Queen” became a badge of honor for the heroines in such pictures.  Donald Pleasance excels in a role that both Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing would come to regret turning down, as the character of Loomis has become a fan favorite over the years.  Simply put, this the story of the boogeyman, in this case a soulless psychopath named Michael Myers.  Michael is a heartless murderer who stalks the night in a bleached William Shatner mask, silently pursuing and slaughtering innocent teens without any palpable emotion.  His distance and his utter lack of humanity are what make Michael truly horrifying, and not once does he do anything that in any way complicates this frightening portrait of mindless evil.  Curtis rises to the challenge as a babysitter with guts, but can she and Loomis hope to conquer a madman with no conscience and an insatiable appetite for murder?  The score was an instant classic and the film put Carpenter on the map in a big way for good reason.  One need only watch any other so-called slasher film to recognize Carpenter’s subtlety and precision at work in this tense little gem where every shot matters and the small budget yields several big scares.

 5)    Escape From New York (1981)

Kurt Russell makes John Carpenter’s Top 5 for the third time in his signature role, the grizzled war vet who can’t be killed though everyone thinks he’s already dead.  Yes, I’m talking about the one and only Snake Plissken.  Snake is a joy to watch, and this film is so decidedly off-the-wall that one can’t help but enjoy the ride.  In the near future (which just so happens to be our recent past) New York has become a lawless prison.  Bridges are mined and rivers are patrolled by helicoptor.  There’s only one way in, and there’s no way out.  When the president crash lands in this savage wasteland, it’s up to one man to go in and get him out, but that one man doesn’t want any part of it.  Only by injecting him with a terminal virus and promising him the cure if and when he completes his mission are the authorities able to convince Snake to take on the job.  Nothing goes as planned, however, and in Carpenter’s hands this slick thrill ride becomes a grisly descent into a world gone mad.  A number of stars take part in the decadent fun, including Donald Pleasance as the president, Lee Van Cleef as Snake’s cold-as-ice commanding officer, Isaac Hayes as the sadistic Duke of New York, and Harry Dean Stanton as Brain, a brilliant criminal who just might know the way out.  As time runs out for Snake Plissken, audiences are treated to a delightfully dirty adventure that gave birth to a character like no other.  Escape from New York  benefits from another great performance from Russell and another great score, and few action films are as subversive and unpredictable.

Girl in "Chock Full O'Nuts": You're a cop!

Snake Plissken: I'm an asshole.

Other films considered:

Prince of Darkness

They Live

The Fog

In the Mouth of Madness

*I have written numerous pieces wherein I referenced either The Thing or Kurt Russell’s performance, and I always note that as MacReady he sports the cinema’s finest beard of all time.

I am truly envious.

**If you pick up the wonderful special edition dvd of Once Upon a Time in the West, Carpenter offers up several terrific observations in the documentaries located in the special features section.

This Top 5 was previously published by RVA Magazine.

Dirty Southside Jam (Kickstarter details and an excerpt)

 As I work to publish my second novel, Dirty Southside Jam, I have started a fundraiser on Kickstarter.  Obviously, I would be grateful for your support, so I'm providing a link here:

 Dirty Southside Jam on Kickstarter

You can learn all about the book and my goals for the fundraiser, as well as contribute, just by clicking that link.  Just think: you would be helping a starving artist to take the next step toward putting food on the table for three hungry children and one pregnant wife.  For the record, the kids are well-fed, but as anyone who has children can attest, they're almost always hungry.  Anyway, I wanted to provide you with something more here, so I'm going to drop the basic hook for Dirty Southside Jam and an excerpt on you.  I'm giving you the first chapter, and even if you don't elect to chip in and support me, any and all feedback is welcome.

Thanks, peeps!  You know I'd do it for you.

So, what's Dirty Southside Jam about?  It goes something like this:

Billie Boyd, better known to the good people of Bogut as Blue, is the kind of guy whose luck only comes in one flavor. Sometimes it seems that his entire life has been punctuated by one bad break after another, but that's okay. He's a simple guy at heart, a man who has learned not to expect much. Everything changes when Blue finds a small fortune and decides to keep it, believing that his luck has finally turned.

He should have known better.

Now, good old Blue is at odds with a drug-peddling brute, a ruthless killer, and a corrupt lawman. His only ally is an aging drifter who likes to smoke pot and drive fast.  A man who never asked for much has bitten off way more than he can chew, and it's becoming painfully obvious that his next bad break will definitely be his last.

Now, here's a sneak peek at the first chapter.  Enjoy!

-        

Chapter One: Good Old Blue

Billie Boyd was enjoying another leisurely night at Cinema City.  Lately, leisurely nights were all the place had to offer.  Billie was better known to the people of Bogut as “Blue” and he was a quiet fellow who seemed to give off a bit of warmth, an intriguing outsider who was very comfortable in his own skin.

The lean projectionist was in the lobby, wiping down the counters with a rag that was old and worn.  Blue had long hair that he sometimes pulled back in a ponytail, but tonight it was hanging in his face as he worked.  Blue had never been employed anywhere else and the theater was like a second home to him, but he didn’t think it would last much longer.

The failing cinema had once been regarded as a terrific place to catch a movie.  Twenty years ago it was undoubtedly the local hot spot, particularly when a true blockbuster was playing.  In those days, the parking lot was often so full that late arrivals had to park at the pizzeria down the hill and hoof it from there. 

Blue had made that journey on numerous occasions in his time, but nobody had a hard time finding a parking spot these days.  The old theater was barely turning a profit and the parking lot was mostly empty, even on weekends. 

Cinema City had fallen into a sad state of disarray and it was getting worse with every day that passed.  The carpet was old and dirty, fraying in some places and stained in others.  In one spot the red wallpaper had peeled back to expose a filthy yellow expanse of drywall.   The video games lining the lobby were a primitive array of battered shells housing unheralded titles.

Blue watched as an old man approached the front of the cinema to study the posters advertising the movies they were playing.  The old man lingered in front of each sheet, trying to muster up some enthusiasm, but nothing caught his fancy.   Grimacing, he turned and walked away. 

Blue sighed.  He loved this place, and it pained him to watch it wither away right before his very eyes.  They hadn’t added any new features to their bill for three weeks in a row, a drought that would hamper any cinema’s business.   In fact, this was the worst Saturday night Blue had ever been on hand for.

They had sold a whopping sum of fourteen tickets for the three seven o’clock shows.  To make matters worse, the concession stand hadn’t made so much as a dime after the movies started.  Unfortunately, this was typical of late, as Cinema City was mired in a lingering slump that had Barry contemplating doing away with the latest show on each day aside from Friday and Saturday.  If it came to that, things were definitely coming to a halt sooner rather than later. 

Blue had held his job since he was in high school and he had always displayed a loyalty to the place that was inexplicable and wholly undeserved.  Barry made it clear that he liked Blue and appreciated his efforts, but he wasn’t about to provide a raise that matched his praise.   He seldom gave his star employee enough hours and the old coot was always too busy ogling the young females who operated the concession stand to truly appreciate Blue’s efforts. 

When Barry finally got tired of scraping by and decided to close the doors for good, Blue would have to move on to something else.    Until then he was getting paid for doing almost nothing, which was nice, but maybe it would be wise for him to start looking at other options. 

The next job he took would certainly be more difficult.  He had it made at Cinema City.  Most nights he spent far more time reading whichever book he was currently devoted to than attending to the patrons or the projectors.  Currently, he was plowing through an old copy of North Dallas Forty by Peter Gent.  His copy of the novel came complete with yellow pages and a musty odor.  It was one of his all-time favorites and it frequently inspired him to laugh out loud.

Later, after all the shows had let out, Blue finished his work upstairs in the booth, which was actually a large room.  He deftly threaded each film through the projector for the next shift, his fingers dancing through the process, his mind elsewhere.   Once he had assured himself that everything was in order with a cursory walk-through, he went to the box and shut down all of the appropriate breakers in rapid succession.  He went downstairs, set the alarm, and exited through the side door. 

Blue strolled over to his car, enjoying the crisp night air.  Some people seemed unable to shake their fear of the dark, but he had always enjoyed the night.

Blue drove a 1992 Toyota Tercel that had a heart of gold.  He had owned four cars and each vehicle aside from the Tercel had proven to be a total piece of shit.  He hadn’t called any of the others anything aside from random curse words, but the burgundy Tercel he had dubbed “Martha” and he treated this particular lady with tremendous affection. 

The old girl was rugged and dependable.  He had owned the vehicle for six years and she was steadily approaching three hundred thousand miles.  Blue was determined to take her to that plateau and beyond.  To date,  she had avoided major repairs. 

“That’s another one in the books, Martha,” Blue said as he climbed in.  He was smiling, but that wasn’t unusual.  Blue smiled a lot.  

Good old Blue.

Maybe his story is a triumph of sorts, but then again it could be a tragedy.  It’s a tale that begins and ends on a winding stretch of country road in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains.   That ornery strip of asphalt is called McClusky Lane, except when referred to as plain old State Route 79 (often reduced to a raspy old 79) by those who have lived in Bogut long enough. 

They like to spin yarns about old 79 in these parts, and those yarns are frequently bloody nightmares that yield restless nights.  Many of them are true, or at least based in truth, for on McClusky Lane the straights are long and narrow and the twists come fast and hard.  The road begins winding about the foothills like a frightened serpent before skirting the lake, drawing perilously close to the water’s edge.  Later, long after most of the traffic has filtered onto other roads, it crosses Cold Rock Creek via a rickety covered bridge that has created concern amongst the populace for decades.  Thus far the decrepit wooden structure has held, but all the old-timers agree that it won’t be long before the whole thing takes a bath.

They’re probably right about that, and someone is bound to go with it.  Those old-timers know the lay of the land, and they also know the history of these parts.  McLusky Lane is a mean stretch of pavement indeed, a dangerous country corridor itching for blood.  In most places there’s a similar stretch of highway, a winding road in a lonely hollow with a few twists too many and just enough room for reckless youngsters to build speed and momentum.  Like those other passages in those other places, McLusky Lane has claimed far too many lives. 

It’s notorious not only for a number of horrific accidents, but also for a history rich with stories about moonshine, exciting tales of hotshot runners racing against the law and taking big chances on that devilish road.  There are a few major players whose names are familiar to all those who call Bogut home, and virtually everyone living in these parts still has some kin with access to a working still.  White Lightning has always been a welcome addition to any shindig in Bogut, and there’s seldom enough to suit everyone. 

Blue preferred pot, but he could never pass on a jar when it was offered. 

He hated the road, though, hated it with a passion.  He agreed with the old-timers on that score.  While some people scoffed at the road’s reputation and wondered how the locals could lend a strip of asphalt such personality, Blue was intimately familiar with the woeful history of McLusky Lane.  He had survived his ordeal, but he was a victim nonetheless.   

He was only eight years old when the accident happened, but he could remember it vividly.  It was never going to go away, he was certain of that.  No matter how hard he tried to force the episode into the darkest recesses of his mind, those memories were always crawling out to confront him at his weakest moments.

He was going for a ride with his older brother when a deer bolted across the road in front of them and Ronnie panicked.  Billie screamed as his brother yanked the wheel too hard, sending his rugged little Jeep into a dangerous slide that quickly became a violent roll.  The Jeep went off the shoulder and tumbled down into a ravine, flipping four times in the process.

When it ended, Billie was lying against the door with pieces of his brother in his lap.  He was drenched in Ronnie’s blood and the wreck had imprisoned him within the vehicle.  Physically he went virtually unharmed, but the mental anguish he suffered was almost too much for him to endure.

He was trapped in the wreckage for nearly four hours before they got him out, the stench of blood filling his nostrils as the wet warmth of Ronnie’s remains pressed against him.  Gradually the sticky lumps of meat that had once been his brother grew cold. 

It would be nice if he couldn’t recall that period of time, if it was lost in a fog, horrifying yet shapeless, a formless nightmare from the past.  Unfortunately that just wasn’t the case.  It was still all too real to him even after all this time.  His mind hadn’t drifted into shock or provided any distractions in the form of hallucinations.  His memories were vivid, a gruesome record of that terrible ordeal that had yet to fade and likely never would.

He had sat there, drenched in blood, pieces of Ronnie all over the place, the grim horror of reality refusing to release him into any sort of sanctuary.  Time had never passed so slowly, each moment stretching into an eternity, the hours crawling past like days.  His spirit broke and his hold on his sanity crumbled during that hellish passage. 

When they pulled him out of the mangled Jeep, he told the paramedics exactly what had happened, describing the accident in great detail.  Then he lapsed into silence and closed his eyes.  He couldn’t remember things so well for a while after that. 

It was better than six months before he spoke so much as a word and nearly a year before he spoke at any length about Ronnie or the accident.  He seldom talked at all and he began keeping to himself.  Some of the kids starting calling him “Little Blue Boy” and the nickname stuck.  Time whittled it down to “Blue” and he never resisted.  He didn’t particularly like the moniker, but he didn’t dislike it enough to object.  After a while, it become part of him. 

He found himself thinking about the wreck more and more these days, but he kept pushing it away.  It was far easier to find distractions than to contemplate that horrid experience.  It was over and he had suffered enough.  He had moved on a long time ago and he needed to forget it. 

Blue shook his head and grimaced.  Some things were easier said than done.

The sky above was speckled with twinkling stars and the breeze was gentle.  It was a nice night for September.  Blue drove with his window down, listening to a cassette tape he had purchased at the flea market for a dollar a few weeks ago.  It was the timeless Outlandos D’Amour from The Police, a bargain at any price, and Blue was quickly wearing it out. 

He was only a few miles down the road when he spotted David Blanchard walking along the side of the road with his olive bag slung across his shoulder.  David was an old salt who had pulled three tours in Nam after earning quite a reputation for running moonshine in these hills when he was but a pup.  Most folks around here knew who he was, and aside from those wearing badges, most felt he was a good enough guy. 

The current sheriff was a chubby prick named Arthur Leopold III.  He had been sheriff for nearly a decade and his daddy had owned the post before his beefy son took his place.  Some time before that, his grandfather had been sheriff, but his time in office was cut short in a gruesome accident on McLusky Lane. 

He was chasing a young David Blanchard at the time. 

The first Arthur Leopold was pitched through his windshield and slammed headfirst into a tree at something like seventy miles per hour when he came into a sharp turn running hot and didn’t have the mustard to bring his good old Ford around.  His hat was found some sixty feet from his body.   

And so it was no secret that the current sheriff despised the old vagrant, and surely there were those who didn’t blame him, though in a place like Bogut most of the populace preferred a man who ran moonshine to a man sporting a tin star.     

Blue didn’t think much of Leopold, but then he didn’t think much of any of the authority figures he had dealt with.  In his opinion, most people who were given any small measure of power ceased with deliberation and began acting on impulse.  David, on the other hand, was all right as far as Blue was concerned.  Leopold wasn’t going to mess with the old drifter if Blue could help it.  He had given the old vet a ride on several occasions for the same reason, and the dude sometimes smoked him out in return for the trip.

They shook hands and Blue asked the old drifter where he was going.

“Nowhere in particular,” David said.

“That’s one of my favorite destinations.”  Blue put his foot on the gas and Martha rumbled ahead, slicing through the night. 

David settled back in his seat, stretching his legs, making himself comfortable. 

Blue found his mind slipping toward the past again, taking him to another episode from his youth that involved that wretched road.  The man sitting beside him was also a player in this memory.

When he was a kid, long before anyone ever called him anything but Billie, he had invited a friend over to spend the night.  This was when he and his family lived on a dirt road just off of McLusky Lane. 

Billie and his friend had decided to go for a walk and shortly thereafter the two of them were a few miles from home, heading toward the lake.  They were walking along McLusky Lane, approaching the boat ramp and enjoying the nice day as they went.  They were talking about comic books when a weaving truck sped by, nearly careening into them. 

            Suddenly the truck slid to a stop, pelting them with gravel.  As they looked on in mute terror, a stocky old man with a silver crewcut and a scraggly white beard lurched out, barreling toward them with a club in his hand.

            “Did you give me the finger, boy?”  He bellowed as he advanced, his eyeballs swelling in their sockets until it appeared they would burst.

            It occurred to Billie later that they should have run.  Though imposing, the madman was old and built for power, not speed.  They could have eluded him with ease, but foolish children that they were, they had stood there, frozen in the grip of terror.  Blue and his friend were practically rooted to the ground as the stranger approached with his barbaric weapon, his pupils so big they looked like black checkers to the frightened boys.

            “Huh?  Did you?  Did you flip me off, son?”

            Billie didn’t know if the man was addressing him or his friend, but neither had made any gesture whatsoever, so he said just that.

            “Bullshit, brat!  I’ll teach you to give me the damn finger.”

            He was poised to strike when David Blanchard came out of nowhere, calmly approaching this roaring menace with his arms before him, his palms facing outward.  Billie would never forget the way the drifter looked on that day, his black hair pulled back into a ponytail, his beard thick and unruly, his worn combat jacket providing a stark contrast to his red flannel shirt.

            “It’s okay,” David said in a soothing voice, almost as though he were dealing with an animal.  “We have a misunderstanding here, man, that’s all.  Let’s make sure no one gets hurt.”

            The man with the club sneered, but he lowered the club.  “Who are you?”

            “I’m no one,” David said flatly, “No one at all.”

            “The fuck did you come from?”

            “Nowhere,” David said in a soft tone.  “It doesn’t matter, anyway.  Everything’s cool.”

            As young Billie watched the two men talk, he was sure that if the surly man with the club made the wrong move, David was going to tear him to peaces.  There was nothing in the vet’s manner or stance to suggest this ferocity, but young Billie sensed it lurking just beneath the surface.

            In the end, nothing grave happened.  David talked things out with the man and that old nutjob actually apologized before leaving.  Billie and his friend were quick to depart as well, curtly thanking David and setting off with quite the tale for their chums. 

It had been a long time since Blue thought about that incident, but it passed through his thoughts as his trusty car raced through the darkness tonight, David Blanchard riding shotgun.   The strip of pavement framed in the glare of his headlights was as a grey blur churning beneath them. 

            He suddenly felt the need to discuss the episode.  “When I was a child,” he began, “I was attacked by a man with a club-“

            “I remember,” David interrupted, a tired voice emitting from somewhere within his tangled mess of a beard.  His thick unruly hair hung about his shoulders, his grey locks frayed and dirty from a lack of grooming.  “I remember just fine. Never could figure why the two of you didn’t just run, but I remember the whole thing well enough.”

            “You knew that was me?”

            David smiled and took a joint from his pocket, lighting it with a devilish grin.  The aroma of marijuana, tantalizingly sweet and unmistakably pungent, filled the Tercel.  “Of course I knew it was you, boy.  Of course I did.  The real question is what did that crazy old bugger have a club for?  Really now, who carries a club?”  The old drifter shook his head and laughed.

            Blue was surprised.  They had never discussed anything of great importance before, but this acknowledgement seemed to suggest a far deeper bond than Blue had imagined.  What was his value to this strange old bird?

            After several deep drags on the joint and few rattling coughs, David passed the joint to Blue.  He provided a sound imitation of his predecessor in this regard.  Almost at once, the warmth began to spread through him and his body began to relax.  The Police were still tearing it up in Martha’s cassette player, and the old stoner took note.

            “This is back when The Police were the shit,” David said, smiling as he lost himself in the music.  “They had their own sound.  I suppose it was only a matter of time before one of the guys got uppity.  I just never imagined it would have been Sting.”  The old drifter laughed.  He took the joint from Blue and took two big hits in rapid succession before continuing.  “I mean, who would have thought?  What are the chances of a guy named Sting having an ego?  Especially if he’s a revelation on bass and he’s got a pair of pipes fit for an angel.”

            Blue felt the need to say something, but he didn’t know what he could possibly offer. “I’m really enjoying this album,” he said.  He was clearly out of his depth.

            David pressed on.  “Truly gifted.  But he never did anything to rival this one.  Or maybe Reggatta De Blanc.  That’s the one with Message in a Bottle.  Nothing in his solo career could touch The Police.  They had their own sound, man.”

            “You already said that,” Blue said, wishing he hadn’t.

            “Well, maybe I said it twice because I wanted to make sure you got the point.  I mean, a man driving around with Outlandos D’Amour in his tape player should understand these things.  The Police weren’t some addition to some scene, man.  They were a scene.  They had their own thing going.  You dig?”

            “I get it.  I got it.  I’m the one who bought the cassette tape.  I’m listening to it, aren’t I?”

            “No, that’s what I’m trying to tell you.  You may be listening to The Police, but you aren’t hearing The Police.  Not yet, anyway.”

            An uneasy silence followed, broken only by Martha’s steady hum and The Police’s efforts on Next To You.  Before long, Blue’s mind drifted to the past again, taking him back to that strange episode on the side of the road.  “Why-“ he began, but it was a question that would go unanswered. 

Later, Blue would be unable to recall what he was going to ask.  He would remember little of what had transpired leading up to the accident.  Had they shared something?  That gentle moment before the storm would be lost forever in the glare of headlights and the scream of burning rubber. 

            For the second time in his life, Blue was part of the dance as steel met steel and flesh collided with machinery in a pulverizing display of power.  Once again, he screamed as he was thrown forward, his wail drowned out by a metallic squeal that filled the night. 

Top 5 Faith No More Songs

Originally published by RVA Magazine
 

 My favorite thing about Faith No More has always been the way they completely reinvented themselves for every album, sometimes (King for a Day, Fool for a Lifetime, anyone?) for every song.  I can’t think of any group whose body of work is more diverse despite limitations in scope.  I completely discount the Chuck Mosley recordings (though I really like them) simply because the four albums featuring Mike Patton represent the band’s true legacy so far as I’m concerned. I think the need to constantly alter the sound of the band has a lot to do with Patton, given that the material took a left turn toward the bizarre as his influence grew and his later efforts clearly display a desire to explore new territory at every juncture.  Jim Martin would eventually be fired via fax once he lost all interest in the strange new shape FNM’s music had taken after finding success with heavy metal.

Another reason I love this band is because I think they provided us with some of the most compelling group efforts ever.  Too many acts rely too much on one or two star players while everyone else does their best to keep the machine running.  FNM has always showcased each of the contributors, and the vast array of musicians who have spent time in the line-up have always risen to the occasion.  Mike Bordin has drummed for Ozzy, Jerry Cantrell, and Korn when he wasn’t keeping perfect time for Faith.  Roddy Bottum is a keyboardist on par with Manzarek, and there’s no higher praise I could offer.  He is also an integral part of Imperial Teen, a delicious pop effort that I highly recommend.  Billy Gould is a terrific bassist who can put on a show or drive the bus depending on what he is called upon to do.  After Martin vacated the band, guitarists like Trey Spruance, Dean Menta, and eventual mainstay Jon Hudson have excelled at taking the music in exciting new directions.  And what can you say about Patton?  How many bands has he started?  This is the mastermind behind Fantomas, Tomahawk, and Peeping Tom, the frontman to end all frontmen, a showman with a set of pipes that must be heard to be believed.  Most importantly, much like his capable peers in this blistering ensemble (Jim Martin aside) Mike is always pushing the envelope, always searching for another twist or turn that his audience won’t expect.

Faith No More produced four albums during the Patton era, their defining era, and each is a unique composition boasting hit songs, though only one of those tracks (Epic) struck gold here in the states.  Some have even lumped FNM in the “one-hit wonder” file, though given their worldwide success and continued exposure here in the U.S. that would be inaccurate.  Their albums include their breakout rock effort, 1989’s The Real Thing, Angel Dust’s abstract metal mayhem, the zany glory of King for a Day, and a masterful farewell in 1997’s terribly unappreciated Album of the Year.  Singles included Epic, Falling to Pieces, Midlife Crisis, A Small Victory, Digging the Grave, Evidence, Last Cup of Sorrow, and Ashes to Ashes, though only Epic and Midlife Crisis scored big stateside.  The band also enjoyed success with covers of songs like Warpigs, Easy, the Midnight Cowboy theme, This Guy’s in Love with You, and I Started a Joke. 

          I enjoyed every album, and there isn’t really a song recorded by this group that I don’t like.  Faith No More has been my favorite band since I stumbled upon them in 1992, and they’ve given me a lot of joy along the way.  As I said earlier, choosing this Top 5 is going to be absurdly hard, but every man worth his salt loves a challenge. Let’s get to it.

1)    Digging the Grave from King for a Day, Fool for a Lifetime

For me, this one isn’t that hard.  Digging the Grave is easily my favorite Faith No More song, and it is also among their most striking and aggressive.  This cut is a brilliant representation of what this stellar outfit has to offer.  It has heart, melody, power, and a score of virtuoso performances.  Patton is insane, Puffy (Bordin) is perfect, Gould is slamming his bass, and Trey Spruance delivered a jagged riff that holds this brief descent into utter despair together when it isn’t soaring like an eagle.  The song deftly transitions from poignant beauty to jarring metal throwdowns racing along to the tune of Patton’s banshee wail.  If this song doesn’t hype you up, neither will a shot of adrenaline.

2)    Epic from The Real Thing

This easy choice for casual fans will probably earn me some grief from hardcore fans, but its place here is well-deserved.  I think long-time fans hold a grudge against this track because it got played so much while the rest of the band’s output never really seemed to fit what was going on at the time on American soil.  Yes, it is annoying that so many people think of FNM as “that band who did Epic,” and certainly there were many other songs worthy of such recognition.  What gets lost in that train of thought is the fact that Epic is truly worthy of all the acclaim, and we can’t really hold it against the one big hit (their only Billboard Top Ten recording, peaking at #9 in the U.S.) that the rest of Faith’s work never really got the chance it deserved here in America.  Epic is a vibrant composition that remains one of the most well-known metal songs ever produced, a song that is continually referenced as an early fusion of rock and rap.  The Real Thing was a nifty album, and for once the hit single was actually the best track.  Jim Martin rips off an epic (forgive me) riff, Patton introduces us to his manic intensity, Billy bangs away, and Roddy closes the piece out in terrific fashion with one of his most haunting melodies, a defining element of the band’s solitary monster hit.

3)    Just a Man from King for a Day, Fool for a Lifetime

This is one of the band’s most mellow and offbeat songs, a somber yet somehow uplifting opus.  It has a bit of spoken word thrown in for good measure and it concludes with a grand orchestra finale.  This song reminds me of an opera in scope and feeling, seeking to stir our emotions as a sonic odyssey unfolds before us.  This is one of those songs that can lift my spirits if I’m down, and it is one of my favorite songs to sing along to.  Listen to it a few times and see if you can avoid joining in on the gripping chorus.  Patton’s voice has never seemed so large or magnificent, and the entire piece has a sort of majesty that has always endeared it to me.  It is a great example of how far off the beaten path FNM was willing to follow their inspirations, whatever they may have been, and it stands as another fine example of what Faith No More could accomplish when everyone involved was firing on all cylinders.

4)    Stripsearch from Album of the Year

Here again is another offbeat track, an electronic slow grind with a rousing finish that is heavy on emotion and light on aggression, though there is real power at work during the heavy beats.  The video that accompanied this piece was one of the group’s finest though it received little stateside play, joining Epic, Midlife Crisis, and Digging the Grave among others on the surprisingly lengthy list of compelling videos produced by the band.  This is a great example of the confidence and the knowledge these superlative artists brought to the table the last time they sat down to record a studio album.  Album of the Year was destined to be 1997’s finest recording, just as it was destined to go unnoticed.  Much like King for a Day, Fool for a Lifetime, the track listing is eclectic and the tone and mood veer wildly from song to song.  That’s seldom a recipe for success in the music industry as it exists here, though I’m sure such concerns mattered little to FNM at that point.  Whether such exploration dampens reception or not, it is precisely that brand of scattershot art that yields curious treasures like Stripsearch.  This is easily one of my favorite songs from my favorite band.

5)    Easy (cover) from Angel Dust (foreign) and Songs to Make Love To EP (U.S.)

I honestly like this cover more than the original, and while that remark may chafe some purists, the band is so sincere in their efforts and their chemistry here is so obvious that I imagine there are those who would agree with me.  The original is a fine song, don’t get me wrong, and despite being very faithful in structure, this is definitely a rock version of that R&B smash hit.  That it works so well is a testament to the band’s vision and ability.  These guys were never afraid of doing something different, and that allowed them to tackle songs from other genres without sacrificing their own daring approach in the process.  The video for this song is also highly entertaining, and once again everyone involved is allowed to strut their stuff.  Jim Martin blazes away on the awesome solo, rivaling Patton’s total devotion as the song builds and builds, carrying the band higher and higher in the pursuit of artistic bliss.  I would call this cover a genuine masterpiece, and it is one of the band’s most enjoyable hits.  Faith No More’s cover of Easy peaked at #3 in the UK and was the last song the band recorded to crack the top 100 here in the states, reaching #58 in 1993.

True story: me and some of the good old boys from humble Patrick County took a trip to the beach once, and we were taking turns picking songs along the way.  As we got closer to the beach, I started picking this track every time it was my turn, and instead of annoying the other guys, this led to some of them picking it as well.  It became our theme song that weekend, and I still think of partying for three days straight with some of my best friends every time I hear it.  I don’t doubt that we listened to Faith No More’s fantastic cover of Easy somewhere in the neighborhood of 50 times that weekend, and the true total may have been twice that.  I'm not sure, I was rather inebriated.  

Special added bonus: 6-10 wthout commentary

6)    Midlife Crisis from Angel Dust

7)    Ashes to Ashes from Album of the Year

8)    Evidence from King for a Day, Fool for a Lifetime

9)    Falling to Pieces from The Real Thing

10) Helpless from Album of the Year

Greatest Metal Drummer - Tommy Lee vs. Mike Bordin 

In other news, clink on the link above and make the right call: vote Bordin!

Cult Classics from Dimension X: Vice Squad (1982)

 Cult Classics from Dimension X:

Vice Squad (1982)

Let’s talk about Vice Squad, the masterful thriller that gave Wings Hauser the best role in his lengthy career, a role he played to absolute perfection.  Hauser is billed third, yet he clearly steals the show as Ramrod, a vicious pimp who is the villain of Vice Squad.  Ramrod is a true scumbag, but Hauser is so unbelievably powerful in the role that by the time we reach the closing reel there can be no doubt that this is Ramrod’s story.  In fact, Hauser’s lunatic pimp is so dogged and so focused in his efforts that he has become a figure that some fans of the film openly root for despite his deplorable actions and his psychotic behavior.  

The picture unfolds during a single night in Hollywood, where the Vice Squad of the title is on the prowl. This gritty unit is led by Gary Swanson as Detective Tom Walsh, a 13-year vet of the force who is as close to burning out as any cop could possibly be right before his career goes up in flames.  When Walsh comes upon yet another of Ramrod’s victims, he goes to gruesome extremes to convince an unwilling working girl by the name of Princess to set a trap for the demented pimp.  Princess is played by Season Hubley in what may have been her best performance, allegedly drawing on the difficulties she incurred in the bitter custody battle with her estranged husband (Kurt Russel) that was wreaking havoc on her life while Vice Squad was shot in 1982.  Reportedly, Hubley encouraged director Gary A. Sherman to make good use of her distress during the film’s gripping finale, and it should be noted that she rises to the occasion and matches Hauser’s incredible ferocity during that violent struggle.

Walsh convinces Princess to wear a wire, and before long he has his man.  Ramrod vows to kill the double-crossing call girl, and of course it doesn’t take him long to escape police custody.  Then it’s up to the vice squad to keep Ramrod from getting his hands on Princess and making good on his promise, but this time the unit’s quarry clearly knows the neighborhood better than they do.  Ramrod doesn’t have a bankroll or any technological means to track his prey, but he does know the streets.  He also knows a lot of hoods and freaks, people who are either willing to help him find Princess or too scared not to.  As Ramrod lights up the night in a suicidal quest for vengeance, Walsh and his men do everything in their power to locate either the deranged pimp or the oblivious Princess, who doesn’t even realize Ramrod is loose again until it’s already too late.

Throughout, Hauser rages across the screen, investing everything in a part that could have been very familiar in another performer’s hands.  His zeal and his devotion make Ramrod a vibrant character who threatens to leap off the scream and come charging into your living room.  Though Wings has had a long and fruitful career, including a role in Michael Mann’s The Insider, this performance (as well as roles in films like Tough Guys Don’t Dance and A Soldier’s Story) makes one wonder whether or not he didn’t deserve better roles in better pictures than the B-rate cheapies he later became famous for.  He’s on fire here, and he is the probably the primary reason so many people hold this little powderkeg near and dear to the heir hearts.  He certainly offered a lot to the production, as in addition to his bravura performance, Hauser also performs the vocals for the picture’s theme song, Neon Slime, which is played over both the opening and closing credits.  In truth, his acting is far superior to his singing, but the song is interesting at the very least, and Hauser had cut a record, 1975’s Your Love Keeps Me Off the Streets, so he has some talent.

Vice Squad is a very entertaining piece that moves quickly.  This is largely due to director Gary A. Sherman, who cut much of the script that didn’t directly pertain to Ramrod’s pursuit of Princess in pre-production.  Sherman also spent a lot of time with actual policeman who worked in vice to prepare for the piece, as did star Gary Swanson.  In addtion to Vice Squad, Sherman directed Raw Meat and Dead & Buried, both of which are cult classics in their own right.  Though much of his later work came in television, Sherman’s early films are well-made outings with tight plots and rapid-fire pacing, leading one to ask the same questions of his career trajectory that we might ask of Hauser’s legacy.  

In closing, Vice Squad is definitely a winner, and Hauser, Sherman, Swanson, and Season Hubley all make the most of this seedy journey into Hollywood’s underbelly. I treasure this film, but as an avid fan of Wings Hauser that shouldn’t come as a surprise.  Those who are unfamiliar with this brazen performer may find themselves taking an interest in his work after watching this film, but in all honesty this is probably as good as it gets for the man named Wings.  If you haven’t seen Vice Squad, I strongly encourage you to do so, as this film is a great example of a true cult classic.  It is fun, frantic, and offers a nice alternative to many of the less audacious crime films available to fans of such pictures.

Author’s Note:

This picture also boasts one of the funniest scenes I have ever beheld, an absurd little gem that has absolutely nothing to do with the plot itself.  I call it “The Paperclips Scene,” and it centers on an illogical and altogether hilarious police station rant about missing paperclips courtesy of an angry cop who is never seen again in the film.  That bit certainly stands out, but Vice Squad is positively brimming with memorable bits of dialogue.  Perhaps no line has been quoted by fans of the piece so much as the infamous “$500 don’t get you no El Dorado.”  Check it out and you’ll understand, and if you don’t laugh during The Paperclips Scene, you might want to check for a pulse.

Vice Squad Trivia

Reportedly, the film is at least partially based on actual vice squad cases that originated in the film’s Hollywood setting.  Indeed, the screen credit for Kenneth Peters is allegedly a pseudonym for the LAPD detective who opened his files for the production.

A young Martin Scorsese was allegedly a big fan of the film, reportedly going so far as to advise Dawn Steel that in his opinion Vice Squad was the year’s finest film.  This exchange supposedly occurred at an official Paramount dinner function. 

Though it has never been confirmed, many feel this 1982 film (concerning the dogged pursuit of a woman by a ruthless madmen over the course of a single night) may have been one of James Cameron’s influences when he sat down to write The Terminator, which was released in 1984.

As Detective Walsh, Gary Swanson utters the line “Go ahead, . . . make my day.”  A year later, Clint Eastwood would make the line famous as Dirty Harry Callahan in 1983’s Sudden Impact.

. . .

Note: Like many of my best non-fiction articles, this piece was originally published by RVA Magazine.  I'm pleased to share it with those of you who follow my blog, for I don't feel that there are enough people out there who appreciate the man known as Wings Hauser or this genuine cult classic. 

. . .

See also: Cult Classics from Dimension X - Sorcerer (1977)

Under the Dome (Quick Take)

I haven't blogged about this yet, but I'm really digging the Under the Dome series airing this summer on CBS.  I was a big fan of the book, so I was excited to hear that the project was being adapted for television.  Additionally, I'm enjoying the way that the show is using the source material as a guide and not a bible--much like AMC's The Walking Dead .  Much of what I read about in the book is represented, yet there are enough critical differences to give it a different trajectory.  Essentially, this means that even though I've read the book, I'm not really sure what's going to happen next at any point on the show.  I know that many King fans are greatly displeased about this, but I think it allows everyone to be surprised anew as the tale unfolds.

I wonder what the next book or comic to take a similar approach will be?

Anyway, if you're a fan of drama or suspense, or if you enjoy stories where people dealing with dire circumstances realize that their peers pose the greatest threat to them, you should be watching Under the Dome too.

Is the term "Redskins" a racist description of Indians?

You know what?  I'm not sure that the term "Redskin" is a racist term.  I know that is a common view, but I think it's also entirely possible that it is a common misconception.  I've always been fascinated with Indian history, and as far as I can tell, they originally coined the term.  Additionally, I think they used the term in a neutral fashion, much like we throw around the terms "white people" and "black people" to this day.  Many others used the term in a neutral fashion as well, and even in today's "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words are the worst thing that ever happened to anyone" climate, the use of the term in a neutral or positive fashion is still commonplace.

There is no real evidence that the term has anything to do with bloody scalps as many claim, and when the owner of the Boston Redskins established the name in 1933, he did so as a tribute to the coach,  William "Lone Star" Dietz.  There is a lot of controversy surrounding Dietz's background, but he claimed to be an Indian and the name was meant to be a tribute, not a slight. 

Are there examples that the term was used in a negative fashion over the years?  Sure, but I don't know if any common description of any group of people could ever exist in our world without similar examples of prejudice popping up.

It's a complex issue and  I could be totally wrong here, but there is ample room for various interpretations.  Having said that, I think anyone who thinks it's simple case of prejudice should dig a little deeper.  Here's one of many interesting takes on the topic for anyone who is curious about the origins of the name and the history of the term itself:  The Origin of Redskin c/o Bill Poser

At some point, I think we need to take more interest in intent than what those squeaky wheels who are always clamoring for attention tell us we should deem offensive.  I understand that the term has been used in a racist fashion and I understand many consider it an insult.  Yet I can't understand why we're so willing to define terms by the worst examples of how they are used, particularly when it would be so much more logical to weigh such language by the manner in which it is used and the effect the speaker is striving for.

Top 5 Party Songs

Top 5 Party Songs

True story: when I was regularly churning out Top 5 lists for RVA Magazine, I submitted this one only for Tony to refuse to publish it because he said it was a list of "soccer mom" songs.  I still think he's crazy--I don't believe that soccer moms jam to The Beastie Boys and Black Flag, but what do I know?  There are some cool soccer moms out there, and if they're rocking this stuff, more power to them. 

Anyway, what follows is a look at some terrific songs about the fine art of partying.  This one seems simple enough, so let’s ditch the commentary and get right to the songs.

1)    Fight For Your Right – The Beastie Boys

This one seemed like a no-brainer to me.  I think the first time I realized precisely what a party was (birthday affairs aside) and how much I wanted to go to one was when I saw the video for this song.  This was the album that defined the fourth grade for me, and while all the girls were swooning over New Kids on the Block, all the boys in my class were getting rowdy to Licensed to Ill, an album I treasure to this day.  The fact that I was listening to songs like Fight For Your Right almost non-stop probably explains a lot of my behavior that year, but it was all in fun.  Of course it was the video that really put this song (and The Beastie Boys themselves) on the map, and at that time it was easily my favorite video that didn’t feature David Lee Roth.  In truth, both the song and the video are simple attempts to appeal to the lowest common denominator, but one can hardly deny that sometimes there’s nothing better than slumming.  What better way to kick off your Saturday night jam than by enjoying one of the bawdiest songs ever?  Let the fight begin.

2)    American Band – Grand Funk Railroad

There are two reasons I’ve spent a lot of time in various bands: first, because I love music, and secondly, because I always hoped to annihilate a hotel room one day.  Okay, maybe that’s not entirely true, but anyone who has heard American Band (which is –hopefully—everyone who enjoys rock) must admit that it sounds like fun.  What could be more entertaining than inviting some lovely ladies to your room after a big show and tearing the place down in the name of patriotism?  Things only improve if the hotel detective is “out of sight.”  Seriously, the song is a blast and Grand Funk Railroad has never sounded better.  I’m a big fan of The Guess Who, and while I’m fond of saying that Canadian act actually destroyed hotel rooms while GFR sang about it, that doesn’t change the fact that this song kicks ass.  Look for someone to find something to swing from or jump off of when you drop this song, particularly if it’s after midnight and the mood is festive.

3)    Celebration – Kool & the Gang

Put a bunch of people in a room, serve them drinks, and play this song.  Anyone who isn’t in a good mood after that little exercise probably hates to party.  There is something so joyous about this track that it is positively infectious.  Add this to the long list of songs that can immediately improve my mood under most circumstances, and also feel free to consider it one of my favorite party jams.  Once again, this is something I grew up listening to, and thus far my party mix is heavy on familiar favorites that have endured the test of time.  So far we have a song to fist pump to while chugging beers, a song that inspires mindless destruction of personal property, and now a song that will encourage your guests to dance.  Everybody’s having a good time, right?

4)    1999 – Prince

I don’t know about the rest of you, but I partied hard in 1999.  If you weren’t careful, you might have wound up with Old James in the house back then, and if you were to play this song I’m positive that guy would have done something foolish.  Also, maybe it’s nostalgia, but this song seems more appropriate to me now than it did before and during the year of the title.  Let’s be clear about something else, few artists have Prince’s ability to cut a track that will heat up your party.  Prince is amazing, and while I enjoy his soulful side, he’s at his best when he’s having a funky good time.  His 1982 album 1999 remains one of his finest efforts, and on it he provided a magnificent title track. Considering his profound body of work, this song might not rank among Prince’s finest offerings, but it is one of his best party jams. 

5)    TV Party – Black Flag

After 1999, this is the second song from 1982 to make the list.  Oddly enough, this punk classic is very similar to Fight For Your Right in many ways.  It too is a satirical ode to bad behavior, and it is also backed by a tongue-in-cheek video that elevated the song’s status.  In true punk fashion, TV Party wasn’t a smash hit, but rather a raucous jam that those in the know readily embraced while the rest of the world was down with New Wave or some such shit.  Combine this song with a six-pack of cheap beer and something substantially less than intellectually stimulating on television (wrestling would be good) and everyone should be singing along before long.  “We’ve got nothing better to do than watch TV and have a couple of brews!”  Added bonus: playing this song at your next party is somewhat akin to inviting Henry Rollins over, and that’s never a bad idea.

Hip-Hop, where are you?  I know you guys feel slighted.  And how exactly did I do a list of my Top 5 party songs without any disco finding its way into the mix?  Stunning.  Also, I’m definitely doing the time warp again, but there is something about that old time rock and roll, isn’t there?  I really wanted some outlaw country in the mix, and (Jimmy’s patented shame via transparency) Sheryl Crow’s All I Wanna Do is an old poolhall favorite of mine.  What’s a blogger to do?

I think I’ll throw a party.