A Bottle and Friend

To all the diasporadic Scots out there, I hope you took a moment yesterday to savour some Songs, Poems and at least a couple of drams.

Last night Bomber and I enjoyed an extended toast to the most neglected of the Romantics. Selected Specimens from our respective collections were exchanged under the sign of the Oak. The pipes were perfectly shrill, the haggis was spicy, and the Extra Special Bitter was flowing.

Lauzzy and Cousin were missed.

For the second consecutive January 25, we swung a blockbuster hockey pool trade.


Here's a bottle and an honest friend!
What wad ye wish for mair, man?
Wha kens, before his life may end,
What his share may be o'care, man?

Then catch the moments as they fly,
And use them as ye ought, man:
Believe me, happiness is shy,
And comes not aye when sought, man.

1787

Reconciliation Rock

I heard some good news yesterday.

Not only have David Lee and the Van Halens patched things up ...

Relationship of Command was released way back in 2000. Yet by the end of 2011, it still stood near the top of my unwritten list of the very best albums of the decade.

Hardcore? Post-Hardcore? Prog-Punk? You'll have to consult with Patti Schmidt for that call.

Whatever it was, its on its way back.

When At the Drive-In split apart eleven years ago, two new bands were created that never really caught my attention. While I'll always have a soft spot for the proggy element in rock music, The Mars Volta's sound seemed to regress, rather than progress, after a decent debut in 2003. As for Sparta, I never really lent them a fair listen.

But ATDI's full lineup will reassemble with an eirenic enthusiasm to play at the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival in Indio, California in April, along with Godspeed You! Black Emperor (themselves missing in action for many years), Explosions in the Sky, Radiohead, Feist et al.

Now that's a BigRockShow, as Les Claypool might say.

Or a BigPostRockShow, as Patti Schmidt would surely say.

2012

Happy 2012 to all.

Tho I may be suffering with my annual distemper, today is coming up Roses.

I realized, many years ago, the truth behind the futility of Resolutions. Things are really only resolved in the crucible of contingency and change. They are resolved in the wake of revelations. After the apocalyptic unveiling of our true natures.

The counterfactual rests on the flimsiest axis. The most unstable of fulcrums.

And yet, the calendrical reboot provides us all an opportunity to Project, however vainly.

But this time, it could be different. The unintended consequences of my Interruptnum will continue to germinate and cross-pollinate.

Gather ye rosebuds while you may.

Alt-worlds. Alt-ideas. Alt-attitudes. Altered states.

They will be written. They will be read. They will be seen. They will be loved.

Emancipation from expectation. The salving, the solving, even the celebration of the anxiety of influence.

Long live, quite literally, the new flesh.

The Interruptnum has, and will continue to cost me Money. Good Money, and Bad Money.

Yet it has also freed me from Money's tyrannical grip. I love that about the Interruptnum.



Have a good year, my friends.

Oh, and go Oregon Ducks Go.