Up the country: I like that it takes the three Americans, two Englishmen and a Welsh from the Waco Brothers in order to make some damn fine drunk tavern music. Of course, I’m partial since two of the members are also in the Mekons — objectively the best fucking band on earth. This might be more down the country than up, but that’s how it is: “the Fox River flows wherever it wants to go / past prefabricated homes, geodesic domes.”

Nick Cave: Fire Down Below (by wolfgpunkt)

I’m on a boat: yeah, so here’s a sea-shanty to lull you into nightmares.

For The Mekons, Et Al.

Will Oldham is a fan of the Mekons after all, just like me. But Will doesn’t do things the easy way, so this tribute is twisting and turning and it’s not a straight tribute as such. Instead it is as if he’s tried to write a song the way the Mekons would, and I think he succeeded somewhat — they’re a hard band to mimic.

Listen to the recording of the Mekons Doctors Without Borders gigs in Chicago 2007 where Will and Ted Leo and some others took over for the missing Tom Greenhalgh (his wife was giving birth in London.) Downright brilliant stuff.

But this song is here performed by Unbunny. Don’t know if Jared Del Deo is a the Mekons fan, but that doesn’t really matter does it? It is a lovely rendition anyways.

Hey girl’s name: Chainsaw Kittens — Shannon’s Fellini Movie

I’ve never known someone with the name Shannon, nor have I ever had my own Fellini movie. Deep down, I think both these are failures. Failures of circumstances sure, but still failures. People here don’t have names like Shannon and I’ve never been to Italy so the chances of me getting a Fellini movie has always been rather slim. Especially since he died when I was 15 or so. Never mind that! I still think it’s possible! It might happen! A lost masterpiece dedicated to an awkward Swedish teen with lots of potential to be wasted.

The fingers are, as they say, crossed and deep-fried.

I am home: I’m not. I live here, in this house, but it’s not home. Home is… not one place, it can be several but I have none. This might sound sad but mostly it’s not. Sure, I’d like someplace to call and feel like home but I’m in  a place of transitions still so it’s okay.

— We’re still flying.
— That’s… not much.
— It’s enough.

I missed my exit: it feels as if it was yesterday because it was. The signs were there but I didn’t see them because I caught a fleeing suspicion that the girl with the walkie-talkie in the music video was Tara Summers. So I stopped and sure enough, it was her! That meant I had to watch the whole thing, no exits provided because hey! Tara fucking Summers! And I don’t like Snow Patrol. The things one do for the pretty.

(Seriously! The eyes and nose and…)

Air guitar god: this is added to a growing list of things I’m not. Air guitar gods take those notes and bend them, me? I strum even with air guitars, and I try to get the right chords with my left hand.  Impressive? No, but damnit, it’s the right way. Just try it to Billy Bragg’s A New England.

1996 was the year Patti Smith returned, when  R.E.M. did their last good album and Unbunny released their first. It was also the year I graduated from gymnasiet, turned 19, and became loathed in the local parts of the business I’ve spent three years in school for. (Printing press operator!)

I had a summer job at Ljungby Grafiska and later in the autumn I jumped in whenever they needed to. One day I was really sick, high fever and all. No way I could drive in and operate machinery, I told them this and they seemed to accept this. It was also the last time I heard from them directly. In 1997 I bumped into one of the people who studied the same things but in a younger class. I got spat on and called a traitor. It was odd and I was as you might imagine very perplexed and asked why. Apparently, being sick is a crime against the community.

The joys of an industrial small town filled to the brim with pettiness… I swear, had this been in the US it would have been trailer park county.

(Beth Orton — Live as You Dream from the 1996 album Trailer Park.)

— Over 8 minutes you say?
— Yes. I need something long.
— That’s what…!
— Don’t.
— Well, okay. Let’s see… Damnit!
— What?
— What I wanted to post isn’t online, that’s what! It would have been about 45 minutes of wonderful drone.
— …
— Don’t worry and look like that. I still found some Spacemen 3. Suicide is only 11 minutes though.
— Okay.
— Still drone.
— Fuck. You.
— Yeah, fuck me this is good. 

Bad Religion — The Same Person.

Spring 2000 and I was driving along towards the University, last class before the Maths exam and boy, did I need it. My logic it seemed was not the same logic needed — by all accounts I should be brilliant on imaginary numbers!

I didn’t reach class that day. Instead a car drove out in front of me at a T-cross section. There were a stop sign at her exit and all, but she didn’t see me. My gut instincts woke up from their slumber and pushed the pedal down and steered away. There was no collision because of this. Everything missed with a… I don’t know. It can’t have been much though.

The car started to turn and I compensated and after some twisting elevens I ended up in the ditch with the back down. I couldn’t drive for a week, the woman lost her drivers licence. The cops looked at the evidence and said “you did that? Damn. Your reflexes was spot on, a little later and she would have died in the crash.” I think this is where the other driver realised what could have happened and I felt a little bit like an incognito superhero.

No Substance is my least favourite Bad Religion album, yes even counting Into the Unknown, but this is why I’ve never listened to it since then. In my mind it’s still in the stereo in that car. I flunked the exam too. Stupid maths.

William Elliott Whitmore — Lift My Jug.

I drink alone: but only a beer or two, or a small glass of whisky — I like how it taste. I’ve never gotten pissed drunk in the lonesome and I hope I never will. I’ve seen where that ends and it’s not pleasant. An evening of beer and alcohol requires people, good people even as I’m not the kind of person who can go in to a pub and just sit there. Friends and food and fun, without those lots of alcohol is rather pointless to me.

Warren Zevon — My Shit’s Fucked Up.

So “Mixed Nuts.” I don’t want to be a person who says I’m crazy, because have you noticed something? Most who claim that are just crazily boring. On the other hand though, I’ve got crippling problems such as depression and a wild range of phobias as well as a few ticks — all of them built up one by one in my childhood. Even so, I’m not nuts, just a bit cracked in the shell and that’s fine by me.

Joe Strummer & The Mescaleros — Johnny Appleseed (Live at Action Town Hall)

Snapshot: A friend lay on a the floor during breakfast this Saturday, with a beer in one hand and a pillow in the other — hugging them both to his chest while watching My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic. Never seen anyone happier.

Hardcore Troubadours — Someday.

Opening Credits start. Fade in. There are fields, trees, close by you can see a village. It’s smaller than it seems when judged at a distance due to the church. A road goes through all this but no cars ever stop. Cell phones die, the wind tries remove as much as possible from the ground and village but something pulls everything back again. The air at the edges almost shivers as man stretches out his hand as there’s this gooey forcefield stopping him from reaching the road.

(This is the first of #themesongs. I love Roger Svensson’s singing voice, this goes for his sister’s too. They got insane pipes.)