Concrete Lunch

Last Friday we went down to the Sons of Hermann Hall in Deep Ellum to see this band, Horsegirl.

The venue is cool. Read about it with the link. It’s on the very outskirts of Deep Ellum, so you can get in and out without having to deal with too many of the idiots, scumbags, or idiot-scumbags down there. I like that. I love going to see music, but honestly when you go to “entertainment districts” you always see, and sadly sometimes encounter, some fucking dirtbags. I’m just way too old and grumpy to deal with what bullshit very well.

So before I rain praise down upon the main act, I have to say that the Unnamed Opening Act was, in short, dreadful. I mean, really really really really really really bad. I lay most of the blame on the singer. Generally when young people are out doing their thing, performing on stage, chasing their dream, or whatever, I usually support that. I think it’s good. Go for it, I say. Fuck the Man. Fuck your parents who told you not to do it — to go look at a computer screen all day while you contemplate suicide. But occasionally you encounter a young person whose parents told him he was a super special do-no-wrong angel one too many times, and that may have been the case here. My wife said she didn’t like his sorta “menacing” stage persona. As usual, she got it right.

And now to the praise…

Horsegirl was awesome. They were recommended to us by a friend in Virgina who saw them a while back. Three young woman playing some really good stuff – guitar/bass/drums, with a little keyboard here and there. A bit of Sonic Youth, a bit Silversun Pickups, and maybe some others we haven’t quite figured out yet. Really great. It was super good, and very much the sonic antidote to the ear-poisoning we’d gotten from the openers. We went from a 100% bullshit act to a 100% ZERO BULLSHIT BAND.

My wife (you can say that like Borat if you want to, and if you are too young — or old — to know who Borat is then probably stop reading my blog) picked up one of their LPs. We listened to it the next morning. Excellent. Sounded great on the Big Stereo, and she ordered another from them.

It’s Monday night. No TV. Just me, the dog, the cat, chilling, listening to the Wedding Present’s Bizarro. A good way to bring Monday to a close.

A few weeks ago we went to Dead Wax, a record store in downtown Garland. Great store. Very crafted to appeal to people JUST LIKE ME, which is why it is great. We bought a few albums. While we were there they were playing Celebrate Yourself! The Sonic Cathedral Story 2004–2024 (a boxed CD set) in the store. It was really good, but they didn’t have it for sale, so like the good American (consumer) that I am, I ordered it from Amazon.

Been listening to it one disc at a time for a couple of weeks now. It is quite to my liking.

Well, Ozzy is dead.

No one will ask “Which Ozzy?” There’s only one Ozzy that matters, and we all know who he was.

I’ll say right off the bat — I don’t own any of his music at this exact point in time as I write this. There’s a good chance that by tomorrow I will own everything, as my wife may very well rectify the situation. She is a music listener and buyer, so this possible course of events would not surprise me.

I’m pretty sure my intro to Ozzy, via Black Sabbath,  was on KZEW or Q102, local album rock stations here in Dallas during my teen years. I’d guess I probably heard Paranoid or Iron Man first. Can’t imagine it being otherwise.

I think, upon reflecting on it right now this very instant, that Paranoid is one of the best rock songs ever written. Just so good.

That is all.

Rock on.