"Casual Thinking" by Man Ray

Man Ray is a band with an identity crisis. They sound like they would have rocked harder and more precisely, had Grunge never existed. But, it did, so they had to "dumb down" their sound and make it "rough around the edges" so it would be more accessible to the general public. This lack of trueness to one's self is evident in many bands of the post-Nirvana '90s. Candlebox is a prime example. They would have sounded like Skid Row, were they honest and courageous and had simply done what came naturally. Unwittingly, these bands paved the way for acts that were genuinely polished yet "rough around the edges" such as Our Lady Peace or Matchbox Twenty. So do we ridicule them for their lack of integrity, or thank them for inventing a new genre? Either way, I didn't really enjoy this record. Thanks mainly to the vocalist and his "lyrics". The lead guitarist has excellent tone, though, and there are some solid, inspired moments, though not enough to genuinely impress me.

"Lost Blues & Other Music" by Palace Music.

Palace Music is evidently the musical brainchild of a certain Will Oldham. This album is a collection of songs he performed with an ever-changing ensemble of friends and musicians. The songs lope along at a dutiful pace, like an old, reliable horse. Will's vocals are charmingly disheveled, yet honest and soulful. Songs of tragedy, love and lots of death adorn this dusty diamond, and as I listened they conjured images of pioneer trails, blue skies dotted with puffy, white clouds and apple trees, leaves blowing lazily in the dry, autumn air. Standout tracks include "Riding", "Little Blue Eyes" and the surprizingly focused "Gulf Shores". This is the kind of stuff I always want to hear at open-mics, but hardly ever get to. Palace Music are in no hurry, and that's a rare treat. For my money, this is about as good as Folk Music gets.

"Fireproof" by That Petrol Emotion.

I didn't particularly like this record, but I can tell it was made by people that definitely know what they're doing. My hat is off to them regarding the nice, thick production. This is a solid, white guy rock album, with few flaws when heard in that context. These guys are confident players, without being flashy. The songwriting and arranging is precise and coherent, in fact they even approach greatness with the track "Heartbeat Mosaic". Overall, it's excellently done, just not my cup of tea.

"They Spent Their Wild Youthful Days in the Glittering World of the Salons" by The Swirlies.

The first Gold Nugget! This album is very good. Creative and accessible, only the slightly tinny production holds it back. Silky vocals adorn the clean soundscapes, intermixed with bursts of chunky dirt. Without coming across as intentionally "indie", the band refuses to be ordinary. It takes guts and talent to achieve this with the seemingly effortless grace they display here. Their dynamics vary greatly, but they never lose sight of the album's common thread: complicated, tight writing inside cunningly likeable songs. There's a theme here that almost every artist under the radar shoots for. Most fall short, but it's because of their impure motives. Witness total honesty: http://music.yahoo.com/track/1157342

"700 Miles" by 700 Miles.

This record sucks. Full of faux emotion and drenched in gravelly vocals, the album is a testament to the '90s' almost complete lack of stylish delivery. Most of the songs were clearly written as acoustic ballads, originally, and then "pumped up" with electric guitars and sort of loud drums. Some people just weren't cut out for writing music, but that's the beauty of grunge. It lets everyone try. Don't buy this. Don't listen to it. If you own it, you're either friends with the "band", or blessed with a poor taste you find no need to rectify. Don't believe me? Exercise your right to masochism here: http://new.music.yahoo.com/videos/--2138547

Everyone's a Critic.

I've recently come to possess a hefty sum of compact discs from a local radio station. They have no cases or booklets. They were, in fact, glued to the walls of the studio as decoration. A friend of my father's was doing some alarm maintainance at the facility, and they asked him to remove the discs. He put them in a big envelope and gave them to me for sifting through. Some of them are covered in dried glue and chips of paint. Some are cracked beyond repair. Some of them, however, are in passable condition, and fit for listening. Most of the albums are from bands I've never heard of, so I've decided to listen to at least one a day (subject to change as I see fit) and give a one paragraph review of each one. Here I go.

The Homicide House.

I've recently moved out of my apartment and into a house. I'm not quite settled yet, but I'm hoping I like the house more with time. I already miss my apartment badly. It was charming and concise with a great view of the port of Tacoma. I loved the neigborhood for the most part, but there was some drug activity nearby at night. All the same, I was on the 5th floor in a corner unit, so I was fairly secluded from anything unsavory. My new house is at the corner of two very busy streets, and the area feels sparse. I moved for a few reasons. 1) I wanted a basement so I could have a music rehearsal space. 2) One of my good friends wanted to move back to the area, so he could be close to his friends. He also wanted a roommate, which leads me to: 3) The rent is nearly half what I was paying at my apartment, due in part to the noisy locale, but mostly because of a triple homicide that happened at the property a few years back.

I'm already having trouble getting back into the give and take of having a roommate again. This especially manifests itself in the area of decor, which is strange. I didn't think it would be a problem, but I've come to realize over the course of the past few days that he is more inclined to arrange things for function, and I, form. This morning, we actually disagreed on which side of a cube shaped ceramic container should be facing outward on the kitchen counter.

Matilda loves the place, though. She has plenty of room to romp around, and more than a few options for soft, cushioned seating to claim at her whim. A happy puppy makes for a less dissatisfied master.

And I am dissatisfied. I've felt ill at ease since the move, and it's hard for me to nail down the reasons why. I know it's more than the house itself, or even it's location (it's directly across the street from my workplace, for crying out loud), but I know there is definitely something wrong. I'm generally cranky, and I'm starting to take it out on my friends. Maybe I want a career, I would certainly like a family of my own, I had my driver's license suspended due to unpaid tickets and almost everything I've ever tried to make payments on has gone to collections and destroyed what little credit I have.

In short, I think I just don't feel like a productive member of society. I feel more like I'm a drain on it, and that's pretty disheartening. But it's not as if the spot I'm in is a result of something that's happened to me, it's due to a lack of action on my part. The tough bit is going to be pulling myself out of my stagnance, and getting it together on my own. That will be difficult, as I'm not even motivated by the society itself, I'm motivated by the idea of being an ideal companion for someone, but I have no prospects to give me the needed impetus. It seems like my only reward for "being productive" is the end result itself, and that is in no way enough to motivate me, nor will it ever be.

There are things in life I enjoy, to be sure, and it's not an issue of self worth. I think I'm fine as a person for the most part, and I'm content with who I am. It just seems like other people don't realize what you're worth unless you're doing something that either interests them, or directly benefits them. I've spent the past 30 years just being me and it's gotten me nowhere. Maybe it's time I started doing something. Maybe not.