So there are some hearings going on and some shit with a helicopter happens...

 Good day and welcome to Midnight and other beasts. First time? I won't lie to you and say that we'll be gentle, because we won't. Nothing to fear though... it's only words, right?

We have remained largely dormant through January. A long bitter cold snap. Seasonal Affective Disorder... added to my ever growing list of disorders. At any rate, here we are. Here's hoping that you all have managed to get your new year's off the ground without any major difficulties.

I am particularly afflicted with the melancholy this season as Groundhog Day looms, knowing that the Greater Hilltop Groundhog Day Lasagna Festival is no more. The Confederate Cemetery has new ghosts to join their fold. Alas! Life continues apace...

If an advanced alien civilization were to arrive on this planet they would most certainly descend upon Washington DC. You see, an advanced civilization would spend some time observing from a distance before making their approach. They would no doubt determine that this planet is in dire need of an enema. What better place than our nation's crapitol to insert the tube?

We might have attributed the bizarre midair collision over the Potomac last night to just such an event, but since we've had the whole question of the Jersey drones resolved we'll have to place this theory on the back burner. This is supposedly one of the most tightly secured air spaces in the western hemisphere. How does such a tragedy occur? No surprises, wild theories already abound. Just know this: we are not likely to ever learn what really happened and that whatever the "official" version ends up will be bull shit.

Fingers will be pointed, narratives crafted and short term political capital will be sought by all. What will be lost in all this is the real story. I can't pin down every single detail of the logistics, but I can tell you that this is Harding-Gillooly 2.0. Not them specifically, mind you, but it's the same MO with a lot more firepower. We'd all be fools to neglect the role that the betting markets must play in this. Most are blissfully unaware of just how much money is riding on these figure skating events. It's almost as much as what the Kansas City Chiefs pay annually for their officiating crews. All the money in the world can not make Andy Reid look like anything other than the obese derp that he is. But I digress...

Despite this horrific tragedy there is yet a much uglier spectacle underway in DC: Senate Committee hearings. At least in this case one need not be worried about fatalities, unless counting those which may arise from boredom. That risk is significantly mitigated by the performance of the senior Massachusetts Senator, Fauxcahontas Warren. Though she rarely (if ever) has anything germane to the subject at hand, one can always rely on her to make these events entertaining. This round of hearings is no exception.

The current crop of nominees subjected to her nonsensical screeds seem to be faring reasonably well. And why shouldn't they? Your average eighth grader could run rings around this Dunning-Krueger lifetime achievement recipient. Still, I would offer a suggestion to those who may yet face this juggernaut of mediocrity. It's not actually anything that will contribute to the proceedings in any positive manner, but it is something which needs to be said. At the end of her next pontificating preamble to the supposed "gotcha" at the end the subject ought answer thus:

"Thank you, Senator Serpent Tongue, for that indecipherable word salad. You demonstrate once again, to this committee and the country at large, that you are not only unqualified to inhabit that chair, but also practically any other human endeavor. You are an insufferable cunt and NO ONE here likes you. Really. You should hear the things they say about you behind your back. The only difference between you and a wet lump of shit is that maggots wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole. So kiss my ass and go fuck yourself with a rusty chainsaw. Next question."

Now some of you might say that this answer would not be very constructive. Others (certainly not anyone I would associate with) might say that this would be a severe breach of protocols. Protocols attached to a procedure that is a sham theater are not designed to protect decorum, only to lend legitimacy to the sham. It's a great tragedy that Fauxcahontas never pursued a career in figure skating. The world might be a better place today if she had.

All my heroes are anti-heroes

 For right or wrong they've made him a hero. Historically heroes are the sum of one part feats actually accomplished, and one part reputation. This brew is seasoned with hyperbole and naivete: cream and sugar for your mug of hero worship.

For right or wrong there is another caste of our society that have made him a villain. Villains are likewise the sum of their parts, though they are fashioned of less tangible components. The villain is a projection of their creators' insecurities. The villain they have made is the embodiment of fear and loathing; rumor and envy; vanity and shame.

Heroes and villains are both constructs. They are authenticated by acclamation and we are assured that our heroes are based upon "real people". Most often these are specious claims at best, the same as claiming that something is based upon a true story simply because the tale begins with "subject X was born on X date in city X". Everything that follows this opener may be a steaming pile of horse dung, yet with only these few raw facts the author may claim that the tale is at least based upon a "true" story. In an environment where misinformation and half truths are condemned as a "peril to our democracy", it is rather unsettling to see the number of 1/10, 1/100 and even lesser "truths" which are not only given a pass, but are promoted as legitimate news.

Such is the nature of heroes and villains. and so too is the nature of narratives. One narrative supports the hero trope: the faith that one individual alone may prevail over all that justice might be done. It is a matter of messianic projection, supported in large measure by little more than wishful thinking. A cynic might say that faith is little more than wishful thinking armed with a bit of street cred.

If the hero narrative were a photo then the villain narrative would be it's negative. The villain narrative posits that the subject villain is the sole vehicle of all that is wrong with the world. The villain narrative is Jesus Christ in reverse. Christianity is the ultimate in hero narratives, at least in the western world.

As far as societal foundations go one could do much worse. Imagine a society predicated upon a foundation of the villain narrative. It's not so hard really. For the better part of the past decade that is what the so called elites of our corrupted institutions have continually foisted upon us. In such a society there are no positive founding principles as demonstrated and embodied in the hero/savior figure. Rather than being presented an ideal to emulate. one is instead presented with a scapegoat to blame. This offers only the cause for the ills that one may suffer. It suggests only that anything other than the villain is good, or at least tolerable. This offers no solutions or chance at redemption. I suspect that more than anything this narrative provides a distraction from the deeds of it's authors.

I don't imagine that there are many on the left who frequent these pages, as we frequently provide a perspective that most on the left are incapable of digesting. There are likewise those on the right who are unable to reconcile themselves to certain truths that are uttered here. Nevertheless, this is my attempt to address all of you, left or right and points in between. To those who each either revere or revile him, I say to you that he is but a man. He is neither savior nor demon. Donald Trump is a larger than life figure, to be sure, but that has always been part of his pitch. Both sides have merely amplified something that was already present. Even his most bitter detractors must grudgingly admit that he is one hell of a salesman. They may not be buying it themselves, but there is denying that he has succeeded in selling it.

What is "it"? "It" is the brand. In a society where everything and everyone is for sale there should be a common understanding of what branding means. The brand for years was Trump. He put his name to everything he touched and the name was synonymous with the brand. Then, ten years ago, he decided to re-brand. Not something new, but a reboot: USA Inc. It is a re-branding of the idea of America.

MAGA is the registered trademark of this brand. This has proven to be highly effective as concretely evidenced by two phenomena. The first of these are the red ball caps. As of the day after the election it was reported that there were more than two million of these things on the street. That count is only of those associated with the 2024 campaign. Who really knows how many there are? The other manifestation is seen in the extreme reactions provoked at the mere sight of a MAGA hat, or at the simple utterance of the phrase. For a population conditioned to a persistent villain narrative these "trigger" incidents provide an easy guide to who the real villains are.

Speaking objectively, what is one to make of those who are so easily triggered by the phrase "Make America Great Again"? Which part is it that is most objectionable? Well, let's try deconstructing this methodically.

We begin with the word make. Pretty innocuous on it's own, wouldn't you say? To make a thing. Making love is good. Then there is making war, or making a scene. Those are not so good. On the whole one is hard pressed to find anything inherently offensive in the word make. So it must be a context thing...

Our next word is America. I have a strong suspicion that it is this word which is our leading suspect. America is more than just a word or name of a place.. It is a symbol. Symbols may mean different tings to different people. Symbols are subjective. The only party with any legitimate grievance over the use of the word America are the Vespucci heirs. Are they still getting royalties?

What possible objection is there to the word great? Is it bad to make something great? Again we find ourselves in subjective territory. If one is, to say as an example, making a great error..., that would be cause for some apprehension. The word great is generally regarded as a positive, though there remain those fundamental differences in what constitutes greatness. If history is to serve as any guide one should rightly be concerned at the suggestion of making a nation great. Historically those starting this chant (and with a platform from which to launch it), are actually hawking something that will be great. For them, and usually at the expense of others. Perhaps it is this historical model which arouses such suspicions. It is an underlying fear that what may be great for some is something to be feared by others. There is certainly no sin in being wary or skeptical, but it is unwise to allow one's life to be governed by fear. Especially when that fear is demonstrably irrational.

Maybe the source of this trigger is to be found in the final word of the phrase, the word again. Again suggests a return, a repeat, or... a restoration. So in full context what is presumed is an American greatness. If one is preconditioned to the notion that America is not, and never has been great, then it would be understandable that this phrase would cause some upset. At the very least it is placed up for some debate.

When the narratives surrounding MAGA are spun only as an either/or proposition it is only natural that an oppositional dynamic should be formed. This does not allow room for that middle ground which may simultaneously acknowledge that America has been great, just not in it's current iteration. There are undoubtedly some issues that need to be addressed. Our fundamental disagreements are over which issues are a priority and how these ought to be addressed. These disagreements are at least as old as civilization itself. Probably older.

The villain narrative holds that making America great again is some sort of societal regression; a white, Eurocentric Pax Americana, complete with Ward and June Cleaver, Jim Crow laws and a state ban on contraception. I am going to dispel these notions right here. That is complete bull shit and anyone peddling these lies knows it. It is cheap rhetoric that is divisive by design. As a society we are well past all of these things. Our institutions have been infected by poisons far more insidious than these.

The hero narrative is not without fault. MAGA is composed of a pretty broad spectrum. If viewed as a body of water one might observe a very wide lake, quite deep in some parts, but also having many treacherous shallows along it's shores. With ample navigable waters available there is no good reason to paddle into these snags and nettle infested coves. Just be mindful that they are there.

Those shallow waters are inhabited by creatures who are all too familiar to some of us. They are the slobbering brutes, eyes glazed over in rhapsody, falling to worship at the feet of anything in a uniform. There are also the rah-rah, sis boom bah! crowd, who have somehow convinced themselves that the United States military is completely infallible and is the single best means of demonstrating American values. Some of them arrived at this lake reluctantly, but as one by one their sacred cows were given to the slaughter they were left no other options. These are the bitter clingers. Not Obama's bitter clingers. These cling bitterly to their security blankets of the national security apparatus and a false fiscal security vested in the Federal Reserve. These are fair weather patriots; opportunists who, I'd be willing to bet, would sell their own mothers for a bucket of KFC original.

I'll not deny that some of the caricatures do indeed exist. What I do deny is that these people are representative of the mainstream of the MAGA movement. They are not. And the J6ers are not insurrectionists. They are scapegoats. And that is because a scapegoat is the only fruit that a villain narrative can bear.

Both sides would do well to remember that this no longer about the man. It is about our brand, USA Inc. I'll offer this final word of caution. We are advised that we ought to confront our demons. Our villains. We are also advised against meeting our heroes. I'll say that this is pretty sound advice on both counts.

  

Hell's Chronicles: The Utah Crisis, pt. 3

1800 hours 17 January 2025

Central offices of Hell, Inc.

 "Mr. Newhart, do you have any idea why you are being recruited for this mission?"

"Nnoo... I... I thought this was just another call back for The Big Bang Theory."

"Ha-ha! That's cute. No, I'm afraid this is a little more complicated than that. We're, ah... looking upon the experience of some of your earlier endeavors."

"You...you want me to go back to stand up?"

"Not that far back, Mr. Newhart. We need you to infiltrate the Hyland Hotel in Monticello."

"Indiana?"

"No. Utah."

"U...Utah?"

"Yes. That's what I said."

"You want me to...infiltrate. The Hyland Hotel."

"That's what the mission entails."

"Y-y-you do know that I was not an actual innkeeper, right? I was an actor..."

"And that is all you'll be doing here. Simply playing a part."

"I see. W-won't the guests be suspicious? Seeing as I'm.... well, dead?"

"Shouldn't be a problem. Our research shows that most people up topside thought you were dead before you were actually dead."

"Ouch."

"I know, right? Don't sweat it, Bob. You're new here. Hell has an eternity's worth of opportunities for you. We wanted Thompson for this job, but we couldn't find enough mescaline to close the deal. Here in Hell. Can you believe it?"

"Well, I am new here, so... I, don't know?"

"No matter. Pack light, this shouldn't take long."

"Oh... one thing. Will there be Darrells?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe one?"

"Good. I always hated those assholes."

                                                                                                       

1600 hours MDT, 18 January 2025

Hyland Hotel, Monticello, Utah

Temperature -6F, wind chill -34F

The head of the once-and-future President's security detail returned to the limo. The blinding reflection off the sunlit snow was captured in the lenses of his dark sunglasses, like a pair of fiery orbs glowing in his large, jar-shaped head.

" It checks out, sir. The place is empty. There is only one guy working and he checks out. Since they're so understaffed we'll bring in the luggage."

"That won't be necessary. We won't be here that long." 

The President pulled a Detroit Lions skull cap down over his ears, leaving the tell tale blond tufts of his iconic do peeking out. The reflective safety vest was cinched awkwardly over his heavy overcoat and barely closed across his girth. He trudged determinedly across the crisp snow and hopped briskly up the steps to the entrance, where he was greeted warmly by Mr. Newhart. Mr. Newhart was, of course, operating under the assumed identity of one Darrell Cruikshank. 

"Welcome to the Hyland, Mr. President. I must apologize in advance... we are hard pressed to be as accommodating as would be our standard. I'm, uh... I'm the only one that showed up today."

"Gee. Oh, that's tough, huh? What's your name?"

"Oh! I'm...uh... I'm Darrell. I'll be your concierge during your visit."

"Well let's get inside, huh? It's colder than Pelosi's cooch out here!" The President fished inside of his coat and pulled out two c notes, stuffing them inside of Darrell's breast pocket. "So. Is he here yet?"

"We expect his arrival at any moment, Mr. President. There's a... a bit of a lag with that interdimensional thing."

"I know that. I watch Rick and Morty."

Once inside Darrell/Newhart seated the President next to the roaring hearth and then attended him with a steaming tea service. The President very graciously thanked him and then noted something.

"Say Darrell... you look like, very familiar by the way, you look like you've been doing this a while. How'd you like a job at one of my hotels?"

"Sir, I... uh..."

"You worked at the Four Seasons! That's where I've seen you before!"

"No sir, I never was at the Four Seasons."

"Really? Well, I suppose everyone has a twin somewhere, right?"

"Yes, I suppose. Some people say I look like Bob Newhart."

"Do they? Huh! I don't see it."

Suddenly at the other end of the hearth there came a crackling sound with sudden sparks that appeared out of thin air. The room was filled with the strong scent of ozone, followed by a peculiar popping sound like the seal breaking on vacuumed packaging. In the next instant the Devil appeared in that space.

"Ah, Donald! You came!"

"Hello Reggie. Good to see you again. How are things in the underworld these days?"

"Still bursting at the seams. Nice vest! Will you be wearing that to the inauguration?"

"Maybe. We'll see. So... Reggie. Don't want to waste your time...."

"I appreciate that. We both have more pressing matters to attend to. Where are we on this whole Utah thing?"

"Ah-ah-ah...we'll come to that in a moment, Reggie. We've got something else on the table now....that big, yuuge table... really beautiful table, I can tell you... pretty sure you're going to like it. Anyway... there's this other thing I want to address first. Norm Eisen. One of yours?"

"Why yes, he is. What about him?"

"Okay. I thought so. Any chance you want to take him back?"

The Devil's brow furrowed at this. He pondered for only a moment, then he was certain that he did not. Hell, Inc. was striving to cull the herd of lawyers already in their charge.

"No, Donald. I'm afraid we don't have any use for him. Surely this is something you could, uh... take care of?"

"Well, we could, but... it's bad optics."

"Ah. I see. Well, I might be able to do something for you. One moment...". The Devil took out his smart phone and deftly tapped out a number with the tip of one talon. He put the phone to his ear and awaited a response, which did not take long. "Ah! Hemingway! Good, you're in. Need you to take care of something for me, if you would be so kind. Please reach out to our disposal contractors in the Northern Virginia chapter, would you? Yes, that's right. Yes, he's here. Mm-hmm.... okay. Tell them we have a priority assignment. Norm Eisen. No, not the dentist. The other one. That's right. Very good! Thank you Hemingway! Yes. Yes. Tell them I'll be back in time for the Bills game. Alright then. Goodbye!"

The Devil concluded his call and turned to the President. "Done! Very professional, reliable team. They are most thorough and never leave a trace."

"Really? Are they available for... other work?"

"Why of course! You know them. The Hell's Angels?"

"Those are your guys... huh."

"Well, most of them are. There are a few posers out there, but yes. I thought you knew."

"Well... I'm pretty sure most of them voted for me, so..."

"Indeed. Now. What about Utah?"

"Yeeahh...so, Utah's good, but... think a little bigger, Reggie. Remember I said we had something..."

"Yeah, yeah... big beautiful table, I got that. What are we talking here? Don't jerk me around..."

"No jerk! No jerk... nobody is jerking around. Listen...what about an area ten times the space, more remote... you're really going to love it. It's a big, big spa... it's really yuge, this space is... you really won't believe how big this place is..."

"Try me."

"Greenland, Reggie! Think about it, huh? You can't drive there... it's only plane or ship. And most of it is under ice."

"Is this supposed to be some kind of Hell freezing over joke? I don't think it's funny, Donald. Don't insult me!"

"Would I do that, Reggie? Huh? It's no joke. It's way more room and... look, who is going to go snooping around up there? It's cold as Hell, pardon the expression. It's even colder than here!"

The Devil curbed his ire and took a moment to consider this offer. In truth it did make more sense. It wasn't as though the Danes had done anything useful with it. And, to be sure, there was quite limited access. He was warming to the idea by the second.

"So we'd have the entire island?"

"Well... how about 70%?"

"80."

"75%, final offer."

The Devil knew he was dealing with one of the best negotiators ever. At 75% he would still have an area eight times larger than what they had budgeted for. He could have done much worse. There seemed little point to carrying on this charade any longer.

"I can live with that. We have a deal then?"

"We have a deal! It's an art form, you know. I wrote a book about it... very, very popular book, by the way..."

"I know. I still have your signed copy."

"Great! Okay, you got anything else?"

"No, Mr. President. I think we're done here. Oh...there is one more thing. What should we do with the, uh... phantom voters?"

"Whatever you want Reggie. Really... I don't care. We have a lot of work to do and I've only got four more years, right? I gotta get all these things done and make sure Lukey Numbnuts doesn't fuck it all up after I've gone."

"Consider it done! Always a pleasure doing business with you, Donald."

  

Sad

Sad is a word commonly associated with tragedies. It is seldom that one finds those who, at least admittedly, will celebrate a tragedy. Tragedies come in many shapes, forms and in varying degrees. It is true that while tragedies  may come as a blow to many, they may also fall as a boon to others. Like anything else they may at once mean different things to different parties. It always comes down to whose ox is getting gored.

The tragedy that is of the most soul crushing variety is that which, upon review of the facts in evidence, proves to have been entirely preventable. The circumstances need not even rise to the threshold of entirely preventable. It is true even when it can be shown that the harm from the tragedy could have quite easily been substantially mitigated in degree. Monday morning quarterbacking is very annoying to a lot of people, yet only a fool would deny it when it is proven to be correct. The current tragedy unfolding in Los Angeles conforms to all of these.

In keeping with our title I will now catalogue a list of just some of the sad things we're all witnessing now.

The look in the eyes of the animals that have been living in LA County. All of them. The owls; the cougars; the many species of rodents; all of those wild animals in their native habitat. Already hard pressed to adapt this habitat to the human incursions upon it, these creatures now find every bit of it swept away. Sadly these beasts have no capacity for the irony that this fate should befall them in what is ostensibly the most "environmentally friendly" state in the nation.

Then there are the thousands of domestic animals. I'm sure that the cats will be fine, as they are at any time only a half step removed from feral, but then there are all of those hounds. There are large numbers of these dogs who already suffer for their owners' capricious bastardization of the canine species to suit their own vanity. These breeds owe their very existence to humans because they are contrary to the natural order. My apologies to the sensitivities of Dachshund lovers (I know more than a few), but the truth is that without human sponsorship this is a breed that would have been naturally selected into extinction centuries ago. Even among the heartier breeds the fate of these dogs is inextricably tied to their human masters. Without the benefit of speech the looks in the eyes of these poor brutes speaks more to the depths of this tragedy than may be told in any thousands of articles about it.

Moving on up the food chain we now arrive at the domestic servant class. These are the people who live and work in LA County. They live in LA County, but they work in communities like the Palisades, Malibu or Brentwood. Places where there is enough money to sustain their existence, but not enough money to permit them admission. There are housekeepers; groundskeepers; gardeners; chauffeurs and valets. The sources of their livelihood have been erased. It is not just individuals, but also countless numbers of small businesses in the home services sector. No more need for painters, roofers or lawn care companies. Very sad. What are these people to do? I would not suggest that the regimes in LA County or the state of California either one give a rat's ass for the fate of small businesses, because quite clearly they do not. There might be some glimmer of concern for their lost tax revenues off of that labor, but little more. 

Then there is that sometimes forgotten servant class: the County and Municipal employees. I will admit that my first reflex is to regard this group with utter contempt. That would be true anywhere one goes in this country, but in few places would this be more true than LA County. I'm not referring to the high priced administrators, that will come later.

County and Municipal employees encompass many categories. The most familiar are of course Police and Fire services. For the time being there is plenty of work for these folks. One hopes that among those police services there will be a thorough and untainted investigation into the origin of these fires. I suspect these hopes to be in vain, but we should hope nonetheless. As for the firefighters? They are currently living that universal civil servant's creed: we the willing, led by the unqualified, do hereby set forth to do the impossible with nothing. Godspeed to them all.

Then there are all of the other service divisions. Child Protective Services; building inspectors; code enforcement officers (quite lucrative); the erstwhile field crews of the LA Department of Water and Power. Don't forget the Health Department! Think of all their great work and sacrifice during the "pandemic". The heavy handed administrative state of California is such that they probably have departments I can not even imagine, most of those probably redundant. We'll only touch upon a few here.

One may reasonably assume that all of these operate under the "protections" of some public sector employees union. The rules are such in California that they may not operate otherwise. For many of those divisions the wildfires are but a temporary disruption of their normal work days. It will only be a matter of some months before they resume the jobs that they all do so w.... uh, the jobs they do. Of course there wont be any interruption in their paychecks. The taxpayers have that covered. Which is kind of sad when you think about it. I think all of them should be pressed into service to aid the Fire Department and the clean up efforts. You want paid? Earn it! Screw your union.

Continuing our climb up that food chain we now arrive at the merchant/entrepreneur class. Many of us outside of California may picture the affected communities as being inhabited only by the idle rich. While this may be true in some instances it is hardly universal. Despite California's exceedingly hostile posture towards the entrepreneur, there are still those who operate small businesses in these communities. There were restaurants and hair salons. Pool service companies. Auto repair centers. These too have been reduced to ashes. What you won't find sifting through those ashes? The lives that their owners poured into them. There may even have been some insurance agent offices. I wouldn't want to be you right now. In fact, if you haven't already left I'd get moving. And don't look back.

Now we're brushing against that simultaneously revered and reviled 1%. Not quite there, for we must yet consider the professional class. The lawyers, doctors and academics. In LA one must include the actors, agents and producers... anyone within the orbit of Hollywood. It is a tragedy for anyone to be suddenly confronted with such devastating and humbling loss. It is indeed a sad occasion. It is equally sad; no, indeed more sad that schadenfreude is such an intoxicating brew. Many in this category of victims have contributed greatly to it's fermentation. Many of these people have used their platform of fame and bestowed credibility to preach to all of us uncultured rubes on matters of social justice, climate change and environmentalism. They have offered their full throated endorsement of candidates and policies that embrace these agendas. It was perfectly fine for all of us to suffer under this folly. Now that you find yourselves reaping the bitter harvest of all this lunacy it is suddenly different. For right or wrong one thing is true. We don't feel sorry for you. And that is the part that is really sad. We have been reduced to this.

It's often better down under

 It's 2025!? WTF man... when did that happen? Oh!... right, I remember now. Welcome to Midnight and other beasts. First time? It's not too late. You can still turn back. I didn't and... well, you know. 

Alright then. You were warned. Anything that happens after this is on YOU. Today we're going to do something different. New year, new shit. Right? We're going to explore some music, albeit through a series of Screwtube videos, but with a theme. As the title implies we're going to visit our Anglospheric cousins down under. Aussie or Kiwi. Sorry, you all sound the same to us.

Without further ado, we'll begin with yer average Sheila next door...

Well, despite her notable respiratory challenges this lady is clear voiced and pretty handy with a guitar. A pretty fair backing band too, I'd say. These videos are sourced from Courtney's own page and you will find links therein for her site. If you're already a fan that's great! If you like what you heard here I'd encourage you to explore more of her music.

In today's fractured musical landscape Courtney is not a household name, but certainly not unknown. I'll hope that somewhere in this audience there is a newbie who will say, "Yeah, I like that." In terms of the rock or alternative genre she is a relatively contemporary artist. Now we're going to dig a little further back in the vault...

No! Not AC/DC. Not even INXS... no alphabet soup for you! While AC/DC was still riding high on Back in Black and INXS burst upon the stage in those early MTV years...

Kiwis

The Luddite Memorial analogue gang

Lo-fidelity guerrillas to their enemies

Their societal apex the seventies

Escaped to the ends of the earth

Where anything could happen

but we're assured that

Nothing's going to happen

Hand me down sofas

we sat on the floor

A young lad could afford a flat

and a Saturday case of ale

then play Sundays by rubbish heaps

and watch time go by

Both from 1981 folks. You probably didn't hear it here in the states. The Clean is on Flying Nun records (see link with the vid). Tall Dwarfs are also on Flying Nun, although one will not find this video on the label. This is an early self produced project from Mr.'s Knox and Bathgate and a very clever little bit it is. They are the Schroedinger's book ends of the New Zealand alternative scene. Anything can happen, but nothing's gonna. I can live with that. In fact... we'll all just have to, won't we?

Back in the waning years of the twentieth century the band Semisonic had a hit with their song Closing Time. The song was a wistful yet gentle treatment of those awkward hours of the single life. Tall Dwarfs brushed against this hour in Nothing's going to happen with their phrase, "heading in the general direction of anywhere but home". I'm here to tell you that Semisonic was wasting their time. Chris Knox told this tale fifteen years before in a poignant little ode, All of my hollowness to you

So sentimental. You really have to admire the honest man. Even when he's somewhat manic.

Maybe you heard an old favorite. Or maybe it's new to you. This is a bit experimental and perhaps better presented in some other fashion. We may explore some more themes in future. Provided that we do not hear from anyone something like, "Dude! That was complete rubbish! My eyes and ears are both bleeding now!", then I'd say we probably will. Even then we might still.

Thanks for visiting. We'll be back with some other... stuff... sometime. Off to do a bit of Avant Gardening of my own.

T