Listening to: nothing, actually. Hang on - let's see what ultra-fun CDs I have laying around this basement that I haven't played in years.
OK, now playing: Live's "Secret Samadhi", which was the last album they released where they still clung to any semblance of respect and rock. Now, the new album coming out has such heart-wrenching lyrics as:
"I can't go hiding in the house of the dead / I think I'll grow some dreads."
...I think I'll grow some dreads? Oh my sweet lord. And this is the verse that guides the song into the chorus. ED was a good lyricist at first, and I'd say their peak was their unplugged peformance on MTV, after Throwing Copper took off. Besides having one of the most kick-ass air-drumming anthems ever ("White, Discussion"), there is virtually no indication of the spiritual flowerboy that Ed was to keel over and become.
I'm a really optimistic person. Very happy, etc. But listening to any Live album after "Secret Sadmadhi" is like being forced to snort lines of Prozac and washing it down with a cocktail of pure sunshine and diesel fuel while "Walking on Sunshine" blares over and over. Please don't buy Live's "Birds of Prey" when it comes to stores. Why didn't Ed just call it "Birds of Pray" and let the spiritual effect just resonate with his loyal hyperspiritual fanbase?
I'm also a spiritual person, but this entry is sort of making me look cynical, which isn't the case. Just in Live's case. But they won't read this. But you will, loyal readers.
The day was drizzly to start with, but cleared up. Tonight is a lunar eclipse. For all you Colorado friends, look skyward at ~9:40. Godspeed.
Jared