Posts Tagged ‘Ministry’

Today I heard “Ghosbusters” (three times on two stations), “Thriller” (twice), and once each for “Spirits in the Material World,” “The Purple People Eater,” “Monster Mash,” “Season of the Witch,” and “Every Day Is Halloween.” From this sample I deduced that Christmas music is always about Christmas but Halloween music is never about Halloween.

Ray Parker, Jr.’s “Ghostbusters” is about ghosts, sure, but it’s also about as scary as “Y.M.C.A.”

Michael Jackson sets a scary scene in “Thriller,” but it turns out to be a movie on TV. “I can thrill you more than any ghost,” he claims. Uh-huh. As for Vincent Price’s monologue, remember that the root of it is “And whosoever shall be found/Without the soul for getting down/Must stand and face the hounds of hell/And rot inside a corpse’s shell.”

It’s always a mistake to put Vincent Price on your record.

Sting is scary, music by The Police is not.

Sheb Wooley’s Purple People Eater has one eye, one horn, flies, and devours people, but it came to Earth to form a rock ’n’ roll band. The last word in the song is “Tequila.”

In Bobby “Boris” Pickett’s “Monster Mash,” all they wanna do is dance, dance.

Songs with “witch” in the title are usually about a woman who won’t have sex with the singer. God knows what Donovan was getting at in “Season of the Witch.” He threw me with the line “Beatniks are out to make it rich.”

For the boys in Ministry, every day is Halloween because they dress like goths, not because they come to the door asking for candy.

David Bowie’s “Scary Monsters” are actually “super creeps,” Oingo Boingo’s dead men are going to a “Dead Man’s Party” which makes it a descendant of “Monster Mash,” and The Psychedelic Furs’ “The Ghost in You” is a love song, and not to a ghost.

We humans like being scared…in our books and movies. We love haunted houses and Halloween. We love opening the door on another batch of kids dressed as monsters, ninja assassins, witches, Jedis, superheroes, and roller-skating ninja assassin prom queens. But we don’t like being scared in our music. Wagner can be frightening, but that’s because I don’t want to be trapped for weeks in one of his operas.

Unidentified noises in the night, when we’re in bed, scare us. Songs don’t. I don’t know why.

Tonight, my parents opened the same door for trick-or-treaters that they’ve been opening since 1957. There must be adults who got candy from my Mom and Dad back when they were kids and who are now bringing their grandchildren around. And I’m their son. OK, now I’m scared.

 

Robert Louis Stevenson drew a map of an island and was inspired to write Treasure Island. J.R.R. Tolkien wrote about a Hobbit and from there drew a map of Middle-Earth. Many writers start writing after being captivated by a drawing or a photo. Others cut pictures out of magazines to help them visualize their characters or some aspect of their stories. Writing is surprisingly visual.

For my book, I bought 10 irregular sheets of poster board at an art supply store. The biggest is about 2’x3’. I took all the book covers, magazine photos, and old postcards I’d collected with a mountainous, railroady theme and spray-mounted them on these boards. I glued a balsa-wood frame to the back of each to keep them from warping, then hung them on the walls around my corner desk. This way I write while looking at the physical setting my characters are moving through.

I also drew a map of the where the action is, but my illustration skills are stuck in the sixth grade, when I struggled to draw a creditable starship Enterprise. (Still working on that one.) I keep redrawing the map for practice but I’m not getting better at it. I know the look I want and at some point I’m going to hire an actual artist to do it.

Meanwhile, it occurred to be that I could one-up Tolkien and RLS. (Boy, I never thought I’d get to say that.) I love building models. My book is full of trains. Why not build a model of something I’m writing about?

Micro 1

Nature is always trying to come indoors and take over. If you leave your car parked too long, nature will grow under it and eventually over it. Same with trains. Open-top cars left on a siding will eventually support enough wind-blown dirt and weeds to initiate agriculture. I’ve hiked past abandoned bridges that were turning into gardens way up in the middle of the air. Look at what happened to the High Line in New York:

High Line

I thought I was going to have one such bridge in my book, with an abandoned gondola astride it. So I made one. (This was also a way to sneak a garden railroad into my wife’s garden.) The wood came from an old dish drainer. The plants are a type of sedum that’s pretty much indestructible. It all lives outside; I’ll bring it in when winter comes.

Micro 2

I tried to sell these photos to Classic Toy Trains, but for some reason they weren’t enthused about showing their readers how to destroy their classic toy trains. They were very nice about it, though.

Micro 3

After further thought I decided to put this bridge in my second book. At least I’m thinking ahead. For my next construction project, I considered a half-size caboose replica, but I had some doubts I could secure trackage rights for the backyard. Maybe I’ll build that miniature Cape Cod lighthouse after all. It could double as a doghouse.

Today I went to the gym for the first time since the Write-a-thon started, so I’m feeling particularly virtuous this evening. My new mantra is short and intense workouts rather than lengthy and laid-back. Blood, not just contusions.

Random Pick of the Day
Ministry, Filth Pig (1995)
Sometime in the early 1980s I saw The B-52s at Kane Hall at the University of Washington. The opening act was a Seattle band called The Blackouts. It was an unlikely pairing, as The Blackouts were dark and noisy and The B-52s are light and zany. But it’s a rock-concert tradition to pair like with unlike. A tavern here in Portland just had Wicked Sin opening for The Punctuals. I didn’t go. I knew it was wrong.

The Blackouts eventually met a heavy-metal industrialist named Al Jourgensen and under his leadership formed Ministry and became even darker and noiser. Filth Pig is a good example. On this disc, Ministry did everything it could to clear the dance floor. The album name was thought up by a 16-year-old boy with bad skin and no hope of getting laid. The cover art is grotesque. The track listing is unreadable. Most of the songs are as listenable as a space shuttle in need of a new muffler. The singing is not so much singing as it is screaming at Orcs.

But! This album has their cover of “Lay, Lady, Lay” (track 9, since you’ll never decipher the info on the CD). The first time I heard it, I thought it was a joke. I listened a second time because I was looking forward to the laugh, but I didn’t laugh. I just listened. Now I’ve heard it many times and I think it’s beautiful. (Dylan does it again.) “Lay, Lady, Lay,” and tracks 1, 2, and 10 redeem Filth Pig for me.

Random Pan of the Day
Fun Boy Three, Waiting (1982)
The musical equivalent of the plastic garbage floating around in the Pacific Ocean. David Byrne produced this thing, after producing another inept record earlier in the year, The B-52s’ Mesopotamia. But 1982 also saw Talking Heads’ first live album,  the excellent The Name of This Band Is Talking Heads. Strange year for David Byrne…The only FB3 song worth its weight in vinyl is one of their two collaborations with Bananarama, “Really Saying Something,” and in that one they let the girls sing the leads.

I know I said I wasn’t going to do anymore music reviewing while the Write-a-thon was on, but I can’t seem to rein myself in. So many bands to insult, so little time.

 

“Eight Miles High”
Hüsker Dü
1983
The Byrds demonstrate how two of the most popular U.S. radio formats work. You can hear “Eight Miles High” on any Classic Rock station, but not on any Golden Oldies station, because it’s an electrified folk-music drug trip. This is why, for example, Classic Rock plays “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” while Golden Oldies sticks with “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da.” The unspoken motto of Classic Rock is “You’re still kickin’ it.” (Especially if you get to bed by 10.) The unspoken motto of Golden Oldies is “Lower your salt intake.”

Golden Oldies regularly spins The Byrds’ “Mr. Tambourine Man,” which is about a musical device a 4-year-old can play and anyway omits 21% of Dylan’s lyrics, and “Turn! Turn! Turn!,” which is from the Bible so it’s been cleared by God. Classic Rock might play The Byrds’ 16-minute live version of “Eight Miles High” (during the highly competitive 3am slot), but otherwise is done with this band.

Were The Byrds better than The Beau Brummels?
Maybe not, but they deserve more attention than this. It was a happy moment in 1983 when Midwest punk-pop miscreants Hüsker Dü reinterpreted “Eight Miles High.” You might think that Hüsker Dü accepted this project as a joke, like The Dickies’ 1980 cover of The Moody Blues’ “Nights in White Satin” (which contains every note from the original, including the gong at the end, but all of them played three times as fast).

Not so! Hüsker Dü isn’t kidding about this song. Maybe they have fond memories of hearing it while they were in day care. Maybe they have fond memories of hearing it while they were burning down the day care. They love this song so much, they released their version on its own 45 (backed with the lyrical, sensitive “Masochism World”).

Hüsker Dü’s approach to “Eight Miles High” begins in the same neighborhood as the original. They give that about 10 seconds. Trios have repeatedly proven that they can generate plenty of noise. See Nirvana for one example, or, if you must, Grand Funk Railroad. Bob Mould, Grant Hart, and Greg Norton keep on rockin’ you, baby. About halfway through their barrage, after running out of words (easy to do; there are only 78 in the entire song), Mould substitutes screaming. He also gives us two memorable guitar breaks that could easily segue into almost anything by their early rivals, REM, particularly the anti-war “Orange Crush.”

Run-DMSteve, happy at last
Hell yes. This is one of the most thrilling covers I know, ranking right up there with Ministry’s marrow-munching “Lay, Lady, Lay.” But you won’t hear it on Classic Rock, which has an uneasy relationship with punk, beyond a few tracks from The Sex Pistols and The Clash.

You’ll never hear Hüsker Dü on Golden Oldies no matter how long the Boomers or Gen Xers live. Golden Oldies won’t even play music from the 1950s now. If it pre-dates The Beach Boys, it doesn’t exist. (As I’ve always wished The Beach Boys didn’t exist, Golden Oldies might someday give me my wish.)

BTW: Get to bed by 10!