Monday, December 03, 2012

God Save The Queen

Not being British I don't get all clogged up with ambivalence about the Monarchy.

Me?  I love it.  Them.  Particularly Harry.  So it is with great enthusiasm that I heard of the pregnancy of the Duchess of York.  Or Cambridge.  One of those two.  Her first name is Kate, just so we're clear.

Plus, I'm still having good residual vibes about the excellent Olympics the Brits managed to squeeze out of the tube.  Tube in this case being merely a thing out of which one squeezes something -- not the subway.

Moving on:  Many of you know that one of the reasons I listen to music in my studio is to drown out the screams of horror and pain coming through the wall from the pediatric dentist's office next door.  As of moments ago it sounded like they were peeling the children's skin off their extremities.  Or poking them with red-hot irons.  Or both.

In response I turned on the MOG and, on impulse, clicked on Kid Rock's new album.  Unlike the Royals, I do think Kid Rock is an ass, and I never would have listened to one of his albums but for a lengthy piece in the NYTimes about him/it the other day.  He seems to be one of those people who's famous for very little reason.

Amazingly, it's not bad.  One of the things working in its favor is the sorta-rock-a-billy underlay upon which he tries to play mainstream rock music.  I spent a good part of yesterday listening to a band called XXX at Daisy Baker's -- one of the local luxe watering holes.  I type in XXX because, for the life of me, I can't remember the name of the band.  Something like Velvet Brilliantine.  Cupcake Delux.  Something like that.  Anyway, they were playing rockabilly music of the highest order.

Setzeresque.

Brief personal aside:  If I ever started a band I'd call it Los Tomatos.

Back to Kid Rock:  I don't think I'll ever listen to this album again, but I'm not turning it off.

Update:  It's Cambridge.

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