Things That Happen in My Ears

Music seems to be the only thing I'm writing about. Look for a write-up on the next Buddha All-Stars song soon. Also, look for intelligent, real looking and feeling love robots. If you find any, let me know. It really seems like the future isn't happening fast enough. Where's my totally immersive virtual reality? Where's my hover-car? Where's my second class cabin on a passenger liner to Mars? Anyway,

Music seems to be the only thing I'm writing aboot, eh? (I've decided to be canadian for this paragraph) I listened to Double Fantasy today. Most of my solo Lennon listening has come in the form of the boxed set and I hadn't really heard this album before. I had high expectations, but I was a bit leery, as well. I felt the same way going into the theatre to see Hannibal. Silence of the Lambs was a really good movie and I was really hoping the sequel would be good. It wasn't, and like Hannibal, Double Fantasy was a romp in a pig barn with a mass-murdererer. (canadians add an extra -er to all words that end with -erer) Oh god, now I'm picturing Yoko Ono asking me if I'd like some beans and a nice chianti.

Double Fantasy seems to be the only thing I'm writing about. And it really wasn't very good.

Iron and Wine, on the other hand, has pleasantly surprised me. Our Endless Numbered Days is every bit as good as Creek Drank the Cradle. I find that highly sirprising. Call me Sir Tonto Savalas from now on. From the persistent plucking of On Your Wings to the slow sweetness of Passing Afternoon, Mr. Beam gives us another album full of lush beautiful songs.

So, as Thaddius Bartholomew always used to say, "Hey baby, I feel so screwed. The vandals stole my fast car. "