• A Playlist for Runners

    25. Apr. 2010, 15:11

    Please note: the music listed here is not on any playlist in my library as of yet, and I change things up all the time. Please feel free to write in and make suggestions if, when, and/o where you see fit. I'll only not include it if it's something I outright hate or if it's something I personally think sucks. I'm not meaning to be nasty, I'm just sayin'. . .

    She's a Knockout
    --if you're a woman and you DON'T think this song is all about you, give it a listen and see if that changes your mind.
    Counting Blue Cars Depressing? A bit. Something that will get you off your butt and moving? Maybe.
    Pain Lies On The Riverside The bass line alone does it for me. How 'bout you?

    Run Chicken Run This one is good for running bleachers. Try and find a good, solid, muddy live version if at all possible.
    Girl Next Door Because everybody wants to punch out the Prom Queen.
    Rumblin' Bass Oh come on! Did you really think I'd exclude my favorite upright bass player? If you like this give Free Bass a whirl too.
    ShineIf you do any sort of physical activity and you DON'T like this song, I'll fuss and tell you there's something wrong with you. . . because I just will!
    Peace SellsThis is another one with a rockin' bass riff. The lyrics are a good way to end a bad day. Fave line: "Whattayamean I don't pay my bills. . . whydaya think I'm broke?"

    The OneYes, it's anothah one, Rodney, and it's totally worth it to hear Mary J say, "Our girl's number one right now."

    Get UpSpiritual and positive
    The God In MeSee above.
    Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' OnSimply because it's Jerry Lee
    Down the LineThe Polecats cover works well, too. If you are in a psychobilly band and you're reading this. . . if you all could please do a mega-fast cover of Down the Line, I'll be an adoring fan forever! The original is great, as is The Polecats cover, but. . .sometimes I just want something a little bit faster.

    I'm open to any suggestions anyone else may have.
  • Hillbilly Deluxe

    9. Apr. 2010, 16:01

    Hey-hey, y'all, it's springtime in Appalachia. If there's anything prettier than spring in the West Virginia mountains, either I haven't seen it, or I ain't livin' right. Yes, I'm still home-sick, but not as bad as I was, since now it has finally warmed up.

    Been listening to a lot of country lately, especially stuff that played a few years ago when I was down in NC. If you ever want to know what it was like for me being a teenager in the late 80s, Brooks & Dunne's "Hillbilly Deluxe" pretty much sums it up, along with that first post I wrote (see "I Don't Come From Nowhere").

    Hillbilly Deluxe

    Cruisin' up and down past the Taste-E-Freeze. . . . especially the one in Mannington, WV. . . . you know. . . the one that didn't SUCK and make you sick every time you ate there. . . . . I can also relate to the whole cops-chasing-us-because-we-were-drinkin'-beers-in-a-movin'-truck thing. I wasn't the one drinkin' but I was drivin'. I didn't know my friend opened the beer, though I had a sneakin' suspicion. Oh well. . . .

    "Hey baby what's your name?" from Skynyrd. OMG. . . .

    When I was in high school, I was a rather irritating good-girl on the surface. I was a teacher's kid, so getting busted at my house was a big deal.

    I had been broken up with by a guy who I had dated for nearly a year and a half. He was my first, my last, and at the time, my everything. He was playing in a crappy metal band that was playing their first gig at our high school. Someone somewhere in their infinite wisdom thought maybe making a DANCE out of the gig would be FUN! Two of my male friends were out in the school parking lot getting sloshed. One of the guys was more than a little -ish-faced. He was hanging out the window of his car, yelling at me and a couple of my friends, trying to get us to "come on in n' warm up shyar onnnnnn m'lap, shuuuuuuuuuugah" and kept asking me what my name was. Now here's why this is hilarious. . . where I'm from is a small town. Where he was from was this same small town. We had been in the same grade and many of the same classrooms together since kindergarten. We'd met. But he kept insisting that he had no earthly idea who the hell I was.

    My friend and I took pictures. I don't know why she had a camera in her purse, but she did. On Monday, at school, as soon as I saw him, I threw my arms around him and said, "Hey, baby, wha'ssssshhhhyer naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaame!"

    "Holy shit! Git offa me!"

    OK, so maybe it's only funny to me.

    Long story short. . . .thank you, Brooks & Dunne, for making me feel normal, after what feels like an eternity as the lone weirdo in my own famn damily.....

    What's Your Name
  • Southern Comfort

    22. Nov. 2009, 22:12

    Yes, I realize I have a bad habit of writing about my own playlists. This is not an explanation, so much as it is something I just have to get out there.

    I'm homesick.

    My parents live 4 1/2 hours from here, as does my brother and his family, which includes my two gorgeous nieces.

    It's Thanksgiving here this week. I cannot get away due to work obligations and some stuff I'm going through personally. I have listened to John Anderson's "Seminole Wind" and Alan Jackson's "Midnight in Montgomery" so much I can't get the free ones anymore, so I'm gonna have to break bad with the plastic, which I already need to break bad with to get myself some fresh ink slung on my ugly ol' hide.

    But anyways. . . .

    A lot of the stuff on "Southern Comfort" is stuff I haven't heard in ages, or it's stuff I listened to back in the early 90s, when I was still in college and working at a local restaurant. The owners were a local, no-nonsense, no-bullshit, deeply Southern, church-going couple named Kenny and Ruth, and Kenny's sister, Alice, made the world's best pies. Don't tell me about how your mother is a wonderful pie-baker. My grandmother was also a wonderful pie-baker, as is my mother. Even my mom will tell you, Alice's pies were the best pies ever, hands-down. Ruth used to come back into the kitchen when all of us "young'uns" were working, and she's say, "C'mere, babe, an' lemme show ye how y'orta cut dis hyar piiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii." So here's how Ruth did it:

    One large cut down the middle, one large cut across, and ONE (yes just ONE) cut diagonally. If Ruth caught you cutting another diagonal, she'd threaten to fire you.

    The second summer I worked there was the year Billy Ray Cyrus's "Achy Breaky Heart" debuted. I hated that song. I still hate that song. That was also the year Kenny and Ruth updated their juke box in the dining room. We had always played old Hank, Hank, Jr., and lots of older country with a little bit of Elvis and Gene Vincent thrown in, but that was the summer Kenny decided to give ol' Billy Ray a "listen-at," to put it in local terms. He also had "Seminole Wind," "Midnight in Montgomery," and a funnier, less popular Billy Ray song added in there, "Where'm I Gonna Live (When I Get Home)". We also had to put up with the likes of Shania Twain, and Jennifer and Melanie and Bessie and I all demanded more Dolly Parton. DEMANDED more Dolly.

    Everyone was scared to death of Ruth but me. I adored Ruth. Ruth wore her hair in this old, high, 50s style dyed-jet-black bee-hive, wore bright red lipstick that stained all our cups, and played Bingo. She won a lot, too. She smoked unfliltered Camels, just like her husband Kenny, and was known for saying, when people would question or scoff at her smoking habit, "Smoke and drink and carousin' ain't what'll kill ye. Hit's livin' what's dun 't."

    She's right.
  • Spooky Playlist---EXPLAINED!!!!!

    20. Okt. 2009, 18:21


    I've always loved Halloween. Even when I was small, I loved it---the candy, the candy corn, those crazy wax lips with the gooey stuff in them and the vampire teeth, the way the air smelled like wood smoke and dead leaves---all of it, forever!

    Horror movies and scary stories don't bother me (much), and I love giving out candy to all the kids in my neighborhood (MY FAVORITE PART!).

    I even lived in a haunted apartment when I was in college. Most of the time, it didn't bother me. Sometimes, though, it felt like we were being watched. Our little ghost also was quite the magpie, favoring our jewelry and keys. Stuff always found it's way to the refrigerator, whether it was food or not. That was our little ghost. That was where he liked to put stuff.

    We knew it was a little boy because the former tennants knew about him. They were the ones who told us about him.

    Back in the 1920s, a young family had lived in the building, which used to house several families. The building also used to be three stories, rather than its current two. The third floor was condemned when our landlord bought the building in the 1970s, so he tore the third floor down, rather than refurbish and try to save it. There's a stair case in that building that leads straight to a ceiling.

    But back to our ghost.

    The young family consisted of a man, his wife, and a little boy. Money was tight, the man was out of work, and he took it out on his kid. He beat and choked the boy one day, and locked him in a closet, where he later starved to death and died. The former tennants had problems with jewelry disappearing, as well as textbooks with shiny covers ending up in strange places, like under their bathroom scale and inside the oven.

    Our ghost seemed especially active around any holidays where we decorated with flashing lights or shiny objects. He hated big crowds (he was noted for cutting lights off in the middle of parties, so the rule was no more parties at our place) and hated when people fought or shouted (he would flicker the lights and throw small objects around the room). When we would play music, though, he wouldn't do much.

    I made this slightly spooky playlist in honor of a little boy who died too soon, but who always had a good time in the afterworld for Halloween because of me and my friends.
  • I Don't Come from Nowhere--A Brief Introduction

    16. Okt. 2009, 15:35

    I Don't Come From Nowhere

    For those of you who have just befriended me--hi. For those of you who aren't friends yet, but are curious and sometimes bother to read these things--hi. Why aren't we hangin' out, btw?

    So anyways, here's a bit about me, in case you're wondering---That song up there, by The Quakes, is kind of the story of my life right now. I mean, it's kind of been the story of my life, but Mr. Mike Ness has nothing to do with it. Yes, it's another music reference. No, I'm not linking up the track. . . . ok, you talked me into it:

    Story Of My Life

    Folks, I just have some stuff to get off my chest. I know this isn't a blog. But in a way it is. But in another way it's not. . .

    So here goes.

    I come from a small place you've never heard of, in a state nobody cares about unless they are Jamie Oliver and they're trying to get us to eat better. Becasue of this, I came over here a damn-near music virgin. . . but I"m not. My parents are musicians. My brother is a musician. I play sax, flute, I know maybe 4 guitar chords, and I sing. Loudly. On purpose. Except for when I'm trying to do it right. I also dance. TO EVERYTHING.

    Where I come from, all you got was Top 40---whether it was pop, metal, or country, you only got the popular stuff. When my brother and I were teenagers, we used to cruise over to nearby university and college towns in my dad's old truck, which only got AM stations. At that time--around '85 or so--the local college radios could only hit frequencies on AM stations because their equipment was so pathetically out-of-date. But we got exposed to a lot of interesting stuff that way. We also got a lot of interesting stuff from our father, who is the original God of I-Listen-To-Everything-Style. He hates punk, but he listens to Nine Inch Nails. He hates Latin, but has a couple of Tito Puente albums, and loves Santana. He couldn't stand disco, but bought me a copy of the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack on vinyl. Does white polyester make me shudder? Whatta you think?

    By the time I was old enough to drive, my brother and our friends and I started hitting up the local chain store bargain bins, because we had no record shop in town. If you wanted that, you had to go to a mall. The closest one was over an hour away, and we had to beg our parents to let us borrow the car. If we couldn't scrape up gas money on our own and ring it back with a full tank, we couldn't go. I know--brutal, indeed. We found a lot of cool stuff in those bargain bins. It's how we discovered Gene Vincent, Eddie Cochran, and found some old Stray Cats albums on cassette that had gotten destroyed by an evil tape deck. We also discovered The Dharma Bums, Social Distortion, The Sex Pistols, The Cult, and tons of weird indie English bands that we didn't otherwise get access to.

    Long story short. . . I've been here awhile. I've been listening for a bit. My taste is all over the place. Just had to get this outta my system. Thanks for listening, anyway.