Only Finest Musick

Well, here we go again.  Frankhord has put out a new album (Only Finest Musick) and you want to know what it sounds like... at least, that's what my editors think.  The latest effort by this San Francisco outfit is pretty much what you'd expect-- no frills, plain Jane rock 'n' roll.

That's not to say these boys are boring, though.  Only Finest Musick is a "fun" album, and a nice break from the over-pretentious, self-important, self-crowned philosopher-musicians of today.  As we've heard the members of the band say before in various interviews, Frankhord is based around the idea of simplicity and frankness.  You won't need a dictionary to understand the lyrics, or a degree from Julliard to enjoy this album.  A large portion of the listening public is put off by the lack of flash, though.

We've all heard people complain that Frankhord just replays the past like a glorified cover band that ad-libs a few verses here an there.  But I disagree.  I think what we have here is more than a replay of the what we've heard before.  Where Frankhord excels is taking that common musical inheritance we all share, and living that in the present.  Not just transcribing the rhythms and chords of the past, but bringing back to life the musicians and styles that have gone before and letting them see and sing about what we're living in now.

I'm not the only one who understands what these boys are up to, as they seem to have a very loyal following.  Sure, they might wind up playing some smaller venues, but they always fill any venue they play.  Of course, the conspiracy theorists have all kinds of claims about what goes on at Frankhord's shows (I doubt they're true, but since the shows are so secretive I can't exactly refute them), and, of course, will hear something hateful or evil back-masked into the tracks of anything the band releases...

A Trip to Bogulaw's

I'd never been to Boguslaw's before, but it came highly recommended.  Just a little hole-in-the-wall place in the wrong part of town (well, I guess that depends on your point of view).  Most of the street lights were out and the stench of long-past-pick-up trash hit me as I walked down the path of jutting concrete that once was sidewalk.

Most of the buildings around look like they haven't been used in some time.  Funny that we'll yell at a dog for digging hole after hole in a yard that he'l never fil back in, but we'll keep building and leave what came before to crumble into ruins.  Just keep on building.  It's pretty amazing we haven't run out of space yet.

I bet that over there was some shopkeeper's pride and joy.  I can just see him sweeping every now ill-defined corner, polishing every now rusting fixture, and wiping every now broken w--

What's that?

Aw, I'm just hearing things, I think... can't be too careful though.  This is the type of neighborhood that the National Guard wouldn't dare walk through at high noon.  Then again, that's probably an exaggeration.  Still, the empty hulks of buildings aren't much of a confidence booster.  I wonder how long it would take for someone who would care to find a body out here.  Probably shouldn't be thinking that way, especially walking here with nothing but my thoughtsto keep me company.  Still, never can be too careful.  The shadows do seem to be moving around an awful lot.  I'm just--

"Hey you!"

I'm caught.  No telling what the mind behind that voice has planned for me.  Anything is possible, especially here, now...

"Naw, put your hands down, man.  Just wanted to know if you've got a light."

"Sure, sure, uh, no problem.  I'm just a little jumpy I guess."

"Eh, makes sense.  They've really let this place go downhill.  I remember when it was the newest and brightest... but I'm not gonna tell stories.  Have a good night, bud."

"You too."

Jumpy, ha, what an understatement.  So maybe he's not going to kill me right now, but who knows what else he could have planned.  You know, if certain people knew where I am right now...

Well, no time for caution any more, I'd better hurry up before they lock the doors.  One thing about Boguslaw's, you need to be on time... and... remember the password.  Dang, I knew I forgot something.  I wish someone had come with me, but too big of a group might draw too much attention.  Well, I guess it's now or never.

Looks just like everyone said it would.  If it weren't for the little neon sign hanging out front, I wouldn't have thought anyone was inside.  The weathered plywood exterior bears faded party-goers that probably had their last drink a century back.  I wonder if their kids ever visit...  I knock on the only door and an eye slit slowly slides open.

"Whaddaya want?"

"Well, I heard there's, well, uh..."

"Don't know what you're taking about, we're about to close up shop.  Bartenders gotta sleep, too, ya know."

"Please, brother, I..."

"Whadid you call me?"

"Oh, uh, sorry, I didn't mean anything by it, I just, well..."

"Look, scram, will ya?"

"T-t-two..."  I know it, I HAVE to...

"To where?  Home if you've got one.  To what?  That's your business, pal."

ONE, that's it!  "Uh, Two in One, uh, Three in One."

"Cute, now you're doing math problems..."

"No, not math, the, uh, what's that word again?  Oh, the two natures and one Person of..."

"WHOA, PAL!  Stop right there!  Come on in..."

After about three bolts and a latch come undone, the door opens a crack, letting a sliver of light out.  Guess I remembered it right.  Not sure what awaits on the other side so I take a last breath of safe air.  Only, the air wafting out from inside tastes so much better than what's out here.  Well, here I go.

A new direction...

So, I've decided to take this thing in some sort of direction for a while.  I'm going to devote this to posts from a writing project (not really a book, maybe more of a serial?) I'm working on right now.  If it's like everything else I start, I'll probably give up in short order.  Still, maybe someone can take the premise and run with it.  So I'll start with the next post.

Vengeance Taken for the Fantastic Invasion!

Well, now May is coming to a neat little close.  It's been 2 years since I first moved down here to Little Egypt.  An experience that has helped me to grow, learn, become, etc.  Of course, there's always the sneaking fear that I've gone native.

I've been re-reading parts of Heart of Darkness partially because it feels necessary.  Part of me has forgotten who I used to be, and can't even picture going back there.  I adopted the "journey to the unknown" motif when I first made the move (as evidenced in my early posts), and I think it's now appropriate on a deeper level now.  There's a great line in Conrad's masterwork:  


"But the wilderness found him out early, and had taken vengeance for the fantastic invasion. I think it had whispered to him things about himself which he did not know, things of which he had no conception till he took counsel with this great solitude--and the whisper had proved irresistibly fascinating."

Of course, Marlowe is talking about Kurtz's descent into, by European standards at the very least, madness.  In my case, I'd like to think I'm still hovering within "sane" territory.  (Although it gets harder to tell with each passing day.)  Rather, I think the solitude my move and consequent work schedule have made nearly unbreakable has allowed me to figure out deeper things within myself.

There's no one around to tell me my ideas are stupid or weighty.  There's no real outside judgement on what I think or do, so I have no rules of life except via religion/philosophy.  So I've made efforts to read more of the masters.  Of course, I've flirted with madness, too, but, like I said, I think I'm still a few years from getting committed...

Hope

I feel the need to write, but don't really have much to stay.  Life has ground to a hum-drum doldrum standstill.  Must have picked up an albatross somewhere along my travels.
On the upside (assuming there is one), I get to experience the life of a hermit on my day's off now.  Not many people keep up contact anymore, and I'm sure they've moved on.  I understand, I do.  Some days we want all roses and bluebells, but some days are just dust.  Gritty, grimy dust that blocks out the sun and keeps us trapped indoors.  The dust storm will pass eventually, but, right now, it's hard to believe that.  I guess that's why hope is considered a virtue.  It takes practice and effort to cultivate it.  Until I'm there, I guess I'll bank on faith and love.  They've always helped in the past: they might now, too.

Gone Native

Well, it's been about a year since I dropped an update on here. I've realized I can never keep up blogging, despite the best of intentions. Sometimes there really isn't much to say and I'd rather not waste the Internet's precious time. Still, I'd like to throw out an update about this amazing adventure in God's Country.

In a year, I've done a lot of travel around here and really gotten to like the place. I'll try to get back on with the updates (after I get a newer car and can trip again), but until then know that you're missing all kinds of wonderful by not being down here in Little Egypt.

Sure, I miss being a part of Polonia, but I figure I'm as much a Pole out on my own as I am surrounded by fellow Poles.

Paczek's Cousin

The regional fair has been a great American tradition for sometime now. I remember the Michigan State Fair, and am sad to hear that, after much hemming and hawing (and mismanagement from Jenny), it will cease to be. However, many county fairs will continue on in the Great State of Michigan, the Alright State of Illinois, and around this Great Nation. All of this pontificating aside, the agricultural and celebratory natures of county fairs often attract unique fare, folks, and festivities. A sucker for cultural experiences, and in search of what makes Little Egypt so damn different, I decided to hit up the local Saline County Fair, whose grounds are on the edge of town.

"Tuesday Night: Motocross Racing"

Sounds promising, especially considering the competitors are drawn from the local pool, from kiddie to adult...

The local Lions were parking cars in the field and had set up a display trailer with information on drug use. Apparently that's another one of their things.

I was greeted at the front by a man passing out paper fans from a cardboard box, a.k.a. Southern Baptist Swag. The local radio station had a tent featuring some old-timey singing groups (I think it was country gospel if I'm not mistaken). This is where the polka band would be in a Detroit setup. Only a few folks were there, most of them in the rocking chair age bracket. They seemed to enjoy themselves, though, and, let's face it, the kids today have been tricked into the swing scene, but polka remains hidden from them. Something I am eternally thankful for, though, when I'm not tripping over hipster tweens when Big Daddy comes to town. But I digress.

Wandering through the carnival, I saw rides, carnies, young people, old people, etc. Eventually I wandered into the ribbon barn and saw the various baked goods, vegetables, fruits, paintings, photographs, and carvings the locals had brought to be judged. Apparently, the various prides of Saline County are a major draw for nefarious characters, as an Illinois Terrorism Mobile Command Unit was stationed at the entrance.

Wandering through the crowd, I arrived at the food trailers. HERE is where I saw her!!! I'd heard of her before, even had a few dreams about her, but here she was IN PERSON!!!

On a piece of cardboard were scrawled the words:

FRIED SNICKERS - $3

I'd heard of this before on a few food shows, but never seen it in person, much less eaten one. Now, being the generally frugal person that I am, I hesitated, but, in the end, decided this cultural and culinary exploration was necessary.

It looked a little like a corn dog, then they put it in a paper tray, drizzled it with chocolate syrup and shook powdered sugar over it. Not really crispy, the texture was a little more like goo wrapped in cake (hear it's funnel cake batter). Let me tell you, though, the texture and flavor, combined with the overall unhealthiness of it, make fried Snickers worthy of being called a cousin of the good ole Paczek.

At first, I thought it was a Southern invention (not too far-etched considering the penchant foor fried goods down here), but it seems the craze started in 1980's Scotland (a country similarly notorious for unhealthy dishes) with Mars Bars (kind of like a Milky Way, I read), and spread across the Anglophone world.

Unfortunately, I missed the deep fried gizzards until I'd spent the rest of my cash on a ticket to watch motocross racing. Oh well, that'll be another artery-clogging adventure for another time.