You can tell it was a good New Year's party...

When this is what you wake up to in the morning.



I know that it’s true
It’s gonna be a good year...

"I'm pretty sure I can now die happy." -- An Evening With My Morning Jacket

It's funny how things turn out sometimes. When I was preparing for law school, I knew I'd miss out on certain things due to time commitments and so on. On the other hand, I wasn't going to miss out on seeing My Morning Jacket live once again. If you don't understand the grave nature of this matter, I recommend you click the My Morning Jacket tag on this post, or let this link here do all that work for you.

I originally cursed the scheduling mastermind behind MMJ's recent tour, who once again put the Oregon date during a time that I would be in school. At least this time they had the courtesy to schedule a show in the middle of the semester, instead of the day after I fly back east. Makes the pain a little easier to swallow. So, knowing that I was going to miss out on that date, I put thoughts of seeing MMJ live on the backburner. Well that was the case until I got a case of "No beer and no TV make Nic Ouzo go something something" during my first week in school, and that prompted me to consult the schedule once again. Damn, no New York dates, except one for New Year's Eve. But...I see a date in Boston. That should be manageable, I've done that trip before. And it's on a Saturday? Fuck, the second I realized this I was on the Ticketmaster website purchasing a ticket at 3 in the morning, details of my travel to be determined at a later date. Hell, I was only semi-coherently angry in seeing my 31 dollar ticket run me over 50 dollars in service fees--I was set to see My Morning Jacket!



A five hour bus ride (thanks NYC weekend getaway traffic!), one night without air-conditioning, and two subway rides later, I hit the Bank of America Pavilion and prepared myself for the evening. MMJ fans had swarmed the Silver Line earlier, packing the bus to the gills (which I guess is what you can call that expandable-rubber joint that extra-long buses have), and the excitement was palpable. We all knew the reputation and all probably watched Okonokos dozens of times, so we realized we were in for something special. The setting looked like it would help--an outdoor amphitheater with the benefit of a giant tent to keep out the elements, a kind of modern circus that befits a band that writes a tune like "Into the Woods".

I was wondering who the opening band was going to be, but with the instruments set up with the trademark Bear in place, I quickly realized that we were not going to mess with a middleman opening act, which was great news--we need all the My Morning Jacket we can get. It also made me glad that I decided to get to the show early, and not gamble on missing the opening act. We didn't have to wait long as the band climbed up on stage and then launched into "Mahgeetah". It's not often that bands have a song that works equally as well as a closer (as it was on Okonokos) as it does an opener (like on It Still Moves), and it didn't take long for the audience to begin to feel the magic as the song evolved and wrapped its warmness around us. How can you not love a song about a man's devotion to his six string (say the song title slowly)...?


The band then kicked into gear with the raucous "Anytime", the happiest goddamn song you'll ever hear about a breakup, with a good helping of the crowd singing along, especially to the part "But what Madonna said really helped--she said, 'Boy, you better learn to express yourself!'", hilariously enough. You follow that up with the slinky "Off the Record" featuring a ripping solo courtesy of Jim James, and you're well on your way to a fantastic show.

After that, we began to hear the new material, beginning with "Evil Urges", and give the audience an idea of how this strange album would play out live. I have mixed emotions about the album, which will probably be hashed out in more detail at a later date, but hearing them live both calmed me and made me realize my worst fears. You get the feeling of fun that is definitely present, but, like a lot of MMJ's work, they straddle the line of good and cheesy a little too much on a lot of the new material. You get the feeling with a song like "I'm Amazed" that the Brosephs identify with it a little too much, and sure enough, you look in the crowd and see your fair share of Broseph (Boston variety, to top it off) looking like idiots dancing along to it. But you know what, I was going to wrestle with that dilemma another night. I had too much great music to listen to.


New material dominated the night, with nearly the entirety of Evil Urges being showcased (though Joe will be disappointed that unlike most shows on this tour, "Librarian" did not make an appearance (and on a sidenote, how come in all the talk about Skinemax-librarian-type Sarah Palin did I not see one comment quoting that song? I'm disappointed in you, internet commentators for that egregious oversight)). Z rightfully got its due, but most of the earlier stuff was ignored. I had gotten a little obsessed with "Lowdown" lately, and sadly it hadn't come up much on this tour--neither had "At Dawn", "Xmas Curtain", "I Think I'm Going To Hell", "Bermuda Highway", or "The Bear". Then again, what I thought at the time were a couple of covers turned out to be songs from the first two albums. With the small applause reserved for those songs (and for "The Way That He Sings", which is inexcusable), you can see how a band that got its big break about 4 albums in wouldn't necessarily feel like delving into the back catalog.

The band was in top form that night, and it felt like they were really feeling the energy of the crowd. Of course, MMJ is a true group of professionals, and who knows if it was merely a routine effort from extraordinary musicians, but they seemed especially keyed in that night, remarking how riled up we were even with the shitty weather rolling in (Hurricane Hanna's outer edges were hitting New England, and leaving the show we felt the brunt of that). Jim was flying across the stage doing his solos, Carl played some blistering leads, and Two-Tone Tommy was holding down the fort at the low-end. It was tough to see Bo, but the underrated member of the quintet had his moments to shine, and the crowd recognized it, while Patrick was his usual goofy self, with his theatrics during "Run Thru" greatly appreciated by the audience. Jim's passion was running especially high that night, and to see him doing his theatrical act with his cloak, or shaking himself to the floor as he sang those unearthly high notes in "Wordless Chorus" was truly a spectacle.

Unquestionably though, there was one true highlight, and both Joe and Mr. Zhuang know what I'm talking about. I've been able to make dozens of people converts (at a 100% success rate) to the religion that is My Morning Jacket by playing just a few of their songs--I start off with "Off the Record", and they think that's pretty cool, then show "One Big Holiday", and they start to feel it, then it's "Dondante", where they get some chills. But there is one song that tops them all, and that's "Lay Low". It's six minutes that make you believe in the full weight of Vonnegut's quote that "The only proof he ever needed of the existence of God was the existence of music", and as my colleagues will affirm, that is no hyperbole. Sure, the first three minutes of it is pretty groovy riff-rock, and you know it might just play well with the ladies--lay low, if the feel is right, I got all that I want in you tonight, and we'll pass out on the bedroom floor after going full-tilt so long--but once the outro kicks in, all bets are off. You have guitars cycling in and out playing various melodies, lining up with the full band after a few bars in moments that are absolutely transcendent.



And that's how we get the title quote--once "Lay Low" was played, I sent a text message cross country to Joe and Zhuangy saying exactly that. All Joe could say was "Shit", with Mr. Zhuang responding with "I think you are right. Lucky Bastard." Of course, for My Morning Jacket, it's no big thing. Lay Low never ends the show, they just roll right into the next song. That's just how they roll.

Season's Greetings from Joe Reefer

WDR May Cause Obesity, but We Didn't Cause Thanksgiving

You can blame the Indians for that.


It's that time of the year again, folks. Halloween's over, and sloooooow down there Wal-Mart, it's not Christmas yet. No, seriously. Knock it the fuck off. If Santa isn't squeezing his fat ass down my chimney for over a month then you need to get that shit out of the stores. Look at me when I'm talking to you. MY FACE IS UP HERE, WAL-MART. UP HERE.

Well, now that we have that unpleasantness out of the way, on to the festivities! I'm sure you all noticed that today was Thanksgiving. If you didn't, well then you're either a god damned communist and you need to get the hell out of my country, or you're a Native American and again, I am so.. so sorry. But regardless of any of these scenarios, chances are that you got to stuff your face today. Hell, I'm over 7 hours from even friends, and roughly twice that from family, and I still managed to force twice my daily intake down my throat (and digest most of it).

This year, I did something a little different with my Thanksgiving fare though. Usually I'm a traditionalist here: Turkey, gravy, cranberries, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie. Delicious. There's nothing more American than that combination of food, even though Americans eat it at most twice a year. There was just something different about this year. I can't put my finger on it. Maybe it's not having anyone I associate with close enough for actual human interaction, maybe it's my roommate having left without driving me to the grocery store, maybe it's that my apartment building vaguely reminds me of a mental hospital, or maybe it's just that I'm one lazy son of a bitch. The point here is... wait, what was I talking about? Oh right, Thanksgiving feasts.

My fine feast this year was a bit unorthodox, but I recommend it to anyone who's just not feeling up to holiday pressure... or has decided to commit suicide the hard way. The meal came in four courses:

1. Macaroni Salad

I don't really know how I ended up with this stuff. Some combination of only being able to buy what I could carry and my hatred of shopping alone led to me walking out of the store with this classic. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Macaroni Salad is twice as delicious as the putrid vomit it looks like.



2. Canned Soup

My roommate's strange obsession with buying canned soup (and I say "buying" because he picks up at least three cans every time we shop, but I have never seen him eat a single one). Either way, it was lying around so I tossed one in the microwave and gave it a shot.

My opinions on the mediocrity of soup remain unchanged. I'm sorry, I'll accept Tea for the flavored water is it, but at least it doesn't try to claim that it is a food.

3. Hot Pockets

There isn't really anything I have to add to this. Hot Pockets should be included in any Thanksgiving festastrophe.









4. Klondike Bars

Much like that damn owl from those old Tootsie Pop commercials who makes a mockery of the age-old "how many licks does it take question", I simply walked two blocks to buy a box of Klondike Bars, but suffice it to say I would have performed rituals far more cruel and unusual for this delicious High Fructose sweet.




If I were a reasonable man, this would be the end of this post. All that Thanksgiving really was for me this year was eating this disturbing concoction of shit and watching the Hitchcock marathon on AMC. However, in the interest of nostalgia for "years gone by" I will entertain you with a story of a far better Thanksgiving. A Thanksgiving Of Legend, by which all other Thanksgivings shall be compared, and none shall live up to.

The year was 2003, and the place was Worcester, MA, a town truly as beautiful as its name--a factory town left behind by time, only there were never really any glory days for this hellhole. The occasion? ... Thanksgiving. I thought we already covered this. You should pay more attention.

The esteemed Mr. Ouzo had descended from his Ivy-ry tower and had decided to spend the holiday with me in what can only be described as "the filthiest room in the history of mankind." I had to scoop trash out of the way for him to have a place to sleep the first night before my roommate left. No joke. (Nic Ouzo: To tell you the truth, I didn't mind. But I can only imagine the carnage that was there before I arrived. This was a room that included an overturned bookshelf that was used as a convenient computer desk.)

The next few days were a blur, possibly due to the entertaining times, and possibly due to our diet consisting primarily of chips and soda procured from the local Price Choppa'. Also, if anyone is wondering, Goya brand Tamarind soda tastes like Nothing. Not water, but Nothing. Liquid Nothing. If you wanted to taste something that distilled the essence of pure neutrality, saddle up with a Tamarind-flavored Goya soda.

However, the real magic of the vacation came on Thanksgiving Day (not that aimlessly wandering around a campus tossing bottles for no memorable reason doesn't qualify as "real magic" but... well... it just doesn't). On Thanksgiving, the demand to have a meal that didn't consist primarily of ground corn took over, and Nic Ouzo and I embarked on an epic quest. Where did we go on this fine Thanksgiving in Worcester? Well, we tried many an establishment, but the only place that was open was a Denny's.

Now, the map we had in hand when we embarked on this journey is a bit misleading, because what I have neglected to mention thus far is that neither Ouzo nor I had a car (the van without a floor in the back that had been used to bring Nic to campus had gone on vacation). This lead to some difficulties with the - not one, but TWO - times in which these directions required us to cross the freeway. Let me tell you, there is nothing more fun than running across a freeway in the dark, on your way to a Denny's. Also, the map fails to properly represent just how damn hilly that whole area is, as more than half the journey was very steeply uphill. By the time we had made it to the Denny's - and it should be noted that we saw it just as we were giving up, the sign loomed over a hillside like a beacon to the promised land... or maybe just a moon over my hammy. We were just starving enough for that meal to be everything we had hoped it would be: Better than stale chips.

The strange thing was we didn't appreciate the absurdity of our journey until after we finished our halfway-delicious meal. The waitress came by with our check and asked us if this was a post-dinner meal of some sort, and only when we responded with a "well, this really was our Thanksgiving meal" did the nature of our situation dawn upon us. We slowly realized that yes indeed we did just spend the previous three days living on a diet that consisted solely of Dorito's and Dr. Pepper, in which time had no meaning since there was no light in the room and we slept at random hours. And that this had been our first human contact since Monday night.

So many kudos to you, Denny's. You will always be our go-to eating establishment when nothing better is open... and there aren't any Shari's nearby. ... so basically you're one step ahead of Arby's.


Happy Thanksgiving everyone, and I would like you to all remember what brought us where we are: Yams and Smallpox.

What Are You Still Doing Here?!

Go on. Have fun on this holiday weekend.

If you need some suggestions as to what to do, we'll offer up a quick few. One, be sure to watch as many war movies as you can this weekend. Just make sure that they're not one of the crappy new ones that are filling up our theaters lately (I'm looking at you, "The Kingdom"). If you want to get more engaged this weekend, why don't you send a hate-letter to Barack Obama, because apparently that anti-American fascist does not salute the flag during the Pledge of Allegiance! He's probably a sodomite! Be sure to include as many namedrops of "Osama" and "Saddam Hussein" as you can, and you'll get bonus gravy at Thanksgiving.

Just remember to shout "America--Fuck Yeah!" as many times as you can this weekend.

A Wonderful, Magical Place...

Your humble blog-dude is going on vacation during this long weekend. And you know, this is the first that the other contributors to the site are hearing about it, so you all get to join in on the fun. I'm spending the weekend in the lovely adult-oriented town of...

Orlando! Mickey Mouse is big pimpin' ya heard?



It's actually not all fun and games these days. There was that pipe bomb incident recently, and how they apparently don't really believe that "it's a small world after all" and hate all minorities.

Yeah, and Orlando is having a crime surge!

It's going to be a fun weekend, I'll tell you that! Details of course will follow, and then I begin my return to music journalism, among other things. Plus, I'll tell you all the secrets of Cold Fusion and Matter Transportation. Good times, indeed. Enjoy the holiday weekend with "One Big Holiday", courtesy of My Morning Jacket.