It’s rare when I lack inspiration to go digging through record crates to find Idelic Hour inspiration—AKA: a playlist. This week’s source came from a Facebook post. My old Boston punk rock pal Johnny Angel reached out with the question:
What are your three favorite “cut out” albums?
My god, I hadn’t thought about “cut out bins” in a long time. In my mind they pre-dated used records, which I associate with California swap meet culture of the ’80s and ’90s. The cut out bin brings me back to NYC in the ’70s and the magic of record stores. There were five in the 2 block radius of my parents’ apartment on East 85th street.
And your parents paid you through / You got a nice big car, nothing bothers you / Somebody cut out your eyes, you refuse to see / Ah, somebody cut out your heart, you refuse to feel / And you live in a shell / You create your own hell / You live in the past and talk about war / And you dig your own grave, yeah / But it’s a life you can save / So stop getting fast, it’s not gonna happen / And you’ll cry but you’ll never fall, no, no, no / You’re building a wall / Gotta break it down, start again
No, no, no, it won’t happen to us / We’ve lived our lives, basically we’ve been good men / So stop talking of war / ‘Cause you know we’ve heard it all before / Why don’t you go out there and do something useful?
Oh, listen to the man in the liquor store / He yelling “anybody want to drink before the war?” / “Anybody want to drink before the war?” / “Anybody want to drink before the war?”
Back in the golden days of late ’80s vinyl, nightclubs and DJs were members of record pools. The colorful and coked up owner and character Marc Jacobson made the NY ’80s scene and owned Rockpool. Once or twice a month I’d get a box filled with promo vinyl—priceless extended 12 inch new wave singles and indie LPs.
I became fast friends with Matt Green, the kid who worked stuffing those boxes. His job was to know what all the DJ members spun and I was happy to be on his list. He sent me the first Pixies EP, and yes, “the bald headed chick.” Back in ’87, a bald woman was radical, and after many late nights chatting about records, Matt knew I was a closet Joni Mitchell fan.
The bald headed Joni was an obscure topic. Not long after, I got a call from from an apologetic assistant at Chrysalis Records inquiring if I would be open to letting one of their “baby artists” do a showcase for the top brass at the label. It became clear that my “bald headed Joni” was a bit of a running joke in the office. My response was explosive. I scolded this poor assistant and threatened to personally come over and kick her bosses ass!
Hot stuff, can’t get enough / Hot stuff, play it rough, yeah / I gave you love / Because music is want I want / To keep my body always moving / Yeah, shake it up, hot stuff / Every day, I get another dose / I can’t stand it when the music stops / Hot stuff / Everybody out on the dance floor / You know what I’m talking about / Music make you forget all your trouble / Make you sing and make you tell the whole wide world / So what? Hot stuff
Hot, hot, hot. This planet, town, and our canyon is getting too hot. It’s a bit scary and a drag. So why not find some other “hot stuff” to get excited about? Like a hot record or two or three?
And mom got a hot new red car…ok let this music do the talking and jump in a lake.
Well they’re sure keen on dancin’ / Those Hollywood kids / Those Hollywood kids got it made / When they act, big doors open / Those Hollywood kids / Those Hollywood kids got it made / So let’s party, Dustin Hoffman / Those Hollywood kids / Those Hollywood kids got it made / Oh how the sun sets on my Boulevard / But leaves quite a shadow to fill
Oh how the sun sets on my Boulevard / But leaves such a shadow to fill
So mom has been here over a week. It’s been wonderful to have her, and to also have my daughter Zoe around. At the same time, having family with you is like looking in the mirror. Even when you like what you see, at a certain point it can get tiresome.
Last night mom and I had dinner on PCH with Zoe on the way to dropping her off in Malibu. As it turns out, warm nights on the roads in Malibu are wild. There was a huge car crash and we were diverted way up into the Malibu hills.
Let me tell you / The truth is in the eyes ’cause the eyes don’t lie, amen / Remember, a smile is just a frown turned upside down my friend / So, hear me when I’m saying / Smiling faces, smiling faces, sometimes, yeah / They don’t tell the truth / Smiling faces, smiling faces tell lies and I got proof / (Beware) beware of the handshake / That hides the snake (can you dig it, can you dig it?)
Picked up Elly at the Burbank airport last night. Mom is 87 years old. I don’t believe you would know it? Family members have called her the “energizer bunny!” She came bounding off that plane ready to grab her bag and hit the canyon.
At 87, mom’s big news is she’s in love. Yep, I’m here to report love will keep ya young. Got a couple Sidels smiling.
Back to what feels like the longest and hottest weekend in history.
I told you when I met you / I was crazy / Cry for us all, Beauty / Cry for Eddie in the corner / Thinking he’s nobody / And Jack behind his joker / And stone-cold Grace behind her fan / And me in my frightened silence / Thinking I don’t understand
I feel like I’m sleeping / Can you wake me? / You seem to have a broader sensibility / I’m just living on nerves and feelings / With a weak and a lazy mind / And coming to people’s parties / Fumbling deaf dumb and blind
Heading into the July 4th holiday weekend, a few things come to mind.
Let’s just be grateful for the cookies that we got. And happy for those who may have gotten a sweeter batch. There is always a sweeter cookie.
Long weekend always make me edgy. It stems from my days owning nightclubs and bars.
I’m happy to report some days it’s just enough to listen to a new song or see a dress created by my daughter or watch my boy throw a pitch. No matter what the prize.
Inside every man / Lives the seed of a flower / If he looks within he finds beauty and power / Ring all the bells, sing and tell the people everywhere that the flower has come / Light up the sky with your prayers of gladness and rejoice for the darkness is gone / Throw off your fears let your heart beat freely at the sign that a new time is born
What’s the difference? If I was to guess it would be the little things in life? I don’t know, but I do like using a “question” as a muse for a playlist. Flipping through my crates, I came across my old Smiths albums. I remember hearing “What Difference Does It Make?” on Rodney on the ROQ. Thinking back it was a fascinating time in music.
The punk movement I adored as a teenager had essentially faded, replaced by new wave, which had it moments. California hardcore punk was still fun—and then there was this new music called rap. By this time I was a hip art student at UCLA. I found myself making blacklight graffiti paintings for the coolest underground nightclub in the Hollywood scene. The Rhythm Lounge played only rap and ’80s dance records (like Tyrone Bronson’s “Sticky Situation”).
And if the way I hold you, can’t compare to his caress / No words of consolation will make me miss you less / My darling, if this is goodbye, I just know I’m gonna cry / So run to him before you start crying, too
And make it easy on yourself / Make it easy on yourself / ‘Cause breaking up / Is so very hard to do / Oh baby, it’s so hard to do
The cold and gloom continues into this second week of June. Fuck this shit, we’re driving to the desert tomorrow for some much needed sunshine.
This week I’ve been dealing with deep personal issues. After some meditation I’ve come to the current conclusion my feelings are all connected to the impermanence of life. Sometimes old childhood scars can cause a pain or ache. If I take those feelings in stride, I can, “make it easy” on myself.
For your pleasure / In our present state / Part false part true / Like anything
We present ourselves / The words we use tumble / All over your shoulder / Gravel hard and loose / There all night lying / With your dark horse hiding / Abhorring such extremes / You’re rubbing shoulders / With the stars at night / Shining so bright / Getting older
Oh man, once again music is here to save my soul. Forces have been at bay, fucking with me.
I’ve been edgy and depressed. Missed a couple of live shows and found it hard to keep my eyeballs on my desk. With growing pains all around, I managed to get to a turntable and spend a couple late night hours spinning some gems.
My my my I’m so happy / We gonna join the band / We are gonna dance and sing in celebration / We’re in the promised land
Oh, there is a train that leaves the station / Heading for your destination / But the price you pay to nowhere has increased a dollar more / Yes, it has! / And if you walk you’re gonna get there / And though it takes a little longer / And when you see it in the distance you will wring your hands and moan
Yesterday was the son’s last day of 9th grade. Unlike his “idelic rock ‘n’ roll dad,” Jonah is not very sentimental.
Oh, that feeling of racing home to drop the needle on Alice Cooper, throwing on my favorite t-shirt, and heading to the school yards to party with my crew.
I hear voices from the outside / All I wonder is if you care about me
Oh my God, I wish I could talk to you / And tell those things that I know by heart / Then I’ll get much closer and kiss your lips / You might think I’m fresh, but / If you please / Don’t take me wrong / All I want is that you get to want me / Don’t take me wrong
Been away from The Idelic Hour for a couple weeks. Our host TVD was on spring break.
Over here we’re gearing up for final exams as baseball season kicks into summer gear. All in all we’re looking forward to summer, bought a new beach umbrella, a big bottle of sun block, and just need to fix a few dings on Jonah’s surfboards.
This is stranger than love for us, / Turning backwards to face the demon, / No excuse for a wasted life, / Lightly falling through a whisper of sky. / It’s the weight of the world, I know, as I’m struggling to be. / It’s the weight of the world, I know, as you were mine, and we will find
Spring is here. Yep, pretty much. Birds are chirping and I have to think kids in this canyon and the valleys below are falling in love. Well whatever a kid would call “the look of love” today.
Before I rocket to the 4th dimension for the weekend, here are a handful of new records mixed with a cherished stack of vinyl from what seems like yesterday, but in truth is now decades ago.
I pity the country / I pity the state / And the mind of a man / Who thrives on hate / Small are the lives / Of cheats and of buyers / Of bigoted news press / Fascist town criers / Deception annoys me / Deception destroys me / The Bill of Rights throws me
In Laurel Canyon there is something to be said about sitting in one’s backyard meditating—the stillness and chirping of birds, the distant rumbling of construction. In LA someone is always tearing down or building up. This said, if I can find 10 or 15 minutes of peace and harmony with nature and the universe…
Well, I’m into it!
A couple days ago it was a quiet and beautiful morning. I looked up and there was a man high in a palm tree. Only in LA man, only in LA.
LA is a great big freeway / Put a hundred down and buy a car / In a week, maybe two, they’ll make you a star / Weeks turn into years, how quick they pass / And all the stars that never were / Are parking cars and pumping gas
Forget that today is cold and wet in the canyon. This week started as Spring. Yes, and all the obvious accolades come to mind. Flowers blooming, baseball, and all things new. New songs, bands, art movements, and of course loves. I started a new Spotify playlist called Spring Fibre.
New, new, new. Find me something new! And may we put what’s new on a shiny pedestal and worship it?
