The Top 100 Country Songs of All Time - 2007, the first ten

It's so hard to write anymore that I have to do it in spurts. Yeah, I know there's a new Wilco album out. I also know that your college roommate's cousin took you to your first String Cheese Incident show at Red Rocks and got you high then did you a favor in the front seat of your hybrid, thus making the music that night the most incredible you'd ever heard. June means lists. Reading lists, listening lists, viewing lists; you need to know what to skim, sample, and lose interest in as your Ritalin wears off so that you can impress everyone with your worldliness over Blue Moons with orange wedges at the "dive" bar where no one is under 28. I don't want to disappoint you, although I probably will, so, whatever. This is my 15th Annual post of the 100 Greatest Country Songs of All Time, starting with the first ten, in the hopes that it will inspire me to finish and post the next ninety. If it doesn't, oh well. As you read this list, keep in mind my central belief that everything coming out of Nashville in the past 30 years is the product of a process designed to deliver a type of music to radio programmers so that they can then deliver a narrow demographic to advertisers and solidify their revenues. It's their P1 demographic, and they guard it jealously. Which is really a shame, because there are few cities full of musical talent like Nashville, Tennessee. The problem is that those with the talent are in the background, playing instruments and providing vocals to peacocks and peahens, who flash into the spotlight, make obscene amounts of money, and then spend the next few decades of their lives getting rehab and going through plastic surgery until they're almost unrecognizable. The whole thing is absolutely fucked, and it's the fault of men like Mick Anselmo and Gregg Swedberg. I offer this list simply as a counterpoint to this runaway train of ignorance and falsehood.

Continue reading "The Top 100 Country Songs of All Time - 2007, the first ten"

Posted by Hillbilly Number One at June 14, 2007 08:29 PM

 

The Plot Thins

From a random story about last night:

One of the series' executive producers, Cecile Frot-Coutaz of FremantleMedia North America Inc., said Tuesday she'd be happy with either contestant as the new idol.

"These are some of the most commercial finalists we've had since Carrie Underwood," Frot-Coutaz said. "Either one will make a great winner for the show and the brand. They both have the potential to sell many records."

Posted by Hillbilly Number One at May 24, 2007 05:03 PM

 

I hate to toss the word "authentic" around so much...

...but some are more authentic than others:

AUSTIN, Texas (AP) -- Police have issued arrest warrants for country singer Billy Joe Shaver after he shot and wounded a man outside a Texas bar, the entertainer's attorney said.

After Shaver left a bar in Lorena on Saturday night, a drunk, aggressive stranger with a knife followed him into the parking lot, said attorney Joseph A. Turner of Austin. Shaver shot him in self-defense, he said.

Police in Lorena -- about 80 miles north of Austin -- issued arrest warrants late Monday on charges of aggravated assault and possessing a firearm in a prohibited place, Turner said.

Shaver attempted to surrender to Austin police Monday night but was not arrested because the police did not have a record of the warrants, said Turner, who accompanied Shaver.

Lorena authorities could not be reached for comment early Tuesday.

Posted by Hillbilly Number One at April 03, 2007 01:34 PM

 

Love of Country Music not necessary

Res ipsa loquitur:

Mornings in Minneapolis
One of America's best Country Stations, K102 has a very rare opening. One of my morning show people just got his own talk show, and I need the best 3rd wheel I can find. If you: 1) Are Young or Young Thinking; 2) Don't mind working hard to make new friends; 3) Have new ideas to bring to an already great show; 4) Don't mind the cold and 5) Can be a part of a tight-knit team, well then let me know.

This is an excellent chance for young Top 40 and HAC jocks looking to crack mornings in a Top 20 Market. You don't have to love country, but you'll end up loving it. If you do already know the format, that's good too. This is a good job at a great station.

Send mp3's, resumes and pictures to greggswedberg@clearchannel, don't call me please. Keep everything under 2MB.

Clear Channel Minneapolis is an EOE.

I would call this embarrassing, but the people who work in the Mainstream Country music industry are seldom embarrassed by anything.

Posted by Hillbilly Number One at March 08, 2007 12:07 PM

 

RIP Kirk Rundstrom

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'

--Henry V, Act 3, Scene 1

Kirk Rundstrom, singer, songwriter and guitarist of the punk-bluegrass band Split Lip Rayfield, died Thursday morning in Wichita. He was 38. He had been fighting the effects of esophageal cancer since February 2006.

One chemo filled shit from Kirk Rundstrom, lying steaming in a Wichita gas station toilet, is worth more than 10 Kenny Chesneys. This is a sad day for me. If you haven't ever bought a new or used copy of a Split Lip Rayfield CD, today would be a good day to go out and get one.

The above link also goes to a story where you can donate to Cancer research in Kirk's name if you're so inclined.

I only saw Split Lip Rayfield about 100 times. I've got nothing but good memories...hot sweaty ones, where I made a lot of bad decisions and regretted none of them. The band's music not only has muscle, but the sinews are like shiny bands of titanium, scratched only by the figurative bullets of life, that have ricocheted off of them into the dull ether of American popular sound.

Days like today make me sick.

Posted by Hillbilly Number One at February 22, 2007 04:51 PM

 

The Big Game XLI

The keys to this game are Bob Sanders and Nick Harper. Sanders makes Indy's D a different unit because, surprise, he can actually tackle, something the other 10 guys can't do. Harper is hurt and plays CB for the Colts. Look for the Bears to test his side of the field, regardless of whether he's there, early, with Bernard Berrian. If these two guys play well for the Colts, it will be a good close game. If somehow they become the Achilles' heal(s), then it's going to be a long day for Indy.

It's important to note that Manning threw 9 interceptions in 16 regular season games; he's thrown 6 in 3 playoff games against the Chiefs (3), Ravens (2), and Pats (1). He had a pretty good 2nd half in the AFC Championship game, but, if he comes out flat against the Bears, that defense will bury him.

I would bet the Bears to cover the spread at the start of the game, for sure. At halftime, if Sanders and Harper look broke, sticky, and confused, I'd press, reverse the spread and maybe give a few more points. Once you see the Bill Simmons' coined "Manning Face," you'll know it's over.

Posted by Hillbilly Number One at February 04, 2007 10:06 AM

 

And now, a word from the Possum

Q: What do you think about the state of country music today?

JONES: They say they're upgrading country music. I tell them they need to find a new title and let us have back our traditional country music. They've stolen our identity. I don't feel like the real thing will be back for quite a while. I'd like to see new artists recording traditional country music. Not for me. I just hate to see it not heard. I hate to see the new country artists not doing their thing because they're told what to do nowadays.

Kenny Chesney, Mick Anselmo, and Gregg Swedberg,
When George Jones gave that response in that interview he was talking about you, Mainstream Country radio, and the Nashville record companies. You're all still guilty. I just wanted to point it out one more time. Thanks for reading.

Posted by Hillbilly Number One at January 25, 2007 09:59 AM

 

Cash fuckin only

I'm through fucking around. Tomorrow and Saturday nights, The Cabooze will be doing it's annual Cash Only gig. Both nights, local bands will take the stage and play a theme or twist on the Johnny Cash legend for approximately a half hour or 45 minute sets.

Look, if you listen to K102 and spend your money on We Fest tickets, you're a fucking moron. That's not Country. That's a bunch of fucking peacocks and peahens faking it to rake in your dough. You're a fucking sucker. The only people getting paid on that shit are Kenny Chesney, Mick Anselmo and Greg Swedberg. And the three of them don't deserve to lick the sweat off of Johnny's dead balls.

Tomorrow night, a bunch of sad sack sweaty drunk fucks with guitars cobbled together with duct tape and bailing wire are going to pour their hearts into songs written 40 to 50 years ago, and they're going to try to imagine why those songs are relevant in a world with iPods and iToilets and the whole convuluted circle is going to strain with the weight of itself.

But you know what? It will be real people really celebrating the real Johnny Cash.

So, for the 7,564th time, fuck everyone who has anything to do with Mainstream Country Music. Please don't go to the Cabooze Friday or Saturday night. And if you do, try not to embarrass yourself by singing along with songs you have no idea of which the lyrics are (is that English?) This is two nights where we don't want you around. We want to labor under our assumptions of music as art, as substance, as a part of our heritage...and you can take that P1 demographic and shove it up your asses.

Posted by Hillbilly Number One at January 18, 2007 11:23 PM

 

What the Buck?

Buck Owens died in his sleep of an apparent heart attack on March 25, 2006, only hours after performing at his Crystal Palace restaurant, club and museum in Bakersfield. He had successfully recovered from oral cancer in the early 1990s, but had additional health problems near the end of the 1990s and the beginning of the 21st century, including pneumonia and a minor stroke suffered in 2004. These health problems had forced him to curtail his regular weekly performances with the Buckaroos at his Crystal Palace.

The Los Angeles Times interviewed longtime Owens spokesman (and Buckaroos keyboard player) Jim Shaw, who said Owens "had come to the club early and had a chicken-fried steak dinner and bragged that it's his favorite meal." Afterwards, Owens told band members that he wasn't feeling well and was going to skip that night's performance. Shaw said a group of fans introduced themselves while Owens was preparing to drive home; when they told him that they had traveled from Oregon to hear him perform, Owens changed his mind and took the stage, anyway.

Shaw recalled Owens telling the audience, "'If somebody's come all that way, I'm gonna do the show and give it my best shot. I might groan and squeak, but I'll see what I can do.'" Shaw added, "So, he had his favorite meal, played a show and died in his sleep. We thought, that's not too bad."[4]

Okay, so I took that off of Wikipedia. But, I've been out on the ice a few days this Winter, and all that time spent on a bucket, jigging over a hole really releases the synapses of my brain and lets things bubble to the surface.

Something has been bugging me since the Country Music Association Awards. I wasn't sure what it was at the time. It was just a gnawing feeling that I missed something that night...that I missed an opportunity to take my metaphorical Sawz-All to Nashville's knees one more time. The 40th Annual CMA's were as dumbed down and awful as they were any other given year. But what was it? What was bothering me?

Then it hit me. Where was the tribute to Buck Owens? Why wouldn't they carve 5 to 10 minutes out of the bullshit and bad jokes awkwardly delivered by the Country Wham, and have 3 to 5 singers or groups do a quick medley of Buck Owens tunes?

Let me put this into persepctive...Buck had a lot of #1 songs in the 60's all the way up until the time he took over on Hee Haw. You know who had more #1's? THE FUCKING BEATLES!

This can only be described as a calculated slap in the face to the legacy of a man who purposefully avoided Nasvhille until they drove a dump truck full of money up to his house and ruined his career with that Hee Haw bullshit. Aside from that, they never got their claws on him, and he simply overran them and their asinine machinations of America's music. There was not a single person in that building that night who deserved to polish the shit off of Buck's boots, and they should all be ashamed of taking part in a ceremony that so cowardly and hamfistedly ignored his importance to what they all are now.

This is just reason number 3,568 why Nashville can kiss my ass. There's not a single thing going on in that town that's worth a shit.

Posted by Hillbilly Number One at January 10, 2007 10:13 AM

 

Deck the Halls...

Throw out the 18 games he played as a September call-up in 1986, and Mark McGwire played 15 seasons. Be honest with yourself, and say, worried about his future after missing most of two seasons, and only playing 104 games in a third, he began to use something in 1996, and was on it for the 1996 through 1999 seasons, when he hit 52, 58, 70, and 65 homers, respectively. Throw out those four seasons, and the two where he was hurt (93 and 94), and add up the homers...317. Three hundred Seventeen, divided by 9 seasons equals 35 homers and change. Now, multiply those 35 homers by 15 fictional seasons, and you get 525 home runs.

What does this mean? You can Sabremetricize him into the Hall based on an adjusted average of his numbers, 500 homers is an automatic ticket. However, use that fictional 35 HR average again, and subtract the differences during his 4 astonishing seasons; if you give him his 35 homers a year through those years and subtract the rest, you take 105 dingers off of his 583 total, leaving him with 478 for his career. The Crime Dog, Fred McGriff, is the only other retired player with that many homers who's not in the Hall yet. But, that number is right about the spot in the order where the Hall tickets drop off, 500 really being a magic number of sorts.

I'm splitting hairs, but the numbers for me are 9 and 22. I don't think there's any doubt he cheated to get 9 extra homeruns in a season for the record, and 22 extra homeruns for 500 in a career. Without that now surpassed record, and that 500 plateau, we probably would be haggling over whether he belonged in the Hall, but it would be more along the lines of how folks are haggling over Blyleven right now, trying to work numbers to prove he was a dominant player of some sort. Without the juice, I think McGwire was a feared hitter to an extent, and, he was part of some great teams. But in my own tortured analysis of the situation, I just don't think he belongs in the Hall.

Posted by Hillbilly Number One at January 10, 2007 08:54 AM

 

Stoners break Gophers' record with Video Gophers hours after historic loss

Thousands of stoners across the state of Minnesota spent Friday night attempting to beat the Gophers' newest record using their copies of NCAA Football '07. Many were successful.

Just hours earlier, in giving up a 38-7 lead and losing 44-41 in overtime, Minnesota set a Division 1-A record for the biggest choke in bowl game history.

Blake Olson, a dopehead from Crystal who prefers Thai stick quipped, "You think Mason's a shitty coach in real life, you should see him on XBOX." Olson and bongwater pal Phil Larson of Brooklyn Park, who prefers Maui Wowie, staked the Gophers to a 58-7 lead in the 3rd quarter--a conservative 20 point differential for testing purposes--before Texas Tech came roaring back in the face of suddenly one dimensional offensive and defensive gameplans.

"We're trying to find a way," said Larson, "to make Mase do his whole 'game of two halves' routine with the sideline reporter, but I think we're too baked, man." Olson later intimated that they were going to try and figure that out tomorrow morning while his mother made them some eggs.

Posted by Hillbilly Number One at December 30, 2006 09:25 AM

 

The Jeff Cirillo era has begun...

CityPages can't go on record telling you to go out and buy season tickets for the Twins; but, I'm telling you now, when the schedule is printed, and the rotation more or less set, go out and buy single game tickets for every Johan Santana home start, because it's going to be the last season that you see Santana, Mauer, and Morneau, together, and in Twins' uniforms.

With the offseason mayhem of free agent signings, the world has lost its mind and Barry Zito is suddenly worth $18 million per year.

Johan has won 2 of the past 3 Cy Youngs (and he should have won the other one). I'm not a member of the Twins' front office, and, I'm not a beat reporter for the Strib or the Pioneer Press. However, if you open a sports page in this town, and they report Santana's STARTING price as anything other than $20 million a year, it's a terrible lie, and you will know right then and there that no one in the cabal in this town has any respect for you as a baseball fan. Make no mistake about another thing: if Santana has just a "normal" season for him, he will be one of the finalists for the Cy Young next year, if not the actual winner, and he will have no choice but to hold out through spring training for more "realistic" money given the market that has been created by the bat-shit crazy owners of the big market teams.

It's not like the Twins were going to sign him anyway. But, Zito's signing has made a terrible situation worse. When the most dominant pitcher in the American League for the past 3 years is suddenly worth 6 to 7 million dollars a year less than a .500 pitcher with a 3.50 ERA, agents get greedy, and the Players' Union gets "equitable." E pluribus unuum translates to "pay me right fucking now (and then hang up)."

And to make things worse, Joe Mauer is worth Jeter money, right now. That's right, $18 mill a year at least. So, one of you legitimate sports writers should stop beating around the bush, call Terry Ryan, and ask him flat-out whether the Twins are prepared to pay Santana and Mauer roughly $40 million a season, combined, for five or six seasons beyond 2007. His answer is either yes or no, and, you will know the Twins' fate based on it. These aren't made up numbers, the market is set, and it's time for him to come clean. Otherwise, just call up Steinbrenner's tailor and tell him, "the number is 57."

Posted by Hillbilly Number One at December 29, 2006 12:00 PM

 

A Minnesota Christmas Card

The constant interogatory is, "why live in Minnesota?" And, the reply always involves the extraction of a 40 inch gator from a frothy gully on a cold Chisago County afternoon.

The snow and ice demark the season. When your lungs are cold in the mid-afternoon air, when you're wearing an extra layer, when you stand on 7 inches of ice over 15 feet of water, you contemplate much more than just existence. Frozen. The water is frozen, you are frozen, even the sunshine itself seems frozen; and then life comes exploding into the daylight, monstrous, carnal, and starved. Where the cycles of the world are observed and obeyed, life is rich with the normal hibernations and renewals of the flora. But LIFE asserts itself constantly in a world where you participate, despite what the mercury may tell you.

Christmas in Minnesota is a celebration of change. Demeter's melancholy is a myth; Persephone's vacation is a welcome respite for the old girl, and she actually relishes having the house to herself. A heart can never be cold, shuffling across a gray parking lot to a shopping mall where a pan flute reverberates the sounds of some shapeless Christmas song. Welcome Kris Kringle; welcome Jack Frost; welcome baby Yeshua. Just another tick looking for a tock.

Fireplaces crackle all over this state tonight. Sweet Boreal perfume sleeping on a crisp, heavy pillow of air, walking off one more sugar cookie and home-made fudge gut ache. Happy Holidays Minnesota. Nowhere else on Earth embraces the season quite like you.

Posted by Hillbilly Number One at December 25, 2006 10:06 PM

 

A funny thing happened on the way to the Forum...

He had gone on to Rome before me to study law--which was the worldly way which his parents were forever urging him to pursue--and there he was carried away again with an incredible passion for the gladiatorial shows. For, although he had been utterly opposed to such spectacles and detested them, one day he met by chance a company of his acquaintances and fellow students returning from dinner; and, with a friendly violence, they drew him, resisting and objecting vehemently, into the amphitheater, on a day of those cruel and murderous shows. He protested to them: "Though you drag my body to that place and set me down there, you cannot force me to give my mind or lend my eyes to these shows. Thus I will be absent while present, and so overcome both you and them." When they heard this, they dragged him on in, probably interested to see whether he could do as he said. When they got to the arena, and had taken what seats they could get, the whole place became a tumult of inhuman frenzy. But Alypius kept his eyes closed and forbade his mind to roam abroad after such wickedness. Would that he had shut his ears also! For when one of the combatants fell in the fight, a mighty cry from the whole audience stirred him so strongly that, overcome by curiosity and still prepared (as he thought) to despise and rise superior to it no matter what it was, he opened his eyes and was struck with a deeper wound in his soul than the victim whom he desired to see had been in his body. Thus he fell more miserably than the one whose fall had raised that mighty clamor which had entered through his ears and unlocked his eyes to make way for the wounding and beating down of his soul, which was more audacious than truly valiant--also it was weaker because it presumed on its own strength when it ought to have depended on Thee. For, as soon as he saw the blood, he drank in with it a savage temper, and he did not turn away, but fixed his eyes on the bloody pastime, unwittingly drinking in the madness-- delighted with the wicked contest and drunk with blood lust. He was now no longer the same man who came in, but was one of the mob he came into, a true companion of those who had brought him thither. Why need I say more? He looked, he shouted, he was excited, and he took away with him the madness that would stimulate him to come again: not only with those who first enticed him, but even without them; indeed, dragging in others besides. And yet from all this, with a most powerful and most merciful hand, thou didst pluck him and taught him not to rest his confidence in himself but in thee--but not till long after.

--From The Confessions of St. Augustine

---

Digest of Rules
Kicks From Scrimmage

4. Any punt that is blocked and does not cross the line of scrimmage can be recovered and advanced by either team. However, if offensive team recovers it must make the yardage necessary for its first down to retain possession if punt was on fourth down.

5. The kicking team may never advance its own kick even though legal recovery is made beyond the line of scrimmage. Possession only.

13. Defensive team may advance all kicks from scrimmage (including unsuccessful field goal) whether or not ball crosses defensive team’s goal line. Rules pertaining to kicks from scrimmage apply until defensive team gains possession.

---

Being a glutton for punishment, and this being America's foremost sports column, I'm forced each Sunday to sit in front of a TV and watch the gladiatorial mess called the NFL. Under normal circumstances, this is an enjoyable pasttime; however, every now and then, I'm subjected to a mentally crippled official named Jeff Triplette, who was best described by John Madden last night (paraphrased): "And it seems like a lot of these things happen when we have to watch Triplette call a game."

Last night, the Super Bowl IV Champion Kansas City Chiefs were penalized, essentially, for blocking a punt. The punt was snuffed deep in Chargers' territory and a Chiefs player made an attempt to recover it, never having possession of the ball. This alleged illegal touch happened beyond the line of scrimmage for the kick. Look above.

The ball DID advance beyond the line of scrimmage, so point 4 is out, no? Point 5 confuses the issue, and point 13 makes it Chiefs' ball, because there are no definitions for what constitutes "gains possession." Jeff Triplette, the single most reviled referee in the NFL said that since a Chiefs' player touched the ball beyond the line of scrimmage, it was San Diego's ball. If that really is the rule, I'd like to see it in black and white first; second, I would appreciate it if Roger Gooddell could explain why that is the rule. A team shouldn't be penalized for blocking a kick. Touching is one thing, possession is another.

The momentum swing was disastrous, and if I were Elvis, there would have been a .357 caliber sized hole in my TV set.

My mood was already sour heading into this, because my slow cooked Sunday dinner of corned beef, cabbage, red potatoes and carrots had been ruined by this:

His real name is Dan Whitney, but if you know him at all, you know him as "Larry The Cable Guy."

If you're in the mood for subtle, sophisticated, urban comedy, you're in the wrong place. With Larry The Cable Guy, we're out in the sticks with our fishing rods and our hunting rifles.

I've talked about this guy before in this space, click this link and you'll see the King of Comedy in his early years.

Of course, back in June, I dropped the eff you, you effen effenheimer on him for his whole schtick, but, I hope that didn't dull the argument I was trying to make with the quote from the Oscar-winning short film, The Accountant. The musical distinctions I try to make here quite often are really drawn into sharp contrast by the Blue Collar Comedy tour. Larry the Cable Guy really represents a great deal of Mainstream Country Nashville nonsense. He's Hee-Haw, Junior Samples, and Goober. Dan Whitney and Larry the Cable Guy are two very distinct individuals, and he's playing a part, even though, at the end of the day, what he and his handlers really want is for the audience to buy this guy as the genuine article. My favorite guy on that tour was by far Ron White, a divorced alcoholic smoker who tells jokes about being divorced and drunk while smoking, on stage, in theatres that have "No Smoking" signs posted everywhere.

The Alypius in me makes it hard to turn away from this knucklehead though, because, as he said last night, he's very professional now, he's polished. But it's a rock hard fact that he's part of that same machinery that is presenting a stereo-typical image to bring home a demographic; not necessarily dumbing things down, but rather, molding things a certain way to create a group-think that is repeatable and profitable. There's no doubt he'll end up in Vegas, taking pain killers and doing two shows a night at $100 million per annum. He should just buy the jumpsuit and cape now.

Posted by Hillbilly Number One at December 18, 2006 02:57 PM

 

All hail Anno Porci

From KESQ, NewsChannel3:

Border patrol agents in Yuma, Arizona, found an alligator stashed in the suitcase of a California man who was on his way to Phoenix.

Officials say the agents found the four-foot, four-year-old cayman alligator during a routine freeway checkpoint search on Thursday night

A spokesman says a drug-sniffing dog became alert near the man's car. Inside, agents found thirteen grams of marijuana. Then they found the alligator.

It's unknown where in California the man is from, and his name has not been released. He was cited for possessing restricted wildlife and taken into custody by state officials in connection with the marijuana.

Possessing restricted wildlife is a misdemeanor and carries penalties of up to four months in jail and up to 750 dollars in fines. The alligator is being evaluated by the Phoenix Herpetological Society and likely will end up in a zoo or wildlife park.

---

From the Iraq Study Group Report:

Iraqi police cannot control crime, and they routinely engage in sectarian violence, including the unnecessary detention, torture, and targeted execution of Sunni Arab civilians. The police are organized under the Ministry of the Interior, which is confronted by corruption and militia infiltration and lacks control over police in the provinces.

---

Dear Bill,

Two-thousand Six (2006) was the Year of the Dog, and 2007 will be the Year of the Pig. The dogs, of course, are scurrying like curs under the nearest porches they can find, praying that the forces of humanity ease up on them, and that the beatings stop at home. The pigs are naturally licking their chops, because in these crazy times my friend, there are great barrels of offal for the troughs.

In the last 12 months, the entire world has been caught with a four-foot, four-year-old cayman alligator and 13 grams of kind in its car. This is not an isolated metaphorical incident.

In a Universe where Gil Meche (rhymes with David Koresh) is worth $55 million, it shouldn't surprise you when several people in their 70's and 80's with roughly 500 years of international relations experience between them suggest that a country violently fractured among Kurds, Sunnis, and Shia should share oil revenues under some kind of opportunistic socialist model.

Any fourth grader who's watched David Lean's "Lawrence of Arabia," and then followed that up with a trip to his local school or public library could tell you that the Sunni monarchies surrounding Iraq are never going to let the Shi'ites control all that oil; also, the Hashemite family is never going to let the House of Saud go marching into Baghdad to "protect the faithful" (just do a Google search for Prince Ra'ad bin Zeid, he's got a lot of nice things to say about Riyadh and pluralistic democracies, once you get past all the "I'm the King of Iraq!" quotes); it bears mentioning that the only "democracies" in this region are Turkey, Yemen, and Israel; and finally, Istanbul would send an armored division of tanks into Tikrit before they'd let "Independent Kurdistan" flags fly all over the place. And this analysis doesn't even include the Ba'athists in Syria, or the heroin rich warlords of Afghanistan, who do all sorts of cute things with guns and bombs on a daily basis. This is grade school world history, and having the largest, best trained, and best equipped armed forces in the world doesn't change it much. In fact, outside of the Abu Ghraib thing, our soldiers have done a fantastic job in Iraq. It's their bosses who are jagoffs, and make no mistake, EVERYONE in Washington, D.C. is a jagoff.

Bill, this is kind of like someone giving a manager a $200 million payroll in the 7th or 8th year of giving that same manager every player he wants in the offseason, followed by every player he wants at the trading deadline, then watching as he gets dumped unceremoniously out of the playoffs early...again. Luckily, that would never happen in today's modern world...oh wait.

I'll say what no one else outside of Boston says: Joe Torre has been given EVERY player he's ever wanted for the past 7 or 8 seasons. Not SOME of them, not a FEW of them, ALL of them. And where has he gotten with them? Nowhere. So what, he's won a division here or there? Ron Gardenhire has won the division every year he has been a manager except one, with a THIRD of Torre's payroll or less. Torre is a terrible manager. Give Jim Leyland the Yankees, they'd win 140 games. One thing I couldn't understand as people like Tim Kurkjian of ESPN spouted from my television with their pants around their ankles about what a great job Torre was doing, was all the "he's had so many injuries to deal with..." Come again? His lineup steadily and commonly was composed of Johnny Damon (149 games), Robinson Cano (122), Derek Jeter (154), A-Rod (154), Giambi (139), and Posada (143). That's really struggling Joe. You're a genius. I'm not sure how you did it. Where were the smoke and mirrors Houdini? It hurts me to play pickup football games these days, and people like Mike Mussina, who I was in freshman calculus with, are returning for another season to "bolster" their rotation. Thirty-eight is 38, no matter how hard your offseason workouts are, and jackrabbit squads like the Tigers will run roughshod over the AARP convention that is their pitching staff. The Year of the Pig will not be kind to Mr. Torre.

Guillaume, I revisited my old radio show's Club page, to click the links and see if any National Alt Twang acts were pulling into town any time soon. The short answer is no. Which can only mean that all the shit heels were right, Alt Country is dead. Nevermind that many local artists are still plugging away, with many fine shows at places like Lee's Liquor Lounge, The Nomad, The Turf Club, The Cabooze, The Acadia Cafe, and others. The overall point is that in the waning days of 2006, the suits are winning, and soccer moms in minivans are whistling happily to the 3 story malls of their choice while Rascall Flatts vomits out of their IPods connected to their lighter sockets. This is a sad state of affairs, and insult will be added to injury next month when Lyle Lovett, John Hiatt, Joe Ely and Guy Clark show up at the State Theatre and the whole thing is partially sponsored by K102. These men recieve airplay at most, one night a month, in the middle of the night, on a Saturday, on that station; so when Gregg Swedberg tells Jon Bream that K102 plays Joe Ely, that's what he's talking about. Gregg Swedberg doesn't know any Joe Ely songs, by the way; he would only know that they played a Joe Ely song from a printout that was handed to him by an intern. Like Kenny Chesney and Travis Moon, Gregg thinks that "Me and Billy the Kid" is a Pat Green song. In fact, most of their staff need refreshers so that this quartet isn't introduced as "new" artists.

Having been off the air now for a year and being pre-occupied with the trappings of life, I haven't been as involved in my local music scene as I once was. But, I've kept one ear to the ground and I can tell you right now, a very talented band called Mark Starry and the Whiskey Roses is about to learn some very hard lessons. Nothing about music, mind you; but rather, about the "music business." They are enjoying some deserved success, which most of the hard-working local bands in this town deserve; but, they've hitched their wagon temporarily to the Donna Valentine-Chris Carr "Roadhouse," a show started at K102 in direct response to the original Other Side of Country on WIXK. The Whiskey Roses should do very well on the Roadhouse, but the door is going to slam shut if Mark doesn't sit down and think up some words that rhyme with tampon, minivan, ipod, car-seat, litter box and detergent. And angels, put lots of angels in there. (Just as an aside, when is Martina McBride going to record a song about the 50 or so innocent civilians that get blown up daily by car bombs in Baghdad turning into angels? Am I the only one wondering this?)

I'm going to hand out an award to Martin Devaney for his unflagging optimism in the year 2006 in the face of corporate music giants everywhere who ruin everything. Britney Spears parlayed above average tits, a marginal singing voice, and marginal dancing ability into getting her picture splashed all over the internet for abusing her children and flashing her beaver in night clubs. If Martin had nicer tits, he'd probably be the current owner and operator of Prince's former Paisley Park mansion and recording studio. To him I give the inaugural 2006 Dead Suit Free Pepperland Award, for his independent spirit and dogged determination to produce the music of Minneapolis' mean streets.

The inaugural 2006 Mainstream Country Jagoff Award goes to Troy Lee Gentry, who shot a bear in Sandstone, just to watch him die. Because the coward pleaded guilty, the more important question of why shooting this domesticated bear named Cubby was videotaped will never be asked or answered. If he were a human being, let alone a real man, he would stand up and respond. Absent that, I'm left to surmise why, and knowing Nashville and the way the people on the business side of the music business down there think, my only theory is that this was going to be part of some music video displaying Gentry's overflowing manhood. Of course, if that were admitted, it would tack on all sort of "conspiracy to commit" charges to the ones he's already pled out, and would cost a lot of people who sign his checks a lot of extra money, so that never happened. Congratulations Troy Lee Bobby Joe Jim Bob, you should be proud of yourself.

Yes Bagel man, we are sliding sideways into the Year of the Pig, but we aren't sliding across ice with 8-inch power augers, because the average temperature across the State of Minnesota this week is 40-some degrees. Many of us are chomping at the bit to test out our buckshot rattle spoons and chubby darters, but Mother Nature won't cooperate. The successes of the Year of the Dog were purely personal; the world around me suffered, and I'm praying desperately for change. Someone send up a flare.

Yours,
Lieutenant George Herbert Walker Platano-Blanco
Air Force Reserve (ret'd)
Probationary Member, Phoenix Herpetological Society

Posted by Hillbilly Number One at December 14, 2006 12:08 PM