We are all getting older. Minute-by-minute, day-by-day, time keeps adding seconds to the clock that is at the same time counting down. It has been a rocky road since I turned 30 last fall: a slightly separated shoulder, the blasted cold of winter, and just as things seemed ready to kick off, I planted my knee into the cold, sharp, angular menacing plastic that is the rapid fire shifter lever on my mountain bike; the soft tendon shroud over my patella is now securely under the aching spell of winter’s cold breath. It is true that I can go running, and that on warm days the aching disappears. And while I can remove myself from the situation in such a way as to be able to look back over the past weeks and note the progress towards a once more healthy joint, I have no choice but to recognize that those weeks will not be returned to me. Countless hours of base miles have been lost to this, which would otherwise be such a minor offense; an innocuous tap, struck in such a sinister manner to a place most vulnerable, so as to render the best laid plans for never-ending upgrade to rest. My spring 2011 efforts have been doused, the shifter and the knee a discovered handicap much like Achilles’ heel, or Smaug’s missing scale.
Note also that Smaug sleeps constantly, and is a dragon. As a dragon that can take what ever he wants and eat whatever he wants, what is the use of the gold billions he has stored? If he wants lamb my guess is that he just strafes a flock for some instant BBQ, and he is probably not interested in spending money on trinkets at the lake peoples’ Saturday farmers market. So the reason for gold has to be pure uncut spite, and for that I appreciate Smaug, and I appreciate his spiteful purity. Like Smaug, I too have no use for the lake peoples’ Saturday market; I have an entire closet filled with tie died headscarves and bamboo wind chimes.
I did however help put on a fun little spring time Super D race series called the Sandy Ridge Spring Brake and as JD would say, more to come. For now suffice it to say there was a far bit schralping.
I can’t get enough of this music. I love the stuff, I have been listening to a few things recently that I believe work really well with bike riding, or sitting, or drawing, or napping. Check them below, and if you are into any of it, go buy the album or at least by the song.
This is Electrelane, out of the UK on Too Pure, this jam just titillates:
The song “Marathon” from the band Tennis on the Fat Possum label has sweet doo-wop hooks that will leave you breaking laws while trying to hit repeat:
The band Crocodiles, also on Fat Possum, put shoegaze in a nitro powered dragster and ran it head on into the house that Suicide built:
King Kahn and the BBQ, are garage rock heroes who have been on all the good ones, and do you know why? Because they are fucking amazing, that’s why:
Damn it there are so many things I want to share with you, like this chap Ty Segall, FAAAAAAAAAAAAAHK. Mind melter am I right? If this person ever plays with in 100 miles of you ride your bike there and leave changed:
Another amazing little piece I have had on repeat is Wild Nothing. Good God Good:
Do you need a little more electronic in your ears? This Breakbot remix by Colorblaster has been the closing song at the shop more than any other this past year:
There are certainly moments when getting heavy is required, and lately I have been falling back on Wooden Shjips to help me along. Psych mind drill, and I love it:
Speaking of wearing out the wax, this little number is giving my turntable fits. Yuck is on tour. Go see them. GO:
I could go on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on, but instead I am going to leave you with this little piece of hysteria and bid you adieu
The Oh Sees: