Change

I don’t feel the sun’s coming out today- it’s staying in; it’s gonna find another way….
As I sit here in this misery, I don’t think I’ll ever (no, Lord) see the sun from here.

And, oh, as I fade away, they’ll all look at me and say- and they’ll say, “Hey, look at him! I’ll never live that way!” And that’s okay; they’re just afraid to change.

When you feel life ain’t worth living, you’ve got to stand up and take a look around you; then look up way to the sky (yeah)- and when your deepest thoughts are broken, keep on dreamin’ boy ‘cause when you stop dreamin’ it’s time to die.

And as we all play parts of tomorrow (oh, no), some ways will work and in other ways we’ll pay; but I know we can’t all stay here forever, so I want to write my words on the face of today- and then they’ll paint it….

And, oh, as I fade away (uh, huh), they’ll all look at me and say- they’ll say, “Hey, look at him, and where he is these days!” When life is hard you have to change; when life is hard you have to change.

-Blind Melon

Fate

There are life lessons and then there is life. There are those who simply refuse to acknowledge existence, denying everything except what they’re supposed to believe and do, and there are those who let life happen and recognize that it is happening. Obviously, this is not an either/or scenario, and many of our thoughts and actions are spent trying to figure out how to balance the two or how the two are balanced or which is which and what is what, etc.

My point is that I’ve had a lot of experiences from which there’s seemingly no information to be culled. A lot of shit happens and then some other shit happens and then we die. There are personal patterns to be found for sure, and broken if desired, but life is random enough that we’re constantly being faced with unique situations, and there’s nothing about these situations which we can know except ourselves, and even someone as introspective as myself finds me (understanding that “me” does not in totality exist) extremely elusive.

I have no idea what’s going to happen tomorrow, and probably nothing that has happened yesterday can prepare me for it. All I can do is choose to float with the current, fight against it or be overcome. Most days I'm fine with that.

Patience

Patience is not a virtue I possess. Truth is; I don’t consider patience a virtue. For me, patience equals A WASTE OF TIME. I don’t got tiiiiime to play games; I want what I want and I want it nooOOWWW. If I had my druthers, I’d have a magic club that I could use to smash everyone and everything I wanted and drag it home and it would be MINE... until I got bored with it and then it could go back to where I found it until I wanted it again. Trying to figure out what I want before I have it does not seem possible. I’d rather take it now and figure it out later. But the Butthole Surfers said, “It’s better to regret something you did than something you didn’t do.” (After writing that line I threw in that album and spent the next several hours writing the previous post.)

Unfortunately, life doesn’t work this way. Social protocol requires tedious hardships like gracious conversation and saving money. Okay, okay; I’m trying! Rather; I will try. I PROMISE. But what if 2009 passes by and I’ve STILL gotten nothing done??? FUCK! Where’s my club?

Red Hot Chili Peppers

I have a confession to make: One Hot Minute (1995) is my favorite Red Hot Chili Peppers album. Now this is ABSOLUTE blasphemy to any true RHCP fan, but honestly, in general I think they’re a good and entertaining band, but I’m not that ga-ga over them really.

Obviously Hillel Slovak was THE guitarist for RHCP. He was an original founding member of the band who truly defined their sound. And he was a motherfucking bad ass to boot. Too bad for that whole speedball (yeah, that’s heroin and cocaine mixed and injected I point out while banging my head on the desk…) overdose thing. The band probably would have folded, and almost certainly would have faded into LA scene flash-pan-fame status, were it not for a young guitarist who could ape Hillel’s style possibly better than Hillel himself named John Frusciante.

I consider Frusciante one of my favorite guitar players; falling somewhere after Derek Bailey, Jimi Hendrix, Blind Boy Fuller, Django Reinhardt, Charlie Christian, Charlie Byrd, Grant Green, and young Jimmy Page. Blood Sugar Sex Magik (1991) is easily the most solid and defining album RHCP ever made; the band is enviously OoH THAT’S TIGHT throughout. Try to not dance along; seriously. You know, though? I don’t dance unless you’re cute enough to talk me into it. My only real gripe with BSSM is that it is way too long, with a couple stupid filler songs like “Apache Rose Peacock” and “Sir Psycho Sexy” (I know; how hypocritical to knock the song I quoted four sentences ago).

As fate would have it, the success of BSSM and the stress of the resulting tour compelled Frusciante to quit the band, become a recluse and go on a six year heroin binge. Fortunately, before the spiral he created Niandra Ladies and Usually Just a T-Shirt (released in 1994) which is in my opinion the most entrancingly erotic sound poem ever created. During the spiral, he made Smile From the Streets You Hold (released in 1997), a heart-wrenchingly pained album I also love and am so glad I got ahold of before he pulled it off the market.

One Hot Minute is the only album RHCP made during Frusciante’s hiatus, and they made it with Dave Navarro on guitar. Truth be told, Navarro strikes me as a TOOL. However, while I like RHCP, I LOVE Jane’s Addiction, of which Navarro is a founding member. I’ve never been able to logically understand how Navarro fits with Jane’s Addiction; his hairband/metal influenced playing should theoretically contrast with Stephen Perkin’s tribal drumming, Eric Avery’s ingenious (understatement!!!) bass lines and Perry Farrell’s whiney, echoplex-infused voice. His layered, often pseudo-psychedelic sound is cleverer than you’d ever guess just by looking at the guy, though. I don’t care what anybody says; Jane’s Addiction was the best thing that came out of the ‘80’s.

I love the lyrics of OHM. Anthony Kiedis is possibly the most annoying frontman of any band ever, but I think the more melodic vocal approach he discovered while making BSSM positively encouraged him to rely less on white boy rap and try some new shit, including ACTUALLY SINGING, straight-up narration (anybody else think he was listening to a lot of Lou Reed around this time?) and vocal effects that would not have happened without Navarro’s “studio sound” approach. The real RHCP is a band that writes by jamming out riffs in their garage/mansion, whereas Navarro is obviously the let’s-sit-in-the-studio-for-months-pushing-buttons-and-see-what-happens type. The fine-tuning that went into OHM as well as the obvious (and obviously self-medicated) shit that the members were going through at the time makes OHM refreshingly introspective. Somehow, however, it remains celebratory and more or less avoids preachiness. My personal biases are evident in the fact that I think “One Big Mob” contains the best drumming of any RHCP song ever, and of course it’s the Stephen Perkins added drum parts I’m talking about.

It was obvious that the band was never going to go anywhere with Navarro, and I was as excited as everyone else when Frusciante cleaned up, came back and delivered in spades on Californication (1998), another beautiful album with Kiedis doing more singing. But, for starters, what happened to the guy who brilliantly tuned Chad Smith’s snares on BSSM? Californication is predictably pop-py; saccharine even. Is the title track, about everyone selling out to marketable Hollywood, meant to be ironic? Somewhere in all the drug rehab they lost the edge that would have prevented them from singing about anal sex and making it sound pretty back in the old days. I actually find myself missing the white boy rap.

Are You Experienced?

If you can just get your mind together then come on across to me.
We’ll hold hands and then we’ll watch the sunrise from the bottom of the sea.
But first… are you experienced?
Have you ever been experienced?
Well, I have….

I know, I know; you’ll probably scream and cry that your little world won’t let you go.
But who in your measly little world are you trying to prove that you’re made out of gold and you can’t be sold?
So… are you experienced?
Have you ever been experienced?
Well, I have….
Let me prove it to you!

Trumpets and violins I can hear in the distance.
I think they’re calling our name.
Maybe now you can’t hear them, but you will (ha-ha) if you just take hold of my hand.
Oh… but are you experienced?
Have you ever been experienced?
Not necessarily stoned, but beautiful….

-Jimi Hendrix

Followers

Blogspot has recently installed this new feature that I just added to the left. I think the jist of it is you click on it and sign up and then it automatically notifies you whenever I post something new. You can sign up anonymously. I dunno; seems like a good idea.

The downside is that I like pretending nobody reads this thing and now I'll have an idea that others are, if they are that is....

Walk

find myself singing the same songs everyday
ones that make me feel good
when things behind the smiles ain't okay

around and over and in between the seas
i need to be on top of a mountain
where i can see everything
'cause this paranoia's getting old

now as i open my eyes to start another day
i'm in a pile of puke
empty bag of excuses
my love for friends and family
you know i need them

and under a sun that's seen it all before
my feet are so cold
and i can't believe that i have to bang my
head against this wall again
but the blows they have just a little more
space in between them

gonna take a breath and try again

-blind melon

Geni

I just found out that according to geni.com my name is Dennis Kelso. I live in Nebraska, my mom is named Norma and my wife is Janet. There's so much useful information on the internet! It doesn't know how old I am, however. Rats; I wanted to find out how long I've gone without being aware of these extremely fundamental facts....

Home

Others will often declare that they prefer to live where they feel most at home.

Of all the places I’ve been, I feel most at home in Oakland, California. You can act like an asshole and nobody gives a fuck because they’re used to it. Running bicyclists off the road is encouraged. The best places to be are unmarked and hidden so they’re not over-crowded. Tourists stay away because they fear they’ll get shot. Ethnic diversity is an understatement. The food and wine are awesome. You can watch baseball in a shitty stadium for two dollars on Tuesdays. You’re near enough to the navel-gazing trustafarian college town of Berkeley to rummage through their used book and CD stores, but far enough that your neighbors won’t be getting stoned and rehearsing their jam-band in the middle of the night. If you live near BART, getting to beautiful San Francisco is a breeze and you won’t have to figure out where to park once you arrive. There, you can watch baseball in a wonderful stadium if you can afford it, or wander through the Sutro Bath ruins for free.

I have no interest in living there again.


I can’t say I feel at home in Portland, Oregon at all. Everybody’s too busy being nice to worry about things like learning how to drive, but may heaven help you if you dare honk. The majority are nauseating health nuts. It’s a small town full of wanna-be country folk with no night life or music scene to speak of. The most exciting thing here is a huge, labyrinthine bookstore with one bathroom. People know way too much about micro-brews. They tell you it doesn’t snow here and then it does for a week straight. You can only buy hard liquor at a state-run, price-controlled store. The only professional sport is basketball. Perhaps worst of all, everybody’s constantly blah-blah-blahing about how great Portland is.

I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.