Uncomfortably Numb + Matador Playlists

22 Jan Uncomfortably Numb + Matador Playlists

Posted at 20:18h in Uncategorized by inkyinkinc

Welcome back, Gentle Reader(s), from wherever you might be hiding. Perhaps you’ve just crawled out from under the bed, the hangover having finally worn off, or perhaps you’ve just finished booking that flight to Tierra del Fuego, or Iceland, or Montreal. As for myself, after an election night bout of absinthe-addled bewilderment and dimensional dislocation I have returned to the intrawebs to try and figure out how to reckon with the New World Odor that looms before us all. If I may be so bold to presume, I figger I’m trying to process all of this, much as you are. It’s a tall order and I’m struggling, day by day, to comprehend what the future holds. (Please note: This post was composed over the course of a 2-plus month period.)

Since Orange Tuesday I have been swinging wildly back and forth between states of disbelief, dismay and despair interspersed with occasional twinges of irrational optimism (“Perhaps it won’t be quite as horrifying as I thought!”). After nearly a month, utter despair (“It’s going to be even more horrifying than I thought!”) has emerged as the default. Yes folks, this has actually happened. This is my life, your life, our country, the planet, and together we will have to find some way through to a future that offers something other than despair.

Meanwhile, the Pussy Grabber-Elect languished in his casino-baroque lair above 5th Avenue, tweeting out one mind-bogglingly brainless haiku after another, giving the State Department daily fits with his off-the-cuff bull sessions with world leaders, and granting audiences to a stream of mealy-mouthed grovelers. Prominent Rethuglicans who vehemently denounced the Orange Menace’s evil campaign rhetoric prior to November 8 have revealed themselves as utterly shameless and devoid of any shred of moral integrity. Mitt Romney, Ted Cruz, Paul Ryan, Chris Christie, etc., all came to grovel at the fool’s gold throne of the Orange Menace, confirming once and for all that their sole allegiance is to power and power alone.

By now, you, Gentle Reader(s), may have deduced that I have an aversion to referring to the Pussy-Grabber Elect by his actual name. It’s true—I can scarcely bring myself to utter it, either verbally or in print. It is that abhorrent to me. Not long ago I saw a video clip of the 44th president, Barack Hussein Obama—the last president of the pre post-truth era—discussing the current political situation. The interviewer observed that President Obama consistently avoided referring to (then candidate) Trump by his actual name. President Obama confirmed that the observation was accurate, explaining that he didn’t feel obligated to refer to Trump by name as Trump was doing an above average job of promoting his eponymous brand on a minute-to-minute, tweet-by-tweet basis. I concur wholeheartedly. Tomorrow, January 20th, 2017, this dreadful person is scheduled to be sworn in as the occupant of the most powerful office in the world and Chief Executive of our country. Perhaps then I’ll give in, but for at least another 24 hours I flatly refuse to acknowledge this thing as the president-elect of the United States. I have a right—New Mexico, by God, is a BLUE state!

Since the dreadful, unforgiving dawn of November 9th it has been a perpetual battle betwixt and between alleged reality and utter rejection of the unparalleled horror of it all—a waking nightmare of a sort. I defer now to the broadly accepted Kübler Ross model of the Five Stages of Grief, with a few au courant modifications:

Stage One: Denial
Stage Two: Anger
Stage Three: Bargaining
Stage Four: Depression
Stage Five: Acceptance
Stage Six: Self-Medication
Stage Seven: Netflix Binge Watching

It seems that a number of prominent individuals who were in a fragile state of health at the dawning of the Orange Era found that the prospect of clinging to this mortal coil was no longer such an attractive proposition. In the days and weeks following the election Leonard Cohen, Leon Russell, Gwen Ifill, Mose Allison, Sharon Jones, Carrie Fisher, and Debbie Reynolds all bid us a fond ‘So long, suckers!’ Who can blame them? Inky Mum was practically inconsolable over the loss of Gwen Ifill—a particular favorite of hers for many years. All shall be missed.

First Amendment in Action, Trump Tower, NYC, 12/16/16.

A portion of the interval since my last posting was spent most enjoyably in New York. Through the incomparable generosity of a dear friend of many years, I was based out of palatial digs at East 56th Street and 1st Avenue. This particular locale placed me exactly six blocks due east of the lair most foul of the Orange Menace hisself. Having loathed him from afar for so long it was a strange feeling knowing that I was but a 10-minute walk from the nerve center of the ascendant Drumpf reich where groveling courtiers were lining up daily to ingratiate themselves to Herr Tiny Hands. The awareness of this proximity created a palpable disruption in the Force, as it were. I resolved to give the Finger to Schloss Drumpf every time the gilded grotesquerie hove into view. I was far from alone. A contingent of protestors were set up across 5th Avenue from Drumpf Tower, exercising their precious (and possibly endangered) First Amendment rights. One protestor had fashioned a very compelling sign declaring that Herr Drumpf was not her president and suggesting that he ‘GO TO HELL FAST.’ Her sign was very lovingly accessorized with a large penis, artfully rendered in cutout cardboard, pointing its business end at a small photo of the namesake of the black marble monolith across the street. Other folks took selfies of their middle fingers saluting the tower and a Fox News crew with a reporter sporting a distinctly Drumpfian quiff held forth in the taxi lane. The whole scene was more than a little surreal.

As usual, the bulk of my time in the city was spent in museums and galleries and, oh lawd have moicy, there was much much greatness to behold. MoMA, the Met, the Guggenheim, the Neue Galerie, the Met Breuer, the Whitney, the Rothko show at Pace Gallery—I hit them all, most more than once. The mind did truly boggle. What can I say? I love New York. The show of later/darker Rothko paintings at Pace was practically worth the entire trip. It was amazing to be in such a compact space (relatively speaking) with such an extraordinary collection of amazing paintings. It was a museum quality show in a gallery space and I felt genuinely privileged. The Agnes Martin retrospective at the Guggenheim required two visits—the first experience being somewhat thwarted by the presence of several groups of schoolchildren dispersed up and down the ramp. Although their minders were doing a reasonable job of keeping them in check they still managed to generate a not inconsiderable level of cacophony which the upwardly expanding rotunda of the Guggenheim served to amplify. St. Agnes’s work being subtle and contemplative in the extreme, the gentle pubescent roar was sufficient to necessitate a second, more enjoyable, foray, this one in the company of cousin Michelle. All in all, it was a very enjoyable excursion and I hope to return again before too long—the environs being somewhat more inviting now that the Orange Goblin has decamped for Washington.

One day was set aside for a fond reunion with my old cohort, steadfast NYC homeboy (Jamaica, Queens), and former bandmate, Hari Hamilton. We met up in Midtown and spent a portion of the day in MoMA, browsing the collection, girl watching, and avoiding the frigid temps out on the streets. After a leisurely lunch at Le Bonne Soupe on 55th we hoofed it towards the temporary Inky NYC digs to chill and lift a beverage without paying Manhatto prices. The touristic throngs on Fifth Avenue were doing their touristy throngy thing, goggling the Christmas window displays of the flagship retail establishments that line the thoroughfare, decked out in full holiday regalia. Attempting to head east from 5th Avenue on 56th Street Hari and Your Humble Narrator found ourselves muddled in the midst of the security scrum surrounding Drumpf Schloss. After some oddly improvisational interactions with the NYPD we found ourselves rerouted back south on the east side of 5th Avenue towards 55th Street, unable to continue east on 56th, that entire block being apparently closed off to both vehicular and pedestrian traffic. Weird.

Taos Ski Valley—idyllic home away from home for a week and a half.

Safely back in New Mexico, YHN had a few days to enjoy the home fires before heading off in the company of fellow Matador DJ and art preparator extraordinaire DJ Prairie Dog to undertake an extended art installation job at the brand spanking new Blake Hotel at the Taos Ski Valley. It’s a whole different world up there in the mountains and the environs were quite enjoyable indeed. It snowed off and on during the entire 11 days spent in the mountains, depositing 18 inches or more of the fluffy white stuff on the slopes, trees, buildings, people and dogs. Quite peaceful and picturesque it was and the blissful sense of remove from the mundane cares and worries of the world below 10,000 feet was not lost on YHN.

Regardless, the cares and worries of the world marched ahead apace and on the 20th of January in the Year of our Lord 2017, a ceremony took place in Washington, D.C.. The Orange Goblin was sworn in as the 45th president of these United States. Since my last post in these virtual pages I have steadfastly refused to fully accept that this was actually going to happen until it actually happened and, well… it actually happened. I get that. I also get that the following day—that day being today—millions of people across this country and around the PLANET took to the streets to protest the ascendency of the Goblin and his minions. I was one of them. In Santa Fe, a town of about 55,000 people, a reported 13,000 of them marched through downtown, around the Plaza, and on to the state capital to say NO to hate, intolerance, racism, misogyny, division and mendacity. It was cold, windy and snowy but that only seemed to reinforce the resolve of Santa Feans to take to the streets and show their colors. Very heartening it was indeed to stand with one’s fellow citizens and make it plain that We The People would not be cowed and would not accept the obscenities of the ascendant Goblin Reich with silence and passivity. Santa Fe did itself proud today.

Fellow citizens marching down Galisteo Street.

And speaking of mendacity—today, the first day of the Orange Goblin administration—the O.G. hisself launched upon an extraordinary offensive of untruth. Speaking at C.I.A. headquarters in Langley, VA, he claimed that the crowd at his coronation was the biggest EVER—‘a million, million and a half’—when photographs of the assembly clearly show a crowd substantially smaller than that of President Obama’s 2009 inauguration. Even more mindbendingly, the Goblin went on to insist that he had nothing but the highest level of regard for the intelligence community and that any indications to the contrary were the result of a vicious campaign of misinformation by the press, whom he characterized (to general C.I.A. laughter) as ‘among the most dishonest human beings on earth.’ How very very odd indeed, as just last week at his pathetic charade of a news conference, a person who looked like the O.G., talked like the O.G., and for all intents and purposes did in fact seem to be the actual O.G., had compared the intelligence services of the United States to Nazis. NAZIS, folks. This all happened today—Day One of the Goblin Administration.

Santa Feans marching past the Loretto Chapel.

So, Gentle Reader(s), based upon careful consideration of evidence available at this juncture, I feel I can venture a reasonably informed opinion on this matter. It goes something like this: The President of the United States is a LYING SACK OF SHIT. Please feel free to quote me on that.

Oh, right, and here are some playlists for ya. And, perchance, did I happen to mention that the President of the United States is a LYING SACK OF SHIT? I did? I beg your forbearance—my memory isn’t quite what it used to be.

P.S. – Day TWO of the Goblin administration: Kellyanne Conway characterizes Chief Shill Sean Spicer’s baldfaced lies regarding Goblin coronation crowds (‘the largest audience to ever witness an inauguration-PERIOD!’) were based upon ‘alternative facts.’ Uh… wow.

Matador Playlist 11/17/16

Grammar of Life – Charles Bukowski
I Can’t Stand It – the Velvet Underground
Between the Wars – Billy Bragg
Most of My Heroes Still Don’t Appear On No Stamp – Public Enemy
He’d Send in the Army – Gang of Four
Young Man Blues – the Who
Voice of the Voiceless – Rage Against the Machine
Happiness Is A Warm Gun – the Beatles
Young, Gifted and Black – Bob & Marcia
Gun Problem – Railroad Jerk
A Apolitical Blues – Little Feat
Living In America – James Brown
I’m So Bored With the U.S.A. – the Clash
We the People… – A Tribe Called Quest
The Weeping Song – Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds
Brass Monkey – Beastie Boys
Will the Wolf Survive? – Los Lobos
This Ain’t No Picnic – Minutemen
The Revolution Will Not Be Televised – Gil Scott-Heron
Once In A Lifetime – Talking Heads
The KKK Took My Baby Away – the Ramones
Power to the People – John Lennon
You Keep Me From Breaking Apart – Apoptygma Berzerk
My War – Black Flag
Petition the Lord With Prayer – the Doors
Dead Rats, Dead Cats – the Doors
Break On Through – the Doors
Fight the Power – Public Enemy
In A State – the Pixies
Anarchy in the U.K. – Sex Pistols
The Weight – the Band
Not Great Men – Gang of Four
Fight the Power, Pts. 1 & 2 – the Isley Brothers
Should I Stay or Should I Go – the Clash
Quiet Dog – Mos Def
Street Fighting Man – the Rolling Stones
Make Love, Fuck War – Moby + Public Enemy
(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love & Understanding – Elvis Costello + the Attractions
My Generation – the Who
The Bitterest Pill (I Ever Had to Swallow) – the Jam
War on War – Wilco
Slave Driver – Bob Marley
Let’s Have A War – Fear
If 6 Was 9 – Jimi Hendrix
Where Are We Now? – David Bowie
The World’s A Mess, It’s In My Kiss – X
White Riot – the Clash
Halloween – Dead Kennedys
Talking Loud and Saying Nothing – James Brown
Killing In the Name – Rage Against the Machine
The Punk and the Godfather – the Who
Fuck Authority – Wasted Youth
Revolution – the Beatles
Halloween – Misfits
So Far From Your Weapon – the Dead Weather
American Idiot – Green Day
Success – Iggy Pop
Love Will Tear Us Apart – Joy Division
Red – King Crimson
Don’t Believe the Hype – Public Enemy
Damaged Goods – Gang of Four
Fall Back Down – Rancid
Communication Breakdown – Led Zeppelin
Running Up That Hill (A Deal with God) – Kate Bush
The Man Who Sold the World – Nirvana
The Apocalypse Song – St. Vincent
That Joke Isn’t Funny Anymore – the Smiths
Whistling Past the Graveyard – Screamin’ Jay Hawkins
People Have the Power – Patti Smith
Public Image – Public Image, Ltd.
Teen Age Riot – Sonic Youth
Bella Ciao – Chumbawumba
World Destruction – Time Zone (feat. Afrika Bambaata & John Lydon)
The Have Nots – X
World Without Tears – Lucinda Williams
Buona Sera – Louis Prima
Happy Trails – Roy Rogers & Dale Evans (feat. Trigger on Twitter)
Taxi – Bryan Ferry