(posts) an excerpt about a glimmer of hope

There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty forever beyond its reach.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King

 

a quick review of a crossover punk band from Salt Lake City

Deathblow’s new EP offers more tall-guzzling thrash metal

I reviewed Deathblow’s three-song EP “Rotten Trajectory” in 2023. Those denim-and-high-tops songs sounded mosh-ready. The new EP, “Open Season,” tries to pick up where they left off.

The title track starts with some head-nodding hardcore, then steps into a fast punk-rock chord progression 40 seconds in. A textbook sound.

My favorite song is “Tormentor.” It attacks from the get-go with a rapid-picking riff. The song has a little of the old, nourishing energy heard in much of their 2023 release. And thrown in for the bargain is a hot little lead after the first verse.

But, man, the singer falls on his face trying to hit a high note at 50 seconds. I’d hate to hear the vocal tracks that didn’t make the cut.

The good news is “Open Season” includes some tidy thrash and punk compositions.

But the effort overall lacks inspiration. The music too often sounds rote.

The Salt Lake City band released the EP June 16, 2025, on Sewer Mouth Records.

about Linkin v Dillinger

In my freshman year, I went to a guy's dorm to play guitars. I was pretty good. I played Slayer and Ozzy. A few years later he asked if I wanted to start a band. He wanted to sound like Linkin Park, but I was into The Dillinger Escape Plan by then.

He had never heard Dillinger, so I played "Calculating Infinity" on my car stereo for him. He didn't like it: "Who wants to listen to this?"

I asked the same question about Linkin Park: trend-chasing commercial music for idiots, I thought.

Since then, I shed some snobbery and learned to see his side of it. It's fine if you care whether people like your music. Like, when I listen to music, I usually decide within two minutes minutes, asking, "Where is the bite? What's in this for me?"

But on the merits of sounding like Linkin Park versus The Dillinger Escape Plan: Dillinger was an admirable success for over 15 years. Its audience was loyal, and the band's influence continues. Linkin Park changed nothing and shed fans rapidly after a few years. The lead singer killed himself in 2017.

Note:
- Success in the music industry is the Holy Grail, anyway.
- Funny, all the little details of these two moments.

a review of a Thirdface album

A second listen reveals the pleasures of this rush of raw, invigorating hardcore, noise rock, and metal from late 2024

I listened to this album last winter and decided to pass. Big mistake!

Thirdface’s “Ministerial Cafeteria” is beautiful savagery—slam-dance energy courses through body-blow rhythms and face-raking vocals.

I rescued my download of this album from the recycle bin after “Sour” played on some playlist. The song offers so much.

It’s the most measured and spacious song on the album. The bass guitar steps up, and a patient but hard-hitting beat stalks menacingly amid a claustrophobic guitar. The effect is a gross, dangerous tension.

But urgency and abundance power most of the songs. The exemplar is the groove-chewing “Pure Touch.” This fucker is exciting—a nearly perfect song with its ferocity and change-ups. A coiling guitar riff sounds like rock n’ roll under spittle-fly vocals. The song is part Dillinger, part Jesus Lizard. I also love the spastic, syncopated “Bankroll.” The song runs into a few danceable grooves, including a great harmonic-driven riff near the 1:20 mark.

The Nashville hardcore-punk quartet released “Ministerial Cafeteria,” its second full-length, on November 1, 2024, via Exploding in Sound.

I mean, don't most of us wish we were back in November 1, 2024?

about "The Plague" by Albert Camus

Rats wobble out into daylight and begin dying in ones and twos. Then by the dozens. Then by the thousands. This is how The Plague begins.

 

The authorities are slow to accept the looming tragedy in 1940s Oran, a port city in French Algeria. But Dr. Bernard Rieux, with a growing sense of urgency, finally goads the medical community into action. Rieux is the main character, and most of the novel's action unfolds in the hearts of the men in Rieux's orbit. They experience fear, defiance, isolation, desperation, and resignation. And in their trials they achieve moments of shame, faith, solidarity, courage, and compassion.

Philosophy—existentialism, of course, by Albert Camus—seeps through the pages. The human condition? Weakness and suffering and the exercise of moral freedom and responsibility in the face of an absurd and indifferent universe. Camus writes a dark story in which redeeming human moments sometimes catch the light.

The Stranger is probably my all-time favorite book, but no other Camus book, including this one, has connected with me the same way. The prose here is lovely, but the characters remain distant, and I never invested in them.

 

It could be my timing: when I read it, I had just spent weeks soaking in the raw inner lives of Richard Yates's characters; Camus's men seem aloof by comparison.

Note: The Plague was published in 1947.

 

about legal drama "Judge Judy"

The judge stated the facts of the case. The couple had lived together and have one child. The woman also has children from a different relationship. The judge asked how many. In this courtroom built from concrete composite such a shame and brick, finished with mother's defiant girl and wood paneling she tilted her head down in answer, "Two. Two other children." Stain spread wings when life's changes happen in only a few words.

a fictional note about the barbecue

Jim invites you and a few of the other dads on the block to watch Sunday football at his house and eat barbecue. You discuss the importance of a good offensive line with one dad and begin to suspect he has a urinary tract infection. He searches your eyes for recognition, but now you deny him.

Later in life, the doctor, nurse, physician's assistant, medical technician, nurse practitioner, and the patient himself watch his dark urine course through the tubing.

about messing around on the guitar

Sometimes when I fuck around on guitar, I'll find something decent and play it repeatedly. In that rhythm, maybe I can nail it. But if I turn on the phone to record, No. I tell myself I can play it clean without screwing up, but the memory and hands can't believe each other.

 

about a couple I saw trying to cross the street

The young couple paused at the sunny street corner where three cars had reached a four-way stop. The car ahead of them moved first, followed by the car on the right turning left, crossing their path. The man watched the cars move, one by one, without turning his head, fearing that to look and acknowledge the driver would signal his yielding. Meanwhile, two more cars cued up at the intersection. He feared that the responsible caution he thought he was demonstrating for his date now seemed like slow-witted timidity. The sun pumped overhead and focused its energy on him, squeezing perspiration from his brow, his armpits, from his back. Was I supposed to have stepped off the curb and challenge the cars? 

She stepped off the curb, offered back her hand and a wink, her eyes a squint in the UV light. A haughty little sigh slipped from his dry mouth—the last little gasp from his car-crushed lungs—then he took her hand, gratefully, and wished he would never have to let go.

 

(posts) maybe an album cover

 

something about “A Clockwork Orange”

A violent young hoodlum is caught, imprisoned, and behaviorally conditioned to be sickened by violence. He changes from a living thing into a machine—a clockwork orange.

I watched Stanley Kubrick’s “A Clockwork Orange” in my teens. It stays with you: Kubrick’s striking scenery and artful shots, Malcolm McDowell’s boiling performance, and the characters’ affected speech.

 

The story and the speech—supposedly a mix of Russian-derived slang terms, cockney constructions, and archaic English—are the creation of author Anthony Burgess. I read A Clockwork Orange after seeing the movie, though, and now I have reread it. I love it.

The end of Kubrick’s movie, released in 1971, famously differs from Burgess’s book, published in 1962. The movie ends with Alex, the young hoodlum and protagonist, cured, so to speak, of his behavioral conditioning and once again aspiring to violence and criminality. Kubrick’s version follows the American edition of the book, which omitted the book's original final chapter in which Alex begins to lose interest in the wanton violence he pursued aggressively in youth, instead thinking more and more of relaxing and making something—a family, maybe.

The rest of the world had that chapter, yet Kubrick’s film is probably still the seminal version of the story. Burgess explains his take on the omitted ending in a new introduction he wrote in 1986:

When a fictional work fails to show a change, when it merely indicates that human character is set, stony, unregenerable, then you are out of the field of the novel and into that of the fable or the allegory. The American or Kubrickian Orange is a fable; the British or word one is a novel.

One of several nice passages in the book and not in the movie comes after P.R. Deltoid, the Post-Corrective Adviser from Alex’s time in a reform school, leaves Alex’s house the morning after one of Alex’s late nights of destruction. Alex is reflecting on society’s efforts to improve the behavior of young people like him. He shrugs his shoulders at the idea of getting arrested again and locked up in some jail or reform institution.

So if I get loveted and its three months in this mesto and another six in that, and then, as P.R. Deltoid so kindly warns, next time, in spite of the great tenderness of my summers, brothers, it’s the great unearthly zoo itself, well, I say: “Fair, but a pity, my lords, because I just cannot bear to be shut in. My endeavor shall be, in such future as stretches out its snowy and lilywhite arms to me before the nosh overtakes or the blood spatters its final chorus in twisted metal and shattered glass on the highroad, to not get loveted again.” Which is fair speeching. But, brothers, this biting of their toe-nails over what is the cause of badness is what turns me into a fine laughing malchick. They don’t go into what is the cause of goodness, so why of the other shop? If lewdies are good that’s because they like it, and I wouldn’t ever interfere with their pleasures, and so of the other shop. More, badness is of the self, the one, the you or me on our oddy knockies, and that self is made by Bog or God and in his great pride and rodasty. But the not-self cannot have the bad, meaning they of the government and the judges and the schools cannot allow the bad because they cannot allow the self. And is not our modern history, my brothers, the story of brave malenky selves fighting these big machines? I am serious with you, bothers, over this. But what I do I do because I like to do.

 

Notes:

"A Clockwork Orange" seems subversive even now, and in 1962 it must have been nuts.

In the same introduction mentioned above, Burgess suggests the term clockwork orange was first Cockney slang for a gay.

I read this in the website The Ringer (which is taking this part probably from the New York Post):

When McDowell improvised a version of “Singin’ in the Rain” on set during the scene in which Alex paralyzes the reclusive writer Mr. Alexander (Patrick Magee), he unlocked a contemporary, Hollywood-aimed variation on Burgess’s point, which Kubrick then wove brilliantly into the overall design of the film. Alex uses “Singin’ in the Rain” to express his joy at inflicting pain. In the process, Kubrick “taints” the music in a manner that foreshadows the methodology of the evil scientists’ brainwashing Ludovico Technique (not to mention the pale imitation of Quentin Tarantino, whose use of “Stuck in the Middle With You” in Reservoir Dogs as Mr. Blonde’s own private ode to joy is a tribute).