an album review of “Let’s Not (And Say We Did)” by Zeahorse

The blurry streetlights and bitterly ferocious noise rock of Sidney.

Zeahorse’s latest album tyrannosauruses through a world experiencing a mass-extinction event. The first song, “Designer Smile,” careens forward with its weight-throwing groove and tyrannical vocals. The sweaty, raving lyrics—“I wish you could see me know / I'm exercising my designer smile!”—sound both insecure and commanding.

Let’s Not (And Say We Did) is the Sydney-based band’s third album and first in over four years. Zeahorse’s sound calls to mind bands like Unwound and Fugazi. Think noise rock and post-punk.

After a couple of galloping tracks, Zeahorse canter through a chunkier groove on “Guilty.” The lyrics describe treading water in a hyper-self-conscious culture of self-improvement. The rising and falling vocal sneers, “When our heads get turned into mush, blame it on the hoo-haa, the Friday night fuss ‘cause I’m dated and bloated and boring and sinking / The party will never end with someone like you / Whatever you do will only make it worse; whatever you do now will only make it hurt.”

On “The Ladder,” Zeahorse bare teeth at the ladder-climbing company man: “Ah, I climb the ladder—there is nothing better! If I could be the spanner, will you be my hammer? Ah, I climb the ladder—there is nothing better! I could be a friend to everyone!” This disaffected lament boils over to the sound of hard-charging post-punk.

Find a slight change in sound, from post-punk to a sludge-gummed crush, on “20 Nothing.” The song opens with a big beat, then rolls out a savage bass tone that sounds great with splashy cymbals. Zeahorse flash big, broad noise-rock stripes and more satire in the lyrics: “I'm so happy, I'm so ready to turn my moments into nothing / Suffocating under the money tree / This ain’t no place for you, and it ain’t no place for me.”

The four-piece band keeps it loud in the pocket. Songs on Let’s Not (And Say We Did) seethe massive grooves and layered, blaring vocals. The singing has that quality of sounding taunting, scolding, and pleading all at once—Johnny Rotten-style, already done. The lyrics deliver indelicate attacks on the materialistic, shallow, and image-obsessed—familiar targets and features of culture that, the louder you rail against them, the more they envelope you.

 

Note: Not really my taste in music, but I think it sounds good and can imagine others enjoying it.

 

something about "The Good Fight" by Harry Reid

Harry Reid was the Republican Party's biggest Democratic villain before he retired and Nancy Pelosi took the honor. In The Good Fight, Reid shares his life's story, including his battles with the George W. Bush Administration over Social Security and war in Iraq.

Reid was born and raised in a Nevada mining ghost town called Searchlight, a place where the leading industry was prostitution. "I don't exaggerate. There was a local law that said you could not have a house of prostitution or a place that served alcohol within so many feet of a school. Once, when it was determined that one of the clubs was in violation of this law, they moved the school." His parents were a tough, booze-bleeding pair, and his boyhood home had no indoor toilet, hot water, or telephone. Reid emerged a scrapper from true poverty in Searchlight.

His assessments of his influences produces my favorite passage; Reid remembers Willie Martello, a "whoremonger," lecturing him about honesty, and pairs that with his parents' ways:

... They never taught me things about basic honesty—maybe that's why I had to learn about it from the whoremonger.

But this lesson my mother did teach me, and it's the most important thing I've ever learned: She taught me to have confidence when sometimes I had no business having confidence. She taught me that no one was better than me, even if it wasn't true. She taught me that I could handle anything that the world could throw at me, whatever it might be.

Reid worked as a policeman to pay his way through law school. He faced down crime lords as the head of the Nevada Gaming Commission and eventually was elected Senator and served as Majority Leader in Washington, DC. The Good Fight shifts coherently back and forth in time between Reid's tough-it-out rise and those hard-fought, highly consequential battles of the 2000s. Quite an enjoyable read about a one-of-a-kind in modern political history.


Notes:

• “Who I am now, and what I am doing now, began in that town, with those people, in those mines.”

• The book's full title is The Good Fight: Hard Lessons from Searchlight to Washington. Reid had writing assistance from Mark Warren, whose resume highlight is his tenure as Executive Editor of Esquire magazine. Warren, a Texan, also worked on or directed several state- and national-level political campaigns in the 1980s.

about something said in the breakroom

Lisa, her current husband, and her son from her previous marriage to a convict drove to Toronto during the holidays. Lisa brought back to the office some maple cookies. She told us, as we forced down the cookies, that Toronto is great because, immigration-wise, residents there describe the city as a mosaic rather than a melting pot. This elicited an "Aww" from Cheryl. Lisa then informed us that Toronto was what New York City wishes it was: a city in which people don't have that I'm-too-cool attitude. Also, Toronto has a China Town, Little Italy, and so on.

a plot

I wrote an awesome book about a guy, Johnny Blast, who has to drive a truckload of drugs somewhere to save his hot wife's life. He barely makes the delivery, and then he kills the bad guys and keeps the drugs. His wife dies, though.

something about "Diary of a Madman" by Nikolai Gogol

"Diary of a Madman," a short story by Nikolai Gogol, documents the warping of thought in an impoverished civil servant. The diary's author is incurably insecure and envious; his entries reveal his deepening delusions. This work, written in 1835, attacks Russia's class structure. I did not enjoy this read. Most of the Russian literature I have read dealt with these themes in some way but with better jokes.

an opinion of Judge Alcee L. Hastings, 5 January 1989

 "I don't think judges need to be timid people."

 

something about "The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway"

This collection is divided into three parts; some stories go together like a series. I especially enjoyed the random excerpts, such as "One Reader Writes." Here, Hemingway exhibits the empathy only a writer could capture. 

My favorite Hemingway short story in this collection is "I guess Everything Reminds You of Something." The heaviness of meaning and relevance in this story, which, unsurprisingly, is an easy read, will force any reader to pause.

Note: I read an edition labeled "The Finca Vidia Edition."

(posts) the obituary for Stephanie Ambrose May, October 2020

https://www.dignitymemorial.com/obituaries/dallas-tx/stephanie-may-9392010

something about our hello

After he finished his part—a self-introduction to his new colleagues—he suddenly looked very old. His words disappeared from my memory as soon as he stopped talking. Maybe I was distracted by the turn; his gaze, turned down, threw a shadow on us all. The meeting went on like nothing happened.

The poor boy wanted to make a splash. But, as he expected, he shrank into himself. I saw it. Did anybody else?

something about Ernest Hemingway's "A Farewell to Arms"

Ernest Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms looks back at a love that fought in World War I. The lovers are Frederic Henry and Catherine Barkley. Here is Fredric beginning his relationship with Catherine:

I thought she was probably a little crazy. It was all right if she was. I did not care what I was getting into. This was better than going every evening to the house for officers where the girls climbed all over you and put your cap on backward as a sign of affection between their trips upstairs with brother officers. I knew I did not love Catherine Barkley nor had any idea of loving her. This was a game, like bridge, in which you said things instead of playing cards. Like bridge, you had to pretend you were playing for money or playing for some stakes. Nobody had mentioned what the stakes were. It was all right with me.

This passage stuck with me. Through most of the novel, I wondered if Frederic and Catherine really loved each other—or, at least, whether each loved the other at the same time. I thought that maybe they were lonely and scared and just wanted to love and comfort someone. She seemed to doubt his sincerity, and he seemed to be either keeping his distance or trying to persuade himself she was something more than she was. Then, by the end, their love—which of course is borne of loneliness and fear—becomes painfully real.

Catherine may be crazy, but she is a great and complicated character. She knew all along that their relationship was doomed.

I held her close against me and could feel her heart beating and her lips opened and her head went back against my hand and then she was crying on my shoulder.

"Oh, darling," she said. "You will be good to me, won't you?"

What the hell, I thought. I stroked her hair and patted her shoulder. She was crying. "You will, won't you?" She looked up at me. "Because we're going to have a strange life."

And one of my favorite Hemingway passages is this exchange between Catherine and Frederic:

"We won't fight."

"We mustn't. Because there's only us two and in the world there's all the rest of them. If anything comes between us we're gone and then they have us." 

"They won't get us," I said. "Because you're too brave. Nothing ever happens to the brave."

"They die of course."  

"But only once." 

"I don't know. Who said that?"  

"The coward dies a thousand deaths, the brave but one?" 

"Of course. Who said it?" 

"I don't know." 

"He was probably a coward," she said. "He knew a great deal about cowards but nothing about the brave. The brave dies perhaps two thousand deaths if he's intelligent. He simply doesn't mention them." 

 

Note:  A Farewell to Arms was published in 1929.

about exercise during the coronavirus pandemic

Small sets of people, forced out of the local boutique gyms and studios, take to the paved space beneath the overpass, at the east end of the neighborhood, to resume exercise classes. There, the people strain, lift hand-weights, pull on bands of rubber, keep fit under watch of the trainer. The riddle asks what does the trainer do; the trainer is the troll, and the price of a wrong answer is another 10. The rest of us continue on the path to where a routine is nothing we can't handle. 

something about Tom Perrotta’s "Mrs. Fletcher"

Tom Perrotta excels at combining middle-class drama and satire. His stories, including Mrs. Fletcher, sprout from small sagas in American suburbs. The titular character is Eve, a fifty-something divorcée and mother of an entitled, popular, teenaged son named Brendan. Brendan is starting college, and Eve is starting life in an empty nest. The coming year defies expectations because it is Eve rather than Brendan who begins to dabble and explore. Perrotta's easily digestible novel sets up tension between a mature woman starting a new chapter in her life and her immature son's struggle in a new environment in which he is no longer at center. This is an enjoyable story of contemporary sexual politics.


Notes:

• Mrs. Fletcher was published in 2017. The book was adapted recently into an HBO series.
• Here is a fair review in The Washington Post.