"The Red Headed Hipster" or "Blue Eyes Cryin' in the PBR"

I came across a record at the radio station the other day that stopped me in my tracks. Here's the metaphotographic reason why:



Whodathunk that my favorite outlaw country musician circa '79 would have fit in so well with today's underground party culture?

Seriously... view any album!

And speaking of which... isn't Ed Sanders too old to be shotgunning beer?

Pa Rum-pa Pum Pum

After visiting my new nephew this evening, it occurred to me whilst listening to an album of heavy metal Christmas covers today on the drive home that anyone playing a DRUM would probably scare the bajeezus out of the baby Jesus.

Oh, okay... you're a poor boy and can't afford gold, frankincense, myrrh or any other now-obsolete perfume goods (By the way, that just makes the other two Wise Men cheapskates. Talk about last-minute gifting). So you played your best for him... fine. A+ for effort, kid. I'm sure that Mary and Joseph just loved the flams and paradiddling, although Balthasar said that his left-hand stick height left a little to be desired.

But back to the concept... drumming for a baby? All infantile peacefulness and mildness -- totally and utterly shattered. I think that probably explains why Jesus was hard of hearing (You can find that fact in your Scriptures somewhere, I'm sure... right next to the part where Jesus is accompanied to his crucifixion by a 4-piece band playing "When the Saints Go Marching In").

I guess The Little Kalimba Boy doesn't quite have the same ring, but how much more pleasant would that've been for everyone?


And while I'm on the subject, "We Wish You A Merry Christmas" starts out pleasant enough, but then the 'nog-drunk obstinate bastards bust in with the following:

We want some figgy pudding;
We want some figgy pudding;
We want some figgy pudding and a cup of good cheer

We won't go until we get some;
We won't go until we get some;
We won't go until we get some, so bring it out here

Oh, you want some figgy pudding? And you, the *guests* at my holiday party, are not leaving until you get some? Well sorry, we're fresh out and I think you've had a few too many cups of high-proof good cheer as it is. Now kindly show yourselves and your yuletide fruitcake to the door before I involve the authorities. And stop wishing things to my "kin;" it sounds so Deliverance-y you know we weren't raised in the Appalachians.

Good tidings, indeed.