I don’t have anything personal, nothing of value…

Gene Hackman in The Conversation

“Except my keys!”

Watched this again Sat­ur­day night. Still like it more than Blow-Up. Am most­ly impressed because it’s the tiny movie Cop­po­la sand­wiched between two God­fa­ther epics. The Con­ver­sa­tion makes me wish that Hack­man could’ve reprised the Har­ry Caul char­ac­ter through­out his career like Jean-Pierre Leaud’s Doinel. Then again, resur­fac­ing as Edward “Brill” Lyle thir­ty years on seems more fitting.

It took me this long to recover.

That Black Lips and Ponys show I went to on Sun­day? Major­ly dis­ap­point­ing. Kudos to pro­duc­er John Agnel­lo, who along with the band engi­neered a record that accen­tu­ates Turn the Lights Out­’s Son­ic-Youthi­est moments. Unfor­tu­nate­ly for me, those moments turned out to be stu­dio arti­facts that nev­er emerged from their mud­dy mix Sun­day night.

A brief note on the Black Lips: what­ev­er their appeal, it was lost on me. I envi­sioned the spec­tre of Lit­tle Steven loom­ing over the stage, shout­ing non­sense about the salvif­ic pow­er of rock and roll, while Black Lips banged out rote three minute, three chord garbage rock [not a typo].

Did I men­tion that one of the gui­tarists hocks loo­gies and catch­es them in his mouth while he plays? He does. It’s the sort of thing only a moth­er — or Pitch­fork crit­ic Jason Crock — could love. 7.8!

Sunday isn’t the time for fence-sitting.

Tonight at John­ny Bren­da’s I will try to deter­mine whether or not my appre­ci­a­tion for songs [as opposed to my ongo­ing love affair with “songs”] has reached its lim­it in first quar­ter ’07. It may just be all the col­lege bas­ket­ball jar­gon float­ing around, but do the Ponys have an upside? I hope so.

[In oth­er fence-sit­ting news, I’ve come around on Low’s Drums & Guns, pri­mar­i­ly because “Hatch­et” is so much fun, even if it sounds real­ly shit­ting blar­ing on the stereo. It’s that awe­some on headphones.]