Varied Christmas: A Personal Gift History from Triumph to Tragedy

Christmas rules. But let's not forget the true meaning of Christmas. Yeah, yeah, yeah...Mary's boy-child, mangers, swaddling clothes, peace on Earth, Silent Night, Nights In White Satin, Knights Who Say Ni, yada, yada, yada. We get it. Make with the presents why dontcha? Kathy Mansell's Man-child is ready to rip open some damn gifts. NOTE: said present(s) better be wrapped and by you personally. And Jiminy Christmas take some pride in your wrapping:

1. Use good paper...you know the ones with the cutting grid on the back. Not the shit at Target with Santas and snowmen. Use that for your kids. Those selfish brats don't give a rats ass about wrapping. Screw it, just give them cash.
2. Crisp scissor cuts
3. Sharp creases and folds
4. Invisible tape...do you people actually have to be told this? Not too much, but not too little. We want a nice tight wrap. So Goldilocks that mofo...you got it, Chief???

And none of this Hallmark, gift-bag bullshit. If you give me a gift bag you're getting it back filled to the brim with some of Milkshake's homemade yule log.

And to make my gift-getting even more spectacular, go ahead and throw in a tree, lights, decorations, music, eggnog, Mistletoe, movies, shows, specials, animation, claymation, and any other kind of XMAS-related ation that exists. I eat that shit up...but only after December 1st. Let's have some boundaries here for X's sake.

Now that I have that out of the way, let's stroll down memory lane and I'll give you a few high and low-lights of Christmas gifts in my past.

THE GOOD

1974 - Not many gifts are duds when you are four, unless it was clothes or something practical. Luckily my parents knew who they were dealing with and stepped up to the plate when it came gift-time. I believe it was this year that I received my first incarnation of this:

Evel Knievel Stunt Cycle by Ideal. 

Holy Mother of God what can he jump next? I can still smell the gyro launcher...and for fucks sake do not touch the back wheel when it is still spinning. I still have the pinch marks on my hands.

To keep this blog within 5000 words I'll throw in similar gifts from in and around this time period that really knocked my jammies off. You can say that all of the following qualify for Ho-ho-honorable Mention:

Mego Superhero Dolls

Yes, we boys were so bad-ass back then we weren't afraid to call them dolls. It wasn't until Star Wars came along that Kenner decided they should be called "action figures". I especially loved Spiderman, Batman and Captain Marvel. These were hot stuff.

Losing their boots was a problem but Spidey wore a onesy so no worries for him. And damn it, I always lost Captain Marvel's lightning bolt sticker within the first hour and he was just ruined after that.

I remember my dad catching my next-door neighbor (and supposed best friend) Eric Johnson trying to sneak out of my house with Batman up his shirt...dick. I got him back, one day when I was probably 6 years old I called him a "pancake" and threatened to never play with him again.
 

The Six Million Dollar Man doll 

The red jumpsuit-clad Steve Austin even had a rubber-sleeved forearm that rolled up to reveal his bionics. I also had the Space Capsule and Bionic Repair Station, Oscar Goldman and Maskatron dolls.

GI Joe with Kung-Fu Grip. I loved his hair and beard...it was like the smallest, tightest afro in history.

 












1975 - My old man (much to my mother's dismay) playing off my idolization of Evel Knievel, jealousy of my older brother and evidently my desire to look like Easy Rider-era Peter Fonda, weaved a Christmas spell of ultimate, unparalleled joy with this combo:

I remember unwrapping the helmet under the tree and being excited but puzzled. Then dad giving me the old, "Maybe there's something that goes with that. Let's go look in the basement." I still get a bit choked up thinking about that frantic walk down the stairs and seeing that beautiful orange Honda 50 parked there with the front wheel cocked to the side. If I had known he was only going to be around one more Christmas I would have hugged my dad even harder. Nominee for My Greatest Christmas Gift Ever.

1976 - Thanks to John McMonagle the two gifts I will mention here are directly due to his influence. He was a couple of years older, our sisters were best friends but for some reason he didn't mind my hanging around. I got home from his house and probably immediately started lobbying my mother, elves, Santa...anyone and everyone who would listen for these two items:

KISS Alive!
What on earth could have possessed my mother, a devout Catholic, to allow "Santa" to give me this record? You know what? Who fucking cares...my life changed forever when needle hit vinyl. "You wanted the best and you got it! The hottest band in the land KISS!!!"

The KISS On Tour book that came inside the lp was enough to fry my six year old brain...I remember looking at the pictures of them and almost feeling like I was doing something wrong. Rock and roll. Another My Greatest Christmas Gift Ever nominee based on the sheer lasting impact it made on me.

Super Toe Super Jock Football
You smashed him on the head and he kicked field goals. The ball was made of the most pain-inducing hard plastic money could buy. If you got hit by an errant kick it was the one-way express to Tearsville. John also had the soccer one which I have yet to find to this day. Lucky SOB.

From my own personal collection!

Honorable Mention:
Mattel Electronics handheld sports games. Good grief I loved these things...still do. Football II I'd have to say is my all-time fave, followed by Soccer, the original Football and Basketball. I hated the baseball one and never owned it. Fuck baseball. They should call it Fat Meatheadball. I digress...

I never had the Hockey version even though I asked for it for about 5 straight years. Patrick Trillo was the only kid I ever knew to actually own one but I had vivid memories of playing it...once in the side playground at St. Leo's School. Holding its beautiful blue plastic with all its blink-y, button-y goodness in my hands. I was haunted by this until last year when my amazing daughter gave me one for Christmas that she found on eBay...mint condition and in the original packaging. I felt like I was 7 years old when I opened it. I believe a few tears were shed. Thanks Babs.

Let's fast-forward a bit here and I'll mention a few more honorable mention gifts:

1980 - My first electric guitar - a Kay that kinda looked like Angus Young's SG
1986 - My second guitar...an Ibanez strat-style guitar. This one I actually learned to play. Funny because now I absolutely hate Fender Stratocasters. Tone...schmone. If I could buy all the Stratocasters in the world and use them as kindling to burn Eric Clapton at the stake I would. I'm only sort of kidding, folks.

1999 - The last one I'll mention in the "Good" section came in 1999. Allison's mom and I had recently separated and it was hard time for all of us, especially when the holidays came around. Allison was 6 and was shuffling back and forth between my place and her mom's. I was by myself in an apartment for the first time in many years and the prospects of Christmas celebrations seemed a bit bleak. I wasn't really even considering getting a tree or decorating...which for me was huge. A couple of weeks before Christmas Allison and her mom showed up at my door with an early present...a little tree that they had decorated and trimmed just for me, because they didn't want me to be sad at Christmas. I still have it and can't express what this little tree means to me. I put it out every year, exactly as it was given to me. I have only had to change the lights once. And judging by how I feel even writing about it right now, we can go ahead and award this one the prize: My Greatest Christmas Gift Ever

THE BAD

1979 - Mr. Quarterback
Don't get me wrong, I LOVED this thing. Being a kid with only two older sisters and a mom in the household coupled with living in the goddam boondocks made the prospects for tossing a football around virtually non-existent. Until...da da da daaaaaa!!!!! Holy schmutz, here comes Mr. Quarterback riding a tight-spiraled Christmas dart flung from the golden arm of Baby Jesus channeling Roger Staubach.

Here's how it went down in my front yard on Christmas Day after tearing open the box and reading the instructions:

Step One: Placed football in Mr. Quarterback's "arm"
Step Two: Cocked the arm in launch position
Step Three: Set the timer
Step Four: Pretended I was Billy "White-Shoes" Johnson
Step Five: Sprinted 20 yards and caught the first and only pass this piece of shit would ever throw

No joke. I played with it one time and it never worked again. I even remember getting it back out on numerous occasions for months, maybe even years after the fact trying to "fix" it. Why it was never returned or exchanged who knows...maybe I was worried my mom would think I had broken it and get mad. Still haunted...

1986 - Johnny Reb Hat

This is the period where I believe my mom started to smoke crack. Did they have crack yet in '86? Anyway, yes the eighties were very bad for fashion. But even while the eighties were happening, when I was wearing parachute pants and bandannas around my neck, never once did I ever find my self looking in the mirror and saying to myself, "You know Reid, what you really need to complete this ensemble is a Confederate battle cap." Evidently my mom thought I needed one...complete with Rebel flag insignia on the brim.

My mom was born in Scotland, grew up in England so she was not making any political or racial statements here...she just thought it was "rad" or "bad" or "brad" or whatever we used to signify coolness in 1986. I remember her being genuinely disappointed that I would never wear it.

1990 - Alan Jackson-esque Full-Length Denim (Acid-Washed) Duster

Imagine me in this but in denim...acid-washed denim

Mom had graduated from crack to mainlining a Molotov cocktail of heroin, crack, methamphetamine, Robitussin DM, LSD, MMDA, PCP, THC, followed by an entire bottle of Blue Raspberry Mad Dog 20/20. This is my only explanation for my mother, who I had known for 20 years at that point, being so profoundly out of touch with both my personal tastes and all that is right and good in the world.

You think Ralphie was embarrassed having to try on that pink fucking bunny costume in A Christmas Story? I still can't believe I didn't projectile vomit into the box when I opened it. What had I done to this woman? Was I being punished? Had she found out that I had broken Mr. Quarterback? Was this some kind of a Randy Travis/Mainstream Country nightmare?




Jennifer, Allison's mom was present for this clinical, surgical, complete and instantaneous destruction of my self-esteem by my mother...and still laughs hysterically about it to this day. I quickly remind her though that on that same Christmas she received a set of Washington Redskins Zoobas that were only microscopically less humiliating and soul-crushing. Nominee for My Worst Christmas Gift Ever.

2000 - My soon to be second wife, and later to be second ex-wife made it her goal (either consciously or unconsciously) to ruin my Christmas every year from 2000 - 2007. But it was that first Christmas we spent together that told of the potential misery to come. I say potential because subsequent Christmases were filled with lots of caveats, instructions and me saying things like, "Sarah, if you ever get me shit like that for Christmas again I will be out the door before the wrapping paper hits the carpet." So no Christmas was quite as bad as the first, but she tried. Here's a few Jim Dandys from XMAS 2000.

Tupperware set
Sheets
I'm stopping there...I get irritated just listing the goddam things.

So the winner for My Worst Christmas Gift Ever is....mom's Alan Jackson-esque Full-Length Denim (Acid-Washed) Duster. 

Thanks for reading, folks. Here's wishing you and yours a Merry Christmas and may all your Mr. Quarterbacks be Peyton Manning. Now cock that arm into launch position and start running.

Top 10 Reasons Why A KISS Football Team Rules

10. Regardless of the action on the field, you're guaranteed to see at least one person spit blood. 

9. Paul Stanley will smash a guitar over the head of the opposing team's starting quarterback at a strategic moment of each game.

8. Halftime of every game will consist of a 20-minute drum solo. 

7. Since placekicker's are a bit spacey to begin with, the LA KISS kicker will always wear one orange shoe and one red shoe. 

6. When was the last time you ate a KISS hotdog on a KISS bun while drinking a KISS beer? Oh and all arena food is cooked by fire-breathers.

5. The LA KISS offense will not run the shot gun formation, rather the much more badass Love Gun formation.

4. Although slowed somewhat by platform turf-shoes, the studded leather uniforms will make the KISS players much harder to tackle.

3. Not only will the t-shirts rule, the t-shirt cannon will be attached to the headstock of a smoking Gibson Les Paul. 

2. Paul Stanley will belt out all in-game announcements over the public address system. "That's a KISS first down!!! Lemme hear ya!!! Awwww-right!" 

And the number one reason:

With Gene and Paul involved, the cheerleaders alone will be worth the price of admission. All the girls will be Hotter Than Hell, wear the number 16 and have Nothin' To Lose.

I don't know about you, but sign me up.

George Jones

George Jones died today evidently. When I was 14 my Twin City team was in Blacksburg, VA for a soccer tournament. The hotel where we stayed was filled with other teams from all over the Southeast...including girls teams. Some of these young women had caught the attention of myself and Martin Hunt who I was rooming with. Needless to say, there was lots of posturing, giggling and parking lot shenanigans...much to the chagrin of the father of the main girl I had set my sights on. He let us know, in no uncertain terms, that he would bash our faces in if we came around to their side of the motel again. This directive was overruled in my brain by raging boy/man hormones, so about 30 minutes later Martin and I found ourselves in a mad, panicked full sprint through the parking lot, chased by this man. I ended up in the motel lounge...probably pale, out of breath and babbling something about having my face bashed in. Martin was nowhere to be found. Long story short, two hefty male bar patrons escorted me back to my room. En route we encountered the face basher who was scraped up and soaking wet from head to toe. During the chase his portly, middle age-yness had caught up with him and he'd tripped and fallen head first into a mud puddle. I found this rather amusing but was still so terrified by this raging man that I dare not show it. The bar patrons had to physically restrain him from getting to me and they personally assured him that if he touched me he'd have to answer to them. (Note: this was the second time I'd been rescued from certain pummeling by strangers...see my Thunderbirds blog post) His anger then turned to a weird, whimpering southern whine as his focus shifted to his ballcap, which he blamed me for ruining. He held it up for us to see, I swear I could almost see his eyes well up. It simply read, "George Jones".

Jesus, Vatican Square Garden confirm Benedict's Retirement

Pope Benedict XVI and the Vatican Fighting Catholics will part ways as of February 28, 2013— an event that seemed fated once the holy franchise acquired Carmelo "The Second Coming" Anthony, an immense talent whose individual praying style clashed with Benedict's spread-the-salvation offense.

The tension between The Pope and Anthony has been building for 13 months, since Anthony arrived in a controversial trade with the Dublin Protestants. It reached a crisis point over the last two weeks, as the Catholics lost 8 of 10 games, while Anthony bristled over his role and lack of ornate headwear.

Finally, on Monday morning, The Pope asked to meet with Jesus and with The Holy Ghost, the Vatican Square Garden chairman. Benedict asked Jesus if he would be open to trading Anthony before Thursday’s 3 p.m. trading deadline, according to a person briefed on the meeting. When Jesus said no, The Pope offered to resign.


“I was surprised,” the Son of God said at a news conference before Monday’s game. “I wasn’t sure exactly what he was saying. So I asked to clarify, ‘How f#%ing stupid are you Benny? I mean, ME! What do you really want to do?’ ”



The decision stunned The Pope's friends, as well as the Catholics’ players, a majority of whom were loyal to Benedict and believed strongly in his system. Many were angry and disappointed, believing that the figure head may be being pushed out.

“The vast majority of our team wouldn’t be in the situation we are without Benny,” said one player, who asked not to be identified because of the The Vatican's charged political atmosphere. He added, “If God Almighty gets behind Benny and gives him a two-year extension, this doesn’t happen.”

Holy Trinity, LLC characterized the parting as mutual, but the decision to walk away “was absolutely his holiness',” according to a Vatican Square Garden associate.

The Catholics were 18-24 as of Monday morning, and in danger of missing the holy playoffs. Their schedule for the final 23 games is brutal, which could only have exacerbated the tension between the figure head and the star savior.

Benedict never fully sold Melo on his offensive system, which is predicated on player movement and the premise that whoever is open saves a soul. Anthony thrives in isolation play — the antithesis of The Pope's philosophy — and he is most comfortable as a primary soul-handler.

“It’s an unfortunate situation,” Anthony said after the Fighting Catholics’ 121-79 rout of the Jerusalem Trail Blazers. “There’s no bad holy blood between myself, Benny, the guys on the team or anything like that. We respect Benny's decision. He said he did what was best for the church at this point in time right now.”

Asked if he was to blame for The Pope's resignation, Anthony said: “Sh#t, I don't know. I just go out and pray. I pray my ass off every time I walk on that court, but I can't walk on water."

The Catholics style will presumably be tailored more to Anthony’s game now that Benedict will be gone. The Fighting Catholics are expected to conduct a broad search for a new Pope. Phil Jackson will top the wish list, although the chances that he will come out of retirement, or want to wear a robe in public are slim.

Benedict was in the final season of a four-year, $24 million contract. He leaves with a record of 121-167, a mark that largely reflects the Fighting Catholics’ messy rebuilding process over his first two years. His best season was in 2010-11, when the team went 42-40 — their first winning record in 10 years — and made the holy playoffs. They were swept by the New Jersey Devils in the first round.

Cottage Squeeze: Does My Ass Look Fat In These Tights?

In a recent Facebook status update, I asked the women of the world to please have the courtesy of checking a four-way mirror before venturing out into an innocent, unsuspecting public wearing tights. Doing so would give these women at least a basic frame of reference for how they picture their ass looking in tights vs what it actually looks like.

This status update ignited a firestorm of comments (mostly in agreement) and handful of personal messages. The gist of the personal messages was that I have a warped female body image and that I should die. Allow me to answer the body image accusation. I do not have a warped female body image.

Who wouldn't spread marmalade on Nigella's muffin?

Ok, so if it's proof you desire I offer the stunningly sexy Nigella Lawson as an example. No one can accuse Nigella of skipping a meal, but I find her utterly irresistible. I mean wow, in the words of Briscoe Darling, she "twangs my buds". So don't accuse me of only having my head turned by the svelte, blonde goddess. But (pun intended) I do not want to see Nigella cram every inch of her ample British backside into a pair of Under Armour compression pants. Does she have the right to? Legally, yes...in the interest of public decency, no.

I'm speculating here but I believe the majority of these incidences - women cramming their squishy thighs and lumpy butts into human sausage casings - are due to temporary, weight-loss inspired insanity. Here's what I mean. A woman drops a few lbs by dieting or working out and she feels empowered...rightfully so. I get it.

Yes, go out and buy some jeans that aren't tailored to also serve as an emergency shelter. Yes, buy some sexy new undergarments that you don't confuse in the laundry basket as bed linens. But don't get cocky. Don't let this new sense of empowerment cloud your judgement. Just because compression workout gear, yoga pants, and spandex are readily available for purchase doesn't mean you should take the plunge.

So if skin-tight leggings are in your wardrobe do us all a favor, get yourself a four-way mirror and size things up. There can be no gray area here...it is a hard yes or flabby no. Here are examples of both:

YES

NO

It's pretty simple ladies. Do the right thing. If you're unsure, ask a friend. And order a pair of those boots while you're at it.

Oh, and guys, the same goes for us. No sleeveless shirts or plum smugglers without a proper self evaluation. That's it for now.  

MM&M presents The Year In Sound: The Best of 2012

Each Christmas since 2003 I've put together a collection of the year's best songs (as deemed by yours truly of course) for friends and family. It's become somewhat of a tradition and from what I gather, people seem to dig my selections. I decided that this year I would go public with my list and publish it here with YouTube links to all the songs. If you'd like a copy on compact disc just let me know and I'll hook you up.

Believe me, I don't view myself as some sort of musical guru but my life is and has always been a constant quest to find new music to obsess over. In the process I occasionally unearth a few underground gems. I use the term underground loosely as, just like everything in life, it's all relative. To some people reading this, Black Keys are about as underground as The Rolling Stones...but to others they are hundreds of miles below the surface of modern pop radio. So if you're reading or listening to this list and trying to gauge my indie cred, forget it. I'm too old to worry about any of that nonsense and besides, every shred of my indie credibility was lost at a James Taylor concert on New Year's Eve 1999 in Raleigh, NC. Yes, because of my ex-wife (full blame goes on her) I rang in the new Millennium in an arena filled with 14,000 loafer-wearing, fifty-somethings listening to a pasty, old bald guy whining some drivel about fire, rain and going to Carolina in his mind. I watched the needle of my coolness meter drop faster than Facebook stock. Anyone care to share a ringing-in-the-new-Millennium story worse than that? I dare you to come up with one. I still bear the emotional scars.

How do I determine my selections? Easy, I keep a running, chronological list throughout the year of all the songs that make an impact on me. Rules? There are no rules. You'll notice most of the cuts are new releases but occasionally an older song comes along and knocks my socks off and when it does, it makes the list. 2012 was a particularly good year and a handful of great songs ended up on the cutting room floor.

So without further adieu, here's that was in heavy rotation for me in 2012 (just click the link to open the song):

Nada Surf - Jules and Jim from The Stars Are Indifferent To Astronomy
Best Lyric: "I've never felt such a pull before I'm hypnotized, I'm destabilized."
Notes: A real comeback record for what could be my favorite band of all-time. I got to see them end their 2012 tour a couple of weeks ago in NYC with my daughter. She grew up with Nada Surf as the soundtrack to countless drives to school and soccer tournaments. It was an unforgettable night and an amazing show. Allison knew every song, including this one.

Black Keys - Money Maker from El Camino
Notes: I saw Black Keys in Charlotte in 2011 opening for Kings of Leon. The ticket was free (thanks Brannon Helms) and the Keys were great...as were opening act The Whigs (see Best of 2011). Kings of Leon solidified themselves in my mind as completely worthless, overblown posers. I watched one song, vomited in the bushes and left.

First Aid Kit - The Lion's Roar from The Lion's Roar
Best Lyric: "I'm a goddam coward but then again so are you."
Notes: Something wonderfully haunting and Led Zeppelin IV-ish about this tune. Maybe the flute-y, mystical vibe? Does anyone remember laughter?

fun. - All Alone from Some Nights
Notes: From the ashes of one of my favorite pop bands, The Format, sprang fun. The entire record is a study in clever, harmony-filled, hook-laden pop. Also my vote for album cover of the year. fun. Fact: The band claims that Some Nights is not a concept album per se, but admits that the compositions really came together after the title of the album was settled on. The title was inspired by how one's personality can change on a given night. Sounds like a concept to me. Either way, it's fantastic.


The Shins - No Way Down from Port of Morrow
Best Lyric: "Dig yourself a beautiful grave, everything you could want. Maybe those invisible slaves are too far away for a ghost to haunt."
Notes: Another redemption album for a great band who had fallen off my map over the last few years.

The Book of Mormon - Hello! from Book of Mormon: The Original Cast Recordings
Notes: I can't convey how much I love this soundtrack. I tried and tried to get tickets to the matinee of this show on Broadway on my recent trip but it had been sold out for months. Tickets the day of the show for the bloody matinee were going for $1000 each. Watch this live version of Hello! from the 2012 Emmy Awards and you'll understand why. But $1000? Jesus Christ! (of Latter Day Saints)

Brendan Benson - Light of Day from What Kind of World
Best Lyric: "You'll never know my love, that sweet release of death."
Notes: Brendan Benson re-emerges from the shadow of his high school pal Jack White with a pretty solid album. Its initial luster began to fade on repeated listens but this fantastic track ended up making the cut. Think McCartney meets Townshend - especially the latter at the 0:45 second mark when it sounds like Pete's tele ripping those rhythm guitar exclamation points.

Electric Guest - Awake from Mondo
Notes: This is one of those one-off tunes that really hit me for reasons that I can't quite pinpoint. But that's the beauty of music I suppose. I found myself compelled to leave it off the list but it kept slipping its bass line and girl-chorus vocals on my tongue like a little cube of acid-laced sugar.

Jack White - Freedom at 21 from Blunderbuss
Notes: This was one of those albums that you had to listen to for about a week to finally "get it". Jack is not everyone's cup of tea, but give him a chance. His songs and melodies have a way of creeping in through the back door of your brain and plopping down on the couch of your psyche like an annoying teenage brother.

Keane - Silenced By The Night from Strangeland
Best Lyric: "If I am a river, you are the ocean. Got the radio on, got the wheels in motion."
Notes: If you ever want proof of my direct British roots, either have a conversation with my mother or put this song on. There's more pasty, British romantic melancholy jammed into this 3:31 than you can wrap your mind around. Being the hopeless romantic (with a penchant for melancholy) that I am, no wonder this song is one of my favorites of the year. Yet another comeback album as Keane's last two releases made me want to turn in my membership to the British Melancholy Appreciation Society and Brooding Club.

The Fire Apes - 'Cause You Don't from A Life In Letters
Notes: I stumbled across this fantastic tune thanks to my pal Olivia Frain. She had posted it on Facebook and knowing how great her taste is, I gave it a listen. I downloaded the entire album immediately and it did not disappoint. Fans of power pop, if you have not heard the Apes you need to recognize.

Angus Stone - The Blue Door from Broken Brights
Best Lyric: "Her cotton candy sugared lips does make the boys fall to bits. But when she walks you best behave. You best be ready to fall into her grave."
Notes: More flute-y, atmospheric goodness! The textures in this song and all over Broken Brights are a thing of beauty.

Tenacious D - Rize of The Fenix from Rize of The Fenix
Best Lyric: "Bossanova is a beautiful dance."
Notes: I did not include this song on here solely because Jables and KG make me laugh til I cry...it's also because this song rocks on about 20 different levels. Once again, a nice return to form for the D. Pick of Destiny was pretty awful on the heels of their eponymous debut full-length...and the movie was borderline unwatchable. The song 39 deserves honorable mention on here...so if you're a D fan and you haven't heard it, click here. Bruce Springsteen fans beware...Mr. Black channels him pretty well and he writes better songs to boot.

P.S. Want to laugh til you vomit? Butt Baby will do the trick. My friend Lee Reavis (Lee lee lee lee lee lee lee lee lee lee) watched me laugh so hard watching Butt Baby he thought my head might explode.

Redd Kross - Stay Away From Downtown*
Redd Kross - Winter Blues 
from Researching The Blues

Notes: Not much to say here folks...hand Redd Kross album of the year, song of the year* and every other accolade you can come up with for Researching The Blues. It's been 15 years since 1997's Show World and I was beginning to think the sentimental choice as my all-time favorite band was never going to release any new material. Return to form? How about with a fucking vengeance. 10 songs, just over 30 minutes of absolute perfection. Consider the entire record a part of this year's "Best of"...no shit.

The Sheepdogs - Feeling Good from The Sheepdogs
Notes: Nothing super special about this one. It is after all, as the title explains, about feeling good and it captures that sentiment nicely. Think Gary Glitter meets Sloan meets Sam Roberts. Who is Sam Roberts? He's worth a Google that's for sure.

Rival Sons - Manifest Destiny Pt. 1 from Head Down
Notes: The Rival Sons are the real deal. Even Ed Bumgardner says so, so there. Yes, they wear their love for big '70's riffage on their polyester and velvet sleeves. Yes, they have a drummer who channels John Bonham. But Lenny Kravitz derivative, phony, re-hashers they are not. They are huge in Europe, but of course, dopey Americans prefer to listen to complete shit. For the uninitiated, I suggest starting with their eponymous EP. One listen to "Get What's Comin" and you'll just know. As for this track, it's 8 minutes long with a "When The Levee Breaks" vibe...the last 5 minutes or so is trance-inducing guitar wizardry that you simply don't hear anymore. Any song where you can hear the guitar player switching pickups on his guitar between phrases and then launching into the stratosphere is fucking fantastic in my book. When I say trance-inducing I'm not kidding. On my lunch breaks this fall I'd sit in the sun and listen to music. On at least two occasions during this song I either blacked out or was transported to a galaxy of guitar hypnosis. The beautiful instrumental "Nava" leads into this song and I consider them a set, so I'll include it here.

The Sword - Apocryphon from Apocryphon
Best Lyric: "Enthrall to the demiurge. We are awake escape."
Notes: Headbanger alert! Turn this bitch up to 11 kids. Once again, these Austin, TX riff-mongers are the real deal. The singer and guitar tones remind me a bit of Sabbath's Volume Four and that's a damn fine thing. When I heard this band for the first time I couldn't help but think about my brothers in volume and riffage, Fling Hammer super studs Matt Brennan and Morris Mitchell. The drummer is almost as badass as Matt and as Morris said about them, "Any band where the guitar player plays an Ibanez PS10 is cool as fuck in my book."

Gary Clark Jr. - Ain't Messin Round from Blak and Blue
Notes: Leave it to NYC to provide me with an eleventh hour addition to this collection. I heard this while Christmas shopping in the Big Apple and had to immediately stop in my tracks, Google the lyrics to find out who it was. Just try to:

1. Not like it.
2. Sit completely still while listening to the entire song.

Soul Asylum - Cruel Intentions from Delayed Reaction
Notes: I'm kinda breaking the rules here and not going chronologically with this one. But it seems like such a nice closer to this collection. Who better embodies the "Year of The Comeback" than Soul Asylum? This album was probably heard by about 5 people but it had some truly inspired moments. Forget "Runaway Train", "Black Gold" and all that corporate shit they put out in the mid '90's that fucking ruined this band. Remember 1988's "Hang Time" and (most of) 1990's "...And The Horse They Rode In On". I was lucky enough to play a few shows with these guys in 1991, right before the flood gates opened up for them. At the time they were my favorite band on the planet so getting to open for them in front of crazed, sold-out clubs was total orgasmic joy for me. The singer/songwriter, Dave Pirner, was a bit of a recluse and I only had one real conversation with him prior to our show in Memphis. He walked up to me and told me he really liked the Fender Telecaster I was using. For a small white man he had the deepest voice I've ever heard. It was somewhat freakish and I remembered being startled by it. I think it actually had a calming affect on me when I was face to face with my hero, humanizing him somewhat (ask me about meeting Paul Stanley this year if you want a good laugh at my goofy ass). Anyway, we had a nice chat about my band at the time, Hardsoul Poets and the design on our t-shirts which he thought was really amusing. I remember he really liked when I told him of the colossal nerdiness of the guys in Toad The Wet Sprocket. Especially the story of Mike Mitschele and I going on their bus to "party" with them, only to end up watching them eat apples. Fast forward to 2012...this song is really fantastic. I think Dave should write more songs like this and do a lounge tour. I'll see you in the front row.