January 1, 2003

***The Litter Box***

OK, I admit it. I like to complain about things. A lot. Then again, who doesn't? It sure is easier to point out problems than to fix them, and why spend time looking for a solution when you can just put your feet up and carp away like a braying mule? And when it comes to "music criticism," yours truly can ratchet up the negative ions to a piercing whine. In fact, if you're among the few bitten by the Litter Box bug, you've been led to believe that not only is music unfixable but also that I'm one unenthusiastic jackass who is primed for a good boot in the pants. What can I say? You gotta go with your instincts, even if they generally steer toward gloom, doom, fault-finding, and the occasional snide put-down.

However, after all the carrying on is, uh, carried, I have to confess to possessing a soft inner nougat. I am, underneath all the bluster, a weakling with many secret sins. What with it being the holidays, I'm feeling particularly squishy. And so a list of all the people, bands, and miscellaneous junk I am grateful for.

Everyone was talking about the Sermon this year, and rightfully so. But an extra tip of the hat to "lead" guitarist Lightin' Jeff Glave not only for his tasty playing but also because he sang the only Fells song my wife can stand. Meanwhile, his other band the Radio Reelers are long overdue for some exposure. While I've been accused of being a giant ass-suck, I'm gonna mention the SLA again. They really are that friggin' good. Will someone please give Comets on Fire lots of money and a 48-track studio? It'll be the best psych album ever. Then there are the Nubs. Three old punks with an obscure album, a more obscure history, and the nicest drummer in music (including Ringo). Both the Rock and Roll Adventure Kids and the Teenage Harlets gave this jaded creep a reason to laugh like I haven't in years, while the Flakes, Saturn V, and Harold Ray Live! actually made me dance. How can you ever thank someone enough for that? Kudos to the Ghosts for the immortal "Sell It to the Man," the finest song the Mummies never recorded. And here's to Dirty Power for making metal fun again. It was a great year for local discs, and I feel bad I never got around to telling you how knockout Missy Roback's Just Like Breathing is. Or the Shimmer Kids. Or for that matter go go Market, Bonfire Madigan, Dave Gleason's Wasted Days, Mallrats, Everything Must Go, Spinning Jennies, Junior Panthers, and Firecracker. There's plenty more I never had the time or the column space for. You should buy Chin Music!, the most fantastic read a music/baseball fan could ask for. While I can't name everyone, here's a nod of appreciation to Chrome Johnson, Dilletones, Hotwire Titans, Hatemail Express, F.M. Knives, Jipsters, Jack Saints, Nagg, Grannies, Cuts, Pineapple Princess, Maybellines, Nads, Plus Ones, Top Hands, High on Fire, Mike Lucas, Jerry Smartguy, Johnny Dilks, Teenage Rob Douglas, Jenny Hairston, Dallas Wayne, Philip Claypool, and Cyril Jordan for doing what they do. Life is a lot better because of them.

Happy New Year, San Francisco. Thanks for letting me mope around.