Music Review: The Godfathers

“I’ve been abused, I’ve been confused and I’ve kissed Margaret Thatcher’s shoes!” I like it when lyrics end in exclamation marks. And most of the Godfathers’ lyrics do.

First exposure: Birth, School, Work, Death, a deadly little album. I wasn’t expecting much from it that day in 1988, but it blew out my bedroom windows and I knew I’d found something good. I bought it only because I was told it was cool new British postpunk, a la The Cult, which it isn’t at all. But I was surprised, as I’ve never been a fan of punk, and the Godfathers are very much a punk band … although they dressed like bankers and knew how to play guitar. That’s probably why I like them so much. Singer Peter Coyne uses every UK punk vocal cliche, but the guitars are just smashing, twin leads with solid rhythm beneath … The title track, Coming Down, Cause I Said So … fucking brilliant.

The second Canadian release, More Songs About Love and Hate, was a little quieter, but had a song called Walking Talking Johnny Cash Blues, which remains high on my playlist. She Gives Me Love, in particular, should have been huge. But it wasn’t. And that’s what sunk the Godfathers; for every nerd like me who thought they rocked and rocked some more, there were a thousand people buying Paula Abdul or Vanilla Ice or whatever was selling that year.

A couple of years later came the slicker Unreal World, a good disc but it was clear the boys were losing their teeth. There were apparently albums after that but I can’t say much about them, as they were never released here. I did pick up a Greatest Hits disc around 1995 or so, which for some reason was also called Birth, School, Work, Death and had the same cover as Unreal World; it had a fantastic instrumental twangfest called Gone To Texas on it, which I still play all the time.

Anyway, if you can find some Godfathers, listen. If you can’t, well, there’s always YouTube.

Palin Kid Giving The Finger

This is a photograph of a Palin child, probably Piper, maybe Willow, perhaps Trickle or Snowshoe or Fire Patriot, giving another child the finger at some Alaskan event:

Another blogger has dissected this image better than I ever could. Check it out. And ask yourself this: Based on this, along what we already knew about Sarah Palin’s parenting skills, do we trust her to perhaps “mother” America through difficult times?

It has been suggested that this photograph may be doctored, and I’m willing to accept that possibility, but with hesitation, because my job involves PhotoShop, so I know a bit about it, and also I like to think the worst of Sarah Palin whenever I can.

The funniest thing about the reaction to this picture as it spreads around the Internet is how many people are shocked by that stupid jacket Palin’s wearing.

UPDATE: There’s more to this than meets the eye.

Today’s Moron: How Much Is That Doggy Blanket In The Window?

Today’s Moron is the burglar who broke into his neighbour’s house, allegedly, then stole a blanket with a picture of a dog on it, and hung it up in his own window.

Let’s examine his mistakes:

• He burglarized a neighbour.
• He stole, uh, a blanket, along with TVs, stuff like that. A blanket.
• He hung it up.
• In his window.
• He hung it up in his window so the neighbours wouldn’t look in and see all their stuff.

I guess I shouldn’t have to tell you that the neighbours sort of noticed their blanket, called the police, and thus a burglar is behind bars.

This happened in Chalmette, Louisiana, which is named for plantation owner I. Martin de Lino de Chalmette. That’s creepy because (a) he owned a plantation and (b) his name was I. Martin de Lino de Chalmette, and now so is the town.

Chalmette has very, very good police officers.

Sometimes You Should Just Change Your Name

This came across my digital desk tonight, so I want to share it with you, because it’s stupid and funny. I don’t know who this person was, but she clearly did something to deserve a street named after her, and that’s great. But … that name is not good.

I had a doctor named Dr. Fuchs when I was a kid, and I always wondered why she didn’t just change her name. I mean, really. We’ve been over the ‘Dick’ thing already here, but this is a whole new level of stupid.

There was a guy named Richard Handler in an article I read a while ago. I wonder if people call him ‘Dick.’

Worst Person of the 1980s

The previous post got me reminiscing about my 1980s teenagerness, and also made me remember this asshole:

You remember him too, right? Johnny, from The Karate Kid, aka William Zabka. Yeah, they threw in a little apology at the end to try to redeem him a bit, but he was still one of the best 80s teen movie villains. It was something he did well; you can see William Zabka being a prick in Just One Of The Guys, Back To School, European Vacation and even on Greatest American Hero. Hey, it worked for him.

Maybe William Zabka is a great guy. That’s not the point here. I see that stupid face, I remember his stupid bad-guy roles. And I remember something else.

I went to high school with a guy who looked just like him. And acted worse. He was the ultimate snotty frat-boy rich-kid jerkoff bully, and 20-odd years later I’m still bitter, which tells you something. I wonder whatever happened to that buttface? Hang on, I’m going to go google him. Look at this while I’m gone:

Okay, I’m back. Hmm. He has an unusual name, and there are only two guys with that name I can find. One is a ski instructor in Whistler, B.C. The other is a biotechnology professor in San Francisco. From what I remember about him, either one of them could be him, because he liked to ski, and he was fucking brilliant on top of everything else. Figures.

Maybe they’re both him, which would suck, because it would mean that asshole turned out to be cooler than I am. I can’t cope with that. I always bought into the myth that those high-school jerks got what was coming to them eventually, something that happens to you when you watch a lot of 80s teen movies.

Maybe he’s got a bad porn addiction or something.

10 Things Teenagers Need to Know

If I knew then what I know now …

As you know, I am kind of strange, which means sometimes, when I’m bored, I wonder what I would do if I could go back in time and meet my teenaged self. Kind of like Quantum Leap, but not with that someone-else’s-body thing, or Back to the Future, only without the my-mom-has-a-crush-on-me thing. Wait, that isn’t the same at all.

There are things I would love to tell my teen self. Not like “Hey, don’t go to that party on Nov. 3, 1987″ or life-changing, reality-pathway-altering things like that. I played the hand I was dealt and here I am. No, I’m thinking more along the lines of general advice, tips, things that might have made the rest of my life go a little smoother.

I know time travel is impossible. But I also watch Somewhere in Time every chance I get, so I think “maybe, if I get this hypnosis thing down pat …” So I made a list. Here we go, with 10 things I would like to have been able to tell my teen self

• Accept those instant credit card offers. Get the card, buy one inexpensive thing a month, and pay off the balance immediately. Do this for a couple of years and your credit will be gold.
• Go out right now and buy as many Mego, Transformers, G.I. Joe and Star Wars toys as you can find. Leave them in their packaging and lock them away until you’re 40. When you’re 40, you will need the money.
• It doesn’t matter what everyone else is wearing. Those tight jeans look stupid, and you will regret them for the rest of your life.
• Music is not going to get any better, so you can stick with what you’ve got. You’ll still be listening to it when you’re 40, so you can just ignore the “grunge” thing.
• Your body isn’t done changing. If you aren’t happy with it now, it is going to get better. Yeah, you’re skinny. But that isn’t forever. Hell, start working out now and get a head start.
• Someday your interest in comics and Star Trek will get you named Member of the Week at a place called hardcorenerdity. It’s on the Internet, which is coming, and you will love it.
• As soon as you stop obsessing about the ladies, the ladies will start obsessing about you. Trust me on this one.
• Don’t sell that Claremont/Byrne X-Men run or your untouched mylar-covered Crisis until 1992, then unload and get out.
• The guy who used to rough you up in Grade 9 gym class eventually becomes a busboy at a bad restaurant. His muscly friend is fat and in jail. That rich guy with the cool car is still rich, but his wife is a complete bitch and she once hit on you right in front of him, and he didn’t say shit. The handsome, popular basketball player with the 99 average and the six-pack abs is now a surgeon, but he’s also a really excellent guy and you became friends later, that fucker.
• It all gets better.

Truth be told, if I could actually go back in time I would not waste time hanging around teenager me. I’d be at Sun Records just before Elvis walked in, waiting. I’d probably go see if Gangs of New York was all that accurate, listen to some Mozart live, then head over to Golgotha just to see what really went down.

I do like thinking about going back to advise myself, though. It’s fun to think about. Oh, I would also probably say something about the hair, considering the various mullety Joe Dirt things I had on my head in the 80s.