Beck: “Morning Phase”

Alright, at first I thought this whole Kayne West vs. Beck at the Grammys thing was kind of funny and just further proof of what a total fucking idiot Mr. West really is. But after spending just about every waking minute since Sunday night listening and re-listening to Morning Phase — which I got for Christmas and is already right up there with Mutations and Sea Change as one of my favorite Beck albums of all time — I’m done thinking it’s funny. And actually, I’m kinda pissed.

Morning Phase is a gorgeous, shimmering piece of folksy pop/rock perfection. Seriously, I want to just close my eyes and dive into some of those songs, this is Beck on overdrive and this album is freaking glorious on every level. And for anyone, anywhere to even remotely suggest that this lush, sensual album for the ages is in any way not Grammy-worthy is just fucking crazy. Yeah, I know, I dropped two F-bombs in one blog post, sue me.

The other thing that really irks me is that Beyoncé (who, by the way, is totally blameless here. It’s not her fault Kayne is an asshat!) already has a staggering 20 Grammys to her name. In fact, she is the most nominated female artist in Grammy history and the second most honored female artist at the Grammys like, ever. Trust me, Sasha Fierce don’t need no more Grammys.

By comparison, Beck has won six career Grammys. Six! When Star Wars: Episode VII opens this May there will be more Star Wars movies than Grammys with the name Beck on them in the world. And as much as I love me some Star Wars, that is just plain crazy.

So, even though this will cost me another quarter in the swear jar at home, I gotta say it: go fuck yourself, Kanye! Whew, I feel so much better. Thanks. Now, if you haven’t already checked out 2014’s Album of the Year, get stepping. It’s amazing!

Posted with Blogsy

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Spent the last couple of days boiling and eating corned beef, cabbage and potatoes (we had an early St. Patrick’s Day feast on Friday with my brother and sister-in-law and a reheated version of the exact same meal, complete with black and tans, tonight) and lemme tell ya, I could eat that shit every day. Seriously, God bless the Irish!

Also been playing loads of Irish music — Enya, U2, Celtic Women, Luka Bloom, Sinead, The Cranberries, you name it, it’s on our iPod’s epic, three-hour-long “Irish Spring Playlist”! — including one of my all-time-favorite late-90’s bands, Garbage.

I know it totally dates me, but, man, I loved those guys. And don’t even get me started on their lead singer, Shirley Manson. That milky skin, all that crazy red hair, and that angry, riot grrl snarl, whew…she had me at “top o’ the morning to ya”. Seriously, she can rest her weary hand on my knotty old shillelagh anytime she wants. Follow the link, I’m not being nearly as dirty as I sound.

Anyway, figured St. Patrick’s Day was as the perfect time to teach Greta the finer points of Garbage appreciation, so, we rocked out with her Barbies to some of the band’s finest jams. Greta was a little hesitant to belt out the chorus on “Stupid Girl” — since S-T-U-P-I-D is a “bad word” in our house, we sang it as “Bad Word Girl”, which totally worked — but she and her Barbies sang the hell out of “I’m Only Happy When it Rains”. Of course, that may have been because it was pouring outside.

Either way, the worst part of my day came later, when I discovered, via Facebook, that my beloved Shirley Manson is as Irish as the fake-ass brogue I’ve been rocking all weekend. Which means, of course, she’s not Irish at all. Nope, turns out my favorite Irish singer is, in fact, a Scot. Urgh…so much for the ethnic purity of my playlist.

Ah, who am I kidding? Irish or not, I’m still your biggest fan, Shirley girl. If I like your music, and Lord knows I do, then your place on my playlist (and in my heart) remains totally unchanged. Happy Saint Patrick’s Day and long live the Scottish too!