reasons for blogging

There are some differences between bloggers and, say, rock stars. This blogger dries his laundry on a rock in Forrest Park, something Keith Richards probably hasn't had to do in quite a while. Indeed, there are many reasons not to blog. A life of blogging may lead to blindness, dizziness, shortness of breath, obesity, and the ire of your fellow man. Yet in spite of these odious side effects, I keep at it. Why?

Rashida Jones.

In the past months, I've tagged every single post with Rashida's name. My brilliant plan is this: one day, incredibly bored and frustrated with looking at ruggedly handsome actors all the time, she will do a Google search on herself. My blog will pop up as the first twelve items. "Who can this mystery blogger be?" she'll think, and so begin a correspondence. With me.

This would be much easier if I was Springsteen. Maybe I can appropriate one of his songs.

Of course my wife* may not be pleased with this plan. But some things are bigger than a lifelong vow of love and partnership.
I figure, if that Julie & Julia blogger can get an entire movie made, the very least I can get is a movie actress. My sights are set high, but not Meryl Streep high.



*Sometimes bloggers get married.

historical falling rock

The entire run of Welcome to Falling Rock National Park is now available to read over on my main website. Years of toil went into the making of these comics (not to mention the website itself), so when you laugh, you're laughing along with History.

Above you'll note the very first published Falling Rock comic. Melissa and Carver's relationship has not changed much over the years, although the pen they're drawn with has.

friday robots

Today's Friday Robot was drawn during a conversation with my brother about moonshine whiskey. Background added later. Dinobot thrown in for good measure.

big time

A big addition to joshshalek.com today: I uploaded every single episode of Falling Rock dating back to February 1, 2008. Feast your eyes on almost two years' worth of Falling Rock. I'm particularly happy to see my entire output for a month at the merest click of a mouse. Go ahead, click on December 2008 and see everything I wrote for my blog as well as every comic I drew that month.

I'm beginning to understand how an editor at National Geographic must have felt when they released every issue of the magazine onto disc. A lot of information, and so easy to access. The quality difference is, of course, immediately apparent. But at least mine's free.

If you're not a regular reader of Falling Rock, I hope this will pique your interest. Let me know how the new site is working for you.

batman vs superman

This post is now on my website.

let it be: the album even phil spector couldn’t mess up

Let it Be was the final Beatles album released. It was not, however, the final album they recorded. Abbey Road, a superior album in almost every way, was the Beatles’ farewell to their fans. The final full song on Abbey Road is even called The End. You can’t get more explicit than that. But for reasons of apathy, the Beatles had recorded but never bothered to release the album that would be called Let it Be.

Since the Beatles didn’t want to do it themselves, and since longtime producer George Martin had never been involved (which, I think, hurt his feelings a little bit), the hours of tape were handed to Phil Spector with the hope that he would make an album out of it.

Spector, known for his Wall of Sound approach to recording, wasn’t the best choice for the album. Let it Be was supposed to be a live album: all songs recorded in one take, with no overdubs or studio trickery. Spector had become famous for doing the exact opposite. He’d record a piano playing a certain part, then have that person play the exact same piano part twenty more times so that it sounded like a piano army. The Wall of Sound was an assault to the senses at a time when records were rarely recorded using more than four tracks. Asking Phil Spector to make a stripped-down Beatles album would be like asking the WTO to please think of the poor countries in their trade agreements. They’re just going to get steamrollered.

Spector did just what he always did when making an album. He hired an orchestra and started adding bits to almost all the songs. He did show some restraint on songs like Two of Us and I’ve Got a Feeling, but on the whole the album would never be mistaken for “live.”

Strangely, he included bits of studio chatter between the songs. Normally this would add to the illusion that you’re listening to a live album, but Spector sabotaged himself with the huge orchestrations and intricate arrangements of the songs themselves. When you’re listening to Dig It, a fun jam, it sounds like the four (or five, with Billy Preston) musicians playing together in a room. Then you are jarred by the sound of dozens of musicians playing The Long and Winding Road. Are we in a studio where an entire orchestra can sneak in and set up completely unnoticed? No. We are in the middle of a Phil Spector record.

Let it Be manages to be neither a live album or a completely finished one. In spite of that, there are moments of greatness. No one, not even the Terrorists, will deny Let it Be is a great song. George’s guitar solo on that version of the song (different, I don’t know why, than the single version you hear on the radio) is his greatest solo ever. In I’ve Got a Feeling, hearing John singing his part in the right speaker while Paul’s in the left is just really cool. Two of Us and Get Back are a couple of Paul’s fantastic songs. (I still like Get Back even though it gets played to death on Tucson radio.) Across the Universe is John’s best work here, and I always enjoy George’s Blues pastiche For You Blue.

Taken as a series of singles, Let it Be works. But as an album, it suffers from lack of organization, probably because the people making it never really cared about putting it together right. Throw in one nutjob to produce it, and you’ve got a very good Beatles album instead of one of their best.

It just goes to show how good the Beatles were: even Phil Spector couldn’t totally ruin a Beatles album.

friday robots

I think of these guys as cave painting robots. Neolithic robots. When early humans went out to hunt deer, they'd run into these primitive Friday Robots. Then they'd get back home and, over dinner or whatever, they'd say "Hey, that was a pretty cool robot we saw today. We should ask the artist to paint them next time he's in a cave."

30,000 years later, here they are online.

listening to the beatles remasters

I bought the world’s biggest, most inefficient ipod.
Just kidding!

The Beatles remasters are out on CD, and this blogger has been listening intently for the past week.

Everybody knows the band: Liam Gallagher on vocals and rhythm guitar, Noel Gallagher on vocals and bass, Liam Gallagher on lead guitar, and Noel Gallagher on the drums. Everybody also (should) know the songs. But what this blogger, and millions of people my age and younger, don’t know is how the Beatles themselves wanted the music to sound.

You see, I’m 29. 22 years ago, the Beatles released their albums on CD. Before that, they were on records and cassette tapes. In order to listen to an album, I had the choice of hearing my parents’ records, a cassette, or the tinny, terribly mastered CDs. Records sounded good but they had been played for the past 30 years or so and sounded a bit worn. Also, you couldn’t play them in the car. Cassettes played just fine in my Dodge Aries but they never sounded good, even in the best of circumstances. And the CDs, like I said, were rushed to market and sounded like it. But no worries, right? Every band was re-releasing their albums in the 90’s. Except, of course, the only band that really matters.

So for my entire life, I’ve never heard the sound the Beatles intended. I heard either worn records (not too bad, but also not portable), cassettes, or the hastily-produced CDs. Mainly it was the CDs.

And so it was with much anticipation that I put on the newly remastered White Album to hear While My Guitar Gently Weeps. Just for comparison, I first put on the version with which I was familiar. Then I popped in the new CD and was amazed, amazed I say, at the clarity of this 40-year-old recording.

I suddenly heard the Beatles themselves. I heard musicians playing the instruments. I could feel the presence of Ringo at the drums, rather than just a drum-sound. I heard the sound of Paul catching his breath in Paperback Writer. I heard John (at least I think that’s John) coughing in a quiet section of Norwegian Wood. Sometimes I can hear them putting down their instruments at the end of a song. The Beatles are closer now, the songs I’ve heard thousands of times more exuberant, more human, and more dear.

The sound quality really makes a difference. Dear Prudence really sounds like the band playing in a room together. It made me wish they could have performed it live. When they sing harmonies I can actually make out the separate voices. The bass is more present, as are the drums, but not overwhelmingly so. The comparative levels of the songs haven’t changed, it’s all more clear. The Beatles no longer play in a room full of gauze. There’s air there.

My earlier trepidation has been removed. The Beatles CDs finally sound as good as the music recorded onto them. Now I’ll get back to my Beatles ipod.

john day fossil beds

comic strip superstar

Since the beginning of American Idol, cartoonists across this great country of ours have been pining away at our drawing tables for a similar contest to come along. Why couldn't there be an American Cartoonist? Aren't we "hip" to the "jive"?*

We wanted the chance to go on live television and draw funny pictures in little boxes.

Finally, we got this chance.** Comic Strip Superstar is a contest put on by Andrews McMeel Publishing and Amazon.com. In it, you create a totally new comic strip, draw 10 dailies and two Sundays, and send it through a series of tubes to the good people at Universal Press Syndicate. The overworked, malnourished Universal Press Syndicate editors, as well as a panel of All-Star judges, will read all submissions and narrow them down to the top ten. Those ten will be posted on Amazon.com and the ultimate winner will be chosen by reader vote. Jimmy Carter will be on hand to make sure the election is fair and untainted.

As winner, you'll be crowned Comic Strip Superstar and given gobs of money, a book deal, and a chance to draw comics for the rest of your natural life. I think you also get to meet Garfield.

Naturally, I entered the contest. Who knows, right now some Universal editor could be pouring over my scribbles and thinking "the kid has talent!"

My submission is called "Blavin and Blobbes," about a young girl and her best friend, a living blob of nuclear waste. Together they start a club: Boys Are Really aFul (BARF). It is both original and fun for the whole family; I am certain I've got a winner.

Seriously, I can't reveal my real submission because I don't want to get disqualified. But I will keep you updated with any news or information I glean in the next couple months. If I'm one of the lucky ten, you can be sure to read about it here. If I'm dumped after the first round, you can bet I'll be bitter until the end of my days, drinking myself to death while muttering obscenities under the Hawthorne Bridge. Maybe I'll meet some other cartoonists down there!

Kid Shay out.


*No.
**Sort of.

Friday Robots

today you can hear john lennon sneeze

Beatles remasters came out today.
I'm not sure who picked the date (9.9.09) to release these, but I do know John really liked the number 9. Songs he wrote: One After 909, Revolution #9, #9 Dream. Was this release date a coincidence or exceptionally good marketing? Only the Sun King knows.

There are lots of reviews floating around the internet, but probably my favorite is the one done by Bob Boilen at All Songs Considered. He and his show producer listen and comment on the remastered Sgt. Pepper.

For the record, I'm more of a White Album guy. It's sprawling and sure, I rarely listen to Revolution #9, but there's a lot to be discovered on that double album. I've been wondering for weeks which song or album I should listen to first. I might take Bob's advice and listen to Sgt. Pepper.

10 years of Sambora

This month our household celebrates a very special anniversary. 10 years ago this month, A. adopted our cat, Sambora.
Sambora (seen here in a file photo) has lived with my wife longer than I have, making me the interloper. Yet somehow I have been welcomed into the household, mostly by the cat but also, to a slightly lesser extent, by my wife.

There have been a number of milestones in Sambora’s life with A. A few of them, for your reading pleasure:

When A. first adopted Sambora, the cat came down with a little cold. This required A. to give Sambora medicine. Have you ever given a cat medicine? You have to sit on the cat, wrench its mouth open, jam a dropper into the cat’s mouth and dispense a few drops of liquid. This, according to the vet, will make the cat feel better. For better or worse, A. has said this was the time in which she first bonded with the cat.

Sambora used to live in an apartment with a balcony. There was a little cat door so she could sit outside on the balcony. This balcony twice became the scene to grisly bird murders. We’re not saying who the murderer was, but once A. came home to find part of a bird carcass inserted into the VHS player (presumably for safekeeping). Is it possible for a murderer to return to the scene of the crime if she never really left it?

The Ballad of Amazing Larry. This occurred when I was living with A. and Sambora.

Most recently, of course, was the journey Sambora (along with the two of us) made from the high desert of Colorado to the low wetlands of Oregon. Sambora, to her credit, did most of the driving, all hopped up on organic espresso and amphetamine sulphate. She was our Neal Cassady.

These days Sambora can usually be found in the big window overlooking the neighborhood street or curled up asleep on the bed. Don’t be fooled by this bucolic setting, however; Sambora lives life hard and fast. As another Neil once said: “Hey hey my my, rock and roll can never die.” He was singing about Sambora the cat.

Happy 10th, Sammy.

Wilco (the album): a belated review

What is Wilco? Wilco is Jeff Tweedy, the bass player, John Stirratt, and a revolving door of other musicians. Since each album has a slightly different lineup of players, Jeff and John’s job is to keep a consistency going. They’ve managed to do this partly because Jeff is a great songwriter. It is his lyrics that are the through line for Wilco. I venture to say Jeff Tweedy is the greatest living songwriter who is not Bob Dylan.

Wilco can be sonically adventurous. At their best, they take the same path that the Beatles took four decades ago: their love of playing and experimenting shows through on each track, making the albums as much fun to hear the fiftieth time as they were the first.

Which is why I was excited to hear the band’s seventh album, Wilco (the album).

Now that I’ve completely sabotaged any credibility by comparing Wilco to the Beatles, I’m going to make another comparison. Wilco (the album) is a late-period self-titled album in the same way that The White Album (The Beatles) was for the Beatles. Unlike The White Album, The Album is a more focused, joyful affair. The White Album did indeed have its happy songs, but overall the tone was much more somber. The white cover stood for emptiness rather than light, and while the Beatles were not nihilistic, they took that sprawling double album to question the meaning of just about every musical genre and in the process, life itself.

The Album, in contrast, has a camel on the cover. On the back, the band throws that camel a birthday party.

If I graphed the album, it would look something like this:


Like Sky Blue Sky before it, The Album doesn’t mess around with sound effects or eerie interludes. It just sounds like a band playing together. The layered sound of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and A Ghost is Born is not evident here. This is music meant to be played live.

The Album is also not a return to anybody’s roots. This is not Uncle Tupelo. If anything, Jeff Tweedy the folk singer asserts himself, while Wilco the studio band takes a backseat.
Wilco (the song) kicks things off, justifying the earnest silliness of the birthday camel on the cover.
Deeper Down is one of Jeff’s signature songs about music and the music business. One of his recurring themes in songwriting is the strange dichotomy of making art and selling art. Of course he’s for making a living; he doesn’t see the point in making something nobody wants to hear. But he also wants to say something, to be meaningful. Why those two things rarely overlap is a question for another post, but if you want Jeff’s answer you should listen to this, and to The Late Greats from A Ghost is Born, and to What Light from Sky Blue Sky.

You and I is a straightforward love song, a duet sung with Feist. It’s got some neat lyrics. I like it because it’s cute and I’m a sucker for that stuff.

You Never Know is, right now, my favorite song on the album. Upbeat and full of Tweedy witticisms. It doesn’t get better than this in a four minute song.

Solitaire sounds like it belongs in the quiet middle section of A Ghost is Born - right between the song about bees and the other song about trucks, or whatever. Yeah, Jeff is definitely clean now.

I could go on about The Album, but this is probably enough. It’s always great to have another Wilco album in the world, and even better when that album is a good one. The Album is one of the good ones. Go listen.

birds are birds IN COLOR

Thanks to my favorite cousin, the drawing in this post now has COLOR.


Those birds have never looked better.

Friday Robots

This guy controls the power of the wind. Don't cross him. Wind is the cause of 98.4% of the world's heartache.

the family monster: a panel from the vaults

This post can now be viewed on my website.