The rain was just beginning to hiss when I stole out my front door this morning. Leaving my wife in bed with her mouth fastened on the pillow; a tidy pocket of drool collecting in the corner of our marital bed.
Before I was even half way there I had to stop. Sheltering in a doorway to allow my circulation to recover from the endless cocktail of cigarettes and carbohydrates. I was starched and gagging for a nicotine fix but I had a plan.
I was downtown by the back of ten. Not bad for a fat man on two bad feet. The streets were still relatively empty. I felt a little smug until I put my hand on the first door on my list. The grills were up but there was nobody home.
F@cking Sunday shut out, St. Valentine's Day or not.
I made a mental calculation. If I crossed the street to buy some socks, I might still make the florist's before the rush. £4.99 for three f@cking pairs. Since my wife has commandeered the washing machine I have sixteen individual socks without a partner. Short of a summary amputation, I am a sole trader on the hop. I walked a block and bought a packet of cigarettes. Stood in the rain, and smoked two right off the bat. I paid for the socks and came back out to find a queue of elderly women waiting to get inside and make off with the shelves of freshly baked bread. Bastard.
The "Pound-Stop" directly across was open and in business. A steady trickle of teenage boys and pensioners in baseball caps. Emerging with two foot square packages to bring back home to wives and partners with blackened eyes. Fat lips. Bruises. The bigger the better to make an unflinching declaration of love.
"Get that fucking kettle on, doll. I'm parched."
Well. Our foray into Helmand Province is rolling nicely, thank you. Paved with a Georgian blood sacrifice in Vancouver ahead of the luge.
I smoked another cigarette and extinguished it just in time to get in there and buy red roses. My relief was almost palpable, incurable romantic that I am. Still. Better to capitulate in time than bleed out on the tarmac.
"See ? It ain't f@cking loaded, muthaf@cker..."
▼ THE ROLLING STONES: OUT OF TIME from "Aftermath" LP (Decca) 1966 (UK)
+ JUST FOR THE DUMBER THAN DUMB HGH STEPPING OF IT:
▼ HEATWAVE: BOOGIE NIGHTS from "Boogie Nights b/w Too Hot To Handle" 45 (GTO / Epic) 1976 (US)
6 comments:
One of my favorite older Stones songs... a band I really like covered it at a show a few years ago, and gave me some new insight on it.
Great song, and the Loog Oldham production is immense.
As for the Chilton offering. I don't really see that the bootleg take differs significantly from its "Radio City" issue, but the clarity is better here, I think, than on the cut of "RC" I have.
I haven't listened to the Big Star file yet... I'll have to check that one out, myself.
Let me know if you hear anything markedly different.
It does sound really clear-- I think that's the same outtake as the one on "What's Goin' Ahn" (the bootleg that I posted), though your file is much louder.
One of my least favorite Big Star songs, though.
Could be the same version as is on "What's Goin' Ahn". Most of the outtakes on this bootleg are of a pristine quality. I reencoded it in joint stereo through LAME, though. That probably accounts for the compression.
So many songs now are compressed to a ridiculous degree. Too much uniform attack right through a performance.
I like this song. Reminds me of The Beatles. Ha.
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