Looking Out My Back Door Part III: What a Long Strange Trip It’s Been

 The night was dark and the hours strange.

     With my posse properly assembled, I lurked and roamed the streets of Manchester looking for something to do.  I was still hampering after that girl from the day before a bit, but decided it was a lost cause. She was from New Hampshire though, and none of us knew what do so my buddy Ettinger asked her what there was to do.  Anyone who’s never been to the city of Manchester better get there as soon as they can.

     I dropped my intellectual sadness over the political conundrum I faced in favor of impulsive delights that would keep me feeling good in short bursts.  We went to a Manchester staple called the Red Arrow Diner and the atmosphere was perfect for a guy like me.  The place was compact, tight-knit, and vintage as all hell; the food was tasty and fulfilling to the brim, plus the waiting staff was composed of a pretty girl and a funny guy.  What could be better than all that?  I’ll tell you what buddy old pal: NOTHING.  With a full stomach and excitement on my mind, I needed another fix.  I got loud and proud, goofed off like there was no tomorrow and felt pretty alright.  A little flirting here, a little joking there, running, jumping, skipping, cat calling, insulting the Ron Paul supporters and the Occupy Manchester dwellers alike, but digging everything all the same; it was grand folks, it was real grand.  

I was on my high horse, lit up a cigarette, stomping the streets with my pals until we got cold.  What was once a fairly large ensemble dwindled down to only a couple of us because the rest were colder and more tired than me, so they decided to take a rest at the Manchester Raddison Hotel.  I have only two words to the overnight security staff of the Manchester Raddison, and those words together compose a pretty common expletive phrase that you can hear just about anywhere without even looking too hard.  I took the final drag of my bogey and went inside, relishing in the warmth and the ebony and ivory keys of a Steinway grand.  Now, fair reader, if you’ve got a Steinway grand and don’t want it being abused by teenagers, either lock it up and keep it out of sight or deal with the lack of musical talent you’re about to endure.  They disagree with me at the Manchester Raddison, and their security guard let my friends and I know it.

Needless to say I was mortified.  I’ve never been one to get embarrassed about much in all my days folks, but when you’re berated by some failure of a man in fake cop Halloween regalia calling himself a “Security Guard” in front of pretty ladies (or, like I said before, handsome men if that’s your poison), to the point that said pretty ladies and other companions want nothing to do with you out of embarrassment, you get pretty self conscious.  We were forced to leave and wander the cold night alone and those old school, Delta blues chords chimed hard in my uneasy mind.  I’m one who loves it all, but when things go downhill, I get to magical thinking.  I start relating all my problems to something bad happening in the future as a matter of fate.  Silly I know, dangerous I know, but you just can’t help yourself from indulging in self-pity from time to time.  I wallowed about, dragging my group down until Suavo gave me the “screw them all” speech we all love so much when we’re down in the dumps and my spirits picked up in a flash.  We raced to the bus, gave the Raddison the finger, spit on the ground it stood on, and started planning what we’d do for the rest of the night.  We had one more trip that I’ll discuss later on, and for that trip the bus would be leaving at 8:30 SHARP.  At 8:13 PM, while cycling through pictures of all the events of the day so far, we stumbled upon a picture from the Red Arrow wherein the waitress appeared to be giving me the eye.  Everybody agreed she was digging on me.  I jumped to my feet with an idea.  I’m gonna get that waitress’ Facebook or phone number just for kicks!  I had seventeen solid minutes for my idea to come to fruition.  Time was not on my side and as I was sprinting off the bus I told anyone who wanted to come with me on my journey to come.  I got a pang in my head that this was a stupid idea that will make me look like a child, but I brushed it away at the prospect of shits and gigs.  Suavo and I ran the many blocks; laughing excitedly, cracking skeptical, cynical jokes about the whole ordeal and how goofy it was but still loved it for that very same reason.

I raced into the Red Arrow and had to pee so I went to the back with a swift swagger and a big smirk on my face.  Suavo followed after I was done, we pow wowed, and I went out there to do the deed.  I could hear Suavo from the bathroom yelling “GO GET ‘EM ROCKY!” and I accosted the situation with a delightfully flirtatious fury.  The exchange was quick for time was short and I kind of pussied out and asked for her Facebook as opposed to going for the full on phone number, but hell I didn’t care there would be no getting it on after this!  I was having more fun than half my detractors and naysayers who said I pussied out.  “F*** ‘em, buddy it was a grand old time!” exclaimed Suavo as we left the Red Arrow with the waitress' name inscribed in purple ink on my left forearm.

When I reached the bus I got praise from some for doing something for the sake of doing something (the real root philosophy behind the whole thing) and received rolled eyes and scoffs from the sorry bastards who don’t dig things the same way I do.  The event that followed (the one I’ll discuss later on) was the first cornet of hope that rang out a reveille in the boot camp of my brain.  At first however, I was being brought down by the overbearing embarrassment I felt for the two stunts I pulled and more so by the fact that I felt mortified about it.  Until the event was over and we were already back at the hotel, my discomfort was written all over my very face.

On the way back we were discussing the event and its relation to the morning’s Facebook debate on Meet the Press.  What a spectacle that was, my friends.  The winner of the debate was David Gregory for showcasing how idiotic all the candidates were and making no bones about it; asking questions that hit them hard and left them gasping for air.  The man’s a beast and a presence I will always respect as a journalist and an American.  I can’t say as much for the candidates, but at least I can confidently say it for him.  I stayed up all night smoking cigars with everybody, playing Frisbee in the cold until some angry middle aged wretch came out in her bathrobe, boohooing about how she couldn’t sleep and was receiving noise complaints.  I think they all should have just come out and joined us; sleep’s a waste of time in this big nasty world if you ask me.  But lo, I digress.  When we went inside we had sing-a-longs (where I got finally bust out my guitar) and turned on more political television to fill our mainline with that sweet news junkie juice.  We couldn’t get enough.  We were desperate for it at that point with our minds swaying back and forth in the information overload breeze, no matter how mad or depressed we got at all of it. 

The next and final day would be the most empty day of the trip in terms of our meetings and experiences, but when you let the Apollonian thinker dance with the Dionysian dancer as Nietzsche would deduce it, things can get crazier than I can summarize with these lowly words.

This was the day that we would see the angriest, oldest, most falsely patriotic and delusional baby with an identity crisis this side of the Yazoo: Newt Gingrich.  I woke up late that morning for breakfast so I ditched that in favor of sleeping late, packing up my suitcase with Pat and leaving the Salem Red Roof Inn for good.  Salem was good to me; the cigarettes were cheap, the breakfasts were good, and the foreign waitress at Sammy J’s wasn’t too bad looking to say the least.  Overall a nice town that I’d raise my kids in if I had any, kudos to you Salem!

The bus was more exhausted than ever because we’d all been up so late, but I still tried to wake up those around me by being louder and more annoying than ever.  Needless to say, it wasn’t appreciated but hell, I tried and it woke me up so I didn’t mind their growls and scowls of sleepy rage.  The whole time I sat there contemplating my position and the primary, and I began to see similarities within both situations.  It was a strange experience, I never thought my philosophical and personal quandaries would reflect the experiences of any politician (especially Republicans), yet I got over that quick and decided to focus on something else.  That stuff was far too deep and troubling for a sleep-deprived, chain smoking Dylan Merrick on an empty stomach. 

The bus meandered its way up to Concord, New Hampshire (where people have one of the funniest accents you’ll ever want to imitate; imagine Frances MacDormand in Fargo and a drunk Sarah Palin; somewhere in the middle of the spectrum you’ll find Concord).  Concord proved to be the final battleground for my battered psyche.

As if the perversions of conservatism I saw at the Santorum, Romney, and Paul rallies weren’t enough, Newt Gingrich opened his rally with the Pledge of Allegiance.  Now, I’m not opposed to the original Pledge of Allegiance, but when the McCarthyists hijacked it to fight the “Godless Commies”, I didn’t appreciate them stomping all over the basic principles of the Constitution to do so even if I wasn’t born yet.  That’s a different fight for a different day though.

Newt’s performance was akin to watching Helen Keller at the junior prom.  I was zipping around pretending to be a member of the "professional media" and got up pretty close and personal with Mr. Gingrich.  From the distance between Gingrich and I, I could smell the propaganda dribbling off his lips and floating lazily into the audience.  More than any other candidate, Gingrich played up his former career as Speaker of the House as if he were Christ talking about his experiences as a carpenter.  In fact, he decided to give us halfway decent folks in the audience a full overview of his entire Congressional career, with extra emphasis on his points with Ronald Reagan (when he WASN’T Speaker) while his swindlers traipsed about the crowd handing out the “21^ST CENTURY CONTRACT WITH AMERICA”.  The whole scene felt like I was getting flanked on every side by a well-trained, well-armed Republican syndicate who would use brute force if necessary.  At one point, when explaining his healthcare policy, I began to suspect that rabid police dogs were going to burst in through the exits and consume any detractor that Newt or his cronies deemed too vile for society.  If I was ever at a Hitler Youth rally and not getting chased around with golf clubs and hungry Luger pistols, I’d imagine that it felt a little bit like this to those who were not on the inside loop of things.  It was too well-orchestrated, too controlled, too serious; in the end I couldn’t wait to get out and breathe again without feeling as if with one wrong move I’d end up on a private cargo plane down to Gitmo.

Once the bus was packed and on its way home I decided to sit down to some thinking.  (Please pardon the drop in energy here and throughout this article, it is difficult to gather up all these thoughts and make them as coherent as humanly possible).  Fortunately, as if God reached down from the night sky with a mighty wag of the finger and scolded the Professor for NOT having a debate as a means of jogging my thought process, the Professor decided to have a bus-wide debate that jogged my thought process.  The question that brought on this entire three-part saga came from one of the strongest human beings I know, a police officer who served during September 11th and an all around great guy named Jimmy.  Jimmy and I find ourselves often on polar opposite ends of the political spectrum.  Whereas he supports a lack of separation between church and state, I think any politician advertising a crucifix, Star of David, or Pentagram can go shove it till the cows come home and the same goes for preachers, imams, rabbis, and any religious official infusing politics with their sermons.

Jimmy’s words struck that cynical chord with the audience that always resonates and reverberates loudest, banking from wall to wall, ear to ear, causing everyone to think. “I don’t believe the government cares about us” Jimmy said, “if they did, they’d do something about our problems, but they only make them worse”.  A jolt of some nightmarishly fast electricity surged down my spine and raced around my body all of a sudden.  My limbs sprang into action and I jumped out of my seat; my mouth spat fire and my mind provided the gasoline; the impulse was too great for me to have tried to keep down; where I once dug the scene I was now making sweet love to it down by the sexiest fireplace known to humankind.  

I’ll tell you what fair readers; it’s not that Jimmy was wrong; it’s that he wasn’t completely right.  I disagree with the premise that our government doesn’t care about us, and that is what this trip and the lunacy of primary season has taught me.  What I’ve learned is that the government cares way too much about us.

The government couldn’t give any less of a damn about our sorry little problems.  If we’ve got pot holes, gangs, teen moms reaping the welfare system for benefits while addicted to meth, a tanking economy, no jobs, and a wealth disparity that would make Ayn Rand go “Really guys?  Isn't this a bit much?”, they don’t want to hear it.  The government couldn’t give any less of a flying rat’s ass about the issues we every day people face.  Politics may be local, but every politician thinks they’re the King or the Queen of their locality; from the village legislatures to the President of the United States, the bug’s all got them and there’s no shaking it.  Yet there is one thing politicians care about: public opinion.  Politicians would rather hear about themselves from your Tweets and Facebook posts than hear your voice in the streets or news publications.  They may not care about your problems, but they care about nothing quite as much as what you have to say about them on the Internet, anonymity or no anonymity.

So you know what it comes down to amigos?  Piss them off.  Piss them off like tomorrow’s dead and there’s no bringing it back.  Occupy Wall Street scared them, sure, but it didn’t piss them off.  “That was just another hippie protest that the cops can take care of” declared the pompous Representative to the other pompous Representatives.  But it still made them nervous which is a start.  The only way to piss off these bastards is to educate yourself for your own sake.  Take it all in, dig every scene and get that knowledge and experience.  Like that campy 80’s Captain Planet slogan said (or whosever it was) “KNOWLEDGE IS POWER!”  And if you don’t wanna read, gain knowledge, form opinions on your own, and educate yourself, then get the hell out of the way of those of us who do.  Gingrich’s main talking point besides his make out session with Ronald Reagan’s ghost was a strong emphasis on American Exceptionalism.  After the performance I was discussing the idea with my pal Santos who is from Brazil.  She said Americans have to get over the fact that they’re not living in the greatest country in the world anymore.  That’s true, we’re not, and we need to suck it up and understand that we wanted other countries to educate and better themselves like we did.  But I got mad, WOAH NELLY did I get mad!  I couldn’t believe I had some foreigner telling me my country wasn’t great when I wouldn’t tell them the same about their country out of respect.  But we’re not the greatest anymore.  Our healthcare system is degrading to discuss in public regardless of what vermin like Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck say; our education system can’t keep up because we’re too lenient on the dumb and don’t reward the best and the brightest; our economy’s been sleeping in the River Styx since the ‘70’s and we’ve been navigating ourselves towards disaster since then. 

But the biggest problem we have, the Big Queen Mama of all problems, is our culture.  Our culture of yes, yes, YEAH BABY!  We want it here, we want it fast, and we want it now.  Louis CK once joked about how people get mad when their phones can’t get on the Internet quick, when we should wait because they’re going to space.  By George I think he’s got it!  None of the Republican nominees admit that the roads we’re gonna have to travel are gonna be a lot harder than we want them to be.  They couch it and sugarcoat it in easily recognizable phrases and clichés as to make it sound triumphant.  And Obama, he, like a good bleeding heart Centrist, may admit that it will be hard, but coddles you to make it seem like he’ll take care of you.  He may want to, buddy, but he won’t.  YOU can take care of you.  YOU hold the keys to the Congress and the Senate and the Presidency (kind of).  YOU can rule the government but you have to do one thing first before you get mad; before you get angry and lose your cool; before you shake your fist at the metaphorical “Man”/”Establishment” and educate yourself; you first gotta admit that it’s your fault.  For all the corruption, greed, vanity, ignorance, warmongering, bribery, megalomania, and sheer irresponsibility on the part of the government in regards to the citizenry (regardless of party, be it majority Democratic or majority Republican or what have you) WE did it.  We did it, and we won’t admit it just like we won’t admit that the American Century was over before the close of the last one.  This is a global world, but it doesn’t mean we can’t reinvent the American Dream.  The American Dream got tarnished with the Cold War, with its visions of quiet suburbia over top of a rumbling underground, fueled by mass apocalyptic hysteria.  We’ve gotta shake it down to its philosophical underpinnings and crack the foundations till we reach gold.  But to do it we’ve gotta admit that we’ve screwed ourselves over, cry a bit about it, wipe our eyes, man up, stick out our bottom lip and say that it ain’t over till we say it’s over.  The American Dream can’t die because the philosophies hidden underneath the shroud of consumerism and ignorance will never die (or hopefully will never die to put it safely, but screw that, I’m a risk taker; I’m a goddamn proud American).  The Republican candidates refused to admit that it was the audiences' faults and their faults too because that humble pie doesn’t taste too good when you’ve got a belly full of bullshit. 

Enter Fred Karger.  Fred Karger is the first openly gay, Jewish presidential candidate EVER.  You probably haven’t heard about Fred Karger because his campaign is smaller than Stephen Hawking’s weight room, but he’s there (just call me a political hipster, I don’t mind).  He’s running as a Republican because he loves Reagan, but is as far left with social issues as you can go.  He’s a real Maverick (stick that in your ancient Inuit peace pipe Palin, go hunt a griz with your bare hands elsewhere), and makes no bones about it.  He’s running an independent campaign because he wants to and because he feels he can do good.  He’s honest to his opinions regardless of who he has to answer to.  He’s basically Ron Paul if Ron Paul wasn’t a Nancy boy who’s terrified of losing.  The final event of the day when I saw Romney and Paul was a meeting with Karger and he won me over with real honesty and a truly free attitude.  I had tried too hard like Romney did while at the Paul thing, making a spectacle of myself because I wanted to be the name on everyone’s lips.  My own vanity and willingness to be so vain was too dangerous.  And I went overboard with that same message when I was in the diner or playing the piano, much like Ron Paul, who ended up being uncomfortable with it anyway just like me.  I finally realized that I couldn’t try to revive that feeling of acceptance that I felt that first day I was ranting on the bus and it hit me as I watched Newt Gingrich pathetically pant out his broken phrases of a once living, breathing dream.  My philosophy with politics should have filtered its way into my own life, and that’s what happened when I shook Fred Karger’s hand.  The guy probably won’t receive a sixteenth of a percent of the vote because he’s got no funds, but goddamn he’s the best guy out there by far.

Zero Hour, 9AM.  The words split the dark air as I sum up this huge thing.  To those of you who stayed with me till the end, I commend you and love you even if I don’t know you; to those of you who didn’t, well, you’re not reading this, so you can go scratch.  You missed out on some good stuff and bad stuff, but it’s your choice I won’t tell you what to do (but I'm judging you like you're 4 and you didn't eat your peas).  I guess there is no moral to the story.  I won’t say “so in conclusion, this is the American Dream…” and go into philosophical reservoirs long abandoned since the time of Blake and Kierkegaard.  F*** that s***.  You figure it out for yourself, that’s what I did and am still doing and that’s the way I like it.  I’m gonna go add to my nicotine addiction (19 and already hooked even with all the information we’ve got out there; it’s a sad, sad world out there hombres) but first I wanna strike a chord if I can be so bold.  There’s a shitstorm coming, hallelujah.  Everybody knows it; things are getting too bad to say otherwise.  But don’t listen to me if you don’t want to because I don’t know for sure and neither does anybody else.  If you want to educate yourself like I said before, go for it I’ll be with you every step of the way.  But for those of you who want to step out into that great abysmal divide between what you know and what you can't see, that’s your prerogative. I’m just some false, mad prophet of the Internet with a mouth like an old school truck driver.  But after what I saw in New Hampshire which included but was not limited to: the glorification of dead ideals, the celebration of image above matter, the utter nonsense that poured out of the mouths of possible presidents, etc. I know the situation is pretty dire and pretty dismal unless we do something about it soon.  On that note, I’m gonna slip out of here before the FBI tracks me down for sounding like a terrorist.  Like good old Bolan said, Bang a Gong Get it On.

   ~Viva amingos,

      ~D. Merrick

Merrick's Music: My Ten Favorite Songs of 2011

2011 was an okay year for music.  The songs I loved, I really loved, and the rest I couldn't care less about.  These are my ten favorites in an order that is flexible but was still hard as hell to arrange.  I'd also like to note that I am one opinionated guy and I get pretty profane, graphic, vulgar, wordy, and polarized in some of my reviews.  They are MY reviews, and the views I have are not linked in ANY WAY, SHAPE, OR FORM to the bands or artist who produced the music or anyone else but myself.

10. Frick Park Market- Mac Miller

Listen here!: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KJ19PJ7-SWc

Mac Miller is one talented kid.  He's as old as me and has accomplished more in his lifetime ALREADY, than any music teacher who sits alone at night with a shot glass in hand wondering what the hell happened to their music careers, ever will.  The kid's devoted to his craft and doesn't opt to do things the same way those other fuckers on the scene do (you won't hear the powerful chord progression that the bass knocks out on this track in any other song that came out in 2011).  This song is an OBELISK of fiery sound that knocks you down hard and then, once it deems you worthy enough to even look at its mighty presence once again, takes you back to Mac's backyard, chilling with some cold pizza and fat blunts.

This is Mac's backyard.
It's full of neon ladies

9. Call It What You Will - Larry & his Flask

Take a gander!: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=903oVzMObak

Listening to this track is comparable to having a musical menage e trois with Bill Monroe and Patti Smith (doesn't sound attractive in the slightest, but hell you could still score some bragging rights in most hipster/redneck circles).  Or maybe it's more like having a Tennessee Two-Step Hoedown with Jesus.  Whatever it is, it's ncredible and will leave you searching for wooden boards to stomp and asses to kick for days on end.  This song is lightening on the rickety wheels of a Model T Ford and you'll be humming it for weeks!

The guy smiling is the keeper of
the band's communal tooth.

8. Dedication to My Ex (Miss That) - Lloyd

Listen to it. NOW!: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6kLq3WMV1nU

Oozing Motown Flair and Hip Hop Swagger (complete with cameos by Lil' Wayne and Andre 3000, plus Wayne Brady in the video), this song struts like James Brown at the Apollo and plays like the haunting offspring of Curtis Mayfield and Amy Winehouse (the Beehive Queen; she was a virtuoso and may she rest in peace from those rabid paparazzi).  I didn't hear a record all year with such confidence and bravado.  The first time I heard this song, the air was electric and I was sucked in for good.  It's crazy, scary, and pure gold.  This song makes you feel like you're driving a '61 Bonneville, while cat calling at pretty girls through the streets of old school Detroit.  Pure gold!

I liked this record this much.

7. I Am Sick of People Being Sick of My Shit - The World/Inferno Friendship Society

DIG IT!: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fFRTsLFUeHI

I saw these crazy fools tear up a stage with their cabaret at Irving Plaza with my buddies (who are also crazy fools).  I was all over the place (just missed starting an all out brawl with a security guard had my friend not swooped in like goddamn Superman) but when these guys entered the room, every soul on the dance floor erupted into anarchic wonder.  This song opens up the album (which is equally mind-blowing) with the same spirit I felt emanating from that savage stage at Hallowmas.  This is an anthem for every wild child out there who is brutally independent and don't care what anyone thinks of it and I say Hallelujah AMEN Let it roll!  Blast this track from your car speakers and burn up the fiendish highway!

These guys are pretty sick of your shit.

6. Sexy and I Know It - LMFAO

Hit it up fools!: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wyx6JDQCslE&ob=av3e

I have a theory about this group right here.  I hope I'm right, but if I'm wrong, may the world have pity on our souls.  This song is steeped to the brim in 80's runway flavor, Speedos, and far too much hair.  And they know it.  Countless times I've found myself gyrating and thrusting for no reason just at the mention of this song (it's kind of embarrassing).  This is the most fun track that came out in 2011 because it's hilarious, self-deprecating, and bound for glory as the hallmark audition song at Chippendale's.  I lose my mind when this comes on at clubs and bars but it makes me wonder: does LMFAO take themselves seriously?  Or are they like the License to Ill-era Beastie Boys of the modern day?  Party Rock Anthem is, to me at least, likely to go down as an actual anthem for my generation and I'm fine with it.  You can call this all silly, you can say it's a joke, but these guys make hot records that have won awards.  Hopefully, for the sake of population control, these two hombres will stay naked until the end of the world.  Cheers you crazy cats and remember: WIGGLE WIGGLE WIGGLE WIGGLE WIGGLE YEAH!

RedFoo SMASH.

5. Stone Rollin' - Raphael Saadiq

Shove THIS in your ears!: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wHyalVRUXrA&ob=av2e

To put it lightly, this song is SEX.  I've never had a compulsion to hump soundwaves before, but after hearing this song I was a sonic sex addict hellbent on digging his next fix.  It was embarrassing, several people thought I should have been hospitalized BUT ANYWAY! This song slinks into the smoky blues ballroom in fishnets and a pair of hooker heels knowing exactly what to do next.  It chews you up and spits you out and won't quit till it wants to.  From the slow groove of the drums, the hop of the bass, the screeching harmonica, the haunting single violin, to the twang of the guitar, the whole arrangement is pure magic.  The killer in this song that makes it truly awe-inspring is Saadiq's voice, grunting and squawking over the microphone about the woman he wants in the worst of ways.  This track kicks and jerks around your head, ultimately leaving you on your hands and knees like a dog begging for more kibbles.  Saadiq's a master and this track epitomizes the style and essence of this frenetic funk junkie genius.

Excuse me, waiter?  Yeah, hi!  I'll take one stone cold badass please, hold the toast.

4. Gimme All Your Lovin' - Whiskey Shivers

This is it!: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wC6DuckeJUM

And now, to really flaunt some hipster cred.  To all of you deranged hipsters out there who think pretentious acts like Arcade Fire, Fleet Foxes, Bon Iver, Iron & Wine, and Florence + the Machine are the faces of indie and have some inkling of musical talent, please sit down, you're blocking my view of the revolution.  It's people like you that keep kick ass bands like Whiskey Shivers from being the biggest thing in music.  Unlike all these other "indie" drones, a lot of people DON'T know who Whiskey Shivers are, but would find their music fun as hell, nostalgic, and not so boring (or as you say "artistic").  I'm a country boy, born and raised, and when I first heard this song a doctor had to rush in with a defibrillator because they didn't think I'd survive.  It's like I jumped down to Rose Hill, Kentucky to sip Jack with Flatt & Scruggs.  This song is pure neo-Americana.  This is exactly what country music is supposed to be right here!  It's music to stomp your feet to, crush a beer can over your head to, dance around to, get crazy to, and showcase some much needed musicianship.  It's genius, it's the best country song to come out since Johnny Cash's track "Sam Hall" (suck on tht Lady Antebellum, we all know Cee Lo Green deserved that Grammy) and I can't get enough.  I've listened to it one hundred and fifty times today and I'll listen to it a full three hundred more.  It leaves you zipping around with a craving for fast cars, open roads, and really cool facial hair.  I hope Whiskey Shivers gains some more notoriety so they can keep on pumping out crazy records like this one.  They'll be blowing minds from Halifax to Buenos Ares, and everywhere in between!

And they're wholesome as hell too!
Four groupies is cleaner than fourteen.

3. Otis - Jay-Z & Kanye West

LISTEN HERE!: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BoEKWtgJQAU&ob=av2e

This song had my jaw dropping from start to finish and I'm still trying to bring it back to my face.  I absolutely loved everything about it!  The sampling is spot on, Jay-Z and Kanye throw it way back to the Golden Age with the switch offs, tag teams, and absolute SWAG.  Remember when I said "Dedication to My Ex" was the only track I heard all year with real bravado?  I lied, this one's got it with a vengeance.  I read one review in which the critic got mad about the track because Jay and Ye boast about their luxurious lifestyles while the rest of  us are without jobs.  I guess that reviewer asked Beyonce on a date and got shot down HARD.  These guys don't need to relate to us, music is an escape.  We wanna be 'photoshoot fresh and looking like wealth', but we can't and that's just the way it is.  I may not be a big Kanye fan (I've always been a huge Jay-Z fan), but this song and the album it's on made me reconsider my position entirely.  His rhymes are impeccable and the production is hypnotic, while Jay-Z strong arms the track with a flow that could flood the Mall of America in a matter of seconds.  Even Otis Redding and James Brown get sick nods in it that really show a level of respect to classic artists that is absent in most modern music.  It's songs like this one and the work of other artists such as the Black Keys and Adele that are bringing it back.  Plus with a music video from the bizarre mind of Spike Jonze how could it not burn up the radio and tv?  The song's a masterpiece; it hits you fast and hard with its decadent retro bombast like the Blitzkrieg till you wanna call the radio station and ask them to play it again and again and again!  Kudos gentlemen, this is some masterful stuff.

...lol

2.2. Love You Like a Love Song - Selena Gomez & the Scene

Here it is!: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LupeGtJ3a3E

"She's a Disney kid, Merrick, what the hell is wrong with you?  WHERE'S YOUR MUSICAL INTEGRITY?"  My integrity's right here.  It was a contentious race for this spot between this song and Maroon 5's "Moves Like Jagger", but this one takes the cake and scarfs it down like an obese soccer mom crying over her broken dreams.  Well, the song's a lot sexier than that (so are most things. Actually I don't know anything less sexy than that).  "Moves Like Jagger" is a fantastic piece of music, but The Scene churns out some real musical mastery here.  If "Stone Rollin'" is a smoky barroom circa 1963, this record's a coked up, stoned ass disco lounge circa 1979.  The song is hot and exhibits how, even if this band is in Disney's pocket, they can produce a track that sounds authentic.  This isn't Justin Bieber hopelessly trying to overcome adolescence with some dignity intact.  Hell no, this song is sophisticated, delicate when it's gotta be, forceful and robust when it needs to be, and blows the lid off the idea that these Disney princesses can't also have talent.  It's a shocker of a piece.  When I first heard it I had no idea who sang it, wrote it, produced it, released it, etc. and best of all I didn't care.  After I found out, I naturally had my reservations because, like a good music listener, I'm always skeptical and hesitant of these manufactured Barbie pop stars; but that debate's for the analysts and lawyers.  I'm just gonna dig this song for what it is: an ode to acts like Michael Jackson and Chic, stalking the neon dance floor on Gloria Gaynor's legs with the ever so slightest hint of ABBA.  I dig the track like no other, Gomez breathes fire like a sultry dragon in drag, the beat is lethal as an injection, the strings are more chilling than an Alfred Hitchcock film, and I hope to the good Lord above that The Scene keeps pumping out songs like this one.

Did I stutter?

AND NOW LADIES AND GENTS, THE PIECE DE RESISTANCE, DYLAN MERRICK'S HANDS DOWN FAVORITE SONG OF 2011.  ROLL THOSE DRUMS JOHNNY...

1. Lonely Boy - The Black Keys

For your musical pleasure: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a_426RiwST8

The Keys have outdone themselves.  Most bands just sit there like cocky Frat boys when they're coming off the coattails of a release like 2010's Brothers, but the Black Keys just jumped right back into the studio, kicked their amps and drums around a bit, and the resulting album is a hot, eclectic mess of a record that'll leave you abandoned on the roadside, dumbfounded with amazement, wondering what the hell happened to your ears and when it can happen again.  "Lonely Boy" is straight up exploitation film era hellfire in the back of an old pick up truck.  The video is probably the sickest things that's ever happened.  PERIOD.  END OF DISCUSSION.  The song's height is its wild beat that no one discusses for some reason.  Pat Carney bangs out a crazy, dangerous rhythm that's soaked to the bone in the proto punk styles of The Sonics and the surfer blues licks of the Revels.  This is an instant classic in every way and is another amazing piece to add to the Keys' already brolic repertoire of songs.  Gentlemen, I bow to you and your honorable efforts; you've made the spiraling, dismal abyss that was once a beautiful world of music pick itself up out of the gutter, dress to the nines, and stomp the streets in search of some wild kicks!

This guy agrees!

~Viva amigos,

   ~D. Merrick

Looking Out My Back Door Part II: Pretty in Pink, Rock 'n' roll Hits the Granite State

If Santorum’s downfall was his inability to back up his positions with solid plans of action, I knew that I could no longer go about my days with the grime of spin and bull oozing from my mouth.  He (meaning Santorum) is a disingenuous fool and I can’t wait to have a huge shindig for when he’s finally dropped out of the race.  He only had a chance in Iowa because it’s a bunch of Bible thumping Evangelical morons out there who climax at the mention of keeping “The Big Man Upstairs” in government. He knew that, but refused to let it show.  Dishonesty will be the death of this Godforsaken Empire if it hasn’t already. 

After dinner, we retired to the Hotel in Salem to watch the debate.  What I saw wasn’t a debate though.  What I watched was a vicious dogfight on American ideals that even Michael Vick wouldn’t have been able to orchestrate.  Aside from one of the announcers having a comically deep voice , all of the candidates let their conservative colors fly.  I have no problem with conservatives, however, I’m not a particular fan of the mainstream Republican take on conservativism and I’m not afraid to show it.  Even Ron Paul stood there mindlessly humping a dilapidated cardboard cutout of Ronald Reagan, he was just more discrete in his desires; but not in the message.  Everywhere you looked the words dancing off the lips of the candidates were the same as the next one and they hit the audience with such explosive intensity that it felt like bombs detonating in the Tora Bora morning:

“LIVE WITHIN OUR MEANS!”

BOOM!

“REAGAN CONSERVATIVE”

“SMALLER GOVERNMENT”

BABANG!

“FAITH”

“FAMILY!”

“TRADITIONAL VALUES”

KRAKOW!

“CONSTITUTION!”

          POW!

                        “FREEDOM!”

BANG BANG BANG! My head was reeling back and forth trying to make some semblance of sense from the idiocy I was watching.  No one had any plans of action!  With all the bullets people were dodging, it was like watching a Looney Toons cartoon of a Western shootout.  It was a moving Picasso caricature of true political reason.  I couldn’t believe my eyes! I almost turned it off out of pure disgust.  As I lay there ill with depression over the state of modern American politics, I felt a pang in my gut that ironically told me everything would be okay.  The world of politics is a sick one, folks: wicked to the bone and cynical to the core.  I felt comfort in my own disgust because I then remembered that the next day we’d be seeing the ring leader of the mad circus.  His chiseled jawbone and perfectly parted slick hair gleamed in the stage lighting.  He looked like a president I could hate.  If he got elected I’d easily stay employed writing columns about his screw ups.  My morbid, selfish desires for my own career came over me and I was immediately invigorated no matter how wrong it might have been.

     
     Zero Hour, 9 AM.  The words sting me as I type this out because it’s drawing closer.  Eh, screw it, I’ve never had much use for sleep anyway, life’s too exciting for sleep!  Think of everything you waste when you don’t dig it all and let it overtake you.  People don’t get wrapped up in anything anymore, or at least they don’t allow themselves to get wrapped up in the right things.  The Almighty THEY say that my generation is skeptical and hardworking, which may be true but I refuse to agree.  I finally figured out why I will never agree with the Almighty THEY (a.k.a. whoever sits upon that gilded throne in some corporate high rise in Midtown or Hollywood) on Sunday after seeing that badly animated manikin Mitt Romney and Ye Ole Crazy Grandpaw Paul.

     The bus was tired that morning.  I got up at 5:47 AM to work out, shower, and explore the local scene.  I got an amazing breakfast at Sammy J’s on the main stretch in Salem and was alive as hell.  I switched on “Moanin’” by the Great Mingus and jumped around the bus.  I couldn’t understand why people were tired and then it hit me like pepper spray at an Occupy rally: they weren't tired, they were sad.

     Let’s face it, folks.  Times are shittier than they’ve been in a while, plain and simple.  We’ve yet to find our way out of the bloody ruins of the Twin Towers and I don’t think we ever will.  Fear still governs us with an Iron Gavel no matter whose hands hold it; the economy’s been down the shitter since the dawn of time, we’ve gotten stupider and proud of it, there’s endless war, we’re prey to every source of authority that’s out there and we feel weak underneath it all.  We’re waiting for a knight in shining armor to carry away this ravaged damsel in distress of a country.  Yet we feel and perhaps KNOW deep down that we’re not gonna get that brave knight because we thought people like Barack Obama would be one.  Nope, we know we’re gonna end up with some sorry loser playing Russian Roulette with a Luger pistol he fashioned out of our broken economy and need for distractions.  Between the media who keeps an I.V. ready with a boredom killing serum on tap, a government who gives more of a damn about our Tweets and Facebook statuses than our actual societal problems, and corporations and banks that play jump rope with our bank accounts, it’s a wonder to me that we don’t have a nationwide repeat of Jonestown.  After watching the pitiful performance of each candidate, regardless of what the news networks say, my classmates and professors were broken down.  There’s only so much disappointment we can take before the weight of it all gives us worse scoliosis than Quasi Modo. 

     In lieu of all this, we kept our spirits up a little bit by keeping our minds off politics or only cracking the occasional political joke.  The best remedy for political sickness is a shot of something strong and a huge whopping dose of anything else you can get your hands on.  We opted for movies, which became a philosophical analysis of films which eventually led back to politics.  We were dogs chasing our own tails and tragically always catching them.  I didn’t mind though.  Unlike my pals and colleagues I believe that we can all find a nice rock to sleep under in dangerous amounts of cynicism, as long as it doesn’t morph into pessimism.  My friends felt cheated by Obama (I got over that feeling 6 months into his sad excuse of a presidency) so they were looking to Republicans to find someone to root for.  Today was their shot because we were seeing the two main frontrunners.

     First up was the head hancho himself: Mitt Romney.  Similarly to Santorum’s rally, I went to the press section.  When asked for credentials, I told them I forgot my badge but I was definitely with the Huffington Post online, writing for a new section on youth perspective and the election.  Like good lemmings they followed my trap to the water and fell in with dazzling Olympian swan dives TEN OUT OF TEN!  I was excited to see Romney because I knew just as well as everyone else in that amphitheatre and the rest country he would win New Hampshire and probably get the nomination by a huge margin (scoring 40% in New Hampshire on Tuesday).  Unlike Santorum whose security consisted of a fat guy with a big silver cross and mutton chops that seemed to reach his ankles, Romney had legit security.  Guards lined the wings backstage, down in the pit, and up in the balcony, watching me as I bounced around getting down every little bit I could.  My partner in crime, Pat Tierney wrote down everything he could muster about Romney’s speech and what he wrote said it all quite plainly: THIS GUY’S A TOOL.

This Ken Doll crotch of a candidate showed no gravitas at all.  His political huevos rancheros were a no show and to me that means he’s a no go.  Granted, this is the same guy who said John Adams wrote the Constitution, so I suppose I was expecting wayyyyyyy too much from him.  Romney walked onto the stage and the crowd blew up!  There were at least 350 people in and around the theatre but it didn’t feel that way.  The thing with Romney is he’s definitely electable.  He came in with jeans on and the sleeves of a grid patterned button down rolled up because 110% "working man".  His voice rang out clear with his scripted, memorized sound bites blazing through the amplifiers; the crowd loved it.  I wanted to throw myself off the balcony when I heard him talk about the love he had or veterans.  He had no plan at all for the country, he had no plot or set of actions to save us from our dire situation; but goddamn the guy sounded electable.  The crazy thing about it is he didn’t need to say anything that involved policy.  This was no maniacal tyrant I was watching, hell bent on turning America into a theocracy.  This wasn’t Rick Santorum!  This wasn’t Ronald Reagan!; NO NO NO partner, this was the sickly cancer boy in Thank You For Smoking who companies and non-profits use as a pawn to win over the audience, and the dumbasses out in the seats and aisles of this theatre were eating it all up like hobos at a goddamn dumpster pig roast.  It was nauseating, shocking, appalling, depressing and more than anything fascinating.  I didn’t know what to think!  I saw a bunch of semi-educated, grown adults buying into a message with no teeth and Romney made no bones about it.  From his creepy Stepford wife, to the eight thousand family members he brought with him on stage, and his now infamous quoting of “America The Beautiful” (of which I was one of the guinea pigs for his sick, patriotic experiment on its effectiveness), this wishy-washy elitist looked like and in fact IS the biggest whore in politics since Bill Clinton; parading himself around like a prime rib plaything for the right wing oligarchy holding the Republican Party hostage by its own freewill.  I’d feel bad for him if he wasn’t so weak and if he didn’t know/understand what he was doing.  But the twisted thing about it is he DOES know exactly what he’s doing and he revels in it.  It’s because of his willingness to bend over for any right wing cause that he can win people over with his talks of the long dead American Dream and Ronald Reagan’s haunting ghost.  He looks like a president, talks like a president, walks the walk, and that’s what got him 40% in New Hampshire, but he thinks too much like a crony.  It’s because of this willingness that he’s the perfect presidential nominee, but the holder of a failed presidency if the Electoral College ever voted him into office. 

So after a good laugh about the whole situation (I couldn’t bear to feel down anymore, all the bull in the political world has gotta make you laugh to keep you from blowing your brains out with a .50 calibur, gold plated Desert Eeagle), we headed off to some little pochuck town in central New Hampshire that kind of reminded me of where I grew up.  There are two reasons why it reminded me of good old Rock Tavern, New York: there were 8 cows for every person and Tea Baggers coming out of their secret farmhouse lairs in droves.  We were en route to see the Fringe King elect, ladies and gentlemen… RON PAUL!

I was pumped as hell to see Ron Paul.  If there was any one of the Republican candidates I could have seen myself supporting, it was Ron Paul.  He had that independent swag and spoke his own truth, a man after my own heart.  He spoke about freedom, cutting overseas spending, gutting corporate loopholes, the Constitution, and the “preservation of Liberty”. 

I got right up front with my Flip Cam to get every moment I could as a souvenir to my own "Libertarian" heart.  I also did this “I’m-a-hardcore-journalist-in-the-making-ladies” act to impress the girl from the day before and any other girl there or who I was texting because I was in that kind of a mood.  Sometimes you just wanna impress ladies (or men if that’s your poison), not even to pursue them, just to dig that attention and anyone who says they don’t is a goddamn liar who should be dragged to the stockades by their boot heels like Salem witches.  As I was putting on this embarrassing but personally entertaining performance, Ron Paul came out from the door and I saw something I had never seen before.  I never got to see Barack Obama at a rally back in ’08 but I gather this was the closest thing you could get.  Ron Paul struck a chord with the audience with only one toe poking through the door; Mitt Romeny couldn’t strike that chord if he ran naked through the halls of the Capitol Building with his hair on fire.  The audience erupted like Mt. St. Helen 30 years ago and the lava flowed quick through the scene like mad.

“If there is any candidate in this race who might talk policy when the major news networks aren’t all there, Dylan” I said to myself “it’d be Ron Paul.”  My lips were pursed and exhilarated beads of sweat brimmed from my brow and evaporated when they touched the electric fire in the air.  Everyday this guy gets people pumped about most of the right stuff, or at least some of the stuff that’s right in my opinion.  Today however, was not one of those days.

Mr. Paul began with what seemed to be a Beethoven-esque ode to civil liberties and a textualist interpretation of the Constitution, but it stopped there.  The excitement in my heart took a sudden dive and veered off to the ground so quick it was as if a Mafia Capo drove his rabid ice pick clear through my chest.  I never stood a chance and my mind was just standing there alone; stripped, ass naked to the wind crying in the corner somewhere back in Salem.  This bright star at the front of the room quickly became a wormhole where happiness and freedom go to die!  His speech and conversation with the audience ceased being a glimmer of hope in a dark tunnel and became the darkest tunnel of them all.  This old geezer of a hack stood in front of 200 drooling people telling us that we had all these problems and he had solutions, but what were they?  Shit, he didn’t know!  He said he’d bring the troops home and close down the bases we have all around the world, but how would he do so?  That shit doesn’t just POOF! Happen out of thin air!  I need some policy Ronny Boy! BRING IT ON!  How would we make back the revenue lost from dropping the corporate tax?  All style, no substance, and the audience shamelessly swallowed it down with haste, ease, and haapiness.

The whole affair showed me that Ron Paul was not at all a beacon of independence compared to the other candidates; he was the same as the rest of them.  He was almost as bad as Romney and it hurt deep down to watch it before my very eyes.  I understand that you play to the base in primary season, but Ron Paul was supposed to be above political games and norms.  This playing to the base bull has to stop for the sake of my own intelligence and the intelligence of every other American out there.  If we were to quit it maybe we could salvage a sense of dignity/honesty in our political system, but that seems to be a long lost cause.  Plus, his insistence that he is a Romney competitor as opposed to an Obama competitor exhibits his lack of political balls.  Ron Paul sold his soul to the primary season and with stupefying audacity that made my head spin around a sheer 360 degrees.  I noticed this on two issues: Israel and drugs.  When asked by a group of anti-Zionist Hassidic Jews what his policy with Israel would be, he made a huge cop out.  I could tell it pained him to make such a cop out, it was written all over his face in black Sharpie marker, but he did it anyway.  Unlike Romney who proudly wears his prostitution on his sleeve, Paul did it because he knew he had to.  He knew that even though these doting people would eat up anything he said, the party leadership was watching him with a vengeful eye already so he had to up his Republican credentials.  However, he also kept in mind that the audience would never accept someone saying they disagreed with Israel’s policies on expansion (policies that I find abhorrent and disgusting, and I say that especially as a Jew).  Because he couldn’t let his train lose steam by chancing an unpopular position and slipping up in front of the RNC (they’d be watching somewhere, some way), he let go of his principles for a split second and allowed himself to be spanked by authority and public opinion.  The second issue he lost me on personally was drugs.  He didn’t say anything about drugs.  The media will tell you that he’s won young people with his near-pacifist views on war, his libertarian views on economics, his grandfatherly image and his overall message of freedom above anything else.  The media was also duped into wasting a week reporting on a kid playing hide and go seek in a weather balloon.  Ron Paul won over the youth with his views on weed.  Plain. And. Simple... Weed.  Nothing else.  Just weed.  Anyone who says otherwise is either lying through their teeth or hopelessly moronic.  Ron Paul knew however, that even if he was in the Live Free or Die state, talking about drug legalization in front of a group of old conservatives and fringe veterans was political suicide and the race for second place might be contentious between he, Huntsman, and Gingrich (even though it wasn't at all), so he didn’t talk about it.  I’m not a baseball umpire and I don’t believe cats have nine lives.  I’ll give you a second chance if I’m desperate, but I’m not.  Ron Paul is just as much a liar as the rest, folks.  If you’re supposed to be the candidate who will fight tooth and nail for your own personal cause, don’t beat around the bush in your answers and not talk about another one because it’s the make or break position.  In other words: don’t treat me like an asshole, you asshole.  Man up, stoke the flames, grow a pair, shake rattle and roll baby and don’t let up until the fat lady belts out a little Ave Maria,

With a heavy heart, I left that meeting feeling colder than ever.  These were the two top candidates and both proved to be nothing more than $10 street corner ladies of the night to the public and their party.  They bent over and took it (and none too admirably might I add) for the sake of primary season and nothing could make one feel more hopeless than drowning in a pool of politician lies and media fodder.


THIS POST ALSO APPEARED ON "FRM THE G MAN": http://fromthegman.blogspot.com/