Trippin' at the Car Wash

#14

01.14.10

What is one to do when the day is ending and no photograph has been procured for the daily iPhone photo blog?  I'll tell you want one is to do... Rally!  And by "Rally!" I mean "take a random picture and hope for the best".  So this is an admittedly weak entry on the photography side of the blog, and I'll just have to hope that the music rescues the venture.  I suppose a little background is warranted.  

So there I was sitting in the car wash tonight getting the sled cleansed from a week of snow and dirt accumulation.  In Alaska the roads are not salted, they are dirted and graveled.  I guess this practice is a more environmentally friendly way to give tires some traction on the highways and byways of the Anchorage mega-metropolis (~275,000 humans, ~3,000 moose, ~250 black bear, ~60 brown "grizzly" bear, and ~1 gentleman named Ramón who wears shorts and Crocs in the winter time along with two fake Rolexes on his left wrist and who insisted to me today that "Kanye West will go down as the next Wolfgang Amandious Mostart"); but the dirt and gravel don't do wonders for a sled's complexion.  It is, however, a particularly lovely event to have a rock fired your direction from the knobby tire of the guy in front of you driving a jacked up pickup truck with a bumper sticker reading "Alaska Girls Kick A**".  Said rock makes such a delightful "crack" as it hits your own forward-hurtling transportation apparatus. 

So, back to the photo.  I was sitting in the car wash looking through past photos to see what I might post, when I smelled the fruity scent of soap, or wax, or whatever the colorful stuff is that is sprayed toward the end of the wash.  My co-pilot Q enjoys that particular part of the weekly wash more than any other part, but sadly, he was not with me to enjoy it this time.  And of course, that's when I got the lame idea to take a photo for him, immediately followed by the even lamer idea to post it in this blog. 

{"Sigh", groaneth Ansel from the grave...}

Actually, I kind of like this photo.  It's like, totally psychedelic, dude.  Rad!  Here are the subsequent images from the wash.  I envision these three photos on separate panels hanging together on the wall at the Hirshhorn someday, if their curators have any taste at all:

And if the photo isn't psychedelic enough, then by golly the soundtrack featuring Anenome  by the Brian Jonestown Massacre will have to help it along.  

I entered the second "psychedelic phase" of my musical explorations beginning about two years ago when I discovered the album "Passover" by the Black Angels.  It blew me out of the water when I first heard it, and it inspired me to progress through bands like Midnight Movies, the Morning After Girls, Darker My Love, and this band, the Brian Jonestown Massacre.  The Black Angels still have my ear more than the others, but I like the BJM quite a bit too.  

Earlier, in the mid-90's, I entered my first psychedelic music phase when I saw Spiritualized perform at the Trocadero in Chinatown, Philadelphia.  Sadly, that was one of only two total concerts I was able to afford during my 8 years in Philly.  What torture to live in a city renown for it's amazing music culture, and not be able to afford any of it.  (Incidentally, the other show I saw in Philadelphia was the chamber pop maestros Belle & Sebastian at the Tower in Upper Darby.  The Tiffstress went to that one with me, making it one of our biggest splurges over those years.)  Once I heard Spiritualized I got in to the earlier incarnation of that band, Spacemen 3.  Just prior to all this I had been getting in to Mazzy Star and its lead singer Hope Sandoval's psychedelic music, too.  I seem to be working chronologically backwards here, eh?  Trippy!

So please enjoy the Brian Jonestown Massacre's Anenome.  I think it fits the photo well enough.  I won't go in to the history of BJM too much, other than to say it is really a one-man show led by Anton Newcombe out of the Bay area.  He is a talented musician that I think is probably clinically insane.  He kind of reminds me of Syd Barrett, the organizing and artistic force behind early Pink Floyd before he got carted off in a loony bin.  Times have changed, apparently, as Newcombe not only remains free from a padded cell, he is free to harass and insult Twinkies in small convenience stores to his heart's content.  

Of course, I don't have a clue about what I'm writing here... mostly I am just trying to amuse myself and deflect attention from my photo of a windshield covered in soapy goo.  I am quite sure Anton is perfectly stable, and it is I whom can be seen harassing small plastic-wrapped baked goods at any number of trading posts along the subarctic front on any given day.

Until tomorrow... thank you for listening, looking and reading.  CCE