Pickled Priest Mixtape: Our Favorite Songs of 1991

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1991 was a watershed year for me. I was living just a few blocks from my favorite venue (Cabaret Metro, now just Metro), I had the youth and freedom to witness as much of it as I could fit in, and I met my future wife. Not listed in order of importance, of course. Many of my selections include a live concert component in their story. Through music, I will tell you how it all went down.

PICKLED PRIEST'S FAVORITE SONGS OF 1991

SIDE A

26 "Made Out of Steel" | The Spanic Boys

If this blog has sold even a few more Spanic Boys albums, all the time and effort will have been worth it. A father and son duo from Milwaukee known for their lightning quick guitar interplay and Everly-esque harmonies, to watch them was to marvel at the organic bonds formed by genetic chemistry. When they let it rip, it was like going back in time to a more innocent era of rock and roll music, but they weren't a retro act or a one-trick pony. "Made Out of Steel" is a ballad with a pseudo-skiffle beat that shows another less-seen side of the Boys. There's no specific age given, but the song is about a girl (or woman) who has shut themselves off from the world due to some trauma not specified. The song attempts to break through the tough exterior with the promise that although "steel don't bend" that "you will in the end someday." Nothing preachy, just a delicate balance between empathy and platitude, not too heavy handed in either direction. A beautiful song.

25 "Poor Man's Eyes" | Paul K

Paul Kopasz (known as Paul K or Paul K and the Weathermen) once claimed he had written 5,000 songs and that "Poor Man's Eyes" was his very first. No wonder he kept writing. He nailed it on the first try. By critical law you have to refer to him as one of the greatest unknown songwriters of his era, but that's for good reason. He was. A natural lyricist from moment one, his songs were always delivered with a sense of urgency and purpose, even his ballads, and they resonated because they were borne from a lifetime of hardscrabble existence. It's one of those qualities that cannot be faked, especially by a songwriter. On "Poor Man's Eyes" he tells of his life on the road, not always by choice but usually his own fault, as a nomad in search of something, anything, to grasp onto. How many others in this world are similarly holding on by a thread? (Sheepishly raises hand). Even a suit in an office tower could have "poor man's eyes" if you look deeply enough. Paul K knows that behind our curated facades anyone can be humbled when they least expect it.

24 "Mouth Breather" | The Jesus Lizard

As live performers the Jesus Lizard may indeed have been the GOAT in 1991. A fitting title for their second album, then. "Mouth Breather," a slang term for a dumb person, tells the story of when Slint drummer Britt Walford house sat for Steve Albini. Suffice it to say, things did not go well. How bad of a housesitter does one have to be to have the Jesus Lizard write a song about you? The answer is pretty fucking bad, especially if it's "rainin' piss" in your basement." At the end of the song we find our inept housesitter deceased in said house, which in this case is artistic embellishment. Walford is alive and well to this day. Albini, on the other hand...

23 "To Whiskey Flats" | Richard X. Heyman

RXH never got his just due, but in nerdy power-pop circles he was (is?) a bit of a cult figure. Wait, am I in that circle? Shit, I guess I am. I blame his first two LPs, 1990's Living Room!! and 1991's Hey Man! (only one exclamation this time), for that. He's basically a one-man-band type, tinkering tirelessly in his lab crafting little pop creations that might've been perpetually at odds with their time (the antipode of grunge), but he was damn good at building them up from scratch. "To Whiskey Flats" always fools me into thinking it's a Joe Jackson song when it first comes on, but it ain't. It's Richard on the piano taking another zag when you expect him to zig. One of those artists who will forever fly under the radar, but if you see one of his records in a used bin somewhere, snap it up. Give him a little love.

22 "A Roller Skating Jam Named 'Saturdays' " | De La Soul

21 "Show Business" | A Tribe Called Quest

I long for late-80s, early-90s rap, when that spacious OG gold met the DAISY Age, a bountiful time where you will find the greatest concentration of hip-hop songs on my year-end lists. De La Soul landed right in my sweet spot back during this time and not just because they sampled Otis Redding on 3 Feet High and Rising ("Eye Know") either, although that helped. I loved what the whole Native Tongues collective was all about; atypical samples, laid-back flow, clever humor, broad lyrical scope, boundless creativity. "Roller Skating Jam" celebrated the roller disco craze, shoehorning samples from Frankie Valli's "Grease," Chicago's "Saturday in the Park" (no-brainer), and numerous other more logical soul and disco snippets into their delightfully unpredictable creation. Same for Tribe's rightfully beloved The Low End Theory, another landmark album that pushed the definition of what hip-hop could be. "Show Business" offered a wide-eyed look at the rap business and didn't like what it saw. In fact, if you couple it with the immortal "Check the Rhime" (same record) you've got yourself enough content for a "new rapper" orientation session from that point in time forward. They may refer to this advice as Industry Rule #4080, but I wouldn't bury it that far back in the curriculum. These songs should be front and center, day one.

20 "Nobody Knows" | The Allman Brothers

The second coming of the Allman Brothers happened in 1990 with Seven Turns and then extended into 1991 with Shades of Two Worlds. There's no replacing a Duane Allman, but the revitalized band locked into that old Macon magic on "Nobody Knows," one of those classic Allman Brothers long-form epics, complete with an absolutely mind-blowing Dickey Betts guitar solo mid-song. It's one of those rare ten-minute jams with zero down time. Around the same time this came out I saw the powerful new Allman's lineup (adding Warren Haynes in guitar and Allen Woody on bass) live on a warm summer night featuring a major electrical storm as a backdrop, an atmosphere that only complemented the fury going down onstage as the band, in disbelief at the dangerous conditions, played on defiantly. Betts was electric that night, in more ways than one. That feeling is recreated here, sans lightning, but you can feel the surge in every note.

Sidebar: For a live version of the same song, you didn't have to wait long. An Evening with the Allman Brothers: First Set was released a year later, with an additional five thrilling minutes tacked onto the song and the longer the better. Weed is legal people. Take advantage of it.

19 "Punch Me Harder" | Superchunk

In fifty years, I bet a hologram of Superchunk is still gonna be releasing new albums on Merge. They're the cockroaches of indie-rock, but somehow they've endured for 35-years without releasing a bad album. That said, there's something recklessly thrilling about their early records. The Steve Albini "recorded" No Pocky for Kitty is loaded with careening singles delivered like they were cut in a car with no brakes just after hitting the top of a steep hill. Mac McCaughan's boyish wail in "Punch Me Harder" pushes things to the extreme, always seeking a stronger hit of adrenalin even though the situation is already fraught with peril.

18 "Weather With You" | Crowded House

Heavenly melodies, brotherly harmonies, and deceptively deep lyrics abound on Woodface, Crowded House's third record. "Weather With You" is one of their most enduring songs for several reasons. On the surface, it has an airy, non-threatening disposition that leans heavily on its oft-repeated chorus. People like that. A closer examination reveals an important life lesson. If you live under a dark cloud, that cloud will follow you everywhere you go (just ask Schleprock). You won't be able to escape it. However, if you allow your soul to "sing like a bird released," implying a sense of freedom and optimism, the world may open up for you in ways you never expected. Granted, that may be easier in Oceania than it is in the United States (especially right now), but the prevailing message is irrefutably on the nose.

17 "She Wants So Many Things" | Graham Parker

I count the discovery of Graham Parker as one of the turning points in my lifetime of listening to music. I've always loved a hard worker, one of those guys (or girls) capable of pouring it all out in a crowded pub for seven, maybe eight nights a week. As my humor often leans to the dark and acerbic, he was the kind of frontman I could relate to on multiple levels. I soon became a die-hard fan of his snarling brand of edgy punk/soul, but even I'd admit the 90s were not his best decade. Plenty of great songs peppered throughout, but there weren't any complete masterpieces to match his 70's classics like Howlin' Wind or Squeezing Out Sparks. Struck By Lightning was similarly inconsistent, although it ranks as my favorite of the era. Strangely, he opened the record with the six-plus-minutes of "She Wants So Many Things," a sprawling tale of a beyond-high-maintenance girlfriend. Think Mariah Carey's dressing room rider on steroids times ten. It features numerous lyrical couplets not many other songwriters could pull off with a straight face (A ship in the desert, your soul on a plate / She can't wait any longer, don't make her wait, for example). His default blend of sarcasm and biting humor turn what could've been a head-scratcher into one of his best later-period songs. I find her list of desires highly amusing in the same way I did Veruca Salt's petulant demands in Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory. It's the closest Parker ever got to a real-life character study, thanks to some insightful amateur psychoanalysis:

With her hand on a Bible, she's right in your face

She's a living example of God's bad taste

And with him for an ally, she can't be a heretic

But her heart's from a laboratory, spun from a synthetic

16 "He Never Mentioned Love" | Kirsty MacColl

I've seen countless "big" concerts over the years, but it's often the intimate performances in small venues that resonate with me the most. Kirsty MacColl's show at the Double Door in Chicago's Wicker Park neighborhood on March 28, 1995, was one of those for me. It was among the most charming and delightful evenings I've spent listening to music, with the hilarious MacColl joyfully leading her crack band through a well-curated set of old classics and new favorites. It was technically the tour for her 1993 album Titanic Days, but she also hit the highlights from 1991's Electric Landlady as well, including the highly amusing "He Never Mentioned Love," about a guy who refuses to utter the four-letter-word she is dying to hear. Her vocal is both playful and sad simultaneously, a neat trick. Buoyancy is an undervalued quality in a sad love song.

15 "Sooner or Later" | The Feelies

So enamored was I with Crazy Rhythms that it took me a little while to get to other Feelies albums. The same could be said for the Feelies themselves, as it took them six years to release its follow up. Once they got going again they released three excellent records in a row; The Good Earth, Only Life, and 1991's Time for a Witness. Each was rewarding in its own way, but this year's installment rocked particularly hard, which suited their frantic, jittery rhythms. The title track and "Sooner or Later" are the cream of the crop, but for me, there's no getting enough of that Feelies sound. It taps directly into my compromised nervous system.

14 "I've Been Waiting" | Matthew Sweet

Matthew Sweet's Girlfriend is an unqualified power-pop masterpiece with so many possible song options, it seems futile to choose. It's an iconic album from the front cover photo of actress Tuesday Weld to "Nothing Lasts," the album's final song. Ironic, since this record has not only lasted, it has gained stature over the years. You know that satisfying feeling when you're just about to put a classic album on your turntable? As you're about to drop the needle you almost want to say to your turntable, "You deserve this" or something like that. It's a record that just feels good in your hands and appeals to the eyes even before your ears enter into the equation. The record is great on many levels, but it is a particularly amazing guitar record. Sweet tapped ex-Television guitarist Richard Lloyd and Velvet Crush drummer Ric Menck for several songs, including the jangly "I've Been Waiting," a love song with an age differential issue (how much of one we don't know for sure). Sweet's sweet vocal (no other way to put it) rides on the touching revelation, "I didn't think I'd find you / Perfect in so many ways." If you're a girl and can withstand such a compliment you're a hard nut to crack.

Postscript: The accompanying tour for Girlfriend hit Chicago's Metro on March 21, 1992, and let's put it this way, it was not an evening of rote power-pop. It was a raging guitar feast that ended well after 1:00 am with Sweet running through his new classics and a few choice covers (Hendrix's "Hey Joe", Buffalo Springfield's "Mr. Soul" and the Beatles' "She Said, She Said" to bring things full circle back to power-pop ground zero). Lloyd nor Robert Quine, also prominent on the album, were present, but Ivan Julian from the Voidoids was, and the show nearly blew the back wall off the place.

SIDE B

13 "Standing Still" | Sam Phillips

Our love of Sam Phillips is well documented. 1991's Cruel Inventions had the unenviable task of following one of my favorite records, The Indescribable Wow, from 1988, and it almost matched it. "Standing Still" was the standout track, hitting cleanup in a formidable lineup of abstruse chamber pop songs with sophisticated melodies. The lyrics give you a vague representation of what's going on, but it's never 100% clear, which I very much like. I don't need my lyrics laid out for me by my mother. I like to work for meaning. In the middle of the night, I'm growing secrets, Sam sings in the opening line and we're off and running into a cruel world of her own invention.

12 "I Can't Make You Love Me" | Bonnie Raitt

Easily the best song co-written by a former Cincinnati Bengals player (DT Mike Reid with Allen Shamblin), "I Can't Make You Love Me" should be thankful that it got Bonnie Raitt to sing it and not Mariah Carey, Celine Dion, or Whitney Houston. This is a song that's diva resistant, best kept in the hands of someone with a couple decades of hard-won credibility under their belts. Bonnie went on to deliver one of the most heartbreaking vocals ever sung, a self-defeated open wound of a song that defies anyone not to buckle to their knees. It's the song of the year if not for the slightly dated electric piano accompaniment. It's a minor issue, but I would've cut the track with a plain old piano, one that wasn't plugged in, like the singer just walked into the lobby of an old hotel and pounded it out on the spot for all to hear.

11 "Damn Right, I've Got the Blues" | Buddy Guy

A song about having the blues, but what kind isn't immediately clear. Is anyone going to begrudge Buddy his right to have them after so many years in the music business? He doesn't really need to explain himself at this point. Damn Right is Buddy Guy high-octane style, with his polka-dotted guitar on full display throughout, worth the purchase of the album all by itself. Seeing Buddy play these songs in his very own Chicago blues bar, Legends, was a life highlight for me, and sometimes he'd stroll right out the stage door mid-show onto Wabash Avenue to play for passersby. Or, if you're lucky, he'd sit in the stool right next to you at the bar while you're waiting for a show to start, as I gleefully found out one evening when I went to the club. I was looking in a different direction, turned to order a beer, and there he was right next to me. I said hello, told him how much I loved his music, and had him sign my bar napkin, which he did graciously and with great care, each letter clear and sharp, like he knew I would cherish it forever. Which I did until I moved one year, tucking it in the pages of a book, never to remember which one it was in. Still haven't found it and you're damn right I've got the blues about it.

10 "Smells Like Teen Spirit" | Nirvana

Two billion views of this video and counting. Nothing else really needs to be said about this song, let’s face it. The only angle that remains is a “What did you think when you first heard it?” story or two, so here’s mine. A friend of my girlfriend (now girlspouse) worked in ad sales at seminal Chicago radio station WXRT (once great, then partially good, now totally terrible). We were touring the station one day and there was a box of promos for the staff to take if they so desired. I was offered the chance to take a few cassettes with me on the way out. One of those I grabbed was a promo of Nevermind. Later, I visited a friend in downstate Illinois (a wasteland) and we blasted it all weekend on the backroads between corn fields and over blue highways. The contrast of the music to our surroundings made me feel like I was transporting Coors Beer into Georgia or something. It felt as dangerous as an electrical wire fishtailing in the street during a storm. You know it’s a great album when you remember where you were when you first listened to it and I'd venture to say Nevermind has that effect on a lot of people. “Smells Like Teen Spirit” (damn you, Kathleen Hanna!) is one of those songs I’d really like to hear again for the first time. I tried to listen to it with fresh ears recently and you know what? It sounded as vital as it did in my first week with the record ripping through those open country roads. It’s been beaten to death over the decades, but that doesn’t mean it still doesn’t supply substantial thrills when you let it back into your life.

09 "You Got Gold" | John Prine

John Prine wrote a bunch of good songs in the 80s, but his albums didn't sell that well. When the 90's rolled around, he enlisted some big names to join him for The Missing Years (Petty, Springsteen, Raitt, et al), the album that re-launched his career and cemented his status as an American Treasure. It was no dumb luck either; the songs were among the very best he had ever written. With Heartbreaker Howie Epstein on as producer, one great song after the next poured out of Prine, making a single track highly difficult to select. In the end, my choice is "You Got Gold," a beautiful love song co-written with Keith Sykes, which could also summarize John Prine in a nutshell. He had gold in his soul. I wouldn't want to meet a girl who didn't like this song. It just wouldn't work for me. Interestingly, 1991 is the year I met my eventual wife. And she absolutely loves this song as much as I do.

08 "Impermanent Things" | Peter Himmelman

Peter Himmelman is responsible for some of the best concerts I've seen and I've seen a shit ton. He was extremely popular in Chicago in the 90s thanks to his exposure on Chicago's WXRT. They played the shit out of the record and word of mouth of his live shows made him a local favorite, playing tiny Schubas Tavern (capacity 250) the first time through town and then months later selling out the 5,000 seat Chicago Theater. Few performers that I've seen have his natural stage presence and ability to improvise on the spot, able to shift the crowd from hysterical laughter to a song about Holocaust survivors in the drop of a hat. He's in touch with the deepest parts of the human psyche and also able to sing about the antics of a tiny dachshund, too. Rest assured, if you haven't seen him, this all works marvelously. He's an incredible songwriter, too. "Impermanent Things" is one of many tracks from From Strength to Strength that has stuck with me over the years. It's a reminder to not let the little things stand in the way of your life. The more you let them "dominate and rule" you the less control you're going to have. Peter has a way of cutting to the heart of what truly matters and the results often equate to a religious experience that'll make you laugh and choke up at the same time.

07 "Why Must I Plead" | Richard Thompson

Richard Thompson’s Rumor and Sigh is on my all-time favorite albums list for many reasons. It’s got one of the best drinking songs ever (“God Loves a Drunk”), one of the most demented songs ever (“Psycho Street”), one of the best songs about a motorcycles (“1952 Vincent Black Lightning”), and one of the best songs about adolescent sexual naivete (“Read About Love”). There are also more traditional songs about love and misery (“I Misunderstood”). “Why Must I Plead” is particularly devastating. Love can be cruel, we all know that. When you’re yearning for it, when you’re falling into it, when you’re into it already, after you’ve encountered it, etc. cruelty abounds. This song is one of those about being in it, presumably forever, but it doesn’t feel that way. As Richard laments “Why must I plead with you darling, for what’s already mine?” his voice drops with a mournfulness like no other singer I know. It just breaks my heart every time. Red Flag lyrics: I ask who your friend is, and you said Santa Claus / I ask you to come home, and you say you’re tired of being indoors.

06 "Good Things" | BoDeans

Waukesha, Wisconsin’s BoDeans were bigger in Chicago than they were anywhere else, Wisconsin included. It’s where they felt less like local heroes and more like major rock stars, playing large venues to adoring crowds on the regular. When in town, they clearly gave something extra to those performances; or so it seemed. Thanks to my now wife, a rabid fan of the band, I went to almost every one of those shows back in the 90s. The blend of Kurt’s smooth voice and Sammy’s oversexualized growl gave the band a pleasing chemical imbalance that separated them from countless vanilla bands of the era. They were the male equivalent of Emily and Amy from Indigo Girls, switching focus from the sweet to the sour on a dime, but always harmonizing together beautifully. “Good Things” is a Kurt song and it’s a great one. It’s such a hopeful song, aimed at a possible soul mate, promising “good things for you and I” if both parties are willing to give it a chance. From the sound of the song, it doesn’t sound likely. I vividly remember the opening guitar chords of this song having the ability to send the crowd into a fervor during those 90’s shows. Everyone sang along with every ounce of energy they could muster. Finding that level of passion for a simple song is a rare treat and this one makes me feel that same way every time I hear it.  

05 "Valerie Loves Me" | Material Issue

This story ends with me interlocking arms with Material Issue lead singer and guitarist Jim Ellison on New Year’s Eve 1991, just ten months after the release of their debut album, International Pop Overthrow. His band had just finished a gig at Chicago’s Cubby Bear (right across from Wrigley Field) with openers Urge Overkill (in matching velvet suits and medallions) and through a friend we got invited to the post-show party at Ellison’s apartment. Well, the champagne had just been cracked and we were filling up our glasses, when Jim looked at me and I looked at him and we decided to celebrate the moment with a spontaneous toast the old-fashioned way. It was a funny moment that I’ll always remember and not because his story ended in a tragic suicide five years later. It was because I loved his band at the time as I do now. Jim was born a rock star as the recent documentary about the band demonstrated (Out of Time: The Material Issue Story). He had the X factor all wannabe rock stars want but rarely have, but his chosen musical style, power-pop, wasn’t in vogue at the time. That didn’t stop him from trying to convert the masses to his way of thinking. He named the band’s debut album International Pop Overview for a reason. He believed the power of a dozen great songs could move mountains. In a way, he was right. To this day, there’s a power-pop music festival every year named after the album based on that same core belief. And I’m not alone in placing IPO among the greatest power-pop albums ever.* It’s the sound of a band (Mike Zelenko on drums and Ted Ansani on bass) investing everything they have into their music and coming up with something remarkable and contagious. Their songs exploded from the speakers, one after the next, without fail. (Credit to Jeff Murphy of fellow power-pop legends the Shoes for producing the album.) The album opened with “Valerie Loves Me” a true tale of unrequited teen obsession taken directly from Jim’s past. You can feel the yearning in the lyrics and the excitement of its explosive, punk-like refrain which is shouted like he’s trying to tell the world from an open third floor window. It’s a song that really doesn’t sound like anything before it, which is a major accomplishment. A moment worth celebrating even after all these years.

*Ranked #24 on John Borack's 200 Greatest Power Pop Albums 1970-2017 list from his book Shake Some Action 2.0 (Not Lame Media).

04 "Still Be Around" | Uncle Tupelo

Other Uncle Tupelo albums get more love, but nothing will ever unseat Still Feel Gone in my book. And on the album, the drunken lament “Still Be Around” will always be my favorite song. I saw them twice at Chicago’s Lounge Ax during their prime, once on June 14, 1991 and once in March of 1994 (yes, that’s me in the crowd on the inside cover of the RSD release of the show). The first show will always be my favorite mainly because they played much of Still Feel Gone with the notable exception of “Still Be Around” unfortunately. (Why!?) It’s the only thing other than a catheter that would’ve made the night more perfect (you try going to the bathroom at Lounge Ax and then getting back to your spot in front!). Nonetheless, the band’s punk-country attack was more thrilling than a dozen Wilco shows. There was a starkness to the material that never got duplicated in either of the spin-off bands birthed when they broke up (Son Volt/Wilco). All delivered by a group of guys in their mid-20s with old souls. How else to explain this set of lyrics, that floor me every time I hear them:

When the bible is a bottle

And the hardwood floor is home

When morning comes twice a day or not at all

If I break in two, will you put me back together?

When this puzzle's figured out will you still be around

To say you've just been there

Walking the line, upside down

03 "Losing My Religion" | R.E.M.

I know it’s not technically about religion, but for me it always will be to a degree. I imagine Michael Stipe would be fine with that. I started my life on the Lord’s path mainly because I was born into a family that went to church every Sunday in nice clothes, put me into Sunday school, sent me to a Lutheran school, and made sure I was confirmed before I got out. I’ve read the Bible cover-to-cover (admittedly, I skimmed Chronicles 1 & 2) and tossed and turned with guilt after I sinned. Let's put it this way, I had a lot to worry about. Somewhere along the line, however, the sacramental wine all leaked out of the jug and I couldn’t buy into the whole ruse anymore. My mom once asked me if she could bring our pastor to lunch one day to speak with me. I declined. I was out and I was out for good. I had lost my religion. I know the song isn’t about any of that, but songs have many levels to them. No self-respecting songwriter will ever tell you to think only one way about a song. Why would they? “Losing My Religion” unfolds like something profound has gone, or is about to go, down. You can hear it in Stipe’s vocals as song swells. Something is taking him to the end of his tether, and it appears to be a love interest. How is that much different than my take, I ask? As a postscript, a couple decades later my mom told me she, too, stopped going to church. When I asked why, she callously and shockingly replied, “I realized it’s all just bullshit.” And another one loses her religion.

02 "Little Bones" | The Tragically Hip

Man, 1991 was a killer year for memorable concerts. I didn’t quite put it together as I was assembling this mixtape, but it is stacked with life changing moments. Cue the Tragically Hip’s first Road Apples tour visit to Chicago on April 20, 1991, not only one of the year’s best shows, but one of the best I’ve seen in my entire lifetime (easily in the 90^th percentile overall). The band had a new record that begged to be played live and they certainly delivered on that promise. It’s the show that officially converted me to the band like I was a native Ontarian with season tickets to the Leafs. I don’t think anyone can fully understand the power of this band without seeing them live. Gord Downie was simply one of the most galvanizing frontmen I’ve ever seen (hence the flags of Canada flew at half-staff after his passing) and his band ran as hot as an NHRA funny car. They may have been from the Great White North, but songs like “Little Bones” had some real deep-fried Southern grit on them, capable of snapping a few necks with their double-baked grooves. I knew one thing right away after hearing “Little Bones,” the opening song on Road Apples. This was the band I had been looking for.

Full recording of Metro live show noted above. You're welcome.

01 "U-Mass" | Pixies

My love for this song is easy to explain. I love things that suddenly become unhinged without notice. It’s a dangerous, but exhilarating feeling. One moment things appear calm, the next it all goes haywire. Nobody did this more convincingly than the Pixies in their prime, not even their acolytes in Nirvana. Frank Black seemed so much closer to the loony bin at any given time, the only kind of institution he belonged in. He certainly wasn’t made for the formality of academia. No wonder he was mocking higher education in the song. Let’s face it, nothing makes people insufferable more than an elite education. Trust me on this one. The paradox is that without these people we’d all be dead by now or at least dying decades earlier. I find the cathartic end to this song, especially with two kids in college at the moment, to be both disconcerting and strangely affirming at the same time. It’s educational!

_________________________

Let it be engraved in stone. Witnessed by a notary public on this date, 2025.

Cheers,

The Priest