Word: epitaphs
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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Keats chose as his epitaph "Here lies one whose name was writ in water." He believed that his life would be viewed as without consequence, and that he would be but one more transitory figure among the yearning and striving masses. Kennedy, too, I think, would have had his name writ in water, thus the appropriateness of his sea burial, because the best public servants disappear into the world, whose pain they feel. Every name is writ in water, which flows through...
...band says that they are indeed "hopeless romantics," which is sort of sweet. Lyrics like "another weekend and I didn't get laid" are rather charming as well. Fans claim that the band has sold out to its new record label, Epitaph, but the music is still punk, through and through. I'll never buy any more punk albums, nor do I have even the least desire to witness the scary stuff that must happen at a Bouncing Souls concert. Still Hopeless Romantics did at least help me to work that annoying crick out of my neck...
Waits' first release on indie Epitaph Records is also his first new album in six years. Like his literary cousins Jack Kerouac and Charles Bukowski, he returns to the same down-and-outs and restless souls, this time with more rumble, kick and bluesy musings than barroom rasped ramblings. Hobo yowler "Cold Water" will rattle in your head for days. Quieter moments are searing, Waits' gravelly voice bending like an old tree under the blade of a pocketknife. To top it off, he spikes the album with oddities like "Eyeball Kid." On Mule Variations, the music pounds and the lyrics...
...band says that they are indeed "hopeless romantics," which is sort of sweet. Lyrics like "another weekend and I didn't get laid" are rather charming as well. Fans claim that the band has sold out to its new record label, Epitaph, but the music is still punk, through and through. I'll never buy any more punk albums, nor do I have even the least desire to witness the scary stuff that must happen at a Bouncing Souls concert. Still Hopeless Romantics did at least help me to work that annoying crick out of my neck...
Waits' first release on indie Epitaph Records is also his first new album in six years. Like his literary cousins Jack Kerouac and Charles Bukowski, he returns to the same down-and-outs and restless souls, this time with more rumble, kick and bluesy musings than barroom rasped ramblings. Hobo yowler "Cold Water" will rattle in your head for days. Quieter moments are searing, Waits' gravelly voice bending like an old tree under the blade of a pocketknife. To top it off, he spikes the album with oddities like "Eyeball Kid." On Mule Variations, the music pounds and the lyrics...