30 July 2009

Something 4 The Weekend # 129

The recording is shit, so who the fuck knows what Mac McCaughan is sputtering and spitting about in the verses...But the verses hardly matter in a song like this, charging hard towards the choruses, those glorious choruses...
"I'm working, but I'm not working for you!!! Slack Motherfucker!!!!!"
I'll tell you what - back in '89 or so, I was working, but I really wasn't working for anyone. I had a paper route for The Milwaukee Journal, and technically I was a private contractor. As such, I drove around out in the middle of fucking nowhere Wisconsin, 75-80 miles a day, delivering newspapers to farmers and the occasional enclave of McMansions out in the middle of what used to be corn fields. It was a great job, really - driving around, blasting tunes, puffing on a pipe - no boss, no homework - not a care in the world.
This brilliant Superchunk song got plenty of play in the tape deck in those days, because this was and will always be one of the great rock anthems of all time, one custom-built for the road...For flooring the gas cuz the next customer is over the hill and 1.6 miles away...Try not shouting along with the choruses as you burn around a curve in the countryside.
Which is exactly what I'm planning to do this weekend because there's a Mustard Festival in Mount Horeb, and that town is freaky enough without a pipe to puff, Superchunk be damned. I mean, just imagine an old German village obsessed with mustard and trolls, then pretend you have an undiagnosed and unmedicated disassociative disorder and a large wad of cash in yr pocket.
Yeah, I think I'm gonna take a drive through the countryside towards Mount Horeb this weekend, towards the mustard and the trolls, and the troll mustard and the fat Norwegian waitress who serves me Kylling Dyppers for dipping into aforementioned troll mustard.
And if that ain't enough, the town has an outrageous Christmas fixation. It's one of those places that dot our land that celebrate all things X-Mas all year round, and so there are gift shops in Mount Horeb. So many gift shoppes for such a small, lazy hamlet. Gift shoppes selling troll lumpen, and gift shops selling Santa shtuff, and all of 'em selling jars and jars and jars of every kind of mustard imaginable, and several dozen more that are unimaginable.
Including the aforementioned troll mustard, if you know where to look, and I'm not telling, you slack motherfuckers...
Hotcha! Hank

Labels: , , , , , , , ,


Post a Comment

<< Home