But that’s not what made me unhappy nor was it the cats thing nor the wrestling firm (I actually think that’s kind of cool) nor the beef with K. Griff’s BFF Andy Cooper nor Zeitgeist nor the Pats baiting in Brooklyn nor the second-hand stories of domestic abuse.
I mean, that all sucks, sure and any one offense would be worthy of a keener’s spit and Malocchio (again, except rasslin’) but the thing that gets me so itchy under the skin when I think about Billy Corgan is the bloated ignorance he displayed, when proclaiming before the release of Adore “I’ve done everything there is to do with guitar.*”
Fuck you, Billy.
Have you even HEARD Thee Speaking Canaries? Probably not, huh? Because I think you think you’re Prince or some shit so you only ever listen to you and that’s a damn shame because if you’d taken a moment to vest your interests in the better workings of maniacal Pennsylvanian virtuosos, you’d know that your fuzz-box riff rock was but a pebble in the hell-spring of Damon Che’s Eddie Van Halen at the John Cage Guitar School endavor and then maybe, just maybe we would’ve never had to make eye contact with Zwan.
That band was like a cold sore in a coma.
But enough about you, Bill. Let’s talk Che. Let’s consider the man who would be known as the “Octopus” kicking the pricks right out of the kit as the warhead at the helm of the inimitable Don Caballero because before he ever took his seat in that long-run, skin-shifting metaphysical loony bin, he was just a dude with a guitar recording music for Jaggers and all those imaginary flashing girls in Def Leppard videos.
Also, quite possibly, UFOs.
And he was goddamn good at it. Great even if not one of the greatest to ever sling a six-string anywhere near the rock and roll coliseum and if this world were a just place, he’d be up there licking chops with the Purple One instead of…um…I have no idea what Damon Che does with his days but I’m pretty sure he has a dog.
From the slapshooting smirk of The Joy of Wine (1993) through the spectral chaos of Songs for the Terrestrially Challenged (1995) to the bitter, beatific and (depending on the version) dauntingly epic outlying of Get Out Alive: The Last Type Story (2003), Che (with aids) made a better bid for the awe-inspiring power of the electric guitar than any one of his post/math/alt/etc. rock contemporaries.
Shit, I’d dare say that he did it better than Eddie ever would because he negated the diamond showman and let the firmament of jazz unfold in melodious mayhem over pole position and if “Last Side of Town pt. 2” doesn’t move you to live full and perfectly pleased forever, nothing I say ever could and, no, Platter Base Must Be Constructed of Moon Rock is not as inordinately triumphant as that one song that saves my life on a daily basis which might be on account of Platter being Che’s first stab at an album (just now seeing release after 25 years in secret) or maybe that jam is just on some serious Icarus shit but the difference between then and now (then, really…like way, way back) is irrelevant because in this glut of synth and woe and post-pleasure pop being introduced to a new and FIRST avenue to Thee Speaking Canaries is like a getting a little porny postcard from heaven.
Or wherever the spirit goes to shred.
Platter Base Must Be Constructed of Moon Rock Tracklist:
Grandfathered-In, In North Career
Winning Son (unvoxed)
She’s Been Ethereal
You Should Have Sang On This One (Snowman)
MCMXLVII Mitchum Dope
Toblewee Uslywus (unvoxed)
Unless We’re Not Martians
Intent To Honor With Substance and Very First Fruits of Produce (This is Fine)
Hall of Force
Aqua Snoot (No Lie Version)
Hope Ye All Learn From This
*Ed. Note: We’re pretty sure Charles is liberally paraphrasing here but we’re leaving the quote in because fuck Billy Corgan and, besides, it’s pretty much the fulcrum for this “review.”