Inspiration for any given daily post seems to either knock me out cold, or hide in pop obscurity like a poorly fleshed out b-side. Generally coming down to feast or famine, on the days when nothing is slapping me around with flashing lights and a raging chorus (or a cleverly constructed cover), I’ll clean the kitchen spatula (generally used for stir fry the night before), and scrape the inner lining of my skull for any hint of musical interest with which to spend the first few hours of my prolonged day. This morning I woke up with Herman’s Hermits rummaging through my unsettled mind (does anybody out there remember the 90s TV show Herman’s Head?). Wondering what Mrs. Brown’s daughter may look like today, an overwhelming wave of comfort and ease washed over me as I’d, quite early, figured out what today’s topic would be… then I began to overthink… like I do.
I thought, bollocks! I only have Mrs. Brown You’ve Got a Lovely Daughter on HH’s Greatest Hits album, and risking social (and personal) embarrassment for not owning the “proper” vehicle for this track (1965’s self titled release, or subsequently the 45 of the same name), I reluctantly decided to abandon the whole idea and start from scratch. That’s when the coffee kicked in.
As a daily routine before the “real job,” I fancy a gander at the ol’ Facebook to see which of my friends is the first to post about a recent celebrity death, or whose friendship is at risk of becoming null and void based on any given number of close-minded political rants (something that is both laughable, and painfully serene). So I was gratified to discover that a like-minded idiot (one of my best friends) shared a link to an A.V. Club article about one of my favorite high school bands: Propagandhi.
Politically charged (see the clouds of hypocrisy forming), pop-punk from Manitoba, Propagandhi opened my eyes to gay-positive, anti-meat ideals, with just the right amount of vulgar snarls and crass imagery a growing boy in the rural Midwest desperately needs. The article is a rather lengthy read, but if you were into the pop-punk scene in the late 90s, it’s essential reading material.
On a side note, in preparation for today’s post, I accidentally spilled the potted plant that sits above my record shelves, and was forced to rage through the house for the trusty Hoover. I can honestly say that I’ve never vacuumed my records before today. The irony? Propagandhi’s first album is appropriately titled, How to Clean Everything. I dig my irony, but not with a carpet full of mud.