I got my filthy monkey hands on a promotional copy of the upcoming Chemical Brothers singles collection. Here's the problem with the Chems - each single is very good, but it needs to be placed in a certain context for it to completely blow your puny human brain. For instance, "Leave Home," the opener from their debut Exit Planet Dust simply needs to blend into "In Dust We Trust" or another track or you feel like you've come THIS close to a climax that never happened. There's only a couple of exceptions to this general rule - "Hey Girl, Hey Boy" still cranks all by its lonesome and "The Private Psychedelic Reel" crackles and sparks at a fair clip. There's only one duff track on the whole CD - "Setting Sun," featuring one or the other Oasis brats (Noel?) caterwauling over a beat I heard on "Tomorrow Never Knows." They should have just used the instrumental, but that's my personal preference. Shocking was the non-inclusion of "Life Is Sweet," with Tim Burgess doing a great job on vox. Apparently the "real" edition that comes out is going to have a second CD with remixes picked by you, the fans. I don't remember saying anything to them about it, but I'm told that they had quite a few suggestions lobbed their way.
On my way to visit Lynn the other day, there was a girl crying on the bus. She wasn't crying like "Oh, my puppy is lost" or "Chuck is a filthy bastard who cheated on me"; we're talking full-on I've-been-stabbed-in-the-tender-bits-at-my-mom's-funeral sort of wailing and boy, what do you say to that? It's not like I, as a male, can say "Hey, what's wrong?" without looking like a prat that wants to get in her pants. Oddly enough, another young lady was mourning on the train this morning. Maybe I'm a general misery center, which would explain very many things.
On my way to visit Lynn the other day, there was a girl crying on the bus. She wasn't crying like "Oh, my puppy is lost" or "Chuck is a filthy bastard who cheated on me"; we're talking full-on I've-been-stabbed-in-the-tender-bits-at-my-mom's-funeral sort of wailing and boy, what do you say to that? It's not like I, as a male, can say "Hey, what's wrong?" without looking like a prat that wants to get in her pants. Oddly enough, another young lady was mourning on the train this morning. Maybe I'm a general misery center, which would explain very many things.
