I want to preface this article with something I've been wanting to write about for a really long time: it
seems I'm not much of a rock critic. You may have noticed this. Every once in a while I'll come up with
some witty, descriptive little nugget that pinpoints exactly what it is about a band or a song or an
album, but this is rare. Usually, for lack of any real talent, I'll resort to the "Yeah, this rocks!" school of
criticism. This is why I rarely review any of my truly, deeply, intensely favorite bands. (Another reason
is that I like to try to keep something personal, although I usually don't do a good job of it.) There are
just a few records/shows/bands that leave me so completely at a loss that all I can do is think about
them and sometimes talk about them. I particularly have a hard time with Pavement (esp. S&E), the
Pixies, the Grifters, the Velvet Underground to a lesser degree, Paul's Boutique, and Flaming Lips
shows oh, and the recent Thinking Fellers Local 282 show. Anyway, I'm young yet, so maybe my skills
will evolve with time and maybe, oh, thirty years from now I'll be describing emo bands as "gutbucket"
and writing articles about how it was to be young in the days of the first (out of several, by then) of the punk revivals for Rolling Schmeg...
I guess it was December 6, a Thursday, my memory isn't all that reliable. Susan and I limped our way
to Houston in my dilapidated yet faithful automobile, Ruth. The Grifters were playing at the Urban
Art Bar. I don't know if you've heard, but if you're ever lookin' for Susan and you find out there's a
Grifters show within a four-state radius of Texas, it's a pretty safe bet you could find her there. And
I'm getting to be that way, too.
[photocopied clip art image of the dictionary illustration for the word 'atomizer']
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