Good morning, Superchunk, On the Mouth.

Good morning, Superchunk, On the Mouth. A kissing punch, lips that knock you back, apt analogy on an album that romances with vigor, extra-applied elbow grease on soft contours, fists wrapped in valentine red cellophane. Rapt rapture of old car window-down summer love singalongs, evening soft-serves indulged, finale fireworks of rainbow sprinkles and tactile crunch. The heat making pants legs stick and so eventually, removed.

Good morning, Camper Van Beethoven, Camper Van Beethoven IS Dead, Long Live Camper Van Beethoven.

Good morning, Camper Van Beethoven, Camper Van Beethoven IS Dead, Long Live Camper Van Beethoven. Ridiculous times call for ridiculous titles like “Broadcasting Live From The MCI-Worldcom-AT&T-Daimler-Chrysler-Mitsubishi-Phillips-BASF-LG-Phillip-Morris-BP-Texaco-Pfizer-AOL-Time-Warner-Boeing-Microsoft-Aeroflot-United-Yoyodyne Coliseum, Strom Thurmond City, Mars”. A best-of-never collection of rarities recalls the dot-bust, dying flowers, heat-warped flexidiscs, and the lonesome, loathsome world.

Good morning, Fugazi, Steady Diet of Nothing.

Good morning, Fugazi, Steady Diet of Nothing. Throwback to the nascent curl of the culture wars. Warnings about Supreme Court appointments, women’s rights, anti-abortion control freaks, and to Keep Your Eyes Open. Fugazi were often taken to task for strong ideologies by those more blinkered or less progressive for being too vocal. Looks like Fugazi got the last laugh. KYEO.

Good morning, Mudhoney, Superfuzz Bigmuff (remastered).

Past the fourth but nothing’s more red-white american and blue summer than the spitting churn and howl of this officially classic rock aged classic. The fact that it’s not a Kinks chaser on playlists and radio merely underscores the paucity of pasty business brains burning hot under the influence of google spreadsheets not guts. From lead-infused garages to you, open doors, heatwaves, humidity-choking, single-coil huffery.

Good morning, David Bowie, Lodger.

Fantastic Voyage, drifts out an album/day opener benign as blossoms before unfolding its lyrics, a parasol of depression, recrimination, rumination: loyalty is valuable, but our lives are valuable too…nobody’s perfect…
But that’s no reason / To shoot some of those missiles / Think of us as fatherless scum / It won’t be forgotten / Because we’ll never say anything nice again, will we? Sentiments illuminated as pointed relevant in the simmering summer post-fireworks, all angry ideologues and threats.