The sad, lusty disposition of another would be rock and roll writer; but this time it's not just the same old song and dance my friends

So I’m in fucking love again, what else is new? Nothing really. But I swear to God if it ain’t one thing it’s another - and it’s always unreachable. Which is probably a good thing as well as being at least half of the appeal of all this unreasonable falling face first for people, places, or things. Besides, I’ve been to that spot in time when these sort of lusty crushes result in chance meetings and oh dear God do they usually turn out fucking rotten. These people don’t wanna know about, let alone meet, a basement dwelling writer slug like myself. They just want their wares talked about and they seek some sort of justification for whatever the fuck it is that they do. I just happen to be the fucking conduit to that sort of self-satisfaction – me, just another stroke in the strides toward masturbatory gratification.

But, you know what? That’s the way I want it…the way I like it. I get off on what they give me, and they in turn (it seems) get off on what I have to say about what they give me. It is the role of the rockwrite slug. It is who I am. They don’t care about who I am, or where I am, or what the fuck I am, and that is justifiably reasonable. The only sad, pathetic thing to that equation is – it doesn’t reciprocate that way. I do care about who these people are. I do wind up obsessing over them through their music. I do pour over the liner note and the production credits. I do fall in love with the – oh, I don’t know – out of my mind sexybeautifuldreamlike girl on the cover (and back cover) of the Happy Meals Volume 3 compilation whose name is, according to the credits I’ve studied, Jessica Louise (again…wow!). And I do let my male slobbishness drift away from the cover photo just long enough to hear (although my eyes do betray me and glide back to that cover every now and then whilst listening) the absolutely sensational collection of tunes that some so-right-minded-that-I’ll-take-the-liberty-of-calling-them-a-friend put together for our – the rockroll public – listening pleasures.

Don’t get me wrong however, this sort of falling head for heels doesn’t happen on any sort of routine basis. In fact it’s a maddening rarity. And letting folks know this is a responsibility that I take seriously. I get a lot of different noises sent my way, and in the process of filtering the useful from the useless I tend to be tough on my own judgments; no matter how much I may feel a personal affinity for someone I may have met or exchanged banter with along the way, I won’t cloud the skies just to toss off a murky gratuity for rockroll friendships. There are friends - and then there is the music. So you won’t get any mercy-fucks from me.

What to do though about this latest lust of mine? Contain yourself old boy and just ride with it as long as it keeps feeling good I guess, and, startling cover girl beauty aside, realize that this sort of excitement is as rare as you recall it being. Shit man, listening to this Happy Meals (Volume 3, of course. 3?!? Alluding to the existence of volumes one (1), or two (2)? Of equal ass shaking quality? Hmmm?) makes you wonder just who the fuck this band Bright Life is because their cut – "See Me Now" – is about as swell sounding pop of the powerful breed as you’ve heard in a long while. Or this second tune by, um, The Adventures of Jet which sounds like it could have been the Cars trying to suggest an Artful Dodger fetish, which sounds entirely reasonable to me.

And I really could go right on down this list: Goleta, Smile, Left Front Tire – oh that goddamn Left Front fucking Tire and their guitars, GUITARS! – and I’m tempted to name them all because this thing does them all justice. Moreover, in this day and age of hideously closeted musical guile these cats deserve the being heard that, yes, I am suggesting with my whole-hearted, no reservations recommendation. As recommended as I can recommend.

Oh, and lets not overlook the savvy cats – whoever you are thank you – who compiled a compilation of diverse stuff that work so perfectly well together. This thing isn’t all just chug-a-lugging guitar pop/punk - it’s Kenneth Stringfellow’s Saltine sounding, well, as Stringfellow often does, astonishing. It’s the light-hearted, spry cover pf Dylan’s "The Times They are a Chingin’" by Me First & the Gimme Gimmes (and boy-howdy are they changing – listen to this and you’ll hear the changin’). But even that doesn’t close out the deal here, nosiree, these folks even give us balladeering (Scott Garth – stirring and terrific) for Christ’s sake, and, gulp, an "unplugged" effort (Lagwagon, "May 16^th), and some startlingly good country-esque grinds (Chad Rex & the Victorstands, and my new heroes Armchair Martian – more on them soon).

And it all sounds terrific…or even better. Now, of course, the obvious advantage of something like this is that these are all favorite songs of someone and thus likely to be manifest representation of their finest qualities – such is the territory with compilations. But, that sort of nitpicking aside, this is as good as any compilation is likely to get folks, particularly to those of you (you know who you are) who know me and know that the pop sounds I like are a little rougher and less pretty shall we say. You are the ones out there who MUST hear this thing.

Okay, so I like Happy Meals Volume 3. So I say to you ‘get it!’ So I keep playing it and think to myself, ‘wow.’ And yeah, I keep looking at that cover (oh, come on, we both know why by now) and smiling. You’re right, no, absolutely not, it ain’t gonna change the fucking world – but it sure as hell can make you forget about it all for an hour or so while you soak in some beer and crank the thing waaay the fuck up and drown out all that shit that seems to make life an antagonizing bitch so often. Ain’t that really what it’s all about anyways? Of course it is…so go ahead and live for yourself for a little while.

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