Good afternoon, friends. Before we begin, I want to take a moment to honor three recent losses. The first is our own Kurtis Guy, whom we lost last month. He was a Radical SR3 owner, SCCA Enterprises rep, and someone whose occasional correspondence was always distinguished by both clarity and decency. The next is the famous Robert X. Cringeley, long time InfoWorld correspondent. I never failed to read his work back in the day, a habit I unwisely abandoned; even at the end he was the smartest pundit in the room.
Last and least, ladies and gentlemen, let’s pour one out for the Corvette electric SUV. By all recent reports, the moronic idea of “extending the Corvette brand” has been put to rest. The most that can be said about it is that the concept of an Equinox EV badged as a ‘Vette perfectly encapsulated who Mark Reuss and Mary Barra truly are. If you’re in the mood to read a totally real interview with the brains behind the abomination, it’s right here!
Alright, strap up and remember our rules…
From the river to the sea, America shall be voting “D”
In 1994, American voters showed their displeasure with everything from the Brady Bill to Janet Reno’s gleeful murder-via-tank of innocent children by flipping 10 Senate seats and 54 House seats red. It broke a forty-year-long Democratic majority in the House, and presaged the “forever now” of popular Democratic or “RINO” Presidents squabbling with solidly red legislative bodies and blood-red State leadership.
Last night, the tide turned in a big way. The numbers don’t quite measure up to 1994, but they are staggering. Seven Senate seats flipped so far, and more than 35 House seats flipped. The result: a deep and solid blue Capitol, backed by state leadership that went overwhelmingly Democrat.
For some of you, this is refreshing news. For others, it feels like the beginning of the end for the country you know and love. Regardless of your individual stance on the matter, however, I think it can hardly be denied that this election served as a sharp rebuke to President Trump and his hangers-on. Two years ago, he swept to an undeniable victory with what seemed like a simple and powerful mandate: close the borders, bring the jobs back, stop the foreign adventurism. He made major steps to accomplish the first two goals, but his decision to attack Iran will end up defining his Presidential legacy as a losing one. It makes the Kennedy/Johnson decision to pick up France’s slack in Vietnam look like genius-level statesmanship, it wipes the stain off Biden’s capitulation to the Taliban. And while I think our toppling of Iraq was both unnecessary and a bit evil, at least GWB won that war.
It’s now obvious that the United States will need to surrender to Iran, a country that doesn’t appear to have a single data center, hypersonic weapon, or female military officer but does happen to have effective local control over the petroleum-heroin to which the whole world is addicted. The only other option is to treat this as the “total war” promised by the Iranians, which means irradiating one or more of their cities then mobilizing two million American troops to loot and shoot their way across the Middle East until the country has been effectively occupied. Not an easy task, by the way:
You just know FDR would have done it, of course. If I ran the show, I’d solve all of our problems at once by announcing an American Foreign Legion to be manned by the twenty or so million military-age men who have arrived here over the past fifteen years. Let a quarter of them walk across Iran and pacify it sans all the expensive and irreplacable stuff like the F-35. Two-thirds of them will die in the process, but you gotta break a few eggs. Service guarantees citizenship. Staying home guarantees deportation.
Back in the realm of reality, however, there is no way we can have a ground war in Iran. So we will have to back out of our aggression, and pay untold amounts of compensation to boot. It will be our own Versailles Treaty, except instead of cashing out the arrogant French we will be promoting the IRGC to superpower status with taxpayer dollars. The IRGC, in turn, will use their newfound power to scour Israel down to the last grain of sand, and we will be absolutely helpless to stop it.
Well, that’s something the Israelis should have considered before they forced Trump’s hand here. I imagine Netanyahu saying something in the near future like “Evacuate? At our moment of triumph?” Similarly, all the American Jews who worked day and night to ensure the whole importation of Muslims will eventually come to regret those diligent efforts, and sooner rather than later. Of course that charming El-Sayed fellow, owner of a Grand Seiko Spring Drive GMT Chronograph, isn’t gonna kill any Jews, any more than Paul von Hinderburg was gonna kill any Jews. He and his fellow-travelers are just the conduit through which the power shift will flow.
All of this would have been easily avoided had we simply not attacked Iran. Did they have nuclear weapons? Doesn’t look like it. But let’s say they did have a nuclear weapon. What were they gonna do with it? Blow up New York? How were they gonna do it? Fly it over on a double-size DJI drone? How was this America’s problem?
Newsflash: they’re gonna have one now, because we’re going to pay for it.
Of course, there’s more to criticize about the Trump administration than the war. Much of the goodwill that the President got by narrowly avoiding assassination got squandered on shitcoin rugpulls and a “made in USA” Trump Phone where the only “making” was the part where an illegal immigrant on American soil put a Chinese phone in a Chinese box. Say what you like about the astonishing way in which the Clintons and Obamas went from middle-class poverty to nine-figure net worth via their Presidencies, but at least none of it was done via the Home Shopping Network.
At least Vivek Ramaswamy got BTFOed in the process. He tanked by double the margin of Senator Jon Husted’s loss, meaning that about 250,000 patriotic Ohioans, ahem, voted for the entire “R” lineup except for PharmaScammer. So while my state will suffer under the lash of a drunken demon in human flesh for the near future, at least she won’t be hiring her entire extended family to run the State in perpetuity. Anyway, you can look at the Blue Wave one of two ways:
Humanity and decency will be restored to a country, and people, who have been desperately in need of both.
We are back to limitless indentured labor, crippling citizen unemployment, unfettered bankster shenanigans, and a method of social governance best described as “HR girlboss blown up to Godzilla proportions.”
I suppose both things can be true.
Not that strongly persuaded
Robert Cray called the Blue Wave in advance. “How’s everyone doing?” he asked the crowd at Newark, Ohio’s Midland Theater this past Sunday night. “It’s gonna be better in a few days...”
At seventy-three, “Young Bob” has never looked better or played more strongly. He is a faster and stronger guitarist than ever, something to which I can personally attest since I’ve been catching him live for thirty-two years. Since 2010 or so he’s adopted the practice of having his guitar tech bring him a restrung (or at least retuned) Stratocaster for each and every tune. His hands are so strong that he pulls the whole thing out of whack in four minutes or less. It’s not unusual for him to bend two strings a full one and a half steps, or even two. This is cruel and unusual punishment, but it makes him the most immediately recognizable guitarist in the world. There are a million kids who can sound just like Eddie Van Halen, but you need to be a genetic freak to play like Robert Cray.
Cray started his career in 1980 with a pair of absolutely obscure chitlin-circuit modern blues records. I’m apparently one of just 13,000 people who own Bad Influence, by the way. But his fourth effort, Strong Persuader, rode the tracks “Smoking Gun” and “Right Next Door (Because Of Me)” to double-platinum status. He was the first MTV bluesman.
Given money and power by his label, Cray did the obvious thing of never recording anything remotely like Strong Persuader ever again. Between 1986 and 2014, he put out fifteen (15!) records that put horn sections and elaborate arrangements behind tunes that were directly influenced by his musical hero, O.V. Wright. Nothing past the third one charted anywhere, although I own most of them because I also adore O.V. Wright. This is a solid and charming example:
For years I played stripped-down arrangements of his soul tunes in my lightly-attended live performances, with “Chicken In The Kitchen” being the most prevalent. I’m a Robert Cray fan, a lifelong one, and that’s why I dragged the Commander out to a fourth-row seat for Sunday night’s performance. Unfortunately, we decided to move to the back of the theater after the sixth song, and we left entirely at the 70-minute mark.
The problem was twofold. Cray can’t afford to tour with horns anymore so instead he has this idiot, Dover Weinberg, whom he knows from way back, on keyboards. Weinberg is incompetent, there is no tune he cannot ruin or destroy or simply play over at top volume. For much of the set he was simply holding down three or four keys on his beat-up Nord while the rest of the band tried to play a tune over the screech. I don’t know where he gets his keyboard patches and if I ever find out I’m calling in an airstrike to that location.
I could have lived with Weinberg had he not been approximately 75% of the audible mix. The last time I saw Robert Cray at Midland was 2014, and it was enjoyable. I don’t know what happened to the old mixer, but the one they had this past Sunday was a buffoon. We couldn’t hear the bass player, Richard Cousins, at all — and listening to Cousins play in the pocket was the whole reason I wanted my kid to hear this band. The mix was literally painful and we had to leave the show because neither the Commander nor I could tolerate it.
When I surveyed the audience, however, I understood why we were the only people who left. There wasn’t a single person under 65 there but us. Nor were there any black people. I’m pretty sure Cray’s audience now is nothing but old white folks who also still go on senior swinger cruises. They’re all deaf, they need the “icepick” EQ curve to hear the music. This is why every one of Jimmy Page’s Zep remasters was worse than the previous one, by the way. By the time you’re fifty, your ears cannot be trusted.
In consideration of my son’s future music career, we left before he needed eardrum surgery. It was a shame, because Robert can still play, and the tickets were a bargain by modern standards. Still. I’d have paid twice as much, or ten times as much, to hear him with the Memphis Horns in a competently managed venue. At least I know he’s still out there doing it, and playing well. If you have a chance, go see the man. You might have better luck, and he really is one of the greats.
Veni, Kimi, vici
Quick thoughts on this one:
Many congratulations to Kimi Antonelli, who has proven to be a first-rate driver with limitless potential. He has no detractors in the field; even Lando Norris stopped his post-race interview so he could watch Kimi’s triumph. “He deserves it,” was the erstwhile WDC’s verdict.
If Esteban Ocon was fired for the sole sin of disagreeing with Laura Mueller, I agree with this. I adore her and will e-thug against any of her detractors at any time. The fact is that Ocon is an part-time extraordinary talent and a full-time pain in the ass. Gasly made him look weak and Bearman has finished the job.
There is no baby quite like Sir Lewis Hamilton and his post-race comments regarding his dust-up with Charles Leclerc proved it yet again. The fact is that Leclerc would be a fool to do anything other than race Lewis like his life depends on it — because it does. If Charles allows himself to get beaten by an old man who, contrary to public reputation, has a habit of being shaded by his teammates when this is permitted, then his career is over, finished, kaput. Ferrari cannot win the championship. All that remains is for Charles to beat Lewis for a second year in a row and make sure he can still get a job in the future.
Everyone knew that Andretti and GM would be embarrassingly slow in F1. What they couldn’t have predicted was that the Cadillac would be both the worst car in the sport and the most dangerous. That suspension failure on Bottas’s car was inexcusable, and it’s not even the first time it’s happened. Apparently the team is up for sale due to the fiscal woes of TWG’s founder, Mark Walter. What’s it worth? Based on these results, it isn’t worth a dime more than the franchise fee. Let’s hope someone competent buys it, fires Andretti, moves GM out, and does something respectable.
Born to be mild
For six grand, Harley-Davidson will be offering US customers an assembled-in-USA take on the small X440 Harley built and sold by India’s Hero Motors. The styling is pretty good. Power will come from a 27-hp single going through a six-speed transmission and chain drive.
At best, this thing is the motorcycling equivalent of the Chevy LUV, but let’s be real: the future of bikes in America is the future of small bikes. The economy sucks and it’s about to get worse for white and black Americans, insurance is prohibitive, theft of “street cred” motorcycles is rampant. So Harley needs to be in this segment, like yesterday.
What Harley should be offering here is a genuine American small motorcycle. It is not rocket science to build something like this. In the short term, however, maybe this would do the trick. Given the success of Honda’s Rebel bikes, it seems reasonable that a USA-assembled equivalent with a fairly large dealer body can do well. The main question: Can that dealer body, which has become accustomed to selling HELOC-financed $40,000 CVO baggers to Boomers, cope with the demands of a young buyer base?
Decency is the last, and the first, rebellion
There’s something thrilling about the way a lot of young people, particularly young men, are reacting to this 65-year-old cycle of American degeneracy, decline, and moral vacancy: they’re rebelling by going straight. In a city where dirt, filth, graffiti, and deliberately offensive “art” have all descended to the level of background noise, “Sweet P” has become globally famous by… repainting NYC mailboxes and old fire call boxes to their original spec.
This enrages people, by the way. The same (largely transplant) “New Yorkers” who consider it a badge of honor to have a bum urinate on their shoes can get incandescently angry about someone just cleaning up a mailbox. “YOU’RE DESTROYING ART AND CULTURE!” they screech, perhaps not realizing that they are the precise modern descendants of the people who complained about graffiti on the subway when it first appeared — because in both cases, what was actually being defended was orthodoxy. The current orthodoxy of NYC thought is that it’s supposed to be awful and dirty and off-putting because… well, it has something to do with being authentic.
For the record, your first and constant response to the word “authentic” should be the same as the famous line from Schlaegeter: “Wenn ich 'Kultur' höre, entsichere ich meinen Browning!”Any time someone starts talking about authenticity, you can be certain that authenticity has left the room.
The only reasonable way to understand the antipathy of people who pay $15/month/sqft in rent to something like a clean mailbox is to see New York as they see it: a modern-day theme park where bums and dirt and filth and depravity are the equivalent of Space Mountain. To them, the more than 350,000 people who are at least occasionally experiencing homelessness in the city, not to mention the 100,000-plus who are subject to some level of drug dependence or mental illness… well, they’re like the “Museum Fremen” in God Emperor of Dune. They are there to keep it real.
It’s not enough for NYC to have all the great art museums and all the great jazz gigs and all the great orchestras because — ssshhh — none of these people have the time or inclination to see any of that stuff. So they need their NYC experience to be immediate, local, and omnipresent, and they need it to be something that separates them from all their relatives and high school classmates back in Peoria. Thus their attachment to stuff like a vandalized mailbox, a signifier of decline that they’ve mistaken for a signifier of cosmopolitan status. The fact is that NYC was the most important city in the world when this video was taken:
Notice how clean and decent everything was. This was the NYC of Gatsby, the NYC of jazz, the NYC of Edward Hopper. None of it looks like an open sewer. Turns out you can have art and culture without trash all over the place — although it’s still a little dirty compared to a small town of the same time period.
There is no artistic frontier that moves further into social sickness than what we’ve achieved right now. The lesson of “Sweet P” and others like him is the same one that informed the Victorians and their actions: when the status quo is sick, the only way to rebel is to embrace health. Which is why he’ll be remembered when the “artists” who create the stickers he scrapes off have long been forgotten.
"This is why every one of Jimmy Page’s Zep remasters was worse than the previous one, by the way. By the time you’re fifty, your ears cannot be trusted."
A guy was interested in one of my harmonica microphones. It's an updated version of a dedicated harmonica mic called the Strnad that is long out of production. He wanted to know how the tone compared to the original. I told him that to my ears they are comparable but not identical, but that those ears are almost 72 years old and can't hear anything over 12Khz.
It was a very tough lesson to learn but the GOP needed it. We can now expel all the bootlickers and grifters that strapped themselves to the party while sitting back and letting the train wreck of candidates in the Dem party have fun for two years. If anything I'm not worried. What will keep me up is if the GOP fail to learn its lesson and allows another idiot to run which will give the Dems unified control.