Just wait until you get to Frankfurt and Zurich! Those are cracking shows! Inspired by my recent listen to the 5-25-75 Earls Court, I am going to embark on a direct A<B comparison of the 5-24 and 5-25 EC shows to determine, once and for all, which is the better of the two.

^^^ I'm afraid to ask.

^^^ Kiwi, nothing is showing up. This is an embarrassment. Strictly for the tin-foil hat crowd. It's more about Dinesh D'Souza and his conspiracy obsessions than about the real Barack Obama. In fact, it plays more like an infomercial for his poppy-cock book. Just another egomaniacal, slip-shod character assassination. Whether they come from the left or right, they should be ignored.

Tonight Aug. 25: SILENT FRISCO: Deadmau5 vs. Led Zeppelin @ the Central, Santa Monica.

"Change is death" ~ Woody Allen It's finally cooling down some from the blazing heat we've had in L.A. recently...it actually was cool and overcast for a bit this morning. Plus, it's FRIDAY! TGIF!! Amazing how quick the week goes when you play hooky for a day or two.

She works hard for the money! Hard for the money! Okay, if disco ain't your thing, how about this: Just got paid today...got me a pocket full of cash!

^^^ No apologies necessary Kiwi, that was a great experience to read about. This is the Happy thread after all. Everyone has the right to ramble on about their happiness.

It's an average 1975 Dazed, which means it's just okay. Certainly not as good as the D & C's of 1973 and before. Generally when checking out a new 1975 show, I prefer to listen straight thru from beginning to end first, just to get a sense of the vibe and the performance quality. And also to see what theme the evening's Plantations take. Then, after I've heard the entire show a couple times and have made a mental note of where it fits in the pantheon of Led Zeppelin concerts, if it's not a consistent winner, I'll just pick out certain songs to revisit, or a certain disc. When talking about 1975 shows, especially soundboards, the tracks I consistently zero in on as worthy of repeated listening are, in order: 1. No Quarter...I've yet to hear a dud No Quarter from 1975...even the brief Chicago ones are cool. 2. Kashmir...the first time this beast was unleashed on audiences and the only tour where Jimmy used his Les Paul for the song, giving the song a different guitar vibe. 3. Whole Lotta Love/Funky Crunge Interlude & Theremin Duel...still, to this day, one of the most memorable moments for me of the 1975 shows...this is when they often finally let their hair down and got their freak on...some of the theremin duels would get so spacy weird you felt your face melting...as for when they did some James Brown or their own Crunge; after the crushing heaviness of much of the night, it was a blast of F-U-N, FUN...and it was all underpinned by some of the best beats of the night by Messers Bonham and Jones...I often felt myself wishing they would jam on instead of going into the usual by-rote Black Dog...obviously this only goes for shows from 2-14 to 5-25, as anything before did not have the interlude jam; you got a verse or two of WLL and then the OOTT riff straight into Black Dog. Boring. 4. In My Time of Dying...another of the PG premieres for the audience...besides the Jimmy Danelectro slide workout, the real treat of this song, especially on the soundboards, is to hear the excellent interplay between Bonzo and Jones on his fretless wonder...in fact, do yourself a favour and next time you listen to IMTOD from this tour, ignore Jimmy and just focus on Jonesey's playing. 5. Trampled Underfoot...another PG premiere and another performance featuring Jones and Bonzo having fun and playing around with the beat...and a chance to hear Jimmy get crazy with the wah wah pedal. 6. Over the Hills and Far Away...1975 is when Jimmy's solo really started gaining consistent shape and spaciness with the delay effects and all...after the plodding opening of R n R/SA, OTHAFA is usually when the 1975 concerts start going for me. 7. The Song Remains the Same/Rain Song...the last tour these two songs would remain linked together and the last time Rain Song would be performed in the U.S...also the last time Jimmy's 12-string would have that remarkable bell-chime tone for TSRTS; subsequent tours would feature a harsher, more metal tone. So, as you can see, Dazed and Confused is far down my list of priorities for 1975 boots. And talking with other fans, I get the same feeling...most people I meet point to No Quarter and the PG songs as the highlights of 1975. All Dazed has going for it is length...which is misleading in a way. The earlier D & Cs may be shorter but they have twice the musical content and fury than 1975. The only parts of the 1975 Dazed's I enjoy are the Woodstock/bow interlude and the final wah wah jam at the end. Which leads me to this question, beetleron: Why Dazed and Confused? Why is this the one song you first want to hear on 1975 boots?

That's exactly the show and the version I am listening to right now...EVSD's soundboard of the May 25, 1975 Earls Court. I'm only up to Disc 2 at the moment. A great No Quarter just concluded, followed now by Tangerine. Hilarious Plantations about Monty Python. The end of No Quarter switches to an audience tape and it continues thru Tangerine...at least it sounds like an audience tape during Tangerine. So far, I think I'm liking this show even more than 5-24-75. I have yet to hear the first three nights of Earls Court.

^^^ Good for you. Although if it is as scratched up as you say, your mum must be a Major Major Zephead! Thanks one and all. I sort of got carried away and didn't realize until after I posted how long I had rambled on. But, yes, to those of you thinking about it: get to a beach as soon as you can. And leave the gadgets behind...cellphones, laptops, ipads, ipods, etc. It is a marvelous feeling being untethered from the modern world. I had forgotten what it truly felt to be "happy". Sure I'm happy at concerts or at family birthday parties or when the Lakers or Kings or one of my other favourite teams win a championship. Those are tangible events that do make me feel good and happy. But the happiness I felt the other day was different altogether. It wasn't related to any material gains, money, consumption, other people, nothing tied to today's society. It was a happiness borne from completely within, a state of being I had entered simply by placing myself among the natural world in its natural state. I guess you could call it a natural high.

Phish does a good cover of the VU's "Oh Sweet Nuthin'", too...they've been performing it for years. I couldn't find the exact version I wanted, from when they performed the entire "Loaded" album at one of their Halloween shows, but the following will do:

*WARNING* NSFW!!! Thanks to my godson for showing me this. To clarify for those who don't read the descriptions on YouTube videos, Bill Burr had just followed several comedians who were booed and heckled by drunken Philadelphians and decided to scrap his prepared material and launch into an all-out assault on Philadelphia. I repeat...this is NOT SAFE FOR WORK! For you non-Americans, Philadelphia has the reputation for having the rudest fans in the U.S...there's a famous incident where they even booed Santa Claus and they have a Kangaroo Court at the ready at all football games.

This post actually applies to the Monday and Tuesday just concluded(Aug. 20 & 21). On Monday, I had just recovered an item lost on the bus at their Lost and Found. It was early afternoon in Santa Monica, mere blocks from the pier. Although I still had some errands to run, and I was planning on making a trip to Amoeba later, I just had a sudden whim to walk to the pier and take in the sights and sounds. Living further inland, I don't get to the beach as often as I did when I lived and worked in Santa Monica. You sort of take it for granted. As I walked down to the end of the Santa Monica Pier, past the Carousel, past the fish n chip stands, cotton candy and the Arcade, past the Ferris Wheel, it struck me that I probably hadn't made this walk in months. When I finally reached the westernmost end of the pier, I took a seat on one of the benches and exhaled. There were the usual row of fishing poles leaning against the rail, a cute, blonde girl busking in front of the Spanish restaurant at the end of the pier. The cries and wails of children sampling the delights of the amusement park were behind me, and gradually were subsumed by the more immediate sounds of the seagulls and the ocean. All of a sudden, I felt lighter...like a burden had been lifted off my shoulders. As the warmth of the sun beamed upon me, I was simultaneously cooly caressed by the ocean breaze, and I found all my cares and concerns blown away with it. It's hard to describe the pleasure one feels, the restorative effects one gains by the dual experience of sun and wind upon one's face and body. Unfortunately I wasn't dressed for the beach, or I might have taken a dip. But hours slipped away as I just sat and took in the sights. A seagull alighted upon a rail next to me and, followed shortly after by another bird, kept me company for the afternoon. As I watched the sun make its westward descent over the ocean, I found myself transfixed by the abstract shapes and patterns its glittering reflected light casts upon the deep green sea. One could also see how and why the Impressionists were so inspired by sunlight. It was a little after 2pm when I first sat down and nearly 6pm when I at last roused myself from my perch at the end of the pier. I had let all my errands and responsibilities take the day off...I would get to them another time. I actually felt younger, fresher leaving the pier than I did when I arrived. I need to do this more often I said to myself as I headed to meet some friends for a movie. Tuesday morning, along with the previous day's errands I had put off, I had some bills to pay and some books to take down to work. After having some breakfast and dropping off some dry-cleaning however, I was at the West LA transit center where I immediately saw the #534, the Mailbu-Trancus Canyon bus getting ready to leave. I don't know why, but I felt compelled to get on that bus....as if I was caught in its tractor beam. So there I was...chucking the day's responsibilities yet again and heading for the beach. But this time, a different beach. The Santa Monica Pier is fine, but there's still a lot of people around...and it is not the best place for waves or to swim. I used to take the Malibu-Trancus bus a lot when I was younger. It leaves the Transit Center on Fairfax and takes the 10 Freeway west to Santa Monica, where it heads north on Pacific Coast Highway, passing beach after beach after beach. Santa Monica Pier, Will Rogers State Beach, Topanga, Mailbu. It also stops where the Getty Villa entrance is, should you be inclined to take in some ancient art. But I was heading even past Malibu...to the very last stop of the route, just past Zuma beach. In fact, the spot of beach I was heading to was where Zuma beach meets Broad beach. There's far less people than at Malibu or the main Zuma beaches. The waves aren't big but they have a nice shape, and unlike the murky deep green of the waters further south, you get a more turquoise colour here. Since this was a spur of the moment excursion, I was again unprepared for a day at the beach. I was wearing jeans, a pink and blue striped polo, and tennis shoes. I had my backpack, but no towel. And no phone...I had left that back at home, charging the battery. But so what...serendipity calls for making do with what you got. As I walked along PCH until I got to the beach entrance, with every step I felt more sure that I had made the right decision. There was a film crew setting up in one of the houses along the private beach, but I didn't pay it no mind...it could have been for a commercial or a porno, I didn't care. When I reached the part of the beach I was heading for, I took off my shoes and socks and gingerly made the march to the sea. Years of city living have softened my souls somewhat, so that I'm not accustomed to walking barefoot on hot sand as I used to be. It was probably around 10:30am and the sun was already burning bright. I found a nice uninhabited part of the beach just before it slopes down to the water...about 100 yards south of the house the film crew was setting up. PCH was behind me, but the width of the beach plus the sound of the waves drowned out any sounds of cars, etc. Plopping my backpack and shoes down, I sat down and took off my shirt, leaned back and wiggled my toes in the sand. There was a gaggle of grommets getting surf lessons to my left...little boys and girls getting their first taste of the natural high that is surfing. Of course, first they had to learn how to make the transition from being prone on a board to standing up. That was quite amusing to watch, and every now and then, one of them would actually achieve standing position. For a time, that is, until the wave would toss them from their board. Fortunately for the little ones, the waves weren't large...a more manageable 2-3 feet on average. So there I was, soaking up the sun and enjoying the rhythmic crashing of the waves. I kept an eye out on the horizon for any sign of Cortez's galleons and guns. The nearest human to me was a hundred yards on either side, with the exception of the occasional person strolling along the beach and the occasional grommet the ocean would spit out. Plenty of birds for company, though. Seagulls, pelicans, crows, all kinds of birds. At one point, I was roused from my reverie and discovered I was flanked on either side by a row of gulls, gaze fixed to the sea. "Ha! Let Cortez try to storm this beach now" I thought to myself. Naturally, the birds weren't really watching for Spanish marauders...they were looking for fish. That's the sort of silly things I occupied my mind with...if it was occupied at all...for the better part of an hour or two. And boy was I happy! No thoughts of work, family, the election, the modern world, the forum, texts, computers...nothing. I was totally unreachable and unavailable to the world. It was blissful peace and joy. What a tonic it is, to just sit and listen to the roar of the ocean and marvel at the architecture of waves. Man's engineering is no match for Mother Nature's when it comes to form, function and beauty. Even though the sun was high in the sky, you never got too hot, for there was the constant sea breeze and an occasional blast of crashing wave spray hitting your face to cool you off. Plus, the added joy of digging your fingers and toes in the sand, below the sun-baked surface and into the wet, cool sand underneath. I didn't have a watch with me, but it must have been nearly 12noon, when the waves started getting bigger and the surfing class was finished with their session. Nice walled sets of about 4-6 feet started rolling in. The lure was too great. Even if I didn't have a swinning suit with me, I had to get out in the ocean and taste those waves. Besides, I didn't have any sunscreen with me, and I had already been laying out in the sun for an hour and a half or more. If I didn't want to burn, I'd better get in the water. Emptying my pockets of wallet, keys, etc. and placing them in my backpack, I bounded down the sloping sand into the surf, just me and my blue jeans. After being in the sun, the cool water was refreshing. Cool, but not too cold...just right for a hot August swim. I swam out to where the waves were breaking and body-surfed a few in. I could keep an eye on my backpack from where I was, as long as I didn't let the current drift me too far north. If I saw anyone walking towards my backpack from the parking lot, I could swim in with the surf in less time than it would take for anyone to reach my backpack. Plus, in all the times I had been to this beach I had never had any problems with theft. So I was fairly secure that my backpack and shoes were safe and I could concentrate on the waves. After a half-hour of body surfing, I swam just beyond the impact zone, and floated on my back, gently bobbing up and down as a swell would move past me. Ahhhhh, now this was livin'...enveloped by the cool ocean, my arms spread out with only my head and toes sticking up from the water, bobbing along with the sea. I have got to do this more often. Then, just when I thought it couldn't get better, it did. I figured I had been out there dozing and floating a good half-hour, and that it was probably time to head back in...especially when I saw I had drifted a bit further than I wanted. As I turned and righted myself to make the swim in, I was met with the sight of dorsal fins heading my way. I know enough about the differences between sharks and dolphins to know that these were dolphins, so not for a moment was I scared that they were sharks. All I did was stay still and tread water as I waited for the school of dolphins to pass by. There appeared to be six, maybe seven, of them...it was hard to ascertain the definite number as they were never above the surface at the same time. Some would be submerged while the others would not. They didn't seem to be in any particular hurry, just gliding with the current, so I got a good long look at them as they approached and swam by me. Maybe they were looking for food? They had also attracted attention from the shore, as beachgoers lined up on the sand to gawk and take photos, and the few surfers in the water took a break to pay tribute. But I was the only one outside the surfline that was smack in the middle of the dolphins' path. It was all I could do to remember to breathe. I didn't make a noise or move, as I didn't want to startle them. As they passed by me, I thought I was having an out-of-body experience. Dolphins are so beautiful, such graceful creatures, and to actually be close enough to look them in the eye as they went by...I had goosebumps. I was tempted to reach out and touch one, to feel their sleek grey-black skin, but I didn't dare move. From the time I first spotted them heading my way to the time they swam by and continued on their way up the coast til they were out of sight, it must have been a good 15 minutes. A glorious 15 minutes. Everything else after that pales...even the seal I later spotted surfing among the waves. After I swam back in, I grabbed my backpack and shoes and went to the rinsing off area to rinse any stray sand from my hair, jeans and feet. I sat on a bench long enough for the sun to dry me and my jeans off...and enjoy the sound and view of the ocean a little longer. It was a little ater 3pm when I finally left. I noticed the film crew was wrapping things up as I walked by and I wondered if they had noticed the dolphins and gotten some footage of them swimming by...probably not. I made a mental note to start coming to the beach more often. It's so easy to take the beach for granted when you live here. Even when you get busy and distracted by other things, it's easy to say "I'll get to the beach soon...one day." One day turns into weeks turns into months and before you know it, you haven't been to the beach in ages. When you finally do hit the beach, you are reminded why you love it so...and vow not to let so long a time pass before indulging in its pleasures again. On the way back, I got off at the Santa Monica Pier to have dinner at The Lobster...lobster, natch. After that, I finally took the cd player out of my backpack and put on some tunes for the bus ride home: Van Morrison, Live at the Fillmore West Oct. 1970. I was home and in bed, soundly asleep by 10pm, a rarity for me. Today is Wednesday... back to work and all that. But thanks to the last two days I have spent seaside, I feel more rejuvenated, refreshed, and happy than I have felt in some time. Edited for spelling.

Mmmmm...loverly. All of a sudden I'm thirsty.

Is this one of docron's famous swinger parties?

Oh my gourd!

What an utter and most welcome surprise! Finally, after all these years the mystery of the girl in "The Song Remains the Same" has been revealed, and the ray of light piercing the darkness is wielded by none other than the fair maiden herself. Thank you, thank you, and most definitely and sincerely THANK YOU, Ms. Virginia Parker, for taking the time to share your experience with us...and for being willing to reveal yourself after so long. From the time "The Song Remains the Same" premiered in October 1976 to the end of 1980, I saw the movie 88 times, and I often wondered about you: Who was that beautiful princess? Why did I not see her in other movies after that? Was she a friend of the band? Many many years later, all I could find was a name...Virginia Parker...but little else. I thought I would die without finding out anything more. Thankfully, that will not be the case now, thanks to your generosity in sharing with us strangers a little slice of your past life. Thank you for giving this Led Zeppelin fan a little closure on a facet of their career that has long fascinated me. Best wishes on your future endeavors.

What's his favourite beer/ale?

He must be a happy dog, then.

It depends where in the U.S. one lives. The contiguous United States cover 4 time zones: Eastern, Central, Mountain and Pacific. For instance, it is now just past 3am in Liverpool as I write this. In New York, you subtract 5 hours from Greenwich Mean Time, which makes it just past 10:00pm. Each time zone is an hour less as you move West, so here in Los Angeles, it is just past 7:00pm. California and the Pacific Time Zone is 3 hours behind the East Coast and 8 hours behind the UK. Alaska is another two hours behind the West Coast, and Hawai another hour behind that...Hawaii is 3 hrs behind California, 6 hrs behind New York, and 11 hrs behind London.

Yummmm! I'm a fiend for ice cream, whether American style or Italian gelato, so I will duly note this Chesapeake Bay Farms place and put it on my "to-do" list! Thanks for the tip, ebk. P.S. Speaking of happy...everyone, it's ebk's birthday today, so let's all wish her a very happy birthday!

^^^ Ok, back on topic... Let's talk about "Killer Joe"!!! Believe the buzz...this is William Friedkin's return to form and a perception-changing performance by Matthew McConaughey. For those who may have forgotten, William Friedkin is the director responsible for such 1970-80s classics as "The French Connection", "The Excorcist", "Sorcerer", "Cruising", and "To Live and Die in LA". Went to see it with friends last Monday...saw a matinee showing, as there was a Grandaddy concert to go to that night. As the tag-line to one of the film's posters says, it's "A Totally Twisted Deep-Fried Texas Redneck Trailer Park Murder Story". It is NC-17 and it earns that rating. Not because of any explicit sex or even violence...there isn't anything here that people probably haven't already seen in "Saw" or plenty other R-rated movies. What is hard-core is the dark psychology and the violence and humiliation visited upon the characters, particularly Gina Gershon. You will never ever look at Kentucky Fried Chicken the same way after this movie. You won't look at Matthew McConaughey the same way, either. For years, after his breakout in "Dazed and Confused", he seemed content to just skate by on his looks and Texas-cum-stoner-charm. Bad movie after bad movie followed in mind-numbing succession, culminating in the apocalyptic awfulness of "Surfer, Dude". But after a couple interesting appearances in small films like "Bernie" and "Magic Mike", he finally has a lead role that reminds you of what he can do with the right material. He hasn't been this good and this riveting since "Lone Star". His seduction of Juno Temple and breakdown of Gina Gershon are astounding scenes to watch...all the while turning your stomach yet daring you to look away. Emile Hirsch(who spends most of the movie getting his whiny ass kicked) and Thomas Haden Church are also very good in this film. And what a killer soundtrack, ending with a great Clarence Carter song. But make no mistake..."Killer Joe" is NOT for the sensitive. If you don't like violence, foul language, twisted sexuality, STAY AWAY from this movie, for I guarantee you will be offended, if not outright nauseated by "Killer Joe". If you can handle the darkside and are strong enough for stern subject matter, then "Killer Joe" will be something the adventurous among you may find worth your while. Just plan on eating something other than fried chicken afterwards.

Bloody hell, indeed. I've been so wrapped up in the recent Spaghetti Western retrospective and other shows and work and shit, that I completely lost track of certain dates and events and, to my horror, have now discovered I missed three concerts I wanted to see in the past couple of weeks: Redd Kross @ the Roxy, Andrew Bird and Sharon Van Etten @ the Greek, and Sigur Rós @ the Hollywood Forever Cemetery. The Sigur Rós is the real killer, as I have never missed a show they've played in L.A. Damn damn damn.

^^^ You shouldn't let a gadget have such control over your emotions.

Well, she does speak with an English accent, does she not?