DR. STRANGEGROOVE OR: HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE THE PROG. Euterpe’s windy ass! Sorry-it just comes out like that sometimes. I managed to avoid, last night, the yearly stinkfest that is The Grammy Awards. I sure heard about it today. And I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the gamut running of opinions that have crossed my feed and peppered ubiquitous media outlets. Is he a market thumping genius or possessed of an ego the size of Moses’s rage? You know who I mean…Is he indeed…One of the true blessings of being a prog (progressive rock i.e., Yes, King Crimson, et.al.) geek is that things such as the Grammys are so far outside the range of musical credibility for you that they actually lay beyond the mind’s ability to manufacture any sort of nervous contempt. I mean, do hardcore sports fans look at The Special Olympics for examples of athletic prowess? So, then, what do we prog geeks, prog nerds, we sexless lovers of music’s spine tingling peaks make of the cultural bric-a-brac? Well, I can’t speak for all of us but it makes me want to get to that Grammy Awards next year and give all the winners a “bless your heart” big hug. In the meantime, I think I’ll crank up some Gentle Giant. Maybe Octopus…yeah, that’s the one. It may not be the way to get chicks, but damn-who needs chicks when you can groove in that high cathedral of the great cosmic whatzit? Yes sir-there’s always a bitchin’ jam going down there.
DR. STRANGEGROOVE OR: HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE THE PR
Posted in: Prog Rock