Palindromes

and Power Trios

41-11-14

That’s the statline from Luka’s game against Brooklyn on October 27th. A random Thursday in the association, in the run up to Halloween. Scary stuff. Unreal, honestly. I don’t have the research skills to find how many other times this particular combination (PTS-RBS-AST) has happened in history, but I’m sure it’s pretty uncommon.

Luka is pretty uncommon, and my only hope is that he can sustain this unprecedented usage and production for the whole season. Harden used to rain this much fire in the regular season too, and Westbrook. But those two could never seal the deal.

Uncommon spirit has imbued a few squads with surprising grit and spunk. The Jazz, Blazers, Cavs, and Kings have all started the season with top-notch swagger, leading to surprising (maybe not surprising with the Cavs, that team is stacked now) early wins and competitiveness. It’s fun! Especially because the season is super long and we’ll inevitably tire of watching the same four teams every night next year in the playoffs. Now is the time to enjoy the night-to-night surprises, comebacks, celebrations, fake fights, and statistical oddities.

—

In both basketball and rock music, there is a magic number. You know what it is. Yes it is. With a few notable exceptions (your stripes, your keys), the minimum number of humans you need to have a rock band is three. And for my money, the best of those triptychs are the ones that bring the heat. I’m talking power trios.

We don’t need to debate the best — whether you prefer Nirvana over Cream or Rush over The Police. Or Russian Circles, or The Joy Formidable. Or Morphine. What is not up for debate is that there is one band on that list that just. won’t. die.

King’s X.

Dug, Jerry, and Ty have been blending three-part harmonies with an evolving mix of progressive rock, metal, soul, and funk since 1979. For those of you, like me, who are bad at math, that’s 43 years. Their 13th (and final?) studio album dropped a couple months ago, and guess what, dear reader? Your boy is going to finally see them live THIS WEEK.

This is a band I have been consistently spinning/streaming since my junior year of high school is 1996, in Moscow. We were introduced to an American radio DJ who was a fan, and who gave us a copy of Dogman to pass around. We had heard Faith, Hope, Love as it was ubiquitous at Christian bookstores at the time. But although the harmonies and musicianship are tight as hell on that album, it’s honestly kind of lame. Too polished, too polite. But Dogman was truly groundbreaking, and it certainly broke our brains.

“Is this metal?”

“R&B?”

“Alternative?”

Yes.

CAN’T WAIT.

—

BURTON P.1

Barton woke up screaming. 

Or was it laughing? Hard to tell the difference. Been at least a year since he’d heard a genuine laugh, whether from his own throat or another’s. The pale light from the fleeting dawn was a klaxon, calling him to put aside his ruminations on the quality and distinction of human vocal utterances and turn his full attention to the day’s first emergency. Water.

Named for the creek by which he was born, Barton quickly roused himself and stowed his bedding -- rough hempen sack stuffed with grasses and weeds collected too long ago to offer much cushion. He collected his resin jugs, bow and bolts, and knife from the corner, scanned the cave quickly, made a mental note to look for fresh pillow grass on the way down to the stream, and pulled aside the bamboo screen that separated his dwelling from a teeming chaos of weedy greenery and grey, crumbling stone.

He set out quickly downhill, keeping to the granite and sandstone scree as much as possible and winding his way around savage outcroppings of juniper and twisted oak. He had chosen this particular slope precisely because of the precarious footing required for egress. Retreating to the relative safety and solitude of the ragged hills and creek beds would have been pointless if his cave had been easy to find and access. Not that he was under any delusion that someone (or something) could not find him if they were actively looking. His chosen location was not so much a hiding spot as it was a willful distancing from his fellow survivors.

To Be Continued…

—

Happy Thanks Day, dear readers. I’m grateful for you, and for the lady I get to cook with tomorrow. And for the kids that are with their mother this year. I’ll share my stuffing recipe next time; you can use it for next year (or for Christmas).

Cheers!