Lyonnais, Want for Wish for Nowhere. A knock-out blend of sluggish New Romantic waifishness and blaring industrial noise. Goes much farther than you expect, so keep your finger on the headphone volume control. On the opener “Transitive Properties of Youth,” the din which grows from an intimate classically tinged intro sticks around long enough to take several different forms, from minimalist to glam. The shortest cut, “A Sign From on High” at 1:56, sounds like a netherworld orchestra tuning up, and leads into the distant and intently deadening “Modern Cavalry.” The techno beats unfurl for the album closer “Dusted at Mount Sinai,” becoming a military or tribal stomp rather than the expected dance tune. The shocks and surprises are constant. I imagine that if the legendary 1970s collaboration between Tony Conrad and Faust had concentrates on melodies and jams rather than drones, it might have turned out something like this.

Swamp Thing #1-4, by Scott Snyder (writer), Marco Rudy (penciller/inker), Sean Parsons and Michael Lacombe (inkers). DC Comics, 2011.
Deadman #1-4, by Paul Jenkins (writer) and Bernard Chang (artists). DC Comics, 2011.

I’ve noted this before, when the DC “52” universal-overhaul gimmick first hit: As happy as I am that a couple of personal fave superheroes—Swamp Thing and Deadman (now what does THAT say about me?)—have been given their own books again, I really wish that the new adventures would be more like the character’s original ones, especially in structure. What once were self-contained spooky tales with clear moralistic endings are now ongoing odysseys of existential awareness and revelation.
Yes, the independent-adventures models can lead to simplicity and repetition, but I find the open-ended manner much more lethal in terms of lazy writing. Lots of ongoing dialogue about finding oneself and gearing up for battles which, in a short-form story, would happen by the 15th page, not the fourth full-length issue.
And yet… I’ve stuck with both books, and enjoy them for their own special reasons. Swamp Thing may be consciously trying to return to the character’s mind-expanding Alan Moore era, but it has also (so far) scaled down the supporting cast, and is making an effort to maintain the series’ roots as a horror book and not just the social-satire ecological parable it became. Also, Swamp Thing’s mortal model, scientist Alec Holland, is distinct from the creature he became. As he puts it, “Here’s the last month of my life. I wake up naked in a swamp, back from the dead. I learn that, while I was gone, a vegetable copy of me was running around, battling monsters for years.”
As for Deadman, his given fate of inhabiting bodies of people in crisis always meant his own character (real name Boston Brand) was underdeveloped. What he did have was a permanent pissy attitude, an impatience at being thrust into adventure after adventure against his will, in service to the quirky whims of the goddess Rama. In Paul Jenkins’ hands, Deadman keeps his petulant gloom, impatient even while the mysteries of the universe are being explained to him.

Other than a few stray flakes I noticed on an otherwise unprecipitative day last week—could have been volcanic ash, or dandruff, I suppose—we haven’t had snow on the ground in New Haven since the Saturday before Halloween. There’s hope we won’t be cashing in snow days as blithely this winter. The city’s saved on plowing. But I’ve got two daughters who were perplexed at the utter lack of a white Christmas, particularly when rain and below-freezing temperatures seemed to come on alternate days for half of December and never meet.
This week, we’re told, will be “mostly sunny’ by day and “mostly cloudly” by night, with “rain likely” on Thursday. In the bleak midwinter.

Found a six-year-old list of “Top Ten Superman Songs” here, and while several of its entries were enlightening, I was surprised at how many key Supes songs it didn’t mention. Here, then, are ten more:

The Kinks, “(Wish I Could Fly Like) Superman.” From the last great Kinks album, Low Budget. Of course, because of the time it came out (1979), there was a crappy endless disco remix to contend with.

Gruppo Sportivo, “Superman.” This is the Dutch New Wave band which satirically spun the then-ubiquitous Claptonization of Marley’s “I Shot the Sheriff” into “I Shot My Manager.” Their “Superman” is about vulnerability in incipient love relationships, and endearingly stutters out the hero’s name.

Five for Fighting, “Superman (It’s Not Easy to Be Me).” Sure, this band/person represents a certain brand of limp VH-1 self-flagellation which screwed mainstream pop for several years in the mid-‘90s. But I thought FfF did it better and more earnestly than the others. (Also absolved: Ed Harcourt).

Soulja Boi, “Crank That”:
Soulja Boy up in da ho’
Watch me lean and watch me ro’
Superman dat hoe then watch me crank that Robocop
Super fresh, now watch me jock,
Jockin’ on them hatas.

It’s a Bird… It’s a Plane… It’s Superman Original Broadway soundrack, “You’ve Got Possibilities.” Super-catchy Charles Strouse/Lee Adams song from the 1966 musical.

Donovan, “Mellow Yellow”: “Oh, Superman or Green Lantern/Ain’t got nothing on me.”

Aaron Tippin, “Honky Tony Superman. The video is a big comedy spectacular featuring George Lindsay, the guy who played Goober on Mayberry RFD. There’s a whole “Jailhouse Rock” dance for no apparent reason.

Dio, “Sunset Superman.” From the Dream Evil album, 1987. Classical intro. Then the screaming begins. There’s a lyrical reference to Cornell Woolrich noir mystery The Night Has a Thousand Eyes.

Marius Muller-Westernhagen, “Superman.” “Superman ist tot,” the German light-pop guy singes. A big One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest comedy vibe on the video:

The Clique, “Superman.” That ign.com list noted above mentions the REM cover of this song, but it can’t hold a lump of kryptonite to the 1969 original with its staggered vocal slurs and disorientingly changing rhythms.

The Rockin’ Robbers flaunted the avocation that’s right in their name. The band’s bassist is being held on 17 counts of breaking and entering, concerning a rash of computer thefts at the college on the hill.
Recent RR gigs, we’re told, have featured elaborate computerized backing tracks. Singer Rob insists the band name came from a combination of his name and that of original drummer Bert Baczynski. Rockin’ Rob’s appalled at the insinuation that ill-gotten gains infused their new electronic elements. He offered to produce a receipt for the computer the band recorded with, then demurred. “I’m not getting involved in this,” he said.
The Robber(t)s are interviewing new bassists.

Wolf Spiders at the Bullfinch, with Chelicerae… Jingle Shell and Orb Weavers at Hamilton’s… Modern goth-blues nite with Long Jaw Huntsman, Dragline and Damselfly at D’ollaire’s…

Since I’m stuck in town, decided to go to work. They were surprised to see me.

Coathangers, Larceny and Old Lace. I’m a sucker for bands which pun on titles of old American stage comedies. The music is a comfortable return to the composed chaos of punk/new wave bands in the label-dominated 1980s. There’s something choreographed in those antic screams and raw guitar melodies. I trust it not to get out of control, which is not what I feel from a somewhat similar yet much more dangerous female-fronted band such as The Darlings.

Peanuts Sudoko Comic Digest (Andrews McMeel, 2008)
This book, which promises “200 puzzles plus 50 classic Peanuts cartoons,” gave me a true Charlie Brown Christmas vacation moment:
“Good grief! There are 70 puzzles to do before the first cartoon page comes up!”

“Welcome to Black Friday 2,” said the harried cashier at Kohl’s department store in Hamden. It was January 2, the Monday school holiday version of New Year’s Day. The store was mobbed. Not just for returns and exchanges. Purchases. The post-Christmas sales had commenced days earlier. The staff were openly bewildered by the consumer rush. Hope that statistic gets noticed in the Christmas shopping economic studies. Felt like change.
Been spending a little more this season myself. Little luxuries like CDs and cashews.

This is the year I finally rose up against the tyranny of supermarket laundry detergent, an item that had been the bane of my weekly shopping budget for eons.
Surely one can make these things oneself. Did people not wash clothes in the 19th century?
My sanitized salvation came via a slew of homesteading websites. A good basic recipe is offered by Crystal Miller at her Family Homestead site.

I also dug this photo-illustrated recipe for powdered laundry detergent at DIY Natural, the site run by Matt & Betsy Jabs, authors of the DIY Natural Housecleaners book.

Both are based around Borax and a substance called Washing Soda, both easily available at Stop & Shop if you can look beyond the pop-art glare of Tide and Clorox. Plus, you know, soap—a grated bar of Fels Naptha or, if you’d rather, Dove or Lux.

A batch of each homemade concoction, wet and dry, has lasted me months so far, with dozens more loads in sight. Big deal when you walk to the market as I do (liquid soap is heavy), try to keep your weekly grocery bill within the double digits, and do about 10 loads of laundry a week. (Family of four, don’tcha know.)

As for cleaning power, the home brew seems more powerful than the cheap watery dollar-store laundry-soap brands, and equal to the top ones. Low-suds, so they’re front-loader friendly. The liquid one has a lumpy consistency, and as far as I can see, the fact that you have to shake the bucket before using, and have to add your own fragrance (if desired) is the only difference (and a charming, craftsy one at that) between my ultracheap soap and the costly ones that have blinded and hypnotized me for so long at the store.