Whut

In response to finding out that her glasses were broken: "I'm not really sure I wanna see that much anyway." - Carole

"Could I grab a stalk of your aloe plant? I left mine in Florida." After a pause of wondering if this was a normal request or not, I said, "Yeah, sure."

"Hey boss. I got you a 2012 vintage edition Coca-Cola." An older man cuts in front of a few customers in line to put an open and bubbling-over-its-edge Diet Coke on the counter.

"Could I get your last name, please?" "It's Watson." Ten second pause while I finish the transaction, and he asks, "What's yours?" like he's getting me back. I tell him. He doesn't react, and I hand him his receipt.

A lady walks in and says, "Oh they've got one of those robots that sits at a computer with one hand on a mouse."

Two little kids, a girl and a boy maybe around age 9 walk up to the counter with a parent nowhere in sight. They stare around aimlessly, and then the boy says quietly, "This looks like a pawn shop." They turn and walk back toward the window section in no apparent hurry.

Regular customers who are in five out of six days of the week ask on an almost daily basis how late we're open. It's 9 to 5 Monday through Saturday and hasn't changed in the near 8 months I've worked here. I doubt it changed in the years before that.

Customers come to counter with items, learn the price, and then go out to their car to get money. Then they come back to pay.

Dream Weaver

The trees show a path between the trunks and I follow. In the midst of a clearing there's a carving of a wooden rabbit. On it is a note that seems to have been left recently, since it's stuck to the rabbit with the leftovers of a melty red popsicle. I struggle to pull the note from the popsicle without getting red goop on my shirt. Somewhere in the woods I swear I hear someone snickering.

"GIANT LIGHTER - $4.50"

The note is a receipt. I look down at the wooden rabbit. It seems to be facing the moon with a great despair. Why'd they have to carve it to look so sad? I look up at the moon, and I can barely see it through the clouds. There's a smokiness that suggests maybe it's not clouds but a campfire smoke.

I realize I haven't seen my friends in a couple hours. Feeling my pockets, I grapple at something oblong and plasticky. It's the novelty lighter.

Neptune

- Black Hole Fart
- Bud's a sentimental one with LOTS of money
- Billions of years of typical shit and a few high scores
- Puncture the sky, receive God's jelly
- Brave the harsh stupidity of jerks
- Just a haunted breastplate
- Good Sport Drug Mule

Fragments of a Tender Keeper

"Oh, well this is just irresistible," an older customer says while examining a giant wire brush that looks like something a chimney sweep would use.

The next customer has a small black "x" on the knuckle of his middle finger on his right hand. I don't mention it.

A couple more people mention the distinct cold breeze that is being funneled directly onto the cash register and me. But I'm happy just to have an open garage doorway view of the train tracks and trees.

About once every few hours, there's a crash, whether glass or wood or metal. Most of the time no one's hurt. On windy days it's more like once every hour.

Mr. Wong is on his third trip to the register in an hour. I can't tell if he's more hoarder than landlord or vice versa.

I find myself in a lull in between customers and wonder which of the 9 or 10 cleaning, emailing, article-reading, or stocking things I should do. Too late. A customer is already asking me a question.

Commentary: Technocratic Psychobabble

Technocratic Psychobabble

-Hunky had been going to night school for, oh, say two, three years, but he'd never seen anyone this bad-ass before.  The Masonic midget-leper gave him a high-five on the way out and flashed his ass crack to the delight of everyone.:
A delirious return to writing after some presumed sort of meditation and regeneration following “Coming Down”, I wonder how long it took for Edward to start kicking it again with his pencil and paper (perhaps not even that long).  You don’t even have to go past “Hunky” to know you’re in for a treat on this stupid joyride of a name.  I love that the narrator takes time to debate how many years he wants to say Hunky’s gone to night school, but not to get it right, just to sort of amuse himself with how each number sounds.  Edward’s secret (not-so-secret) talent was to combine adjectives, personifiers, amplifiers, characterizers, and tenderizers like “Masonic midget-leper” into actual figures to dance ambiguously across his stories, not unlike a certain Dylan (why doesn’t anyone ever ask why Bob Dylan’s songs sound so much like mine?!).  Is it necessary for such a complex sounding character to be in this sort of funky jerk-wad of a name?  Probably not, but then again, sure why not.  What’s awkward and therefore funnier about the image of this class clown in adult school (a great concept in the first place) is that because this guy’s a midget and gives a “high-five” as he walks by Hunky, I would imagine that even though Hunky’s sitting at a desk, the midget still has to jump to complete this act of yeah-I-know-I’m-cool.  The final touch of the butt crack is so good that it even earns the use of bandwagon in “everyone”, because that’s a bandwagon I want to be on (I actually will be going to night school for a photography class in a couple weeks bee tee dubs). (83%)

-Bert struck writer's block at the end of the fourth page in his thirteenth novel.  Four pages too late.:

Who are you, me?  Got enough numbers there Mr. Math Magician?  “Struck”.  And the weird apparent meaning in this (if you don’t get too distracted) is wild enough to earn this a place in my already established kingdom of strange abstract trash that will likely endure the death of everything else because it’s too complex and useless to do anything else, like Styrofoam. (54%)

-The Black Shirts confiscated my house and liberated my wife from sexual slavery.  Buncha cheeseheads.:

One where I’ll forever remember the ending line but never the beginning.  Not to say that the beginning isn’t great, because it’s ridiculous and hilarious. “Confiscated”, “The Black Shirts”. Whadafuck man.  And that it seems at first like the Black Shirts are the bad guys for taking the house until apparently you realize the narrator is sexually enslaving his wife.  Wut.  “Buncha” and “cheeseheads” couldn’t be better partners in that phrase though, regardless of any/everything that may come before it. (73%)

-"Hear me out, Isaiah.  I have a message for you," I said as we hid inside the black temple.  His finger was on the nuclear armageddon button.:

Haha, I like the mind-clearing simplicity of the direction that these names have been going (night school, domestic violence, and world destruction) as a contrast to the relentlessly deep, murky, and deceptive directions of much of Edward’s previous college writing.  This sounds like a sort of calm one might get even after the craziest of circumstances, like whatever it took to obtain a nuclear armageddon button.  “Hear me out” is such a casual phrase, it’s stupid and great.  “Black temple” may be more or less than it means here, best not to stare.  I have a weird feeling this one may get better in time. (64%)

-The old cripple wheeled himself down the grassy hill slowly, taking in every detail as if this day was to be his last, smiling at the rising sun.  Randy shot him in the face and took his wheelchair for a joyride out on Grand Street.:

It’s like I wrote the first sentence and Greg the second.  But it was Edward with the design to merge such things.  “Old cripple” is a priceless character that you can’t lose with, even (or especially) when you use the act of shooting yet another person in the face and proceed to raise the pot even more with “Grand Street”.  I feel like I could buy this name at Wal-Mart and never stop loving it. (78%)

-"Yeah, he had britches all right.  Seven thousand pairs of 'em!"  She stared at me in awe, and I slipped the five into the policeman's pocket.:

You know I’m a sucker for conversation names, and an even bigger one for conversation names with the entirety of the dialogue cut off.  It’s an absurdly simple and great gag (see Lloyd’s joke during the montage in Dumb and Dumber in the ski lodge).  My favorite part here, other than “seven thousand” is that she stares at him in awe as opposed to any other state of mind. (60%)

-The rotten cheese atheist rained on my parade one too many times.:

More cheese, but a great “depressing” name, a type I’m of course quite fond of; also like the definitive nature of the whole thing, not leading one way or another. (65%)

-"Tuesday night we're going over to the coliseum.  Should be fun.  Varsity Blues vs. Picasso's Blue Period.  The bag of Twizzlers is up for grabs!"  Veronica gave me a sneer that showed this wasn't the right time.:

This has stood out in my mind from this list (along with “buncha cheeseheads”) for its extreme and jarring structure.  It seems like another name got written over top of another and then someone just transcribed them together, a form Ryan patented earlier than we ever knew.  But if you say anything about this, you just can’t knock the fucking Blue Period, what a great damn period and concept.  “Should be fun”. (73%)

-The great artist Samuel studied twenty ugly faces and twenty attractive faces for his masterwork.  His mother scolded him for putting her in the ugly set.:

One of the great names that no one remembers enough.  Somehow combining an original conceptual piece with not just childish punchlines, but an endearing underbelly of Samuel being an artist of odd taste and intriguing skill, plus just for the choice of “scolded” is such a nostalgic term in the face of all these cold-growing-colder-world names.  Edward was always about great artists, great art, great history, basically anything that stands the test of time, whereas I tended toward the fleeting, the non-sequitor, and the abstract.  It was a fine balance, and our themes often overlapped, but I’ll be looking for Samuel some years down the road to see how he’s faired against the weathering and aging of all things. (84%)

-Jebediah felt a cold chill when he peeked under the robes of his nine-year old cousin and saw the hard, wrinkly skin of disease.: one for the disturbed audience sitting restlessly out there.  Something about describing the skin in general versus specific anatomy makes this name worlds darker, though I can’t really describe why.  “Hard”.  (“Disease”.) This shit is best kept in the drawers (and pulled out when drunk and looking for shock and/or laugh). (70%)

-I sat quietly on my stool at the Hedonist Club while a horsy looking Oriental woman gave me a lap dance, pondering the validity of the establishment's name until Big Hairy Roger came in with a pair of flamethrowers and we got to killing some Native Americans.: haha, this name is so reckless and careless it’s wonderful.  It returns to the days when writing loose held more weight than writing deep.  Not to say that loose writing can’t be deep or vice versa, but in this name, it’s all about getting your fill and getting the fuck on to the next course.  “Horsy” gives this all the credibility it needs.  I also like that the protagonist is on a stool.  Go figure.  It also feels like something out of Watchmen (the flamethrowers and nonchalant genocide). (67%)

-Frito took his daily trip to the methadone clinic and wondered what the use was anymore.: a whopper.  A too-full-about-to-burst water balloon.  This comes mostly from the sharp drop off of the whole thing after getting used to Edward stringing us a few characters, plot twists, or at least descriptors before closing up shop.  It’s hard not to look past this one’s cold eyes. (75%)

-Ray the carpenter spotted the armies of Vandals and Goths pouring over the hills towards our village.  After he warned everyone and fled to the forests with the women and children, the local defense forced readied the proton torpedoes and launched what few TIE fighters we had.  Everyone was ready to spill Germanic blood.  I could see it in their eyes.: the flow of this name from the distant background right to the face of the narrator makes the trip of this name feverish and surprisingly ambitious.  Obviously a wild take on time periods and fantasies (and a welcome one – “Vandals and Goths”), it starts out in the third person, switches to a collective “we”, and then finishes with the reader staring into his compatriots beside him.  A steady rise to relevance.  “That’s some heavy stuff Doc.” (68%)

-"Oh, yeah, he's a conformist, but he's real good with the bow and arrow."  I agreed with him.  He was a good shot.: stupid, great, and tactful. (62%)

-Osmosis Jones vs. Jones the cat from Alien.who wins?: I knew it was only a matter of time before I arrived at this name.  We (right?) all know of Edward’s feelings towards the Alien series (meaning the first two…), and none of us should really disagree. I love the ending to this though. (58%)

-Francie doll was a Persian's woman-stout, astute, able-bodied, her nipples were pierced.  We spent a few nights up studying the ancient Babylonian texts before she aborted my only child.: fuck, this one just made me laugh out loud.  I completely forgot about this name.  Although it doesn’t really stand out from Edward’s many names in terms of being thick with historically shaded descriptors, casual sex (although now that I look, the only actual reference to sex is the abortion), academia, and fun, jaunt-narratives from a first-person narrative, I just thought the quick “before she aborted my only child” ending was hilarious.  It makes the opening meticulous details into a great diversion for both the narrator and reader before slapping down an event that, in contrast to a pierced-nipple, able-bodied woman up for shagging and deep nights (is “doll” just a nickname?), is stupidly tragic.  “Only” gives the narrator a touch of longing and just makes the flip at the end funnier. “A Persian’s woman”. (86%)

-Gorilla junction*                                                                             *The gates to paradise: granted, I’m coming into this name maybe a year and a half later than when I wrote the rest of the commentary above, this name should not be denied what it is for my Twainian pauses: superbly innovative, while basically needing very little.  I imagine we’d find ourselves staring at this sign, “Gorilla junction”, with all of us starving, sweating, and looking to Gandalf to determine the correct path to continue on.  Meanwhile, in the back of one the quieter one’s heads, they know the very meaning of such a junction and can see it clearly what this junction leads to.  Yet, none of us are likely to ever see it, let alone know its meaning.  But seriously folks, that was a solid innovation of punctuation and construction in name-writing: 71%

-Ronnie had wet nightmares after Janis Joplin came into his room and tried to fuck him: you’re not going to get away from this one.  She found him, and she fucked him.  Poor, poor Ronnie and his “wet” nightmares. Haha. (68%)

-While she was in the shower, Marty McFly rummaged through her underwear drawer, found her rosary beads, and licked them with relish: distinctly absurd.  Details of this name that I wasn’t ever capable of pulling out of my hat, but Edward stumbles upon them like he’s trying to get rid of sweet clues: “rosary beads”, “licked them with relish”.  Marty McFly is the sweet celebrity of this telethon, clearly. (74%)

-Her storytelling fitness regimen was starting to wear me out.  And I had the suspicion some of the other kids were on steroids.: I began to enjoy finding storytelling as our alternate universe in both what we did with names and what we wrote about within the names.  I would’ve wanted this one to deepen or continue further on its track past where it stopped abruptly at. But then again, the narrator was worn out, so better to quit while the steroid-infused bastards were ahead. (58%)

-The half-ton silverback gorilla and I raced across the plain, his sinewy muscles rippling beneath blankets of midnight fur.  My breathing was harsh and labored, and I looked into his angry eyes for a second before pressing harder.  The dull and mighty thumps from his strides pounded in my ears as my legs were weighed down by the insidious tentacles of lactic acid.  Open sky was overwhelmed by a canopy of trees, birds chattering the triumphant cry of our arrival into their domain.  Suddenly I came to an abrupt stop, and the great beast pushed on.  I watched as its massive spinning frame plunged over the edge of the cliff and laughed at its insignificant brain.  I was a little tired, but I was going into the city to get laid by a hooker.: a great, beautiful name that has grown in time and saga with its various returns to fame.  By that I mean that Ryan was drawing an interpretation of this name at my consistent and probably overwhelming demand (I wanted him to draw any name, and I think he chose this one to my delight).  If for nothing else, I love that Edward’s beautiful and mini-epics return to some sort of ape in some sort of deep challenge, struggle, battle, or conundrum.  Meanwhile, the human proves himself smarter and therefore much more susceptible to darker depths than even plunging off the edge of a cliff.  Planet of the Apes themes always seem to resonant deeper than anyone really wants to admit.  Let me now just take a second to nod to: “The dull and mighty thumps from his strides pounded in my ears as my legs were weighed down by the insidious tentacles of lactic acid” and “half-ton” and “midnight fur”. (89%)

The Big Beesy

Get your feet licked. 
The ground’s covered 
In balcony dripped 
Saliva. 

Framed in potholes,
Your neon apparitions 
Await you. 

Enter the honeycomb 
To a melt of music; 
Here they charge you 
For deafness.

Old faces across the wall 
Sweat an elixir of gas. 
You molecule you dance 
In a hive on the drift.

The queen, she croons.

Attack the Block: A Review

Attack the Block is one of those rare, fresh-air kind of films you run into every so often. It took a novel concept, and a modest budget, and squeezed the absolute maximum out of it possible. Attack the Block is set in south London, in an area known as the "ends" by our unlikely heroes, a gang of teenage thugs and muggers. We see our protagonists at work being unsavory right off the bat, mugging a terrified woman on her way home from work. It's not until aliens start crash landing all over the "block" and these kids are forced to defend themselves and others from harm do we see the true measure of their character. Many trials and tribulations occur, along with some genuinely clever scenes and plot twists, and we are allowed to see these kids for what they really are, kids. Kids with no purpose or role model, forced to deal with a harsh world on their own terms, suddenly thrust into a situation where they realize what pride, community, and sacrifice are all about.

Attack the Block does what few (recent) science fiction films have been able to do successfully, tie a story about space into a current social issue. In this case, we see the plight of the ghetto and it's inhabitants projected against monsters and interstellar fighting. We are shown that violence begets more violence, and that it is up to all of us to decide who we are and what we want to do with our lives. That living in the projects doesn't make you who you are, that heroes do in fact come from the least likely places. Attack the Block also does a surprisingly good job of building an arc for Moses, the leader of the teenage gang, that resonates with the viewer and gives you a feeling of closure when the film ends. Add that in with the effectiveness of the monsters, with their signature glowing fangs, and the excellent direction, and you have a sci-fi film that can rest comfortably in my top 5 of 2011.

Love Exposure: A Review

Love Exposure is the most Japanese movie ever made.

What that exactly means is a bit more complex and strange, just like the film itself. Love Exposure, at its base, is a romance. But, it's a romance distilled through the diverse and seemingly incompatable influences of Catholicism, upskirt photography, cross-dressing, cults/brainwashing, coreographed fighting, and graphic violence. Spread out over a seemingly immense 237 minutes, Love Exposure follows the trials and tribulations of Yu Honda, a quiet son of a Priest who seeks out a life of sin to please his father's obsession with them. Yu begins to train to snap photos of girl's panties, not because he finds pleasure in them, but because he wants to commit a sin even his hypocritical father finds reprehensable. Eventually these actions cause Yu to become entangled in the plots of a cult-like group called Zero Church, and fall in love with a man-hating girl named Yoko while he is dressed in drag. The myriad of places the movie eventually go are unexpected, yet surprisingly touching and disturbing in equal turns.

Love Exposure explores religion in a way Japanese films only seem capable of at times. The beauty and dangers of faith are displayed equally, and both serve to further the film's narrative. We see the church become a beacon of hope and light, of comfort and care for our protagonist, then suddenly turned into an instrument of hate and guilt because of the failings of men and women. We see people who use that sense of security to manipulate and harm, and we see people who would wear the mantle of faith to give forgiveness to those who may not deserve it, but because it is expected. We see Yu transform over time as he sees sin as something to collect to impress his distant father, who is also a Catholic Priest struggling with his own weaknesses. But, Yu is never anything other than earnestly trying to find love and acceptance, from his family and from the ideal woman he desperately seeks. But, his earnestness and naivety is turned against him by a damaged young girl who operates a cult in order to hold control over as many lives as possible. She claims to be interested in him, but her own horrible and violent past leads her to show her affections more in the vein of breaking him forever versus love and affection.

The film uses a very crude, yet immediately familiar symbol to show "true love" as it were. Yu is shown to never take any kind of pleasure from the photos he snaps, to the point he admits he has never had an erection. He is told he must "become erect from the heart" and continue his search. And, as to be expected, the presence, or lack thereof, of Yu's erections becomes part of the narrative. To his first one, to his inability to control himself around the one he loves, to the cult's attempts to brainwash it out of him, the states of Yu's arousal becomes a mise en scene for the mood of the character. Even reading it in text makes it seems vulgar and rediculous, which it is in part, but there's an unabashed energy to the film that makes it all seem to fit in. Not to mention the contrast we have between Yu, whose erections are presented as almost innocent and pure, and the abusive, dangerous men in the film that shape our female cast. And, of course, the most graphic scene in the film where one man's erection is removed with a incredibly violent, cringe-inducing moment. You'll know it when you see it. And it will add a very unsettling context to the way one of our characters views men.

When viewed as an whole, it becomes very difficult to classify Love Exposure. It's a tragedy, a romance, a drama, a comedy, even a bit of a horror story. It's a film about a small group of people with repressed, abnormal views on sex, love, religion, and society. It's a film about how love shatters preconceptions, but can also reinforce stereotypes. How belonging to something larger than yourself can divide as often as it unites. And, how sometimes a boner can be the most pure sign of love there can be. There's comedy, depression, cross-dressing, weird insular cultures, and even a rampaging swordsman. So, in other words, the most Japanese film ever made.

Love Exposure is a modern classic, and I would consider it a must-watch for all cinema fans. Be prepared for a long journey, but one that is entirely worth taking. 10/10

The Top 100 Rock Guitar Solos of All Time--9-1

9.) "Texas Flood" (Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble)

 

Along with Jimi Hendrix, Steve Vai, and Eddie Van Halen, Stevie Ray Vaughan has one of the most recognizable, unique guitar sounds out there.  From the very first note he plays, you cannot mistake his absolutely muscular tone and absurdly aggressive attack on the guitar.  In my opinion the greatest blues guitar player of all time, Stevie helped bring a once-obscure genre of music that helped form the foundations of rock and roll into the spotlight with his great string of '80s albums that unfortunately came to an end with his early demise (like many others on this list).  From my own experience with playing the guitar, first, it's very hard to have a distinctive sound all one's own; and second, it's almost impossible to sound as confident and supremely aggressive as Stevie does.  He attacks every single note he plays.  His bends sound like he's wringing every last drop of sweat, come, and tears out of his poor guitar.  I think Stevie puts more passion into his playing than any other guitarist out there, bar none.  This is reflected in his live playing, where he absolutely puts every last inch of his soul into the performances.

And no song quite captures all of the aspects of his playing like his masterpiece, "Texas Flood."  His guitar lines are so stinging in this song.  They feel like they are needles piercing all over your brain.  Following a classic intro solo, Stevie fills every second he's not singing (sublimely) with biting, torrential fills that are finer licks than most guitarists ever solo in their entire careers.  When he hits that extended solo, it's like the dams have burst and the flood waters are washing over the speakers.  What utterly perfect phrasing.  What King Kong attitude.  No one plays with such balls as Stevie does.  That part with the whammy-bar-drooping notes at 3:33 is exquisite.  The way he bends that one note at 3:17 into oblivion symbolizes his relentlessness and the utter heartbreak of the blues--not a romantic heartbreak, but a weary disappointment that the world will never fail to let you down.  I love the way that Stevie depicts the kind of bleak desolation and savageness that Texas can be known for (think Blood Simple or Cormac McCarthy) using the raw attack of his electric axe.  What an earth-shattering solo (in the very best way).

8.) "Free Bird" (Lynyrd Skynyrd)

 

What's a guitar solo list without "Free Bird"?  Nothing.  The most American and stupid of all of the guitar solos on this list, it's still so overpowering and awesome that it swoops well into the top ten.  What started as the rock anthem of the American South has turned into several things: a joke at concerts, where the audience yells at whoever is playing to, "Play 'Free Bird'!"; the awesome finale song in Guitar Hero II that still vexes Bernie Romano to this day; and one of the all-time great songs that symbolizes the restless quest for freedom, independence, and ultimately liberation that defines rock and roll at its very core.  While the first half of the song is pretty great, what really turns the song into a classic is its five-minute outro solo, which is filled with the exciting dueling guitars of Skynyrd's three (is this really necessary? The answer is yes, and the justification is "Free Bird") lead guitarists.  Who doesn't get a rush of adrenaline and goosebumps on their skin when that solo kicks into gear?  Hats off to Skynyrd for actually making a five-minute solo that is consistently interesting and listenable, especially to a pop audience.  This really isn't as easy as it sounds, but Skynyrd has always had a great ear for catchy, clean, and outstanding guitar lines.  They are one of the most guitar-driven bands of their era.  They didn't particularly have a great rhythm section or an interesting vocalist, but their songs were always full of tasty guitar licks and memorable solos.  As Guitar Hero II keenly observed, this is one of the great encore/finale songs of all time.  There is nothing else that quite sums up a listening experience like the steadily mounting rhythms of "Free Bird"'s climax.  There are plenty of Skynyrd live versions out there that are even longer than the studio's nine-minute run-time.  God bless 'em, Lynyrd Skynyrd struck pay-dirt when they penned this immortal ode about the quintessential American loner.

7.) "Hotel California" (The Eagles)



Like several of the other picks in the top ten, this solo belongs in one of the truly great rock songs of any era.  While "Free Bird" or "November Rain" are renowned as classics because of their spectacular guitar solos, "Hotel California" would be up on that pantheon whether Don Felder and Joe Walsh's solo was included in the song or not.  The song's mysteriously beautiful lyrics and music are simply unsurpassed in pop music.  Just as nothing in the Eagles' catalogue (despite their unmistakable sense of pop craftsmanship and spellbinding vocal harmonies that, believe me, I don't discredit) could have prepared us for the overpowering presence of "Hotel" (like a dazzling gemstone, it is one of rock music's perfect songs), no guitar solos from the Eagles could have prepared us for the mighty coda to "Hotel."  Walsh and Felder manage to sustain the enigmatic nature of the rest of the song in the two-minute closing solo, but most importantly, they grab the listener by changing the course of the song completely.

"Hotel" is about being lost in a world where you feel out of control.  Despite the glamor and glitz and sex appeal on the surface, there is ultimately a sense of unease that pervades the narration of the song.  Eventually, the narrator feels like he cannot escape--that he is trapped by forces out of his control, which he can't even begin to comprehend.  Throughout all of this, the music serves as an soothing background to the singer's plight, drawing him into its dark beauty until he finds himself hopelessly lost.  As the singer finally realizes his fate, this Other that has trapped him takes over in the guise of an overpoweringly magnetic solo.  Ultimately the song isn't about one man losing himself.  It's about the Hotel itself.  It's about all of the undefinable things out there that threaten the very fabric of civilized, morally "good" life.  It's about the allure of evil and sin.  And evil can be very beautiful, as this eternal solo proves.  Good may make you sleep well at night, but it will never have the raw power that this solo has.  This is the most melodically satisfying guitar solo that there is.

6.) "Fade to Black" (Metallica)

 

Even more than "Hotel California," I stand in awe of this song.  The melodic beauty of "Hotel"'s solo is carried over into the entire seven minutes of "Fade."  There is not one moment in this song that doesn't make perfect sense when you look at it from the sense of crafting a truly beautiful song.  As far as I'm concerned, this is metal's finest hour.  It has been topped in epic grandeur and in musicianship, but it has never been topped in emotional affectation.  Like "Hotel," it proves that the truest sense of beauty and depth in art comes more often than not from our negative experiences of the world around us.  To me, there will always be something more powerful about sadness, loss, and despair than there is with mirth, cheer, and glee.  This can be carried onto a grander scale when we look at the existential questions of life and death and the nature of the world we live in, but that isn't something I will go into here, because, really, that isn't what this list is about.  But don't fool yourself that these issues aren't what's at the heart of the hauntingly bare acoustic arpeggios and the ironic clarity of Kirk Hammett's lead guitar lines.

"Fade" isn't so much on here for any one solo (although the end one is indeed mighty).  Rather, I have placed it so high because of every single guitar note in this song, all of which I believe are perfectly placed and played.  I can't listen to this song without being wowed by its perfection, as I mentioned in the first sentence.  The chord progression that Metallica bases this song off of is so desperately sad, yet so mournfully resigned to its eventual fade-out to nothingness, that it is jarring to the soul.  The pure beauty of sadness is the core of the guitar in this song.  As many writers and musicians have no doubt mused over the years, there is no emotion better suited to beauty in art than sadness.  Hammett's slow solos are a picture of restraint and taste, yet an ode to all of the world-weary souls out there who feel that they aren't meant for this old world.  James Hetfield's rhythm guitar work, from the resignation of the acoustic verses, to the bitterness of the wordless choruses, to the building intensity of the pre-coda riff (one of my very favorites), perfectly matches his inspired lyrics of building hopelessness and, finally, death.  Like "Hotel California"'s solo, Hammett's final, blistering attack seems like something greater than this one story of someone alone and in pain.  It seems like he is railing against all of the pain and cruelty in the world, but like the song's subject, even his impassioned cry for the suffering must fade out into blackness.  No one can ultimately win against the odds.

5.) "For the Love of God" (Steve Vai)

 

A composition like "For the Love of God" is really what sets Steve Vai apart as the greatest of all guitarists in my opinion.  Sure, lots of guitarists have been more popular, more influential, or better technically (I'm thinking of Eric Clapton, Jimi Hendrix, and, say, Buckethead, respectively, although you could say that no one combines all of the various levels of technical proficiency in all of the different kinds of music and styles like Vai does), but can anyone use their guitar prowess to express the complexity of the human soul like Vai can?  I truly don't believe that any guitarist other than Vai could write entire pieces like this and my next pick from him three slots above this.  Sure, others can play them, but really, the composition is what sets him apart.  His style is so very unique.  Vai uses all of his technical mastery to bring real emotion and complexity to his solos, instead of just showing off.  Perhaps Hendrix played with as much raw spiritual energy as Vai, but Vai's abilities have better allowed him to focus this tremendous locus of power into the music itself.  When listening to Hendrix, I always feel as if his guitar is attempting in vain to reproduce the intensity of his soul.  When I listen to Vai, the lucidity of his playing--his dazzling amount of technical abilities allowing him to play whatever he hears in his head and his heart--perfectly expresses the maelstrom of emotional undercurrents and bombastic ideas that define human existence.  I feel that he is the true heir to Hendrix's explosive creativity and originality.  A more refined heir, if you will.

"For the Love of God" is easily his most famous composition.  Like the metaphor of "Tender Surrender" as a seduction and consummation ritual, "FtLoG" is perfectly structured.  Its opening notes jump out of the speaker, the tone so very confident and clear.  This is a call to the Great Beyond, towards God.  What Vai believes in is not the personalized God of the West, but the pantheism that defines the ancient East.  The Divine is all around us, permeating the very fabric of the cosmos, and we can find It if only we know how to look for It.  The solo slowly builds in intensity, before unleashing in a blistering fury, like the religious frenzy of the Sufis or other mystics.  As I've read elsewhere, what makes "FtLoG"'s shredding different than the other mindless noodling of the time period was that here it feels earned.  Vai doesn't use his boundless technique to masturbate, but to reach his soul beyond his body towards the Other.  The note at 2:58 is the most perfect I have ever heard on a guitar.  This is a fragment of something bigger than us.  The spiritual depth of this solo is unparalleled.

4.) "Mr. Crowley" (Ozzy Osbourne)

 

Damn, they seem to have gotten rid of the studio versions of Ozzy's solo career songs from YouTube, just like I ran into with "Crazy Train."  But here's a great live version featuring Randy at his peak.  Here's a great video of someone covering Randy's guitar part: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yTpOk1dLvyM.

I could never decide which of the two solos I like more in "Mr. Crowley," Randy's masterpiece.  Ultimately, I think they will always be tied for me.  He is the rare metal guitarist that brings a stately, almost European sense of melancholy and sadness to his guitar solos.  No matter their structural perfection, one cannot help but feel this sense of Virgilian loss in Randy's playing, which unhappily foreshadowed his early passing.  This mood is especially clear in the outro solo of "Crowley," but also evident in the more aggressive first solo.  The first solo always dazzles me with its rare sense of confidence, as well as its melodic expressiveness.  Randy's technique is blistering, yet even at his fastest and most difficult, he's able to create phrases that are both immensely memorable and harmonically correct.  As always, everything fits neatly into place in the solos of "Mr. Crowley," again showing the influence of Randy's classical training.  The second solo seems almost like a suicide note, because it is so sad yet so stark in its clarity and simplicity.  "Mr. Crowley" is the ultimate example of using guitar solos to build on the tonal theme of a song, which in this case is the misunderstood loneliness of a deeply charismatic, unhappy man.

3.) "Comfortably Numb" (Pink Floyd)

 

David Gilmour's expressionistic guitar reaches its utmost heights in the masterpiece that is "Comfortably Numb."  He perfectly uses his two solo breaks to illustrate and further flesh out the narrative and theme of the song, which is the dark and incredibly meaningful tale of lost childhood innocence and dreams.  The uplifting first solo reflects the hopes and naivete of youth, when all the world seemed like the far side of the rainbow waiting just over the horizon. 

Yet it is the second, howling solo that makes us return to "Comfortably Numb" again and again.  The happiness and charm of childhood (or the imagined happiness and charm of childhood) is long gone--"The child is grown/The dream is gone."  To numb ourselves from the disillusionment and pain of reality, we must take drugs ("Just a little pinprick.../But you may feel a little sick") or engage in other vices to forget about that part of our soul that is missing.  Gilmour's solo perfectly expresses all of the anger and bitterness that ultimately our search for meaning in life ends always with nothing to show but maggots eating out dead bodies.  This isn't the punk anger of the time, railing at the Establishment.  This is anger at mankind's place in the universe.  Anger at our hopeless lot.  And anger that we have been lied to our whole lives about these eternal realities.  That is really what The Wall is all about.  It's about the walls that forever are keeping ourselves from the truth out there.  And really, it seems that the truth is that everything is a big lie--a vacuous hole full of nothing.

From a musical standpoint, what really elevates this solo to another level is the tremendous backing instrumentation that Gilmour launches his playing into.  The build-up into the solo is fabulous.  There is such a sense of expectation before Gilmour unleashes that first harmonic squeal into the symphony of hell.  Really, that background guitar could be the funereal requiem for the death of a war god or something.  It's some really heavy shit.

2.) "Windows to the Soul" (Steve Vai)



There is no more emotionally expressive guitar solo than Vai's in "Windows to the Soul."  He pulls out every stop to make his guitar cry and sing on this tour de force.  He is the only guitarist with two solos in my top ten (and my favorite guitarist) for a reason.  His feel--that immeasurable, indispensable capacity for rendering human experiences, thoughts, and feelings through his instrument and into the listener's ears--is unsurpassed in the history of rock music.  Others have been able to express individual styles or emotions more adeptly (SRV and others with the blues, Jimi Hendrix with the psychedelic mindset, and Tony Iommi's ability to single-handedly spell doom with the sludge of his immortal riffs), but in my experience none has ever put all of these unique styles together, along with the breadth and depth of human emotional experience, better than the virtuoso Steve Vai.  Quibble over which of his solos is the best all you want, but my pick is most certainly "Windows."

More than any of his other solos this one is able to fuse together melodic grace with his immense technique.  There are many moments of sublimity in this paean to eternal beauty, from that gorgeous whammy-teardrop at 2:45 (while Joe Satriani comes close, no one has ever been able to use the whammy bar with such effortless style as Steve Vai--he can capture the full scale of emotions just from using his bar, from laughing to crying to talking) to the almost overpowering moments of overflowing passion at 3:40 to the way he bends and picks those notes at 4:13...Jesus, that's fucking perfect.  I really can't find too many more words here to describe the way Vai plays beautifully here.  I'm just not as good of a writer as he is a guitar player.  Every single fucking note in this is somehow subtly (or not-so-subtly) finessed to fit the theme of spiritual and physical exquisiteness that drives not only this song, but Steve Vai's entire musical career.  From a gracefully bent and vibrato-ed note to a run of astounding precision, skill, and placement, Vai's unnatural communion with his guitar is an inspiration for me to one day pick one up again and try to be the best I can be on it.  I think it would do a work of art like this a disservice if we only let it discourage us from ever trying.

1.) "Crushing Day" (Joe Satriani)



I'm sure you guys have had it up to here (motioning towards my irregularly high-up and broad shoulders) with all of this spiritual mumbo jumbo I've been spouting off about.  Aren't guitar solos really just about rocking out?  Well, never fear--Joe Satriani is here.  From what he's said, this is one of the only solos he composed before recording, since his usual method was to go into the studio and improvise various solos over the backing tracks of each of his songs.  As great as his career is (great enough to be my second favorite guitarist!), I wish he had learned from the ridiculous results of this solo and kept plotting out his solos beforehand!  God, the jaw-dropping technique, the elegant sense of structural composition, and the sheer audacity of this solo is enough to make the hairs stand up on my arms every single time I hear this one.  Even though it's the third track on this classic album (Surfing with the Alien, my pick for the best guitar album out there), coming after the magnificent solos of "Surfing with the Alien" (see #38) and "Ice #9," nothing could have ever prepared me for the exhilaration of listening to this one for the first time.  I was already impressed by the strong melody of the tune, and the way in the second verse Satch uses his whammy bar so expressively to add exquisite phrases to complement that melody.  Then there is a brief pause before the storm.  Those blinding legato licks fly out of nowhere, calling and responding with just the right harmonic squeals at the end.  You think this is the end.  That's a pretty fucking good solo right there, Joe.

But no, it's only the beginning.  Joe begins slowly with some blues licks before delivering sweeping lines of such virtuosity that he has never equaled them again.  Each scalar run in this solo is so perfectly placed and played.  Every single note falls into its place as if fate itself had destined it so.  This is the greatest technical solo Joe has ever played, but it's the undeniable listenability that ranks it above all other solos on this list.  I want to fall over every time I listen to it because it's so meticulously phrased.  The aggressive confidence of this belies Joe's modest and humble nature.  But one cannot help but feel the fire burning deep in his soul when we listen to this, the finest of all rock guitar solos.


So there it is, guys!  Hope you have enjoyed your time reading and listening to this list.  I know I've had a lot of fun writing it (although it took much longer than I expected...sorry about that).  I mostly hope that my write-ups have lived up to the lofty summits of the guitar solos themselves, and that you don't find my picks too disagreeable.  Please, if anyone feels that solos have been left out (chances are they only are because I haven't heard them yet), or that my ranking is inaccurate, express yourself in the comments!  I love hearing feedback.

For the purposes of ease and accessibility, I have provided links here for all of the other parts of this list:

Introduction (with Honorable Mention)
Solos 100-90
Solos 89-80
Solos 79-70
Solos 69-60
Solos 59-50
Solos 49-40
Solos 39-30
Solos 29-20
Solos 19-10

And here is the entire top 100 in order so you can see the list as a whole (but please still read the write-ups, because that is what makes this list mine!):

Honorable Mention: "The Blood and Tears" (Stevie Vai)
100.) "Lotus Feet" (Steve Vai)
99.) "Head-Cuttin' Duel" (Steve Vai/Ry Cooder)
98.) "Walk This Way" (Aerosmith)
97.) "Layla" (Derek and the Dominos)
96.) "Orion" (Metallica)
95.) "Sympathy for the Devil" (The Rolling Stones)
94.) "Junkie" (Steve Vai)
93.) "Purple Haze" (The Jimi Hendrix Experience)
92.) "Spanish Fly" (Van Halen)
91.) "Dazed and Confused" (Led Zeppelin)
90.) "I Want You (She's So Heavy)" (The Beatles)
89.) "That Smell" (Lynyrd Skynyrd)
88.) "War Pigs" (Black Sabbath)
87.) "Moonage Daydream" (David Bowie)
86.) "Mean Street" (Van Halen)
85.) "You Really Got Me" (The Kinks)
84.) "Something" (The Beatles)
83.) "Light My Fire" (The Doors)
82.) "In Bloom" (Nirvana)
81.) "I Believe" (Joe Satriani)
80.) "Desert Island" (Cacophony)
79.) "Cult of Personality" (Living Colour)
78.) "Reelin' in the Years" (Steely Dan)
77.) "Hot Dog and a Shake" (David Lee Roth)
76.) "Killing in the Name" (Rage Against the Machine)
75.) "Cemetery Gates" (Pantera)
74.) "Whispering a Prayer" (Steve Vai)
73.) "Ice Cream Man" (Van Halen)
72.) "Ride the Lightning" (Metallica)
71.) "Altitudes" (Jason Becker)
70.) "Master of Puppets" (Metallica)
69.) "Circles" (Joe Satriani)
68.) "Feathers" (Steve Vai)
67.) "Cliffs of Dover" (Eric Johnson)
66.) "Stranglehold" (Ted Nugent)
65.) "Race with the Devil on a Spanish Highway" (Al DiMeola)
64.) "Hot for Teacher" (Van Halen)
63.) "Slow and Easy" (Joe Satriani)
62.) "25 or 6 to 4" (Chicago)
61.) "Call It Sleep" (Steve Vai)
60.) "Rainbow in the Dark" (Dio)
59.) "Yellow Ledbetter" (Pearl Jam)
58.) "Black Dog" (Led Zeppelin)
57.) "Goodbye to Romance" (Ozzy Osbourne)
56.) "Bohemian Rhapsody" (Queen)
55.) "Clouds Race Across the Sky" (Joe Satriani)
54.) "You Don't Remember, I'll Never Forget" (Yngwie Malmsteen)
53.) "Time" (Pink Floyd)
52.) "Warm Regards" (Steve Vai)
51.) "War" (Joe Satriani)
50.) "Heartbreaker" (Led Zeppelin)
49.) "Midnight" (Joe Satriani)
48.) "Santeria" (Sublime)
47.) "Memories" (Joe Satriani)
46.) "Over the Mountain" (Ozzy Osbourne)
45.) "Rubina" (Joe Satriani)
44.) "Misirlou" (Dick Dale)
43.) "The Forgotten, Pt. II" (Joe Satriani)
42.) "Floods" (Pantera)
41.) "Always with Me, Always with You" (Joe Satriani)
40.) "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" (Chris Impellitteri)
39.) "Brothers in Arms" (Dire Straits)
38.) "Surfing with the Alien" (Joe Satriani)
37.) "Black Star" (Yngwie Malmsteen)
36.) "Ladies Nite in Buffalo" (David Lee Roth)
35.) "Whole Lotta Love" (Led Zeppelin)
34.) "White Room" (Cream)
33.) "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" (The Beatles)
32.) "Voodoo Child (Slight Return)" (The Jimi Hendrix Experience)
31.) "Binge and Grab" (Buckethead)
30.) "Is There Love in Space" (Joe Satriani)
29.) "Burning Rain" (Steve Vai)
28.) "Paradise City" (Guns N' Roses)
27.) "Beat It" (Michael Jackson)
26.) "Satch Boogie" (Joe Satriani)
25.) "Kid Charlemagne" (Steely Dan)
24.) "Stairway to Heaven" (Led Zeppelin)
23.) "Sultans of Swing" (Dire Straits)
22.) "Highway Star" (Deep Purple)
21.) "Cause We've Ended as Lovers" (Jeff Beck)
20.) "Crazy Train" (Ozzy Osbourne)
19.) "Since I've Been Loving You" (Led Zeppelin)
18.) "Beyond the Realms of Death" (Judas Priest)
17.) "Sweet Child o' Mine" (Guns N' Roses)
16.) "One" (Metallica)
15.) "Eruption" (Van Halen)
14.) "Tender Surrender" (Steve Vai)
13.) "All Along the Watchtower" (The Jimi Hendrix Experience)
12.) "Far Beyond the Sun" (Yngwie Malmsteen)
11.) "November Rain" (Guns N' Roses)
10.) "Machine Gun" (Jimi Hendrix and the Band of Gypsys)
9.) "Texas Flood" (Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble)
8.) "Free Bird" (Lynyrd Skynyrd)
7.) "Hotel California" (The Eagles)
6.) "Fade to Black" (Metallica)
5.) "For the Love of God" (Steve Vai)
4.) "Mr. Crowley" (Ozzy Osbourne)
3.) "Comfortably Numb" (Pink Floyd)
2.) "Windows to the Soul" (Steve Vai)
1.) "Crushing Day" (Joe Satriani)

Enjoy!

--Edward

Really?

Tonight, I live to tell the tale of an all-day Christmas shopping feat… Oh, you didn’t know that almost every store is open until 11pm or later this entire week before Christmas day? Well, apparently everyone and their brother’s wife’s first cousin has abandoned their job, taken their children out of school, and travelled in zombie-like hoards to the various stores/malls across our holiday crazed nation, no matter the time of day. Today, and with no exaggeration (as Edward can attest to), I visited Tyson’s with my mother and younger sister (in HEELS, no less! What was I thinking?... Oh right, I wasn’t, that is correct.) The amount of automobile/people/stroller/shopping cart/mall security golfmobile/animal traffic that flooded the streets of Tyson’s Corner was alone enough to turn me from a happy-go-lucky Martha Stewart marshal of Christmas joy to a bitterly misanthropic and suspicious Scrooge. The amount of temple rubbing and expletive hurling that commenced between arriving at Tyson’s and finding a parking spot was pretty foreboding with regards to the state of affairs inside the actual mall. I was primitively pushed, I was brutally butted in front of, I was given deliberate dirty glances, and I all but died from the lack of goddamned oxygen in this enclosed shopping arena wherein the sheer amount of physical bodies was too plenty to allow the proper air flow in for all who walked the crowded thoroughfares.

This generally apocalyptic atmosphere carried over into the shopping venues of Frederick, Maryland tonight where I continued on shopping until 10:55pm. Every single store seemed to be rapt with rabidly roving shoppers who would stop at nothing to ensure they were getting the best deals, even if it meant stealing something from out of my momentarily unattended cart. Not to mention, most of the big-box retailers’ appearances are so ungodly unkempt by this point that it truly looks like a scene a la Stephen King’s mini-series, “The Stand”—every aisle appears to have been raped and pillaged by god-fearing citizens who bought up rolls of wrapping paper like they were bunker kits of water and batteries. I mean, really?

Basically, and without any rambling here, I’m just done. Actually, my tired feet are so beyond done, I need a new word for done at this point. I want to stay indoors, preferably by a fire and in pajamas (with slippers!), watching stream and reading while refusing all efforts of large-group socialization. I really, truly do not care if I never, ever, ever do any shopping again for the rest of all eternity… or at least until after New Year’s Day. Care to show some solidarity anyone?

Shameless Plug of the Month

Here it is in all its glory.

A Long December

          

Every year, around this time in December, I begin humming that familiar tune to the Counting Crows’unforgettably somber and thoroughly winter-themed ditty, “A Long December.” I know that most people our age used to save the lyrics of this sage song for their AIM chat statuses (excuse me, they were called “away messages,” weren’t they?) after Christmas had passed and before New Year’s eve, just to hit home the notion that it had, indeed, been a long December. For one reason or another (okay, go ahead and out me as the melancholy girl I am) I always began to feel the feelings meant to evoked from this song only just a week or so into the beloved Christmas month. I’m not sure why, but every December always seem to be a “long” one of sorts for me; this year that sentiment rings more true than ever.

 I think a lot of it has something to do with my over-zealous holiday expectations. Each year, come September, I get so absurdly amped up for the upcoming autumnal/winter holiday festivities that I begin to create countdowns, and checklists, and reminders for others of holiday-themed happenings (I think) they should know about. I really get myself so adrenaline-crazed by the middle of October, that I’ve unknowingly and unintentionally self-sabotaged my own holiday cheer and completely exhausted myself mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually… you name it, and it’s exhausted by this point. By the time Halloween rolls around, I’m usually so anxious over the idea of it already being over that I can’t even live in the moment, enjoying the absurdities of Fear Fest as I’m watching it. Halloween comes and goes, and all that’s left behind is a trail of wrappers, a candy-induced coma, and some residual nightmares from watching “The Exorcist.” Then it seems I’m one, done, and onto the next one, fixating on the wonder that is Thanksgiving, that beloved no-pressure-just-show-up-and-eat day--- making plans, drafting shopping lists, preparing dishes so far in advance I totally miss out on all the joys of autumn. By the third week in November, I’m already so disgusted by the idea of pounds of mashed potatoes and stinky turkey gut gravy, that I can barely make it through Thanksgiving day. From this moment on, my heart is set on Christmas—the main course of America’s holiday season.

            In the past, I typically accomplish so very many Yuletide activities by the first week in December that my angst and impatience gets the best of me, and I force my family members to open the gifts I've purchased them early, just to bait down my insatiable hunger for voyeuristically and vicariously enjoying the act of watching others’ happiness in moments of receiving. Call me crazy, but I actually hate getting gifts, hate the thought of people watching me expectantly as I tear the wrapping paper, hate their guilt-inducing presence I feel as they await my reaction to their gift. I truly would love nothing more on Christmas than to sit back and enjoy the ambience of giving and receiving going on around me, looking on with content as my younger sisters react so genuinely to surprise gifts. I almost immediately become morose when the gift opening is nearing its finish, feeling that distinctive feeling of Christmas already passing by, with only New Year’s eve left, my least favorite of all holidays; a time designated to get inebriated, dress in sparkles, have your certain someone to smooch at midnight, and enact a fully-thought out list of resolutions all in the same godforsaken night. (Mainly I truly disliked this holiday due to the fact that, once I got to high school and started to receive New Year’s eve party invites, I was repeatedly unable to “achieve” any of those aforementioned holiday goals since I consistently told myself my body was undesirable and that I couldn’t have the normal life of every other 17-year-old girl). I also always dreaded writing down any resolutions because I knew each year they would read exactly the same: 1. Lose weight/ get skinny, 2. Continue acting, in hopes of one day becoming a famous actress, and 3. Fall in love. To say that I was bummed come January 1^st each year is a kind understatement.

Back to the beginning here—I certainly feel that it has indeed been a long December thus far. December rolled in like a freight train, ready to pulverize me and the humble contents of my entire existence off of life’s tracks and into the expanse of an untraceable, off-the-grid “grey” area. As I’d mentioned in my last post, this fall hasn’t been the easiest for me, and it all seems to be reaching some sort of cataclysmic climax here in the first half of December. I won’t go into the nitty gritty pits of explaining why and how I’ve hit a personal rock bottom (or damn near rock bottom) level, but I will say it has already been a long, exasperating, depressing, unfair, unexpected, regrettable, damned December with regards to my health, my personal life, my home life, and my perpetual state of being down and out and unemployed at 24. The bad news is, these tumultuous past 10 days have left me feeling a bit dizzy with confusion and drenched in an overall feeling of being lost somewhere I’ve never travelled, left alone without a compass or map to ease my heightening anxiety. The good news, through all of it, is that all this “real” real-life drama has been distracting enough that I’ve actually yet to do anything at all having to do with Christmas. I’m not even slightly bogged down by the usual sense of overwhelming nostalgia/de ja vu/longing patina of years past and general dissatisfaction I typically self-inflict around Jesus’ birthday (uuhhhh). My head, though very troubled and saddened and perplexed, is currently clear enough to not fall into the trap of Christmas consumerism and Menorah-made materialism wherein impulses purchases are made on December 23^rd and bags of Reese’s “trees” are passed around, leaving everyone with a “bowl-full-of-jelly” belly. I do wish I had a little more optimism to get excited about my own Christmas traditions, but one can’t force these things. I’m just not sure if I can rally myself around for all the cheer and social gatherings this year. Instead, I’ve been focusing my attention elsewhere, attempting to volunteer at several different places, reading and writing more than usual, getting in touch with old friends, travelling by myself, posting blog entries that are far too long, etc.

So, as the Counting Crows so hopefully rendered, “It’s been a long December and there’s reason to believe, maybe this year will be better than the last.” I hope this year will be better than the last, for everyone out there. And I’d really, truly love to hear from anyone about anything Holiday related—a horror story, a bone to pick, a fond memory, a plan, a tradition, your New Year’s resolutions, or just anything having to do with your current state of affairs as winter is headed your way. Please?

The Top 100 Rock Guitar Solos of All Time--19-10

19.) "Since I've Been Loving You" (Led Zeppelin)



Not typically ranked as Jimmy Page's finest solo, I can't help but be awed by his instinctual sense of emotion and blues grandeur in "Since I've Been Loving You."  Like his majestic solo break in "Stairway to Heaven," the solo in this fits the song surrounding it like a velvet glove.  Like another blues epic coming up later on this list, Page shows how blues guitar is able to tap the deepest depths of human sorrow with its moaning. groaning bends and scales originating from the darkest jungles of Africa, the cradle of humankind itself.  In addition to being devastatingly heartbreaking, I also think this is easily one of Page's most technically brilliant solos.  He goes to the end of the world and back in his minute-plus break, again proving that the best guitar solos provide a world all of their own, in which to lose oneself and perhaps never return.  I love that after such an intense solo, which feels like the end of the world, the song keeps chugging on for another three minutes.  God, what a heavy song.  His ringing guitar in the last verse is such a great backdrop for Robert Plant's pleading screams from the deep.

18.) "Beyond the Realms of Death" (Judas Priest)

 

What an absolutely earth-shattering solo.  Like "Since I've Been Loving You"'s solo, this one hits us unaware.  That kind of raw power cracks me over the head every single time I listen to this Priest classic.  The reason it's ranked above "Since I've Been Loving You" is because I find myself even more speechless after this absolutely brilliant cry from the darkness towards a God that looks ever away.  It is almost incomprehensible that he would do so, but where else would the angry beauty of this solo come from if he didn't?  We are left on our own eternally, and this is the ultimate existential solo I know of.  The held notes in the beginning are so irrevocably shattering.  There are very few singers who have that kind of ability to pierce the silence.  In a way, perhaps it is only through the strange, inhuman quality of musical instruments that we are able to truly to pierce the veil between heaven and earth.  But no matter how high we reach, we can never make it beyond the realms of death.  I love how resigned to this the ending notes are, and that final pick scrape into eternity and oblivion.  Gorgeous in a way I can't put into words.

As great as technical proficiency is in the second solo, it pales in comparison to the stab at the heart of the Divine that is the first solo in this metal anthem.

17.) "Sweet Child o' Mine" (Guns N' Roses)

 

My least favorite thing in the world is when radio stations fuck up the perfect structure and narrative of Slash's solo in "Sweet Child o' Mine," Guns N' Roses's biggest hit (yeah, fuck you, "Welcome to the Jungle), by shortening it.  Why would you do that to such a flawless thing?  I truly do not understand.  Does the normal person really dislike guitar solos that much?  I guess so.  That is a disturbing thought.  What makes this great is the clear division between the two halves of the solo: the melodically impeccable clarion calls of the first half; the down-and-dirty, wah-drenched rock-out of the second half.  More than anything else, this precisely depicts a band that can write both beautiful love songs and raunchy odes to drugs, hookers, and cheap alcohol.  A band with dazzling musical ability crippled by reckless self-destruction.  They have an ear for writing tremendous pop music, and yet are tarnished by a prissy narcissism that is willing to spit on the face of its fans (yep, that's Axl).

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Slash is perhaps the single most melodic guitar player out there.  He knows how to write solos that are hooks in and of themselves like no other guitarist in rock music history.  The melody of the intro part of the solo is actually stronger than the rest of the song itself, which is saying something in a song this big.  Yet somehow Slash is able to keep up this image as a kick-ass soloist, despite this ability to create lines of heartbreaking beauty.  As I said earlier, the solo in "Child" depicts this dichotomy perfectly.  (And God, the other guitar parts in this song?  Stunning.  'Nuff said.)

16.) "One" (Metallica)



Like a few other songs on this list, "One" is a lengthy rock epic with many solos in it.  They progress from delicate to brooding to flat-out insane.  According to legend, Kirk Hammett struggled over the solos in this, and though he ultimately wasn't completely happy with what he cut on record (much like this song is itself a hugely ambitious yet failed epic, in the vein of Apocalypse Now or Moby-Dick), he came out with something that is truly special in the world of heavy metal.  I just love how unique the solos in this one are.  The tone on the early solos is so unlike anything else in Metallica's oeuvre, with an almost completely clean tone lacking in distortion, almost like a bird warbling.  The song's gimmick (if you can call it that) is its slow build-up from a soldier lying alone in his bed, wounded horribly from a war, remembering almost nostalgically the battlefield, amidst ringing guitar lines and a beautifully melodic first solo (one of Hammett's most beautiful, along with the first one in "Fade to Black").  Slowly, the pieces of a gradually building puzzle follow into place: drums, James Hetfield's relentless yet gently droning vocals, and the eventual introduction of distorted guitars in what suffices as a chorus in "One."  The haunting lyrics build on top of each other, creating a musical environment where doom lies just out of sight.  Hammett's second solo is not quite as delicate as his first, ending with a tapping lick that melds seamlessly into the shrill-drone distortion of ...And Justice for All's rhythm guitar production.  Layers of chunky, angry guitar build on each other, as Lars Ulrich's drums slowly kick into machine gun-mode.  Finally, the song breaks loose (yet remains so incredibly tightly controlled) with James Hetfield's incredible machine-gun riffs that echo Ulrich's drumming.  This is one of the most staggering moments in any metal song ever.  Hetfield's guitar kicks loose, breaking free from the bonds of the drumming, creating a kind of infernal rhythm all his own, and into this spiraling vortex Hammett delivers the solo of a lifetime, again trying to match the speed and intensity of a machine gun that crippled the song's narrator.  The combination of the hell-driven velocity of the rhythm section with Hammett's amped-up angry solo is phenomenal.  If only they hadn't used such a tinny production on ...And Justice for All, and given Hammett's guitar some real oomph, this would probably be even higher on the list.

15.) "Eruption" (Van Halen)

 

Rightfully famous as the solo that sent legions of would-be guitarists into their bedrooms to practice their youths away trying (in vain) to imitate the never-before-heard virtuosity of Eddie Van Halen.  Coming as it did on Van Halen's first album, Eddie's unadorned solo was a kick in the ass to every single guitarist who thought they had chops.  Though I'm sure many old-timers will disagree with me in favor of Jimi Hendrix's "Star-Spangled Banner," I think that "Eruption" is the single most original guitar solo that ever came out of rock music.  Nothing kicks your ass quite as hard, that's for sure.  The combination of Eddie's absurdly loud and distorted (yet still dazzling) "brown sound," the pure speed with which he ripped through previously-thought-lifeless blues licks that had slowly been sapped of their vitality in the corporate rock era of the '70s, and of course, the infamous finger-tapping technique of the last half of the solo was enough to shape a generation of guitarists.  After this, everyone wanted to be a shredder.  Though shredding has its roots in many things, from the electrical insanity of John McLaughlin's blistering runs with the Mahavishnu Orchestra to the undeniable skill of the black jazz guitarists of several generations back, shred guitar, for all intents and purposes, begins here, at ground zero.  Though he was the most imitated guitarist of all time, no one (and I do mean no one) could capture the legendary cool of Eddie Van Halen.  He made it all seem so effortless.  And I think what comes across most if you've ever seen or heard him play is that he has a hell of a lot of fun doing it.  People who locked themselves in their rooms, practicing ten hours a day to try to imitate Eddie lost sight that that is what rock and roll is all about--being cool and having fun.  Eddie never lost sight of that.  And that's why he remains one of the most influential guitarists of all time to this day.  I don't think any guitarist again will be able to replicate the pure shock value of "Eruption" again.

14.) "Tender Surrender" (Steve Vai)

 

While most of Vai's ballads are focused on the spiritual search for something bigger, for a higher power, "Tender Surrender" is concerned with the earthy sensuality of human lust.  And oh yes, what a sexy solo.  Of course, this is not the hollow, spiritually fruitless lust of Vai's '80s peers we're talking about.  This is the lust of a man who truly loves his woman, and expresses this through the act of sex/guitar solo.  I love this clip, which is from the Alien Love Secrets DVD, which has Vai playing along with the tracks from the CD as he normally would, to help those writing guitar tab books get all the notes right.  I must say, there is no sexier guitar player to me than Vai.  Just watch the video and you'll understand.

Right off the bat, Vai starts in a different mode than normal from his other seventh songs.  His playing is effortlessly laid-back, jazzy, in the primal groove of seduction.  Even amongst these slow passages, we can see that Vai's technique--especially his attention to the subtle details of every single note he plays--is leagues beyond his contemporaries.  Who else has such a feather touch on their guitar?  No one.  He knows precisely when to add a hint of vibrato, a tiny, muted fill, or a dynamic change.  Every single note Vai plays has a purpose.  At 2:00, the lust starts spilling over the brim of Vai's cup, as he amps up the intensity with a series of stuttering bended notes.  Vai's secret in this song is that he was able to find just the right setting on his amp and with his effects to be able to gradually change the tone from almost perfectly clear to blazingly distorted by slowly raising the volume knob through the song, allowing him to create a seamless build-up, mimicking the sexual act itself.  And that is really the heart of the song.  It's all about that build-up.

People tend to make fun of Vai's faces when he plays, but I can't see playing a song like this any other way.  You really have to feel your playing to be able to express the music you hear in your head.  The floodgates are loosed at 3:20, as Vai naturally lets the song carry him onward into some stunning legato licks that build up to the orgasm and, finally, the after-sex cigarette.  The best part of the song is how, right after the climax, he brings that raw passion down seamlessly back into the jazzy vibe of the beginning.  Only Steve Vai would've thought of that, I swear.  What the hell is the ending and what does it mean?  That isn't for me to answer, my friend. but we all know of sex's dark cousin--death.

As mentioned earlier, this isn't a solo with stand-out moments.  It must be judged for the sum-total of its experience, the trip from attraction to oblivion.  There is truly nothing else like it outside of "I Want You (She's So Heavy)."

13.) "All Along the Watchtower" (The Jimi Hendrix Experience)



Along with the Stones' "Gimme Shelter," one of the most iconic songs about the confusion and chaos of the '60s (as opposed to its [false?] sense of peace and love) is Jimi Hendrix's cover of "All Along the Watchtower."  Bob Dylan's enigmatic original is transformed into a rock anthem right off the bat with Jimi's thundering chords, symbolizing napalm raining down from the sky onto his brothers and sisters.  But what is most enthralling about Hendrix's version is the otherworldliness of the guitar solo.  It exists in and of itself, far off from anything else.  It elegantly uses four distinct sections to take us on a journey of the soul: from the relatively straightforward yet passionate delivery of the first section's bluesy licks, to the psychedelic swells of the second, to the ecstatic wah-pedal pleas of the third, to the fateful and all-conclusive ringing riff of the final section.  Perhaps no sectional solo has the sense of purpose and wonder that "All Along the Watchtower"'s has, and certainly none is quite so original and breathtaking.  Truly this must have been the sound of the gods back in 1968.  To me, this is Hendrix's most beautiful solo.  While he often had more psychedelic moments, strictly speaking, he had a tendency to veer into self-indulgence because of his notoriety as a sort of musical shaman.  But in "Watchtower" he reins in his more chaotic instincts to deliver a solo so precise and so stunning that I would call it the best guitar solo up until that point in rock and roll history.

12.) "Far Beyond the Sun" (Yngwie Malmsteen) 



While "Black Star" is Yngwie's finer composition, its guitar lines (however impressive they might be) fail to match the sheer audacity of "Far Beyond the Sun."  Rising Force, Yngwie's debut album, must've sounded like a bat outta hell in 1984.  No one had played this fast, this precisely, and with such heedless abandon.  While the whole album is filled with great solos, "Beyond" is basically one long brain-fuck.  You might wonder how such a "shallow" solo got placed above some of the songs that I wrote metaphysical descriptions for earlier.  Well, "Far Beyond the Sun" just has that bad-ass of a solo.  Sometimes it doesn't matter how much "soul" or "emotion" you have if you can't play worth shit.  And Yngwie might be lacking in the emotional depth category, but he sure can fucking play.  There's a ton of blazing solos out there, so it's hard to define exactly what sets this greatest of shred solos above the heap of its competitors.  I love how the song just keeps getting more intense as it goes along.  You think the bad-ass solo's gonna start at one minute in.  Then you think that has to be it at 2:30, the intense rush of Yngwie breaking free from the bonds of any sort of melody and letting loose on his fretboard, dueling with the Arabian-sounding keyboard played by some moustachioed guy who grew up in a place like Libya or Algeria.  But no, Yngwie hasn't really let loose yet.  By the time he does, especially in the parts where it's just him on the guitar with no backing instrumentation--holy shit.  It gives me shivers every single time I hear it.  The high baroque drama of such technique is absolutely stunning.  My favorite part is that the single best lick in the entire song is the last--the very last--lick of the solo, right at 4:57.  I love how it's almost drowned-out by the drums and rhythm guitar, but it descends into the bowels of hell, hitting every single note between here and oblivion.  I've seen a couple covers of this song, and some of the people are fast, but the speed isn't what matters.  No one is as precise as Yngwie. 


11.) "November Rain" (Guns N' Roses)

 

Like Metallica's "One," "November Rain" is a rock epic with a hell of a lot of solos in it.  For a long time, what drew me to this song is Slash's singing guitar lines in the coda.  He tops even his impressive work in the outro of "Paradise City" with these phrases that effortlessly combine a stunning hook with jaw-dropping virtuosity.  And again, like "Paradise City," I just want Axl to shut the fuck up and let us hear Slash's playing, which as far as I'm concerned is what elevates this song into a masterpiece.  Does anyone actually care about the singing in this song?  No other guitar solos grasp for the stars quite like Slash's outro to "November Rain."  You can literally hear the hook reaching towards something higher.

But in my older years, I've come to discover that the best part of the song is actually the impossibly gorgeous slow guitar solos of the first half.  There doesn't exist on record anywhere solos as melodic as these.  These are truly perfect.  The hold notes have such a beautiful sustain on them that it makes me want to cry.  The melody of these solos is more impossibly sublime and beautifully played than anything anyone else would sing in the entire decade of the '90s.  If I had to pick the most beautiful solos on my entire list, "November Rain"'s slow ones would be at the top.  That's really all I can say here.  Just listen.

10.) "Machine Gun" (Jimi Hendrix and the Band of Gypsys)  



Jimi's positively volcanic playing on this live-only track recorded after the Jimi Hendrix Experience split up is a great fucking way to start my top 10.  Backed by his new band (the Band of Gypsys), the stage belongs solely to Jimi here in New York City.  What else can describe those first notes of the solo other than banshee wails?  They are the most powerful guitar notes in rock history.  Jimi tears into the extended solo with absolutely reckless abandon, seeming to pour his 27 brief years of joy and pain and confusion into a 3 minute break that depicts war better than anything else I've ever heard.  All the suffering, pointlessness, heroism, tragic beauty, and ultimately evil is in there.  It seems to break apart by the end (Jimi's weakness was always keeping control of the chaos that came out of his hands at any given time), but what can you say after a beginning that powerful?  Like the Vietnam War, it careens into a vicious whirlpool of sound, sweat, and destruction.  God, what a trip when it gets back to the groove of the song.  You feel like you've been through the jungle yourself, until you realize that that's not even close.

I've always had a hard time understanding why Jimi Hendrix is considered the greatest rock guitarist of all time, but this solo is probably the best explanation anyone could ever give me.  The power of it is staggering; its intensity, shocking.  No one had ever done anything like this before.  No one had ever willed their instrument to such heights of expressive power.  Here Jimi proves why, in my opinion, the electric guitar is the most expressive instrument there is.  Nothing can conjure a combination of beauty, devastating power, and otherworldly oddness like the electric guitar can.  The piano might beat it in simplicity, the violin in beauty, and perhaps the theremin in alien-ness, but no instrument has the ability to do all of these qualities (and many more) like the electric guitar.  If anyone asks for proof, send them "Machine Gun."

--Edward