Weights

With my run completed this afternoon, this evening I’m hitting the gym for a little heavy iron  action (the first of two planned this week) and, hopefully, not a lot of “Calculating Gym Insanity” (click HERE).  Anyway, this evenings He-man soundtrack is the ‘Goats Head Soup’  album by the Rolling Stones.

the_rolling_stones_-_goats_head_soup

To give you a bit of foreshadowing here, this is inevitably going to be a little indulgence on my behalf with the Stones in the coming weeks worth of gym visits.  There’s been a bit of a significant lack of this band in this blog (along with another reputable band of the time, ie. the Beatles) and I’m beginning to remedy that lately.

You just knew that time was going to come.

So aside from the fact that the absolutely awful album cover depicting Mick laid out in an almost vagina-like mold (seriously what the fuck  is that supposed to be?), this is one of my favorite Stones albums.  On the heels of ‘Exile On Main Str.‘ (which I will certainly get around to reviewing at some point), the Stones were beginning to slip into extreme decadence and rock star excess with this album released in 1973.

Some might even say that this is where the Stones’ image began to eclipse their accomplishments, as Mick ascended to jet-setting celebrity and Keith slowly sunk deeper into addiction, and it’s possible hearing them moving in both directions on this album, at times in the same song.

As Jagger plays the devil (or,’Dances with Mr. D‘, as he likes to say), the sex and sleaze quotient is increased, all of it underpinned by some genuinely affecting heartbreak, highlighted by ‘Angie‘.  This album may not be as downright funky, freaky, and fantastic as ‘Exile‘, yet the extra layer of gloss brings out the enunciated lyrics, added strings, wah-wah guitars, explicit sex, and violence, making it all seem trippily decadent.  If it doesn’t seem like there’s a surplus of classics here, all the songs work well, illustrating just how far they’ve traveled in their songcraft, as well as their exceptional talent as a band – they make this all sound really easy and darkly alluring, even when the sex n’ Satanism seems a little silly.  To top it all of, they cap off this utterly excessive album with ‘Star Star‘, a nasty Chuck Berry rip that grooves on its own mean vulgarity – its real title is ‘Starfucker‘, if you need any clarification, and even though they got nastier (the entirety of ‘Undercover‘, for instance), they never again made something this dirty or nasty.

My two favorites however, provide the real “trip factor” to the album, ‘Hide Your Love‘  and ‘Can You Hear the Music‘.  Not exactly music to throw around the heavy iron to, but catchy as fuck none the less.

The gym was stupid busy tonight thanks to a huge thunder storm that blew in off the lake.  I guess I’m glad I got my run in when I did because that shit wasn’t happening this evening, or tomorrow by the looks of it.  Unfortunately, a buy gym means that it’s annoying as all hell what with all the selfies and bullshit going in lieu of doing shit.  I’d try to calculate the insanity for you as it did on the weekend (see link above) but given how people were in attendance, each wielding cell device of some sort, my poor lizard brain would likely explode due to the sheer volume of thinking it would take.  Even Einstein couldn’t figure that shit out!

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About crazytigerrabbitman

I am a fat guy and always will be in the same way they say that “once an alcoholic; always an alcoholic”. Eventually I got upset about my poor health and ballooning body frame so I decided to change things for the better. Some people sign up for Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, or whatever fad diet program it is that happens to be occupying the majority of air time on the boob tube. Other people prefer to run out and purchase the latest, fold away, piece of shit being hawked by some celebrity has-been. Me? I decided to take up triathlon. I had abused my body over the years with bacon cheeseburgers, pints of beer and double-dipped donuts, and the time had now come to abuse my body with physical exertion, perseverance and hard work instead; penitence in it's purest form. The time had come to kick my ass. I am Terry Nash and I am the “fat and the furious”.
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