#FridayFinds: Music Memoirs, Dollar Bin Discoveries, Lip Syncing to Styx, Saxy Tunes, and Getting it Right on the First Take

photos courtesy (clockwise L to R): consequenceofsound.net, robsheffield.com, liveandbreathing.com, nbc.com
photos courtesy (clockwise L to R): consequenceofsound.net, robsheffield.com, liveandbreathing.com, nbc.com

Friday! Weekend! And the ides of May are nigh. My goodness. How time doth move.

It’s been a good week. Lots of action and activity in all the right areas, particularly in the area of personal/professional growth in music adventure and experience. Solid stuff all around.

And here for you now are five of the things that have added that extra dash of excellent these last few days.

1. Rob Sheffield’s Book – Turn Around Bright Eyes: The Rituals of Love and Karaoke

I picked up this fun little read over Christmas and heartily enjoyed it from the get go, but it wasn’t until just last night that I was able to find the time to finish it. Ah time… thou art a flighty and fickle mistress.

For those familiar with Sheffield’s other work, this book will offer a welcome and decidedly more hopeful conclusion to his previous stories of love and loss and the music that brought him to adulthood (Talking to Girls About Duran Duranand got him through the tragic, untimely end of his first marriage (Love Is a Mix Tape).

That said, the book isn’t off limits or full of anything that would make it difficult to understand for those not familiar with those stories, and Sheffield’s musings on music, karaoke, and life in general are honest and sincere and thus effortlessly universal.

For Sheffield, music is a labor of love in and of itself. He’s self-deprecating and humble about his own shortcomings as a performance artist (how many different ways can you tell people you’re not the most on-key singer? There’s at least 20, judging by the number of times it comes up in the book) and has an unabashed admiration for anyone who puts themselves in the limelight. The karaokes lifers, the career session musicians, the up-and-coming musical prodigies and wunderkinds– the David Bowies, Neil Diamonds, and everyone in between.

But it’s not all karaoke and musical jargon either. There’s really something in here for everyone. From the awkward 20something to the purportedly less awkward 30something, and from the new husband learning the ropes to the old professional romantic– and certainly the shower singer and the closet musical mastermind– everyone can find something to identify with in this collection of vignettes.

2. Discovering the Untold Pleasures of the Dollar Used Vinyl Bin

So I may have mentioned that I recently inherited a lovely little record player. It’s amazing, and I’m still very much in that “new father with newborn babe” stage wherein I take extensive precautions to ensure proper handling of turntable, records, and all related paraphernalia that the listening experience entails. With great power come great responsibility, after all.

But of course, with great responsibility comes great temptation to stock up on whatever things you don’t have but think you might need to have the best possible experience. Record brushes and cleaning fluid, plastic covers for each individual record sleeve, and a whole new arsenal of albums to play loud and proud.

Anyone who’s considered themselves an enthusiast in anything can tell you, having a hobby is expensive. Comic books, photography, stamps even– shout out to the quiet, the proud, the esteemed few stamp collectors still among us– every endeavor comes with quite a costly price tag if you really want to get serious.

Which is why the dollar bin at your friendly, neighborhood record store is all the more dangerous. One moment you’re leafing through the sea of titles thinking nothing of it, and the next you’re on your way out the door with half your day’s pay in the friendly, neighborhood record store’s till. But at least you got that Gordon Lightfoot album you never knew you always wanted, right?

Jokes aside, there’s generally a lot of decent items among the stacks. You just have to be willing to dig. In my first two visits, I spent just under $30 on seven albums that would have, at their original list price, probably gone for $100 all told (estimate adjusted for inflation, naturally).

P.S. If you’re looking for the perfect birthday gift for that special music blogger in your life, consider getting him (or her… what do I know… June 10, people) a handful of dollar bin delights. What better way to expand one’s musical horizons. Thoughtful and fun too.

3. Tonight Show Lip Sync Showdown between Jimmy Fallon and Emma Stone

Though I’m overall on the fence about The Tonight Show With Jimmy Fallon, the man and his staff definitely have one thing down: a fantastic assortment of musical segments. They’ve done barbershop quartet renditions of popular hip hop tunes and spot-on impersonations of everyone from Neil Young to Bruce Springsteen to Tom Petty. And pretty much every Jimmy Fallon / Justin Timberlake collaboration you can find from the show is both uproariously enjoyable and musically inclined. Excellent stuff all around.

This isn’t the first lip sync battle that he’s done either. It started with an energetic face-off against Joseph Gordon Levitt while he was still at the 12:35 Late Night spot and then continued with a moderately silly one against Paul Rudd, but this one is the best thus far, particularly in the area of visual accuracy in lip sync lyric delivery.

Honestly it’s over at the end of the first round when Ms. Stone delivers a stupendously articulated rendition of Blues Traveler’s other hit from their 1994 breakout album Four– “Hook.” I think John Popper would approve.

4. Getting Saxy with the Saxyderms

Last weekend I went out with some friends to see the spring concert of a Tufts University-based saxophone ensemble called the Saxyderms (the Tufts mascot is an elephant, they play saxophones… Saxyderms…. get it? good). I’d seen them once before while on a mid-summer’s afternoon stroll through the Boston Common, and they were fantastic. Plus it turns out that my friend Jason is not only a Tufts grad but also a member of the band himself. Surprise, surprise. The guy’s got some chops.

With all the rock, roll, and other fun sounds out there on the airwaves today, it’s always nice to remember that music doesn’t need words, a raucous, romping guitar line, or even a cowbell beat to be enjoyable (though the cowbell doesn’t hurt). And these guys and gals prove it.

The program was a lovely mix of chorale pieces, jazz hits, and even one or two pop covers. All were beautifully arranged and delivered, but my hands down favorite of the afternoon was their rendition of the Dizzy Gillespie tune “A Night in Tunisia.”

And speaking of sexy saxes and pop music, check out this little mash up of great rock songs that feature that lovely sound. I’m hard pressed to think of any recent hits that really showcase that sound, but now I’m going to keep my ears dutifully peeled for it.

5. Bring the Band to Your Living Room: Live and Breathing Sessions

These days there are a lot of ways to find out about new music on the internet. And just about every day it feels like there’s a new YouTube channel devoted to enterprising young videographers looking to capture your favorite or soon-to-be-favorite bands in a new way with crazy camera angles, exotic locations, and all matter of color and light filters.

Enter Live and Breathing. They showcase well-known and up-and-coming bands, recorded with a few cameras, yes, but done all in one take, and without too much crazy camera mishegas or ridiculous, over-wrought lighting. They put the emphasis on capturing the essence of the performance, placing the premium on the musicians and their craft, not suped up production.

I learned about a lot of cool groups from their videos like The Wood Brothers and St. Paul and the Broken Bones (listen to those guys now). It’s also how I solidified my obsession with The Lone Bellow and Lake Street Dive. Check out their stuff today, and make yourself a little country/blues/folk-rock-americana in-house concert playlist this weekend. And enjoy!


#ThrowbackThursday – My First Concert: Keller Williams @ The 9:30 Club in DC

horns and hails y'all

I’m what you’d call a late bloomer. Started walking later than most kids, didn’t ride my first two-wheel bike until I was near on 7, and I didn’t realize the buzz cut hairstyle wasn’t cool until well into eighth grade. On the flipside, I definitely started eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches earlier than most.

That said, it’s not too surprising that the first concert I ever saw was Keller Williams at the 9:30 Club in DC during the fall of my junior year of high school. While I do recollect some early childhood memories of seeing some iteration of Sesame Street Live as well as a small show featuring a local Raffi-esque songwriter known as Billy B., my honest to goodness first taste of real rock and/or roll lifestyle was supplied by this south Virginian one-man wonder of multi-instrumentalism.

I honestly don’t know why it took me so gosh darn long to see a show (though perhaps it comes from the same place that makes me think the phrase “gosh darn” is an appropriate, not-in-the-least-bit-silly exclamation to use in daily speech). I’d been musically inclined since I was old enough to recognize I was humming along with my cereal-chomping jowls, and I’d spent much of my formative time in middle and high school perusing the aisles of the local Tower Records and Borders Booksellers establishments (RIP, my dearly departed friends), sampling the fineries therein. I guess it just comes down to plain ol’ dumb luck. Or just the lack of understanding of just how much good, affordable live entertainment lay just a dozen Metro stops away.

If only I’d just looked with some interest and intent at the concert listings section of the Style section of the Post. I may have saved myself the unenviable fate of being a 16 year-old neophyte.

But alas, such was the state of things. And thus, one balmy evening in mid November on the invitation of my friend M., I went down to U Street with my good friend Andrew to see a show. M. was cool as a cucumber. We generally moved in different circles at school, but we were both in poetry club together and had a mutual respect and admiration for the other’s writing chops. All the same I was honored (read: giddy) when she invited us to come with her and her friends to the concert.

She listened to a lot of music that I had some understanding of (e.g. Deathcab For Cutie, Less Than Jake, The Smiths, Bright Eyes), but mostly stuff of which I knew nothing about. No doubt I was in for an adventure. That I liked the girl quite a bit certainly didn’t hurt either.

Nothing ever did materialize between said girl and said boy, but on the plus side the show was fantastic. We stood seven or eight people back from the stage on the ground floor of the simple, two-floor rock club. In the center of the stage was a large oriental rug and strewn around it in what looked like a meticulously coordinated mess of cables and wires was a host of various instruments, machines, switchboards and levers. The lights dimmed and the crowd let out their first of many cheers and chants of gratitude. The lights came up again as he walked in, revealing a slight, plainly dressed, impish looking man with a rosy, cherubim face that positively beamed as he crossed to center stage.

And this simple mortal– with his anyman orange crew neck t-shirt, baggy blue jeans, plethora of stringed instruments, and electric, space-age accoutrements– dazzled and delighted for 90 whole minutes. It was a veritable jungle gym of sonic joy, his angelic face eternally alight and his long, brown locks bobbing back and forth as sang in his deep, rich baritone while he switched between guitar licks, intricate slap-bass patterns, synth loops, and the expert use of percussive beatbox tricks– often all at the same time.

And the crowd loved every moment of it. A sea of faceless silhouettes on two levels swaying, shaking, and grooving in time. Sure the people on the balcony level had more space to move around, but we were having more fun among the hip shaking, body bouncing hordes below.

My friends and I certainly were having a heck of a time dancing and bopping about, with M. right up there with the best of them. It was during the show that it started to sink in that she probably wasn’t as interested in me as I was in her, and that tempered things a bit. But honestly, for the most part my attention was almost wholly set upon the man on stage and the carefree, leave-it-all-on-the-dance-floor spell he’d put us all under.

Suffice it to say my first concert experience was incredible, and from it came other similarly excellent adventures. There’ve definitely been a few duds in the bunch, and I’ve gotten a sense for what makes a good concert and a not-so-good concert (more on that later, no doubt), but one thing’s for certain: it’s a heckuva way to spend an evening, especially when it’s a good show.

A good show– a great show– treats you to something different. Even if you know a band’s entire repertoire from garage EPs to final platinum sixth or seventh albums and every B-side in between, going to the show gives you the chance to be an active part of the music. You’re a part of the tracks now. You’re living every line of the story, every wail and whine of guitar, every pounding fill of snare and bass drum. It gives you new perspective, renewed appreciation, and fills you with a heightened sense of gratitude for the guys and gals up there doing their thing.

I could go on (and likely I will in the near future), but for now, let me know. What was your first concert? What was your favorite concert-going experience? Any less-than-thrilling (even awful) experiences? Let me know.

And get out there and see a show!

An Adventure in Esoterica – Part 2 – A Terrible Fate

m with cat
What do recording studios have in common with the Internet? Both are full of cats. (This is my friend “m” in studio, about to tell me what to do)

By Adam Schloss

Welcome back, my friends, to the show that never ends! When last I left you all, I had been invited to partake in a grand experiment, one which has since been completed. Follow me, then, as I lead you on an epic journey filled with hopeful beginnings, crippling frustration, shameless overuse of Internet memes, some cool equipment, and a final victory.

Okay, maybe I’ve oversold things just a little bit…

First things first — I knew that the song had been written, at least instrumentally. Little did I know that I was in for a surprise:

m: You know “M”? He’s been ultra busy and hasn’t had time to write lyrics

m: You wouldn’t want to give it a shot, would you?

Well, obviously. It isn’t like I’ve never written lyrics before. (note: I have never written lyrics before.)

m: Awesome!

m: The song is a weird one, it’s the mini boss and dungeon boss battle music’s from Majora’s Mask

Huh. Guess how many times I’ve played Majora’s Mask.

No, that’s too high. Try lower. Lower. Lower still… wait, who guessed 0? You’re right!

Bad Poker Face

So to recap, I had just agreed to write lyrics for a song based on a game which I didn’t know. Awesome.

I decided to start with vocal melodies. I figured that would be the easiest part of the whole process, since I’ve learned how to supplement one melody with another, particularly in the context of the progressive metal genre. I intentionally did not say “harmonize” to describe the process, since that isn’t really what I was doing here.

At any rate, following a few hours of quality time in front of the piano of my childhood home, I had more or less written a vocal melody I was satisfied with. I recorded myself humming it along with the existing instrumental track, and sent it back to m and M. Great, progress! Now it was time for lyrics.

… and several weeks passed with no progress.

I have no idea

Finally, after about a month, M saved me from myself and sent me some lyrics she had written, far superior to anything I could have ever hoped to come up with:

A sky awash in color,

rumbling in the ground.

“Doom is crashing towards us”

go the whispers through the town.

Who alive can save us,

can fight the host of swords—

the undead in their towers

rousing thirsty hordes?

Master of all faces,

lord of many masks….

He whose heart is true

walks the giants’ path.

Ancient powers, gather,

sleepers in the earth,

now the need is dire.

Prove to us your worth.

To be honest, I’m actually glad that m and M ended up writing lyrics instead of me, since it was their song and I was just singing on it. My first experiment in writing lyrics will simply have to wait for another time, perhaps when the intended topic is one with which I have more experience.

Several tweaks to the lyrics later, we were finally ready to record my vocals. One Sunday, I moseyed on over to m and M’s apartment, where we partook of Chipotle and discussed exactly what they were looking for in my vocals. After I was satisfied with what they wanted, we all piled into M’s VW and headed up to Frederick — where the studio is — blasting Circus Maximus the whole way.

Upon arrival at the studio — actually just someone’s house, where a bedroom and closet had been converted for use as a sound engineering station and vocal recording booth — I walked into said closet, closed the door, and didn’t come out for the better part of an hour. Over the course of that time, I sang through the song a few lines at a time, refining portions as necessary, until my vocal contribution was complete. They also had me contribute some harmonies, and even some growls, much to my surprise!

Overall, I’m pretty happy with how the song turned out, although the one quibble I have is that I might have preferred the vocals to be more prominent in the mix. That being said, my vocals were intended to add another layer to an existing song, rather than serve as a centerpiece — so in that regard, they serve very well.

Oh, right… I guess you want to hear the result, don’t you? Here it is: A Terrible Fate! (it starts instrumental, then my vocals come in around 2:30)

Adam Schloss is a late twenty-something Washington-area native and erstwhile Pittsburgh enthusiast. He studied physics in college and works in the software industry. In his free time, he can most often be found gallivanting about the DC area, singing karaoke, playing pub trivia, watching hockey, and occasionally performing air guitar in public.

New Music Tuesday, Vinyl Discovery Edition no. 1: The Police – Synchronicity

The Police - Synchronicity

1. The Set-up
One of the main things I did over my two week sabbatical from writing was to visit friends and family down in DC. It was a lightning-quick weekend of a trip, but a much needed break from the usual. Reunions, good food, Nationals baseball, and a few notable musical moments as well. I got to see one of my new favorite bands (Poor Old Shine) play at a club I hadn’t been to before (The Iota in Arlington), and I took advantage of being home to dust off my dad’s old Yamaha record player, test it out, and bring it and his little assortment of vinyl back north with me.

I’d always known my dad to have a good, well-rounded palette where music was concerned. While he’s a big fan of the greats like The Beatles and The Rolling Stones, he’s also a devoted lover of the moody, folk-rock stylings of Buffalo Springfield and, by extension, Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young.

But it wasn’t until that weekend that I fully realized the extent of his love for other sounds like the sweet talkin’ Lionel Richie, your frisky, Purple Rain-era Prince, or the easy-going sounds of Bread (that’s right– Bread).

What’s more, my dad was a huge fan of progressive rock. Or at least, the early progenitors of the craft. Your Emerson, Lake and Palmer. Your Styx. Your Dan Fogelberg and Tim Weisberg Twin Sons of Different Mothers. And every single album that Yes ever recorded. Ever. Groovy stuff.

These are the influences on which my own rock & roll education was founded. I know I’d seen these records before, having thumbed through them at least a few times during my childhood, but I’d never really understood what– or who– I was looking at.

And it makes sense how these seemingly disparate sounds and textures could live together in my boyhood experience. How evenings could be spent listening to the melodic, tried-and-true voices James Taylor, Carole King, or Sade, while Sunday afternoons in the car were meant for the more far-out, heady, rocking sounds of latter years Beatles, Pink Floyd, or Peter Frampton.

(It’s not his taste alone, of course, that shaped my interests. I surveyed my mother on a host of albums in my father’s collection to get a sense of her influence as well: “Emerson, Lake, and Palmer? Your father. Lionel Richie? Both of us. Little Feat? Your father. Bruce Springsteen? That was me.” Go mom.)

2. The Police
It’s because of these influences that The Police are responsible for one of my earliest known, most-beloved pop song obsessions: “King of Pain” from their 1983 album Synchronicity. Of course I probably had no idea what album it was on at all when I first heard it, which most likely happened on one of those long, aforementioned Sunday car rides. Those days we’d head further and further away from the bustling ‘burbs around DC and closer and closer to the farmlands and rolling countryside of upper county Maryland and the wild Potomac valley.

I instantly loved the song for the colorful cast of characters it contained and the way it described them in simple terms that were made all the more wonderful and fantastic with just a little imagination. “A little black spot on the sun today… a black-winged gull with a broken back.” To my young ears it wasn’t the sparse, weary observations of a man tired of a monotonous life, but a whimsical, sing-song list of the rich, beautiful, and unique characters present in the world. It made as much sense to me as any other whimsical fairy tale.

If I liked this song, I reasoned, I probably would like their other stuff too. And to an extent I did, seeing as how I came to know their other hits as well. But I never actually listened to a whole Police album from beginning to end, not even Synchronicity. My dad’s turntable had been a part of the family longer than I had, and I know he had  few of their albums in his collection, but I never actually sat down and listened to one.

And what do you know: it turns out The Police were great at turning out great records in addition to great hits, and Synchronicity is a great example of that. It’s much less a the collection 2.5 minute hot-blooded tunes about love affairs gone wrong that its predecessors were and much more an album of complex and introspective explorations of life in past, present, and future tenses.

That doesn’t mean it’s a wholly cohesive, masterful, or flawless piece of work, however. It definitely contains its own frenzied demons, particularly on the track “Mother,” which really seems more appropriate on a The Wall-era Pink Floyd album or as a Beatles White Album B-side than it does on this one. Critics and fans alike seem to be divided to this day on the merits of the song’s inclusion on the album. Some say it breaks up the monotony of the synth-infused, fairly run-of-the-mill Police hit-making machine and shows their true depth as songwriters and innovators. While I do appreciate that perspective and do honestly appreciate the track itself as a sort of “between-acts” diversion, I find it really breaks up the flow of the album as a whole, causing Side 2 to end up being the more balanced and universally more pleasing side (that Side 2 also happens to be the side with three of the four singles from the album– “King of Pain” as well as “Wrapped Around Your Finger” and “Every Breath You Take”– only solidifies this feeling).

Aside from that one space oddity, the album is a treat. For me the real gem is “Walking In Your Footsteps,” an ode to one’s boyhood fascination with dinosaurs (and a happy resident of Side 1). Even as it speaks of the bygone past it also serves as a wonderful sonic sample of what’s to come in the future for these musicians as they go off into their own respective solo careers. Sting in particular has gone on to infuse his own endeavors with the sorts of world-beat rhythms and songwriting that this track provides.

There’s definitely something about the vinyl listening experience that you can’t get from listening to CDs or MP3s. Maybe it has to do with the fact that you really have to be present when listening to records, due to the obvious requirement of having to get up to change the record from side to side, but also due to the deeper, subtler sonic textures that only vinyl can afford.

At the very least, there’s nothing like hooking up an old turntable, dusting off a record, setting the needle down on Side 1, Track 1, and reminiscing about your favorite memories that happened while you were listening to Steely Dan’s Aja album.

I’m looking forward to exploring each side of this inherited collection, and to gradually adding my own pieces as well.

The Police – Synchronicity
A&M Records, 1983
Grade: A
Listen Now: Synchronicity II, Walking In Your Footsteps, Mother, King of Pain

#MondayMixtape – Oh Brave New Wegmans-Accessible World

a boy and his ice cream. a love story.
a boy and his ice cream. a love story.

I want to first apologize for the long, unannounced hiatus I’ve taken from writing these last two weeks. I’ve become overly distracted of late, and I know I need to be better. I’ve definitely found myself thinking of fun ideas and new material for the blog, but the next thing I know, I’m wandering around the new Wegmans supermarket that opened up just down the street from the apartment, and everything else seems to take a back seat. It may be half the size of its sister locations, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get lost in it.

Certainly doing one’s weekly errands is important, but there’re other much less important things that end up eating my time. Time that I could otherwise be using on writing and exploring. It’s a constant struggle. But I press on.

And I digress.

But yeah. Wegmans. It’s kind of great. If you’ve never been to one before, let me break it down for you in the simplest terms I can think of. It’s a large, New York-based supermarket that is known for its wide selection of goods, obsessively competitive prices, wonderfully friendly staff, and equally wide and impressive selection of prepared foods. And they boast the sort of following that’s usually reserved for just boy bands or Oprah: the announcement of an opening within 100 miles of your town will send devotees racing to clear their calendars for the entire week of its inaugural operations, and when the big day arrives the parking lot and all major traffic arteries will be clogged with pilgrims from the world over yearning to– if nothing else– walk its long, cavernous, yet uncannily warm and well-stocked aisles.

That said, my personal experience with The Wegs, as it’s affectionately called by its adoring supporters in the 20 to 30something demographic, is limited at best. They opened a few locations in the DC area only after I moved up to Boston, and although this isn’t the first on to open in Massachusetts (that blessed honor goes to the town of Northborough, MA), it’s the first one that I’d actually make any plans to visit regularly since it’s much closer. As in it’s just down the road. As in I can walk to it from apartment. As in it’s maybe 5 minutes roundtrip at a leisurely pace on foot. As in nanner, nanner, boo boo.

And now, after joining the teeming masses yesterday to get a sense of the place and then returning today for my first official grocery run, I have to say that while there’s no denying the appeal of the place- it’s overwhelming. It’s a full sensory overload kind of experience, and in many ways that’s all right (cheese! bread! bagels! bialys!); but in other ways it’s exhausting (they make fruit-flavored bialys? Look at all the different kinds of bread! Ten types of Camembert? What’s with the electric train over the dairy case?).

It’s all lovely, magical, and beautifully laid out for you. But sometimes, don’t you just want some good ol’ black beans and rice, and not this French-imported, bourbon-soaked, twice-baked, thrice-refried edamame-type beans with the short-grain, naturally-blanched, humanely-treated basmati rice?

Where have all the good [read: simple] beans gone?

Okay, maybe it’s not quite like that, but you get it: when you’ve been sent to the market for a hunk of regular, ol’ brie, and you find yourself in the cheese aisle trying to discern the difference between Buttery, Creamy, Buttery and Creamy, Earthy, and Rich varieties… you wonder if maybe we’ve gone a bit too far with our segmentation of dairy products.

But of course, in many ways it’s the freedom to choose and explore that makes our lives so rich and colorful to begin with. So here are five songs that seem to typify our current relationship with the food and food providers we depend on to sustain us from day to day.

Some of them playfully sing about how detached we’ve become in our understanding of the processes that bring these products to us, whether by prioritizing, even sardonically, the loss of the food over the loss of life due to the perils of its movement around the world (“30,000 Pounds of Bananas”) or by forgetting about the people and processes  entirely (“Peaches”). Then there are the odes to excess. Songs that sing the wonders and delights of the instant gratification that comes from a good chocolatey substance. Even as “Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk” concedes that there’s (probably) more to life than those things that supply us that quick fix, the devil on the other shoulder (“Chocolate Jesus”) smiles wryly and reminds you that there couldn’t possibly be anything better (“only a Chocolate Jesus / Can satisfy my soul”).

And then, to tie it all together, there’s Weird Al’s early 2000s gem and tribute to life in fast food lane “Trapped in the Drive Thru.” I’m a firm believer that parodies can oft be more spot-on in terms of subject matter and overall tone than the original, and this one does just that. It cuts to the core of every man’s desires and reminds you that some days, you really just can’t help yourself. Some days all you want– all you really need–  is a thin, juicy burger-like substance with all the trimmings (just hope to Ronald McDonald they don’t skimp you on the onions).