Bloggy Style ’10

The blog’s been spewing venom all of 2010 and it needs to be sent on a vacation. A whole year of straightening sluts, quitting whisky, unfriending wussies, sodomizing women, writing badass lyrics and blasting out over 300 high-quality posts that caused tremors from Powai to Hawaii – yeah, it needs to go somewhere.

For those unhappy about why their music/book/restaurant has not been written about here… well, considering you people don’t react to even the stronger (more extreme) posts here, and are too kanjoos to leave a comment and out yourself as one of the many people who read this blog irreligiously – there really is no obligation on this blog to acknowledge your excretions, is there?

As 2011 spreads its legs wide open for me, here’s a preview of next year’s highlights: the release of my band’s 3^rd album, the publishing of my collection of short stories, the reviewing of every beer from Belgaum to Belgium, and… why kill the suspense and spoil your fun? All you need to dread is what all of the above will do to the blog’s ego and how up the level of arrogance will go.

Here’s leaving you with a line from Ab Tak Chhappan, tweaked slightly to make it applicable to every single last one of you: Khuda tum sab ko mehfooz rakhe… mujhse.

See you sometime in 2011.

Music Review: To The Sea

How nice for a Sunday morning, my first listen of Jack Johnson‘s music happens to be his fifth album To The Sea. Laid-back jamming that makes indoor listening feel like a outing. A beach in Goa is where it makes me want to be at, looking at waves and thinking of nothing. Jack Johnson doesn’t demand your attention, leaving you free to fantasize about breakfast in Anjuna, while the surroundings absorb his music. From what I’d heard, this was to be an acoustic affair, but here’s some electric guitar, a harmonica, and some other instruments whose names I don’t know, and let me not embarrass myself further. To The Sea has a feel-good vibe that is instantly likeable, and Jack Johnson makes it sound so effortless that you want to stretch back, unbothered by the flies hovering over the imaginary orange juice.