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2025 Wrapped

Dusty Leave a comment

It’s been a year.

I want to write “It’s been a hell of a year,” but I hear that in a positive sense – “WOO, that was one hell of a ride! Let’s go again!” or, in a more personal and more specific reference, Spike telling Buffy, “You’re a hell of a woman” with that remarkable sincerity that James Marsters can summon despite playing a bleach-blonde British Victorian romantic poet/Sex Pistols punk vampire with a soul, a chip, AND a trigger (If you’ve watched BTVS, then you know; if you haven’t, don’t ask – but also, here it is) – and this has not been a positive year. You can tell because Toni and I finished re-watching the Buffy and Angel series (Serieses? What is the plural of “series?”), which we only do when the television shows we prefer, which tends to be mostly serious dramas like Breaking Bad and You and Dexter and Stranger Things, are too dark and depressing to deal with. Though we did finish the whole Walking Dead series this year; and then moved straight into watching The Great British Baking Show. Which we will probably rewatch, along with our beloved old episodes of Naked and Afraid and Chopped. And the neverending stream of Househunters, which we are now going to intersperse with old Simpsons episodes.

Maybe that’s the right descriptor: this has been a year to watch and rewatch old favorite shows. It has been a year to hide our heads in the sands of nostalgia, and in the moments when I have to look up and move around and do things, to wish that I was still stuck head-down neck-deep in the silt. And since I just read Long Live the Pumpkin Queen, in which Sally, after marrying Jack Skellington and becoming the Queen of Halloween, deals with the Sandman, I think this metaphor is even more appropriate. Except, of course, the Sandman makes me think of Neil Gaiman, and I guess I can’t be a fan of his any more. And I say “I guess” only because the accusations against him are currently unproven; but they are multifarious and choral, and therefore likely true; and in his Sandman series there is one of the most disturbing stories I’ve ever read, about an author who holds an immortal Muse from ancient Greece captive, and gains inspiration for his art by raping her: a story I always admired because it so beautifully captured the corruption of ambition; but now I think it was based on the author’s actual thoughts and feelings, and so I hate that. I so hate that.

I can’t think back over this year without getting depressed: maybe that’s the best way to say it. That makes me want to hide, to disappear, to sleep and not think about everything. That is, by the way, why I haven’t been writing; and I hate that I’m far enough out of practice that my typing now sucks. Which is just another thing for me to be mad at myself about, along with the times I have lost my temper, and the habits I have built and the ones I have let lapse. And maybe the best way to see this sand-concealing metaphor, this desire to sleep and escape, is just to recognize that I have spent the year getting less and less sleep, as I lie awake in insomnia and think about things I didn’t think about during my waking hours. So it’s been a year of emotional assault and subsequent exhaustion. Like I’m being beaten with sandbags.

I don’t intend this to be just an emotional dumping of everything on my mind; but my guess is that I’m not alone in feeling this way. (Spoiler: I already know that I’m not alone in feeling this way.) I don’t need to enumerate all of my reasons: you have your own. Mine are similar enough for us to lock gazes and nod in mutual recognition. Game recognizes game: except the game we’re playing is not in any way a game – so maybe it is despair recognizes despair.

I don’t want it to be that. I used to be optimistic, and my wife sometimes bemoans the fact that I have lost that cheerfulness – not in any accusatory way, the emotional equivalent of “You really let yourself go!” It’s that she is concerned for me, saddened that my joy seems to have been rasped away. It hasn’t all been: I am sitting here in my new gaming chair in my office, and within arm’s reach are: my new dog-shaped Bluetooth speaker (called, of course, the SubWoofer); my foam Minecraft sword, propped up against my dragon clock and currently adorned with the Christmas ornament that my friend gave me a few years ago that says “You are my People, you’ll always be my people” and then has our names on it (Lisa, Dusty, and Danielle); the mini-blackboard that has “You are AMAZING” written on it in my wife’s handwriting; on the wall hangs the original Fahrenheit 451-inspired painting that one of my former students just gave me, and outside the window I can see the Christmas lights still hanging on our house – and all of those things make me happy. As does the music I’m listening to, the remarkable band Soul Coughing, which I have recently discovered even though they were alternative in the 90s and I have no idea how I managed to miss these guys because they are amazing: in fact, my Spotify Wrapped this past year was almost nothing but Soul Coughing – all five top songs were theirs, and I was in the top 0.3% of their fans worldwide – and almost every time I listen to them, it brings me joy. The same with listening to my other favorite music, watching my favorite movies and shows, playing my favorite video games, and especially, every time I see my wife or my pets. I have a lot of joy in my life.

It’s just that the joy doesn’t last.

Because the world outside of my life is not filled with joy.

The world is filled with war: in Gaza, in Ukraine, in Sudan; and then of course there are the wars that Trump has claimed he has stopped (And I’ll give him credit for helping end the fighting between Armenia and Azerbaijan, and the tensions between Serbia and Kosovo … though that one was in 2020 … but Rwanda and the DRC are still fighting, as are Israel and Hamas, and tensions remain high between Cambodia and Thailand, and India and Pakistan; and Iran and Israel are hardly at peace, even apart from the fact that you can’t get credit for ending a conflict you participated in by bombing one side — and Egypt and Ethiopia were hardly at war, but the source of the conflict remains intact): and those should certainly be balanced by the wars Trump has tried to start, in Canada and Greenland (And the Canada thing is just a war of words, maybe even just a joke before he started in with the tariffs, sure, but Greenland? Not so much.), and with the wars he is trying to start, in Venezuela and now in Nigeria, apparently.

And here at home, where we apparently put America first, the government is being broken into pieces by greedy kleptocrats who want there to be no education, no medicine, and no social safety net: nothing but corporations and billionaires extracting more and ever more wealth from the working class, while telling us that affordability is a Democrat hoax. I don’t even have the energy to find links to the stories supporting all of that: as I doubt any of you would have the energy to click on the links and read the articles. It’s okay, that’s not a dig: it’s the sand, the sleep sand blown in our eyes, the piles of sand we want to bury our heads in, the sandblown wastes that will be all that remains after climate change devastates human civilization…

Yeah. Hard to hold onto joy.

It’s all hard. It’s hard to accept that this was only the first year of four of this administration. I am at least a little hopeful that the Democrats will take back the House and maybe even the Senate (though I’m pretty confident that they will find some way to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory with the “upper” chamber, if there is even any hope with the Republican advantage in the Senate and the gerrymandering of red states), but even if they do, it won’t do anything to change the makeup of the Supreme Court, which is waging their own war against this country and everything we are supposed to stand for. That’s hard to even follow or understand; I’ve been listening to the brilliant podcast Strict Scrutiny, which I highly recommend; but I made the mistake of going back to the beginning when I started listening to it, which took me all the way back to 2018, and I’ve been listening to these intelligent, erudite, well-spoken experts talk about what they foresee coming, and I just keep saying, “Just wait. It’s going to get worse,” from my perspective on the other side of the COVID pandemic, and the death of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, and the installation of the 6-3 conservative supermajority, and the overturning of Roe, and the new Presidential immunity doctrine which these thieves and liars have inflicted on us, which has led to Trump stealing THREE BILLION dollars in just one year.

But you know what? I’m actually going to take that as a positive: because if Trump just robs us, if he just uses his position to gain money, instead of using it to install himself as a permanent dictator and destroy our entire country, I’m fine with that. He can have the fucking money. He won’t have long to enjoy it, even if he does live out the term: and if stealing all of that can also satisfy his troglodytic children, so that they don’t continue to infect our politics in Daddy Donald’s name for the next four or five decades, I will consider that a win.

But yeah. Hard to stay positive. And I haven’t even gotten to my personal life — which I am not going to detail, as it is not only my life. Suffice it to say that work has been very difficult, and home has been wonderful but also difficult, and sleep has been difficult, and I just spend so much time and energy worrying about everything and everyone I care about (including myself) that I don’t have anything left to fight against fascism, or the devastation of our country’s economy — and then I feel terrible about that. Which doesn’t help.

But. It’s December 30th. Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve, and the day after that is 2026. Which is bizarre, of course, because I’m not really fully out of the 2010s mentally; but the important thing is that this year is ending. It will be over. 2025 will be done. I don’t really like thinking that way, because I don’t like the idea of being happy to watch time go by, being happy to get through something: every year that goes by is one fewer I have left, is — not necessarily a missed opportunity to accomplish things, because I have accomplished things in this year, just not everything I wanted to accomplish. But celebrating the passage of time is not appreciating the present moment, nor feeling hope for the future, and those are much more how I want to live my life. I want to enjoy it. I want to look forward to it: not long for it to pass.

But (And this is four paragraphs in a row I have started with that contradictory conjunction, which maybe shows something about the conflict I am living through, as we all are — nothing but a series of buts. Or butts, maybe.) whether I like thinking this way or not, it is the truth. 2025 is almost over. 2026 has not happened yet. That is an opportunity. It is another chance, a new one; and though we humans are terrible at understanding probability, the truth is this: it is a good chance. It is a fresh chance. It is not doomed by the last year, or even the last few years.

I want to take this chance to do more that will make me happy. I can’t control the things that are making me unhappy, but I can turn away from them and look to things that will actually make me happy. I did that this last year, and I’m actually quite happy with those choices as I made them; the one thing I do regret is that too many of my choices were for only short-term happiness and not long-term. That felt like the easier thing to do, most of the time, but now I’m regretting that: and so I want to try to do better in this coming year. I want to end it with less regret. I want to live it with more joy. I truly think this is how we fight back most effectively against all of the forces arrayed against us: with joy. Finding it, breathing it in, and then sharing it: because if I can find a way to share some joy with those around me, that spares them from having to work to find it themselves; and maybe they will have just that much more energy to do something more active, more intentional, more directed towards the fight for a better world, a better future. The most important thing we have to know and believe and remember is that: it is we. We are not alone, we are not isolated, we are not the only ones fighting this fight. Not even my small, personal fights, which are shared in my case always by my wife, and nearly always by my family and friends.

We the People. In order to form a more perfect union. Establish justice. Insure domestic tranquility. Provide for the common defense. Promote the general welfare. Secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity.

Do.

(Soul Coughing may be my newest favorite: but this will always be one of my longest lasting musical loves. And this song always brings me joy.)

We are spirit bound to this flesh
We go round one foot nailed down
But bound to reach out and beyond this flesh
Become Pneuma

We are will and wonder
Bound to recall, remember
We are born of one breath, one word
We are all one spark, sun becoming

Child, wake up
Child, release the light
Wake up now
Child, wake up
Child, release the light
Wake up now, child
(Spirit)
(Spirit)
(Spirit)
(Spirit)
Bound to this flesh
This guise, this mask
This dream

Wake up remember
We are born of one breath, one word
We are all one spark, sun becoming

Pneuma
Reach out and beyond
Wake up remember
We are born of one breath, one word
We are all one spark, eyes full of wonder

The List

Dusty 1 Comment

My wife showed me a list, recently, of the Top Ten Rock and Roll Singers. And on that list were some I agreed with, and some I did not — particularly Aretha Franklin and Frank Sinatra. Now, those two are unquestionably two of the best singers in the history of recorded music — but neither of them sang rock. Aretha sang the blues, and sometimes that can sound like rock, and people can put it on rock stations and it can top rock charts; but it’s still the blues. And the Chairman of the Board was a jazz man all the way back to the 40’s. The list I saw was also missing several of my favorites.

Clearly, this can not stand.

So, in the spirit of adding to the proliferation of lists on the internet — where the list is become something of an arms race, I think; and part of me hates this, especially since I am one-upping the list I found by increasing the number and adding corollary lists; but you know what? Screw it. — I now present my own list of the best singers in rock and roll.

Now, as a teacher, I have been taught that the first thing you must do with any graded work is provide the criteria for success — a rubric, if you will. So here’s what I based this list on: first, good music. I can’t respect a singer who sings shitty songs. This, for me, eliminates such perennial vocal luminaries as Christina Aguilera and Whitney Houston — pretty much all the divas, who all sing insipid pop mixed with high-fat schmaltz. It also eliminates country music, even though I actually like Johnny Cash’s voice. But my favorite songs of his are — well, “Ring of Fire,” and “Folsom Prison Blues,” of course; but then it’s “Hurt” and “Personal Jesus,” both of which were rock covers. My taste in rock is fairly broad, but most of it is heavy, and so is my list. Second, unique vocal style. I think any list of “best” should start with the question, Can you identify that item immediately out of a pile of similar things? No “best” car can look like every other car; no “best” novel can tell the same story as every other novel. It must be unique. With voices, that means — can you recognize that voice instantly? Is it impossible for other people to cover their signature songs? That gets high marks, for me — to do something that nobody else can do. Third is longevity: this one is partly due to necessity — there are too many flash-in-the-pan singers for me to know them all and figure them into my rankings — and partly because I think a singer can blow out their vocal chords in an attempt to sing better than they are actually able to. A singer that doesn’t do that (And I’m not including the inevitable loss of range and power with age; I’m not bothered by someone in their 60’s who can’t sing like they could in their 20’s; I’m bothered by people who are 25 who can’t sing like they could at 23.) moves up in my respect, because I feel they know their ability and their instrument, and are aware of their limitations. I like smart singers. Though there are some exceptions to this rule, as you will see.

After good music, a unique sound, and longevity, we get into specific sounds that I personally like: range, and grit. This may simply be because as a singer, I don’t have a lot of range, but I do have good grit — not world-class grit, like a couple of my choices, but better than the average, I think. So I am pleased by those who can make their voice sound like a rock singer’s voice, which to me is generally not very pretty; and I am impressed by singers who can go higher than I ever could, and/or lower than I can sing comfortably.

Finally, there is an ineffable quality that I will call “Rock.” There are those who have Rock, and those who do not, and I personally like a singer who has Rock. It’s a mixture of charisma and style and a willingness to be what a rock singer needs to be. This is what keeps my actual favorite voice from being “top” of the list: because as incredible as his singing is, he’s too much of an introverted prick to be a real rock star, in my opinion. I suppose that makes him a little bit too much like me. I think that a great singer should love performing, should love singing; not wine. Just sayin’.

Those are my criteria. The longer it takes me to do this, the more names pop up and demand entry into my list, so I need to get to this while I can still keep it down to 20. Though I am still going to cheat by including a “runner’s up” list. Hey, internet: you’re just lucky I didn’t go to top 50, or even 100.

These are sort of in order, but it’s more approximate, because too much of ordering would require personal preference regarding music type, and that would destroy any chance I have of getting people to agree with me. Think of it more like categories, groups of three to five all equivalent to each other, some moving up or down according to a daily-changing preference. So here they are:

Category One: Rock Gods

1. Steven Tyler: Even if this list was in definite order from best to worst, he might go in the first spot. Because Aerosmith is an incredible band, because Tyler’s singing style is utterly unique, because his signature songs — I would list “Dude Looks Like a Lady,” “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing,” “Rag Doll,” and of course the definitive “Dream On” — cannot be covered well; because the man has a throat of cast iron, which enables him to still sing “Dream On” all the way up to the top high note EVEN IN HIS 60’S. Plus, this guy just oozes rock.

2. Freddie Mercury: Most of the same things I said about Tyler, except Mercury’s voice was worlds prettier — and yet he could still grind and shout and rasp, on “We Will Rock You” and “Another One Bites the Dust.” And while he died too young to allow us to see if he could still sing that way in his 60’s, one of my favorite performances of his — “Who Wants To Live Forever” — was recorded when he was so ill he could barely stand, and that just amazes me. And in terms of rock? Nobody could command a stage like Mercury.

3. Elvis Presley: One of the few on my list who isn’t hard rock (Well, Queen’s only kinda hard rock. But let’s not split hairs.) because he is the King of Rock and Roll: so rock that it killed him. He loses a bit for me because a lot of his songs were blues covers, but regardless, he had a totally unique and utterly heart-breakingly beautiful voice.


Category Two: Rock Demi-Gods:

1. Robert Plant: This one I struggle with a bit, because I know that a lot of what I love about Led Zeppelin isn’t the singing, but the music; but regardless, that band wouldn’t be who they were if it weren’t for Plant. And even if you took out the music and just listened to the vocal track, everybody would know who was singing within about four notes. That gets you on my list.


2. Roger Daltrey: Much like Plant, Daltrey loses some credit because Townshend wrote all of the music; but Baba O’Riley/Teenage Wasteland is an unmatchable vocal performance and many of The Who’s songs are what they are because Daltrey was up there hollering and wailing and singing — you can’t argue with that scream in the beginning of “Won’t Get Fooled Again.” They fall behind Led Zeppelin for me because of a lack of Rock: mods are just guys with bad haircuts and an ascot.

3. Janis Joplin: This may be my favorite female voice of all time. In fact, there’s no maybe about it. She’s only in this second group because she died too young to make it to the top category. But listening to her gives me goosebumps. Every time.

 

4. Sammy Hagar: This one is largely because of longevity. I mean, Jesus, Montrose released “Rock Candy” in 1973. This guy’s singing career is older than me. And he still sounds good, even at the age of 69. And his solo songs in the 80’s are great — and come on. Van Halen was never so good to listen to as when Hagar was singing, and then it was one of the best hard rock bands ever. Not to mention, in terms of rock? The guy has his own brand of tequila. And rum. I rest my case.

 

Category Three: The Best of My Youth
To be honest, this category should probably be twice as long, and it should probably be the whole list. These are the singers I love the most, almost all of them. But their music is more obscure, comparatively, and their careers generally shorter, than the people higher up on the list, so I have to make them a separate category and try hard not to pad it with too many names. Here’s what I’ve narrowed it down to, based on my criteria.

1. Chris Cornell: Cornell is the best singer from the grunge era. I know everybody talks about Kurt Cobain, and his songs were the defining moment for this time in music; but Soundgarden was so much better musically than Nirvana — and then Cornell went on to sing for Audioslave, which is the metal band that Rage Against the Machine would have been had Zack de la Rocha been a singer instead of a rapper. But he isn’t (Though I think he’s the best rapper, and one of the best lyricists, in hard rock), and so it fell to Cornell, and Audioslave freaking rocks. And he also made one of my absolute favorite solo albums, too. Just an amazing voice.

2. Layne Staley: Since one of my criteria was unique vocal style, I don’t actually think there’s been anyone as influential stylistically in hard rock as Layne Staley of Alice in Chains since — well, maybe ever. The other great singers are either too unique to be imitated or are already influenced by others before them. Ozzy Osbourne is as unique a singer as Staley, but Staley could actually sing. So beautifully.

(Please note: it’s tough to pick a song to show off Staley’s voice, because every Alice in Chains song also features Jerry Cantrell, who probably deserves the award for Best Backup Vocalist of All Time; but this one is just Staley for the choruses. Plus it’s one of my absolute favorite AIC songs. And the video shows how terrible their fashion sense was. Yeesh.)

3. Maynard James Keenan: This is the one I was talking about that has my favorite voice maybe ever, but not an ounce of rock in him. I’ve read up a bit on Tool, and watched some interviews and the like, and here’s the truth: Keenan’s a jerk. A real jerk. It’s amazing that Tool has managed to keep working together for 25 years now; but then, watch their concert footage and you’ll see why: this is a band of introverts. Every one of them is playing without any interaction with each other or with the audience. Keenan’s interaction with the audience is almost all angry and obnoxious: there’s a famous clip where a guy came up on stage and sort of tried to hug him — and he hip-threw the guy (Fun fact: Keenan was in the Army for three years, to pay for art school), pinned him, sat on top of him, and sang the rest of the song while holding this drunk fan to the floor. He’s an asshole. But he has the voice of the gods. And the best rock scream ever. Just listen: he drops it at 0:16. And then he sings. (Video and lyrics are NSFW)

And since he’s my favorite, here he is singing beautifully, live, with A Perfect Circle.

 

4. Corey Glover: This is one I would like to put higher on my list, but dammit, the band broke up for a long time, and when they reunited, they sounded awful — “Stain” is a terrible album, from what was an amazing band. But Time’s Up and Vivid are two of the greatest albums in rock, and part of the reason is this man’s voice. I tried covering this song, and it sounds simply awful — and he does this so damn effortlessly. Even when he’s shouting, it sounds beautiful.

 

5. Axl Rose: So the truth is, I was never really a Guns ‘n’ Roses fan. Never owned one of their albums. I liked their music, but it never really spoke to me — I don’t know why. And Rose also blew his voice out, and can’t sing like he used to. But they had a good run, something like ten years as the biggest band in rock and roll; and in every other category on my rubric, Rose has to be in the top names. That range — my god.

 

Category Four: Beauty

Now we come away from hard rock a little bit to the singers who, in my opinion, have the most beautiful voices in rock music — singers who have managed to make me notice even though they sing pop and funk. Because you can’t not notice these folks. There are only two because I have an easier time throwing these names out in favor of great hard rock singers than vice versa — but I can’t drop these last two. Can’t. Won’t!
1. Adele: The most recent person on my list, because her voice merits it. Simple as that. When she opens up, the sky falls. No pun intended.


2. Stevie Wonder: One of the greatest musicians of all time, he’d be higher on my list if I could stand more of his music. But this song is unbeatable.

 

Category Five: Hard Rock Legends (With and without cheese)

This is because I grew up in the 80’s as well as the 90’s. And I love heavy metal almost as much as grunge — and because my criteria match these people flawlessly. And because cheesy rock is — well, delicious.

1.Steve Perry: I admit it. I’m a Journey fan. Cheesy as all hell, yes — but I can’t not love their music, and I always wish that I could sing along. But I can’t. Because Steve Perry. Here he is, with maximum cheese, doing The Song.

 

2. Bruce Dickinson: Part of this is because he’s so freaking awesome he flew a tortoise to safety in his private plane. But mostly, because this:

3. Klaus Meine: Not as freaking awesome as Dickinson, but honestly, probably a better pure singer. And he’s a damn nice guy, I’ve heard.

4. Dio: I’m going to let Jack Black explain why Dio is on this list, and then show you with a little number that should be familiar. And if you haven’t watched the video: do. It’s like a homemade D&D tribute movie.


5. Ann Wilson: Heart sometimes overdoes the cheese even for me, and I’m pretty damn tired of “Barracuda.” But you can’t deny this woman’s pipes. And here: covering for another person on the list in 2012, a full 40 years after she started singing.


5. Brian Johnson: So I kind of didn’t want to put this guy on the list. Because I like range, and he doesn’t have any. And I am done with AC/DC’s music, since I think that once you’ve heard one song, you’ve pretty much heard them all. But: you can always know his voice. There is not a singer with more grit. He will rock your socks clean off. And he can still do this today. I can’t leave him out.

(Since it doesn’t matter which song I pick, I like this one best. Dig the cannons.)

 

 

So there you are, folks. Top twenty. Comments and criticisms are welcome.