A very simple explanation as to why I've been pining (shining a spotlight, parodying, etc.) for sum 5 years or so for a (fabled-folklore-dreamstate-imaginary) T R I A G E movie and world tour. No, I'm not so thick as to think I'm asking for something possible here; this is just wonderment at night.

Of all the albums I have listened to more than once, among those that can be heard going and going in a shoop-de-loop on our family music machinery since mi esposa & I took to traveling the circumferences of our brain housing groups and thereabouts together, there have been oh about ten or thirty or so pieces of album perfection that have risen to the toppermost listened-to works. & among those (was going to include a list but then left it out to save time), among those wonderful efforts, from Pink Floyd to Neil Young to Tom Petty to Springsteen to Bob Geldof to Radiohead to Roger Waters to Collective Soul to Gomez to Roger Waters to Days of the New to PEARL JAM to Beatles/John/Paul/George to Xavier Rudd to RHCP to CSN&Y to U2 to Green Day to Stevie Ray to Lou Reed to Tears for Fears to Kansas to The Waterboys to Midnight Oil to Dire Straits to 3 Non-blonds to Cranberries to (oh jeeez!) Zeppelin to Deep Purple to Yes to (FUCK, the list grows) Peter Gabriel to Tom Waits ..to ..well, like I said, no list, just too damn long and don't wana leave anyone out.. so NO LIST, ..

..among all the best we have stacked against walls and such, ..

David Baerwald's TRIAGE is the shit. The bomb. The rat-a-tat-tat if you can imagine that!

In too many blurbs over the years, I've already gone well into why. But here are a couple very important whys.

Why: because TRIAGE stands alone..in a genre of its own, uncut, unmatched, unequaled, unique without having had to go the route of being extraneous, an album that plays like a play, reads like a novel, sustains like oil on fine gessoed canvas. You play ANY album for me, call it amazing. I will listen, maybe be wowed, moved to tears or action or ease, maybe share a soulful hug with you in appreciation of arts & music & free will in what remains of a free world, and that would be so cool. Then I will play T R I A G E for you. & if you are not ..void.. something will change in your face. If you love music and art and books and film and the potential of humanity in the good company of instrumentation and oxygen, if you have felt the weight of man's inhumanity to man & the vile impunity from punishment for committed high crimes, if you've walked the night light of strange back alleyways with a belly full of spirits, aware of the negative energy but damned rhino enough to amble forward into the blatant sunrise and a greasy breakfast counter, if you have a pulse and can see past the Billboard sounds that ClearChannel hopes to suck your remaining brain fluids into, if you can see love in the eyes of a beautiful opposite or hatred in the eyes of an oppressed and exploited 3rd world mom, or deepest sorrow in the eyes of someone who lost someone far too young, then you will have won something that cannot be touched or tasted or smelled or shown off as a mantel piece, something like the tenable seeds of 4th dimensional energies waiting to be transferred further, furthur, & furthered via people on the verge of a new Renaissance of empathy & wonder.

Why: because they should have broken the mold after this album, declared it a national time capsule ingredient and placed it in the Smithsonian (the Library of Congress is just not near enough a home to house this piece) ..and YET it WAS SO OverLooked, so UnExplored, so bland-damned disrespected by trolls and scabs and hair-parted-right-wanabe-cowboy fuckheads and the record industry and mtv AND David Letterman and mainstream radio and Music Connection & Rolling Stone Magazines and early Jon Stewart and ..you and.. me. Probably in many ways a blessing to DB who'da had ta suffer the slings and arrows and cheese and crackie-whackie gumball machine rigmarole & ritual of stardom exploitation ..& so maybe I'm asking for something more foul than fortunate (if so then inform me as such and I will shut the f#ck up already). I don't know ..it just seems like a blessing waiting in unfitting limbo to flourish and refurbish a weakened scene---make something decidedly dismal into something mystic and effectual and potent and moving and poi-poi-poignant again. ..NAMASTE.. Fact of the matter, though, TRIAGE never saw the audience it deserved. Nope. There have been far too many mediocre works in the last 3 decades having garnered international spectatorship and aplomb. And for what? Certainly there were great works that received their just deserts too, and for those I raise a glass. But I really want to raise MICK's glass (now that's a glass!), wana raise it high, but I can't because there's not a lot in popular music nowadays to quite rate that mighty level of rooster crows and guttural CHEERS. & we, the people, have grown up a bit more and perhaps we're ready for what db had already conceived of way back then, had the presence of mind and foresight to write and compose in the solemn quietude of the place where songs and their songwriter connect to share the same sinew, perhaps we've come full circle or been shaken awake by the quagmires that be, just enough to be prepared to wholly revisit the crème de la crème of American music for the 20th-21st Centuries: TRIAGE. I think this is reason enough.

It should NOT be a posthumous thing. NO. This wholly outstanding piece of rock-n-roll music ARTifact NEEDS to be revisited (played in classrooms and considered) with ALL the verve, & matriarchal-patriarchal cosmic energy & professional creative resources that The Wall received.

The production value of the album itself is perfect as is. PERFECT. But there (should have been) SHOULD BE a Feature Film (if db has the salt, the juice, the zaz, to make it wholly current, n I believe he does JMHO, and so do some of U, I kinda-sorta kno it's true).

Yes, a.. Feature Film, sistas & brothas, and the apt energies of an International Movement, a coffee cup, a cocktail, a midnight movie rave, & an action figure (complete with chainsaw, banjo, Stratocaster, & Kevlar vest).

Call me a pesky varmint, far too pungent for my own good, senseless, out of it, gone-down-the-road, whacko, but no more no less, ALL I want to do is go into a Cinemark, sit in the 7th or 8th row or so, lean my seat back (suffer the ads and enjoy the trailers), pop a jawbreaker in my bean, then the lights go way down ..as the intro to A Secret Silken World begins to perforate the airwaves across the isles on into the eardrums of the waiting and T R I A G E starts across the screen ..and the soul of the piece begins to emerge into the lives of all in attendance willing to be aware of such the momentous occasion we are part and parcel of . . . finally

(nope, haven't been drinkin, got IVs and stuff, but I intend to pop the cap on a Negra Modelo, n pour it into my favorite glass to sup, just as soon as tonight's protocol is complete n my babee's comfy in m'arms, the scent of her perrrfectly new so beautiful head o golden hair is in my sinuses leading to my brain makin me higher than anythin makes me high sustained. G'nite)