Arrows & Anchors immerses listeners in a world they never fathomed imaginable.
Fair to Midland’s fourth studio album, released by E1 Music and produced by “Evil” Joe Barresi (Tool, Coheed and Cambria, Bad Religion), seamlessly blends a backbone of hard rock with intricate leads and sprinkles influences from hand-clapping pop to country folk.
Darroh Sudderth’s ranging vocals leads an audience everywhere from the gutter to soaring above cloud nine, and Cliff Campbell’s playfully rhythmic but full bodied guitar work somehow keeps them grounded the entire time. Jon Dicken lends bass that is dynamic and tasteful in a sinfully perfect tone, and Brett Stowers leaves it to wonder how one guy with only two arms can emphasize every right note and still remain totally locked into a song. All the while, Matt Langley’s keys overlay beautiful and sometimes unnerving melodies that give each song a very particular identity from the next.
Whiskey & Ritalin starts with a gut churning combination of pick slides and drum head abuse that serves as an audio wind-up that seems to be released like a haymaker when the song breaks into its first full band riff. It sets up the rest of the album to be chugging metal through and through, but the haunting intro and supercharged chorus of Musical Chairs makes it clear this album will take a different turn. The foot-tapping Uh-Oh is so infectious that a vaccine is due out later this year, and the banjo ridden – yes, banjo – Amarillo Sleeps on My Pillow strangely suggests Doc Holliday may have known what a talk box and a wah-wah pedal was. A Loophole in Limbo is airy and slightly dials back the intensity, but still leaves no doubt that it is a rock song.
The second half of the album offers the same unique listening experience as the first, and does not disappoint on lyrical content that is both thought provoking and mystifying.
Short-Haired Tornado: “If you have yourself a son I’m gonna tell your baby boy that Father Time’s chock full of lies so don’t jump in just yet.”
Rikki Tikki Tavi: “If I build the Ark, will you wait for the water?”
Golden Parachutes: “They’ll be skipping stones with your bones when these ants know where to find you.”
Bright Bulbs & Sharp Tools: “He fights like hell because he wants to glow and would tackle the Sun to be a bright bulb.”
Coppertank Island: “Remember this: it’s just two cents. Two cents never made you rich.”
A track that can only be described as “epic” bookends the album. The Greener Grass is a linear masterpiece that strays from repetition while telling a very dark story in a stream of magnificence and elegance. Weighing in at over 8 minutes long, it is hard to believe it can snare a listener’s intrigue for the whole duration, but it never fails to do so.
Fair to Midland’s Arrows & Anchors is highly recommended and receives 4.5 X’s – an imperfect score only because it has an ending.
When I used to think of Reebok, I certainly did not think of quality slow pitch softball bats. If you are the same way, I suggest you rethink your stance.
In the beginning of this year’s spring softball season, my brother was persuaded by a sales representative at a local sporting goods store to pick up a Reebok Dictator. He got the white ASA version of it for just over $120 on sale. Despite the deal, it was still a fairly large chunk of money to spend based on a salesperson’s word.
Before I continue, please let me share the fates of the three most recent bats my two older brothers and I have gone through. Simply put, the way we treat them is illegal in 49 states (Missouri is the odd one out – everything is legal there).
- Worth Mayhem – bent at a 10 degree angle after 7 hits in batting practice
- Worth 3DX – flattened barrel after 2 games
- Mizuno Wrath – broken into two after being used in 4 games
The first hit with the Reebok Dictator was taken by yours truly. My brother took it out of its plastic wrapping, handed it to me, and said, “Go forth and dictate.” I remember thinking the feel of the bat was good as soon as I held it, but it was not until I took my first swing that I was impressed with the quality. I hit a deep fly ball that cleared a 300 ft fence by about 20 feet. I am no power hitter and was not trying to swing for the fences, but the bat rewarded me with the solid contact I had made on the ball.
Fast forward to the end of the same year’s fall season. The bat had become a team favorite, and practically everyone was using it for every at-bat of our triple headers. It was probably for this same reason that it had lost some of its pop, but it never bent, cracked, or broke on us. Next on our agenda is to go out and buy a new one for the next season.
Consider Ohio State, Florida State, and Georgia.
These three college football programs share a common bond besides their uncanny abilities to be perennially overrated.
If you are ever unfortunate enough to watch a contest of grit on the gridiron between any of these schools and their opponents – or, God forbid, between two of the three – then you would bear witness to the single greatest folly in the entire world of sports.
Yes, that’s even still considering you, futbol.
Attached to the super overinflated heads of these “student”-athletes is constant reminder of how awesome quarterbacks, halfbacks, and wide receivers are and how incomprehensibly worthless linemen and those skinny white guys (read: kickers and punters) can so perfectly be. Well, it’s about time everyone found out what I’ve known all along.
Pride Stickers are stupid.
I would go into a detailed argument, covering all premises and steering clear of any fallacies, but I’ve decided to spare you the barrage of syllogisms. Instead, please accept this picture of Pride Stickers being enjoyed thoroughly by a bunch of Mormons as proof of my previous statement.
If there is one principle which every man from every faith can embrace, it is that if the Mormons like it, it must be bad. Even the Mormons believe this.
So, pray tell, what is the antidote to this plague on my precious pigskin? I introduce to you Fuck-Up Stickers.
I am adamantly in favor of a system which publicly points out the flaws of these high profile college students. Humility does not come in a more sobering form than public embarrassment. Instead of receiving a sticker for making an outstanding play, I propose a system that rewards failure with stickers that emphasize the fact that a player has made mistakes that will not be accepted. Since these players are getting paid under the table anyways, I do not think it is too unreasonable to ask them not to fuck up, even if it is in such a way that could be viewed as a metaphorical exclamation mark.
The system is simple.
If a player does something wrong, they receive one Fuck-Up Sticker. These faults can include penalties, dropped passes, missed blocks, or anything else a coach would really like point out as being important not to do in the future. Once a player has accumulated a sum of these stickers, the only way to get rid of them is to play fundamental team football. The amount of stickers removed and for what is left up to the coach’s discretion.
Picture this:
A college football team is seconds away from taking the field. As the players are huddled in the tunnels waiting to run the Cheerleader’s Gauntlet of Death, they are all on a search to find the most sticker ridden helmets in order to give words of encouragement to their most struggling teammates.
“Pay close attention the snap count changes. Catch the ball first, then turn and run with it. Keep the ball to the outside.”
Now, imagine the overwhelming motivation a player would receive from looking at his own helmet and seeing 15 Fuck-Up Stickers. He would remember what he has done wrong in the past and would realize how important fundamentals are in the game of football. Thoughts of teamwork would echo inside of his head, and as he took the field being welcomed by the roar of his home team crowd, one thought would linger.
“Man, I really gotta quit fucking up!”
University of Kansas quarterback Ted Rising is a man who makes the bigger men around him look like littler men.
For the past two seasons he has absolutely dominated the Big XII, easily leading it in passing yards, rushing homedowns, field goals, and three pointers. His generosity on the field is unmatched, and he has led his teammates to many conference records. His top two receivers, Kerry Meier and Dezmon Briscoe, rank 2nd and 3rd in all-time Big XII receptions. They trail only the 1st place holder, Ted Rising.
His generosity on the field doesn’t stop at his teammates. In 2007, despite beating him in every single category, Ted Rising willingly gave the Heisman Trophy to University of Florida quarterback Tim Tebow. A year later, he again gave away the Heisman, sending it to Oklahoma quarterback Sam Bradford. Ted Rising was sure to step out of the spotlight both times, and would take measures to make the award winners’ deservingness look authentic. There were many games where Ted Rising would edit live game film while simultaneously playing the quarterback position in order to make his own performance look poorer.
Ted Rising is more than just a passer, though. He is widely known for being extremely elusive in the backfield and it is rumored that he can only be caught when he wants to be. Evidence supports this theory, as the only person who ever sacked Ted Rising was himself.
There is no mistaking that he is of Heisman caliber, especially since he’s won it twice already. But this year, something must change. It is our professional opinion that he should be selfless and keep the award. Ted Rising is the paragon of what an athlete should be. When he steps foot onto the field, he plays not for the name on the back of his jersey, but for the name on the front of it! He gives so much to the University of Kansas each time he dons that crimson and blue jersey with the number five cleanly stitched onto the back. It is time for us, as the classiest fans in the Big XII, who would never tear down three goal posts in one season, to repay him.
The next time you are watching the Kansas Jayhawks play, whether it is in person or on a television set, and you see Ted Rising score a homedown from center ice, be sure to let him know of your appreciation. Bellow his name at the top of your lungs in a bestial roar.
“TED RISING!!!”
Only then will he finally realize that he needs to let himself be known as a three-time Heisman Trophy winner.
Ted Rising for Heisman.