Sebastian Langkilde

Mabel Listens to Me

Yesterday I spent the closing hours of another “too short” weekend catching up on The Dynasty, an Apple TV documentary series of the New England Patriots. Just me and the dog, Mabel, who had zero interest in my enthrallment with Belichick souffléing an 11-5 record without Tom Brady or my elation (yes exhilaration) to hear Brandon Lloyd, Deion Branch, and Wes Welker widen the scope of Aaron Hernandez’s maniac behavior behind the walls of the Patriots organization.

With a freshly made vodkarita in hand… Look I’m not doing footnotes here… I haven’t replaced the Don Julio yet. I refuse anything beneath Don Julio in terms of tequila. Anyways, I’m ready to sip my next libation as Ernie Adams, Patriots Director of Football Research, whatever the fuck that means, takes into the next episode.

“We were looking for toughness and intensity in a football player. In the fourth round, we found this guy that we liked. You know, there was were some off-the-field issues. We thought ‘There’s a degree of risk here, but it makes sense to take it.’ But looking in hindsight, of course, we did not understand the full dimensions of what the problem was.”

“OH SHIT!” I holler out in my buzzed thrill, waking poor Mabel from behind the couch. Is it fucked up to get excited about an Aaron Hernandez episode? Yeah probably, but I can’t help my fascination with problematic millionaires with celebrity, status, and power who murder multiple victims like it’s another Tuesday. The man was unhinged but still managed to play an entire regular season of football, a Super Bowl, and $40 million dollar contract after murdering multiple men in cold blood.

When Brandon Lloyd recalls Wes Welker warning him “Aaron, he’s gonna fondle his genitalia in front of you, he’s gonna talk about bathing with his mom, and you’ve just gotta ignore it” how can you not feel captivated. And yeah Hernandez is as charming as the 6 AM turd I pick from Mabel every morning. Still, that shit always stunk and to hear a new dimension to his depravity only makes everyone involved look even worse. Belichick, Adams, the Krafts, all of the Patriots organization.

Which brings me to Belichick. What the hell is this smear campaign? It’s not just this docu series. There’s an entire media narrative squeeze every ounce of discredit-paste out of the Belichick tube. Like serious, what is the fucking rhetoric “hE nEvEr wOn wItHoUt bRaDy!”

Bill Walsh never won without Joe Montana. Andy Reid never won without Patrick Mahomes. Chuck Noll never won without Terry Bradshaw.

You almost never win without a Hall of Fame quarterback. In the 21st century, only Trent Dilfer, Brad Johnson, Joe Flacco, and Nick Foles will not make it to the Hall of Fame. Eli Manning, Russell Wilson, and Matthew Stafford are borderline guys, but Tom Brady (7x Super Bowls), Ben Roethlisberger (2x), Peyton Manning (2x), Drew Brees, Aaron Rodgers, and Patrick Mahomes (3x) are Hall of Famers.

Yeah, Brady is the greatest. It’s not a debate for me. Mahomes is more talented, clearly, but he’s not even half up Everest yet. This isn’t about those guys. This is about Bob and Jonathan Kraft’s egos. Guys, you want equal credit for the Brady Belichick dynasty? What, because you hired Bill? Because you sign the checks? You didn’t cultivate the greatest NFL dynasty. Those two men did.

No matter how actively those two try to rewrite history and the reform the narrative, those of us who watched for the past two decades plus and give a shit about what happen know greatest sports run in the 21st century started with Belichick, and yes, if not for Brady, there wouldn’t be six Lombardi trophies at 1 Patriot Place.

Who will the Krafts blame when they don’t win another Super Bowl for a decade plus? Will they still blame Bill? Whose fault will it be? I sat there alone in my living room thinking about who they would flick the nickel to. Not a dollar, a nickel, since the Krafts received failing grades from an NFLPA report card in treatment of families, weight room, team travel, and…

D+ in ownership? Bobby you are the owner?!

I’m really looking forward to Belichick coming back for the 2025 season and having a few FUCK YOU seasons with another team. It’ll be fun to listen to all the scribes and hacks do a 180 when he finds success again.

When the thoughts come to their natural conclusion I’m still alone. Speculating about how crazy Hernandez really was or Belichick’s besmirchment on my own. Mabel already back asleep and amnesic about my furor. I’m reminded of Chuck Klosterman’s theory of what history and culture lives on after us.

Those of us who care the most archive and document the information to ensure its record. Those who care the least however determine what will live on past our time on earth.

I worry I’ve become one of those people who care the most (care too much) about things that matter very little to most people, including my wife, friends, and family. Even my dad, who introduced me to football and American sport, could give a shit about Belichick and if he’ll get another job.

To be clear, I care about this individual because I’ve shaped much of professional approach to my career based on how Belichick shaped his culture in New England and his approach to managing a team. I’m far more goofy and willing to share myself with others, but I admire his fearlessness executing decisions in best interest of the organization.

His approach included dispassionate choices of personnel, exploiting the weakness (and stupidity) of opponents, and direct confrontation with players when he delivered coaching.

Matt Cassel shared a bit of coaching from Bill in The Dynasty. “One time, I don’t see a corner blitz, and I get absolutely annihilated, like boom! Belichick comes in and he says, ‘Cassel, can we figure out the corner blitz? Because I don’t want to have to write your mother a letter that says, ‘Dear Mrs. Cassel, we’re sorry to inform you that your son is dead because he’s a dumbass and didn’t see the corner blitz.'”

Remember that NFLPA report card I mentioned earlier? Only 55% of players felt Belichick was efficient with their time and felt he was rarely willing to listen to the locker room. Being demanding in the NFL, or just in life general is just too uncomfortable for “modern” people.

You can try bubble wrapping the world all you want, but life is demanding. It’s not supposed to be easy. Stress, anxiety, confrontation, and discomfort all exist naturally in our world. Avoiding them and hiding in your pantry won’t make them ago away.

Difficult feelings aren’t negative or positive. They’re a natural response to a situation. It’s unfortunate society decays into deeper brittleness. Belichick’s ousting is small in scale but not unimportant in the grand scheme of culture frailty in America. Sadly, I’m the only one I know personally who cares as much or even believes this phenomenon cries out for attention.

Maybe that’s the hardest part about caring. Always has been for me, whether it was small unheralded bands like Roomrunner or overlooked Dragonball Z characters, Gohan from Trunks’ timeline. You push in your own way year after year with your own oratory, but the people in your life don’t really care anymore than the first time they heard your speech. In fact, they just want you to shut up about it finally. At least the dog will stick around and listen

Maybe I’m just bummed I’ve run out of friends willing to listen lay out these ideas over a few beers. I’m 32 and can’t honestly say I can give them the same time I did when I was 22, 25, or 28. I showed my wife Stand By Me for the first time a few weeks ago, and the ending keeps resurfacing in my head. Feels like all these friendships will turn into Chris Chambers. I won’t see them every year or for years, but I know I’ll miss them .

You never have friends later in life like the ones we have in adolescences or in my case before I really became an independent adult.

Recent Spins: Happy Birthday… America

The last few weeks showered rains of shoe drops when I’d only forecast a single shoe to drop at work, and maybe a few wedding slippers at home. America’s birthday has been a welcomed opportunity for a break from work, and reevaluation of my professional life. I’ve failed to balance my impending wedding and presently stressful job with my own day to day life. Everyone (mostly) empathizes with improving their “work life balance” for a higher quality of existence. Writing and reading along with collection and listening to music provides said fidelity with my personal values.

I struggle with my confidence writing. No one reads or cares about, and I personally don’t wish to promote myself like a Kardashian, but revere writing as a skill, craft, art, and hobby. Seems like a lost art for my generation. I tried penpalling but it’s a tough ask when we don’t exercise our handwriting muscles. I set a goal to write weekly, a 1,000 words week, to which I’ve failed like Ben Simmons sitting courtside for no other reason than neither of us want to play the game. But here is my feeble attempt! On the Fourth of July while my fiance works. Again, grapple with putting finger to key; however, my easiest out and long overdue chronicle has simply been offering my latest listenings and vinyl purchases. It’s a fairly easy subject and I’m happy to gloat about my recent acquisitions (and elist taste).

Who doesn’t love “Breezin'” by George Benson? It’s legendarily easy feeling carefree melody seems underrated, to me. I’m just over thirty but still. How do we not talk about this song more when the kids talk about “vibes” in their Tik Toks or at festivals they only came to see Frank Ocean. I’m not sure how I got on this George Benson kick, which is irrelevant. Since then I decide I had to own Breezin’ at some point. To be frank, I’ve said this about Men At Work’s Business as Usual since my old roommate bought a solid copy for a dollar back in 2016-2017. Precedent says it won’t happen… But that’s why you go to record stores.

I took myself to Saint Marie Records today. Ironically ran across a Japanese version of Business as Usual, but when Breezin’ appeared a light illuminated like the shine of Krabby Patty. This is why “I have a problem” as my fiance says. I still revel in the romance of flipping through records until that record you weren’t looking for or even thinking about rises like a sunrise peaking over the ocean of unextraordinary albums. I’m forever chasing this high, and finding on days like today. I passed up Men At Work, yet again, but not George. Sure, I mostly bought this to hear “Breezin'” but I genuinely waited to hear the whole album until I managed to purchase the record.

Breezin’ hits many my of standards for high quality releases. Eight or less tracks, a primary guideline, is met. I prefer records typically stay around thirty minutes, which this exceeds; however, no time is wasted. There are no filler tracks. This record was released in 1976 so the industry at the time lends itself to make the most of the time on wax rather than maximize streams. Still, the only criticism I offer lies in the vocals for “This Masquerade” which irritates me like the bug bite on the back of my neck. It’s just there… lightly pinching and slowly building like an eruption. It’s the only exception to an otherwise instrumental records. Such an obvious flaw in an otherwise perfect album I played twice tonight.

There’s nothing new I can add to the overwhelming high esteem people have for The Hotelier. They’re universally beloved in the emo scene since the release of Home, Like No Place Is There. I luckily caught them on tour in June of 2016 during the release of Goodness at Che Cafe. Wow, seven years ago feels like lifetimes ago. They never came back to San Diego again and quickly went into hiatus for some years. Still, up until COVID I continued checking in on them for tour updates. Recently they announced their first tour in four years to celebrate the tenth anniversary of Home. My fiance has the misfortune, depending on how you look at it, of coming with me to see them perform Home front to back for possibly the last time ever.

Thinking about my recent spiral of dread at work with what my life was like seven years ago reminded me I overcame crippling gloom many times. Home and Goodness were both soundtracks of my own recovery. Listening to those songs now definitely hits different. I blasted “The Scope of All of This Rebuilding” as my war cry every time I ventured out to therapy or socialized with new and old friends. Over the years only a few songs have remained in rotation in my playlists. One obvious, “Among the Wildflowers”, and another not so obvious, “Dendron”. Why these two? I can hum some of the lyrics and most of the melodies easily without contemplating the song’s meaning.

This record pivots between themes of depression, mental illness, loss, and (open to interpretation) discontent with the modern America systems. I abhor the current housing economics in America, which seems solely based on luck with the market, interest rates, and the overall economic climate. In 2016 my life drifted into aimless doldrums for several years until therapy helped me unpack a broken relationship, childhood baggage, and build coping skills to manage moments of melancholy. Those times, thankfully, appear as out of site as trying to spot Hawaii from Moonlight Beach.

Write about Whirr at your own risk, well fuck it. In February of this year, Whirr released pre-orders for their Live In Los Angeles (8/3/2015) 12″ along with a 45 of two unreleased songs. As of this writing there are still copies available from the band’s website, so don’t be fooled by the secondary market. Normally writing anything about the band without contexts could land you in Jail of Public Opinion. No medical professional possesses the antibiotics capable of sterilizing this cultural phenomena. If you’re unaware of the controversy surrounding the band read this. I’ve only read one other piece since and concerning their cancellation, which contextualizes Whirr’s issues well but can’t resist revealing the author’s distaste for the band and its fans. Mr. Enis clearly struggles living with the fact this band remains relevant. Perhaps he and other “critics” agonize over their failure to understand how Whirr continues connecting with fans.

In this case, circumstances matters more than I originally anticipated four-five months ago. Advertised as a live album it would be fair to assume the entire set from the night in question would appear on a 12″ LP, especially when a separate 45 single included in the package. Fan excitement flamed out in various camps around the band when preorders arrived and only three full songs were included with a completely blank B side. You can see the full setlist here. Fans hammered Whirr with their confusion and feeling mislead by what they were sold. Nick Bassett felt compelled to address the mounting frustration on Reddit. You can read his full statement here. It’s easy for Bassett to sell this as a “bootleg” release in retrospect; however, they failed to adequately explain to fans what they were selling them.

Personally, I feel short changed because of how effectively it immersed me into their live experience which I never got with Whirr. Using the ending scene to Eyes Wide Shut as an interlude going into “Mumble” sounds fucking amazing. The energy from the opening chords and 20 effect pedals translates just as well if I were there in 2015. “The Thrill is Gone” Chet Baker outro perfectly fits Whirr’s whole artist aesthetic. The ethereal soundscapes Whirr produced on their studio records work equally well live, and that’s what disappoints me most. I never saw them live, and they will likely never tour again. This was an incredible missed opportunity for Whirr to share what they offered live with a fairly wide audience that wants to relive the experience or, like me, never saw them. I enjoy what I got but I’ll always feel cheated and deprived of an experience I’ve wanted and will likely never have.

My Favorite Soundtracks I Own

Movie soundtracks feel like a 20th century idea in 2023. Sure, motion picture soundtracks still get released to varying results. Twenty long years ago Spider-Man jubilantly somersaulted over skyscrippers to “Vindicated” and “We Are” in theaters across the globe. Today the film and movie industries chase the same cultural moment only achieved by Tik Tok and a clean shaven Christopher Carrabba.

Soundtracks help put the time and place in a movie plot into context, and when executed properly elicit the required emotional response from the audience to emphasize with the film. Air, a rare example, effectively sets viewers into the American 80’s with “Money for Nothing” and with “In a Big Country” endears you a bit to Sonny Vaccaro on his way to meet the Jordans. These collections of songs affix you to characters, story, and ultimately the film and songs themselves.

There are quite a few soundtracks beloved in my life like Adventureland, Superbad, and many others but I don’t own most of them. Some were never pressed on wax while others cost more than a decent espresso machine. Still, I flipped through my coffers to find my favorite soundtracks in my collection. It didn’t take much time to pick out my favorites.

Hair pulling difficult to select just one song to feature from Pineapple Express, but the humor derived from “Electric Avenue” swirls together like cookies and cream frozen yogurt. Comedic perfection for a goofy dope in 2008. Only pressed once for Record Store Day in 2017, only 1,800 green grass marble copies exist. Looking back this may have been the first year I lined-up at Lou’s Records for RSD.

Over the years Pineapple Express became a stable in my household for hosting friends for game nights, pre-gaming before hitting the city, or just chilling at home responsibly (I stress very responsibly). Through my twenties and into my thirties this soundtrack outlasted the rewatchability of the film itself. There’s more here than just rocking with Eddy Grant or M.I.A.’s “Paper Airplanes” which only appeared in the movie trailer.

It introduced me to Peter Tosh with “Wanted Dread or Alive” which pushed me to explore reggae beyond Bob Marley. Also an amazing cooking song. Robert Palmer’s “Woke Up Laughing” garnishes the final cherry on top of real friendships established in the final scene in Pineapple Express. On brand ending for a Judd Apatow film but with an underrated choice swan song.

No other film better appreciated the dysphoria of the American workplace than 1999’s Office Space during the Y2K transition from 20th century to the 21st. Packed with breakroom bangers like Biz Markie’s “Shove This Jay-Oh-Bee” and a “9 to 5” cover Office Space offers the best after work soundtrack over cheap beers with the neighbor and breast exams on channel 9.

The Geto Boys however catapulted the humor of the movie into the either of meme immortality. “Damn It Feels Good to Be a Gangsta” perfectly embodied Peter Gibbon and the audience’s lifelong pursuit of a carefree lifestyle of not giving a fuck. “Still” lives on forever as proof you can hear memes. Never has brutalization of janky technology been more satisfying.’

One could argue Geto Boys delivered three enduring tracks when Michael Bolton spits Scarface’s “No Tears” in rush hour traffic. One of the hardest tracks on the soundtrack highlighted by Michael locking his car door, lowering the stereo volume, and self-censor a certain no-no word when passing by a black man selling flower bouquets.

When I hear Seal’s cover of “Fly Like an Eagle” I visualize Michael Jordan gliding through the heavens of the hardwood for a majestic layup. It’s not a choice either. Call it automatic or conditioned, Michael Jordan’s omnipresence in popular cultural even reached me at 5 years old in Denmark. I never saw him play on TV until he unretired (again) in 2001, after I moved to the USA.

Space Jam capitalized on the cultural phenomenon of Jordan in 1996 with Bugs Bunny and the institution of the Looney Tunes universe. The soundtrack had to match the star power of the movie, so why not call on B-Real, Coolio, Method Man, LL Cool J, and Busta Rhymes for cascades of bars on “Hit ‘Em High” the Monstars’ theme.

Quad City DJ’s “Space Jam” theme set the bar for hype for anyone born in the late 80s and early 90s. That elation never goes away when I hear it, no matter how old I get. Doesn’t hurt it was the first CD I bought with my own coin.

R. Kelly’s “I Believe I Can Fly” spun on repeat through my boombox and MTV. I stress, at the time, it was the reason I bought soundtrack. I had no clue Kelly sexually abused children which ultimately tainted my feelings towards all of his music. Yet some affinity remains. I cannot deny how aspirational that song was in 1996.

Photo by Chris Hardy