Pete Townsend had brunch for all your sins

The Hold Steady last was steady brilliant, living up to every expectation: loose-limbed and tightly wound at once, drinks akimbo, rock 'n' roll. But there was one little pointilist interlocking opening-of-"Won't Get Fooled Again" guitar moment inspired a mental note of Pete Townsend died for all your sins but this morning, a soft, high voice from the feathery ferns that border the dark woods of my sonic consciousness whispered "Genesis" to me, and there it was in "Firth of Fifth" or at least something with passing resemblance.

In drinking metaphor, Selling England by the Pound is the Sunday morning mimosa after the Saturday night of tequila shots that was the Hold Steady last night.

And as we weave our way through the morning-after Sunday brunch metaphors, Robert Wyatt is the Eggs Benedict - a succulent complex greasy treat that sounded brilliant when I ordered it, and I wholeheartedly love Robert Wyatt and this album, and Eggs Benedict for that matter, but I'm not sure I'm up to actually taking it in right now. But in restaurants, I feel a perverse obligation to choke it down when it comes, and this pointless dedication transfers to my listening habits as well; thus, I float mildly seasick on the choppy organ noodling of Rock Bottom, liking each bite unto itself, but wishing the plate was clean.

I've never really liked Add N to (X) all that much - a little too goofy maybe? - in minute 3 of the penultimate bite of Wyatt, I needed a way out and the player-suggest-omatic-thingy offered this, and it's like when the AC kicks on in the car after the miserable suffered-through brunch, synthetic balm for being too organic for ones own good. Plus there is a song titled "Machine is Bored with Love" which is hilariously perfect .