My Back Pages: 6/27/26
"Jenny Death," the '91 Never Ending Tour, Josh O'Connor
Welcome back to My Back Pages, a weekly digest recapping everything of note from the last seven days—pods, bylines, appearances, plus a few odds and ends.
Let’s get to it.
Pods of the Week
Death Grips Summer continues apace on Jokermen. This week we hit Jenny Death, probably my favorite single record in the DG discography. Not only is it Good Music, it’s Rock Music.
Coming out of two-plus years of Beach Boys coverage, these episodes have been a bit of a challenge for us: concepts like “melody” and “harmony” don’t really apply here, and Ride’s lyric sheets are so dark and dense that they resist analysis (and that’s when you can even understand what he’s saying in the first place). Consequently, we’re talking around the music as much as we’re talking about it. It’s a new rhythm for the show, but one that I’ve found quite rewarding. Hopefully folks dig it as much as we have—if not, it’ll all be over in about a month.
Then it’s on to Jokermen 4…
Over on Never Ending Stories, Steven Hyden forced us to dive into the mud and muck of 1991. We’ve listened to a bunch of great tapes recently, so it was fun to flashback a few decades for a primo specimen of the nadir of the Never Ending Tour.
This show took place 10 days before the legendary Stuttgart performance—widely regarded as the worst Bob Dylan concert of all-time. There are plenty of rough patches (check that Paul Simon cover, for instance), but it’s not all that bad. There’s a tidy little suite of Oh Mercy material that (mostly) comes together, and I’ve never met an “It Ain’t Me, Babe” I don’t love.
Indeed, this tape made me feel oddly emotional. It’s a document of a severely-diminished Dylan, someone who knows he’s no longer the titan he once was. It wouldn’t be long before Bob summited the mountain once again, but for a couple years there, it really seemed like he was headed for a bleak final chapter. This show is a glimpse of what could have been but thankfully never was.
Chune of the Week
Aaron Olson: “Who Do You Think You Are I Am”
We’ve got a great hang with Aaron on coming next week on Jokermen, but his new record, the descriptively-titled Songs Album II, is out today. There’s tons to dig here, from heady odes to Neolithic structures, to lush instrumentals, to paeans to everyone’s least-favorite type of party attendee, the punisher—all of it rendered in a warm rock songs palette that gestures toward any number of artists and subgenres without coming off as nostalgic or self-satisfied.
“Who Do You Think You Are I Am” is a hard rocker driven by an insistent single chord. Aaron borrowed bowler Pete Weber’s immortal exclamation for the title, transforming the nonsense phrase into an emotional, oddly-eloquent refrain that defines the center of the record. The finished result: doo-wop by way of madman-mode John Cale, with a dash of 80s Van Dyke Parks wordplay thrown in for good measure.
Songs Album II is not available on Spotify, so peep the whole album on Bandcamp if you’re into it. Music is worth paying for.
Fit of the Week
I wore this last Sunday to go to the mall with my wife and my dog. I love to go to the mall with my wife and my dog.
I don’t typically look to celebs for ~style inspo~ (most celebs dress poorly), but something about this photo of Josh O’Connor on the Disclosure Day press tour tweaked me. It’s a simple formula, well-suited for early summer heat: graphic tee + voluminous trousers.
I don’t tend to wear graphic tees these days—a man typically has no business wearing a graphic tee—but I make an exception for band shirts like this one: the official “Long Hot Summer” tour tee, copped at Bob’s Greek Theatre gigs last week. I’m absolutely in love with the back of the shirt, which proudly trumpets BOB DYLAN, then in teeny-text just below: “ᴘʟᴜs ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘᴇʀғᴏʀᴍɪɴɢ ᴀʀᴛɪsᴛs.”
I paired the tee with a new pair of Casatlantic linen trousers just back from the tailor, plus a pair of Tevas I’ve had in rotation for nearly a decade. Note the socks with the sandals, which fucks up the rhythm of the look and lends the ensemble a pleasant sense of wabi-sabi.
I could’ve easily gone dogs-out, too; a man’s feet are nothing to be ashamed of, at least as long as they’re well-maintained. Maybe next time.