Everyone wants to be something they're not. For most of us, we'll never really be too spectacular at anything, so we tend to have a long list of things that we'd like to achieve. Get out of debt, for example. Or, possibly move into an apartment where the roaches haven't unionized yet. But we have even more spectacular daydreams on occasion, usually ones that have no congruity with ourselves. If we're short, like Tom Cruise-short, we want to be basketball players; if we're painfully ugly, we imagine being models, and so on. Some of us even have some more, uh, elaborate ideals. Like, becoming a woman, and then becoming a rabbit. Once you've stopped turning to rubbing alcohol to make those pictures go away, we'll move on to the next paragraph.

Do I shoot? NO! Do I pass? NO! Do I slam? YES! Do I rap? YES? Should I rap? NO!

Strangely enough, these walking fantasies aren't unique to those of us who walk through life never really being paticularly anything. In fact, for those of us who do become a success in some way, the daydreams seem twice as elaborate, and thanks to whatever kind of money they make doing their real job, acted out upon more than most people have the opportunity to do. Don't believe me? The list of those who aspired to be what they're not publicly is long and embarassing. Bill Murray made a public attempt to play in the NBA when he turned 40. Howie Long, a great football player, made some truly amazing appearances in films including John Woo's Broken Arrow. He starred as the guy who, um, looked like Howie Long. 90% of the NBA has rapped or is currently rapping as we speak, poorly. Someone even fell asleep at the wheel and not only gave Jimmy Fallon an album, but gave it great media coverage too!

The reason I find this ridiculous is because it's hard enough just to become a success at anything, let alone two completely disparate fields. Every time I see someone like Allen Iverson outplay people twice his size, then step up to the microphone, call himself "Jewelz", and make incredibly bad raps, I slap myself on the forehead. And I have a big forehead, so it makes a whole lot of noise. You guys are blowing it! If something works, stick with it and ride it out as long as you can. Hence why i'm bewildered when good bands break up. Why try something that may not work with somebody else when you're doing well so far?

Why exactly did At the Drive In break up again? I bought Vaya and was shocked at how good they were. But it didn't take long for them to put out Relationship of Command, and suddenly they weren't together. This seemed especially weird for a band who had labored in the armpit of the world, El Paso, for years and years to get on the national stage, only to break apart as soon as they got there. I was curious to hear what the follow up acts would sound like, but I can't really say that i had particularly high hopes either. Sparta, the first ATDI spin off to release a record, didn't do too badly. They put out a catchy record of rock with better than average riffs and a surprisingly good grasp of pop hooks. But the constant swirl of hype post-ATDI has always centered around the Mars Volta.

After Shaq was finished, Bill challenged him to a game of one on one. He will be missed.

Before they had played a note, anticipation has run high for this band. Even now that their album De-Loused in the Comatorium has been released, there are many more articles to be found on this band than there are songs. So the probability that their LP was going to be able to live up to the whirlwind of publicity wasn't looking very good. And, I have to admit, in some ways, the Mars Volta's first album succumbs to the pitfalls of self-proclaimed artiness. The album's cover art comes off looking like a drugged up Paint and Pen submission, falling into line with some of the more obtuse and vague themes on the album. In addition, De-Loused in the Comatorium is frequently lyrically ridiculous. There are many bright spots, but the repetition and amalgamation of medical terminology quickly becomes grating.

But, these complaints are stylistic, and they ultimately do little to detract from what is a musically amazing album. The rhythyms manage to be technical and complex without the dry clinical feel of math rock. The Mars Volta also manages to pull of a difficult feat: performing long songs that don't feel repetitive or redundant. And one of the most pleasant surprises from my repeated listens has been Cedric Bixler's voice: whether he's wailing like a banshee or softly emoting, his parts never feel forced or ragged. A great deal has also been made of the eclectic influences that comprised the group's songwriting core. Fourtunately, they're smart enough to not let any one genre, whether it's dub, salsa, or ambient noise, stick out too much. The result is an album that is both accessible and layered. So fortunately, what we have here is a band that blew a good opportunity but managed to survive the ordeal. Somehow I doubt that this means Shaq's next rap album is going to shock the world, but it's a nice change of pace.