Layne Staley: Fever Dreams, Cold Sweats


Layne Staley sings two of my five favorite songs. 

I have no idea what the other three songs are; the list changes so. But Layne has two spots locked up with ‘I Stay Away’ by Alice in Chains and ‘River of Deceit’ from his side project, Mad Season.

It’s not that he has a classically limber voice; mom would liken his growl to a cat being pissed off in an alley. It’s nasally, hollow, sad.

But I find it haunting. And not just because the songs are apocalyptically prophetic.

There’s something about Staley’s voice that burrows under your skin, sets up camp in your bones. It’s not pretty, not in the conventional sense. But Staley never seemed interested in sugar-coating that particular pill.

‘I Stay Away’ hits you like a fever dream. The way Staley’s voice weaves through those lush, unsettling strings – it’s like watching a man navigate a minefield while high on ether. You’re transfixed, waiting for the inevitable explosion, but it never comes. Instead, you’re left with this lingering sense of unease, a reminder that sometimes the anticipation of pain can be worse than the pain itself.

Then there’s ‘River of Deceit.’ If ‘I Stay Away’ is a fever dream, this is the cold sweat that follows. Staley’s voice here is quieter, more introspective, but no less potent. When he croons “My pain is self-chosen,” it’s not just a lyric – it’s a confession, a realization, a surrender. It’s the sound of a man staring into the abyss and finding it uncomfortably familiar. 

That abyss, which swallowed my sister, would claim him in April 2002, when he was found dead in his Seattle apartment after years of battling heroin addiction. His body, withered to just 86 pounds, wasn’t discovered until two weeks after his death – on April 5th, ironically the same date Kurt Cobain had died eight years earlier.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Mom might hear an angry alley cat, but I hear a prophet of doom, singing hymns for the damned. There’s a raw honesty in Staley’s delivery that makes even his most despairing lyrics feel weirdly comforting. 

And maybe that’s why these songs have such a death grip on my top five. In a world that often feels like it’s spinning off its axis, there’s something reassuring about Staley’s unflinching gaze into the void. 

His voice isn’t classically beautiful. But neither is a storm, and we still find ourselves staring in awe at lightning-torn skies.

In the end, isn’t that what great art does? It makes us find beauty in the unconventional, comfort in the uncomfortable, and meaning in the chaos.

And if that sounds like the yowling of a pissed-off alley cat, well… meow.

Dad Bod, Dad Jokes…Dad Veep?


While the 24/7s fixate on Donald Trump’s legal dramas, Joe Biden’s age concerns, and Kamala Harris’s ascent, they’re missing the real story. Tim Walz, Minnesota’s amiable governor, is quietly becoming the dark horse candidate America didn’t know it needed.

Welcome to 2024, where dad bods are hot, dad jokes hit harder than an Ali punch, and a “Dad Veep” might just be the ticket to the White House.

Historically, vice presidential picks have been exercises in cautious calculation. The bland, “do no harm” choices of the past read like a who’s who of political wallpaper.

A hundred bucks says you couldn’t pick Tim Kaine out of a police lineup. Remember Dan Quayle? How about the competent but colorless Walter Mondale? These selections were designed to balance the ticket without overshadowing the presidential nominee – safe, predictable, and utterly forgettable.

But times are changing. In an era where authenticity bests polish and relatable beats remarkable, Tim Walz stands out by blending in.

As the current Governor of Minnesota and a former high school teacher and football coach, Walz’s appeal lies in his ordinariness – a quality that, paradoxically, has become extraordinary in the realm of high-stakes politics.

Conservatives don’t know how to attack. He can shoot a gun, fix a car — and believes women have the right to choose?!

He worked the schools. Walz and his wife used IVF to conceive. He does not own a stock. He doesn’t understand the average American. He is the average American.

The stadiums are rocking for a reason. And while Harris has undeniable momentum, there’s only one newcomer in the presidential field. You’ll spot him because he’s the one laughing at his own jokes. Loudly and earnestly.

So while the pundits scramble to predict the next move in the electoral chess board, they’d do well to pay attention to the Walz wild card, and all the optimism that imbues.

In a twist that no one saw coming, the key to the White House might just be held by a guy who looks like he could be your next-door neighbor – because in many ways, he is.