Two of Canada's best dramatic exports are gritty, supercool Michael Ironside and dippy, cool-because-uncool William Shatner. I just waddled over to Amazon.com and listened to the online samples from Shatner's album, Has Been.
Track 1, "Common People" (featuring Joe Jackson, whoever the hell he is), gave me a good chuckle. Then I saw the name Henry Rollins further down the list, and hit Track 12, "I Can't Get Behind That."
Absolute gold. I want this album, if for no other reason than the hilarity of Track 12. I was in seizures. Shatner and Rollins: sheer genius. What sick fuck thought this up? If it was Shatner, then I tip my hat to him: he's cannier than I ever suspected.
What prompted this unusual foray into Shatnerness was an email I received from the Maximum Leader, who wanted me to check out a francophone blog he'd found. The blog doesn't appear to be anything special (unless you're a car lover and like old photos of women's asses); it's the callow musings of a 20-something. But one entry mentioned the "sublime" Shatner album, and how the blogger spent 15 minutes with a smile pasted on his face after hearing one track.
Now I know why. Shatner has that effect on people. It's been that way since 1982's "Star Trek 2: The Wrath of Khan." Ricardo Montalban's Khan, dying of internal injuries after a nasty phaser barrage from the Enterprise, quotes Moby-Dick: "From Hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee!" The comic implication, confirmed over the years by Shatner's increasing girth: Captain Kirk is the White Whale.
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