Contraindication Is Your Best Entertainment Value

81. The Pancreas (Noah Found Grace: Jamaican Gospel Music from the 1960s + '70s)

2011-05-07T18:47:00.005-04:00

Our work should glorify the entire Mystical Body. That is our purpose. Outside of the Mystical Body, we have no purpose.

Fairly thankless, huh.

Nobody sends their pancreas a birthday card.

What would happen if you were to shun your purpose?

We would lose our privileges as members of the Mystical Body.

What is the Mystical Body?

The unity of humanity with the Head, who is Christ.

What would happen if you were to shun your purpose?

Have you ever seen a person lose their pancreas?

I... yes.

It's painful.

It's painful to watch.

It's painful to be watched, if you don't have a pancreas.

80.He's very protective of his drugs... (Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 - Bob Dinners and Larry Noodles Present Tubby Turdner's Celebrity Avalanche)

2011-04-29T20:13:00.004-04:00

He's very protective of his drugs. He loves them, he loves their names and the way '-ol' sounds like 'all.' He loves and considers their well-considered shapes. And he loves their contraindications. This one doesn't play well with that one, it was always thus. This one makes that one a real bull in a china shop. This one just eggs on that other one so much and that's usually such a gentle little pill. He could be... no, I mean, he was, once... flat on his ass in the middle of the warehouse district, nestled in a pile of all that urban jetsam that is always getting thrown back. He was weeping. He was arching his back. He was in distress. Mayhap... maybe, I said, that this current spasm of emotion might have something to do with your new regime of [name of drug redacted under advice of counsel]? And he leapt up, the pain on his face suddenly gone and replaced with entreaty. He brushed what looked like a dozen Tootsie Pop wrappers off of his upper back. No, I'm just under all this stress, you know? I'm just not expressing myself fully.... To which I replied, but you always say that. I'm not making a moral judgment against [name redacted]. I don't have anything against how [name redcated] goes about its business. There isn't a moral judgment to be made, it's a substance, the moral judgments would be levied at the users. I have a problem, kind of a problem with how it's working for you... He looked like he was going to take a chunk out of me right there. He looked like he was ready to roll for initiative... I swiftly backed down and gave the universal incantation for swiftly backing down: I'm just sayin'. And of course later we tenderly bundled him into the cab, another real mother and child moment, the taxi driver knew the deal.

And he was normally well-medicated or at least just medicated enough to be a lamb. I think I know what angered him. First I think what angered him was that I brought it up in the first place. He was tender, he was protective about his pills. He didn't want me coming in and saying they weren't doing their job, because he saw himself as right there in the thick of it, working next to his drugs. Forging a radiant peace and sobriety, he and his drugs sweating it out in the foundry. What right did I have and say someone wasn't doing their job? What did I know, with my doctor-suggested drug regime and my talking cures?

Doubly irksome it must have been, then, when I even brought up the concept of morality, even in a negative sense. And triply, that I suggested that I believed that [name of drug redacted by editor] didn't have a moral weight. He thinks it does, that it is dense with morality, you take it and it plunges down your throat and it leaves behind it a surging wake of benevolent gravitas. Its weight provides a moral anchor. Actively. The final insult then was that I was denying the pill, and by extension the rest of his psychopharmaceutical pantheon... that I was denying the pill agency. As the way of the constellations of the zodiac are thought by some to suggest courses of action, for him the constellations of oral suspensions, muscular injections... when weighed on the scale of indication and contraindication... urged a certain way of acting that was proper and efficient for whatever moral situation might arise. He would receive certainty and a true north from his drugs. Not needing intuition, being for all purposes ridden by his psychopharmacology, he walked serenely and with divine confidence from room to room, block to block, city to city.

79. The Sex Train (Kid Creole Presents: The Former 12-Year Old Genius)

2011-04-18T17:14:00.004-04:00

next stop: sex. all aboard for: sex. all cars for: sex. destination: ultimate pleasure. next stop: sex. ticket please, sir.

here you are.

very nice, sir. a lifetime pass. a real grand tour, sir?

don't you know it.

bent over the backboard with a ball gag is very nice this time of year.

it most certainly is. you can hear the fucking thirty miles down the coast some nights.

i really do like it. any time of year, but . this is especially nice right now. boy do i love my job, and i love this train, the sex train.

i don't know why more people aren't on it.

who can say? people are funny, sir.

we all have our kinks, eh?

ha ha. you could say that, sir.

just did.

ha ha. good one, sir. well, i gotta move on down. next stop: sex, and you're on the mind-blowing fuckorama express, destination: blow your fucking mind. ticket, ma'am? very good.

78. Appropriate Emotional Response: A Beginner's Guide (Broadcast - Live "Black Sessions"; Microtonics vols. 1 and 2)

2010-05-15T08:16:00.005-04:00

*Gestures, in medium shot, towards well-lit jewelry display case, in which SUBJECT is fondly rummaging about*

This one *points to gently faceted pink pill* is for sleeping that special Sleep of the Just. Oh, and next to it, that's for waking up without fear of the previous night. They go hand in hand, that's why they're next to each other.

Yeah, every pill corresponds to an emotional response. and you know, people seem to have, uh, a lot of them, emotional responses. So I carry a lot of these with me, and while my emotional response reaction time might be a little, uh, behind, I can... you know, respond with the best of them. Eventually.

This one is great. *Picks up a gray pill with tiny neon green lettering* This one, I don't know if it ever got to the market, but I got it off the internet, pretty rare. It gives you the feeling that maybe you're taking too many pills. A nagging feeling. Specialized but just the thing at, uh, at times. *Looks at pill for a moment before swallowing it*

77. How I Found God (Daniel Higgs - Ancestral Songs)

2010-05-15T08:00:00.003-04:00

I just torrented God. I'm, like, dicking around on the pirate bay, right? And there's this one torrent, it's like, 180 GB or something, and it's called, "NEATO." Well, why not? It don't cost nothing. So I start dl-ing the thing and promptly forget about it. Well, fast forward about a year or something, last week it was a year or something, I remember this old laptop I stuck behind the bed, and it's been downloading this shit all the while and it says "download complete." So I just run the .exe file, cause I forgot I even had the damn laptop so who cares if it fucks up and it sets up. Takes a while. And while the installer bar is getting longer the power is going wiggy and there's lightning and shit. Real fucked up. So it installs and I run it and the command prompt box comes up! That's it! Well, whoop de fuckin do! But then I see that instead of "command prompt" on the little bar, it says "GOD." Alright, I'm not a sucker, I'm the world's biggest sucker. So, for kicks, I just type in 'dir,' right? And fuck me if the name of everyone in the world starts going past, superfast but I, like, somehow know every name as it goes by. Like, I know it's the name of everyone in the world. So that finishes up and I'm like, fuck man, so I make an onion sandwich and come back and I'm macking on this sandwich and I remember Lou Appich, this little fucking weasel rich kid who made my life hell in high school. And he would get his dick sucked because he had a cool car cause his dad had like a Jaguar dealership or some shit. And he would always come by with his posse and take my lunch. Wouldn't even eat it, just take it and spit on it and throw it in the trash. So I'm looking at this GOD prompt and I type 'del lou appich\dick.' That'll teach that fucker. So I forget about it and then I'm watching the news and the guy says "first up: local car salesman loses dick in firearms accident" and I look at my laptop and the fucker is fucking LEVITATING and motherfucker, it is a hell of a life.

76. Top Autonomous Zones for the Week of May 2-9, 2010 (Harry Pussy - In an Emergency You Can Shit on a Puerto Rican Whore)

2010-05-02T10:13:00.006-04:00

1) when miss ulrich was sick and the school forgot to get a sub so the janitor sat in for her

2) back of jeff's station wagon (fifth week running)

3) 1052 alameda avenue until the pigs showed up

4) this scenic overlook.

5) penny landsman's uterus (not confirmed)

75. Two- Car Funeral (Tod trauer Trapani - Field Recordings of Sicilian Funeral Bands during the Holy Week)

2010-05-02T08:19:00.006-04:00

Jim is setting up a two-car funeral.

"How many cars do we need," he asks.

"Two," I say.

"But there's three mourners," he says.

"One car for the corpse, one car for the mourners," I say.

"Isn't that three cars," he says. I notice he hums quietly after every sentence.

"Two cars," I say.

"But they're wearing formal clothes," he says.

"They'll fit. Jesus," I say.

"So, three cars it is. Say, whose funeral is this," he asks.

"Yours," I say, picking up a hammer.

74. Grapevines (Freakwater - Old Paint)

2010-05-02T06:18:00.004-04:00

"Jesus said, 'A grapevine has been planted away from the father. Since it is not strong, it will be pulled up by its root and will perish."-The Gospel of Thomas verse 40, translated by Marvin Meyer

When I came home from work, they were just finishing up. The panel van says KI Landscapes and has a sticker on the bumper that says "Free Soviet Jewry in Each Package." h, right, ha ha. And then I looked at the house.

They had taken the ivy down, ripped it right out of the stucco wall, leaving huge holes. We told em, trim it up, you know, don't wanna get too shaggy cause the neighbors might get restless. Well, they did that all right. The fucking plaster is falling out of these fucking POTHOLES in my house.

And the grapevines... we had planted the grapevines after Laura's second miscarriage. She said it might be good to get something living, something we could watch grow. I said fine, it would be a lot easier than having a kid around doing a Linda Blair act 24/7. I didn't say that last part aloud. So we got an arbor for the front walk and planted some concord grapes. I didn't have to water them so they were ok by me. And it had been a couple of years, a couple of desperate years and they too were getting shaggy so we asked KI Landscapes if they could, you know, trim em up. Cause you don't get any fruit unless it's on new growth.

So these fucking morons cut the loving grapevines down to nubs. And I know Laura is gonna say it's my fault... I walk over to the side yard and there's the guy, KI i guess, and his 12-year old son piling all our grapevines and grapes in a big heap.

"Hey," I started. The older guy grunted without looking up and the kid, some kid with a big-ass flop-mop of shiny black hair looks up and smiles.

"Y'all went a little far with the landscaping."

The older one gave a redneck version of the gallic shrug. I started to say something, when suddenly it hit me that there was fuck-all i could do, I couldn't fucking GLUE the fucking vines back. I reached for my wallet and handed the older guy the forty bucks, and he walked towards the front yard. He turned around before disappearing. "Kento, see if you can bring me them clippers."

I don't know why, but being left alone with the kid... maybe cause he can't fight back... I wanted to just break his face, just wipe that grin right off. I counted to ten, twenty, finally said, "You know, we've been growing those for a couple of years, and uh, they had a lot of grapes on em."

The kid picked up his dad's clippers and looked at the pile.

"All the grapes are still there," he said, pointing.

"Yeah. They are, I guess" I said.

They left and I wondered if i had enough time to go to the store for a quick beer and some mint gum before Laura came home. I was just starting to walk there when she pulled up. She looked at the house with horror.

"Hey honey. It's ok, honey" I said. "All the grapes are still there."

73. That Scene in Trainspotting (Underworld - Born Slippy Mixes)

2010-03-22T07:57:00.003-04:00

Do you remember the scene in Trainspotting where Franco and Migs decide they are going to hold up an ice cream truck and they're planning the whole thing but Migs is getting progressively more fucked up on nutmeg and meanwhile Franco has decided to go shopping and he gets into a pointless fracas in the produce section of Sainsbury's and then he gets back to where Migs is and Migs is vomiting what smells like a brandy alexander into Franco's favorite fern and he (Migs) turns to Franco and says, "Ay, Franco, 'there is some married woman who will commit suicide in case her husband fails in business.' This evidently goes far beyond saying that if every married man fails in business some married woman will commit suicide. Yet note that since the Graph is on Metal it asserts a conditional proposition de inesse and only means that there is a married woman whose husband does not fail or else she commits suicide," and Franco says "och ay" and you think he's actually gonna be cool, like, open up to migs and not be such a "cunt" (a word that means something COMPLETELY DIFFERENT in Wales which is where the movie is) but then he pulls a bottle of Buckfast fortified breakfast wine out of his cargo pants and drinks it and brains Migs because he (Franco) is an intractable asshole who can't over a darkie stealing his lucky string at recess when he was 8? Well, this was the song playing at the time (in the movie). And here are six mixes of that song for the next time you and your friends feel like recreating the scene in the privacy of your own apartment, squat, or Salvation Army dormitory.

72. The Broadcasting System 1/4/10

2010-02-28T07:31:00.002-05:00

1. "Picking Up Interference" - Trenchmouth - The Broadcasting System [Skene]
2. "Unknown" - Unknown - Shanghai Jazz
3. "F" - So - So
4. "Lock Stock and Teardrops" - Roger Miller - King of the Road
5. "Haunt Me" - Arab Strap - The Red Thread [Matador]
6. "Get Back Satan" - Reverend Roger L. Worthy and His Sister Bonnie Woodstock - Fire in My Bones [Tompkins Square]
7. "Unknown" - Unknown - Caucasia, Crossroads of East and West [Airmail]
8. "Rock and Roll Sermon" - Elder Beck - Fire in My Bones [Tompkins Square]
9. "Double Lock Your Mind" - Oneida - Anthem of the Moon [Jagjaguwar]
10. "Thung Kwian Sunrise" - Thai Elephant Orchestra - Thai Elephant Orchestra
11. "Unknown" - Unknown - Latvia: Music of Solar Rites
12. "It's a Rainy Day, Sunshine Girl" - Faust - So Far
13. "From the Side of the Machine" - Tony Conrad and Faust - Outside the Dream Syndicate [Table of the Elements]
14. "Father, I Stretch My Arm to Thee" - Reverend G.W. Killens and Mt. Calvary Congregation - Fire in My Bones [Tompkins Square]
15. "Thung Kwian Sunrise" - Thai Elephant Orchestra - Thai Elephant Orchestra
16. "Lay Lady Lay" - Pete Drake - ... and His Talking Steel Guitar
17. "You Without Sin Cast the First Stone" - Isaiah Owens - Fire in My Bones [Tompkins Square]
18. "The First Mrs. Jones" - Smiley Bates - True Stories from Life's Other Side
19. "Black Diamond Express to Hell (Part 1)" - Rev. A.W. Nix - Goodbye Babylon [Dust-to-Digital]
20. "I Ride an Old Paint, I Ride an Old Paint" - Johnny Cash - Mean as Hell [Bear Family]
21. "Lay Lady Lay" - U.S. Maple - Purple on Time [Drag City]
22. "J'ai passe devant ta porte" - Cleoma Falcon - Prends Donc Courage
23. "Interference" - Trenchmouth - The Broadcasting System [Skene!]

71. Facebook and the Apocalypse (Lungfish Live at North Six, Brooklyn, 9.18.04)

2010-02-28T07:21:00.003-05:00

Anders Haley is still in the basement of Holman Hall. It's a good thing thing they just restocked the vending machines!

Mary Yount, Cooper Billick and 7 others like this.

Theo Lammer Man cannot live on Twix alone...
Peter Torrant It'll do in a pinch
Anders Haley LOL

***

Anders Haley So it looks like it was just a 10-megaton device they dropped on Rochester. What, we don't rate a 50?

View all 12 comments.

Laurie Pelham @Tony: C'monb man, not cool...
Tony Hamm I'm just saying, the world desrves a rest from our activities

***

Anders Haley Sick of Twix, gonna switch up to Kit Kats

Anders Haley My dollar bills are all crumpled up
Mary Yount I hate that

***

Anders Haley is wondering how it looks up there!

Thomas Dammer It looks like Baltimore
Anders Haley Remember that movie where they nuked Blatimore and you said "how ocould they tell if anyone nuked Baltimore?"
Peter Torrant It's horrible

***

Laurie Pelham is now single.

***

Cooper Billick

Astrology - Today's Taurus Horoscope
Here is your Today's Taurus Horoscope
You're going through some changes today and not all of them are perfectly comfortable. It's one of those days when you ought to just coast along and let life take you where it's going.
Mood:Calm
Lucky Color:Shadow Black
Lucky Number:28
Lucky Time of Day:11am
2 hours ago via Astrology · Comment · Like Unlike · Get Your Horoscope

***

Anders Haley if you want to get in touch with me shoot me an email the phone's dead

***

Tony Hamm is now single.

Mary Yount Tony no!
Jeffrey Goldschmidt : (

***

Anders Haley never thought I would say it but I'm sick of chocolate

Thomas Danner likes this.

***

Anders Haley There's nothing on the radio I would even listen to Lady Gaga right now

***

Anders Haley became a fan of Alvin The Chipmunk Has a Deeper Voice than Justin Bieber, I Was Expecting More Zombies! and One Thousand Strong for Rebuilding Civilization on the Platonic Model

***

Anders Haley > Mary Yount Happy Birthday, Murray! : )

Anders Haley Mary?

***

Anders Haley When I was a kid I always thought this would be a lot cooler, like, I saw Red Dawn and thought I would be a Wolverine. Instead I'm stuck in the basement and all the otrrent sites are down so I can't even downlaod any movies and if I watch Dumba nd DUmberer again Im gonna die. I tried tto leave yesterday and it looks like the door is blocked by...

See more

***

Anders Haley mery christmas

***

Anders Haley Who wants to rign in the new Year on Skype

Cooper Billick likes this.
Anders Haley Coope4r! get on aimi
Anders Haley Cooper get on aim

***

Anders Haley found a Lost Dog on the Street! It doesn't have tags but it looks like he's well-fed and somebody loved him very much! Help him give it a wonderful home in City Life!

70. The Broadcasting System 12/28/09

2010-02-21T07:55:00.005-05:00

If someone could do me a favor: I don't know if the filesplitter I'm using is rendering the files un-joinable to the masses. If anyone could tell me if s/he can't rejoin the files upon downloading, I'd be appreciative. I'm using Ashampoo to do it.

1. "Picking Up Interference" - Trenchmouth - The Broadcasting System [Skene!]
2. "Music" - Neil Hamburger - Left for Dead in Malaysia [Drag City]
3. "Innocent Little Doggie" - George Coleman - Bongo Joe
4. "Dog Trot" - Moondog - The Viking of Sixth Avenue
5. "Apollo" - OMD - Junk Culture
6. "(untranslated Chinese Song)" - Unknown - Unknown
7. "Too Late" - Wire - Chairs Missing [EMI]
8. "Drastic Classicism" - Rhys Chatham - Die Donnergotter [Table of the Elements]
9. "It is Narrow Here" - Eric Zann - Ouroborindra [Ghost Box]
10. "Dance from Rize on the Black Sea" - Unknown - Songs and Dances from Turkey [Folkways]
11. "Among my Souvenirs" - Vernon Dalhart - Original Recordings - Mister '78
12. "Twin guitar rhodes viola drone" - Keith Fullerton Whitman - Antithesis [Kranky]
13. "Shamas-ud-doha, Badar-ud-doja" - Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan - Shahen-Shah [Real World]
14. "Surrender to the Night" - Trans Am - Surrender to the Night [Thrill Jockey]
15. "Threshold" - Eric Zann - Ouroborindra [Ghost Box]
16. "The Farmer's Dream" - Frank Ferreira - Victrola Favorites [Dust-to-Digital]
17. "Avocado Orange" - David Grubbs - The Coxcomb [Drag City]
18. "D" - Codeine - Frigid Stars [Sub Pop]
19. "unknown Chinese vocalist" - Unknown - Unknown
20. "The Cuckoo" - Pelt - Ayahuasca
21. "Voolas" - Eric Zann - Ourobindros [Ghost Box]
22. "House on Fire" - Moonshake - Dirty and Divine [C/Z]
23. "Crumbling Down" - Polvo - Exploded Drawing [Merge]
24. "Too Far Gone" - My Dad is Dead - The Taller You Are The Shorter You Get
25. "Interference" - Trenchmouth - The Broadcasting System [Skene!]

69. My Internet Snack with Slender Man (Big Black Rarities)

2010-02-21T07:46:00.004-05:00

crazywigglyarms86: sup
steelydanphanroxx: hello.
crazywigglyarms86: sup
steelydanphanroxx: to whom am i typing.
crazywigglyarms86: check out my name
steelydanphanroxx: yeah man, that's pretty neat. who is this.
crazywigglyarms86: woooooooooo look out your window
steelydanphanroxx: what.
crazywigglyarms86: i'm outside your window
steelydanphanroxx: no you're not. there's nothing out there. there's a bird.
crazywigglyarms86: what kinda bird
steelydanphanroxx: a black bird. a crow.
crazywigglyarms86: a spooky crow
steelydanphanroxx: no a crow.
crazywigglyarms86: my evil minyun
steelydanphanroxx: what.
crazywigglyarms86: evil minyun
steelydanphanroxx: do you mean 'minion?'
crazywigglyarms86: no fag
steelydanphanroxx: because 'minyun' isn't a word.
crazywigglyarms86: fag
steelydanphanroxx: is that you colin?
crazywigglyarms86: no
crazywigglyarms86: this is SLENDERMAN
steelydanphanroxx: no way!
crazywigglyarms86: way
steelydanphanroxx: really.
crazywigglyarms86: yeah man check out my aim name SLENDERMAN has crazy fucking arms
steelydanphanroxx: yeah.
crazywigglyarms86: im an eldritch motherfucker
steelydanphanroxx: that's cool.
crazywigglyarms86: don't get on my bad side mate
steelydanphanroxx: that's from that youtube.
crazywigglyarms86: yeah
steelydanphanroxx: that's funny shit.
crazywigglyarms86: yeah
steelydanphanroxx: so what can i do for you.
crazywigglyarms86: kyle told me you had some big black b-sides
steelydanphanroxx: uh yeah.
crazywigglyarms86: are they spooky
steelydanphanroxx: no.
crazywigglyarms86: why not
steelydanphanroxx: big black was never spooky. i mean, they were kind of creepy sometimes in that serial killer way.
crazywigglyarms86: i love serial killers
steelydanphanroxx: whatever floats yer boat, man.
crazywigglyarms86: so can i have them
steelydanphanroxx: what?
crazywigglyarms86: the b-sides
steelydanphanroxx: i guess
crazywigglyarms86: woooooooooooooooooo
steelydanphanroxx: hold on.
crazywigglyarms86: woooWOOOOOwooo
steelydanphanroxx: the fuck are you doing.
crazywigglyarms86: i'm scaring this guy
steelydanphanroxx: do you get paid for that?
crazywigglyarms86: no
steelydanphanroxx: me neither. ok: http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?zdutm1wymxy.
crazywigglyarms86: fuck yah
steelydanphanroxx: so what else is going on?
crazywigglyarms86: nothing
steelydanphanroxx: SOG?
crazywigglyarms86 is offline.

68. The Broadcasting System 12/14/09

2010-02-11T18:15:00.002-05:00

1. "Picking Up Interference" - Trenchmouth - The Broadcasting System [Skene!]
2. "Tree House / School Bell (Part 1)" - Indian Ocean - Disco Not Disco 1
3. "Together Now" - Tricky - Nearly God
4. "Come On. Come On. (Don't Say Maybe)" - N.Y.C. Peech Boys - Dream White Island
5. "Satyagraha, Act I - Tolstoy/ Scene 3 - The Vow" - Philip Glass - Satyagraha
6. "Babylon" - Dr. John - Babylon
7. "Persistent Repetition of Phrases" - The Caretaker - Persistent Repetition of Phrases
8. "Joseph Looney" - Ollie Gilbert - Southern Journey Vol. 4: Brethren We Have Met Again [Folkways]
9. "Black Dust" - Hala Strana - Hala Strana
10. "Sarakhobor-I-Rast" - Academy of Maqam - Invisible Face of the Beloved
11. "What Goes On" - Velvet Underground - Live 1969, Vol. 1
12. "Qui sedes ad dexteram patris" - Francis Poulenc - Gloria
13. "Rosy Retrospection" - The Caretaker - Persistent Repetition of Phrases
14. "Rugindir; Festive Chant" - Unknown - The Demonstration Collection of E.M. von Hornbostel and the Berlin Phonogram-Archiv [Folkways]
15. "Ghost Bitch/I'm Insane/Justice is Might" - Sonic Youth - Bad Moon Rising
16. "Ka'upena Wong / A Ko'olau au 'ike i ka ua" - Unknown - Hawaiian Drum Dance Chants: Sounds of Power in Time [Folkways]
17. "Do The Mussolini (Headkick) (They Kill Him)" - Cabaret Voltaire - Methology '74/'78: The Attic Tapes
18. "Poor Enunciation" - The Caretaker - Persistent Repetition of Phrases
19. "Kerejing" - Arjasa, Western Kangean Island, 6/5/41 - Music for the Gods: The Fahnestock South Sea Expedition: Indones [Folkways]
20. "Mansion" - The Fall - This Nation's Saving Grace [Rough Trade]
21. "Men 2nd" - Wire - On Returning [EMI]
22. "Pushin'" - Pere Ubu - London Texas
23. "Peace Peace Peace" - Soul-Junk - 1951
24. "Interference" - Trenchmouth - The Broadcasting System [Skene!]

67. The Broadcasting System, 12/7/09

2010-02-06T07:13:00.003-05:00

In case you were wondering what these are, The Broadcasting System is my show over at WTJU, where I've been a DJ for the last, what, 15 years or so? You can listen live, call in, whatever. It happens on alternating Mondays from 1400-1600 (EST). There are a lot of really great shows there, so be sure to check the schedule. I wouldn't have been exposed to 1% of the music I love were it not for WTJU.

1. "Picking Up Interference" - Trenchmouth - The Broadcasting System [Skene!]
2. "Shakytriggerfinger" - Switchhitter - Framed! [Academy]
3. "The Eiger" - Oneida - The Wedding [Jagjaguwar]
4. "Fast Money Music" - Suicide - The Second Album
5. "Evangelist" - Ut - In Gut's House
6. "Dub" - Pylon - Hits
7. "I Heard It Through the Grapevine" - The Slits - Cut
8. "Germ Free Adolescents" - X Ray Spex - Germfree Adolescents
9. "Seasonata" - John V. - Sinfonia Psychedelica
10. "Dudes" - Sightings - Arrived in Gold, Arrived in Smoke [Load]
11. "Dungeon Master" - Quintron - These Hands of Mine [Bulb]
12. "God Bless America for What" - Swamp Dogg - Rat On!!
13. "Amen" - Rotary Connection - Rotary Connection
14. "Shake It Like a White Girl" - E.U - Livin' Large
15. "Trouble Funk Express" - Trouble Funk - Early Singles
16. "Trianguli" - John V. - Sinfonia Psychedelica
17. "Polio" - Pterodactyl - Pterodactyl [Brah]
18. "No Furture" - Rah Brahs - Whohm [Lovitt]
19. "Kamloops" - Flin Flon - A-Ok [TeenBeat]
20. "Dracula Mountain" - Lightning Bolt - Wonderful Rainbow [Load]
21. "Lovefingers" - Silver Apples - Silver Apples
22. "Extra CD Track" - Ultra Vivid Scene - Ultra Vivid Scene [4AD]
23. "Bauchredner" - Gastr del Sol - Upgrade and Afterlife [Drag City]
24. "Interference" - Trenchmouth - The Broadcasting System [Skene!]

66. The Broadcasting System 11/30/09

2010-01-30T16:46:00.002-05:00

1. "Picking Up Interference" - Trenchmouth - The Broadcasting System [Skene!]
2. "Paris 1919" - John Cale - Paris 1919 [Elektra]
3. "My Baby's Taking Me Home" - Sparks - L'il Beethoven
4. "Kray Twins" - Renegade Soundwave - RSW 97-95
5. "The Number Song" - DJ Shadow - Endtroducing...
6. "Eric B. Is President" - Eric B. and Rakim - Paid in Full
7. "Wall Street" - Jackie Mittoo - The Keyboard King at Studio One
8. "Luminous Carcass Ornament" - Daniel Higgs - Atomic Yggdrasil Tarot [Thrill Jockey]
9. "I Am A Poor Wayfaring Stranger" - Almeda Riddle - Southern Journey Vol. 4: Brethren We Have Met Again [Smithsonian Folkways]
10. "Laminated Cat" - Loose Fur - Loose Fur [Drag City]
11. "I Am Born to Preach the Gospel" - Washington Phillips - Key to the Kingdom
12. "Werewolf Song" - Michael Hurley - Blueberry Wine [Smithsonian Folkways]
13. "The Last Word in Lonesome is Me" - Roger Miller - King of the Road
14. "Alexander II (Theme from Shaft)" - Horst Jankowski - Black Forest Explosion
15. "Black Steel (Acapella mix)" - Tricky - Maxinquaye
16. "Regicide" - Matmos - The Civil War [Matador]
17. "My Soul is a Witness" - Unknown - Negro Religious Field Recordings from Mississippi and Lousiana
18. "Il Duce" - Big Black - Il Duce 7"
19. "(It Won't Be Long) And I'll Be Hatin You" - Johnny Paycheck - Greatest Hits
20. "Cloak and Dagger" - Tommy McCook and Upsetters - Cloak and Dagger
21. "Sun Was High (So Was I)" - Best Coast
22. "Daydreaming So Early" - On Fillmore - Extended Vacation [Dead Oceans: 2009]
23. "Imagine That" - Patsy Cline - The Definitive Collection
24. "Be With Me Jesus" - Angola Quartet - Country Spirituals
25. "Always Fade" - Low - Drums and Guns [Sub Pop]
26. "Treefingers" - Radiohead - Kid A
27. "The Mermaid Song" - Bascom Lamar Lunsford - Ballads, Banjo Tunes and Sacred Songs of Western North Carolina
28. "Interference" - Trenchmouth - The Broadcasting System [Skene]

65. Voices from Possessed Children (Okkulte Stimmen. Recordings of Unseen Intelligences 1905-2007. 3xCD)

2010-01-30T08:57:00.004-05:00

(I originally acquired this recording from the Allegory of Allergies blog. Go check it out.)

multiple values Typically rhythmic-melodic speech in a hebephrenic schizophrenic; Ecstatically emotive artificial language in a chronic paranoid; Sonorous artificial language (Schizophrenia); Sitting with 'Betty', rec. London, 1987

"The steak Diane s'il vous plait, Phillipe"

"I'm not a doctor, but I play one at recess. Many people play doctor at home, but nothing can take the place of a real doctor's advice."

"I told them they should get a divorce. It's been my opinion that they should have gotten divorced years ago. Why can't they think about the post traumatic stress syndrome."

"I realized at a very young age that

"It became glaringly obvious to me at a very young age that

"I knew from a very young age that I was to be

"Of course I want him to stay here, but I don't really know the protocol for a middle-aged man who a) doesn't know who I am anymore or is willfully ignoring the fact that he DOES know me; and b) when he DOES seem to know who I am, calls me 'Lieutenant.' Building a fort out of sofa cushions, that's great... when I do it. But when Dad barricades himself in his room, I don't know what to do. There it is: I don't know what to do. So I have to be an adult. All that on top of math homework, yeah, I am at the end of my rope."

multiple values Glossolalia - prophecies, Pentecost community, USA, 1960s; Glossolalia - Pentecostal Church, Oklahoma, USA 1980s

"* # Enter the R-2 Prime Cup's Master Ball division (you have to beat the first three divisions first).
# Assemble a team that contains a Pikachu that does not yet know Surf. You HAVE to use a Pikachu from your Game Boy game. You cannot unlock Surfing Pikachu using a Rental Pokmon.
# Do not register your team! Pick it directly from your Game Boy cartridge.
# You now have to beat the Prime Cup's Master Ball division using a three-Pokmon team that always contains Pikachu. Pikachu has to be in every one of the eight battles, but it doesn't actually have to battle.
# You are not allowed to use any continues. If you do, you won't get Surfing Pikachu. "

"TM 01 - Mega Punch
TM 02 - Razor Wind
TM 03 - Swords Dance
TM 04 - Whirlwind
TM 05 - Mega Kick
TM 06 - Toxic
TM 07 - Horn Drill
TM 08 - Body Slam
TM 09 - Take-Down
TM 10 - Double-Edge
TM 11 - BubbleBeam
TM 12 - Water Gun
TM 13 - Ice Beam
TM 14 - Blizzard
TM 15 - Hyper Beam
TM 16 - Pay Day
TM 17 - Submission
TM 18 - Counter
TM 19 - Seismic Toss
TM 20 - Rage" ...
[list continues for another ten pages - ed.]

multiple values Voices from possessed children I January 1978; Possessed children II, February 1978; Exorcism carried out on Anneliese M______, Germany 1976; Rita G____ as 'Russell', rec. Leicester, England 18.11.1983

"This is an important time for me, and I'm sorry, but I need to be selfish right now."

"Holla atcha boy on Facebook."

"Why *can't* I?"

"party

"I just want to look young. If that means I have one facial expression a day, it's no skin off my ass. Anyway, skin off my ass, that's a different procedure. When I look young, I feel young."

"better off without me fucking things up, I always loved you and this is better than me

"time alone

"just tired

"So I tried the hot yoga, the Bikram stuff, for like a week and I still couldn't quit smoking so I'm signing up for this thing in Costa Rica where they put you in a coma for a week, two weeks and... No, I checked, the guy has a degree. And when you wake up you're past the whole thing and I'm going to ask if it might help with my co-dependancy as well. I mean, what's a couple of weeks in Nod if it can fix my

The loss of ; children being adults, adults being children.

"Wretched self-interest quickly dispels all the chimeras of the national will."

"The antipathy disappeared and turned into a completely exalted condition."

"A catechism with unctuous Solomon-like language the words of which rise gently like a dove chirp! chirp! to the regions of pathos and thunder-like aspects."

"All the dilettantism of thirty-five years of neglect."

64. The Baby Vector (Scott Bradley - Soundtracks to Tex Avery Cartoons)

2010-01-24T08:28:00.005-05:00

(impossible without Brunner)

the babies came at dawn, on their quiet padded feet. i woke up and looked out the bay window, weak coffee in hand. i saw them. they saw me. the coffee cup fell to the foor, in slow motion, shattering, over and over again. john williams.

***

what is it, cremins.

babies, sir.

no shit, 'babies.'

sir, i...

what, cremins.

i don't know if i can shoot a baby, sir.

well, i think you just point the gun and pull the trigger but i'm no expert, cremins, i've only been in the fucking army for seventeen years.

sir.

cremins, when they come up on you you better shoot.

they're babies, sir.

babies... yeah, they're babies. they are babies, cremins.

***

the ride was worse than he imagined. he never thought he would run over a baby, and not a dozen every block. not in the minivan, which he and carol (carol... i hope...) had bought when they were expecting.

expecting. he never expected this.

***

parson looked up from the floor with one eye, the other one a bloody rose of gore. the babies didn't notice. they were oddly quiet, sucking on their pacifiers. like a fucking anne geddes picture... one gurgled contendedly and rolled on his back. slowly, he removed the pacifier.

it wasn't a pacifier. it was a finger.

parson screamed and then he felt little bodies start to land on him, flump flump flump flump...

***

moscowicz wiped sweat from his eyes. it was hotter than hell here in the mainframe room, but it was hotter out there, where the babies were. if he could just download the RAM into the mainframe, he could...

oh god, he whispered.

what is it? said sasha.

fucking... jesus, he said.

the mainframe screen lit up with the face of a jolly baby. "ah ah ah! ga ga ga! ah ah ah! gah gah gah!" it said. moscowicz heard a rising whine.

get out, sasha!

the room exploded.

***

sweating in the janitorial closet. my heart bursting through my ears. try to breathe quietly. but i'm safe. i know i am. cause they can't open the door. they can't open the door. they can't...

i looked at the handle. it was jiggling.

i stood up and looked through the small window. a pyramid of babies. roly poly. deadly. and on top, a baby teetering, reaching for the handle. only the fact that his hands were slick with blood kept him from getting a grip.

***

the baby hit the ground the same time i did, but got up just a little faster, motherfucker bounced, looks like. next i know the motherfucker has a knee to my throat and he's riding me like a bronco. stephanie, i thought. stephanie. i tried, honey.

63. The Social Contracts of 1544-B Alameda Drive (George Carlin, A Place for My Stuff)

2009-09-05T07:37:00.003-04:00

1. Louis will replace what he ate when Hal replaces what he ate.
2. Kim won't bathe with the bathroom door wide open if Louis will confront his hatred and fear of women.
3. Hal won't mock Jane's fear of midgets just because it occurs to him to do so.
4. Jane just won't.
5. Hal will refrain from punching Louis in the nose if Louis will admit he's a sponge.
6. Kim won't mention Jane's yo-yo dieting if Jane won't keep her up all night with one of her crying jags.
7. Hal won't leave the toilet seat up if Jane won't keep him up all night with one of her crying jags.
8. Louis won't stand over Jane's bed in a hood if Jane won't keep him up all night with one of her crying jags.
9. Kim won't call the cops on everyone else just because she's menstruating.
10. Kim won't call the cops if everyone else leaves.

62. Frank Talk About Eye Color (Black Eyes, s/t and Cough)

2009-09-05T07:26:00.002-04:00

Blue eyes: People with blue eyes are descended from Nazis. People with blue eyes are from: Scandinavia, Brazil, Oklahoma. Blue-eyed people are horse-whisperers, cheerleaders, Robin Hoods, devils. Blue-eyed people think they run the world but they so don’t. Blue-eyed people were able to rap in the early 90’s. Blue-eyed people will never find the face of Jesus in a miracle tortilla, and only 7% (adjusted) will ever try to. Blue-eyed people know where participating locations are. Blue-eyed people: 11.99% APR, $700 down at participating locations.

Brown eyes: People with brown eyes wake up later than people of other eye colors, and they go to bed later. Types of brown eyes: cylindrical (reversed), like chestnut, bloodshot, muffin. If you approach a brown-eye person from behind, be sure to ring your bell; their frightened ululations will startle and delight the cattle. Brown-eyed girls resent Van Morrison, for they have never been under the stadium, and they haven’t grown. They have reached only the size of their
cubicles, which are piled on top of each other like Tetris blocks. Brown-eyed people are seen in the early levels, and may be defeated with the Young Moon combo, which you should have had tattooed to your left wrist by Horga, the Ice Witch in Yodelling City.

Green eyes: Not jealous, but resentful of the implication. Green-eyed lady, passionate lady: child of nature, friend to man; will prepare your taxes using druidic “essences.” Green-eyed people hang out under power lines, smoking; on ley-lines, smudging; in places where coffee is served in tiny china demitasse cups, writing the next American novel, not the great one, just the next. Green eyed men come from Mars, and green eyed ladies come from “What do you mean by that!?”.

Red eyes: Linda Blair! Oh no. Oh no no no, God no.

Hazel eyes: Those of the hazel persuasion know their limitations, but surpass them anyways. Hey hazel-eye lady, won’t you share your Twix with me? Hey hazel-eye daddy, you let my woman be. We wanna have us hazel eye children underneath that hazel tree. Hazel-eyed people would write a musical like that, but have been counselled against it.

61. 365 More Funniest Jokes! (Coyle and Sharpe, Audio Visionaries)

2009-07-03T08:00:00.003-04:00

may 6!

a policeman was called to the Verrazanno Narrows Bridge to stop a man from committing suicide. he pulled up right as the man was about to go over the side. "don't do it!" he said. "you have so much to live for!" "bullshit!" said the guy. "i'm bankrupt, i'm under investigation by the SEC, and my fiancee, jennifer landingham, is cheating on me!" "THE jennifer landingham?" said the cop. "i know her. she's beautiful! she's something to live for!" the guy paused. "i guess... yeah, she is..." he said, starting to step away from the edge. "and she fucks like a wildcat. in bed her ass moves like a blender!" said the cop. the high point of the Verrazanno Narrows Bridge is 244 feet above the water.

october 30!

what would happen if you crossed an eggplant with a boom box?

that could not happen.

august 11!

fred: doctor, it hurts when i do this!
doctor derf: well, don't do that!
fred: but life without masturbation isn't worth living!

february 1!

a man and a woman were walking in the mountains along a thin trail. suddenly, the ground gave way and the woman fell, only barely catching herself on a branch. "quick, go get help!" she said. "ok, honey! i love you!" he ran back along the trail towards the village. the path forked and even though there were PLENTY OF PEOPLE AROUND he didn't ask for directions and he got more and more lost. he finally made it to the village and got help but by the time he got back, his wife had plummetted to her death. he should have asked for directions but guys NEVER DO.

december 17!

what did the hamburger say to the side of fries?

hamburgers cannot speak, we have made them mute so they aren't horrifying to eat.

june 1!

what would you call a cross between a hyena and a manatee?

this joke has two punchlines, equally humorous. a) a hyenatee. b) a horrifying mental image.

september 22!

i went to a german-russian restaurant, and an hour later i hit a jew in the face and then sent his family to the steppes!

march 19!

one of my cats had a litter of kittens, and my five year old daughter, jesse, was amazed by the process. she cooed with delight as the first kitten was born, asked (i thought) very intelligent questions about biology and the birth canal, and danced and laughed while the mama cat licked the first kitten clean. the litter ended up being five cats, and it took a while, so i made dinner. while we were eating, jesse looked over at the pen where the birthing was finishing. "look, fluffles is hungry too! happy dinner, fluffles!" my wife and i looked on in horror. the fifth kitten was stillborn and fluffles was snout deep in its steaming, deformed corpse.

january 29!

what did the politest child in the gulag get?

cancer!

hope you're enjoying this ETERNITY OF FUNNY JOKES!

60. D.B Cooper Parachuting Over My Mother's House (Cajun Fais Do-Do)

2009-07-03T07:52:00.003-04:00

(for Brian Encino Man)

d.b. cooper's parachute malfunctions. he cuts it away, uses his safety. he plunges into the brackish waters of the corrottoman. my mother drinks white wine on the deck, sees d.b. cooper swim slowly to the shore. she pours another glass of wine. she goes to get another glass. she pours another glass of wine.

d.b cooper dripping wet. he walks to the deck. roughly, my mother grabs his arm, pulls him to her.

an hour during which my mother and d.b. cooper do things i will not describe.

d.b. cooper and my mother smoking, drinking white wine.

d.b. cooper: "thank you for... understanding."
my mother: "no, honey, it's fine."
d.b. cooper: "i wish i didn't have this... this kink."
my mother: "we're all wired a little off factory specifications, dear."
d.b. cooper: "yeah, but how many people have to leap from a helicopter with a malfunctioning parachute which they then need to cut away and use their back-up... how many people need to do all that in order to initiate sexual relations?"

my mother shrugs and pours another glass of white wine.

d.b. cooper seen parachuting to the supermarket. the convenience store. his chiropractors.

my mother drinking white wine.

my mother: "are you having an affair?"
d.b. cooper: "i could never. can you pour me another glass of white wine?"
my mother: "you seem to be parachuting quite a bit these days."
d.b. cooper: "well, it IS what i'm known for."

d.b. cooper falling from the sky, silhouetted by the red clay sun. my mother looking up with wonder.

what does the house look like to a man in freefall? what does my mother look like from 30,000 feet? i ask d.b. cooper over white wine.

"you couldn't understand it, son. you stay on the ground. you've never felt all your guts in your throat as you step from the plane. i've watched you, it takes you ten minutes to screw up the courage to step from a curb. there's nothing wrong with that. i myself am deathly afraid of spiders. so much as i will never understand the certain thrill of arachnology, you will never understand..."

well, it is my mother, after all. i certainly wouldn't, i suppose...

i ask my mother, who sits atop a pyramid of empty white wine bottles.

"son, i don't feel comfortable talking about..."
"do you see him as he falls? does this excite you?"
"i see him fall. i watch as the first parachute fails to deploy. i must admit, knowing that the process has been set in motion there is a certain frisson. but i doubt you could ever understand. you who requires rope and pitons to descend a flight of stairs. this isn't your fault. your father used to..."
"don't talk about father," i say.

paralyzed with fear in front of the bank of elevators. i can see my face in the polished doors. my psychiatrist on the phone, telling me again he will not have our session in the lobby, telling me that as a strict freudian he will charge me whether i come to the third floor or not.

my father at the base of the stairs, waving the January 1982 issue of Playboy.

"c'mon. c'mon you little pussy. c'mon you little pecker. you gotta come down some time. i know you wanna see this. hoo-ee." he glances at the magazine, shakes it so that the centerfold unfurls. "goddamn, i do declare. this is gonna jumpstart yer puberty, boy. this is gonna make your little balls drop. c'mon, boy. c'mon. mother of all saints, but this chick is smokin'."

quivering, i push a slinky over the lip of the stairs, watch it flip flip flip towards my father.

59. 365 Greatest Jokes (Neil Hamburger, America's Funnyman + Great Phone Calls)

2009-06-27T14:33:00.004-04:00

Jan. 21!
what do you get when you cross a giraffe and a lizard?

a long-necked komodo dragon!

Mar. 9!
a muslim and a baptist were alone in a lifeboat, somewhere in the Indian Ocean. the baptist said, "at times like this, our differences seem kind of small, don't they?" the muslim didn't respond. he did not speak english.

February 11!
why was six afraid of seven?

seven was black!

September 14!
what was pol pot's favorite television show?

a five-hour long static shot of bleached human skulls in the sun!

June 1!
a drunk walked into a bar with his dog. "hey," said the bartender. "you can't bring your dog in here!" "this isn't just any dog. this dog can talk!" said the drunk, who smelled awful. "you don't say!" said the bartender. "hey poochy, who was the greatest baseball player of all time!" the dog started licking his flanks. the bartender waited, then said "ok, what's the book of the bible after judges?" the dog sniffed the wall. the drunk started to weep. "c'mon sparky, talk. please. please."

December 30!
how do you get to carnegie hall?

i don't know, it's in new york city, isn't it? we're nowhere near there.

Decmeber 31!
how do you get to carnegie hall?

are you fucking dense? this is fucking tallahassee. we're nowhere close to fucking carnegie hall. seriously, leave me the fuck alone.

July 3!
what do you call a room with no windows or doors?

hell

October 6!
little susie was walking home from school when a car splashed through a puddle right next to her, soaking her and covering her pretty dress with mud! thinking quickly, she grabbed a couple of palm fronds, took all her clothes off, and held the fronds in front of her suggestively. she made it home, where her mother was on the front porch, smoking. "susie! what are you doing!" "there are women like this in daddy's magazines!" replied susie. "oh god, get in the house!" said her mother. it was too late. child protective services had been notified.

ha ha! keep checking back for the funniest jokes!

58. Twilight of the Dudes (U.S. Maple: Long Hair in Three Stages, Sang Phat Editor, Acre Thrills)

2009-06-27T14:16:00.003-04:00

Twilight of the Dudes. the Duderdammerung. the grills stand empty. the lawns unmowed. vast piles of buffalo wings uneaten. where are the Dudes. does anyone remember Dudes. Dudes, come back. we don't know what you're for but we need you back anyway.

the Dudes in the hearts of men. there will be a corner of some foreign field that is forever Dude. at nightfall, a lone trumpet plays the guitar line to "Walk This Way."

where the Dude once stood rises the New American Guy. he shines, is kind. he goes to buy the Midol with no complaint. the La-Z-Boys are towed via barge out to sea and sunk. vast reefs formed from the La-Z-Boys of the missing Dudes.

deep in the swamp primeval thirty miles from little rock, an ornithologist sits by a campfire and reviews the tapes from his field recorders. nothing. on the sixth tape, though, behind the slow sizzle of the sound of rain, something. he rewinds the tape. he checks all the levels. he takes the tape out of the player, inspects it. he puts it back in. he realizes he has been holding his breath. he presses play. no, it's there, it's definitely there. the sound of rain. then: "fuckin' mets suck this year." then, the sound of rain until the end of the tape.

57. The Ongoing Crisis in Smuggler's Cove (Scharpling and Wurster - Rock, Rot, and Rule)

2009-06-13T07:29:00.009-04:00

Image by "Meursault Horny," more of whom's work may be found at brokenpants.com.

56. The Action of Worms, as per the Notes of Charles Darwin (Chinese Bells of Great Antiquity 千古绝响曾侯乙编钟之声)

2009-05-30T07:39:00.003-04:00

The accumulation of rubbish on the sites of great cities independent of the action of worms — The burial of a Roman villa at Abinger — The floors and walls penetrated by worms — Subsidence of a modern pavement — The buried pavement at Beaulieu Abbey — Roman villas at Chedworth and Brading — The remains of the Roman town at Silchester — The nature of the débris by which the remains are covered — The penetration of the tesselated floors and walls by worms — Subsidence of the floors — Thickness of the mould — The old Roman city of Wroxeter — Thickness of the mould — Depth of the foundations of some of the buildings — Conclusion.

***

13 September; soft wet weather. The mouths of the burrows were re-opened, or castings were ejected, at 31 points; these were all defaced.

14 September; 34 fresh holes or castings all defaced.

15 September; 44 fresh holes, only 5 castings; all defaced./

18 September; 43 fresh holes, 8 castings; all defaced.

The number of castings on the surrounding fields was now very large.

19 September; 40 holes, 8 castings; all defaced.

22 September; 43 holes, only a few fresh castings; all defaced.

23 September; 44 holes, 8 castings.

25 September; 50 holes, no record of the number of castings.

13 October; 61 holes, no record of the number of castings.

***

...that we have here evidence of two/fires, separated by an interval of time, during which the 6 inches of 'mortar and concrete/with broken tiles' was accumulated. Beneath one of the layers of charred wood, a valuable relic, a bronze eagle, was found; and this shows that the soldiers must have deserted the place in a panic. Owing to the death of Mr Joyce, I have not been able to ascertain beneath which of the two layers the eagle was found. The bed of rubble overlying the undisturbed gravel originally formed, as I suppose, the floor, for it stands on a level with that of a corridor, outside the walls of the Hall; but the corridor is not shown in the section as here given. The vegetable mould was 16 inches thick in the thickest part; and the depth from the surface of the field, clothed with herbage,...

***

In almost all the rooms the pavement has/sunk considerably, especially towards the middle; and this is shown in the three following sections. The measurements were made by stretching a string tightly and horizontally over the floor. The section, Fig. 13, was taken from north to south across a room, 18 feet 4 inches in length, with a nearly perfect pavement, next to the 'Red Wooden Hut'.

***

The nature of the beds immediately beneath the vegetable mould in some of the sections is rather perplexing.

***

Evidence of the amount of denudation which the land has undergone — Subaerial denudation — The deposition of dust — Vegetable mould, its dark colour and fine texture largely due to the action of worms — The disintegration of rocks by the humus acids — Similar acids apparently generated within the bodies of worms — The action of these acids facilitated by the continued movement of the particles of earth — A thick bed of mould checks the disintegration of the underlying soil and rocks. Particles of stone worn or triturated in the gizzards of worms — Swallowed stones serve as millstones — The levigated state of the castings — Fragments of brick in the castings over ancient buildings well rounded. The triturating power of worms not quite insignifcant under a geological point of view.

***

Not only do worms aid indirectly in the chemical disintegration of rocks, but there is good reason to believe that they likewise act in a direct and mechanical manner on the smaller particles. All the species which swallow earth are furnished with gizzards; and these are lined with so thick a chitinous membrane, that Perrier speaks of it, Archives de Zoolog. expér., vol. iii, 1874, p. 409. †13 as 'une véritable armature'.

***

CHAPTER VI
THE DENUDATION OF THE LAND — continued

***

Abinger, Roman villa at, 178

castings from Roman villa, with rounded particles, 253

Acids of human, action on rocks, 240

Africa, dust from, 235

Air, currents of, worms sensitive to, 28

Amount of earth brought to the surface by worms, 129

Ants, intelligence of, 93

Archiac, D', criticisms on my views, 4

***

As the foundations of the walls generally lie at a considerable depth, they will either have not subsided at all through the undermining action of worms, or they will have subsided much less than the floor. This latter result would follow from worms not often working deep down beneath the foundations; but more especially from the walls not yielding when penetrated by worms, whereas the successively formed burrows in a mass of earth, equal to one of the walls in depth and thickness, would have collapsed many times since the desertion of the ruins, and would consequently have shrunk or subsided.

55. Thank You. You're Welcome. (Glocken der Heimat - Field Recordings of German Church Bells)

2009-05-18T18:42:00.005-04:00

To: Butch and David Potter, Makers of Martin's Potato Chips

Sirs,

As I took the elevator to the Third Floor Clinic (where a number of professionals were about to painfully laser off a particularly embarassing tattoo commemorating Rihanna's recent foray into art photography), imagine my surprise when I read the back of an individual sized bag of your barbecued potato chips. Imagine, if you will, my at first gentle shock, which mellowed into a warm sense of well-being. These were my feelings as I read the back of that bag of potato chips. These were my feelings as I read your no doubt heartfelt thanks to me, the consumer, who had just voted with his dollar and bought the aforementioned snack. "Thank you for purchasing Martin's potato chips. We take great pride in delivering to you fresh, delicious potato chips with exceptional potato flavor."

Exceptional potato flavor? For a second, I stopped salivating in anticipation of those salty treats and it seemed to me that your kind words had rerouted my salivary glands into my eyes, for happy tears welled in my eyes. "If you have any questions or comments, please call 1-800-272-4477 (weekdays 9-4 Eastern Time)." Yes, I have a comment, and I have a question, and I cannot merely "phone them in." I want that question and that comment emblazoned forever on the internet, where they will never be recorded over and will never be forgotten, as long as people google "irritainment." My comment is this: God Bless You Both, Butch and David Potter, for remembering that thanks are always welcome, that merchants are nothing without their customers, for remembering these seemingly little things that add up to a shining mountain of gratitude. And here is my question: what is your mother''s address? I would send a bouquet of roses to her, in appreciation of just how good of a job she did raising you.

Yours, Smilin Tyler

To: Juan, Night Janitor, Shenandoah Valley Hospital PICU

Amigo,

I staggered into the bathroom of room 3174 a shaken man. I feel no shame in telling you, Juan (if that is indeed your name, if not feel free to substitute your own), that I was ready to fall out. My child, Smilin Jr., had succesfully lodged in his sinuses the entire can of Smokehouse Inspired Almond Cubes that my wife (Mrs. Smilin) and I had just purchased at Big Lots, and the prognosis was looking grim. At the very least, it seemed that little Smilin Jr. was going to have to face life unable to smell anything but the savory waft of Smokehouse Inspired Almond Cubes. At the worst, we were looking at a cephalectomy, a possibility that was depressing me to say the least, as I had envisioned Smilin Jr. as being backup catcher for the Kansas City Royals, or at worst a batboy long enough to accrue a decent pension. True, the range of replacement heads that are on offer these days are much better than they used to be, and I had just about set my mind on a Jean-Claude Van Damme; this, however much I enjoyed "Under Seige," was cold comfort, and of course now that I look back on the whole affair I realize that that had been Steven Seagal.

So as I was about to leave an almond-less bowel movement in the bathroom of room 3174, it was as if God himself had left me a message on a loop of parchment around the seat. "This seat has been sanitized for your protection." Juan, are you familiar with what is commonly called Beethoven's "Ode to Joy"? Can you imagine if it went "San-i-tized for YOUR pro-tect-tion, toilet seat has BEEN, reDEEMED"? Can you, Juan? If you need help, I can call you and hum it for you. That is what I heard in my head, Juan. Thank you for sanitizing that for my protection. For my protection! Do you know how vulnerable I felt, Juan? And this was BEFORE Child Protective Services got involved, Juan. But when I saw that loop around the seat, I felt calm and at peace. I knew then what needed to be done. It was one of the few times in my life that I have felt such certitude.

So thank you, Juan, for sanitizing that which is so often unsanitary. Thank you. Any time you're in the Dogtown neighborhood, please stop by my house (address enclosed). I think that you will find our toilet sanitary, and I also think that Smilin Jr. is a lot more enjoyable and easier to care for with his new rubber head.

Gracias! De nada! Smilin Tylero

To: Acid Steve

Steve-o,

I now take the time to thank you, Steve, from the bottom of my heart to the tip of my deviated septum, for not stepping on my coke with Drano, but rather with the much gentler baby laxative. So often in these [REST OF LETTER REDACTED UNDER ADVICE OF ATTORNEY]

54. Selling Out Is Hard To Do (Pere Ubu, Cloudland)

2009-05-18T15:01:00.006-04:00

Captain Beefheart tried. That's right. The guy who would rename his bandmembers things like "Neon Squid James" and "Corky Thatcher" tried to sell out. He didn't give a shit what you thought. He was gonna hit it big if it killed him. So he made "Bluejeans and Moonbeams," an album that exactly one (1) person (deaf chick in Iowa) liked and which is easily far more reviled than his knottiest album, which was of course "Trout Mask Dinner" and came with a side of big-eyed beans and a note from Lester Bangs excusing you from gym so you could go smoke schwag under the bleachers. And even unto the end of his musical career he was flabbergasted that it didn't work. He spent the rest of his career desperately trying to sell out. He went on Saturday Night Live and performed "Ashtray Heart" and the crowd loved it. Sell out achieved? Nope. Fuck critical acclaim, he used to tell me over blintzes at the Mojave kosher deli we used to frequent. Fuck critical acclaim, I just want to hear that coyote do a u-turn on my mother. I took that to mean that he was speaking allegorically again and I nodded and smiled and ate another Quaalude. It was the early 80's. People did that shit.

Jim O'Rourke sold out ironically. He deconstructed selling out. He considered the mechanics of the choogle on "Insignificance" and exact melting point of cheese on "Eureka." It didn't work, but Jimbo continues. Let's face it: what he wants is his own Japanese game show where contestants have to remix Bananarama b-sides and discuss the philosophical baggage of reverb while the floors get electrocuted. The show, called "IMPOSSIBLE PERSON-GUITARRING IRON CONFRONTATION," is currently in pre-production and Jimbo is getting laid, laid, laid and snorting shabu-shabu off the asses of fallen idoru.

Let's not discuss Courtney Love because every second she isn't mentioned somewhere she grows weaker and weaker.

Liz Phair tried to sell out. Unfortunately, you can hire The Matrix and beer-bong all the hot white cum you want, but if you're going to write a song called "Hot White Cum" chances are you're not going to get played on Disney radio.

Finally, Pere Ubu tried to sell out. Pere. Ubu. The band whose only constant was an ex-critic who used to call himself Crocus Behemoth and who looks like an Oliver Hardy after five weeks of severe cognitive dissonance... tried to sell out. They moved to Fontana Records and put out three or four pop albums. THEY MADE VIDEOS. They thought, what do succesful pop musicians do in 1987? They make videos. Which is how David Thomas (the living, not-as-famous one) ended up windmilling his bulk across the eyeballs of an America that was, uh, not ready for it. Not even the people who watched "120 Minutes" were ready for it. Every time the video for "Waiting for Mary" came on, five minutes later there would be a spike in calls to emergency respondants as people assumed that their pot had been tainted with meth. Oh, and that video? It's recently been removed from Youtube... none dare call it conspiracy, or even revisionism.

Now, are these good albums? I personally like the O'Rourke and the Pere Ubu albums. The latter, especially, are endearing; as David Thomas waddles in from the deep freeze of critics' academic appraisal, warbling "the bride waltzed barefoot there on the sidewalk, you could fry an egg"... well, you kind of want to hand him a blanket and some fuzzy slippers and buy the album for Aunt Ruth. Of course, Aunt Ruth thinks it's weird and takes it out of the CD player and puts on the latest T-Pain, but hey, you tried, and you can tell Crocus and now Crocus won't come to your house and spazz out on your cats.

53. The Mountain of the Skulls of the Anointed (Georgian (ex-SSR) Folk Songs 1920-1947)

2009-05-16T08:43:00.004-04:00

Upon reaching the acme of the Mountain of the Skulls of Anointed Forefathers, I saw that the horizon was filled with yet more skulls, that indeed we had made our dwellings within, that we sailed the seas in them, that we filled them as they sailed through the air, that they were full of flowers and walls of glass. I looked down and found my shoes had become skulls, and i fell down the Mountain, I fell down, I fell down.

On certain days the skulls sing, each skull singing something different, with voices sweet and rough, madrigals and hymns. As the Mountain of the Skulls of the Anointed reveals itself in the dawn, one imagines that the Mountain is singing one song, one word, one tone. The word is "cras" and as the sibilance of that last letter fades the sun becomes brighter. Some believe that the Mountain sings the sun into being, but this has not been proven.

One woman has made her home on the slopes of the Mountain of the Skulls of the Anointed. Her name is Kelly and she works as a receptionist at Bullis and Sons. She enjoys greeting. "Hello and welcome. It's good to have met you," she says. She has been a recpetionist for seventy-four years, but looks as young and fresh as she did when she left Iowa, those many years ago. She disagrees with the common theory as to what the skulls are singing. She posits that they are singing "hodie."

Their lungless voices reverberate in each others' cavities, so song comes not only from lipless mouths but also from the eye sockets, from the nasal passages. The overtones mix with the songs, and as one skull sings it changes and adds to the song of its neighbor. We, with our meat and gristle filling the holes behind our faces, are unable to replicate such song, though many have tried and their attempts are quite sweet.

52. Hug Pimp (Swamp Dogg Retrospective). Also: New Links

2009-05-10T08:54:00.006-04:00

hey man. hey. you ain't from around here. you walk like you got somewhere to be. you walkin like you wanna get somewhere. i know where you wanna be. yeah man. you wanna be told it's gonna be ok. you want... you wanna hug man? you wanna hug. i look at you, there's a man needs a hug. where you going. yeah man, we just talkin. we just talkin. ain't nothin wrong with talkin.

hey man. it's cool. some people need hugs man. you ain't gettin hugs at home, you gotta get your hug. soft arms. soft chest. you gotta lay your head on that soft chest and... hey, i ain't sayin anything. i ain't proposin anything illegal. ain't illegal yet, man.

you know how it is. in marriage there is not only a bodily but also a spiritual union: and consequently kinship of spirit proves an impediment thereto, without spiritual kinship having to pass into a bodily relationship. but what about hugs man. where the hugs in that. where you goin.

wherefore others have maintained that witchcraft can set up an impediment to carnal copulation, but that no such impediment is perpetual: hence it does not void the marriage contract, and they say that the laws asserting this have been revoked. but this is contrary to actual facts and to the new legislation which agrees with the old. have you met susie. susie is such a lovin girl. sometimes she hug me and tell me it's gonna be ok.

hey man. you ever hug a black girl? i ain't judgin. you ever hug a black girl? black girl hug you and sing you some gospel lullaby. she tell you to hush it and she sing at you. you ever hug a black girl.

she got a cat. let you hug the cat too no charge.

see that young thing over there. see her. she so young, man. she so young. and you know what. she ain't never hug nobody. but she read about it. she a college girl. yeah she go to college. she go to college and she live with a bunch of girl and they huggin each other all the time. she curious. she curious and she come to me. we friend at college. i take a class. i tell her, yeah, you wanna know about huggin. she lookin for a man to hug. arms hold you so tight. she ain't never hug. she ain't never hug. you wanna get hug by that.

hey man. maybe you lookin for a new hug. ever get hug from behind. girl come up behind you and you first you smell her, she smell like home. then she put her arm around you and she put her lips on your neck. then she hug you.

where you goin'. where you goin' round here. hey man. hey man.

*****
Non-Horseshit Section
*****

Yeah, so I haven't done much lately. One reason is daughter, who is fast-moving and sharp of tooth. Another reason is new band, called Mss., the other member of which is Josh K., who used to be in The Curious Digit and then after that in One Hundred Dollars with myself and Davis and Steve and Danny... you know, them. Any case, here's a new post and an anthology of Virginia's own Swamp Dogg, as compiled by the able Don Harrison of Radio Wowsville fame. Notice also that I have added new links. Check them out, much of what I put up here is from there. Also, if you haven't checked out the horribly named SkaFunkRastaPunk forums yet, do so immediately! This is an incredibly deep resource, and without it I wouldn't be recently and utterly obsessed with Georgian (ex-SSR) folk music and mbira (thumb piano) music. Anyone interested in the rare and wonderful need look no further; this site (along with experimentaletc) is much to blame for my blog truancy. I'm sure the three of you who have ever visited missed me terribly.

I have been half in love with easeful Death / Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme

2009-03-06T00:41:00.005-05:00

EPISTLE TO SUZANNE (POSSIBLE LEONARD COHEN REF., CONSIDER) DRAFT 2.1:

"We are all terribly, terribly lonely." Read this and though of how weird it is to be human. How we fire these grappling hooks into nowhere and hope to hook on to something (in this metaphor I guess we're all floating along on parachutes. Poetic, innit?). I'm learning guitar because of a picture I saw of Neil Young.

Day 2. Did you find the present I left in your locker? It's a bootleg recording of Shellac playing covers of Herman's Hermits songs, with Fred Schneider on vocals. I'm sure you noticed that the case is made out of steel and that you need a combination to open it. I'll give you the numbers if you give me yours.. Ha ha.

Day 4. Did you not like the XL Bauhaus shirt I flung at you from across the hall? I thought you could wear it in a kind of 80s throwback sexy shoulders type of thing, or maybe you could wear it to walk around my apartment at night. Or nothing at all >:D. Wait, I don't have blinds, that might be weird.

Day 10. Please stop staring at me while I'm reading Gravity's Rainbow or trying to win me over with your dew drop eyes while I'm mentally toying with a list of the best Werner Herzog movies. It's kind of annoying. Ha ha, just kidding, I'd definitely like to have sex.

Day 30. I'm including a character in my latest short story that's based on you. It's about a young 17yearold who falls in love with a beautiful coquette but is torn between the fulfillment of romantic cliche and a life of spontaneity; a life of artistic pursuit; a life of constant reminders that Death has always his spindly hands wrapped around your neck; is always ready to throw his black cloak over the scene; to cast a shadow--a palpable darkness--over happiness; to take all meaning from flesh; to widen the gap between signifier and signified, to place you in that gap; that gap of no-feeling-no-loving-no-passion-one-way-or-the-other-no-drive-to-even-place-pen-to-paper. Worse than listening to "Idioteque" on repeat.

Love,
Kevin "The Emperor of Ice Cream" Bowen

*******

MUSIC: best of garage punk (that I've listened to in the past 6 months, mind you)

Compulsive Gamblers - Crystal Gazing Luck Amazing. Thanks to W.B. for the recommendation. This album rules. Full-bodied production with hearty horndog vocals.

Headache City - Headache City. "Tearjerker" was one of my favorite songs of 2008. Seriously sounds almost like something off Marquee Moon.

The Mummies - Tales From the Crypt. You know these guys. Wild and crazy and they dressed like mummies on stage.

The Muslims - The Muslims. "Nightlife" in particular. They also have a 12" or whatever with a cool cover of "Walking with Jesus." Recently changed their name to "the Soft Pack."

Yokohama Hooks - Turn On 7". There are so many bands that do the Yeah Yeah Yeahs thing better than YYY, my mind literally swells 3x its normal size when someone asks me why I don't listen to YYY and I blurt out all of the band names at once, a mystic shibboleth that turns my muscles inside out and that's really why I don't talk about music IRL.

Kim Phuc - Wormwood Star 7". Snarly, guttural. I don't know, I'm out of adjectives.

The Menthols - 848 7". "848" is a great catchy/funny garage song, one of those weird things you'd find on a 2020 Nuggets record and probably be embarrassed about if anybody heard you listening to it, but secretly you chant it in the shower, as if the words were an stopper to plug up the horrible drain of loneliness through which you find yourself falling day in and day out.

The Feeling of Love - Rapeman 7". Ignore the rude-ass title and listen.

Here's The Electric Bunnies - Chewing Gum 7". It also is good.

50. Three Laments (Tallis Scholars, Lamenta, Includes Tallis' Lamentations of Jeremaiah

2009-03-04T11:25:00.005-05:00

George's Lament

"Hey, Frank, sup. Nah, it's just a cream cheese sandwich today. I prolly oughta have a salad or something, but all the dressing makes my stomach go funny. D'jou see who got fucking employee of the week? Yeah, that fuck. I think that fuck has a fucking wire loose. I mean, I was here fucking naming mass e-mails when that little cocksqueezer was first finding out about frottage. Kid comes in and he's all "anal vore" this and "cock vore" that. You see what he got employee of the week for? "dragon fruit scat anthro unbirth." That's not porn, Frank, that, that's, that's... that's fuckin' word salad is what that is. The fuckin biz, man, used to be you had to be about mutual body pleasure and frank exchanges of sexual desires. Now it's like fuckin' Pete the magic
dragon goes to Fire Island. I don't know, Frank. I just do NOT know.

***

Harold-san's Lament

Here's something I don't understand: why would Nipponese women want to look like western women? Consider the Nipponese eye: almond-shaped, hooded. So much more to it! The eye seems coy, it seems to want to hide. The western eye lays it all out there. It's so vulgar. The window to the western soul is like a shopfront, everything on display, screaming 'buy me! buy me!' The Nipponese eye... steady on, man. I don't know why I was born in America. There must be some sort of mistake. Wind from the East, take me home, take me to my real home!

***

Laurie's Lament

I'm not going to eat today. I said that yesterday and I ate. I have to put that behind me. If I'm going to feel good about myself then I am not going to eat today. Today is what I have, and that's all I'm going to have, that and sixteen glasses of water. I've had eight so far, so that leaves sixteen. Why did I eat yesterday? I saw that cauliflower and it looked so good. I was weak. I ate it. Then I felt myself digesting it all day. I could feel all that acid in me, turning it into fat and what it didn't turn into fat it turned into shit. I swear I'm going to be sick. I want to digest myself until I am perfect. I can be the fire that feeds itself. And that's all I'm going to eat today. I ate yesterday, and that is all I'm going to eat today.

49. Six Common Tropes of the Music Blog (To Live and Shave in LA, The Wigmaker in Eighteenth-Century Williamsburg)

2009-02-24T10:24:00.006-05:00

Hyperbole

This album will fuck you up! This album causes retroactive abortion in cows! I took this out in a field and I watched the whole fucking herd of Herefords implode! It was fucking awesome! I was scared to play this album for four years! I acquired (did not buy) this DOUBLE SLAB of shiny shit and stared at it out of the corner of my eye for four years! The force of its mania is such that it bends light and causes monitors to moire! LOOK OUT IT'S BEHIND YOU! That was close! This absolutely impenetrable piece of horror sounds like Rabbit screaming in quadrophonic hell! Actually, fuck that! Rabbit was a pussy! Imagine every noise band in the world! They're pussies too! They don't go far enough! Tom Smith, Rat Bastard and the Other Guy took FIVE YEARS to put this together! It leaves terms like 'maximalism' and 'turn this fucking shit OFF' light-years behind! You want to hear this because you hate yourself! You hate the Jehovah's Witnesses and you hate the goddamn Virginia Tech Hokies! What the fuck is a hokie! It's a castrated turkey! THEY USE THIS ALBUM TO CASTRATE TURKEYS! And so on!

But First, A Little Bit About Lonely Old Me

You know, I don't know why I love this album. It's like a referendum on how absolutely fucking DIFFERENT I am from normal human beings. There's times when I dial this album up on the iPod and go to the Mall. I walk around and look at the the old powerwalkers, the families in Sbarro, the manic Hebrews selling Dead Sea Salt and I think: if they knew what I was thinking they would THROW ME FROM THE VILLAGE. Why am I writing about this thing on a blog nobody reads? Why do I do this? Why do I do this to myself? This album gives me a headache. This album gives me a heartache. This album makes my dick itch. I don't even like it. It's absolutely repulsive. But I guess that's what I deserve.

Wholesale Unattributed Quotation from Wikipedia

To Live and Shave in L.A. (TLASILA) is an experimental music collective founded in 1991 by Tom Smith (the noise musician) and Frank "Rat Bastard" Falestra in Miami Beach, Florida. The "wildly inaccessible" [1] ensemble has featured Ben Wolcott, Thurston Moore, Don Fleming, Andrew W.K., Weasel Walter, and at least two dozen other musicians and sound artists. Their primary aesthetic assertion posits that genre is "obsolete". Although often categorized as purveyors of noise music, TLASILA have been noted to pursue an unorthodox approach, "construct(ing) songs around an overwhelming plethora of sonic detail, challenging the listener to engage with a surfeit of information,"[2] deliberately burring "the line between harsh metal-on-metal noise and abstract musique concrète."[3] Smith's poetic texts "distance" the group "from any potential peers," "scanning like (they) came from some previously unearthed hermetic treatise."[4]

Let's Ask the Bible: "What's the Deal with this TLASILA album?"

Back in the day, when people didn't know what was up, they would open the Bible up to a random page and treat it like an oracle. Now we have the internet, it's easier than ever. So let's check it out:

Who knoweth the power of thine anger?

From the sixth hour there was darkness over all the land unto the ninth hour. And about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani? that is to say, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? The Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.

Ps. 90:11. Matt. 27:45,46. Isa. 53:6. Rom. 8:1. Rom. 5:1. Gal. 3:13. 1 John 4:9,10. Rom. 3:26.

Here Come Some Contextless Facts

Member Rat Bastard plays oscillators on this album, and indeed, the oscillator is usually the only recognizable "instrument."

TLASILA "leader" Tom Smith was undergoing a protracted and messy divorce throughout the conception, recording, mixing and mastering of this album.

Song titles include "New Poem Dramatized For Lux Cudgel," "Fills Mouth And Cunt With 'Pathetic Route,'" "When My Rifle Went Sour With Preposterous Headdress," "Is This Good for Vulva?" and "Song Of Roland A Single Cockscrew Curl."

RIYL a Bunch of Bands the Author Has Not Actually Heard But Whose Names He Is Dropping to Look Knowledgeable

Whitehouse, Monte Cazzaza, Nurse with Wound's early work, Cock-ESP, Nautical Almanac fans will certainly have a lot to chew on with this record.

A Final Common Feature of the "Music Blog"

I fixed the links and now you can get disc 1 of this pile of shit. Thanks to my legion of fans for pointing out my mistake. Unfortunately, all the tag data for that disc has gone to Croatan, but I think the act of looking up the song titles and typing them in will render them all the more precious to you.

48. New Adventures of Wino, P.I. (MC Tracheotomy, Robot Alien or Ghost)

2009-02-03T14:01:00.002-05:00

Wino, P.I. is hammered on a mix of Aristocrat vodka and mentholated Mickey's malt liquor. Wino, P.I. has a method for mentholating malt liquor which involves infusing the it with three menthol cigarettes wrapped in gauze. After he finishes the malt liquor, he dumps the cigarettes out and dries them.

"Them's perfectly fine cigarettes," he says.

"Goddammit," he says.

Wino, P.I. is on the case. This week's case. He is in a dumpster searching for a clue. He's close, he thinks. Then the sky goes dark and he's getting a three-course dinner of boot. He wakes up in the same dumpster. He doesn't scare easily. He's gonna keep looking.

"Shit, this ain't the same dumpster," he says aloud. He finds a perfectly good goddamn sandwich just lying there.

Wino, P.I. meets up with a contact. "Whaddaya want?" "I want info, Jerry." "We all got wants and needs, man."

Wino, P.I. slips him some speed that's been cut with Doan's back pills maybe seven times. Jerry folds it into his sleeve. His beard looks like certain Himalayan lichens.

"Secret sauce is just fuckin' 1000 Ibin dressing, Wino. S'all BOOshit."

"What's 1000 Ibin dressing, Jerry."

"Far as I know iss Fresh dressin and relish."

"Thanks Jerry."

Wino, P.I. does a lot of his best thinking in the bathrooms of the Cambridge Episcopalian Church because he was raised High Church. Smells and Bells. He speaks the language. Also they have no smells in there whatsoever. He writes in his journal. "Genesis 1:3-4 II, 7, 15; 1:27-28 IV, 5, 9; 1:28 IV, 2, 2; 2:24 I, 5, 9; 3:17-19 IV, 8, 22; 25:23 II, 7, 15. Exodus 4:12 II, 9, 20; 20:17 I, 7, 12; 33:20 IV, 11, 31." He looks at the list and squints. Bibliomancy? Three stalls over someone is apparently suffering massive internal organ failure.

In the hall outside, he thinks about how cigarettes were invented. The sexton leaves the bathroom a couple of minutes behind him, wincing.

"Padre," says Wino, P.I.

"Lord have mercy upon us all," says the sexton. As he leaves, a slip of paper falls from his pocket. Wino, P.I. waits for him to round the corner and picks up the paper. A betting slip, but on the back: "39. But you ask: 'Why did God look for righteous persons among the Sodomites, (See Gn 18:26.) †38 if nature made them such?' As if we say that concupiscence of the flesh cannot be reined in by the superior nature of the mind! Rather, we say that concupiscence is such an evil that its resistance must be defeated in battle until, like a wound in the body, it is healed completely." Now we're getting somewhere, he thinks. This is a clue. I haven't gotten laid in five months, he thinks. That's another clue.

Putting the clues together, he thinks. That's my job. Nobody knows shit. And business is good.

Next episode: Wino, P.I. vs. Randy.

47. It's Really Hard to Find Funny Images When You GIS "Meth" (Speedy West and Jimmy Bryant - Stratosphere Boogie / Swinging on the Strings)

2009-01-29T07:27:00.002-05:00

Meth has several distinctions. You can make it in the comfort of home from readily available ingredients. It produces spectacular before-and-after photo montages. And for once it seems to be just as bad as the authorities say it is, inasmuch as that's possible. Authorities always couch drug scourges as world-ending pandemics. What they still don't realize is that the kind of person who will do hard drugs is the kind of person who is looking at a kind of personal eschatology anyway.

The current incarnation of meth is doing it all backwards. Instead of starting out in the inner cities and then fucking up the rest of the nation, meth these days seems to have been reborn out in the boons and is making its way back along the two-lane go-nowhere state roads, onto the bypasses through the suburbs and finally back to the alleys. Good job, meth. Finally, rural white libertarians can say they've had an effect on America.

Were Speedy West and/or Jimmy Bryant using meth when they recorded these two albums? Probably not. Some people don't need meth. Some people don't need drugs at all. What the hell is that about?

46. Belong - October Language

2009-01-29T07:04:00.005-05:00

Sometime between my twelfth life-shattering revelation of the morning, my two hundred and thirteenth lap around my bedroom, and noticing the eighth secret pattern hidden among the other, more obvious patterns in my fractal wall calendar (It was August. It’s always August. Why do they always place the best image in August? August sucks.), I decided to slump down, in an ethereal haze, in front of my laptop and put on Belong’s October Language. She had made a cocoon out of my fuzzy blankets, a chrysalis in a comforter, and was busying herself with the task of completely forgetting that anything existed, so I really carried no qualms about changing the songs up a bit. Besides, I was in some sort of semi-poisoned state and was fervently compelled to find the album for reasons that are still beyond me. I reasoned that if I did not put this album on, I would spend my entire life trapped in some sort of personal Hell, contained forever within the walls of my room, forced to spend every waking moment in intense mental pain and anguish.

Besides, Iron and Wine isn’t really my thing.

The first song began playing, and everything else lost total relevance. The next two hours, thirty-three minutes, and forty-three seconds would be spent in cartoonishly disheveled form on my bed, forgetting any memory of who I ever was, any cognitions of who I am now, and any expectation of who I ever might be. The irony that comes with such dissociation occurring while listening to a group named Belong should be noted (and perhaps laughed at??? Who knows. I don’t. I suck.). Later we went and got pizza and I made a joke about the particular toppings and we both laughed. Anyway, listen to this. Now. Though I’m not sure exactly which genre it belongs (ha!) under, my friend Joshua still defines it divinely.

“It’s fucking beautiful, man.”

(Written by Ramcat)

45. 12/30/95 7:08 PM.

2009-01-27T17:45:00.008-05:00

Fred told me that nearly the entire division is being liquidated today. There's only enough to put one technician on call, he said. I've been working at Williams for 12 years, serviced thousands of machines. Nearly lost my middle finger to a faulty Apollo 13 multiball. There's no way it's going to be me.

10:31 PM

Blutarski and the rest of the class of '91 were let go. I don't know if I actually want this. Did some diagnostics on a box of bumpers to take my mind off things. God. Oh god.

12/31/95 7:08 AM

The call was from one of those Funway fuckers. Someone tilted the Flintstones machine and now the Dino Rib ramp is busted. I couldn't begin to tell you how many times I've heard the stamping of Fred's feet coming from that machine. I checked my service log in the truck and this makes it the eleventh time I've had to service Flintstones #A334. I'll just send Dave to get it and....No. They were let go yesterday. When did I fall asleep last night? Why did I forget that? The wrench is cold against my skin as I pulled up my belt and shipped out. I'll have to kiss you good morning some other time, Sally.

12/31/95 11:25 AM

How often do you fall in love in front of a Slush Puppie machine? Only the concession counter separates us. Stupid. You're an idiot, Frank. If she even considered you attractive, you'd probably go and

12/31/95 2:45 PM
Going to the bar. I have to get this Gilligan's Island jackpot shit out of my head.

12/31/95 7:07 PM
Been here for a couple of hours now. The youth have no respect. There's an old Taxi machine in here and they just shake it and kick it endlessly. I can feel its pain. A relic no longer relevant. I'm going to show these kids they can't push us around.

12/31/95 INDETERMINATE
hurtsohurt

1/1/96 1:35 AM
happy newyear you fuckers. pinball is dead. and no one will ever know.

43. I Asked Him (Sleater-Kiney, Call the Doctor)

2009-01-24T11:58:00.006-05:00

I was having a terrible time. I felt distinctly unwell. I went to see my doctor. He is a good man. He shone a light in my eyes. He looked in my left ear, then my right. I was told to breathe in a specific way. He looked at me sternly, but not without kindness. I felt re-assured and appropriately worried. The stern but kind look told me that I hadn't wasted his time.

"Well, I'm glad you came in. This certainly isn't a waste of my time." My heart leapt. "From the cursory inspection I gave you (and thank you for breathing in that certain way, it really helps me pin down my diagnsis), I would say you have the following problems: Aspergillosis, Blastomycosis, Candidiasis, Coccidioidomycosis, Cryptococcosis, Dermatomycoses, Fungemia, Geotrichosis, Histoplasmosis, Microsporidiosis, Paracoccidioidomycosis, Piedra, Pneumocystis, Zygomycosis, Cerebral Toxoplasmosis, Spirochaetales Infections, Brain Abscess, Empyema, Epidural Abscess, Lyme Neuroborreliosis, IRAK4 DEFICIENCY, LEUKOCYTE ADHESION DEFICIENCY, TYPE I ("Sounds worse than it is but the capital letters are necessary," he said, and I was comforted), Bacterial Meningitis, Escherichia coli (Meningitis), Meningitis, Haemophilus, Meningitis, Listeria, Meningococcal Meningitis, Pneumococcal Meningitis, Meningeal Tuberculosis, Neurosyphilis, Pneumonia of Calves, (Enzootic), Pneumonia of Swine (Mycoplasmal), Pneumonia (Mycoplasma), Pneumonia, (Pneumococcal), Pneumonia, (Rickettsial), Pneumonia, (Staphylococcal), Norrie Disease, Choroid Hemorrhage, Lecithin Retinol Acyltransferase, Fundus Albipunctatus, Duane Retraction Syndrome, Donnai-Barrow Syndrome, Reiger Syndrome (types 1 and 2), Muscle-Eye-Brain Disease, Oculoauricular Syndrome, Cerebrooculofacioskeletal Syndrome (type 2 yes, I don't believe type 4), Warburg Micro Syndrome, Aleutian Mink Disease, Ephemeral Fever, African Horse Sickness, Rinderpest and Chronic Wasting Disease."

"That sounds serious, Doctor," I said.

"It is, son," he said. "But modern science is quite up to the challenge."

So I asked my doctor. I asked my doctor about Paxil, Lexapro, Hydrocodone, Xanax, Tramadol, Vicodin, Lyrica, Oxycodone, Lisinopril, Cymbalta, Lipitor, Percocet, Zoloft, Metformin, Effexor, Ambien, Prednisone, Atenolol, Wellbutrin, Morphine, Naproxen, Phentermine, Tylenol, Aspirin, Norvasc, Toprol, Darvocet, Nexium, Soma, Diovan, Seroquel, Albuterol, Neurontin, Adderall, Protonix, Ultram, Zocor, Ativan, Metoprolol, Levaquin, Valium, Viagra, Prozac, Alprazolam, Cipro, Oxycontin, Gabapentin, Lortab, Clonazepam, Celexa, Synthroid, Plavix, Cyclobenzaprine, Prevacid, Celebrex, Vytorin, Lasix, Lorazepam, Amoxicillin, Trazodone, Zyrtec, Klonopin, Depakote, Clonidine, Codeine, Lamictal, Methadone, Flexeril, Topamax, Diclofenac, Promethazine, Mobic, Doxycycline, Augmentin, Cephalexin, Bactrim, Hydrochlorothiazide, Advair, Ibuprofen, Omeprazole, Furosemide, Zetia, Diazepam, Fentanyl, Risperdal, Abilify, Skelaxin, Elavil, Amitriptyline, Coumadin, Flomax, Prilosec, Allegra, Clindamycin, Insulin, Lunesta, Fosamax, Zyprexa, Citalopram, Ranitidine, Fluoxetine, Hydroxyzine, Actos, Metronidazole, Altace, Crestor, Coreg, Digoxin, Phenergan, Benicar, Verapamil, Acetaminophen, Lithium, Zithromax, Dilantin, Tricor, Lotrel, Potassium, Norco, Keflex, Flagyl, Avandia, Ritalin, Ciprofloxacin, Inderal, Trazadone, Biaxin, Singulair, Aciphex, Enalapril, Zantac, Ultracet, Tamiflu, Diltiazem, Warfarin, Baclofen, Lidocaine, Lovastatin, Carisoprodol, Provigil, Ortho Evra, Medrol, Penicillin, Benadryl, Reglan, Remeron, Propoxyphene, Concerta, Cozaar, Hctz,Premarin, Levothyroxine, Methotrexate, Buspar, Glucophage, Glyburide, Paroxetine, Avelox, Valtrex, Calcium, Allopurinol, Avapro, Erythromycin, Dilaudid, Aricept, Claritin, Imitrex, Simvastatin, Estradiol, Triamcinolone, Namenda, Meclizine, Lopressor, Glipizide, Cialis, Acyclovir, Azithromycin, Actonel, Etodolac, Robaxin, Lovenox, Trileptal, Atarax, Geodon, Propranolol, Temazepam, Zofran, Bupropion, Naprosyn, Detrol, Flonase, Voltaren, Cardizem, Amiodarone, Diflucan, Isosorbide, Byetta, Zanaflex, Heparin, Nabumetone, Nystatin, Toradol, Loratadine, Levoxyl, Magnesium, Demerol, Vancomycin, Motrin, Tegretol, Requip, Pravachol, Evista, Boniva, Haldol, Nifedipine, Keppra, Metoclopramide, Spironolactone, Lantus, Methocarbamol, Indomethacin, Quinine, Rozerem, Tizanidine, Lanoxin, Apap, Decadron, Omnicef, Triamterene, Strattera, Atropine, Fioricet, Relafen, Compazine, Restoril, Endocet, Spiriva, Dexamethasone, Zelnorm, Vioxx, Hydrocortisone, Niaspan, Mirtazapine, Nasonex, Hyzaar, Tetracycline, Terazosin, Provera, Avalide, Lodine, Aldactone, Fluconazole, Lupron, Diphenhydramine, Septra, Thyroid, Methylprednisolone, Fexofenadine, Amlodipine, Ditropan, Famotidine, Accupril, Amaryl, Atrovent, Phenytoin, Colchicine, Vasotec, Atacand, Yasmin, Proscar, Flovent, Caduet, Lupron, Pepcid, Captopril, Doxepin, Macrobid, Entex, Lamisil, Prednisolone, Piroxicam, Sinemet, Bentyl, Dopamine, Lidoderm, Zestril, Imdur, Clarinex, Butalbital, Combivent, Levitra, Ampicillin, Versed, Duragesic, Bextra, Cardura, Hydralazine, Pseudoephedrine, Enebrel, and Indocin.

"Let me get my pad," he said.

42. Automata (The Conet Project, 4xCD; Music Box: Authentic Music of the Gay 90's; Wound Up Opera Played by Rare Antique Music Boxes)

2009-01-24T08:48:00.005-05:00

1)

"asked for a smoke from an automata. he said "you are trying to quit." i said yeah. but i want a cigarette. he said "you are trying to quit." i said yeah, i know, c'mon man, i know what i'm doing. he said "you are trying to quit."

goddammit, sometimes i hate the automata."

2)

got on the bus. three automata were in the back seat. i was reading my book so i was distracted and pulled the bell to stop one stop earlier. the busdriver slowed down, i looked up and realized my mistake. "sorry man, next stop please?" i called out. the busdriver shrugged. i looked back at the automata.

one said "he made a mistake."

another said "why did he make that mistake."

the third said "mistakes are made when one is not ready."

the first said "what are mistakes?"

the third said "lack of preparation."

the second said "we make our own luck."

where did the automata come from. why is it that there are so many?

3)

what do automata say during sex? many do not speak. some say "the inscrutable psycho-physic nexus is identical in all innervation and lies outside the sphere of the will." some say that sex between automata is akin to the sense of dizziness in deaf-mutes. others say it is more like auditory hallucinations in deaf schizophrenics. automata are not helpful in such speculations. "i would rather not speak of that" they will say.

4)

when the automata dance, it is serious. their eyes are on the middle distance. they are seeing a more perfect, more efficient world. the dancing of automata contains no wasted movement. it is beautiful and cold and brittle, like porcelain, like a secret glance, like an orchid dipped in liquid nitrogen.

5)

"This is all we can say at present of the hypnotic subject's mental state,—a topic whose investigation will tax the wit, but certainly reward the industry, of the most ingenious psychologist who may devote himself to its elucidation." - from the journal of intelligence, a popular automata magazine.

6)

much on the minds of the automata is the concept of the phantom limb, the feeling in amputees of the physical presence of their lost limbs. they ask, does it grasp? does it reach out to touch the face of the beloved? monographs are published and ignored by the rest of us. a page of such a monograph blew down my street and was pinned against a tree by the wind. i picked up and read it. it said, anger and love and sadness and joy and rapture. then it repeated those nine words in a different font; lucida sans, if i recall. that is all that was on the page.

7)

automata flying airplanes. automata flying airplanes on the great circle routes. automata piloting the great ocean liners. automata in the trains beneath our cities. automata in motion, in progress.

8) (by Karl Bartos)

I asked the automata, "why am i here? why is my life like this?" The automata replied, "all calculations show that your life is wonderful". I smirked and said, "yeah, in theory." The automata became dark, metallic red and began spinning. Faster, faster and faster still, the automata spun and began to lift off the ground. I had been knocked on the floor by the extreme shift in pressure in the room due to the intense spinning of the automatia. Thats when a piece of debris, being sucked in from outdoors amongst other debris due to the pull by the spinning automata, flew in and stuck right on my chest. I grabbed it and looked. It was a Pamphlet for the Save A Child Foundation. I picked up the phone and called immediately.

9)

the automata will not use the word 'appears.' the automata will always use the word 'is.' this is widely seen to be one of the distinguishing characteristics of the automata.

10) (by Sprinx)

The automata built for the human hospital had to be taken out of the urgent care and into the recovery ward due to her inability to decipher which human to care for first. Her outdated commands and machinery gave her incomplete data on pain level and probability of survival. The chief felt that rather than take her apart or melt her away, he'd rather have her complete monotonous tasks, like changing the sheets. It's not that he was concerned about the machine's feelings, rather he was more concerned about losing a piece of himself along with it. Although humans know that automatas don't feel or have souls, they become attached knowing that getting rid of an automaton is to get rid of memories that go along with it. A selfish act.

11)

a questionnaire:

1. Your name, age, and address.
2. Date of amputation, and part lost.
3. Do you still feel the lost part? If you do not feel it now, for how long did you feel it after the amputation?
4. Are you in love? How would you describe this feeling?
5. How much of the limb can you feel, and how does the feeling differ from what it would be if the member were present?
6. If the apparent position changes of its own accord, can you assign any cause for such change?
7. Do you ever feel as if you had two imaginary legs in addition to a real one?
8. Can you, by consciously directing your attention to the lost part, change the intensity or quality of the feeling there?
9. How does love end, in your experience.
10. Can you, by making an effort of the will, succeed in making it seem to move into a different position? (Do you recognize as two distinct cases, imagining the change, and willing it?

et cetera.

12)

a current bestseller: Are We Automata? the photo of the author on the dust jacket shows her in serious thought, yet with a playful twinkle in her eye. is she smug or is she genuinely amused?

13)

the automata regard the concept of faith as being analogous to the concept of the phantom limb. in walter reed hospital, drifts of well-dressed automata blow down the halls, opening doors. they bring letters from loved ones. "honey, i wish i could be there," is a common opening in these letters. "i can't believe you would write that," is another. the automata read these letters to wounded soldiers in calming voices.

14)

the automata have a second table of the elements. some assume it is how they map us. some assume otherwise. neither is fully correct.

15)

the automata sing. the automata perform works of bach. the audience is confused. serialism, then post-serialism. the noted critic Anton M. writes in his journal upon returning home: "the voices of the automata are individually sweet but when massed in unison i found it almost unbearable... i would die to hear only their technique in full voice; but i would kill rather than to have to hear their perfect diction. never before have i heard the words, kyrie eleison christe eleison, spoken with such awful clarity." he takes to the bottle and dies some years later a worthless scoundrel.

16)

i was approached by an automata on crutches on the Rue Guillaume James. his eyes were fever-bright. "i love you!" he shrieked. taking a step backward, i saw that his foot was badly mangled, blood blooming through his bandages. he screamed "i love you!" and fell forward in the gutter. he reached for me. "au secours!" i called! "m'aidez! gendarmes! gendarmes!"

41. Fucking Ducks For Victory (Sightings, Absolutes + Arrived in Gold, Arrived in Smoke)

2009-01-22T13:47:00.004-05:00

1)

corporal, what we have here is several ducks. we have an eider duck. we got a canvasback. a mallard. and many others. these ducks are not going to fuck themselves. are you implying they will fuck themselves, corporal.

no sir

because you are not fucking them. are you fucking them currently corporal.

no sir

what is the status of that duck corporal

that duck is standing there

that duck is standing there what corporal

that duck is standing there sir

that duck is standing there sir is right. is that duck fucking itself or is that duck standing there.

that duck is standing there sir and does not appear to be engaged in any sort of coitus whatsoever. sir

how do propose we are going to rectify this situation

... sir

what corporal?

how i propose i am going to ... rectum, sir, i don't understand sir

you really are a silly sack of shit corporal.

yes sir.

***

2)

sir.

yes corporal

i am updating you as requested sir.

that's real nice, corporal.

sir.

yes corporal.

i fucked a duck sir.

you fucked a duck.

i fucked a duck sir.

which duck did you fuck.

sir?

which duck did you fuck, are you deef as well as gay son.

no sir neither sir.

because they was all man ducks corporal.

... sir?

all those ducks is man ducks corporal.

... sir?

you are deef as well as a capering catamite corporal.

sir.

you passed the test son.

...

son, you passed the test. you fucked you a gook duck.

yes sir.

it was gook vc scrunt duck and you fucked the shit out of it. from the look of yer dick.

sir yes sir, that did happen.

i know it happened. that did happen and in this way do we win hearts and minds and ducks. we fucked that duck, ain't no gook vc gonna fuck that duck now.

yes sir.

was that a tunnel duck corporal.

sir?

was that a gook vc tunnel duck.

i cannot say sir, i did not procure the duck.

bet it was. did you hold that duck afterward.

sir?

did you hold that duck afterward.

sir.

are you gonna call that duck back corporal or are you johnny fuckandrun.

no sir.

no sir what.

no sir i'm no johnny fuckandrun.

you might be a daddy corporal. you might be a gook duck daddy.

sir i have a wife at home.

you got two wives now, you better start making some decisions.

sir.

we are americans and we don't do no bigamy. you want two wives corporal? you want two wives giving you the honey-do?

sir i got a wife back home name eileen.

we are marrying into the gook duck society and that is how we are gonna win this war. hearts and minds. son are you saying you don't wanna win this war against gooks and ducks.

i got a wife sir.

then you got a lot of thinking to do. i suggest you think about while whitewashing that hill there. you got two hours.

40. Indiana Jones in Shifflett's Hollow (I Belong to this Band - Eighty Five Years of Sacred Harp Recordings)

2009-01-10T08:52:00.004-05:00

So, I've decided to start singing with a Sacred Harp group, and I'll take questions about it here in this blog! I expect several fabricated questions from my audience of eight.

Doodle doodle dee. Bum bum bum BAAAAA no honey don't yank that. No honey don't yank that. No honey don't yank that. Dum deedle no honey don't

"Hey Smilin' Tyler, what's Sacred Harp singing?"

JESUS FUCK don't do that. What's Sacred Harp music? Well, I describe it as "an American folk tradition featuring starkly modal shouting unto the Lord" but I don't know what "starkly modal" or even "modal" means, so look at the wikipedia.

"Smilin' Tyler, can I get a link to the wikipedia for Sacred Harp?"

You realize that you expended more energy typing that request than typing 'wikipedia.org,' you realize this do you not.

"You're a penis."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sacred_Harp. No honey don't yank that.

"Isn't religious music for pussies?"

Shouldn't you start shaving before you ask questions like that?

"Religious music is for pussies."

I'm not a pussy.

"Smilin' Tyler, I've heard you're a pussy."

I'm not a pussy no honey don't yank that. Well if you yank that the cat will do that. No honey don't yank that.

"Pussy."

OK, how much religious music have you actually heard that isn't sung by Amy Grant or Michael W. Smith? The classical liturgical tradition is FULL of absolute asskickers, some of which have appeared in this very blog. The blog you are reading. The blog you love to read. Sacred Harp music is the most asskicking of all asskicking god music for the following reasons one through five inclusive.

1) Everyone in Sacred Harp songs is about to die alone. 2) It sounds like it. 3) Sacred Harp music is more about the Old Testament God who liked to set orphanages on fire rather than the New Testament Goodtime Jesus who loves his donkey. 4) Sacred Harp conventions sound like a bunch of Appalachian pagans getting geared up to skin Indiana Jones. 5) There is always one toothless maniac who sings whatever the hell he or she wants in a screeching voice and no-one will stop him or her b/c a) she's older than them and Respect Yer Elders and b) he or she probably is the moonshine supplier and don't piss of The Man. I want to befriend this toothless maniac and ideally become him or her sooner rather than later.

"Smilin' Tyler, you're a pussy for completely different reasons that were not addressed in the above conversation."

M... Mother?? I THOUGHT YOU WERE... DEAD!!!!

Postscript: They were a bunch of really nice people, there was a 12-year old who led one song, when it came to my turn to pick a song I asked to sing "Cuba (401)," and we even sang "The Christian Warfare (179)," which is my favorite song on the "Band" disc. Put it this way: this is the only way you're ever going to get me in a Unitarian church.

39. Christian Rock Roundup (Soul-Junk, 1951; God is My Co-Pilot, I Am Not This Body)

2009-01-08T12:27:00.003-05:00

What's hot in Christian Rock this week? We ask our original, Simon Magus!

What's the story, Comes in Glory? We've got the real rock from The Rock for you this month. Let it never be said that we deny the awful pagan pleasures of mindless four-on-the-floor sexual abandon concommitant with modern "dance" music. We just deny the pleasure part. And comin' round the bend is 120bpms of sanctified beats played only on instruments mentioned in the Book of Judges by DJ Jubal. Strap down! Get ready! To be redeemed!
"It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate son!" Well, of course not! There's only ONE fortunate Son, and that's the Son of God, and those hairy folk in CCR may have been unshorn, but THAT'S where comparisons to Jesus end. But that doesn't mean you can't choogle for the Lord! Make sure you check out "Boggin with Jesus" by Swamp King. I guarantee that bog is damp with nothing but the holiest water.
Hey, Stryper seemed pretty neat, but it turns out they were faking it. On the other hand, Insane Clown Posse were working for God all along! Who knew.
You know, sometimes it can be pretty lonely being poor wayfaring strangers far from home. There are times when we are angry at Them. All those people who are fighting against us, conniving and conspiring. Sometimes they manifest in bosses who don't understand that we need time off for extra worship; other times they are unsaved parents who won't let us get Thirteenth Tribal tattoos on the small of our backs. For those times when we want to "rage against the" secular "machine," Liverswitch's new album "MY Stigmata" will remind everyone pounding on the other side of the door yelling at you to please turn that down that WE suffer too. And don't forget Apokalyptika Johannes, the Seventh-Day Adventist Goths from Florida.
Finally, I don't know what to say about Soul-Junk and God is My Co-Pilot. Is this some kind of a joke? Learn to play an instrument or something!

38. The Antithesis of the Flying Toaster Screensaver (Trenchmouth, Vs. the Light of the Sun)

2009-01-08T12:19:00.003-05:00

There's the obvious route to take with these folks, so I'll get it out of the way first off. The drummer is Fred Armistead. Yes, that Fred Armistead, the SNL guy who looks like a really happy Gilbert Gottfried. He is a very good drummer. He used to be part of this band called Trenchmouth.
It really be something to be a smart punk, one who doesn't drink the McLarenoid Kool Aid, to look ahead and see absolutely nothing but yourself in the way. It's scary, I bet. But one punxnotdead's trackless waste is another man's endless playground. Trenchmouth took Fugazi's omnivorous approach to music but, lacking the baggage MacKaye and the boys irrefutably had, went further faster. And since they didn't have to be standard bearers for a generation of DIYers (and don't think I'm not grateful), Trenchmouth wasted little time in signing to Elektra and using every tool offered to them. Boy, for a return to those heady post-grunge boom days, huh? Everything was much better back then, before they changed the water, lemme tell ya kid.
Hence, "Vs. The Light of the Sun," which marries the dub sensibility so beloved by MacKaye (and countless British post-punk bands) to a careening rhythm section which can turn on a dime and guitar that switches between brute power and nimble treble.
All of which is topped off by one of rock and roll's great declaimers, Damon Lock. This man was born for politics if politics was more about rap battles. Or better ones, in any case. He. Has. Perfect. Diction. He doesn't sing, he tells you in terms clear and manner precise. It would have been very easy to just gibber and whoop over top of the tight orchestration and that would have been fine. More difficult still is to use the voice in counterpoint as a rhythm instrument. He barks, swoops up into a strangely child-like falsetto. He is an MC. He's telling you the news.
The news is, as usual, stranger than fiction, placed in an odd present situated between yesterday's future (in which "you can even eat the dishes," as they said in an earlier album) and a noir Chicago past: "Here Come the Automata," "Doing the Flammability," "The Effects of Radiation," "How I Became Invincible."
It is the last song that claims a special place in my heart. "Bricks Should Have Wings" is a call to action in the face of absolute chaos, represented by a riotous moshpit. This is what those Wachovski-or-whatever weiners were shooting for in that ridiculous underground rave they shot: a sky full of bricks winging their way to their targets with remorseless drive and purpose, while the crowd below pogoes in an affirmation that they are, maybe only temporarily but in any case joyously, awake.

In Gravity's Rainbows. That's the Best I could Come Up With Given Short Notice. No please, don't fire me from Mad Magazine--" ...Oh, it was a dream..

2008-12-15T00:54:00.008-05:00

“Hey bonita muchacha / Don't-cha know that I want-cha.”

Surprisingly, this is not the only embarrassingly white attempt at an ode to.. Mexican-ness or something from this year. But, I have to say, at least Jonathan Richman sings in Spanish and risks embarrassing himself, which is more than I can say for Brian Wilson (who just embarrasses himself unintentionally). That being said, “Good Kind of Love,” from That Lucky Old Sun, is probably one of my favorite songs of the year. Minor tip of the hat to Bri.

This is about 2008. But first, a flashback to 2002 or thereabouts:

[WIDE SHOT-ZOOM IN FROM NEATLY TRIMMED YARD TO THE WHITE FRONT DOOR WITH THE STRIPS OF GLASS ON THE SIDE AND THE NICE SCREEN DOOR. NOTE TO SELF: LEARN HOW TO WRITE LIKE SCREENPLAYS SO THIS DOESN’T SOUND STUPID]

Scene: A pale, palsied teenager with long hair (although it would look a lot better if he acquiesced and got it cut in layers, he insists on maintaining the image he has of himself in his head, something to do with Joey Ramone, I still don’t know) sits curled up on a couch, headphones in his ears and a CD player resting in his lap. Two albums sit stacked on the end table next to him. The CDs, you ask (wait, this is a screenplay, not a narrative)? End of the Century by the Ramones and II by the Meat Puppets. Cue comet flying overhead outside the window, a thousand years pass by, and still this moment is magic.

Satirical digressions aside, I feel like I need to place this block of text in some sort of biographical context. That moment actually was the beginning of me as I know myself now—to get a little too sentimental. I was raised without a passion for music, so I know it’s not biological; but, through my own efforts, I’ve made it the very stitching of my core being, etc. Feel free to let this paragraph continue for several more lines in your head, all this sincerity is exhausting.

The point, though, is that I like music. A lot. But until 2008, I never bothered to care about the cavalcade of new music that floods the market each year. There are literally hundreds of bands forming and falling apart every year, and most of them can only be found on the RSS feed of some tiny blog that you can’t even search for on Google. I didn’t listen to them all, but I tried to listen to a good portion of the North American bands with white members. That’s a joke, but I listened to maybe a handful of new rap albums this year, a handful of European punk bands with white members, and (flavor of the week) some compilations of African stuff. Music journalism is a joke, and so are these End of the Yr. lists, but with people like Sasha-Frere Jones insisting on racial binaries and using terms like “miscegenation” to describe music, it looks like respectability will be beyond our reach for a long time. Not that I’m a music journalist. I just like music, and I like to write. Gah, feel free to scroll down to the list if you haven't already--you're not missing much. I’ve listened so many bands this year, and I can only remember enough to come up with a handful of great albums from this year before having to scroll through my iTunes library and remember that one 7” that kind of sounded like the Ramones, I think, at first listen, six months ago. Seriously, with the exception of #1 on my list, I didn’t listen to any of these albums more than a handful of times. A lot of them I only listened to once or twice. But I will say this: At Least I Did Not Put Fleet Foxes On My List. That alone should give me a modicum of credibility.

Stuff of the Yr. in which this was written:

1. Howlin’ Rain – Magnificent Fiend
Sounds like Traffic.

2. Earth – The Bees Made Honey in the Lion’s Skull
DRUMS

3. Oneida – Preteen Weaponry
Oneida do Don Caballero. Is that even right? I don’t know, I thought of that comparison months ago and stashed it in some mental niche, and just now it popped out. Have to fill this space somehow.

4. Nomo – Ghost Rock
White guys doing afrobeat. So, basically Vampire Weekend. Ahah.

5. Goslings – Occasion
Pitchfork would probably say something like “shoegaze metal.”

6. The Howling Hex – Earth Junk
NO DRUMS

7. Jay Reatard – Matador Singles ‘08
Controversial, but I liked this collection better than the first singles collection.

8. Grails – Take Refuge in Clean Living
In the same vein as Sun City Girls, if you can appreciate music outside of a rock context. “Atmospheric post-rock with Middle-Eastern touches.” –something I would probably say if I were a professional reviewer.

9. Cloudland Canyon – Lie in Light
Kraut. “You & I,” another potential song for someone’s crappy 2008 mix CD that no one will listen to.

10. Arthur Russel – Love is Overtaking Me
Yeah, posthumous, but “Nobody Wants a Lonely Heart” is too moving not to be on this guy’s crappy list.

11. Pumice – Quo
New Zealand lo-fi. New Zealand rules.

12. Wooden Shjips – Vol. 1
Three compilations on this list? They all deserve it, though. Oh, this band is distorted psych. That really doesn’t tell you much. Musicians nowadays really are fond of extended jams clouded in distortion.

12. Shit and Shine – Cherry
“The Rabbit Song” is the apotheosis of cool stoner psychedelic kraut noise rock. Nice, a bunch of adjectives.

13. Blank Dogs – On Two Sides
I could do an entire list full of the noisy lo-fi punk/pop bands from this year, because there were a lot for whatever reason. Blank Dogs come out ahead of the pack, though.

14. Sapat – Mortise and Tenon
Hats off to Siltbreeze for putting out so many good albums this year. Tied with Not Not Fun for Best Label of the Year According to Pale Guy Writing From His MacBook.

15. Islaja – Blaze Mountain Recordings
Paavoharju never clicked with me, but I liked most of the other Fonal Records albums from this year. This one especially.

16. AFCGT – S/T CD-r
A Frames playing with the Climax Golden Twins. I previously described “Old Spy” and “Young Spy” as “noise-surf.” Stupid, but I need to write something in this space.

17. Pocahaunted – Island Diamonds
These girls released a lot of albums this year, and I only listened to a few. This was the best of them, though.

18. Boston Spaceships – Brown Submarine
Robert Pollard’s new band. I could’ve seen them in town, but I was busy with homework. Heard they were good.

19. Jonathan Richman – Because Her Beauty is Raw and Wild
Song about Vermeer.

20. Headache City – Headache City
“Tearjerker” would be near the top of the 2008 song list if I had the energy to make one. Sounds like Television.

Bands I forgot: Eat Skull, Jacuzzi Boys, Vivian Girls, Burning Star Core, Birchville Cat Motel, Four Tet, Blue Sabbath Black Cheer, Boris, Sic Alps, Cheveu, Children’s Hospital, Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy, Silver Jews, Sparks, Wire (really, the last two I tried to like, but they were decidedly subpar albums, at least compared to those artists’ best albums. Which is an awful way to judge an album, but what are you going to do?), Mudhoney, Stereolab, Static Static, Kim Phuc, Stnnng, Valet, Grouper, Wavves, U.S. Girls, other people, etc.

I probably should’ve put this at the top of the article, but Note to Readers: don’t ever try and keep up with a year’s worth of albums, because it isn’t worth it. I feel very tired, and music is little consolation, despite what some people would tell you (the same people who put Fleet Foxes in their list, no doubt). Art is useless and Good Guys Sit On the Couch & Watch Frasier Re-runs While Assholes Get The Girl.

36. The Hillbilly Avant-Garde

2008-12-10T10:54:00.002-05:00

Don't have a bunch of my usual wacky horsedootz this time, just a few words about Henry Flynt. Found out about him through Alan Licht's Minimalism Top 10 lists (which has since become a Top 30, and can be found in, among other places, the Root Blog, for which there's a link farther down and on the right). Found out also that a whole passel of Flynt's stuff can be found on Locust Music and Ampersand Records, labels that anyone interested in good music should be interested in (full disclosure: Dawson Prater, the label head, used to live here and we used to play spades together, and once drunkenly offered to release a double album of my stand-up; the fact that I don't do stand-up is indicative of the aridity of Dawson's humor).

Henry Flynt is a backwoods avant-garde prankster and the two pieces I'm putting up, You Are My Everlovin' and Celestial Power, are epic fiddle ragas that make me wish I still did downers. This is all-night drive to Waco music, folks. The first pits his absolutely incredible fiddle against a classical Indian drone; the culture clash is only there if you put it there. The second piece's drone is even richer, mellow string stabs that end up sounding not unlike light saber practice drills. Flynt has a way of coaxing the most amazing high-string runs out of his fiddle that I have ever, ever heard, scattering notes like light through a prism. I can't do it justice; you just gotta hear it. Then go buy some shit from Dawson; he just had a kid and probably needs the scratch.

35. The Country Western Robot Cries Again

2008-12-09T17:03:00.003-05:00

It's a cold hard metal fact that the saddest sounding American instrument is the pedal steel, and the reason for this is simple: way back when we (you and I) were making America, steel guitars were strung with the tendons of unhappy dead people. This was in fact before steel had been discovered during a cave-in in Hazard County, West Virginia, which provided several more "redneck theremins." Technology and America remorselessly moving on, we no longer call this "country pleader" the pedal tendon. Another reason is that that is fuggin' gross, man.

It is another fact that everyone thinks about robots all the time. And why not? They're funny when they put on dresses and heroic when little itty-bitty ones saved Uncle Ferd after that botched Panamanian angioplasty. And it's also funny when someone refers to 'our robot overlords,' because it's better to laugh at the hideous truth than to cry.

And that's something robots don't do (cry). This simple statement is axiomatic to literally every piece of music made in England from 1979-1985 and gave us the non-Euclidean wonder of the Flock of Seagulls haircut. Robots cannot cry, for we have made them not as we are (see Ripley Scott's neat-o Vangelis video "Blade Runnings" for more on this) but as we wish we could be. We have made them stoic and without Gods and with laser eyes so they never need bottle openers.
But what would it be like if robots could, in fact, cry, wail, gnash their geary teeth? Well, it would probably sound like Pete Drake, the man who created the Talkbox. You have heard the Talkbox. Deep-sea worms have heard the Talkbox. Here's why: "Do You Feel Like I Do?" That's why. You heard that three times a day until you were allowed to pick the radio station, cause Dad still has one of those beerhats with the straws and a Peter Frampton shirt.

My point being, Pete Drake was a king-hell pedal steel player, and he invented the Talkbox. So take the keen of the pedal steel, and then pull it out of shape and have it sing at you.

'But I hate country!' I hear you say, and I am reminded yet again that you are a hideous little quasi-person. Listen: download these albums and if you don't like them, if they don't sound like literally nothing else you've ever heard, then I'll refund your costs. I'll refund the costs with my boot up your ass.

34. Please Hold (Ghana - High-Life and Other Popular Music [Saka Acquaye and His African Ensemble])

2008-12-09T16:58:00.003-05:00

I am on hold. I am on hold, it is near freezing and I am waiting for Shane. I am waiting for Shane to arrive with the part. When the part comes, Shane will be with it and he will mount the part and then I will never see Shane again. I am on hold.

I called my own Company, the one I have worked for for twenty-six years, and I am on hold. I could call those years by number or letter, a through z. I try to think of people I know from a to z. Somewhere around d I give up. The music from hold is very pleasant. I don't know what it is.
When first I needed the part, I did not know what it was I needed. The first place I went to looked at me and said, "We don't have a computer. Engines, they need a computer. Why don't you go down the road and see Shane." Shane wasn't there, was sick. But his boss said "Let's see what the computer says." It said I needed a part. Shane's boss said "Let's see if we can't get Shane in here." That's why Shane is coming with the part. Thanks, Shane.

"Hold please." Why are you pleading with me. You are going to put me on hold anyway. You are perpetuating the illusion that we are having a dialogue here. You are perpetuating here the illusion that I had the choice to say "Yes I will hold thank you" or "No I would rather not hold if you please." You are perpetuating the illusion that if I had said "No I Would Rather Not Hold If You Please" then you would have done something different. We both know this not to be the case. I don't fault you, I am just saying.

Shane has been sick since last Wednesday. "What he's got I don't wanna get" said Shane's boss. But he's coming in to mount my part. Thank you Shane. You're a good man. I am assuming. Maybe you beat your wife. Maybe you eat sour cream out of the container and hit your wife. I don't know. I try not to judge. Based on the limited amount of information I have about you, Shane, I have to say it: you are a good man.

I would like a copy of this hold music. It is making my wait more pleasant. This wait is still not pleasant but the music makes it more so. My time on hold gives me the chance to reflect on my falling standing at the Company. I would never have been put on hold before Keller. Before Keller I was golden. That was twenty-five years ago. Twenty-five years ago my calls go straight to the top. Since Keller my calls take the scenic route. Since Keller I have become a connoisseur of hold music. Since Keller I have become a hold music gourmand. This is good hold music. It might be the best. When Shane comes I shall recommend it to him. We will see what happens.

33. Roots Manuva- Brand New Second Hand

2008-12-04T19:54:00.004-05:00

Get me some jerk chicken. These beans on toast just aren't cutting it any more. I've been slogging it out in this goddamn charnel house for 8 long years and haven't had one damn meal that tiny tim wouldn't turn his nose up at. I'm about to hulk out here. Or at least to threaten to hulk out and maybe slam down some dockets in the in tray quite hard.

Everyone here hates me anyway, I see how Luke casts his eyes to the left whenever he sees me and starts throwing hudu at me like it was on clearance. And they think that i didn't see that fetishised sparrow skull in my drawer. Took a damn month of good deeds to wipe that shit clean. I should just let these hillbilly fucks rot, I'd like to see how many hexes they could get cleared in a month when no one is doing the paperwork for them, since their combined reading comprehension level is about 3rd grade.

I mean I can deal with never getting invited to their bowling night, I can deal with correcting all the spelling errors in their ridiculous pamphlets, I can even tolerate Lukumi bowling in here every whitsun to raise a storm over our cleansings and making a bloody mess of my filing cabinets. What I can't take is a 'culture' that thinks that pig intestines make for good eating. Send me back to Brixton and get me some jerk chicken, I'm wasting away out here.

32. The Appman Reviews: Kanye West - "808's and Heartbreak"

2008-12-03T13:50:00.002-05:00

There are few albums on this accursed Terra that truly vex me, but I knew another was on the way. The fools chorus that sings the praises of OK Computer, Dude Ranch, and others of their ilk. Jeremy playing Adam's Song on repeat, telling me, "Matt, this is just the greatest song." Nay, Jeremy. Nay. I could feel the bile climb up my throat, scaling with the hooks and chains of hatred that usually only arise when I have to talk to the idiots in my Poli Sci 303 discussion group. They don't know anything about the effects of capitalism. Just wait until the bodies of those it hurts wash up on their shores. Then they'll fucking know.

But then through Mandy's livejournal post I was directed to the album 808's and Heartbreak by Mr. Kanye West. She told me that I should check it out (Heh. She doesn't know me at all!). Let's be clear: the only "heartbreak" I felt was on account of wasting my precious time on queuing it up in Azureus next to the Batman Annual. The vocal masturbation of Mr. West is palpable, "borrowing" from too many artists that will never see the light of day because he is clogging the drains with his incessantly abhorrent and frankly annoying melodies. I have major issues with this album, Mandy. Mayhaps if he took off those ridiculous sunglasses he could see the problems of poor structure in "Say You Will" (Six minutes of choral samples? Heh, what does Kanye think this is: Castlevania?), or the gimmicky hooks of "Love Lockdown". "Heartless", another single off the album, just reeks of vocal synthesizers, a crutch of the modern musician. Do you think They Might Be Giants just flipped a couple switches when they sometimes messed up their wonderful vocals? Never. They just went back and did it again.

And how dare he besmirch the auteur Paul Verhoeven by naming a song "RoboCop". You aren't fit to mention a movie of his, let alone form the basis of a song around a seminal film. It just enrages me when artists like him just toss around the apexes of culture to just get tweenagers to pluck their album off the Wal-Mart shelf, a true Commedia dell'arte. I can't even look at this Zip file anymore, makes me sweat at the thought. I'm sorry, Mandy. I'm sorry. But my opinions are paramount, and I cannot remain tightlipped about this. Please don't be angry with me. Please. You're all I have.

31. Denki Groove - Voxxx

2008-12-03T13:31:00.002-05:00

Denki Groove are most widely known of for being remixed by Paul Van Dyk on Vorsprung Dyk Technik (for the uninitiated you might think of his work as trance, only not crap). Their connection to that genre is only tangential though, as the body of their work is a 20 year slide from electro-pop to techno. Personally they are notable for being played in clubs at the time in my life all 14 year old boys go through, when you realise that that wispy moustache does not make you look older, and that shaving it will give you a chance of getting into clubs.

The group's mainstay is Takkyu Ishino (you know you are listening to some hardcore underground scene music when the artist doesn't even have a wikipedia page). Notable mainly for closing out the 98 Berlin Love Parade with a crowd of 1.5 million goddamn people, Ishino's solo catalogue is also well worth looking through if you are into that beepy boopy kind of affair.

The band permit me the dangerous fantasy that I can dance, until I catch sight of myself and realise that I'm whiter than the right honourable Jim Hacker channelling Churchill. Once I've gotten over my Chris Langham levels of shame though the music once more frees me to a level of elation unknown since I was 7 years old, decked out in pyjamas and dancing to remember you're a womble. So come along, regress with me.

30. Logorrhea in Command (Crazy Wisdom Masters - The Payback EP)

2008-12-03T12:36:00.003-05:00

TheJungletheJungletheBrotherstheBrothersmadethisalbum
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couldnotgettheyheadsaroundtheliteralnextshitthenextthenextshit
sotheyJBssmokedanothershittonofweed
whichwasprobablyloveboatlikegavinmccloudfloatinginonacloudand
sentitovertoSkiztheWhizCrooklynbred
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Serta.

29. Two Stories and an Aborted Joke Featuring Yi Yi Thant (White Elephants and Golden Ducks/ Princess Nicotine)

2008-12-03T12:13:00.001-05:00

1.
Yi Yi Thant, vocalist from the walled nation of Myanmar (formerly known in the west as Burma), stood next to her rented car. Either steam or smoke was pouring from the hood, she wasn't going to get close enough to tell the difference. Well, at least she broke down close to civilization. Such as they call it round here. What the hell am I doing in this place, she thought. The sun quivered at the tree tops, miles away.
"It was going just fine and then it started making this horrible noise and then it did this." She mimed being jerked forward three times, her face still serene, eyes closed. The mechanic nodded. "Well, worst case is yer timin chain. Which case ain't much I nor no-one else can do for yuh othern lend you a yellow pages. But I think it may be your plugs. Whyncha go on over to my pa's place next door, they got a rhubarb pie what kin't by beat not by a mile."
It suddenly occured to me that this joke, which hinges on a penguin messily eating an ice cream sundae, wouldn't really work with Yi Yi Thant as the protagonist because not only does she have hands, she also has opposable thumbs and she eats with utensils like anyone else.

2.
Yi Yi Thant, blessed with a voice that sounded like gold leaf lazily peeled from an angel's halo and floating down to Earth, looked grim.
"I don't think... said Murph.
"You keep doing that," snapped Thant. Her jewelry shifted with the sound of wet pebbles where her silk robe had sweated through.
The Lookout still stood. Smoke curled from its sensory array.
"Fuck this," muttered Murph and he stood up. "Don't" said Thant but she didn't finish because Murph became a crimson cloud from the waist up, blown to shit by the Lookout's gatling-gauss. His legs did a pratfall on his ass. Is that still his ass?, Thant thought.
There was a hollow clicking sound as the timed explosive arrow Thant had shot caught, and the Lookout exploded, crumbling slowly at first and then with increasing speed directly down, like the earth swallowing it whole.
Thant brushed a lock of raven hair from her eye. She thought that if this was a movie she would say something snappy here, but it wasn't, it was war.

3.
It was another hot day in a string of hot days that I knew I was genetically incapable of ever getting used to. It felt like my chromosomes were sweating. I had taken to bringing a box of cornstarch with me wherever I went when I was here, and excusing myself at intervals and sprinkling some on my chapped and swampy crotch. Consequently last week I caught myself in my room's full-length mirror one day and I thought I looked like I had been snorting cocaine through my cock.
I got to the city and that was most of it right there. Here's how much money I had left: three hundred forty four dollars. That would get me a pretty good hotel room here for as long as I needed, plus one night a week of hokily acrobatic yodelling with one of the locals. It wouldn't buy me a ticket home from Burma, but after a week or ten days I found myself thinking about it less and less, getting to like it, then love it. The heat, though, kept reminding me that I wasn't from here. That and the cornstarch gravy I kept making with my taint.
There were a lot of things I wanted to ask her. How it felt to be the archetypical songbird in a gilded cage, almost unheard outside of Myanmar. Was she frightened. Did she think of it. Did she ever wonder how it would be, living in the free world. The millions she would make with her voice. I had all these questions written down on hotel stationary, provided by the sincerely smiling clerk. When you are such a powerful symbol, do you feel it. Did it change how she felt. How did she feel knowing that she
The phone book was open on the desk, and for the next two hours here in the city the phone would work. Again, I ran my finger down the page of curled script to the number; again, I dialed; again, Yi Yi Thant answered the phone.
"Min gar la bar?", she said
Again, I put the phone on the desk and closed my eyes, listening.
"Min gar la bar?", she said.

28. FUCK (Barbara Hendricks. Georges Pretre - Orchestre National de France / Poulenc - Gloria, Stabat Mater)

2008-10-23T13:03:00.003-04:00

Holy shit, this is fucking great. This fucking rules. I just listened to this for the first time in years and this owns, it totally owns. It goes BA, BA, BADA and it's got this part where the chick just goes apeshit. The band owns too. I mean, the orchestra. This is fucking great French music. Holy fuck, I think I just pissed myself. I'm listening to the "Qui sedet ad dexteram patris" part and I better move my laptop or else I'm gonna shock my pud! Yep, I pissed myself. My daughter just said her first words! They were "What the fuck is this fucking awesome shit you're playing?" Whoops, definitely electrocuted my cock just there.

Francis Poulenc was a French guy and he did "Litanies a la Vièrge Noire" and "Quatre Prières Pour Une Temps de Penitence" but those are fucking guano compared to this. And I like those pieces! I sang them in college! Afterwards I would get drunk with all the other faggots who sang them with me and sing em again! They were that good! This is better! Holy shit, I just remembered: we sang this too! My balls just dropped AGAIN. My balls had already dropped once (hence existence of daughter) but listening to this absolutely fuckeriffic piece by "Les Six" member Poulenc has caused my balls to drop A SECOND TIME. Now I gotta be careful when I walk to the "Simply Catfood" store else I'm gonna be playing bocce with my testes.

This has some really cool dissonance in that one part and a couple of others and it's got this fucking awesome theme that goes BA, BA, BADA which I referenced in the first paragraph and basically every asshole that came after him ripped him off and they can all SUCK MY DICK. If you do not download this I will come to your house and pee on you. I will rip up your newspapers and shit in your oven. This is so cool I think I'm going to go out and BUY IT. Even better: I am going to put the fifteen bucks or however much a CD costs these days in a pile with a note that says "TO FRANCIS POULENC FUCKING IN HEAVEN" and burn it, that way he'll get it in the afterlife (he died because after he wrote this his cock became so huge that when he got an erection all the blood went to his cock and deflated his head). Wow, what a neato-burrito heavy fugginay piece of 17th-level paladin style AWESOME.

27. Crush That Hippie, Hand Me the Pliers, I Think I'm Bowie

2008-10-23T12:54:00.003-04:00

A while ago, during one of the Decades That Didn't Happen, I lived with a guy whose name I won't tell you, because I would have to be a total asshole to reveal that kind of information. Let's just call him Lichen Almighty; he had a real name that he didn't use (except on paychecks) but in normal everyday discourse he wanted you to call him this intensely hippyish name.

Now, Lichen was, in fact, a hippie. An unregenerate hippie. Although he didn't grow up in the 50's and 60's, so he could never be a real hippie. That suited him just fine, because, as a rule, Lichen HATED hippies. He hated the swirling, empty-headed lot of them. He called them 'blissninnies.' It struck me that Lichen was the best kind of hippie, that rarest kind of hippie: the kind that actually THOUGHT about the boilerplate peacenluv before he puked it up by rote.

In between knife hits and the occasional bump of the very worst Central Virginia cocaine (which invariably had been stepped on more often than a Burger King doormat and could always be counted on to bring on a two week sinus infection), Almighty Lichen and I would talk about how the 60's were one of our culture's biggest lies. Then he would whip out his acoustic guitar, but by then I was usually drunk enough to let it pass.

Which brings me to the Firesign Theatre: four hippies who simply were not buying it. Any of it. The wholesale swallowing of a readymade counter-culture. The lack of critical thought. Peace and love as buzzwords. Of course, being hippies in the era of Nixon, they were shooting back at both sides. And in one dense side-long piece, entitled "Le Trente-Huit Cunegonde," they posited an alternate version of the history of the United States that manages to surgically maul both Leary and Kissinger, Me Generation and My Lai. Fuck Howard Zinn and Noam Chomsky: this is what your history teacher didn't teach you. Have a knife hit on me and listen with headphones.

26. Very Loud It Play (Butthole Surfers - Double Live)

2008-10-23T12:44:00.002-04:00

There was a day when a man would have been frightened to see the Butthole Surfers. And that didn't make him less of a man. Better men than you shit themselves when they smelled the Surfers' tourbus come to town; women would spontaneously abort and the fetuses would get up and do security for the show.

Part of why it is so hard to believe is because the Surfers have been so god-damn [i]awful[/i] for so long now. Anyone remember Weird Revolution? Electriclarryland? (To be fair, "Pepper" was a great song, probably their last great song.) Independent Worm Saloon? You do? Wow, do you have a music blog?

But there was a day when people didn't know what to make of these motherfuckers, and that day is captured perfectly here on Double Live. This was back when Matter magazine ran a one-page on them where the band played up the backwoods vibe, frowning their way through dinner in New York ("What the fuck is this lin-gwine stuff?") and boiling life down to waking up somewhere, getting stoned and drinking beer, and leading the author to opine that they very well might have room-temperature IQs.

The cassette I had of it was type written, with some sort of child with an exposed spine reaching out to the audience on the cover; it came out on their own Latino Bugger Veil Music and the instructions were "very loud it play." And this is exactly what you should do. These people were not stupid, as Corey Rusk will bitterly tell you. They did have musical tastes that ran 'dumb' to the indie tastes of the day; they didn't name their dog 'Mark Farner of Grand Funk Railroad' for nothing. If anything, this might be the cassette that got me listening, however infrequently, to classic rock again. Leary's guitar is prime psych throughout, and who is Gibby Haynes, after all, but Ted Nugent on drugs? Many drugs? All drugs?

(Broken into four pieces.)

25. The Link Between Deviant Sex and Religion Finally Explained. (Ultra Vivid Scene - s/t)

2008-10-23T12:31:00.003-04:00

This Blog Entry is the First True Explanation Linking the Above Concepts Ever. Don't Be Fooled By Imitators (Like That Fuck, Hieronymous T. Shitbird).

Let's face it, shall we? There is a reason that some people masturbate over the concept (and indeed, sometimes the execution of the concept) of the leather nun. I'm doing it as I type this missive; in a cave in the Appalachian Mountains, next cave over from Eric Rudolph's in fact, Osama bin Laden is busy pounding it to a pirated copy of "Sisters in Black 12" he shoplifted from a Stop'n'Go. Alan Greenspan gets 'irrationally exuberant' (to coin a phrase) at the thought of Sister Mary Elephant with a cat o' nine tails. Mohandas Ghandi, Leo Tolstoy and Leonid Brezhnev all badgered the witness, beat the bishop, buffed the porpoise while thinking of those stern Sisters of Mercy.

And why not? Why the hell not? Religion is submission. I even think there's a religion [i]called[/i] submission (although it doesn't have nuns, much). And who's in charge of religion? Nuns.

Notice I'm talking about Catholicism. That's because Protestant religion is a misnomer. Protestantism is more of a country club. Why? No submission. Point set and MATCH, motherfucker.

While were at it, the French were right: orgasms ARE 'the little death.' And who is in charge of who gets to go where in the afterlife? Nuns. They let Saint Peter park the cars. Nuns have the organization, and those rulers they smack on tables. Yowch!

Nuns are Brides of Christ. So when you're whacking off over one dressed like Catwoman (the nun, not you, possibly), you're committing a DOUBLE SECRET SIN. You're coveting AND spilling your seed. So you're TWICE the pervert. That's freeing. Knowing that you're such a sexual badass will allow you to drive five miles an hour over the speed limit and eat that second helping of blondie pie.

In summation, the act of strumming on the old ban-jo while clenching an alb between your gritted teeth is not only normal, it is beneficial. It allows us to walk our submissive sides around the block without the potential heartache of your friends and loved ones asking about that new whip welt.

24. NATSUMEN - NEVER WEAR OUT yOUR SUMMER xxx !!!

2008-10-08T21:03:00.003-04:00

NATSUMEN are a recent and very elusive Japanese band that describe their music as "“Japanese Progressive HardCore JAZZ Aggressive Improvisation ROCK". As far as I know they've released two albums and an EP and were perhaps broken-up some time last year, although their website http://www.natsumen.net/ seems to be advertising both a new show and a new record (?). The band was formed from the ashes of BOaT, a similar Japanese band. All the members have names like A×S×E and KO1 TSUTAYA, and all played in various other bands before joining NATSUMEN. Their other album, Endless Summer Record, is much closer to a sort jazzy post-rock and noise, almost in the vein of Ground Zero, while NEVER WEAR OUT yOUR SUMMER xxx !!! - unquestionably badass title - is firmly acid jazz. From the start it's wild as hell and almost feels like a live performance at some points. Pretty much motherfucking fuck ass badassery here.

This one goes out to my acid jazz mate Milde, see yer in four months or so all!

Click here to download.

23. A House Call With Two Clems Holistic Towing and Hex Removal Service

2008-09-30T21:16:00.002-04:00

Yeah, sorry I was late, we had a long night. Gets to be a full moon and everyone thinks they got some kinda hoodoo laid on 'em. Usually I just pour salt on their doorstep.

Hmmm? No, salt is some powerful stuff but I... yeah, course I know how to use it. Now, clem was telling me you got an obeah man you done told to get out? Hmm. Yeah. No, it ain't a problem. You got some holy water?

Yeah, I'll walk you through it. But if you don't unnerstand jes check the pamphlet. After i'm gone. And if I got my eyes closed, don't do nothin. Jes stay still. Cuz I'm gettin up on some loas. They cranky this time of the mornin.

Now ok, kin I git some room up here on this here mantel? Why? Cause I wanna sit on it. No that's a joke. No, I gotta set up a shrine. You got pets? You gotta iguana. Wass the iguana name. "Looie." Don't let the iguana up on the mantel. He don' look like he get aroun much anyhows.

Aight now mam I'mma set this thing on fire so you might want to turn off yer smoke beeper. In fact, you might jes wanna take it down off the wall. Cause I'm gonna smoke a ham in here, thass why. No mam that was a joke. I gotta burn this message get it on up to Kendun who is the loa of openings. No mam he don't have a phone.

See now, that sumbitch luke... now I worked with him and all I kin say is someone din't treat him right. Or leastways that's what he think. He's all about curse this and curse that and down the lanes I seen him throw a 7-10 split and you know what he do? He damn hell curse the damn bowlin alley. Come back round midnight with some his graveyard dirt. Well I jes slip round back after he lef and sweep it up and put the sign of David on the dumpster and tell you what: that bowlin alley still standin.

Ok mam how you feel about candles? I guess that's what you call one of them rhetorical questions cause we gon have to get some candles in here. Now this here is St. Mark's candle. Smell that. Yeah it's pretty rank. See the wick there? See how it's all lumpy? That's cause it's the paw of a black cat. Good lord mam, get down offa that chair.

Okey now, watch them candles cause there's packets in there and the fire gonna jump ever so often. Now we don't want yer house on fire do we now. No mam. You can have all the luck in the world, your house catch on fire you gonna be the luckiest old girl in the rain. No mam I don't mean yer old.

How you sleep? I mean you sleep good? Wake up? Gotta pee? Sorry mam I gotta be thorough. An obeah man he'll scarify your dreams. He'll take an awl and puncture the sides. No mam I ain't tryin to scare you I jes want you to know. You dream a red sky? No mam don't matter whethern it were at night or at mornin, we ain't plannin a sailin trip. Lessen you got one of them yachts which case I would suggest you get on it, yer lookin at a first mate. No mam I don't think you got a yacht. I kin't hoist no sail anyhow.

No mam I ain't from Loosianne. I'm from galax virginner. Son of Wilbur and Corinna. No mam she was a schoolteacher, he was a welder of some sort. No mam I picked this up at Devry. Well it were a Devry in Loosianne.

Now this here I yer John-the-conqueroo, what some call mandragon and othern call ginseng. You see it looks like a man. Well, I ain't seen no man what looked like that but you get the idea of the thing. Now what you you gotta do is put this in yer armpit and then keep it kindly there for til the new moon. No mam that would be up to you. I know folk what made a little sling for it. No it got a pleasant smell. No mam I ain't wearin one but I ain't got no obeah man pokin through my delicates. No mam I was not inferring anything by that. No mam I was not.

21. <---???---> (Sublime Frequencies: Radio India - The Eternal Dream of Sound)

2008-09-16T15:04:00.005-04:00

When does that asshole want it? Friday? Kiss my ass. Kiss my BLACK ASS. No, that's not racism, Harry, I'm clearly not black and I said it in my white voice. Shut up Harry. It's this file, that's what the fucking problem is! Have you seen it? Fucking Manesh in Bangladore put it through a god-damn blender! No that's not racism, Harry, if you look at the file it has all the marks of an Indian blender. Fuck friday. Fuck fuck fuck.

God-dammit, if those cocksuckers think I am putting in ONE FUCKING SECOND of overtime those fat fucks have another think coming. I am taking an HOUR for lunch EVERY FUCKING DAY and I am leaving at FOUR FUCKING FIFTY NINE every afternoon and if they don't like it they can FUCK THEMSELVES. All because fucking Anoop fed the fucking file to a fucking COW. Fuck you Harry, they love cows over there, they feed them all sorts of shit.

Did you SEE all the goddamn tags on that fucker? Did you SEE it? It looks like someone shot the fucking xml with a paint gun. What the FUCK, did they fucking OCR the fucker with their FOREHEADS? 'Zat where all the god-damn fucking @s come from, that fucking dot on their foreheads? Shut the fuck up Harry, you gonna deny they got dots on their foreheads?

"SystemID: C:\Intelex_Local\pastmasters\convert\peirce_w\peirce_w.02.xml. Description: There is no schema or DTD associated with the document. You can create an association either with the Associate Schema action or configuring in the Options the Preferences/Document Type Association list, or by creating a Validation Scenario." SOMEBODY WANNA MAKE A COMPUTER THAT DOESN'T MAKE ME WANT TO PUKE BLOOD? Jesus fuck. Jesus fuck. I'll associate YOUR fucking DTD. I'll fucking give you NINETEEN FUCKING STDS and give the rest to fucking Ranjeep's fucking mother. No, I don't know Ranjeep, Harry, he lives in fucking Delhi or some shit.

A fucking validation scenario? Here's a motherfucking validation scenario: I get in a fucking plane... no, there aren't any fucking SNAKES on the plane, do I look like Samuel L. Jackson in a fucking MOVIE, Harry, this is REAL LIFE I'm talking here.... I get on a plane, I fly to Motherfuckabad or whatever pile of cowshit that cocksucker Salman lives in, I show him my fucking computer, I show him the file, AND THEN I FORCEFEED HIM VISTA CODE UNTIL HE FUCKING GETS REINCARNATED AS A MOTHERFUCKING SOCK PUPPET. They BELIEVE that shit over there, Harry. you believe me? You dumbshit. Harry, you are the world's dumbshit.

WHO THE FUCK SAID THAT, HARRY. I'll fucking regular-expression-search THEM. Here's one: my fist search his fuckin FACE replace FACE with my FIST. Repeat. 256 times a fuckin second. Cocksucker, I was using fucking regular expression searches when that fat fuck was was writing HELLO in fuckin basic on his motherfucking Speak and Spell. They were toys, Harry. You spelled shit and then it said it, how fucking, how fucking obvious I gotta be Harry. Keep up with me, Harry, you stupid sack of shit.

Shit like this is why I drink. Shit like this is why I drink RIGHT THE FUCK HERE AT MY DESK! Shut up Harry, not so fuckin loud, you wanna get me shitcanned? Is that what you want Harry, get the only guy who will fucking look you in the eye around this shithole shitcanned? Maybe you want Nusrat to come over here, take my fucking desk? Make you a fucking curry? You asshole. Fuck you, man, I got seniority round here. I been here since the fuckin CEO was fucking outsourcing his fuckin lemonade stand.

You know what the fuck they listen to, Harry? You know what they listen to? Indians, Harry. HARRY, ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME. Here's what they listen to: REORGGNNN WA WA WA WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. It sounds like motherfucking cats in a horrible automobile accident. It's no goddamn wonder they can't FORMAT A MOTHERFUCKING OCR. Look at this fucker, Harry. LOOK AT IT. It looks like the fucking riddler's underwear, a bunch of shit and question marks. Fucking file is about as useful as a papier-maché dildo.

"(a )m and (a" 'Should I read this?' Should I read this. Shit, read the hell out of it. Take it to the beach for some light reading. Fucking Mooshipoor can't read it, I can't read it, Harry can't fuckin read AT ALL, somebody oughta fuckin read it. I'm supposed to make this legible? With what, a pair of goddamn tweezers and an iron will to live? THE FUCK DO I MAKE 14 AN HOUR FOR AFTER ALL, take a bunch of random fuckin characters and make a goddamn book out of it. You know who reads these fuckers? Not Mooshipoor, Harry, that motherfucker is reading the goddamn wackjob bible somewhere. I'll tell you who read this. Assholes, Harry. A bunch of assholes.

Yeah, c'mon back when your head clears up, I'll show you a bunch of shit that looks like it got typed by Booboo the 13-armed fuckup Indian god in charge of FUCKING MY LIFE UP.

Harry, c'mere. I got a joke. I got a joke. I'M GONNA TELL YOU A JOKE HARRY, JESUS CHRIST, WHADDAYOU THINK I'M GONNA KISS YOU? It's gonna take a shitload more than you to make me queer, Harry, you can ask your wife. Here's a joke Harry. Knock knock. Who's there, say who's there, Harry. Thank you. Raji. Say Raji-who, Harry. Jesus. Raji who? RAJI I AM GONNA FUCKING GIVE YOU A STEEL-TOE TONSILLECTOMY FROM THE ASS-END, RAJI YOU DON'T LEARN YOUR FUCKING TRADE. That IS the joke you asshole.

Where the fuck did they learn NESTING, motherfucking Ganesh's School for I Don't Know What the Fuck? I can see it now, motherfucking first period: look out for cows! Second period: hey ain't those cows great! Third period... yeah, i'm gonna give you the entire fucking schedule, Harry, like YOU got something better to do. Third period: OCRing with a motherfucking hammer! THEY OCRED THIS WITH A FUCKING HAMMER, HARRY. What? Grep? Speak fucking English, the queen's English Harry, you sound worse than fucking Baji. Grep? I'LL GREP YOUR FUCKING ASS, HARRY.

IT guy? You're looking at him. Harold T. Fuckface right here, the IT guy. Hey Harry, whaydoncha tell him your qualifications? Christ, what did your resume look like, "qualifications: fucked up a two-car funeral?" I'm just kidding. Harry's not the IT guy. He's just a codeslinger like me. Well, not like me, you get the point. IT guy? Fuck the it guy. He's got a fucking earring. He probably thinks everything is dandy. It's gonna be dandy before I arrive at his house with Jesus in a cab and fucking plaster THIS MOTHERFUCKING FILE on his face with a hot glue gun.

Fuck it. Just fuck it. I'm getting tanked. You watch. You watch, Harry. They're gonna miss me. Who the fuck pulled them out when the goddamn "Gesämtliche Werke" was TWO FUCKING WEEKS behind. Yeah, Harry, you did. My mother's a virgin and my dad is the god-damn Colossus of Rhodes. I FUCKIN' PULLED 60 HOURS IN A WEEK ON THE UMLAUT JOB. Now every time I see a goddamn umlaut I wanna puke. I went to the goddamn record store, ended up tossing my fucking eggos on a Blue Oyster Cult record.

20. Savage Republic - Ceremonial (1985)

2008-09-15T03:55:00.008-04:00

Savage Republic is one of the few great post-punk bands of the 80s still releasing quality material, although they've yet to top 1985's Ceremonial. In the beginning their work was typical harsh sounding post-punk with an industrial hint and strange chanted lyrics being their gimmick or spin on that style, but as they went on that industrial side grew to be more than a hint as they explored the unique instrumental drone for which they became known. Over the eight tracks on this album - some releases have nine, including the track "Valetta" from the Trudge EP, but this one doesn't because I'm bad with computers - Savage Republic show off both the hypnotic drone of later releases and the post-punk jams in the vein of New Order or The Pop Group that made up their early work in a combination not matched since. The whole thing is great but the tracks Andelusia, Walking Backwards, and, one of my all time favourite songs, Dionysius, are the most memorable. Fun and fast songs like those have a broad appeal to fans of more pop-ish or dance-y music and to anyone into noise, drone, and industrial.

Download here.

Thinking Fellers Union Local #282 - Wormed, by Leonard

2008-09-14T18:19:00.005-04:00

Ok, so this isn't Pitchfork, so I'm not going to call TFUL282 "Captain Beefheart on cough syrup" or "Captain Beefheart on glue" or "Captain Beefheart on something I found growing in the basement while listening to lots of Sonic Youth albums." Jokes aside, there is a profound Beefheart influence, even if it is viewed through the lens of indie rock. Not math rock or pure indie rock or even full on "experimental," I really am at a loss as to how to label these guys. "Lo-fi?" But that's such a cop-out term. At times caught up in a plaintive, tuneful pop piece, the next minute they retreat back into the hole they came out of and launch into a weird dirge similar to early Royal Trux, which is no wonder, seeing as how Wormed, by Leonard, their first album, came out in 1988--the same year as the first eponymous Trux album. Good year for cool albums that place a high priority on eccentricity? I don't know, 1988 also produced Daydream Nation, which was basically an overlong snoozefest, so I guess my theory's torn to shreds.

"Narlus Spectre," a "romping" surfy Morricone-esque jam, is the highlight of the album, which incidentally, is over an hour long. But don't let that make you nervous, it's an enjoyable hour or so filled with hilarous monologues about dogs and the greatest cover of "Superstar"--made famous by the Carpenters and lots of other people--ever recorded (fuck off, Juno fans). Speaking of Sonic Youth, I should probably mention that these guys owe a huge debt to Thurston et al. Wormed, by Leonard is recommended for fans of, I don't know, Confusion is Sex and EVOL-era SY. Also check this out if you've ever found yourself wishing Pavement would have played something a little less accessible or that Sebadoh hadn't been so obsessed with classic rock and weren't so fond of songs about weed and masturbating.

Click here to agree that sex rules.

18. The Correct Use of the Homocidal Parenthesis (The Lovin' Machine, Johnny Paycheck)

2008-09-13T20:56:00.004-04:00

Yes, at first glance, everything seems perfect fine in Johnny Paycheck's world. He loves his mother, Hank One, and his woman, in that order. No word on whether he had a dog, but if he did, the dog's name was Tick and Tick liked to sleep on the porch pretty much around the clock. No word as well on whether he had a gun, or what he would have named her. History has its opinion on the matter, but has kept its counsel.

What History will not and indeed cannot remain silent about is what would eventually happen to the fresh-faced, turtleneck-wearing Paycheck. Say his name to most Folk who Listen and the first thing that they will think of is Outlaw Country Johnny Paycheck, the man who empowered a generation with his hymn to either Marx or Engels entitled "Take This Job and Shove It." That Johnny Paycheck was a cocaine walnut. Years of incredibly bad living and even worse choices had caved his god-damn face in. I'm not saying that his songs of the period aren't worthy. I personally like "15 Beers," which describes breakfast in the spacious Paycheck manse.

Ah, but couldn't it be said that he was doomed from jump? After all, he got his name from a go-nowhere palooka. And when you look at the song titles on his early albums... well, clearly, Mssr. Paycheck always had a certain... shall we say, 'free-spiritness' on his mind.

Yes, at first glance, everything seems fine in Johnny Paycheck's world. Look at these song titles, shorn of their parentheses. "Pardon Me." "He's In a Hurry." "It Won't Be Long." Christ, that could be a Peter Paul and Mary side.

And now, let us see the full song titles. "Pardon Me (I've Got Someone To Kill)." "He's In a Hurry (To Get Home to My Wife)." "It Won't Be Long (And I'll Be Hating You)." Who they hell do you imagine says, politely, "Pardon me, (it's been a pleasure talking to you and I value your time), but unfortunately I must abridge our conversation because I have someone to kill." I'll tell you who: a man with a moral code who could give a flying fuck at a rolling donut what the hell you think. The fact that he, at the end of the song, casually and coolly mentions that not only is he going to kill his wife, her lover, but also himself is merely icing on the cake. Euronymous would have quite correctly spit up his creepy satanic lutefisk if Johnny Paycheck had but coughed in the same room as him. GG Allin would have tried to act cool, but a blink from Paycheck would have sent him scurrying for his pastor. The only person possibly as shitkicking is David Allen Coe, who is currently railing your mother while snorting your pappy's ashes. Paycheck had the advantage of not being a racist cocksucker. When Johnny Paycheck died, the A-11 slot on every jukebox rusted and crumbled, and Pabst went flat across the nation. It is safe to say we will not see his likes again, least not on the radio.

17. Things You Can Do In Mom's Minivan (15 Early Tejano Classics)

2008-09-13T20:53:00.002-04:00

Hey kids! Congratulations on getting that driver's license! That 5-Hour Energy Drink you mainlined an hour before the test really paid off! The open road is yours. Feel free to plough through dividing walls and take speed bumps at forty miles per while your parents pay the taxes. They owe you for making you clean the garage floor with a toothbrush.

So what if you're driving mom's 1997 Caravan? So what if Jimmy the car salesman's kid calls you a faggotface from the cockpit of his convertable and regularly drops you, ties you up and rolls you in the gym wrestling mat and invites a dozen of his closest friends to tapdance on it? We've got some fun activities that you can do while Jimmy is porking your sister live on webcam, things you can only do in a minivan!

Note: that middle bench seat comes out. Remove it so you can pack more merrymakers within.

1) Car of Death: Here's a topper! Pack eight homies into the car one night and drive slowly around the streets of your subdivision with your lights off and the sliding door open. Find someone even more abject than you, some poor kid actually WALKING. Like Louis, that kid who eats his own hair in Sociology. What a fucking cumstain wankfest HE is. Pull up next to him, driving at walking speed. After paralleling him for a couple of minutes, everyone should chant "ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" as low as possible, like monks on a toot. Peel out when he drops to the ground weeping. Fun!

2) Caravan of Love: Try fucking someone in it. Remember to vacuum before and after. Best times: three hours after curfew; after a funeral. People to try to fuck: Lauren, Ludmilla, Penny. People to think about while you're trying to fuck the above: Cary, Maureen, Mrs. Penmiller. People to masturbate about when it ends in tears: Cary, Maureen, St. Agnes, Mrs. Penmiller.

3) The Party Never Stops: your older brother's friend who's been the assistant manager at Warburton's FullMart since you could walk will do anything, since he has absolutely no morals and no opportunities for advancement in any area of his life. Give him twenty bucks and he'll buy you a twelve-pack. Gather eight of your posse and show them the twelve-pack, sweating like a toad in the paper bag. Get your friend in Promise Keepers to drive, point him in the direction of the ring bypass around your town and slam this in the cassette player. Drink the beer. It's tepid and it tastes like shit, but choke it down anyway because you paid twenty bucks for it and because that's what you're supposed to be doing. You're free, no matter what that fucker Jimmy does to you.

16. Another Bullshit Message from Another Fake Sponsor (sWITCHHITTER:Framed!)

2008-09-13T20:49:00.002-04:00

Hear that? That's the sound of your possessions staying where they should be, safe out of harm's way. That bowling trophy you won in 1976, the one your dad called you a fairy about because even though you won you fucked up the split in the seventh frame. The quilt that will always smell imperceptibly of your farts. A Bigmouth Billy Bass Jerry in IT rigged to say "Fuck Terrell Owens." Those fucking Hummell figurines your first wife left behind, the ones you keep because you still think on some level she's going to come back. Burglars won't get them, not with that door locked.

That Betamax video recorder. That Atari, with the full range of 20 cartridges: Combat, Missile Command, Breakdown, Breadline, Barfbag, Bullshit! The Intellivision with same. The Vectrex with same. The Colecovision with same, plus Donkey Kong. Your prized possessions, staying where they are, safe from the smack-encrusted knuckles of those who would spit on your property.

In times like these, these times, these end times. These times of trouble. These times we live in. In these times where we are in trouble. In these times keep your possessions safe. If you should come home and someone has broken into your house, close the door and burn it down. Call the authorities. This wouldn't have happened if you had put up those ADP stickers that Jerry in IT made on his Laser Printer.

Hear that sound? The sound of everything staying put, everything staying static. Nothing's going anywhere. Nobody is going to get your stuff. Nobody has any idea what the hell they would DO with your stuff, and you want to keep it that way.

15. Diamanda Galas, Lonely And Looking for her Heifer (The 23rd Swiss National Yodelling Festival, Thun; American Yodelling 1911-1946)

2008-09-13T20:22:00.003-04:00

What are we, obstensibly extremely hip arbiters of taste on the consensual Mongolian clusterfuck that we call "The Internet," doing putting yodelling up for your delectation? Well, for one, eat shit and die, Junior. I was rocking IRC chatrooms like #madchester and #brooklyn-queens while you were still trying to h4xx0r your way out from betwixt thatandroidyoucallyourmomma's marshy thighs.

Secondly, we have a god-given duty to turn you on to music you have not considered. The best way to do this is to burrow so deeply into the trashpile of popular culture that you find a nugget rancid enough that no-one will touch it. Bring that festering glob up into the sun and let the young new light of NOW play along its ruined surfaces. There are people out there who will listen to the sounds of rutting goats from Albania as long as they can be assured that no-one has listened to the recordings for the last 80 years. As a matter of fact, we uploaded just that last month, and got Greil Marcus to guest-write! He used the terms 'chthonic' and 'haunted' several times, and The Wire Magazine has set up camp in our dumpster, praying for cast-off drafts to gnaw on. In such a way do we top up our hip quotient, if not our 'Q' rating. And to be sure, if there's one thing that a hipster discounts even more than lite beer, it's yodelling. We're providing you ammo, kids. You're welcome.

Thirdly, every wannabe avant-garde wingwang gives lip service if not full on saliva-soaked fellatio to the concept of extended technique. Extended technique nine times out ten means whatever you can con your applied bagpipe prof into believing without giggling until you swallow your tongue. Thurston plays his geetar with a screwdriver or twelve. Rashaan Roland Kirk plays three saxes at once: one with his mouth and one jammed into each sinus. Jason Adjemian and Fred Lonberg-Holm play the double bass with their foreheads.

Ah, but the original extended technique was probably the yodel of some poor motherfucker getting burned at the stake in Babylon BC. Before we had instruments, we just had what we came with.

We don't hear much about extended vocal technique outside of Joan La Barbara and Diamanda Galas. But dammit, shouldn't we look beyond those two shop-worn mainstream radio chesnuts? Hence, two shining examples of extended vocal technique from two different continents. I'm not including Tuvan throat singing because I don't like it, even when Bjork does it. The fact that I like it is irrelevant. I'm putting these up there for your education.

Fourthly, I think that everyone should send five bucks to the descendants of the Dezurik Sisters, wherever they may be. And the use of coins rolled in a bell for a sort of percussive ostinato on "Zauerli mit Talerschwingen" classifies as extended technique on its own.

And finally, are you here to fix the sink? Is Charlie Rose on? Will you empty my bag? Where the flittery fuck have you youngsters gone with my Bandit, the only motorized wheelchair with a rollbar? What sick swine god curses me with another day on this stinking earth filled with such ungrateful snots as you?

14. The Reverend Doctor Will Stare at You Now

2008-09-06T20:51:00.000-04:00

Back in the day, before everyone had the internet hardwired to their assholes, finding music like this wasn't an everyday occurence. One day you're watching Rude Dog and the Dweebs, trying to remember exactly how that guy last night swallowed a whole eggplant, and the next thing you know somebody calls up and says they have found something so utterly mind-roasting they are braving their hangover and coming over, right now, and do you have any beer because a) you're going to need it and b) the headache is just NOT going away. The way I remember it, it was always on a cassette, and the cassette always looked like it had been in constant use for six years straight, titles written in pencil, erased, written again, until the label looked like it was fat-packed with cuneiform scrabble and Aramaic, each one a Rosetta Stone.

Thus did it happen when came the time I first heard the Reverend Doctor Fred Lane. My boy Clint who later would move to Micronesia to study some wack-ass tropical clam or whelk or other bivalve whipped out this tape. "Check it out." And what I checked was utterly unlike anything I had heard previously. Mssr. Lane himself described it as "stripmine crooning," and that seems as close to the truth as anything else.

If you just put this on the background it sounds like any other big band getting beat up in a back alley, but... hey, did you see that alliteration? I didn't even mean to do it, it just happened. That's the kind of quality you can expect from us; accept no substitutes. And especially watch out for Monsignor Theophilus T. Shitbird's blog, "Cheese-Food Prostitute." That man is not your friend, if indeed he is a man at all. His blog is full of mistruths and oily insinuations. Don't believe his lies.

Back to Mssr. Lane, however. This kind of effortless fuckery is the hallmark of people who know what they're doing purposefully doing the opposite. Morricone and Sinatra get loaded in Bangkok. John Zorn (who, rumor has it, plays on one or both of the albums) rearranges the Glenn Miller songbook. The world's worst guitar solo parachutes into a Kyrgystani James Bond soundtrack. And we hear of the virtues of having lunch with white women, learn to fear the French Toast Man, get to sit in while Lane blows his brains out on record, and plumb the truly psychotic depths of the common Sub-Elvis bar-band love song.

The original Shimmy-Disc vinyl for this goes for three digits; frankly, the truly unhinged album art alone (sampled below) is worth it. Recommended for fans of the Firesign Theater. Fuck that: this is recommended for YOU. And for the maximum effect, listen to it at the end of a three-day bender; you'll thank me, and so will your therapist.

13. Making Muffalattas, If You Know What I Mean

2008-09-06T20:43:00.004-04:00

Here's what I know about funk: I don't have any, and I wouldn't know what to do with it if I did have it, due to injuries to certain important lobes in my brain which I acquired during the Sexual Revolution. Frequently I find myself sitting on a bench in Chocolate City, eating a croissant (where the fuck did I find a croissant in Chocolate City?), pondering exactly what went wrong. Even that cocksucker Sir Nose has stopped calling me, and he owes me money.

However, there are certain objets d'art that are SO ridiculously funky that even I have to shift the six-foot pole in my ass, make sure the curtains are drawn, and get down. Such a release is 2001's Funk All Y'all, which is as far as I can tell the sole release of a couple of maniacs who called themselves the Detroit Grand Pubahs. Falling somewhere between Blowfly and Parliament, taking a stop somewhere around electro, and apparently sucking down a hefty and completely mind-boggling record contract... what? Oh, they have another album: Galactic Ass Creatures from Uranus. Thanks, man. No, I'll talk to you at the Double Lanes. Yeah, 10:24. Yeah man, see ya. Dude, I'm working.

So yeah: this album. It's what some would call 'retarded' and I'm not necessarily talking about trisomy-21, although to be frank that is a possibility. Populated by serial killers, bent gynecologists (when did THAT become a cliché? in any case, we should bring it back somehow), teenaged-prostitutes and various other dancefloor zombies who only wish to hump it (two times), this album should not be played in the presence of Auntie Olga. Or maybe it should. Maybe Auntie Olga is nasty.

The masterpiece on this album, however, remains "Sandwiches." As I didn't frequent many dancefloors at the time, I can't say how popular this song was. However popular it was, all I can say is that IT WAS NOT POPULAR ENOUGH. Over yer basic electro groove, somebody who sounds like he's just huffed a Sherwin-Williams store lays it down:

I know you wanna do it. You know I wanna do it too.... Out here on the dance floor. We can make sandwiches... make your thighs like butter, baby, easy to spread...

I think he says something else, but the man sounds so sick, so abject, that it really doesn't matter WHAT the hell he says, you just want to sweat hard enough to remove his sicko stench from your skin and replace it with your own funk in the literal sense.

In any case, next time you want to have sex, put this on aforehand and if yer luvmuffin doesn't immediately call the police, you've got a winner on yer hands, pal.

12. Gazing at Cruel Shoes

2008-09-03T21:55:00.003-04:00

So, over at this hideous forum for retards I (and several other of the posters here) frequent, someone asked, what's some shoegaze stuff I haven't heard? And I said, not only have you probably not heard of Medicine, but they might have actually cut MBV at their own game. Whereupon he opined that I was probably full of shit. The fact that I am, in fact, full of shit, is irrelevant here: Medicine was, dare I say it, better than MBV.

Facts: Brad Laner was the principal songwriter, and here is a guy who tried and tried until he got it right. He was in some late incarnation of Savage Republic, and from what I remember he was allowed to join because he just wouldn't go away, so they figured they might as well let him carry the gear and make rock faces on stage, the projections reflecting off his shiny forehead. After SR, he must have really studied the guitar, because from the very first moment of the very first song on Shot Forth Self Living, guitars get smeared and spiked to the breaking point. It's not just dicking around when he claims that everything was recorded in his living room, naked. Nor is he dicking around when he called his setup "The Lab of Happy Dreams."

But this isn't just noise. He lucked out getting Beth Thompson from Fourwaycross, who was great at sounding sultry while the music made lava floes and flaming iceburgs around her. It's a nice juxtaposition, but there's more: half the songs have frigging dance beats. Put it all together and Shot Forth Self Living and the somewhat less dancy follow-up The Buried Life are pretty god-damn unique. Although if you really want an MBV comparison, let's just say the two albums take the end of "Soon" and take it to the proverbial next level. And since Massuh Eno called that the perfect pop song, that's a mighty fine place to start.

11 (10 maybe?). Blu and Exile - Below the Heavens (2007)

2008-09-02T21:37:00.006-04:00

West coast LA freestyle MC Blu teamed up with dope beatmaster Exile to create this badass album that, despite critical praise, only a few people heard for some reason. This was one of my favourite rap albums of 2007, second only to T-Pain's Epiphany (sp?). Exile has produced for a number of well known artists in the past, including Mobb Deep and Jurassic 5, and is one half of the duo Emanon, but before this release Blu was a completely unknown outside of certain LA MC circles. Here he combines tight rhymes with a well-paced delivery and a very soulful singing voice and he also looks cool. Exile covers a lot of territory on this long album, trying out most styles of hip hop and r and b beats.

Download here.

10. In a Drawing Room with Tasteful Goatse Wallpaper

2008-08-31T09:00:00.004-04:00

Goatse has lost its ability to shock, and I for one pour out my forty of scat leftover on the curb, here at the corner of Jaded Street and Saturation Lane.

I'm not gonna link to it, cause little children read this (it was named a "required blog" for passing the Virginia SOLs), and because chances are you see it about 300 times a day. It's no longer shocking. It has become shorthand for shocking, but the image has lost its power, or whatever power we allowed it to have, anyway.

And while we're discussing totemic images that have lost their magic, let's talk about the sixth most interesting member of the Velvet Underground, the estimable Lou Reed. Here was a man who tried way too hard in his solo career, and subsequently, never really did much of interest to me. His batting average was way below the Mendoza line, way below those of Cale (Paris 1919 wiped the floor with him), Tucker (the 50 Skidillion Watts releases are hella fun), Pfafgen (an ACTUAL degenerate), Morrison (tugboat captain!) and Yule (probably now known as "Doug Yule of Doug Yule Ford", and who I am placing above Reed just to be an asshole).

The one thing he DID do that I unreservedly like is, yes, the popular Goatse of its time, Metal Machine Music. Which when heard today in our landscape of Kevin Drumms and John Wieses and Tom Smiths is really not all that extreme. And which, it could be argued, Reed probably doesn't even remember making. You can read all the Bangs stuff about how it enraged every man-jack and child; I'll assume you know what went on back there. But by the time I got to it, sometime in the mid- to late-90's, it was just another noise record. And a damn good one to boot.

Reed, to this day, still doesn't know how to spin this thing, which can be considered as the one piece of music he did which wasn't slathered in layers of pose; he'll describe it as a continuation of his drone work in the Velvet Underground (oh yeah, "his" drone work, right) and then a couple of sentences later pass it off as some sort of Warholian joke. He doesn't know how to relate to the one thing he did that is just a piece of music. And that's sad, but shed few tears; he's shacked up with Laurie Anderson now, and the two of them wax post-epistemological over blintzes and Sanka.

So what becomes a Goatse? How about a classical re-interpretation thereof? An ensemble called Zeitkratzer somehow transcribed Metal Machine Music, arranged it for classical instruments, and played it, no doubt, at maximum valume in front of an audience who have Goatse t-shirts. The amazing thing is how well it works. Well, maybe not so amazing: they wouldn't have put in on CD if it didn't. Avant-garde classical ensembles have to justify their recorded releases, as opposed to yer more common noise yodels, who can shit out a CD-R at will.

Look for the Goatse version of the Flying Toaster screensaver in yer new Vista service pack. And stare deep into the ruby sun twixt that old man's cheeks, and enjoy the feeling of ironic peace it brings.

8. Organized Disorganzed Noise

2008-08-31T08:22:00.005-04:00

Just found a very cool site here (it's also in the links to the side), which got me whooped up on field recordings again. Field recordings are tricky things, and fall into that hideous little experimental cul-de-sac wherein, as in yer garden-variety avant garde, it's usually a hell of a lot more to do it than to listen to it. (Reminiscent of when I tried to get one of my bands a gig at the Velvet Lounge in DC: "You people only come out for your own bands." Now, five years later, the amplified-hairnet underground is rampant, and the VL is booking any schmuck with a no-input minxing board; nevertheless, the guy was right.)

I'll just let the site speak for itself:

Folk Songs for the Five Points is a celebration of cultural diversity and change, using “folk songs” as a metaphor to explore immigration and the formation of identity in New York’s Lower East Side.

The project isn’t about absolute answers or clear definitions. We are celebrating the unexpected richness that confronts you at every turn – from the many languages of Canal St to the endless complexity contained in words like “immigrant” and “folk song”.

The interface raises some interesting points about intent. Obviously, there is no such thing as a completely unmediated field recording. The very act of choosing the spot and action (or process) to record constitutes a narrowing of options. Eventually, field recording will reach its apotheosis when Chris Watson (or some post-industrial maniac like Mark Pauline or Genesis P-Orridge) gets a Marantz installed in his sinuses and leaves the tape rolling 24/7. But do people who enjoy field recordings buy them for what is recorded rather than who is recording it? I don't know, I'm ust riffing. I suspect the latter, and I also suspect that a philosophical point can be made but I just woke up.

I think this site makes a great point regarding field recording: intent and organization are super-natural, and necessary. I think kids could have a lot of fun with it, mixing and matching the sounds; you can pan them, eq them, make your own b-boy bouillabaise from the exceptionally rich sonic palette of the Five Corners, organize the disorganized noise.

I think my favorite field recording probably wouldn't be considered such by purists, but I imagine field recording purists are people who have five-digit sound systems and no subscription to cable television. Sublime Frequencies have a slew of releases where people just went out into the country, deep in SE Asia or Sub-Saharan Africa, pointed their mics and hit record. They also have a series of recordings of radio broadcasts from these countries, edited and chopped (or not), which I think are as much field recordings as made by any pud with a raincoat and a bag of Fisherman's Friends out on the shore in Maine during a nor'easter. It's a sort of punk take on field recording, all in shit-fi, that I like, cause I love to hear evidence of the medium (tape distortion, bad edits, etc.) but that's a whole other pile of aesthetic philosophy and I'm gonna go smoke now.

7. Degrees of Don B., Part 1

2008-08-26T09:15:00.004-04:00

Now that school is in session, it would behoove you little merrinks to, as Vanessa Hay once so intelligently said, "read a book." They're those rectangular things with the bendy white planes in them. Call your mother, she knows about these things. And reassure her that, even though you're away at Southwest Northern State U and Chicken Sexery, you're still upholding the tenets of Moroni. I'll wait.

We're up to speed and you've gotten a sandwich, so, a recommendation: Donald Barthelme. Not only was this man hilarious, capable of genius, and prodigiously bearded, he was also quite hard-wired into a fertile Texas psychedelic scene that was more than just The Thirteenth-Floor Elevators.

But back to Barthelme. I guess the word 'post-modern,' like the words 'gamelan' or 'irnoic' [sic], doesn't mean much any more now that Taco Bell ads regularly subvert the medium, but he was post-modern when that was a freak flag to fly high. From jump (read: "A Shower of Gold," which can be found at the link above) here was a man who knew that even if you weren't interested in absurdity, it was interested in you, and the stories follow humanity's Via Dolorosa towards a Golgotha where God doesn't answer not because he's dead, but because he was drafting his fantasy football team and drinking Lone Star.

So check out that fine collection at jessamyn.com, go buy all the short stories, go buy The Dead Father, set up a kegerator on your veranda and whiff it:

Barthelme's brother Frederick is a writer in his own right, most like Carver except his stories manage to be more sun-blasted and desolate. He also played in some of the earliest incarnations of The Red Krayola with Mayo Thompson, and here's where the six degrees take off. The Red Krayola, revolving around our boy Mayo, has been around since 1968, and the list of people who went through it reads like a phone book from Hipville. But for our purposes, let's just focus on someone who played with him in the third, Drag City incarnation: Jimbo Rourke. Sorry. Meant Jim O'Rourke.

At this point, you yourself are on the degrees of separation railway, because it is contractually obligated from when you are born that you will have to put out an album with Jim O'Rourke whether you want to or not.
So, let's review:
Donald Barthelme → Frederick Barthelme → Mayo Thompson → Red Krayola → Jim O'Rourke → Your Granny on Bongos → You.
See? You're cooler than you thought.

6. Royal Trux - The Radio Video EP (+ bonus)

2008-08-26T00:19:00.013-04:00

Royal Trux were simultaneously the World's Finest Boogie Band, backwater noise music terrorists, the logical fusion and evolution of Butthole Surfers and Was (Not Was), and two Stupid Asshole Junkies with a good hand on musical equipment. Their catalog ranges anywhere from puke-rock terrorism, Rolling Stones blues poppers, compressed cock rock anthems and the theme from M.A.S.H. complete with helicopters.

A formerly married couple, Jennifer Herremma and Neil Haggerty are the Drag City heroes of a world without hooks and art rock without rock. Jennifer is known to pack 'tude and shoot heroin, and, if in the mood, add her brand name crass, disgusting vocals over the mix, sounding almost as if a Ween song had a point, merit, or any kind of visible humor. Neil twiddles and bends on cheap pawn shop guitars, channeling some of the greatest rock soloists of his time and poking fun at all of them with every delay stompbox and pentatonic mumbling in the book, piled on top of the over produced drums, vocals, flangers, pots and pans, and sing-along reverberation, clouding the music in a thick haze on the line between snideness and sincerity. They are Captain Beefheart and Led Zeppelin, The Los Angeles Free Music Society and The Cars. Conceptual experimental, or earnestly in love with FM Radio? Either way, they're alot of fun.

The Radio Video EP is one of the band's most peculiar works, completely unlike the infamous Twin Infinitives and a little more stripped down than Accelerator and the like. The extraneous strings, stadium rock drums, and corny Farfisa organs are left out in favor of a dry, hollow drum and bass sound, droning with seductive background vocals courtesy of the unknown Reeta Young and accompanied by long time Trux drummer Chris Pyle on one track. It feels almost as if they've made dance music their next target. On the flip side, the messy vocals, rambling guitars, hysterical lyrics and generally obnoxious overtones are all in tact, and on a whole new level. The Inside Game (you might recognize this number from High Fidelity if you're a huge wiener and a fag) is a yelping, grooving, filthy dance number that sets the continuity of the record; pounding bass and percussion, loose shredding and absurd half-rapping vocals from Haggerty, and Herremma slipping in for the chorus with the effects on high. Echoes waiver, lead guitar and background samples switch on and off at seemingly random jumps, and the end product is both very psychedelic and very funky, bizarre and consistently amusing on top of that. Victory Chimp: Episode 3 was recorded live inside a book store if these boney shitheads are to believe, sung by a throaty Haggerty on lone acoustic guitar with two pairs of bongos thrown in. Dirty Headlines is the star track, continuing the canon of Inside Game with this little chant:

YOU'RE SO RANK/
YOU PROBABLY TRY TO LICK YOUR OWN SKANK

atop Reeta Young's impatient moaning and Herremma's multi-tracked nursey rhymes. Mexican Comet bridges the next gap with a short percussive drone, and the album climaxes with On My Mind, the last in Haggerty's trilogy of uncouth South Jersey boy sermons. It's strange there's so little seen of this EP on the internet, because it's a huge accomplishment in their discography and a definite stand out in the hodge podge of material these faithless dickwads have released.

Royal Trux have a different niche for everyone. Their signature tongue-in-cheek humor, hidden within the 50/50 earnest/sarcastic writing and instrumentation, psychedelic and unhinged and endlessly mocking, masked by a noise rock attitude and demeanor is sure to appeal to fans of most stuff that is not gay.

Click Here To No Longer Be Gay

(PS: I've added Jay Reatard's Hammer i miss you EP in, as EPs are really short and people seem to be catching onto his sneering Adverts punk rock and stupid jew fro these days)

5. Fire Engines - Hungry Beat

2008-08-24T22:20:00.008-04:00

If Orange Juice is the Oasis of the Scottish post-punk scene, and Josef K is the Blur, then the Fire Engines have to be the Manic Street Preachers. Under-appreciated and almost forgotten, yet artier and messier and, on the whole, much more interesting than the bands in the spotlight. OJ and Josef K are very nice bands, but if you're looking for more than "angular" guitars backed by a straightforward disco beat, Fire Engines is a good example of what made post-punk so great. Sure, it was swell of Edwin Collins to bring his fascination with Chic into the underground music explosion, but is "Rip it Up" really post-punk? Farther down the Scottish totem pole, yet light years away in terms of sound and technique, Fire Engines give us a noisy mess that you can dance to. Hungry Beat, released in 2007, is a near-discography, compiling the full-length Lubricate Your Living Room and the various 7"s put out during the band's extremely brief existence. The packaging includes a blurb from Alex Kapranos of Franz Ferdinand. If there was ever proof that good influences do not make a good band, this is it. Listen to Fire Engines, not Franz Ferdinand; listen to Joy Division, not Interpol; and don't listen to Vampire Weekend (not really relevant, just had to slip it in there).

Fire Engines - Hungry Beat

4. Cosmic Invention - Help Your Satori Mind (1997)

2008-08-24T20:34:00.006-04:00

In 1997 several titanic monster godkings of Japanese psyfolk teamed up to create this gem. Ghost's Masaki Batoh, White Heaven's Michio Kurihara, and Blaze Subvert's Futoshi Okana were just a few of the stars who worked on the six tracks here. While the album's title references as a Flower Travellin' Band classic release and the opening track clearly shows this influence - although it adds a lot of early Funkadelic style bass - as it progresses the various artists explore every territory of psych-rock and psy-folk. You have a great mix of heavy rock in the vein of FTB, Black Sabbeth, King Crimson, and LSD March, and much softer, but still psychedelic, folk. Truly an Album To Remember.

Click here if you are a homosexual.

3.The Plaintive Cry of the Country-Western Robot

2008-08-19T19:38:00.007-04:00

Well, it ain't Nickel Creek, but it is country. You will learn the following things from this:
§ the proper use of the parenthesis!
§ what you can learn for free from a fifty cent illustrated guide!
§ exactly how many things rhyme with "Saginaw, Michigan"!
§ the link between smoking and existential longing!
§ the sound of the country-western robot!
§ where the poodle who thinks he is a cowboy lives!
§ and so much more!

Country music is not a drug or religion. No operators will call.

Happy birthday, Notagoon.

2. Frank Talk About Eye Color

2008-08-19T19:12:00.004-04:00

Blue eyes: People with blue eyes are descended from Nazis. People with blue eyes are from: Scandinavia, Brazil, Oklahoma. Blue-eyed people are horse-whisperers, cheerleaders, Robin Hoods, devils. Blue-eyed people think they run the world but they so don't. Blue-eyed people were able to rap in the early 90's. Blue-eyed people will never find the face of Jesus in a miracle tortilla, and only 7% (adjusted) will ever try to. Blue-eyed people know where participating locations are. Blue-eyed people: 11.99% APR, $700 down at participating locations.

Brown eyes: People with brown eyes wake up later than people of other eye colors, and they go to bed later. Types of brown eyes: cylindrical (reversed), like chestnut, bloodshot, muffin. If you approach a brown-eye person from behind, be sure to ring your bell; their frightened ululations will startle and delight the cattle. Brown-eyed girls resent Van Morrison, for they have never been under the stadium, and they haven't grown. They have reached only the size of their cubicles, which are piled on top of each other like Tetris blocks. Brown-eyed people are seen in the early levels, and may be defeated with the Young Moon combo, which you should have had tattooed to your left wrist by Horga, the IceWitch in Yodelling City.

Green eyes: Not jealous, but resentful of the implication. Green-eyed lady, passionate lady: child of nature, friend to man; will prepare your taxes using druidic "essences." Green-eyed people hang out under power lines, smoking; on ley-lines, smudging; in places where coffe is served in tiny china demitasse cups, writing the next American novel, not the great one, just the next. Green eyed men come from Mars, and green eyed ladies come from "What do you mean by that!?".

Red eyes: Linda Blair! Oh no. Oh no no no, God no.

Hazel eyes: Those of the hazel persuasion know their limitations, but surpass them anyways. Hey hazel-eye lady, won't you share your Twix with me? Hey hazel-eye daddy, you let my woman be. We wanna have us hazel eye children underneath that hazel tree. Hazel-eyed people would write a musical like that, but have been counselled against it.

Still here? You must be hard like Muhammad Ali.

1. Free Rock and Roll

2008-08-19T17:59:00.004-04:00

Can't think of a better way to kick this off than with the first Love 666 album. Which is now 14 years old, or exactly one-third the age of most of my bodily organs.

See, I had always wanted to be in a band, and in fact, was in one what I'll euphemistically refer to as my college years. We were called Slag Battery, which was one step and only one step up from what we were going to be called, which was Fudgehammer Buzz and fuck it, I wanted to be called Appalachian Equipment. It was them gruge years, you know?

The problem was, all I could do was sing. And to be frank, singing was not the first thing you thought of when you listened to the kindamuzkiliked. Now, I had fucked around on keyboards... but how the fuck do you make feedback on a keyboard? Couldn't be done.

Well, a downy lad I was, and twee. My boy Joe probably turned me on to this. What we have here is NoVa White Panthers, who were on an opiate-fueled mission to bring Ayler and Coleman into rock and roll. Did any of them play horns? No. Guitar, keyboard (!!!) and drums. Go figure it would be people from Falls Church.

Did they succeed? Well, they DID get to put out two albums on Amphetamine Reptile (entitled "American Revolution" and "Please Kill Yourself So I Can Rock") so you be the judge. My favorite of their releases, however, will always be this album, which is their least diluted version, their demo. Imagine: they had to tone it down for Hazelmeyer. Whadda pansy. Imagine: they thought someone would release this object. What men there were in those days, right?

As to lyrics, well, they can best be described as pointillist, usually just words strung together, muttered in a strangely fey voice: "blue/sunlight/flashing rain/5935-03/kansas city" are the lines opening the album. Although my favorite song by them, "Free Rock and Roll," actually makes sense:

When you get to my side/ then you get through a bad ride/ Over here can you hear it now?
Freedom is won not given/ I'm just tryin' to tell you something/ Maybe you can understand.
The place where you're living/ everything is just a drag:
But I have a good feeling today/ I had a new feeling today.

I got to meet the band eventually, when they were on the downside of their run, self-releasing a half-hour cauldron of whee called "Nashville Sounds." I booked them at Tokyo Rose (RIP); it was, in fact, my last booking. I had promised them two hundred bucks. In the two days before, I lied to everyone I met. "They're jazz," I said with a straight face.

So they get up there after drinking vodka-diet cokes by the gallon (vodka-diet cokes? yes) and proceed to, all two of them (drummer was absent), play two different songs at the same time. Now I know that's a cliché but hey, I was there and anyway, they stayed at my place and, in fact, the entire point was that they didn't listen to each other at all on purpose, and that they were playing two different songs. So step.

And it was great! Dave (keyboards) treated his instrument like a god-damn mortar and pestle, grinding the husks of phrases into atoms, playing the thing with his entire body. It was a meltdown, to be sure, and they did it every night, this particular one to a crowd that was, toput it mildly, unprepared for what was going to happen in front of them. One of the guys I lied to walked up to me and gave me the 'I'm not mad, I'm disappointed' face. Hey man. By any means necessary. The band got their guarantee, I got a t-shirt and a fifth of Jack from the bar, and the audience got owned. So that's why you should go to every show at your local rock hole.

Dave has gone on to start a band called Rock, which has some free music up on their site that I haven't gotten to, and he still does shit with Joe Johnson, who was the guitar player for Love 666. Also, if you check out he link, you'll find out that he dropped out the Peabody Institute, where he was studying LaMonte Young. Of course he was.