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

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

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.

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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..

“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

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

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])

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

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"

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.