The God of Gods
Following Ms. Dehumidifier's lead...
, the legend.
Respect has already been boughten.
the world of man has reached its ultimate apex
Nothing in the history of existence has exceeded this. Were the world to end today (which it shall, my friends) this would be estimated by God herself to be the greatest achievement by the sorry shitfaced contingent of pathetic humanity to ever achieve achieveful achievement. When once one comes to tears, others learn to love. The universe is full of sadsack mustachioed lotharios, each less pathetic and indicative than the last. If Matt Roth can succeed, then there is hope for us all.
a direct quote
Lenny Kravitz (shirtless, but with wings!)
Parts and Labor are a superior Trans Am noise combo. Opener Tiger Saw are Galaxie 500, Low, and Young People flushed down the same toilet. And headliner Big Bear is slightly boring noise-metal with banshee-screamo-chick vox. Overall an excellent way to spend a pre-orientation Sunday evening.
my animal home
dark told me to post this, or blog this. i am an internet nerd now.
i saw the animal collective last night and it was pretty awesome. the environment was poor- it was in an art gallery with some stupid shit for art, it was crammed with 500 people and therefore hot, the beer line was too long to even consider, and people were jabbering during the quieter parts. Nevertheless, they prevailed. They had the geologist and another dude (perhaps Deaken) in tow, and started low key and droney and noisey and then built it up to a frenzy for the last few songs. They are fucking crazy. Jumping around and dancing and whooping and hollering. It was a spectacle.
They had two electric guitars (avey tare and the other dude), a couple drums (panda bear) and the geologist was fucking with everything through his mixing board thing. He wore a miner's light on his head so he could see the knobs. They only played one song from sung tongs (kids on holiday- insane style), and the rest were new i assume. I read in an interview that they only play new unrecorded songs for the most part. panda bear didn't sing very much unfortunately, but i did pick up his solo album which is good so far. Sort of like Campfire Songs, nothing like Here Comes the Indian.
will sabiston's band opened the show. they're like Nipples For Days with better equipment and structure.
Comets On Fire was next. Psychedelic soloing nonstop with psychedelic screaming on top at times. Sounds like the France if OJ had his way (ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh).
Black Dice were last and got shut down by the cops. They had already almost emptied the joint anyway.
Anyway, write me with any questions you might have.
content-free movie reviews
50 First Dates: horrible.
All the Real Girls: pretty good.
Barbershop 2: good.
Along Came Polly: sorta bad.
Fog of War: haven't watched it yet.
The Olympics: not a movie, dumbass.
Me and the Big Man (and a flying horse)
Tuesday being the day when God delivers new cds to the world, is a good day for most music fans. Will the new Los Lonely Boys deliver musically like I expect it to? God is the only one who will let us know.
ME: Pegasus fly me to speak with god about something
Pegasus: Yes my sir
ME: Thank You my beast
(later once we arrived in Santa Barbara Land)
ME: GOD! SHOW THY FACE!
GOD: My son, you will die.
ME: OH YEAH! FORGOT! HOW WILL I KNOW YOU ARE HERE?
GOD: By the light of my mind. God's Mind. It will lead you to speak to me.
ME: COOL DUDE!
(God and I chuckle)
ME: So G, you know I don't really work near any decent record stores right?
GOD: YES, well there is that new used cd store with the cool owner that opened next to the Publix on Roswell.
ME: True, that dude is pretty cool, and likes Michael McD - but he is trying to get shit off the ground.
GOD: HOW DARE THEE CUSS TOWARDS YOUR MAKER!?!?!?!?
GOD: HA, got ya - dizzy....
ME: Shit mang, it worked - can you clean up this mess in isle - HEAVEN! HAHAHAHA!
GOD: Damn, have you caught this show, LAST COMIC STANDING?
ME & GOD: (in unison) IT DOESN'T HAVE A LEG TO STAND ON!!!
(laughing for 20 minutes)
ME: Ok, so back to the deal...so I like to buy cd's rights.
GOD: CDZ NUTS!
ME: Stop it...let me finish.
GOD: Word. Sorry pimp flashilicious.
ME: Well not being anywhere near good independent music stores, I usually head to Tower Records on my lunch break on Tuesdays to pick up some hot new releases. If they are big enough releases, they usually have them on one day sale. Examples in the past: Outkast, the Liars, The Shins...
GOD: Cool deal.
ME: Well I realize that I should be supporting mom and pop stores before giving my money to this CORPORATE GIANT, but they do usually have the selection on the bigger name releases that I want to buy.
GOD: Granted, you puss.
ME: Let me finish...so this past Tuesday I had a $40 gift certificate to Tower that some gracious friends gave me for my Birthday...
GOD: My bad dude, your new Family Fun Swim Center is in the mail.
ME: Whatever, you're god...realize that shit.
ME: So I was planning on buying two things with my Gift Certificate. The new (and last) Guided By Voices
record and also the new record from The Fucking Am
(Trans Am & the Fucking Champs together) called GOLD
. Well, I walk in and what do you know, the GBV is on one day sale! Fuck YAH!
ME: Then I go to look for The Fucking Am and it is nowhere to be found. Not in the Trans Am section, not in The Fucking Champs section, not in The Fucking Am section. So I ask for some help.
ME: The lady behind the desk says that they have ordered one copy of GOLD
and that it could be anywhere, probably on the carts - so I should check back tomorrow.
ME: So what do I do....check back on Wednesday. I go back in - check all previously mentioned sections, and to my surprise - it is still not stocked. So again I ask for help. Again they tell me that it could be anywhere - they had unloaded all the boxes from Drag City and that it might have been filed under a different section since nowhere on the cover of the album does it say "The Fucking AM"
GOD: MONSTER POOP ON A POMMEL HORSE!
ME: Yeah, Its like i was a lazy ass flying horse or some shit - who cant find his way out of a paper bag...one who farts a lot and makes weird "neeeeigh" noises...
Pegasus: Throw me a fucking bone dude, I just flew your ass like 65 miles up here to Santa Barbara Land to talk to God. You're a bitch.
ME & GOD: HAR HAR HAR HAR HAR
GOD: Hey Peggy...you want a lump of sugar?
Pegasus: Eat a DICK man...I saved you from Kobe that time...
GOD: What saved me from gettin' raped? You just wanted to hook up...
Pegasus: Man fuck that...I saved you - you know you created Kobe to eventually take over your job...
GOD: No my son...that was my boy Shaq.
Pegasus: Oh....right. Well I kicked the shit out of Kobe' so it was all good.
GOD: Peggy, thank you - I know you are the Lord's personal steed. And for that I will grant you a night with ol' SeaBiscuit.
ME: So, GOD...my question is this. Is this a perfect example of a big chain store forgetting the little band...only ordering one copy and losing it?
GOD: It looks that way doesn't it...
ME: Should I shop there again...
GOD: Well you know that shit will be $16 at Criminal...
ME: Plus the $20 in gas...$3 in parking.
GOD: Fuck them all and gank it from a news group.
ME & Pegasus: Thus be the word of god, for the people of God, thanks be to God, Amen.
There's a fairly awesome looking documentary on the old television tonight, courtesy of PBS's P.O.V. program. Speedo: A Demolition Derby Love Story
should be great not just on account of the subject matter, but also because Oneida recorded some music for it. They're credited for "additional music", so no idea how much of their stuff made the final cut, but the film looks interesting regardless. It's airing on channel 44 in Boston tonight at ten (which, I believe, is the national debut), and on GPTV in Atlanta on August 28 at midnight. It's currently not on the schedule for Atlanta's other PBS station.
Sonic Youth slayed on Saturday night. What could be a better birthday present than seeing one of your favorite bands kick your ass. I will have a full setlist and commentary up tomorrow.
Snatched that setlist of course!
Domenic’s a good guy. Today he brought in six volumes of the Jerky Boys for a friend to hear. We were talking about something else when suddenly he asked me if I liked the Jerky Boys. I would like the Jerky Boys, if the word “like” actually meant “abhor with every fiber of my being”. Of course I didn’t tell Dom that; I said that I had never really listened to them much before. So he got all excited and told me he would burn all six cds for me. I told him that he didn’t have to do that, but he’s very insistent. He handed me a few of them to listen to at work today. I haven’t put them on yet, and even though I am drastically dumber than I was in high school I’m still pretty sure I won’t like this stuff. But so, I’m debating whether or not to tell Dom that I don’t want him to burn me any copies. It could be rude, but it’d also save him from wasting six cd-r’s on me. So who knows.
Also, I’ve heard three songs from the new, final GBV album. They were okay. Nothing excellent. Nothing even all that great. Anyone heard this thing yet?
king of beasts
I would like to meet this creature. I bet Gus could take him in a drunk-off, though.
The Boston Death Wave
That Death Wave is everywhere. I saw it down on Washington, smiling at me. You try to run but it’s still right there, soaking in the atmosphere. I’m in this park with this chick I know and we’re standing with a goose and then, fuck, Death Wave! I had to drop my churro. I tried to strangle it, but you can’t strangle it. You can’t strangle the Boston Death Wave. It put a dent in my foot the size of my shoe. I grabbed it by the collarbone and started smacking, but it threw me in the water and made off with my mutton. The Death Wave is wily.
In Italy they have a name for it. The Boston Death Wave took over most of Allston and bummed everyone out. It ate everybody’s security deposits and oozed football. It smelled like a patriot and could never pronounce even the most slightly ethnic sounding name. The Death Wave tried to join an anarchist’s society but they all thought it was a cop. It quit it’s job at Domino’s after they instituted a delivery fee and cut the drivers’ pay. The Death Wave thought about the country a lot, and the celebrities, and it’s parents back home. It wasn’t happy, and it didn’t know why.
On a vacation to Australia the Boston Death Wave bought pornography for the very first time.
Eventually the Boston Death Wave graduated, and moved out of Allston. It got a job in New York and rented a place in Brooklyn. People stopped calling it the Boston Death Wave. It met somebody special, settled down in Jersey, had some kids. It’s new friends called him Earl, Earl Death Wave. It was still afraid of sex and still hated dogs but it no longer had to deal with all those snakes. The Boston Death Wave had been domesticated, and no longer tussled with all makes of humanity in the darkness of the early morning hours of the harvest season. It was still kind of a dick, though.
Friends with Thor
We high-fived with our hands and leapt through plate glass. The streams of blood crosshatched my oversized biceps like spiderwebs. He didn’t have that problem; he doesn’t bleed. Sometimes ichor will come out of him, but that happens mostly when he’s fighting planet-sized snakes, or when he’s trying to impress ladies over on Lansdowne. We stuck our landings upon the craggy outcropping straight out, and after a moment’s dramatic pause we alighted from the promontory and struck dead for the heart of the outburst.
We busted up some giants with these fists and some dumb hammer. Maybe I shouldn’t call it dumb, but it definitely isn’t as cool as a scimitar, or a studded mace shaped like a football. After battle and over beer we talked about that hammer, and he started to have second thoughts. A hammer might have been intimidating a thousand years ago, but in this modern day of power-tools and lasers a hammer doesn’t seem like much of a deterrent. We talked it over at Jillian’s and eventually both agreed that maybe a good electric drill was the way to go, or perhaps a big metal ladder.
We made it an early night and headed for the taxi stand. He had to help his girlfriend’s cousin move the next morning, and didn’t want to stay out too late. We split a cab even though he was headed to South Boston and I was going to Somerville. It was late, and we were both a bit drunk, and the conversation started to get confessional. He told me he didn’t know how much longer he could keep it up. The owner of the fish market was talking about making him manager, and what with another kid on the way he was seriously considering taking it. Of course that increased responsibility would make fighting crime at night even more of a hassle for him, but sometimes you’ve got to face hard decisions. We’re getting old, he said, too old to keep on doing this panty-hose crap. I didn’t say anything, just nodded my head.
We pulled up to his building right around then. We left the talk unresolved and said goodbye. As he was entering the code to get in I realized that Apollo probably doesn’t have to put up with this sort of shit.
"The Darkest Man"
I think the weekend was an unmitigated success.
2 Recording Sessions. 2 Practices. 2 Shows. 2 After Parties.
1 Being A Bachelor Party. 4000 Beers. 3 Bongos. $135 Earned(?).
5 Steaks. 1 Masters "LIVE" Dance Party. 200 EPs Given Out. 1 Pool.
1 "Sheets Of Easter". 7 Exhausted Dudes.
I've never flown hungover before
Oh man, what a weekend this most recent of weekends was. Illimitable thanks to all friends who came out and lovingly caressed me, or who at least said hello. The shows were fun - Xiu Xiu were good and friendly, Oneida were excellent as always, and Brass Castle are the best rock band to ever come from Atlanta – and the afterparties were awesome. It’s a good feeling, sitting in a kiddie pool with your friends and your favorite band while the gayest bachelor’s party ever erupts around you. Unfortunately we couldn’t find a lady willing to take off her top and cook us steaks. So dudes abounded. Despite the lack of any boobs other than my own, it was still the greatest bachelor’s party I’ve ever had.
So I get home after that monumentally ridiculous weekend and find an overstuffed envelope full of new promo cd’s. Jeff at DOA sent some great stuff my way, like the latest Acid Mothers Temple record, Mantra of Love, and the new Fall record, The Real New Fall LP. That right there saves me $30. (And fellas - if you want to get some "action" from some "ladies", that AMT record is friggin' magic) Also got the master for the next Garlic Yarg record Great Magnetic Wolves, from Smolken. It’s a fucking keeper, and the best GY stuff I’ve heard yet. It was recorded outdoors, in a forest (hopefully). It’s a real beaut. I’ll try to get an mp3 up here or over at Nokahoma soon enough.
But so, thanks again to everybody. I hope to make it back down soon enough. And thanks to dehumidifier and the Captain for taking some good pictures.
Oh, and finally, if anybody comes across any livejournal entries from whiney, disaffected young art punks, complaining about our show on Friday, please let us know about it. We love reading that sort of stuff.
this week's mp3 recommendation...
... courtesy of Fonal Records
and Kemialliset Ystavat
. Here's some fine rustic psych-folk from Finland. This particular song sounds like Animal Collective playing in a forest, or like Acid Mothers Temple if they were tree-dwelling gnomes and took less speed and even more acid.
Oh yeah - this is nowhere near as abrasive as last week's mp3. Sorry about that, but I believe I gave everybody fair warning.
Worst SHIT Ever!
Korn covering Cameo's - Word Up
Holy assnugget I almost jerked the wheel to end it.
The Ansari X Prize
I’m gonna win that contest. I built me a spaceship that’s going to take me into outerspace! It’s made of plutonium and s’mores, and it travels at speeds in excess of 8,000 ticks per cycle. The rocket boosters sure can make some noise, and are quite good at propulsing things. The ship seats two comfortably, or uncomfortably, if one is a horse. I don’t think I’m going to bring a horse with me, though. I’ve sent out invitations to a few folks, like Cheryl Tiegs, and Gandhi, and hopefully I’ll be hearing back from them shortly. If not, maybe the horse will have to come. That wouldn’t be too bad; outerspace is, after all, his natural habitat.
When we get to Jupiter I’ll stick the only flag I’ll ever salute* deep into that soft Jovian soil, and then take a leisurely dip in that big orange dot. Winged Memory (the horse) will collect the finest samples of the indigenous flora, with which we shall construct a palace whose splendor shall exceed even that of the Monster Plantation. Our natatorium will make the Pacific look like a puddle of piss on the bathroom floor of a casual dining establishment.
At nightfall Winged Memory will give me a massage beneath the amber glow of Jupiter’s twin setting suns. His muzzle will graze tenderly against the back of my neck. His hooves will linger gingerly in areas I normally try hard to conceal. Perhaps my towel will "accidentally" slide off my unclothed body, and fall to the ground below, exposing my manhood to Jupiter’s harsh elements, and Winged Memory’s harsher love. Away from the prying eyes and prattling gossip of Earth, Winged Memory and I will be able to end our foolish charade, and finally indulge our most fervent desires. Our love shall flow like the Thunder River; at first it shall be leisurely and serene, only to gradually become rougher and more rapid, and ultimately ending on a conveyor belt, with neither of us as wet as we thought we would be. As we fall to sleep on our mattress of spacedust and dreamstuff, Winged Memory will caress me deep within his bosom, neighing contentedly in his sleep. Jupiter will be our own personal kingdom, a private refuge from the petty minds and provincial attitudes of Earth.
Winged Memory and I can not wait to slip in through the legal loopholes that will be opened by homosexual marriage. Our love can no longer be postponed; it must be shared now. We must love openly and freely, and so we must leave this Earth behind, and travel to Jupiter. We shall accomplish that with my homemade spaceship, and in the process we shall pocket a cool $10 million dollars. If anyone else would like to go with us, I could maybe fit another row of mini-van seats in the back of the spaceship. You'd have to pay for it, though.
* the Confederate Flag
Man, Mutherfuck PYLON!
They had to go and play a secret show - first one in like 15 - 20 years across the street from our show, at precisely the time we played. A bunch of (sweaty) people came filing in afterwords with the word that they had played, and that we missed it. So what if I love that band and would have left our show in a heartbeat to see it, thats not the point.
this week's mp3 suggestion
Dead Raven Choir, a "band" made up of a Texas-based Polish dude who calls himself Smolken the Digger, is one of the more interesting parties involved in that whole Wire-endorsed "freefolk" deal. Like many of those bands, it's hard to tell just how serious D. Smolken is; his highly dramatic voice and Vincent Price horror movie lyrics can veer pretty close to parody sometimes, and his obsession with wolves and goats is obviously wielded in the name of hilarity. He's occasionally invovled with the Jewelled Antler folks, though, and they're not quite as overtly comedic as the Sunburned Hand of the Man guys and other such people. So who knows.
But here's an mp3 from his site
, a noisy, almost unlistenable cover of Leonard Cohen's "First We Take Manhattan". It sounds somewhat like the Dead C, and somewhat like sticking your head in a jet engine.
Most incredible phrase that I overheard on my lunch break while enjoying a nice turkey sub in Subway:
I watched the Wilco movie last night.
And besides looking like Philip Seymour Hoffman with bad dreads, Jay Bennett sounds exactly like Dave "Gruber" Allen.
Maybe the band needs him, though; A Ghost is Born is a pretty big disappointment, in my opinion.
GOLDEN ELECTRIC MIND
Upcoming releases that bounce they ounce all up on my back:
(no particular order)
1) Guided By Voices - Half Smiles of the Decomposed - August 24
2) The Fucking Am - GOLD - August 24
3) Sam Prekop - TBA - Early Fall
4) Pavement - Reluxe 2 - October
5) Wolf Eyes - Burned Mind - 9/28/04
6) Acid Mothers Temple / Gong - Acid Motherhood - possibly out
7) Acid Mothers Temple - Does the Cosmic Shepherd Dream of Electric Tapirs - Late August
8) RTX* - Transmaniacon - SEPT 21!!!!
According to Drag City's Website, Royal Trux are releasing a new record under the name RTX in September. Which initially sounded like the best news I had ever heard. Upon more research, it looks like RTX is Jennifer Herrema + two random dudes. No Neil Hagerty. I am still excited though, because you know Hagerty has to have something to do with this bitch.
What is going to toot your horn?
TNT’s Evel Knievel biopic this past weekend was damn sure close to amazement. In addition to sporting some fantastic ‘70’s hair and clothes, George Eads was completely believable as a dumb-ass asshole who jumped shit. Evel Knievel lived a most awesome live, occasionally taking time off from his busy schedule of drinking, cheating on his wife, and jumping shit in order to shoot pool and accidentally kill Beau Bridges (America’s least favorite Bridges). Evel’s greatest accomplishment, however, was when he jumped over Karl Wallenda as the old sky-walker did a headstand on a tight-rope 700 feet above Tallulah Falls Gorge. That is the finest moment in Georgia history, according to James Cobb, the B. Phinizy Spalding Distinguished Professor of History at the University of Georgia. I’d recommend this movie to anyone who likes Evel Knievel, Georgia history, and/or star-spangled jumpsuits.
I actually don't hate these assholes
At least not all of them. Martha is always very sweet, as is Frankenstein. Domenic’s pretty awesome, and Maxine and Julie are fine too, but the robotic routine of saying hello to people you don't know at all but see every day is one of the things I hate most about this and every job. And I guess it's always hard to start back up after a vacation, especially when your tonsil is swollen up to the size of a testicle.
I was in Atlanta
and somebody fucked with my chair. Either they replaced it with a new one, or else they reduced the tension on the back. It now leans back at a 135 degree angle with hardly any pressure applied whatsoever. It’s annoying. I thought I was going to fall backwards and die the first time it happened. I hate these assholes.