Monday, October 31, 2005
more correct opinions, but concerning wrestling, so probably none of you really care
Clash of the Champions, Marcy 27, 1988, Greensboro, NC.
I received the dvd-r's of the first ten Clashes of the Champions last week. I didn't get a chance to watch any of them until the weekend, but once I had the time I knocked the first two out. The first one is definitely the better of the two, by the way. It was good to see Bob Caudle and a young Jim Ross again, and even better to get another glimpse at Tony Schiavone's long-lost mustache (Tony used to go to my parents' church in Marietta, you know). I miss the days when wrestling announcers wore tuxedos.
So the first match was a decent little affair for the NWA TV Championship between Gorgeous Jimmy Garvin (accompanied to the ring by Precious, who's sort of good looking for a 40-year-old redneck from central Florida) and, representing the Varsity Club, the champion Mike Rotunda. Rotunda, of course, had his manager, the Gamesmaster Kevin Sullivan, at his side. This had some silly "college rules" stipulation, where a one-count wins, and three five-minute periods with thirty second rest periods in-between. Nothing really noteworthy in terms of the wrestling, but since it was the first of several blasts of nosalgia, it gets a thumbs up in my book. Rotunda won, and then laid Garvin out with the help of Rick Steiner afterward. Precious saved her dude, though, by strangling Steiner (or was it Sullivan?) with a coat hanger, in the process setting up a match from the second Clash. Thoroughly enjoyable!
Next came one of the main reasons I picked this shit up: prime tag team action featuring the Midnight Express. Jim Cornette introduced the team, "every father's nightmare and every school girl's dream", as Sweet Stan Lane and Beautiful Bobby Eaton made their way down the aisle to that awesome Moroder music from the movie of the same name. Their opponents were the bland pretty-boy baby-face tandem of the Fantastics, Bobby Fulton and Tommy Rogers. This one was for the US Tag Team titles. Basically your typical awesome Midnight Express match from the late '80's, with them pummeling the hell out of Rogers for like fifteen minutes, until the hot tag to Fulton led to an apparent Fantastics victory. He made the mistake of taking out the ref (old Pee Wee Anderson, if I remember correctly), though, and when he came to he invalidated the second ref's three-count and disqualified the Fantastics. So the old Dusty Finish in full effect. Damn good match.
Somewhere around here was a brief interview with "Dr. Death" Steve Williams, the best thing to ever come out of Shreveport. This guy was one of my favorites when I was a kid. He looked kind of like the singer from Alabama, but with the body of a bull. Unfortunately Dr. Death couldn't talk as well as he could fight, as this little promo was pretty damn lame. He talked about wrestling in Japan, and some other crap of little consequence.
Next up, the Road Warriors and Dusty Rhodes took on the Powers of Pain and Ivan Koloff in a Texas barbed-wire match. The graphic called the match a Chicago street fight / Texas barbed-wire brawl, or something similarly tortured. Barbarian, Warlord, and old Ivan were accompanied by Paul Jones. Not much excitement here; LOD and Big Dust won pretty quickly. I forget what happened afterwards, but it's safe to assume there was some sort of beat-down.
Again, I don't remember when exactly this happened, but at some point Schiavone (or Ross, I forget who) did a quick interview with Al Perez and his manager, Gary Hart. Not the Monkey Business Gary Hart, but the Anton LaVey-looking wrestling manager guy. Anyway, Perez, wearing street clothes, mumbled some threats to Nikita Koloff that made little sense until Hart clarified.
Second to last on the card was the NWA Tag Team title match-up between the Twin Towers, Barry Windham and the former Horsemen Lex Luger, and the champions Arn Anderson and Tully Blanchard. Anderson and Blanchard were one-half of the Four Horsemen, of course, and as such were accompanied by the Horsemen's executive director James J. Dillon. This was another good tag match, with the wily veteran Horsemen double and triple-teaming the challengers repeatedly. In the end, though, the Towers pulled out the victory, and the belts. A few weeks later Windham would turn on Luger and join the Horsemen, forming the greatest version of that legendary stable.
The main event saw Sting take on Ric Flair for the NWA World Heaveyweight Championship. This match had a 45-minute time limit, and James J. Dillion was suspended in a cage at ringside. Generally when the announcers make a big deal about the time limit, and when the time keeper announces how much is left every five minutes, you can expect a time-limit draw. Sure enough, Sting takes Flair the distance, solidifying himself as a main event draw in the process. This match is pretty legendary, but to be honest it's kind of boring. There were way too many restholds, as Sting very clearly wasn't quite at the level he'd eventually reach. As one of the first major match-ups in WCW's signature feud, though, this is worth seeking out.
Okay, wow, shit, didn't mean to do a full-on review. Just sort of started rolling, here. Wrestling-wise, this one's definitely worth watching for the tag team matches, and the historical importance of the main event. It drags in spots, but the highlights more than make up for that. Three and a half our of five.
Clash of the Champions, Marcy 27, 1988, Greensboro, NC.
I received the dvd-r's of the first ten Clashes of the Champions last week. I didn't get a chance to watch any of them until the weekend, but once I had the time I knocked the first two out. The first one is definitely the better of the two, by the way. It was good to see Bob Caudle and a young Jim Ross again, and even better to get another glimpse at Tony Schiavone's long-lost mustache (Tony used to go to my parents' church in Marietta, you know). I miss the days when wrestling announcers wore tuxedos.
So the first match was a decent little affair for the NWA TV Championship between Gorgeous Jimmy Garvin (accompanied to the ring by Precious, who's sort of good looking for a 40-year-old redneck from central Florida) and, representing the Varsity Club, the champion Mike Rotunda. Rotunda, of course, had his manager, the Gamesmaster Kevin Sullivan, at his side. This had some silly "college rules" stipulation, where a one-count wins, and three five-minute periods with thirty second rest periods in-between. Nothing really noteworthy in terms of the wrestling, but since it was the first of several blasts of nosalgia, it gets a thumbs up in my book. Rotunda won, and then laid Garvin out with the help of Rick Steiner afterward. Precious saved her dude, though, by strangling Steiner (or was it Sullivan?) with a coat hanger, in the process setting up a match from the second Clash. Thoroughly enjoyable!
Next came one of the main reasons I picked this shit up: prime tag team action featuring the Midnight Express. Jim Cornette introduced the team, "every father's nightmare and every school girl's dream", as Sweet Stan Lane and Beautiful Bobby Eaton made their way down the aisle to that awesome Moroder music from the movie of the same name. Their opponents were the bland pretty-boy baby-face tandem of the Fantastics, Bobby Fulton and Tommy Rogers. This one was for the US Tag Team titles. Basically your typical awesome Midnight Express match from the late '80's, with them pummeling the hell out of Rogers for like fifteen minutes, until the hot tag to Fulton led to an apparent Fantastics victory. He made the mistake of taking out the ref (old Pee Wee Anderson, if I remember correctly), though, and when he came to he invalidated the second ref's three-count and disqualified the Fantastics. So the old Dusty Finish in full effect. Damn good match.
Somewhere around here was a brief interview with "Dr. Death" Steve Williams, the best thing to ever come out of Shreveport. This guy was one of my favorites when I was a kid. He looked kind of like the singer from Alabama, but with the body of a bull. Unfortunately Dr. Death couldn't talk as well as he could fight, as this little promo was pretty damn lame. He talked about wrestling in Japan, and some other crap of little consequence.
Next up, the Road Warriors and Dusty Rhodes took on the Powers of Pain and Ivan Koloff in a Texas barbed-wire match. The graphic called the match a Chicago street fight / Texas barbed-wire brawl, or something similarly tortured. Barbarian, Warlord, and old Ivan were accompanied by Paul Jones. Not much excitement here; LOD and Big Dust won pretty quickly. I forget what happened afterwards, but it's safe to assume there was some sort of beat-down.
Again, I don't remember when exactly this happened, but at some point Schiavone (or Ross, I forget who) did a quick interview with Al Perez and his manager, Gary Hart. Not the Monkey Business Gary Hart, but the Anton LaVey-looking wrestling manager guy. Anyway, Perez, wearing street clothes, mumbled some threats to Nikita Koloff that made little sense until Hart clarified.
Second to last on the card was the NWA Tag Team title match-up between the Twin Towers, Barry Windham and the former Horsemen Lex Luger, and the champions Arn Anderson and Tully Blanchard. Anderson and Blanchard were one-half of the Four Horsemen, of course, and as such were accompanied by the Horsemen's executive director James J. Dillon. This was another good tag match, with the wily veteran Horsemen double and triple-teaming the challengers repeatedly. In the end, though, the Towers pulled out the victory, and the belts. A few weeks later Windham would turn on Luger and join the Horsemen, forming the greatest version of that legendary stable.
The main event saw Sting take on Ric Flair for the NWA World Heaveyweight Championship. This match had a 45-minute time limit, and James J. Dillion was suspended in a cage at ringside. Generally when the announcers make a big deal about the time limit, and when the time keeper announces how much is left every five minutes, you can expect a time-limit draw. Sure enough, Sting takes Flair the distance, solidifying himself as a main event draw in the process. This match is pretty legendary, but to be honest it's kind of boring. There were way too many restholds, as Sting very clearly wasn't quite at the level he'd eventually reach. As one of the first major match-ups in WCW's signature feud, though, this is worth seeking out.
Okay, wow, shit, didn't mean to do a full-on review. Just sort of started rolling, here. Wrestling-wise, this one's definitely worth watching for the tag team matches, and the historical importance of the main event. It drags in spots, but the highlights more than make up for that. Three and a half our of five.
record rondelet
Monoshock: Walk to the Fire
Hawkwind's squire
Monoshock's debut longplayer
Hawkwind's squire
Walk to the Comets on Fire
crazed psychedelic mindflayer
(first purchase as an Ebayer)
Hawkwind's squire
Robert Pollard: Music for 'Bubble'
Soderbergh says
"in your songs my movies rejoice!"
Soderbergh says
"an ep is six songs or less.
If they're good or not, it's your choice,
but kindly lend 'Bubble' your voice."
Soderbergh says
the Go! Team: Thunder, Lightning, Strike
Don't I know you?
Yes, I'm sure I do remember.
Don't I know you?
and yet you sound just slightly new...
we first met late last December;
through downloads you were dismembered.
Don't I know you?
Axolotl/D. Yellow Swans/Gerritt: untitled cd-r on Jyrk
My wife hates you.
You put her head into a vice.
My wife hates you.
This is great music to work to,
and the member I've met was nice
(first band's Will lived next-door to Ice).
My wife hates you.
Monoshock: Walk to the Fire
Hawkwind's squire
Monoshock's debut longplayer
Hawkwind's squire
Walk to the Comets on Fire
crazed psychedelic mindflayer
(first purchase as an Ebayer)
Hawkwind's squire
Robert Pollard: Music for 'Bubble'
Soderbergh says
"in your songs my movies rejoice!"
Soderbergh says
"an ep is six songs or less.
If they're good or not, it's your choice,
but kindly lend 'Bubble' your voice."
Soderbergh says
the Go! Team: Thunder, Lightning, Strike
Don't I know you?
Yes, I'm sure I do remember.
Don't I know you?
and yet you sound just slightly new...
we first met late last December;
through downloads you were dismembered.
Don't I know you?
Axolotl/D. Yellow Swans/Gerritt: untitled cd-r on Jyrk
My wife hates you.
You put her head into a vice.
My wife hates you.
This is great music to work to,
and the member I've met was nice
(first band's Will lived next-door to Ice).
My wife hates you.
it's good because it's British
I've never really watched The Sopranos. I've seen two episodes in their entirety, bits and pieces of a few others, but for the most part I have very little experience with that show. Of course I know a good deal about it, though, through the miles and miles of reviews and articles that have been written.
The first episode of Viva Blackpool (called simply Blackpool in the UK) aired on BBC America last Monday night, from 10 to 11 pm, and I imagine it to be a great deal like The Sopranos. Ripley Holden may not be a mobster, per se, but he cuts a very Tony-esque figure. He's charismatic yet menacing, a devoted family man stuck in a loveless marriage, a successful businessman who exploits others' vices and built his budding empire through less than legal means, etc., etc. In all, he's a big bundle of cliches, a fact that would normally do irreparable harm to a show.
His main adversary, Carlisle, is similarly something of a stereotype. Like Dale Cooper and Adrian Monk, he's the clever investigator whose skill and brilliance is shrouded, either intentionally or not, by quirkiness and naivete. He disarms his subjects by acting like a child, getting information out of them by belittling himself in their eyes. He's not taken seriously, which helps him out immensely.
So at the center of the show we have two been-there, done-that characters that would normally give little reason to tune back in. There's more to it than that, though. First off, the two lead actors were both really good in the first episode. David Morrissey (Holden) and David Tennant (Carlisle, also the newest Dr. Who) fit their roles perfectly, with the imposing Morrissey as the blustering bully and conservative libertine, and the Tom Kenny-ish Tennant as the purposefully awkward and meek manipulator. Both are engrossing enough as performers to make up for the cliches they're asked to portray.
Also, secondly, there's the little matter of the elaborate musical productions. That's right, the characters bust into song-and-dance routines at seemingly random moments. They're not quite true musical numbers in the South Pacific / Brigadoon sense, as the actors sing along with (usually) original versions of various old pop hits. It's sort of like karaoke, but with the original vocal track still on the tape. You hear the actor sing alongside Elvis, for instance. The dancing obviously isn't by professionals, either, giving the whole thing an even more ridiculous edge than your standard musical. Although they do give the viewer some insight into the character's thoughts and/or actions, these scenes really are mostly just for show, and as such reveal that the producers aren't taking themselves too seriously. When Holden and Carlisle have their first big face-to-face showdown at the end of the first episode, there's a vaguely homo-erotic bit of chest-bumping and dance-threatening set to Nancy Sinatra. It's impossible to take seriously, but far more entertaining than your typical tv showdown between the man with the secrets and the cop trying to get inside his head. So, along with the fine acting, these musical numbers, and their implicit admission that the show is not entirely a drama, help excuse the main characters' similarities to those from other, better tv shows.
Anyway, yeah, hey, it seems like a pretty good show. The first episode was solid, though it did drag here and there. Only five remain, and although I won't go out of my way to catch them, I'll probably watch if I have nothing better to do.
And oh, before Viva Blackpool, from 9 to 10, there's a show called Murphy's Law. It wasn't excellent, or anything, kind of a standard undercover cop show, but James Nesbitt plays Murphy, and ever since I saw Bloody Sunday I've found him to be a pretty awesome bad-ass. The leather jacket and fu manchu he sports as Murphy maybe makes him a little too cartoonish of a bad-ass (it's certainly a downgrade in that department from Ivan Cooper), but still, he's reliably entertaining. Maybe get drunk first, though. It probably helped last week.
I've never really watched The Sopranos. I've seen two episodes in their entirety, bits and pieces of a few others, but for the most part I have very little experience with that show. Of course I know a good deal about it, though, through the miles and miles of reviews and articles that have been written.
The first episode of Viva Blackpool (called simply Blackpool in the UK) aired on BBC America last Monday night, from 10 to 11 pm, and I imagine it to be a great deal like The Sopranos. Ripley Holden may not be a mobster, per se, but he cuts a very Tony-esque figure. He's charismatic yet menacing, a devoted family man stuck in a loveless marriage, a successful businessman who exploits others' vices and built his budding empire through less than legal means, etc., etc. In all, he's a big bundle of cliches, a fact that would normally do irreparable harm to a show.
His main adversary, Carlisle, is similarly something of a stereotype. Like Dale Cooper and Adrian Monk, he's the clever investigator whose skill and brilliance is shrouded, either intentionally or not, by quirkiness and naivete. He disarms his subjects by acting like a child, getting information out of them by belittling himself in their eyes. He's not taken seriously, which helps him out immensely.
So at the center of the show we have two been-there, done-that characters that would normally give little reason to tune back in. There's more to it than that, though. First off, the two lead actors were both really good in the first episode. David Morrissey (Holden) and David Tennant (Carlisle, also the newest Dr. Who) fit their roles perfectly, with the imposing Morrissey as the blustering bully and conservative libertine, and the Tom Kenny-ish Tennant as the purposefully awkward and meek manipulator. Both are engrossing enough as performers to make up for the cliches they're asked to portray.
Also, secondly, there's the little matter of the elaborate musical productions. That's right, the characters bust into song-and-dance routines at seemingly random moments. They're not quite true musical numbers in the South Pacific / Brigadoon sense, as the actors sing along with (usually) original versions of various old pop hits. It's sort of like karaoke, but with the original vocal track still on the tape. You hear the actor sing alongside Elvis, for instance. The dancing obviously isn't by professionals, either, giving the whole thing an even more ridiculous edge than your standard musical. Although they do give the viewer some insight into the character's thoughts and/or actions, these scenes really are mostly just for show, and as such reveal that the producers aren't taking themselves too seriously. When Holden and Carlisle have their first big face-to-face showdown at the end of the first episode, there's a vaguely homo-erotic bit of chest-bumping and dance-threatening set to Nancy Sinatra. It's impossible to take seriously, but far more entertaining than your typical tv showdown between the man with the secrets and the cop trying to get inside his head. So, along with the fine acting, these musical numbers, and their implicit admission that the show is not entirely a drama, help excuse the main characters' similarities to those from other, better tv shows.
Anyway, yeah, hey, it seems like a pretty good show. The first episode was solid, though it did drag here and there. Only five remain, and although I won't go out of my way to catch them, I'll probably watch if I have nothing better to do.
And oh, before Viva Blackpool, from 9 to 10, there's a show called Murphy's Law. It wasn't excellent, or anything, kind of a standard undercover cop show, but James Nesbitt plays Murphy, and ever since I saw Bloody Sunday I've found him to be a pretty awesome bad-ass. The leather jacket and fu manchu he sports as Murphy maybe makes him a little too cartoonish of a bad-ass (it's certainly a downgrade in that department from Ivan Cooper), but still, he's reliably entertaining. Maybe get drunk first, though. It probably helped last week.
c'mon 'n read it
I used to hate those people who'd read the New Yorker on the train while headed to work in the morning. They all seemed to be subtly screaming, "hey, look at me, I'm smart and urbane and hold the potential for affluence and, like, read the New Yorker, and stuff". The worst were the 23-year-old dudes in ties and long trenchcoats, and the ever more worst were the young professional gals in conservative business attire and bright white tennis shoes. Those bright white shoes are mandatory for the working women of downtown Boston; they wear 'em to work, then swap out with more appropriate footware once at the office. Anyway, they'd sit there on the train all proud and haughty with their precious New Yorker, intellectually towering above the rest of us, with our Times and Entertainment Weeklys, or, most likely, Boston Metros.
A couple of weeks ago I became one of them. Back in September my wife found some cheap as hell magazine site and went on a massive subscription spree. We've got a couple dozen coming to our mailbox now, some weekly, most monthly, and among them resides that outstanding publication from down South (um, south of Boston, ie, New York, ergo, the NEW YORKER) I threw the first issue we received in my worksack one morning, thinking I'd maybe look it over on my lunch-break. After finishing off the Metro in about five minutes, though, I had nothing to peruse whilst jostling amongst my gainly employed peers upon the ol' underground iron horse. Furtively I removed my copy of that dandified rag, trying to avoid any attention and the derision it would no doubt bring upon me. I read a few pages, read a few more, and then slowly forgot about any concerns or misgivings. For the next few days I read my New Yorker openly, enthusiastically, eventually almost flouting my sophistication and erudition in front of my fellow passengers. It felt good, even though I realized I had become that very thing I most dearly detested.
Anyway, it didn't last long. I started up a book after finishing that first issue, and haven't taken the latest on the rails with me yet. By the time I finish up V., I'll probably have two more New Yorkers waiting to be read. I flip through them while using the bathroom, but unless I get really really sick, I don't spend nearly enough time in there to finish off an issue in a timely fashion. My stint as a New Yorker train-readin' guy appears to have been brief.
Oh, and about V - what the hell? Where are all the reptilian alien guys? And Martin from the 5th Column? And Freddy Krueger, Marc Singer, and the stereotypical wise-cracking, street-smart black hood with a conscience? What a rip.
I used to hate those people who'd read the New Yorker on the train while headed to work in the morning. They all seemed to be subtly screaming, "hey, look at me, I'm smart and urbane and hold the potential for affluence and, like, read the New Yorker, and stuff". The worst were the 23-year-old dudes in ties and long trenchcoats, and the ever more worst were the young professional gals in conservative business attire and bright white tennis shoes. Those bright white shoes are mandatory for the working women of downtown Boston; they wear 'em to work, then swap out with more appropriate footware once at the office. Anyway, they'd sit there on the train all proud and haughty with their precious New Yorker, intellectually towering above the rest of us, with our Times and Entertainment Weeklys, or, most likely, Boston Metros.
A couple of weeks ago I became one of them. Back in September my wife found some cheap as hell magazine site and went on a massive subscription spree. We've got a couple dozen coming to our mailbox now, some weekly, most monthly, and among them resides that outstanding publication from down South (um, south of Boston, ie, New York, ergo, the NEW YORKER) I threw the first issue we received in my worksack one morning, thinking I'd maybe look it over on my lunch-break. After finishing off the Metro in about five minutes, though, I had nothing to peruse whilst jostling amongst my gainly employed peers upon the ol' underground iron horse. Furtively I removed my copy of that dandified rag, trying to avoid any attention and the derision it would no doubt bring upon me. I read a few pages, read a few more, and then slowly forgot about any concerns or misgivings. For the next few days I read my New Yorker openly, enthusiastically, eventually almost flouting my sophistication and erudition in front of my fellow passengers. It felt good, even though I realized I had become that very thing I most dearly detested.
Anyway, it didn't last long. I started up a book after finishing that first issue, and haven't taken the latest on the rails with me yet. By the time I finish up V., I'll probably have two more New Yorkers waiting to be read. I flip through them while using the bathroom, but unless I get really really sick, I don't spend nearly enough time in there to finish off an issue in a timely fashion. My stint as a New Yorker train-readin' guy appears to have been brief.
Oh, and about V - what the hell? Where are all the reptilian alien guys? And Martin from the 5th Column? And Freddy Krueger, Marc Singer, and the stereotypical wise-cracking, street-smart black hood with a conscience? What a rip.
Friday, October 28, 2005
getting loaded
With five days left, this Bright Eyes / Rilo Kiley seven-inch that I'm selling is already up to $22.50.
Surprisingly, the Fall record mentioned below is only up to five bucks, well short of the reserve price. This is the Fall single that's sold for $185 and $200 in the past two months.
With five days left, this Bright Eyes / Rilo Kiley seven-inch that I'm selling is already up to $22.50.
Surprisingly, the Fall record mentioned below is only up to five bucks, well short of the reserve price. This is the Fall single that's sold for $185 and $200 in the past two months.
yesterday's playlist
Mesmerization Eclipse on WZBC, 10/27/05.
Axolotl / Yellow Swans / Gerritt “track one” from untitled cd-r
Hawkwind “You'd Better Believe It”
Toulouse "The Subway Section of Town"
The Ex “Money”
Robert Pollard “I'm No Child”
Volcano the Bear “Woman Who Weighs Out the Wood”
Unrest “Isobel (12" Remix)”
The Alchemysts & Simeon “Lost Beat Magazine”
Les Baton Rouge “Velvet Barbed Wire” request
Summer Hymns “Mr. Brewer (cackle, cackle)”
Franciscan Hobbies “Seekers in Darkness”
Clem Snide “Evil vs. Good” request
Swell Maps “Blenheim Shots”
The Gris Gris “Ecks Em Eye”
Brokeback “Pearl's Dream”
Archers of Loaf “Scenic Pastures”
Blood on The Wall “Mary Susan”
Black Dice “Heavy Manners”
Tono-Bungay “track one” from Wunderkammer
Monoshock “Sea Monkeys”
Starfish “Supercool” request
Tower Recordings “Paraded Liquor (licked)”
Swans “You're Not Real, Girl”
Trans Am “The Campaign”
Avarus “Filippiinien Henkikirurgit”
My Morning Jacket “Anytime”
The Skaters “track 3” from Rippling Whispers
The Fall “Blindness”
Mesmerization Eclipse on WZBC, 10/27/05.
Axolotl / Yellow Swans / Gerritt “track one” from untitled cd-r
Hawkwind “You'd Better Believe It”
Toulouse "The Subway Section of Town"
The Ex “Money”
Robert Pollard “I'm No Child”
Volcano the Bear “Woman Who Weighs Out the Wood”
Unrest “Isobel (12" Remix)”
The Alchemysts & Simeon “Lost Beat Magazine”
Les Baton Rouge “Velvet Barbed Wire” request
Summer Hymns “Mr. Brewer (cackle, cackle)”
Franciscan Hobbies “Seekers in Darkness”
Clem Snide “Evil vs. Good” request
Swell Maps “Blenheim Shots”
The Gris Gris “Ecks Em Eye”
Brokeback “Pearl's Dream”
Archers of Loaf “Scenic Pastures”
Blood on The Wall “Mary Susan”
Black Dice “Heavy Manners”
Tono-Bungay “track one” from Wunderkammer
Monoshock “Sea Monkeys”
Starfish “Supercool” request
Tower Recordings “Paraded Liquor (licked)”
Swans “You're Not Real, Girl”
Trans Am “The Campaign”
Avarus “Filippiinien Henkikirurgit”
My Morning Jacket “Anytime”
The Skaters “track 3” from Rippling Whispers
The Fall “Blindness”
Thursday, October 27, 2005
rrrrrrrrrrrr
Listen to Mesmerization Eclipse on WZBC, 3 to 5 pm, please.
I've gotten a few packages of cds in the mail the last few days, and so much new (or at least new to me) good stuff shall be played. How adorable.
Listen to Mesmerization Eclipse on WZBC, 3 to 5 pm, please.
I've gotten a few packages of cds in the mail the last few days, and so much new (or at least new to me) good stuff shall be played. How adorable.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
down the other side
We've started selling stuff on EBay now. I poked around and found out this super-rare Fall 7" I got for free a few years ago routinely sells for $100 to $200 dollars. Here's an auction from August where it went for a bit more than that. This is, simply, insane, but who am I to stop the madness? I'll ride that wave of dementia as far as it'll take me. Yep, I'm going to put this record up later tonight when I get home. Maybe I'll be able to buy an IPod with my earnings.
We've started selling stuff on EBay now. I poked around and found out this super-rare Fall 7" I got for free a few years ago routinely sells for $100 to $200 dollars. Here's an auction from August where it went for a bit more than that. This is, simply, insane, but who am I to stop the madness? I'll ride that wave of dementia as far as it'll take me. Yep, I'm going to put this record up later tonight when I get home. Maybe I'll be able to buy an IPod with my earnings.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Law-Talking Guy Drunks It Up In Court, or: Delicious Bourbon, Brownest of the Brown Liquors...
When I saw the headline, I figured it was LD, living up his Hutz fantasies.
When I saw the headline, I figured it was LD, living up his Hutz fantasies.
Monday, October 24, 2005
Nazi Olsen Twins
Prussian Blue might be my new favorite band. Or they would be, were I a paranoid, delusional, self-hating asshole.
'Cuz, like draculas and wolfmen, them darkies can magically turn you into one of them.
And we understand this. There's really no difference between our parents instilling compassion, courteousness, and respect for our fellow man within us, and you teaching your adorable little moppets that a secret cabal of money-lending Jews created the international drug trade and helped the dissemination of black culture all in hopes of diluting the pristine white race.
No comment, really, but if anybody has a picture of these Nazi cows, I'd love to see it.
Prussian Blue might be my new favorite band. Or they would be, were I a paranoid, delusional, self-hating asshole.
"We're proud of being white, we want to keep being white," said Lynx. "We want our people to stay white … we don't want to just be, you know, a big muddle. We just want to preserve our race."
'Cuz, like draculas and wolfmen, them darkies can magically turn you into one of them.
Lynx and Lamb have been nurtured on racist beliefs since birth by their mother April. "They need to have the background to understand why certain things are happening," said April, a stay-at-home mom who no longer lives with the twins' father. "I'm going to give them, give them my opinion just like any, any parent would."
And we understand this. There's really no difference between our parents instilling compassion, courteousness, and respect for our fellow man within us, and you teaching your adorable little moppets that a secret cabal of money-lending Jews created the international drug trade and helped the dissemination of black culture all in hopes of diluting the pristine white race.
April home-schools the girls, teaching them her own unique perspective on everything from current to historical events. In addition, April's father surrounds the family with symbols of his beliefs — specifically the Nazi swastika. It appears on his belt buckle, on the side of his pick-up truck and he's even registered it as his cattle brand with the Bureau of Livestock Identification.
"Because it's provocative," explains April of the cattle brand, "to him he thinks it's important as a symbol of freedom of speech that he can use it as his cattle brand."
No comment, really, but if anybody has a picture of these Nazi cows, I'd love to see it.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
E-Bay Is a Money Pit
My wife's addicted to E-Bay, and now she's got me hooked, too. Yesterday I bought a ten-disc DVD-R set of the NWA's first ten Clash of the Champions, complete and unedited. Unfortunately it probably won't get here in time to watch this weekend. Damn.
My wife's addicted to E-Bay, and now she's got me hooked, too. Yesterday I bought a ten-disc DVD-R set of the NWA's first ten Clash of the Champions, complete and unedited. Unfortunately it probably won't get here in time to watch this weekend. Damn.
DJ made this (along with AMT, of course)
And now somebody in Vancouver is trying to sell it on EBay for twenty-five bucks. Awesome!
And now somebody in Vancouver is trying to sell it on EBay for twenty-five bucks. Awesome!
real life Captain America?
From CNN:
Well, the year's off by three, and I don't think Baron Zemo's HQ was in California, but this sounds eerily similar. I wonder if, when this unidentified airman throws his mighty shield, all those who chose to oppose that shield must yield?
From CNN:
Two climbers on a Sierra Nevada glacier discovered an ice-encased body believed to be that of an airman whose plane crashed in 1942.
Well, the year's off by three, and I don't think Baron Zemo's HQ was in California, but this sounds eerily similar. I wonder if, when this unidentified airman throws his mighty shield, all those who chose to oppose that shield must yield?
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
let the overreaction begin
Okay, yes, you can't deny that Leo's done some amazing work these past fifteen years. I'm sure the truly great, like Glavine, Maddux, and Smoltz, would have excelled regardless, but the list of pitchers whose careers peaked with Atlanta is impossible to ignore. Still, though, I don't think his departure (if it does happen) will automatically doom the team. The reclamation projects might be fewer and farther between in the future, but if Hudson and Smoltz can stay healthy and effective, Atlanta should be able to hang in the East for at least the next couple of seasons. Also, comments over at Braves Beat speculate that Nick Markakis could be sent to Atlanta as compensation. That seems highly dubious, as Baseball America lists the right-fielder and Woodstock native as Baltimore's number one prospect, and you'd think Atlanta would be looking for immediate help, a la Tampa sending Randy Winn to Seattle after hiring Pinella away. Markakis could only be wishful thinking on the part of Braves fans already overstimulated by an abundance of home-grown talent. If true, though, it could help lessen the sting of seeing Leo rock elsewhere, as Markakis looks like a good candidate to stick around in the majors for a while. An outfield of Jones, Francouer, and Markakis could rule for a good decade or so, if the kids pan out, and if the team doesn't let Andruw walk when his deal is up, which, of course, will most definitely happen, as long as AOL holds the pursestrings.
Okay, yes, you can't deny that Leo's done some amazing work these past fifteen years. I'm sure the truly great, like Glavine, Maddux, and Smoltz, would have excelled regardless, but the list of pitchers whose careers peaked with Atlanta is impossible to ignore. Still, though, I don't think his departure (if it does happen) will automatically doom the team. The reclamation projects might be fewer and farther between in the future, but if Hudson and Smoltz can stay healthy and effective, Atlanta should be able to hang in the East for at least the next couple of seasons. Also, comments over at Braves Beat speculate that Nick Markakis could be sent to Atlanta as compensation. That seems highly dubious, as Baseball America lists the right-fielder and Woodstock native as Baltimore's number one prospect, and you'd think Atlanta would be looking for immediate help, a la Tampa sending Randy Winn to Seattle after hiring Pinella away. Markakis could only be wishful thinking on the part of Braves fans already overstimulated by an abundance of home-grown talent. If true, though, it could help lessen the sting of seeing Leo rock elsewhere, as Markakis looks like a good candidate to stick around in the majors for a while. An outfield of Jones, Francouer, and Markakis could rule for a good decade or so, if the kids pan out, and if the team doesn't let Andruw walk when his deal is up, which, of course, will most definitely happen, as long as AOL holds the pursestrings.
what I've seen
Beavis and Butthead
Man, I have not been sleeping well this week. We discovered that MTV2 shows an hour of Beavis and Butthead at midnight. I haven't seen any of these episodes since '96, or so, and seeing them back on tv is a damn welcome sight, indeed. And, thankfully, they run 'em complete with the music video commentaries, which has apparently been a sticky issue in terms of DVD releases. Almost as entertaining as the show itself is remembering all those crappy "alternative" bands whose videos would fill out 120 Minutes for a week or two before being written off by their label. Greta, the Meices, Stakka Bo - I had entirely forgotten about all of these jokers, and yet the memory returned immediately upon seeing their clips on Beavis and Butthead. Anyway, still a classic, misunderstood show, and worth staying up 'til one for. Four out of five.
TNA Impact!
So the WWF has sucked since long before some pandas made them pick up that E. I haven't watched Raw or Smackdown regularly since 2002, and when I have tuned in it's been pretty miserable. I briefly relapsed earlier this summer, after watching the excellent ECW: One Night Only dvd, but other than the amazingly melodramatic Eddie Guerrero / Rey Misterio feud on Smackdown, and the occasional good promo from Christian or Carlito, there was absolutely nothing of interest. That company's slow strangulation of all that's good and worthwhile in the world of wrestling has quickly escalated into an all-out apocalyptic onslaught. The McMahons will have killed pro wrasslin' dead by December, UNLESS people give TNA a shot. Total Non-Stop Action is a horrible name, and I have no idea why they dropped the NWA from the front (oodles of cache there, friends), but that doesn't detract from their frequently outstanding product. The last three weeks of Impact!, since starting up on Spike TV, have been damn good. Between the funeral service for Team 3D (fka the Dudley Boys) and the twenty or so minutes spent on Christopher Daniels running the gauntlet against Shark Boy, Sonjay Dutt, and the truly phenomenal A. J. Styles (a dude Elliott, Crews and I would go watch out at Bumpers), this past episode was the best wrestling program I've seen since maybe early 2001. The time slot's a killer (Saturdays at eleven), but for those willing to stay up late, they show a replay at midnight on Monday night / Tuesday morning. I recommend it, friends. Three and a half out of five.
Capote
Okay, so, yes, of course, it's a good film. Without Hoffman's amazing performance, though, you're left with nothing much. It's as close to a one-man show as anything since Dr. Strangelove, and Sellers at least had George Scott and Slim Pickens. Keener's good, but understated to the point of disappearance, and Chris Cooper's in it for maybe twenty minutes. Hoffman is in every single scene save the first, I believe. And although the relationship that develops between Capote and suspect/murderer Perry Smith is intriguing, Clifton Collins, as Smith, isn't capable of keeping his end of the bargain. His mediocre work diminishes every scene he's in. But still, go see it for Hoffman, who will deserve whatever golden baubles they toss his way next winter. Three out of five.
Ned and Stacey: Season One
The wife was a big fan of this show, and since she had to buy something on her mystery shop to Best Buy, it might as well have been this, I guess. I'm not complaining, though. I wasn't a fan when it was on the air (watched once, thought Lowell was funny, disliked the rest), but watching it today I'm impressed by how well they made the traditional sitcom set-up work. That mostly has to do with Thomas Haden Church, whose delivery and timing are perfect for sitcoms, and Debra Messing, Greg Germann, and the rest of the supporting cast are mostly up to the challenge. Also, the late Harry "Captain Murphy" Goz is entertaining as Stacey's dad. Three out of five.
Da Ali G Show: Season Two
Okay, not much to say here. This show is as close to perfect as anything currently on the air.
Beavis and Butthead
Man, I have not been sleeping well this week. We discovered that MTV2 shows an hour of Beavis and Butthead at midnight. I haven't seen any of these episodes since '96, or so, and seeing them back on tv is a damn welcome sight, indeed. And, thankfully, they run 'em complete with the music video commentaries, which has apparently been a sticky issue in terms of DVD releases. Almost as entertaining as the show itself is remembering all those crappy "alternative" bands whose videos would fill out 120 Minutes for a week or two before being written off by their label. Greta, the Meices, Stakka Bo - I had entirely forgotten about all of these jokers, and yet the memory returned immediately upon seeing their clips on Beavis and Butthead. Anyway, still a classic, misunderstood show, and worth staying up 'til one for. Four out of five.
TNA Impact!
So the WWF has sucked since long before some pandas made them pick up that E. I haven't watched Raw or Smackdown regularly since 2002, and when I have tuned in it's been pretty miserable. I briefly relapsed earlier this summer, after watching the excellent ECW: One Night Only dvd, but other than the amazingly melodramatic Eddie Guerrero / Rey Misterio feud on Smackdown, and the occasional good promo from Christian or Carlito, there was absolutely nothing of interest. That company's slow strangulation of all that's good and worthwhile in the world of wrestling has quickly escalated into an all-out apocalyptic onslaught. The McMahons will have killed pro wrasslin' dead by December, UNLESS people give TNA a shot. Total Non-Stop Action is a horrible name, and I have no idea why they dropped the NWA from the front (oodles of cache there, friends), but that doesn't detract from their frequently outstanding product. The last three weeks of Impact!, since starting up on Spike TV, have been damn good. Between the funeral service for Team 3D (fka the Dudley Boys) and the twenty or so minutes spent on Christopher Daniels running the gauntlet against Shark Boy, Sonjay Dutt, and the truly phenomenal A. J. Styles (a dude Elliott, Crews and I would go watch out at Bumpers), this past episode was the best wrestling program I've seen since maybe early 2001. The time slot's a killer (Saturdays at eleven), but for those willing to stay up late, they show a replay at midnight on Monday night / Tuesday morning. I recommend it, friends. Three and a half out of five.
Capote
Okay, so, yes, of course, it's a good film. Without Hoffman's amazing performance, though, you're left with nothing much. It's as close to a one-man show as anything since Dr. Strangelove, and Sellers at least had George Scott and Slim Pickens. Keener's good, but understated to the point of disappearance, and Chris Cooper's in it for maybe twenty minutes. Hoffman is in every single scene save the first, I believe. And although the relationship that develops between Capote and suspect/murderer Perry Smith is intriguing, Clifton Collins, as Smith, isn't capable of keeping his end of the bargain. His mediocre work diminishes every scene he's in. But still, go see it for Hoffman, who will deserve whatever golden baubles they toss his way next winter. Three out of five.
Ned and Stacey: Season One
The wife was a big fan of this show, and since she had to buy something on her mystery shop to Best Buy, it might as well have been this, I guess. I'm not complaining, though. I wasn't a fan when it was on the air (watched once, thought Lowell was funny, disliked the rest), but watching it today I'm impressed by how well they made the traditional sitcom set-up work. That mostly has to do with Thomas Haden Church, whose delivery and timing are perfect for sitcoms, and Debra Messing, Greg Germann, and the rest of the supporting cast are mostly up to the challenge. Also, the late Harry "Captain Murphy" Goz is entertaining as Stacey's dad. Three out of five.
Da Ali G Show: Season Two
Okay, not much to say here. This show is as close to perfect as anything currently on the air.
The Great American Baseball Box
Shout! Factory's Great American Baseball Box is intriguing. I wouldn't pay sixty bucks for it, though. I've gone through periods of collecting old radio broadcasts and news reports, and that sort of stuff doesn't exactly have the most replay value. And it doesn't include my personal all-time favorite call, Skip's "Braves win! Braves win! Braves win!" from game seven of the '92 NLCS (a game, I am obligated to mention, I attended, and that old high school "chum" Puya Davoodi left before the ninth inning). It would be cool to have those last three discs handy, but I doubt they'd ever spend much time in my jambox. So, yeah, not worth sixty bucks. I would love to hear Hank talk about the pressure of try, though.
Shout! Factory's Great American Baseball Box is intriguing. I wouldn't pay sixty bucks for it, though. I've gone through periods of collecting old radio broadcasts and news reports, and that sort of stuff doesn't exactly have the most replay value. And it doesn't include my personal all-time favorite call, Skip's "Braves win! Braves win! Braves win!" from game seven of the '92 NLCS (a game, I am obligated to mention, I attended, and that old high school "chum" Puya Davoodi left before the ninth inning). It would be cool to have those last three discs handy, but I doubt they'd ever spend much time in my jambox. So, yeah, not worth sixty bucks. I would love to hear Hank talk about the pressure of try, though.
coupla reviews
If you care about such things, you can read two reviews I wrote for the Flagpole. One's the latest American Analog Set album, the other some Dischord band called Medications. Also some stuff there by Hillary, Sam Gunn, and Emerson. I would call it a good week for reviews, were mine not so horribly half-assed. That Go! Team review ain't so hot, either.
If you care about such things, you can read two reviews I wrote for the Flagpole. One's the latest American Analog Set album, the other some Dischord band called Medications. Also some stuff there by Hillary, Sam Gunn, and Emerson. I would call it a good week for reviews, were mine not so horribly half-assed. That Go! Team review ain't so hot, either.
Monday, October 17, 2005
record gab bag
Utilizing the universally recognized five-point Earl Anthony scale of rating and evaluation.
Blood on the Wall, Awesomer: Thoroughly solid indie-rock in a traditional / classicist sense. A caller to my show last week thought it was maybe Sonic Youth. Not as dissonant or disjointed as those young'uns, but I can understand the confusion, especially with the womanly sung songs. Possesses a classic sign of a truly good band: they recall a number of excellent precursors, without sounding too much like any single one. I give 'em three Earl Anthonys out of a possible five.
Ex Models feat. Kid Millions, Chrome Panthers: In which a marginally interesting meta-jerk-rock band picks up one exceedingly accomplished drummer and produces an ep/mini-album thing that transcends their previous work by a ridiculous degree. Other Mathematics was sorta alright, Zoo Psychology a little bit less so, but Chrome Panthers is utterly right-on. Grinding, repetitious guitars, random feedback squalls, heavy spasticism w/ judicious bleats and blasts, all held together by Kid's unparalleled whacking. Names to associate: Sightings, Lightning Bolt (w/ some restraint / lack of planning), DEVO in the final stages of devolution, etc. We would've danced to "Chrome Hearts" at the wedding, were we capable. Four of five, knocked down by a half due to short run-time.
Echo and the Bunnymen, Siberia: Three albums into the comeback, and finally a record that doesn't quite suck. I won't, ne, can't, endorse it, but I have been able to make it all the way through a couple times. Really, though, just stick to the olden days, and all shall be fine. Two out of five.
Acid Mothers Temple & the Cosmic Inferno, Iao Chant From the Cosmic Inferno: My first exposure to the "new" AMT. 52 minutes of maximalist drone and cosmic boogie. Makes Hawkwind sound like Lonnie Donegan. 'Nother four out of five happy Earls for our Far East friends.
My Morning Jacket, Z: As discussed below, kind of a snoozer. Roughly 40% good material, ergo two out of five on the Anthony chart.
Utilizing the universally recognized five-point Earl Anthony scale of rating and evaluation.
Blood on the Wall, Awesomer: Thoroughly solid indie-rock in a traditional / classicist sense. A caller to my show last week thought it was maybe Sonic Youth. Not as dissonant or disjointed as those young'uns, but I can understand the confusion, especially with the womanly sung songs. Possesses a classic sign of a truly good band: they recall a number of excellent precursors, without sounding too much like any single one. I give 'em three Earl Anthonys out of a possible five.
Ex Models feat. Kid Millions, Chrome Panthers: In which a marginally interesting meta-jerk-rock band picks up one exceedingly accomplished drummer and produces an ep/mini-album thing that transcends their previous work by a ridiculous degree. Other Mathematics was sorta alright, Zoo Psychology a little bit less so, but Chrome Panthers is utterly right-on. Grinding, repetitious guitars, random feedback squalls, heavy spasticism w/ judicious bleats and blasts, all held together by Kid's unparalleled whacking. Names to associate: Sightings, Lightning Bolt (w/ some restraint / lack of planning), DEVO in the final stages of devolution, etc. We would've danced to "Chrome Hearts" at the wedding, were we capable. Four of five, knocked down by a half due to short run-time.
Echo and the Bunnymen, Siberia: Three albums into the comeback, and finally a record that doesn't quite suck. I won't, ne, can't, endorse it, but I have been able to make it all the way through a couple times. Really, though, just stick to the olden days, and all shall be fine. Two out of five.
Acid Mothers Temple & the Cosmic Inferno, Iao Chant From the Cosmic Inferno: My first exposure to the "new" AMT. 52 minutes of maximalist drone and cosmic boogie. Makes Hawkwind sound like Lonnie Donegan. 'Nother four out of five happy Earls for our Far East friends.
My Morning Jacket, Z: As discussed below, kind of a snoozer. Roughly 40% good material, ergo two out of five on the Anthony chart.
