Remember when Rolling Stone was relevant? No? Well why not? You mean you don't remember back in the day when RS broke news of Iggy and Bowie, Verlaine and Thunders to a blithely dithering music-buying public?
You mean you don't look back, all misty-eyed, upon an era when Rolling Stone's staff was lousy with iconic journalists like Hunter S. Thompson and P.J. O' Rourke, the odd sociology scholar-slash-music critic (Greil Marcus) or bad-ass revolutionary-slash-music critic (Lester Bangs) and future legend-photographer (Annie Liebowitz)? You can't recall marveling with secret glee at an early 80's review of punk-rock visionaries The Cramps when RS blessed 'Bad Music For Bad People' with three stars and crowed: "'TV Set' boasts the shittiest guitar solo committed to wax!", a declaration that tweaked your worldview irrevocably (holy shit! bad is good!)?
Brace yourself and get with the Rolling Stone program because...
As of February 6th, 2007, when Fall Out Boy's 'Infinity On High' drops, bad is gonna get even better!
Founding publisher Jann Wenner once wrote that Rolling Stone is "not just about the music, but about the things and attitudes that music embraces".
So Fall Out Boy's three and a half stars is not just about Babyface-produced quasi-punque emo-schlock but it's also about Fall Out Boy's clothing line and the band's desire to bang debutards in high end hotels.
...Fall Out Boy: bringin' it all back home!
The first paragraph of RS company man-slash-hack Rob Sheffield's review of 'Infinity On High' discusses the band's vast base of non-fans and then goes on to unpack FOB's love of lengthy, super-punctuated song titles ("I'm Like A Lawyer The Way I'm Always Trying To Get You Off (Me & You Hum Hallelujah)".
...LOL! (Ow! My head hurts!)
Shockingly, Sheffield mentions Fall Out's songwriting superBoys Stump & Wentz in the same breath as Pete Townshend (and Roger Daltrey but p.s. Roger Daltrey just sang Townshend's lyrics, didn't write them, don'tchaknow) while discussing Wentz' outsized ego and how FOB moves a lot of units. No evidence of Who-ish greatness is posited, just the fact that a lot of people buy their product so that must mean something...eh? Also did you know that Wentz "does the words" (doesn't write the lyrics) and lets Stump "handle the music"? World class scribe, this Rob Sheffield.
Fall Out Boy reminds Rob of John Waite and Night Ranger! You'd have to be deaf or some kinda nerd not to be down with Fall Out Boy!
The first single is "bold" because it rocks a nineties R&B hook that "sounds like Montell Jordan's 'This Is How We Do It'".
Got that, Grampa?
Whoa, dude. Are these guys Beastie Boys, Dead Boys, Fall Out Boy or Backstreet Boys? Hell, their first single boldly debuts on the Billboard chart this week at number two while quoting a groove so tired it makes The Chicago Bears' 'Super Bowl Shuffle' sound like Sly & The Family Stone's 'Family Affair'.
They're Crazy Like A Fox Boys!
In conclusion, Sheffield asserts that Fall Out Boy is really famous and some people like them while others don't. In case you're a member of the latter group, Sheffield reassures us that Stump has sex pics online and then goes out on a limb to conjecture that Stump would maybe like to tap some of that Lindsay Lohan ass. Now that you know they're not Gay Boy and so obvs. you're a card-carrying member of the Fall Out Fanclub, you'll agree that Fall Out Boy "deserves every bit of their success" because "they expose the secret life of boys in hilariously bloodcurdling detail".
As for the music itself? Um...ah...Fall Out Boy is...erm...famous.
Rolling Stone: The thinking man's Maxim.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Monday, January 22, 2007
Winter '07: Kinda Like '68, The Summer Of Love, But Colder
The war in Iraq carries the torch of the collage-vision that is Picasso's Spanish Civil War mural Guernica, except that as of '07, the ghostly newsprint bleeding through the washed out corpses, horse & bullhead has become samples, loops, and markered scribbles on palms and cocktail napkins yawped through GarageBand audio files in somebody's warehouse or basement compulab...
Danger Mouse, not Rabelais, not Hendrix, and not el Greco, is broadcasting the dismal state of global affairs in what is certainly the infancy of Earth's latest Blue Period...
I'm ignorant. I can't even begin to guess why we're still over there, nor can I wrap my tiny little mortified brain around the numbers of the dead reported daily over Yahoo! News (in blue hypertexted blurbs)...Saddam's been hung (alongside his pooch 'Blondie') after all...what's left? Why are we sending 21,000 more troops over there to dust up a civil war that's going to spill over borders and send the entire area into a chaotic tailspin..meanwhile, here at home New Orleans is commiting suicide and I still don't have health insurance.
The Good, The Bad and The Queen is only the latest Hotshot Debut in a long 2006-vintage playlist of a supremely bummed-out homefront Hit Parade. The GB&Q is an unlikely supergroup consisting of The Clash's Paul Simonon, Afro-funk drummer Tony Allen, The Verve guitarist Simon Tong and The Good Sir Dapper Downer Himself: Damon Albarn (Blur, The Gorillaz). I wish I could sport a a houndstooth lid as effortlessly as Droopy Dog: DA, can.
The aggregate isn't quite as quackers as it would seem at first...it all coagulates like an especially salty egg-drop soup...Paul Simonon's bass echoes The Clash's glory days, particularly in the narcotic, string-laden 'A Soldier's Tale' which has 'Sandinista!' writ all over it (I love the film-noir whistling and the country-fuck finger-picking especially).
'Nature Springs' could be its best stab at a Stateside single. It swings gently in a quasi-dub sort of way (more spaghetti western whistling which I have to confess I'm a total bottom for), but the bass booms, the soaring strings coax tears, and Damon sings sweet as pie. The lyrics are not without hope: Even though Mother Nature is dressed down as a sinister Croc-Hunter hating whore to be feared, we're all a submarine, looking for a dream faraway...or something like that.
'Heruclean' may just be straw that broke the camel's back enough to provoke Ennio Morricone to file a frivolous lawsuit against The Good, The Bad & The Queen: Much more hating on The Western World against a soundscape of much more spaghetti western whistling, a Mormon Tabernacle Man Choir, Danger Mouse beeps & whistles, otherworldly hag-mewling, sinister chord changes...it's all in there.
In short: This piece of work is No Fucking Fun but it's lovely and desperate and if you're a suicidal junkie, you'll most definitely identify and you'll most certainly want to gift your junkie-bitch girlfriend with it when Valentine's Day rolls around. It's the soundtrack to your final nod-off on some stoop somewhere around 2nd Avenue and 4th Street.
Other War-In-Iraq haters in the queue:
Norah Jones' new 'Not Too Late': Basically a concept album about how the war in Iraq makes her want to curl up and take a nap.
Bloc Party's 'The Price Of Gas': They've done the math and they still rock. A lesbian bar all-request night favorite. No surprise there.
John Mayer's 'Waiting For The World To Change': John's just gonna wait around for them venal, old-ass Republicans to die for shit to get better. Not exactly Johnny Rotten is he?
...hmmm....who else hates Bush and everything he stands for...
Pink does: 'Dear Mr. President'...Fuck ya, dubya! *splayed finger vag lick*
Neil Young: 'Let's Impeach The President'. Word.
Black Eyed Peas: 'Where's The Love'...this track makes me cry everytime I play it, which is embarrassing because The Peas kind of suck alot of the time and I hate to cry in public.
TV On The Radio: 'I Was A Lover'. Simple. Powerful. "I Was A Lover/Before The War...'
Danger Mouse, not Rabelais, not Hendrix, and not el Greco, is broadcasting the dismal state of global affairs in what is certainly the infancy of Earth's latest Blue Period...
I'm ignorant. I can't even begin to guess why we're still over there, nor can I wrap my tiny little mortified brain around the numbers of the dead reported daily over Yahoo! News (in blue hypertexted blurbs)...Saddam's been hung (alongside his pooch 'Blondie') after all...what's left? Why are we sending 21,000 more troops over there to dust up a civil war that's going to spill over borders and send the entire area into a chaotic tailspin..meanwhile, here at home New Orleans is commiting suicide and I still don't have health insurance.
The Good, The Bad and The Queen is only the latest Hotshot Debut in a long 2006-vintage playlist of a supremely bummed-out homefront Hit Parade. The GB&Q is an unlikely supergroup consisting of The Clash's Paul Simonon, Afro-funk drummer Tony Allen, The Verve guitarist Simon Tong and The Good Sir Dapper Downer Himself: Damon Albarn (Blur, The Gorillaz). I wish I could sport a a houndstooth lid as effortlessly as Droopy Dog: DA, can.
The aggregate isn't quite as quackers as it would seem at first...it all coagulates like an especially salty egg-drop soup...Paul Simonon's bass echoes The Clash's glory days, particularly in the narcotic, string-laden 'A Soldier's Tale' which has 'Sandinista!' writ all over it (I love the film-noir whistling and the country-fuck finger-picking especially).
'Nature Springs' could be its best stab at a Stateside single. It swings gently in a quasi-dub sort of way (more spaghetti western whistling which I have to confess I'm a total bottom for), but the bass booms, the soaring strings coax tears, and Damon sings sweet as pie. The lyrics are not without hope: Even though Mother Nature is dressed down as a sinister Croc-Hunter hating whore to be feared, we're all a submarine, looking for a dream faraway...or something like that.
'Heruclean' may just be straw that broke the camel's back enough to provoke Ennio Morricone to file a frivolous lawsuit against The Good, The Bad & The Queen: Much more hating on The Western World against a soundscape of much more spaghetti western whistling, a Mormon Tabernacle Man Choir, Danger Mouse beeps & whistles, otherworldly hag-mewling, sinister chord changes...it's all in there.
In short: This piece of work is No Fucking Fun but it's lovely and desperate and if you're a suicidal junkie, you'll most definitely identify and you'll most certainly want to gift your junkie-bitch girlfriend with it when Valentine's Day rolls around. It's the soundtrack to your final nod-off on some stoop somewhere around 2nd Avenue and 4th Street.
Other War-In-Iraq haters in the queue:
Norah Jones' new 'Not Too Late': Basically a concept album about how the war in Iraq makes her want to curl up and take a nap.
Bloc Party's 'The Price Of Gas': They've done the math and they still rock. A lesbian bar all-request night favorite. No surprise there.
John Mayer's 'Waiting For The World To Change': John's just gonna wait around for them venal, old-ass Republicans to die for shit to get better. Not exactly Johnny Rotten is he?
...hmmm....who else hates Bush and everything he stands for...
Pink does: 'Dear Mr. President'...Fuck ya, dubya! *splayed finger vag lick*
Neil Young: 'Let's Impeach The President'. Word.
Black Eyed Peas: 'Where's The Love'...this track makes me cry everytime I play it, which is embarrassing because The Peas kind of suck alot of the time and I hate to cry in public.
TV On The Radio: 'I Was A Lover'. Simple. Powerful. "I Was A Lover/Before The War...'
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
I Know It's Late And I Should Probably Be In Bed Or Married With Kids Or Revising My Resume...
...but Grizzly Bear's 'Yellow House' is FUCKING BREAKING MY HEART RIGHT NOW!
Get. Up.
Get up outta that chair and trot yourself down to Earwax or Douchehole or wherever you buy your music at and BUY THIS CD!
If Rolling Stone were AT ALL the tastemaker it thinks it is, it would have rated this piece of work five stars and whoever writes for them anymore would have gone on and on about Van Morrison and how maybe prog-rock wasn't so bad after all...
shit.
This is gorgeous stuff.
They're Fleetwood Mac meets King Crimson meets a garbage truck meets a Salvation Army Band meets The Turtles meets Electric Light Orchestra unplugged...
The stand-out track is a ghostly, slow-burning Beached Boy bolero: 'The Knife'...pure sexy necrophilia. Hear it once, light a candle for The Shangri-La's or Siouxsie Sioux or Mama Cass Elliott or Sharon Tate and ball your eyes out, or don't, but do put it on a mix cd for one of the undead you're currently retro-crushing on. If that's what you're in to.
..also they're from Brooklyn and they're all no doubt shorter than you. To hear them is to love them.
Get. Up.
Get up outta that chair and trot yourself down to Earwax or Douchehole or wherever you buy your music at and BUY THIS CD!
If Rolling Stone were AT ALL the tastemaker it thinks it is, it would have rated this piece of work five stars and whoever writes for them anymore would have gone on and on about Van Morrison and how maybe prog-rock wasn't so bad after all...
shit.
This is gorgeous stuff.
They're Fleetwood Mac meets King Crimson meets a garbage truck meets a Salvation Army Band meets The Turtles meets Electric Light Orchestra unplugged...
The stand-out track is a ghostly, slow-burning Beached Boy bolero: 'The Knife'...pure sexy necrophilia. Hear it once, light a candle for The Shangri-La's or Siouxsie Sioux or Mama Cass Elliott or Sharon Tate and ball your eyes out, or don't, but do put it on a mix cd for one of the undead you're currently retro-crushing on. If that's what you're in to.
..also they're from Brooklyn and they're all no doubt shorter than you. To hear them is to love them.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Dispatch From The Dance Floor: Nobody Doesn't Like Prince, Although Some Of The Gays File Him Under Easy Listening.
What is it about Anthony Kiedis that makes me shit blood?
You know what it is? He's like that one stoner frat guy who transcends cool to such a degree that he doesn't have to move his mouth when he talks (with a slight lisp), doesn't have to wear a shirt (ever, because he has negative body fat), can wear a kilt to class, can smell like ass (and that's somehow deemed 'sexy' by girls who will never fuck you, not in a million years), thinks he can rap and so every other suburban dickweed mistakes him for someone who can rap, can fuck dudes but not be labelled 'fag' because he's just, you know, he's koo-koo krazy (!) and he listens to P-Funk and those guys smoke a bunch of weed and so, like, they're open-minded and shit! (reference 'Standing On The Verge Of Getting It On' or 'Pot Sharing Tots' or 'Maggot Brain'), can shoot smack and still look like he just pranced up to the tiptop of Mt. Ranier without breaking a sweat, can have a hippie/degenerate-dad named Blackie Dammit who made indie movies in the sixties...it's just not fucking fair.
The whole California punk-hippie thing gives me hives, it's true, but, on second thought, could it be that The Red Hot Chili Peppers simply stink to high heaven?
Nope, no they don't. Not at all. Despite Kiedis' public persona (I'm not acquainted with the guy, after all...he could be one helluva straight-up fella for all I know), he's in fine voice anymore and I can't say enough about John Frusciante (genius), drummer Chad Smith (perpetually hot), and, of course, Flea carrying a significant amount of melodic burden on bass. Their harmonizing on 'Stadium Arcadium' is all Smiley-Smile Beach Boys and weirdly beautiful behind all the angsty-funkmatizing.
My favorite track is 'Strip My Mind' , which is goose-flesh raising 70's AM radio psychedelia-lite. Not quite sure what it's about necessarily, but the man-chorus and the Frusciante-solo makes me wanna go smoke a bowl and reflect. Not that I do much of either of those things.
The track that reminds me that socks-on-cocks was edgey-cute for a nan0-second but is a concept that hasn't aged very well is 'Warlocks', which manages to showcase all of the Kiedis quasi-funky vocal quirks that made you hate him in the first place. But again, nice work Frusciante...
Club Report:
I 'spun' myself to the bone this last week: Back-to-back gigs, standing for hours and hours drinking Miller Lite after Miller Lite, fielding requests for reggae and dancehall which are genres I know next to nothing about, trying to scrape together a set consisting of Shaggy, Shabba Ranks, old Blondie and Toots & The Maytals...
So far this week I've learned that a truly successful 80's set consists of six songs:
'Mickey', Toni Basil
'Take On Me', A-Ha (NOTE: why?)
Madonna (anything but especially 'Dress You Up'...again...why?)
'99 Luftballoons' (the German version really sets it off. Why?)
'Come On Eileen' (ohmifuckinggod...WHY?)
Lisa Lisa And The Cult Jam (but then again I mostly 'spin' in Brooklyn...that's why)
'Freedom', George Michael (some sort of mass pagan ecstatic release takes place whenever I pick this)
Hasn't aged very well:
Peter Gabriel/Genesis (anything)
Yes (their 'Owner/Lonely Heart' new wave moment was a lot of clatter but to what end?)
'Electric Boogie', Marcia Griffiths (clears the floor immediately)
Patti LaBelle (oy.)
'Puttin' On The Ritz', Taco (could've predicted that)
Red Hot Chili Peppers (apparently undanceable)
Jody Watley (clubgoers wish they liked her more than they actually do)
Rick Astley (pure camp)
Boys II Men (not so hype)
...but nobody doesn't like Prince. If I play 'Kiss', I'm guaranteed a cattle drive to the dance floor. But a d.j. who leans too hard on Prince is one lazy d.j. as far as I'm concerned. However...
I was rocking the 12" version of 'Erotic City' at a breast cancer benefit yesterday in Park Slope and the pushy little she/he in charge of the operation gripped my forearm and huskily whispered to me, all on the down-low:
"You need to play some dance music or some reggae, 'cuz we need to pack the dancefloor, 'mkay sweetie?"
...and then she trucked off like a the husky little Prince-oblivious Italian-American manchild she prides herself to be.
If you can't swivel your ass-shanks to 'Erotic City' (especially the 12"), then you may want to consult your neurologist or pop a fistful of Paxil...do something...because that's just wrong.
You know what it is? He's like that one stoner frat guy who transcends cool to such a degree that he doesn't have to move his mouth when he talks (with a slight lisp), doesn't have to wear a shirt (ever, because he has negative body fat), can wear a kilt to class, can smell like ass (and that's somehow deemed 'sexy' by girls who will never fuck you, not in a million years), thinks he can rap and so every other suburban dickweed mistakes him for someone who can rap, can fuck dudes but not be labelled 'fag' because he's just, you know, he's koo-koo krazy (!) and he listens to P-Funk and those guys smoke a bunch of weed and so, like, they're open-minded and shit! (reference 'Standing On The Verge Of Getting It On' or 'Pot Sharing Tots' or 'Maggot Brain'), can shoot smack and still look like he just pranced up to the tiptop of Mt. Ranier without breaking a sweat, can have a hippie/degenerate-dad named Blackie Dammit who made indie movies in the sixties...it's just not fucking fair.
The whole California punk-hippie thing gives me hives, it's true, but, on second thought, could it be that The Red Hot Chili Peppers simply stink to high heaven?
Nope, no they don't. Not at all. Despite Kiedis' public persona (I'm not acquainted with the guy, after all...he could be one helluva straight-up fella for all I know), he's in fine voice anymore and I can't say enough about John Frusciante (genius), drummer Chad Smith (perpetually hot), and, of course, Flea carrying a significant amount of melodic burden on bass. Their harmonizing on 'Stadium Arcadium' is all Smiley-Smile Beach Boys and weirdly beautiful behind all the angsty-funkmatizing.
My favorite track is 'Strip My Mind' , which is goose-flesh raising 70's AM radio psychedelia-lite. Not quite sure what it's about necessarily, but the man-chorus and the Frusciante-solo makes me wanna go smoke a bowl and reflect. Not that I do much of either of those things.
The track that reminds me that socks-on-cocks was edgey-cute for a nan0-second but is a concept that hasn't aged very well is 'Warlocks', which manages to showcase all of the Kiedis quasi-funky vocal quirks that made you hate him in the first place. But again, nice work Frusciante...
Club Report:
I 'spun' myself to the bone this last week: Back-to-back gigs, standing for hours and hours drinking Miller Lite after Miller Lite, fielding requests for reggae and dancehall which are genres I know next to nothing about, trying to scrape together a set consisting of Shaggy, Shabba Ranks, old Blondie and Toots & The Maytals...
So far this week I've learned that a truly successful 80's set consists of six songs:
'Mickey', Toni Basil
'Take On Me', A-Ha (NOTE: why?)
Madonna (anything but especially 'Dress You Up'...again...why?)
'99 Luftballoons' (the German version really sets it off. Why?)
'Come On Eileen' (ohmifuckinggod...WHY?)
Lisa Lisa And The Cult Jam (but then again I mostly 'spin' in Brooklyn...that's why)
'Freedom', George Michael (some sort of mass pagan ecstatic release takes place whenever I pick this)
Hasn't aged very well:
Peter Gabriel/Genesis (anything)
Yes (their 'Owner/Lonely Heart' new wave moment was a lot of clatter but to what end?)
'Electric Boogie', Marcia Griffiths (clears the floor immediately)
Patti LaBelle (oy.)
'Puttin' On The Ritz', Taco (could've predicted that)
Red Hot Chili Peppers (apparently undanceable)
Jody Watley (clubgoers wish they liked her more than they actually do)
Rick Astley (pure camp)
Boys II Men (not so hype)
...but nobody doesn't like Prince. If I play 'Kiss', I'm guaranteed a cattle drive to the dance floor. But a d.j. who leans too hard on Prince is one lazy d.j. as far as I'm concerned. However...
I was rocking the 12" version of 'Erotic City' at a breast cancer benefit yesterday in Park Slope and the pushy little she/he in charge of the operation gripped my forearm and huskily whispered to me, all on the down-low:
"You need to play some dance music or some reggae, 'cuz we need to pack the dancefloor, 'mkay sweetie?"
...and then she trucked off like a the husky little Prince-oblivious Italian-American manchild she prides herself to be.
If you can't swivel your ass-shanks to 'Erotic City' (especially the 12"), then you may want to consult your neurologist or pop a fistful of Paxil...do something...because that's just wrong.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Reason To Take Morphine And Die #1: People's Choice Awards
Everyone knows "we" "The People" are dumber than shit. So why would Procter & Gamble and CBS entrust "us" (buffaloed fuckwits) with the ungainly responsibility of conceding the trophy for People's Choice Favorite Hair of 2004 to Jennifer Garner?
...or why even stop there?
Let's Us Unwashed Masses go positively nutty and voice our choice for each and every celeb thought or summation, yay or nay, that crosses our silly little minds?
People's Choice For Best Glimpse Of Celebrity Naughty Bit: Kid Rock and That Christian Guy From Creed In That Streaming Sex Video Where The Christian Guy Got Head And Kid Rock Got His Bunghole Fingered.
People's Choice For Woefully Busted And Now Ostensibly Humbled "Please Still Love Me" Drunken Celebrity Mugshot: Melvin Gibson.
People's Choice For Most Asstarded Sample Ever: "Lonely Goatherd" (Gwen Stefani's 'Wind It Up')
People's Choice For Most Useless Celebrity The World Has Ever Suffered: Andy Dick (Obvious victor Paris Hilton disqualified due to complicated unilateral corporate sponsorship bylaws etc. etc.)
People's Choice For Comedian Who Sucks So Much Ass The Only Sincere Laugh This Guy Has Ever Heard Was Scratched From The Nicotine Ravaged Throat Of A New Jersey She-Male After He/She Spooged In Unfunny Dude's Eyeball: Jay Leno
People's Choice For Most Egregious Lack Of Max Factor: Judi Dench as That Fucking Lesbian Bitch in 'Notes On A Scandal'.
There doesn't seem to be a Darwinian logic to Award Shows. None of them mutate or fall off, they just multiply. I remember discovering the Oscars back in 1973 and I thought to myself 'well holy fuck, they give little gold naked guys with nice butts to little 10 year old girls in tuxedos' (Tatum O' Neal, Best Supporting Actress, 'Paper Moon')...but then the next year The Academy decided 70-something Art Carney's about-face performance playing a stoic old dude in 'Harry And Tonto' was far more compelling than Al Pacino phoning it in in 'Godfather Part II' or Jack Nicholson's pedestrian turn in 'Chinatown' and I thought to myself 'well fuck it. I'll spare myself the heartache and take it all with a grain of salt." And so it came to pass. Every year an A-Ha wins a Grammy for Best New Artist, or a Pia Zadora wins a Golden Globe, or a 'Crash' wins an Oscar, or a Nickelback wins a People's Choice Award for Lifetime Acheivement or who can keep track anymore.
My own personal Pony's Choice Award goes to Clem Snide for having the wit and the courage to record Christina Aguilera's 'Beautiful' utterly straight-faced.
Good for you, Eef and Company!
...or why even stop there?
Let's Us Unwashed Masses go positively nutty and voice our choice for each and every celeb thought or summation, yay or nay, that crosses our silly little minds?
People's Choice For Best Glimpse Of Celebrity Naughty Bit: Kid Rock and That Christian Guy From Creed In That Streaming Sex Video Where The Christian Guy Got Head And Kid Rock Got His Bunghole Fingered.
People's Choice For Woefully Busted And Now Ostensibly Humbled "Please Still Love Me" Drunken Celebrity Mugshot: Melvin Gibson.
People's Choice For Most Asstarded Sample Ever: "Lonely Goatherd" (Gwen Stefani's 'Wind It Up')
People's Choice For Most Useless Celebrity The World Has Ever Suffered: Andy Dick (Obvious victor Paris Hilton disqualified due to complicated unilateral corporate sponsorship bylaws etc. etc.)
People's Choice For Comedian Who Sucks So Much Ass The Only Sincere Laugh This Guy Has Ever Heard Was Scratched From The Nicotine Ravaged Throat Of A New Jersey She-Male After He/She Spooged In Unfunny Dude's Eyeball: Jay Leno
People's Choice For Most Egregious Lack Of Max Factor: Judi Dench as That Fucking Lesbian Bitch in 'Notes On A Scandal'.
There doesn't seem to be a Darwinian logic to Award Shows. None of them mutate or fall off, they just multiply. I remember discovering the Oscars back in 1973 and I thought to myself 'well holy fuck, they give little gold naked guys with nice butts to little 10 year old girls in tuxedos' (Tatum O' Neal, Best Supporting Actress, 'Paper Moon')...but then the next year The Academy decided 70-something Art Carney's about-face performance playing a stoic old dude in 'Harry And Tonto' was far more compelling than Al Pacino phoning it in in 'Godfather Part II' or Jack Nicholson's pedestrian turn in 'Chinatown' and I thought to myself 'well fuck it. I'll spare myself the heartache and take it all with a grain of salt." And so it came to pass. Every year an A-Ha wins a Grammy for Best New Artist, or a Pia Zadora wins a Golden Globe, or a 'Crash' wins an Oscar, or a Nickelback wins a People's Choice Award for Lifetime Acheivement or who can keep track anymore.
My own personal Pony's Choice Award goes to Clem Snide for having the wit and the courage to record Christina Aguilera's 'Beautiful' utterly straight-faced.
Good for you, Eef and Company!
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
iTunes Celebrity Playlists Validate My Existance (Sort Of)
So I was gonna blog about how the music biz is giving ladies the short-shrift but then I got drunk and forgot what my argument was supposed to be about in the first place: Something about Bob Dylan forgetting he ever had anything to do with Karen Dalton, an obscurified genius/Dylan enabler who succumbed to booze and smack in 1993...Karen Dalton is the most glorious folk artist you've never heard by the way. She's been compared to Billie Holliday in the same breath as having been described as 'an acquired taste'.
Acquired taste?! For real?!
It really didn't take too much in the way of a narcotic sedative for me to appreciate Lady Day the first time I heard her. Do we really need a Timbaland at the knobs to twiddle us male-dominated music-consuming public to feel a female songstress? If that's the case, then god help the Joanna Newsomes and the Joan As Police Womanses and the El Perro Del Marses because their hysterical Wiccan rants are gonna leave them crack-addled and starving if they don't flash their respective vaginas for US Weekly. (NOTE: Anne Coulter, you're no better than a vag-flashing Britney, you haggard, cocktail-swilling shill).
I really feel like ladies in the music biz are being shafted but I'm unclear as to why and how right now...I'm a little tipsy...why is Martha Wainwright unheard of in the shadow of her bro Rufus, why doesn't Cibo Matto's lovely foodie chanteuse Miho Hatori have a slew of never-ending solo gigs stretching from Coachella to Billboard Music Awards...can you name one single female artist who isn't under the thumb of some Svengali/Impresario?...Pink, I guess...still feels manufactured. Maybe Norah Jones...but she's no Joni Mitchell, a tad formulaic...Madonna, yes...but William Orbit really is her Svengali/Impresario/Phantom Of The Opera...if we're gonna call a spade a spade here.
My point here is that lately I've been listening to a lot of chick music (Tegan & Sara, Azure Ray, Goldfrapp) and I'm confused as to why none of their music impacts the Billboard charts. Tegan & Sara's 'Where Does The Good Go' would have have been a smash in the mid-70's. KT Tunstall charted briefly, and that gave me some hope, but 'Black Horse And The Cherry Tree' was almost a novelty single...something to be featured on K-Tel's 'Dr. Demento's Best Of Whacktacular Koo-Koo Shit You're Embarrassed To Admit You Like To Friends And Relatives', it's so anomalous, even though in it's pristine incarnation, it's breathtaking .
Maybe we don't give a shit about Billboard charts anymore, thanks to the iTunes revolution, but I'd really like to see a chick-artist(s) hunker down and build a body of work and prosper without Alpha-Male Hip-Hop Nation calling the shots. Nelly Furtado surrendered. Good for her.
Liz Phair's playlist on iTunes (as posted on October 31st, 2006) restored my faith in her 'Guyville' vision. Her playlist reads like a short story and it makes me pine for her crabby, failed-romantic voice. Also she has stellar taste in music (that strangely chimes with my own...call me, Liz!).
Her voice is necessary. This bitch needs to write tablets worth of prose because there's a world of pie-faced boys & girls who ache to read her shit.
Word to Patricia Arquette and her crazy-quilt playlist. I only wish she would have expanded upon her picks. I have a feeling that I'd like to sit and nurse a cocktail or two with her and pick her brain but I'd like a trailer or something...I'd like to know what I'm in for.
More iTunes Playlists!
Acquired taste?! For real?!
It really didn't take too much in the way of a narcotic sedative for me to appreciate Lady Day the first time I heard her. Do we really need a Timbaland at the knobs to twiddle us male-dominated music-consuming public to feel a female songstress? If that's the case, then god help the Joanna Newsomes and the Joan As Police Womanses and the El Perro Del Marses because their hysterical Wiccan rants are gonna leave them crack-addled and starving if they don't flash their respective vaginas for US Weekly. (NOTE: Anne Coulter, you're no better than a vag-flashing Britney, you haggard, cocktail-swilling shill).
I really feel like ladies in the music biz are being shafted but I'm unclear as to why and how right now...I'm a little tipsy...why is Martha Wainwright unheard of in the shadow of her bro Rufus, why doesn't Cibo Matto's lovely foodie chanteuse Miho Hatori have a slew of never-ending solo gigs stretching from Coachella to Billboard Music Awards...can you name one single female artist who isn't under the thumb of some Svengali/Impresario?...Pink, I guess...still feels manufactured. Maybe Norah Jones...but she's no Joni Mitchell, a tad formulaic...Madonna, yes...but William Orbit really is her Svengali/Impresario/Phantom Of The Opera...if we're gonna call a spade a spade here.
My point here is that lately I've been listening to a lot of chick music (Tegan & Sara, Azure Ray, Goldfrapp) and I'm confused as to why none of their music impacts the Billboard charts. Tegan & Sara's 'Where Does The Good Go' would have have been a smash in the mid-70's. KT Tunstall charted briefly, and that gave me some hope, but 'Black Horse And The Cherry Tree' was almost a novelty single...something to be featured on K-Tel's 'Dr. Demento's Best Of Whacktacular Koo-Koo Shit You're Embarrassed To Admit You Like To Friends And Relatives', it's so anomalous, even though in it's pristine incarnation, it's breathtaking .
Maybe we don't give a shit about Billboard charts anymore, thanks to the iTunes revolution, but I'd really like to see a chick-artist(s) hunker down and build a body of work and prosper without Alpha-Male Hip-Hop Nation calling the shots. Nelly Furtado surrendered. Good for her.
Liz Phair's playlist on iTunes (as posted on October 31st, 2006) restored my faith in her 'Guyville' vision. Her playlist reads like a short story and it makes me pine for her crabby, failed-romantic voice. Also she has stellar taste in music (that strangely chimes with my own...call me, Liz!).
Her voice is necessary. This bitch needs to write tablets worth of prose because there's a world of pie-faced boys & girls who ache to read her shit.
Word to Patricia Arquette and her crazy-quilt playlist. I only wish she would have expanded upon her picks. I have a feeling that I'd like to sit and nurse a cocktail or two with her and pick her brain but I'd like a trailer or something...I'd like to know what I'm in for.
More iTunes Playlists!
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Reason To Live #1: Clint, Michigan.
The Ponyster is not normally one to pimp bands but recently I've sampled a shitload of new ones (a lot of them local...B.K. Brooklyn in tha house, etc. etc.): Brazilian Girls (fun as fuck but too-cool-for-school and so I'm a little intimidated by them...I hope I never have to wait on Sabina Brazilian Girl...I can't tell my NuBlu from my NoBu and I'd probably have to apologize to her for being fat...), The Knife (not from Brooklyn but probably the most significant dance band to come down the pike since New Order)...and...
Clint, Michigan.
I love this band. They're as if The Carter Family with Very Special Guest Andy Bell from Erasure opened for Iris DeMent at The Cock. Clint "Michigan" Asay's voice is dove-bar sweet; he could work it hard for his teen fanbase but he gives plenty of playtime to his bandmates Pinky (ubiquitous viola-player here in NYC...love her) and Mason (mandolin). Great, bittersweet, snarky, just-short-of-arch songwriting and soaring harmonies...lovely. I'd produce them if I knew how to produce (I'm learning) but I'm sure LD Beghtol or Stephin Merritt will step in and do the job for me.
Look out for them. I'm sure they're a gas live on stage. Clint's a trip...it's worth the price of admission just to hear his stage patter.
Clint, Michigan.
I love this band. They're as if The Carter Family with Very Special Guest Andy Bell from Erasure opened for Iris DeMent at The Cock. Clint "Michigan" Asay's voice is dove-bar sweet; he could work it hard for his teen fanbase but he gives plenty of playtime to his bandmates Pinky (ubiquitous viola-player here in NYC...love her) and Mason (mandolin). Great, bittersweet, snarky, just-short-of-arch songwriting and soaring harmonies...lovely. I'd produce them if I knew how to produce (I'm learning) but I'm sure LD Beghtol or Stephin Merritt will step in and do the job for me.
Look out for them. I'm sure they're a gas live on stage. Clint's a trip...it's worth the price of admission just to hear his stage patter.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Ghetto Love: From Ben E. King To Willy Deville To John Legend
We've established that I'm a hopeless, bleary-eyed sap...but there's no shame in my game so why not wear my heart on my sleeve (again)?
So I'm gonna put together a mix and dedicate it to The Man That Got Away (he knows who he is). I'm in a Drifters loping-along-the-boardwalk kind of mood so I'm going to go with that flavor. Ghetto Love Songs are irresistable. Two people coming together with every odd stacked against them...well...it's the crux, the nitty-gritty of every make-out worthy, sweaty slow-dance ever fumbled on a gymnasium floor. So here goes:
'A Lover's Question', Clyde McPhatter: From the accapella basso profundo 'bum-bum-bum-BUM-bum-be-bum', finger-snapping intro to the Tex-Mex rhythmic acoustic guitar thrumming along behind Clyde's soaring tenor, the universal question 'do you love me?' is posed as he unpacks all that he'd care to know and then melismas all over the place in the fade out, no answer in sight. Sorry Clyde, but love is a dog from hell. Didn't you know?
'This Magic Moment', The Drifters: Let's just assume, Clyde, that the lover in question wants your ass and all your dreams are realized. Sure, there'll be gales of strings to launch you two lovebirds off on the wings of a dove and yes, everything you want, you'll have. But only for a moment. Nothing lasts, Clyde, and while her lips are close to yours, most likely sweeter than wine, Ben E. King is in the queue, waiting to hop to it when you get bumped to the curb. Sorry, Clyde, but nobody ever promised you a Rose that grows in Spanish Harlem.
'Spanish Harlem', Ben E. King: 'Spanish' and 'Harlem' are two very succulent words that, when juxtaposed with 'rose' well...hell...who wouldn't want to rent a sixth-floor walk-up uptown for too much money and just live there? Bad news for you Ben E., Latinas would rather not be planted in your garden, they'd rather take the A train or cab it down to bottle-service clubs in the meatpacking district. But there's a certain gay guy in Clinton Hill who wouldn't mind a repotting. What would that make me, a cob that grows somewhere north and east of Park Slope?
'Drip Drop', Dion: Piss-poor plumbing as a metaphor for a shitty relationship wouldn't seem that revelutionary or even remotely that original, but Dion wails on this track like a guy who is truly fucked. The girl ('got no brain') packed up her bags and moved out on the midnight train ('the girl's insane'). His buddy comes to see him to give Dion's hapless ass a tip-tip-tip but Dion ain't having it: 'mind your own business/shut your lip-lip-lip/I know when my girl's given me the slip-slip-slip'. Tears fall in sheets of rain, street-corner dudes clap in time to infrastructural devastation, and Dion whines with a sob that makes Bright Eyes look like an alpha-male daytrader. 'on the floor, the rug, on the wall'....shit is bad, people. Call the Tenant Advocacy folks, Dion. You have more rights than you think you do.
'Are You There With Another Girl', Dionne Warwick: Goddamnit John, not only are you not into me but you had to move to Alaska, marry your best friend's sister, and spawn a trifecta of perfect toddlers. I guess you are there with another girl. I suppose I won't 'surely die' but...I'm disappointed, dammit. At least 60's era Dionne had Clinique, inflatable furniture, Bacharach on at the baby grand and Pop Art to console herself with. All I've got is Coors Light.
'Stay With Me', Lorraine Ellison: Bette Midler did a pretty good job with this forgotten gem in 'The Rose', what with her alcohol-ravaged, Courtney Love, throat-scarring rasp and all but Lorraine Ellison trilled the original like a dutiful housewife wronged, ovenmits and all, who just goes ahead and has a nervous breakdown on the linoleum floor of her Union City kitchen. Other nervous breakdowns on record include a couple of Jennifers telling you they're not going and I suppose every Janis Joplin and Alanis Morrisette track ever commited to tape. Personally, I prefer a nice, polite Connie Francis implosion but that's because I numb myself with aspirin, dope and alcohol, just like Connie Francis did (does).
To be continued...
So I'm gonna put together a mix and dedicate it to The Man That Got Away (he knows who he is). I'm in a Drifters loping-along-the-boardwalk kind of mood so I'm going to go with that flavor. Ghetto Love Songs are irresistable. Two people coming together with every odd stacked against them...well...it's the crux, the nitty-gritty of every make-out worthy, sweaty slow-dance ever fumbled on a gymnasium floor. So here goes:
'A Lover's Question', Clyde McPhatter: From the accapella basso profundo 'bum-bum-bum-BUM-bum-be-bum', finger-snapping intro to the Tex-Mex rhythmic acoustic guitar thrumming along behind Clyde's soaring tenor, the universal question 'do you love me?' is posed as he unpacks all that he'd care to know and then melismas all over the place in the fade out, no answer in sight. Sorry Clyde, but love is a dog from hell. Didn't you know?
'This Magic Moment', The Drifters: Let's just assume, Clyde, that the lover in question wants your ass and all your dreams are realized. Sure, there'll be gales of strings to launch you two lovebirds off on the wings of a dove and yes, everything you want, you'll have. But only for a moment. Nothing lasts, Clyde, and while her lips are close to yours, most likely sweeter than wine, Ben E. King is in the queue, waiting to hop to it when you get bumped to the curb. Sorry, Clyde, but nobody ever promised you a Rose that grows in Spanish Harlem.
'Spanish Harlem', Ben E. King: 'Spanish' and 'Harlem' are two very succulent words that, when juxtaposed with 'rose' well...hell...who wouldn't want to rent a sixth-floor walk-up uptown for too much money and just live there? Bad news for you Ben E., Latinas would rather not be planted in your garden, they'd rather take the A train or cab it down to bottle-service clubs in the meatpacking district. But there's a certain gay guy in Clinton Hill who wouldn't mind a repotting. What would that make me, a cob that grows somewhere north and east of Park Slope?
'Drip Drop', Dion: Piss-poor plumbing as a metaphor for a shitty relationship wouldn't seem that revelutionary or even remotely that original, but Dion wails on this track like a guy who is truly fucked. The girl ('got no brain') packed up her bags and moved out on the midnight train ('the girl's insane'). His buddy comes to see him to give Dion's hapless ass a tip-tip-tip but Dion ain't having it: 'mind your own business/shut your lip-lip-lip/I know when my girl's given me the slip-slip-slip'. Tears fall in sheets of rain, street-corner dudes clap in time to infrastructural devastation, and Dion whines with a sob that makes Bright Eyes look like an alpha-male daytrader. 'on the floor, the rug, on the wall'....shit is bad, people. Call the Tenant Advocacy folks, Dion. You have more rights than you think you do.
'Are You There With Another Girl', Dionne Warwick: Goddamnit John, not only are you not into me but you had to move to Alaska, marry your best friend's sister, and spawn a trifecta of perfect toddlers. I guess you are there with another girl. I suppose I won't 'surely die' but...I'm disappointed, dammit. At least 60's era Dionne had Clinique, inflatable furniture, Bacharach on at the baby grand and Pop Art to console herself with. All I've got is Coors Light.
'Stay With Me', Lorraine Ellison: Bette Midler did a pretty good job with this forgotten gem in 'The Rose', what with her alcohol-ravaged, Courtney Love, throat-scarring rasp and all but Lorraine Ellison trilled the original like a dutiful housewife wronged, ovenmits and all, who just goes ahead and has a nervous breakdown on the linoleum floor of her Union City kitchen. Other nervous breakdowns on record include a couple of Jennifers telling you they're not going and I suppose every Janis Joplin and Alanis Morrisette track ever commited to tape. Personally, I prefer a nice, polite Connie Francis implosion but that's because I numb myself with aspirin, dope and alcohol, just like Connie Francis did (does).
To be continued...
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
It's A Thin Line Between ThrowDown And ShowTune
I'll admit it, some artists I just do not get. Nellie McKay is one of them. I want to like her because she's a freak-flag waving anti-folk dork (I need to know a little something about this 'anti-folk' movement the kids tend to hate on. I'm fifteen years after the fact, I know, but I worked at Sidewalk Cafe on Avenue A where this whole anti-folk scene was bred but I still don't know what the hell it is). My personal truth is that her music bugs the snot right out of me.
See the problem is this: I'm a pop sucker-chump. I'm into great big echoe-y, reverb heavy production, batshit arrangement choices but most of all...I loves me some keyboard. Even if the song is an Emerson, Lake, & Palmer homage featuring lyrics rhyming 'Rock Me Guiliani' with 'Lockheed Spooge Upon Me' ...if it features overproduced layers upon overdubs upon samples of pianos and strings I probably shamelessly adore it.
Some examples of this:
All of Arcade Fire's 'Funeral'
Magnetic Fields
H.P. Lovecraft (the psychedelic band, not the author)
Anything Phil Spector has ever had a hand in
Electric Light Orchestra's 'Out Of The Blue'
David Bowie's 'Hunky Dory'
Rolling Stones' 'Their Satanic Majesties Request'
Frank Zappa & The Mothers Of Invention
Bread
Black Keys (so reverb heavy I can't actually play them out in bars because it's just shrill and trebly. Drinkers leave in droves.)
...and Nellie McKay produces her own stuff which is pretty amazing because her newest release 'Pretty Little Head' features some truly stellar production. But...'Pretty Little Head' is the original cast soundtrack to what I imagine to be my worst nightmare of an Off-Broadway musical. I never wanted to see 'Urinetown' because I guessed that the music was atrocious and I was right because I bought the cast album/cd used and it was unlistenable. 'Spring Awakenings' is said to be the 'Rent' of 2006. Is that supposed to be high praise?! 'Rent' is 'AIDS For Dummies' as sung through by the cast of 'Zoom'. I realize that the score for 'Spring Awakenings' was written by Duncan Sheik which lends the endeavor a certain amount of mid-90's hipster credibility but why isn't Elvis Costello writing Broadway musicals? Or Tom Waits? Or Goldfrapp? Ying Yang Twins?
So anyway, I can't get behind Nellie. No hooks. 'Cupcake' is a well-intentioned tribute to gay marriage but it's about as fun as actually attending a commitment ceremony upstate somewhere around Syracuse or something. Regina Spektor is flat-out quackers in the Nellie McKay vein but she manages to at least reference a radio friendly single (specifically 'November Rain') once in a while. And 'On The Radio' should be on the radio because it's what 'Hollaback Girl' would be if it only had a brain. She's got some funk and I'm looking forward to more of her shit.
That's all. Nothing more to write.
See the problem is this: I'm a pop sucker-chump. I'm into great big echoe-y, reverb heavy production, batshit arrangement choices but most of all...I loves me some keyboard. Even if the song is an Emerson, Lake, & Palmer homage featuring lyrics rhyming 'Rock Me Guiliani' with 'Lockheed Spooge Upon Me' ...if it features overproduced layers upon overdubs upon samples of pianos and strings I probably shamelessly adore it.
Some examples of this:
All of Arcade Fire's 'Funeral'
Magnetic Fields
H.P. Lovecraft (the psychedelic band, not the author)
Anything Phil Spector has ever had a hand in
Electric Light Orchestra's 'Out Of The Blue'
David Bowie's 'Hunky Dory'
Rolling Stones' 'Their Satanic Majesties Request'
Frank Zappa & The Mothers Of Invention
Bread
Black Keys (so reverb heavy I can't actually play them out in bars because it's just shrill and trebly. Drinkers leave in droves.)
...and Nellie McKay produces her own stuff which is pretty amazing because her newest release 'Pretty Little Head' features some truly stellar production. But...'Pretty Little Head' is the original cast soundtrack to what I imagine to be my worst nightmare of an Off-Broadway musical. I never wanted to see 'Urinetown' because I guessed that the music was atrocious and I was right because I bought the cast album/cd used and it was unlistenable. 'Spring Awakenings' is said to be the 'Rent' of 2006. Is that supposed to be high praise?! 'Rent' is 'AIDS For Dummies' as sung through by the cast of 'Zoom'. I realize that the score for 'Spring Awakenings' was written by Duncan Sheik which lends the endeavor a certain amount of mid-90's hipster credibility but why isn't Elvis Costello writing Broadway musicals? Or Tom Waits? Or Goldfrapp? Ying Yang Twins?
So anyway, I can't get behind Nellie. No hooks. 'Cupcake' is a well-intentioned tribute to gay marriage but it's about as fun as actually attending a commitment ceremony upstate somewhere around Syracuse or something. Regina Spektor is flat-out quackers in the Nellie McKay vein but she manages to at least reference a radio friendly single (specifically 'November Rain') once in a while. And 'On The Radio' should be on the radio because it's what 'Hollaback Girl' would be if it only had a brain. She's got some funk and I'm looking forward to more of her shit.
That's all. Nothing more to write.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Worst, Most Offensive Movie Of An Already Shitty Year For 'Les Cinema'
Jesus Christ but who in fuck gave the green light for 'Notes On A Scandal' starring Oscarbait Bitches Judi Dench and Cate Blanchett?
I borrowed a 'For Your Consideration' screener of the hoary piece of garbage and what did I learn?
I learned that we homosexuals are utterly unfuckable, fusty, fastidious neurotics- doomed-to-die-alone-and-who-actually-deserve-to-die-alone, dead-cat grieving hobbits who undermine the utterly pure unbridled life-affirming heterosexual lust of right-thinking breeders who just want to fuck and fuck and fuck and fuck but goddamnit us jealous-ass undersexed faggotdykes just keep FUCKING it up for you blessed fuckhappy Children Of Jesus.
On the other hand, 'Babel' wasn't half bad.
I borrowed a 'For Your Consideration' screener of the hoary piece of garbage and what did I learn?
I learned that we homosexuals are utterly unfuckable, fusty, fastidious neurotics- doomed-to-die-alone-and-who-actually-deserve-to-die-alone, dead-cat grieving hobbits who undermine the utterly pure unbridled life-affirming heterosexual lust of right-thinking breeders who just want to fuck and fuck and fuck and fuck but goddamnit us jealous-ass undersexed faggotdykes just keep FUCKING it up for you blessed fuckhappy Children Of Jesus.
On the other hand, 'Babel' wasn't half bad.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
More Year End Schwag.
2006 will not go down in history as a banner year. Period.
If you had a good year please feel free to comment because I'd sincerely love to read about it. Take a moment, share your joy. The best I can say about 2006 is that some unlikely individuals squeezed out babies and December's weather here in NYC has been downright pretty. Broadway had a good year apparently but who honestly gives a rat's ass other than a few of my homosexual brethren. I did see my first Broadway play this year: George Bernard Shaw's 'Heartbreak House' which had something to do with dithering Capitalists welcoming war with wide-open arms. I don't know what that has to do with Britney's vagina but my date seemed to think it was all somehow relevant.
Here are my picks for 'albums' of the year (for real now, no fudging for hipster-cred):
10. Teddybears 'Soft Machine': Remember ABBA? The nostalgia machine won't let us forget. Thankfully 'Chiquitita' doesn't suck half as bad as I had thought at the time, back in the late 70's, when their synthetic harmonies were all over the radio. Sweden is once again Bubblehead Pop Ground Zero (other Swedes hogging Pitchfork hype: The Knife (technically techno), El Perro Del Mar, The Concretes, The Hives etc. etc.) but for me Teddybears' 'Soft Machine' is the motherlode. Every track would be ubiquitous radio smashes in a perfect world. The States should be suffering Teddybears fatigue right now but because Hip-Hop Nation has radio under lockdown, the only exposure they'll get is via car commercials and MySpace. Tracks of note: 'Yours To Keep' featuring Neneh Cherry's honey-sweet vocals and somewhere deep in the mix, Norway's Annie. Also 'Punkrocker', featuring Iggy Pop phoning it in. It's about as 'punk' as the theme from 'The Rockford Files' but you'll have to undergo laser brain-erasure after hearing it but one time. Both tracks are on Satisfaction Pony setlist heavy rotation.
9. Beth Orton 'Comfort Of Strangers': A lot of my friends must think she's dull as paste because they can never remember who she is but I think her voice is irresistable comfort food. It's like that slant of light that bathes the house you grew up in, just before the sun sinks in the west on a Sunday evening. Or fuck Dickinson, she's more like a slightly remorseful shiraz buzz. Plus she hangs out with very cool producers like Ben Watt and Four Tet. Starbucks never got around to co-opting her so you can still forge your own relationship with her, sans corporate endorsement. Standout tracks: 'Worms' and the title track which trips along gently like your babysitter on a couple caps of 'shrooms.
Um, some guy just knocked on my window and asked for five bucks. I know, I know...it's Christmas Eve and I should have forked it over but: Five bucks?! WTF?!
8. Justin Timberlake 'Futurelove/Sexsounds': Okay, okay...'Dick In A Box' was pretty fucking funny and 'What Goes Around...' is an amazing track, worthy of Al Green. I give up already. Jesus. It still feels like a Pat Boone whitewash. It's a Timbaland record for God's sake!
7. Black Lips 'Let It Bloom': I confess, I've never actually heard this album (mostly because I can't find it anywhere) but if it's half as good as their Springtime set @ Madison, Wisconsin's High Noon Saloon then it's a freaking classic. Look, I never said I was a critic...I'm a d.j. and a fan. Look out for their upcoming release. The buzz is strong. Jack White watch yourself.
6. 'Marie Antoinette' Original Soundtrack: I'll say this much, that Sofia Coppola sure can throw together a pretty soundtrack. Her 'Virgin Suicides' playlist made me weep like a wee little girl. And now she's introduced me to The Radio Dept. and reacquainted me with Gang Of Four in one fell swoop. Hatch some more Coppolas, Sofia...somebody needs to fill the Robert Altman void (r.i.p.).
In putting together this list I'm realizing that I don't actually listen to 'albums' anymore like I once did. iTunes has changed everything. Have I lost something here?
5. Louis XIV 'The Best Little Secrets Are Kept': I'm not actually certain when this was released but I've been discovering it and re-discovering it throughout the year. I'll put on iTunes Party Shuffle, walk away to shoo away this chip-hungry rat or that window-knocking vagrant and I'll hear something naughty that sort of sounds like Bon Scott's AC/DC and lo and behold it's always Louis XIV! Dirty dirty boys these Louis XIV. 'The Grand Apartment' is laugh out loud retarded and it's as fresh today as when I first heard it way back in February. Rock n' roll showmanship isn't dead, it's just a crime punishable by incarceration.
4. Vince Guaraldi Trio, 'A Charlie Brown Christmas': Why are you looking at me like that? Is there anything more perfect than the brush-snare wisp of 'Christmastime Is Here'? No. There isn't.
3. Spank Rock, 'Yoyoyoyoyo': Okay, this is what I'm talking about. This is what hip-hop once was and will be again: Total DIY, homebaked goodness. If you don't have a good time shaking your ass-hams to 'Sweet Talk' ('tap that ass/tap that ass/tap that ass') then you're without hope or purpose. Funny, beatcentric, melodic good-timing. And that's what it's all about.
2. Cat Power 'The Greatest': All of a sudden I love this bitch. I've hated her, almost irrationally, for so long and now I've been set free. Her mopey voice makes so much sense in the context of tune-impaired honky-tonk pianos recorded in somebody's gay uncle's rim-chair/sling hung from the ceiling room. She sounds as old as methuselah and as drunk as I tend to be and goshdarnit she's a looker on top of it all.
'Once I wanted to be the greatest/
No wind or waterfall could stop me/
Then came the rush of flood/
The stars at night turned you to dust.'
I'm sorry but that shit is wrenching. That's heartbreak etched into the walls of your cardiomyopic heart (or mine, rather).
Man.
1. Goldfrapp 'Supernatural'/Tom Waits 'Orphans' (tie):
As far as I'm concerned, Madonna can just retire because Goldfrapp is here to liberate dancefloors and groove-hungry aesthetes from their respective lock-step, drug-dependant stupors. Here's a diva who has taken classical romanticism absolutely seriously and then spins it to suit her own decadent, Weimar Germany needs. She is exactly what Bush-era America in decline requires. Her voice lacks American Idolatry because she's an iron goddess for the blitzkrieg but she's winking too. She's a populist, one of us...unlike Madonna, who makes it clear to us again and again that she's over us and that her producers will deal with her fanbase by proxy. Ultimately, I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about here, it's just that I'm feeling Goldfrapp whereas I can appreciate Madonna, much like I can blandly enjoy a waxwork.
Goldfrapp is the distaff version of Tom Waits. The Real Tomkat has been deep into fat beats for fifteen years or more and he keeps crowing in interviews about how his Tomkittens (Sullivan and Casey) keep him plugged into banging on shit and beat-boxing and whatnot and I pretty much believe him: He's definitely not faking the funk on 'Orphans', a collection so dense it would take you a month hunkered down in a cabin somewhere in the sticks, just you and your iPod, to sort it all out and absorb it. I certainly haven't managed to take it all in and I've been living with it for several weeks. All I can say so far is that his version of 'Goodnight Irene' is quite possibly the definitive (Leadbelly notwithstanding) and judging from 'Never Let Go', well, if Goldfrapp and Tom Waits ever did collaborate it would be an immaculate conception so delicious flashlights all around the world would spontaneously combust. (NOTE: I've been drinking).
So that's my list. Big whoop, I know...hey...I left out LeeAnn Womack who is responsible for the best country album of the year bar none. She evokes Nashville circa 1972 without getting lost in nostalgia and her restraint alone is worthy of inclusion on the PonyList. Sorry, LeeAnn. But you know that I love you.
I love you.
I really do.
If you had a good year please feel free to comment because I'd sincerely love to read about it. Take a moment, share your joy. The best I can say about 2006 is that some unlikely individuals squeezed out babies and December's weather here in NYC has been downright pretty. Broadway had a good year apparently but who honestly gives a rat's ass other than a few of my homosexual brethren. I did see my first Broadway play this year: George Bernard Shaw's 'Heartbreak House' which had something to do with dithering Capitalists welcoming war with wide-open arms. I don't know what that has to do with Britney's vagina but my date seemed to think it was all somehow relevant.
Here are my picks for 'albums' of the year (for real now, no fudging for hipster-cred):
10. Teddybears 'Soft Machine': Remember ABBA? The nostalgia machine won't let us forget. Thankfully 'Chiquitita' doesn't suck half as bad as I had thought at the time, back in the late 70's, when their synthetic harmonies were all over the radio. Sweden is once again Bubblehead Pop Ground Zero (other Swedes hogging Pitchfork hype: The Knife (technically techno), El Perro Del Mar, The Concretes, The Hives etc. etc.) but for me Teddybears' 'Soft Machine' is the motherlode. Every track would be ubiquitous radio smashes in a perfect world. The States should be suffering Teddybears fatigue right now but because Hip-Hop Nation has radio under lockdown, the only exposure they'll get is via car commercials and MySpace. Tracks of note: 'Yours To Keep' featuring Neneh Cherry's honey-sweet vocals and somewhere deep in the mix, Norway's Annie. Also 'Punkrocker', featuring Iggy Pop phoning it in. It's about as 'punk' as the theme from 'The Rockford Files' but you'll have to undergo laser brain-erasure after hearing it but one time. Both tracks are on Satisfaction Pony setlist heavy rotation.
9. Beth Orton 'Comfort Of Strangers': A lot of my friends must think she's dull as paste because they can never remember who she is but I think her voice is irresistable comfort food. It's like that slant of light that bathes the house you grew up in, just before the sun sinks in the west on a Sunday evening. Or fuck Dickinson, she's more like a slightly remorseful shiraz buzz. Plus she hangs out with very cool producers like Ben Watt and Four Tet. Starbucks never got around to co-opting her so you can still forge your own relationship with her, sans corporate endorsement. Standout tracks: 'Worms' and the title track which trips along gently like your babysitter on a couple caps of 'shrooms.
Um, some guy just knocked on my window and asked for five bucks. I know, I know...it's Christmas Eve and I should have forked it over but: Five bucks?! WTF?!
8. Justin Timberlake 'Futurelove/Sexsounds': Okay, okay...'Dick In A Box' was pretty fucking funny and 'What Goes Around...' is an amazing track, worthy of Al Green. I give up already. Jesus. It still feels like a Pat Boone whitewash. It's a Timbaland record for God's sake!
7. Black Lips 'Let It Bloom': I confess, I've never actually heard this album (mostly because I can't find it anywhere) but if it's half as good as their Springtime set @ Madison, Wisconsin's High Noon Saloon then it's a freaking classic. Look, I never said I was a critic...I'm a d.j. and a fan. Look out for their upcoming release. The buzz is strong. Jack White watch yourself.
6. 'Marie Antoinette' Original Soundtrack: I'll say this much, that Sofia Coppola sure can throw together a pretty soundtrack. Her 'Virgin Suicides' playlist made me weep like a wee little girl. And now she's introduced me to The Radio Dept. and reacquainted me with Gang Of Four in one fell swoop. Hatch some more Coppolas, Sofia...somebody needs to fill the Robert Altman void (r.i.p.).
In putting together this list I'm realizing that I don't actually listen to 'albums' anymore like I once did. iTunes has changed everything. Have I lost something here?
5. Louis XIV 'The Best Little Secrets Are Kept': I'm not actually certain when this was released but I've been discovering it and re-discovering it throughout the year. I'll put on iTunes Party Shuffle, walk away to shoo away this chip-hungry rat or that window-knocking vagrant and I'll hear something naughty that sort of sounds like Bon Scott's AC/DC and lo and behold it's always Louis XIV! Dirty dirty boys these Louis XIV. 'The Grand Apartment' is laugh out loud retarded and it's as fresh today as when I first heard it way back in February. Rock n' roll showmanship isn't dead, it's just a crime punishable by incarceration.
4. Vince Guaraldi Trio, 'A Charlie Brown Christmas': Why are you looking at me like that? Is there anything more perfect than the brush-snare wisp of 'Christmastime Is Here'? No. There isn't.
3. Spank Rock, 'Yoyoyoyoyo': Okay, this is what I'm talking about. This is what hip-hop once was and will be again: Total DIY, homebaked goodness. If you don't have a good time shaking your ass-hams to 'Sweet Talk' ('tap that ass/tap that ass/tap that ass') then you're without hope or purpose. Funny, beatcentric, melodic good-timing. And that's what it's all about.
2. Cat Power 'The Greatest': All of a sudden I love this bitch. I've hated her, almost irrationally, for so long and now I've been set free. Her mopey voice makes so much sense in the context of tune-impaired honky-tonk pianos recorded in somebody's gay uncle's rim-chair/sling hung from the ceiling room. She sounds as old as methuselah and as drunk as I tend to be and goshdarnit she's a looker on top of it all.
'Once I wanted to be the greatest/
No wind or waterfall could stop me/
Then came the rush of flood/
The stars at night turned you to dust.'
I'm sorry but that shit is wrenching. That's heartbreak etched into the walls of your cardiomyopic heart (or mine, rather).
Man.
1. Goldfrapp 'Supernatural'/Tom Waits 'Orphans' (tie):
As far as I'm concerned, Madonna can just retire because Goldfrapp is here to liberate dancefloors and groove-hungry aesthetes from their respective lock-step, drug-dependant stupors. Here's a diva who has taken classical romanticism absolutely seriously and then spins it to suit her own decadent, Weimar Germany needs. She is exactly what Bush-era America in decline requires. Her voice lacks American Idolatry because she's an iron goddess for the blitzkrieg but she's winking too. She's a populist, one of us...unlike Madonna, who makes it clear to us again and again that she's over us and that her producers will deal with her fanbase by proxy. Ultimately, I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about here, it's just that I'm feeling Goldfrapp whereas I can appreciate Madonna, much like I can blandly enjoy a waxwork.
Goldfrapp is the distaff version of Tom Waits. The Real Tomkat has been deep into fat beats for fifteen years or more and he keeps crowing in interviews about how his Tomkittens (Sullivan and Casey) keep him plugged into banging on shit and beat-boxing and whatnot and I pretty much believe him: He's definitely not faking the funk on 'Orphans', a collection so dense it would take you a month hunkered down in a cabin somewhere in the sticks, just you and your iPod, to sort it all out and absorb it. I certainly haven't managed to take it all in and I've been living with it for several weeks. All I can say so far is that his version of 'Goodnight Irene' is quite possibly the definitive (Leadbelly notwithstanding) and judging from 'Never Let Go', well, if Goldfrapp and Tom Waits ever did collaborate it would be an immaculate conception so delicious flashlights all around the world would spontaneously combust. (NOTE: I've been drinking).
So that's my list. Big whoop, I know...hey...I left out LeeAnn Womack who is responsible for the best country album of the year bar none. She evokes Nashville circa 1972 without getting lost in nostalgia and her restraint alone is worthy of inclusion on the PonyList. Sorry, LeeAnn. But you know that I love you.
I love you.
I really do.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Year End Wrap Up
I more or less gave up on this blog because I was fired by SBCGLOBAL.NET and so thus my email account was dinked... so logging on to Blogspot.com has become a Maxwell Smart maze of tricky trap doors and forgotten passwords...and I get so fatigued...
hello?
*taps mic*
Is this thing on?
Anyway...I'm a big fan of ellipses and YouTube links (I've tried to upload an old Soul Train video of Aretha Franklin NAILING 'Oh Me Oh My' to this blog many many times but to no avail)...but I'm an even bigger fan of year-end best-of lists so here's mine:
Best Return To Form:
Jon-Jon Diary: I had a good time hating on his juicy, odious ass courtesy of his brain-bruising, self-aggrandizing blogs on the interwebs but then all-of-a-sudden his vile, yet articulate, spewage took a sharp turn south and I couldn't make heads nor tails of what exactly he was madly raving on about. Alas, he's clawed his way out of his psychic K-hole, he's made it through the rain, and it turns out he's no longer a sickening guilty pleasure: I'm actually proud to say that I now hate him, intellect fully engaged, with no holds barred, now that he's struck a rich vein of shuddersome clarity. Stick with it, Yer Godawful Abhorrence...at last I remember why we loathed each other in the first place. In stark, fastidiously proofed old-school font no less!
Google the disagreeable cur. I'm not linking to him, nohow noway.
Best Cinematic Masterpiece of 2006:
The only movie I saw in 2006: Dave Chappelle's Block Party
I also witnessed 'Strangers With Candy' but that straight-up sucked serious ass so I'm pretending as if I never saw Philip Seymour Hoffman mumble his way through some tragically unfunny bullshit alongside the most overrated entertainer the American media has ever mistaken for a comedic genius: Stephen Colbert (hate him...love his politics, love his writers...his delivery blows).
But DCBP was truly satisfying. It takes a look back to the 'Wattstax' and 'Woodstock' and 'Born To Boogie': all those amazing live-performance, community-affirming movies that I stayed up late to watch on cable way back in the eighties. Those movies gave me hope. Chappelle's concert movie felt so off-the-cuff and so fricking joyful that I just wanted to be there. And be there I am. Turns out I live a few blocks away from where it was filmed in Bed-Stuy and the neighborhood feels pretty turned out, not necessarily because of what Dave Chapelle and his director, Michel Gondry, threw together but because there's a certain community activism in place. It's lovely. I love getting up in the morning to get my coffee at Tillie's and walking around amongst folks who say 'hi'...it's just very nice. And The Fugees, Jill Scott, Mos Def and Common, not to mention Erykah Badu...they all sing/speak their souls to people invested in building community. It's so beautiful. I love this movie. See it with a friend you love.
I keep meaning to see but never do for whatever reason:
'Shortbus'
'Borat'
'Babel'
'Charlotte's Web' (Honestly, I'll never see this unless I'm on a flight to Milwaukee)
'That Clint Eastwood Movie(s) about WWII' (I'll never see these, period)
'Let's Go To Prison'
'Really Long Beyonce Video Featuring American Idols And Eddie Murphy'
YouTube has satisfied all my moviegoing needs, thank you very much.
Best Single:
This is a toughie.
'Hang Me Up To Dry'/Cold War Kids: Dudes, this track fucking ROCKS. All the elements are in place: Reformed Born-Again Christian lead singer working it on OUT. Jesus! This guy is UPSET! Add some wicked black-widow bass, scary-movie soundtrack reverb-happy production, psychotic-devilchild keyboard...'fell asleep with stains/hang me up to dry/I'm pearling like the whites of your eyes'...fucking YIKES!
I'll never stop playing this song out in the clubs. You bitches need a wake-up call as you play grab-ass at the bar, jostleing for bottles of Amstel Light...y'all don't know what you're manhandling there when your happy hands do that dance they do.
'StickwhichU'/Pussycat Dolls. Fuck you. I love this song. I want some pretty bitch to love me up with a harmonica parked in his/her mouth as he/she coos never-ending commitment to me, dammit. If Stevie Wonder were five sluts in dominatrix gear he would have wrote and performed this gorgeous tribute to eternal monogamy. Absolutely heavenly. "Singin' 'cuz your so-so into me..."
*sigh*
"Irreplaceable"/Beyonce. When this lush-hipped M to F strains for a note and absolutely nails it, I can't help but cry. Sure she's a tranny with a monstrous forehead but who really cares when she sings like a freaking siren sent from some mythical place (Xanadu?)? Actually, she sounds like Jeff Buckley sometimes but that's not always a bad thing. Plus the lyrics are right on point. Buh-bye, cheating dawg, indeed. To the left, to the left.
"Punkrocker"/Teddybears ft. Iggy Pop. Self-loathing Iggy proclaiming that he's sick of being God as he slithers his skank ass along Bleeker Street over a hate-fuck electro-beat: Irresistable, no? The lesbians love it!
Honorable Mention:
'Vans'/The Pack
'Wind It Up'/Gwen Stefani...it's so fucking dumb you have to hear it three or four times to believe it.
'Black Sweat'/Prince
'Comfort Of Strangers'/Beth Orton
'Down With Prince'/Hot Chip
'When You Were Young'/The Killers
'Let's Impeach The President'/Neil Young
'LDN'/Lily Allen
'Deep'/The Redwalls
'Crazy'/Gnarls Barkley (of course)
'New Hampshire'/Matt Pond PA
hello?
*taps mic*
Is this thing on?
Anyway...I'm a big fan of ellipses and YouTube links (I've tried to upload an old Soul Train video of Aretha Franklin NAILING 'Oh Me Oh My' to this blog many many times but to no avail)...but I'm an even bigger fan of year-end best-of lists so here's mine:
Best Return To Form:
Jon-Jon Diary: I had a good time hating on his juicy, odious ass courtesy of his brain-bruising, self-aggrandizing blogs on the interwebs but then all-of-a-sudden his vile, yet articulate, spewage took a sharp turn south and I couldn't make heads nor tails of what exactly he was madly raving on about. Alas, he's clawed his way out of his psychic K-hole, he's made it through the rain, and it turns out he's no longer a sickening guilty pleasure: I'm actually proud to say that I now hate him, intellect fully engaged, with no holds barred, now that he's struck a rich vein of shuddersome clarity. Stick with it, Yer Godawful Abhorrence...at last I remember why we loathed each other in the first place. In stark, fastidiously proofed old-school font no less!
Google the disagreeable cur. I'm not linking to him, nohow noway.
Best Cinematic Masterpiece of 2006:
The only movie I saw in 2006: Dave Chappelle's Block Party
I also witnessed 'Strangers With Candy' but that straight-up sucked serious ass so I'm pretending as if I never saw Philip Seymour Hoffman mumble his way through some tragically unfunny bullshit alongside the most overrated entertainer the American media has ever mistaken for a comedic genius: Stephen Colbert (hate him...love his politics, love his writers...his delivery blows).
But DCBP was truly satisfying. It takes a look back to the 'Wattstax' and 'Woodstock' and 'Born To Boogie': all those amazing live-performance, community-affirming movies that I stayed up late to watch on cable way back in the eighties. Those movies gave me hope. Chappelle's concert movie felt so off-the-cuff and so fricking joyful that I just wanted to be there. And be there I am. Turns out I live a few blocks away from where it was filmed in Bed-Stuy and the neighborhood feels pretty turned out, not necessarily because of what Dave Chapelle and his director, Michel Gondry, threw together but because there's a certain community activism in place. It's lovely. I love getting up in the morning to get my coffee at Tillie's and walking around amongst folks who say 'hi'...it's just very nice. And The Fugees, Jill Scott, Mos Def and Common, not to mention Erykah Badu...they all sing/speak their souls to people invested in building community. It's so beautiful. I love this movie. See it with a friend you love.
I keep meaning to see but never do for whatever reason:
'Shortbus'
'Borat'
'Babel'
'Charlotte's Web' (Honestly, I'll never see this unless I'm on a flight to Milwaukee)
'That Clint Eastwood Movie(s) about WWII' (I'll never see these, period)
'Let's Go To Prison'
'Really Long Beyonce Video Featuring American Idols And Eddie Murphy'
YouTube has satisfied all my moviegoing needs, thank you very much.
Best Single:
This is a toughie.
'Hang Me Up To Dry'/Cold War Kids: Dudes, this track fucking ROCKS. All the elements are in place: Reformed Born-Again Christian lead singer working it on OUT. Jesus! This guy is UPSET! Add some wicked black-widow bass, scary-movie soundtrack reverb-happy production, psychotic-devilchild keyboard...'fell asleep with stains/hang me up to dry/I'm pearling like the whites of your eyes'...fucking YIKES!
I'll never stop playing this song out in the clubs. You bitches need a wake-up call as you play grab-ass at the bar, jostleing for bottles of Amstel Light...y'all don't know what you're manhandling there when your happy hands do that dance they do.
'StickwhichU'/Pussycat Dolls. Fuck you. I love this song. I want some pretty bitch to love me up with a harmonica parked in his/her mouth as he/she coos never-ending commitment to me, dammit. If Stevie Wonder were five sluts in dominatrix gear he would have wrote and performed this gorgeous tribute to eternal monogamy. Absolutely heavenly. "Singin' 'cuz your so-so into me..."
*sigh*
"Irreplaceable"/Beyonce. When this lush-hipped M to F strains for a note and absolutely nails it, I can't help but cry. Sure she's a tranny with a monstrous forehead but who really cares when she sings like a freaking siren sent from some mythical place (Xanadu?)? Actually, she sounds like Jeff Buckley sometimes but that's not always a bad thing. Plus the lyrics are right on point. Buh-bye, cheating dawg, indeed. To the left, to the left.
"Punkrocker"/Teddybears ft. Iggy Pop. Self-loathing Iggy proclaiming that he's sick of being God as he slithers his skank ass along Bleeker Street over a hate-fuck electro-beat: Irresistable, no? The lesbians love it!
Honorable Mention:
'Vans'/The Pack
'Wind It Up'/Gwen Stefani...it's so fucking dumb you have to hear it three or four times to believe it.
'Black Sweat'/Prince
'Comfort Of Strangers'/Beth Orton
'Down With Prince'/Hot Chip
'When You Were Young'/The Killers
'Let's Impeach The President'/Neil Young
'LDN'/Lily Allen
'Deep'/The Redwalls
'Crazy'/Gnarls Barkley (of course)
'New Hampshire'/Matt Pond PA
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Kibble
It's my birthday and I'm celebrating by sitting around a lot, napping, drinking Folger's whole bean 'gourmet' coffee and by feeling my feelings. I feel things sometimes. I felt sick last Monday at 'Sticky Fingers' (Big Lug, 85 Avenue A, New York City, New York 10009) when I witnessed a hopelessly inebriated mother dirty boogie and simulate oral sex with her perky NYU daughter's gay best friend and then sit down on the floor and cry. On this day of days I feel a tad conflicted:
I feel like I could give two shits about O.J.'s pending confession and/or TomKat's Italian sham merging of Scientologist souls.
I feel a little in love with my next door neighbor.
I feel anxious regarding my best buddy, 'Fredo, because he's being harrassed by his brand new frightwig/stalker (guess what: Frightwig/stalker works for Conde Nast...surprise).
We're deploying even more troops to Iraq. wtf. sigh.
Pause a moment and consider Tazers. Civilian control has become a priority in this theocracy we call home sweet home.
Chan Marshall (Cat Power) is jaw-dropping, heart-stoppingly beautiful now that she's pulled the hair out of her face and makes extraordinarily inspiring/wonky/boozy/chanteusey music. 'The Greatest' is the most vital break-up/can't-go-on-but-I-must cd-download since Roxy Music's 'Siren' and that is no shit. What happened? Who intervened? Did she take tea with Tom Waits and Elvis Costello and Stephin Merritt? Did Nina Simone Tazer her from the crypt and give her a make-over? Speaking of boozy chanteuse I can't wait to check out 'Bobby', Emilio Estavez' ambitious take on June, 1968 featuring that M to F tranny Demi Moore as a nicotine-stained hooch whore: Estavez couldn't hammer out a deal with Justin Bond so he nabbed The Next Best Thing. Great casting...although I'm not quite sure I buy Elijah Wood as a Vietnam draftee...he still looks like he's waiting for his nanny to pick him up at Montessori...
I've come to love Jeff Buckley because he's just so damned queer and he hits all those high notes. And he's dead. Figures: Story of my life. Yeah, yeah...I know he was straight and he banged Courtney Fucking Love...wait a minute...he's still just so damned queer...check out 'The Man That Got Away' or 'I Want Someone Badly' (girl group back-up singers). Fine-boned hetero dead dudes who have nailed impossible falsettos. What am I gonna do? Can't help it. I'm weak. The Arcade Fire makes me cry. What can I say?
KT Tunstall's annoying summertime radio headache, 'Black Horse And The Cherry Tree', actually began life as a terrifying, authentic acoustic delta blues tune before it was ass-raped over a sawhorse by radio programmers. Here's hoping KT wins a bunch of Grammys, says 'lick me' to Clive Davis or whoever and goes back to her indie-label bad-ass self.
More to come.
-Satisfaction Pony
I feel like I could give two shits about O.J.'s pending confession and/or TomKat's Italian sham merging of Scientologist souls.
I feel a little in love with my next door neighbor.
I feel anxious regarding my best buddy, 'Fredo, because he's being harrassed by his brand new frightwig/stalker (guess what: Frightwig/stalker works for Conde Nast...surprise).
We're deploying even more troops to Iraq. wtf. sigh.
Pause a moment and consider Tazers. Civilian control has become a priority in this theocracy we call home sweet home.
Chan Marshall (Cat Power) is jaw-dropping, heart-stoppingly beautiful now that she's pulled the hair out of her face and makes extraordinarily inspiring/wonky/boozy/chanteusey music. 'The Greatest' is the most vital break-up/can't-go-on-but-I-must cd-download since Roxy Music's 'Siren' and that is no shit. What happened? Who intervened? Did she take tea with Tom Waits and Elvis Costello and Stephin Merritt? Did Nina Simone Tazer her from the crypt and give her a make-over? Speaking of boozy chanteuse I can't wait to check out 'Bobby', Emilio Estavez' ambitious take on June, 1968 featuring that M to F tranny Demi Moore as a nicotine-stained hooch whore: Estavez couldn't hammer out a deal with Justin Bond so he nabbed The Next Best Thing. Great casting...although I'm not quite sure I buy Elijah Wood as a Vietnam draftee...he still looks like he's waiting for his nanny to pick him up at Montessori...
I've come to love Jeff Buckley because he's just so damned queer and he hits all those high notes. And he's dead. Figures: Story of my life. Yeah, yeah...I know he was straight and he banged Courtney Fucking Love...wait a minute...he's still just so damned queer...check out 'The Man That Got Away' or 'I Want Someone Badly' (girl group back-up singers). Fine-boned hetero dead dudes who have nailed impossible falsettos. What am I gonna do? Can't help it. I'm weak. The Arcade Fire makes me cry. What can I say?
KT Tunstall's annoying summertime radio headache, 'Black Horse And The Cherry Tree', actually began life as a terrifying, authentic acoustic delta blues tune before it was ass-raped over a sawhorse by radio programmers. Here's hoping KT wins a bunch of Grammys, says 'lick me' to Clive Davis or whoever and goes back to her indie-label bad-ass self.
More to come.
-Satisfaction Pony
Monday, October 16, 2006
Justin Timberlake Is Not Actually Bringing Sexy Back At All...
...Timbalake is.
Timbaland, rather.
First of all, there's not a whole helluva lot of 'Justin Timbalake' in 'SexyBack'. Timbaland (Tim Mosley) produced the monolithic chart-topping juggernaut and his cynical, spare, stutterstep signature is all over it. Justin warbles in seriously tweaked sampled bursts like an ambisexual karaoke victim here and there but mostly it's all about Timbaland and his seriously unsexy 'yEAh!' sample.
If this is sexy then a Sears credit card application is the kama-sutra.
What the fuck? Why are lesbians batshit for this cloud of toxic egg fart? They hop around to this crap like rhythm-impaired wood sprites. Don't they know that this shit is anti-music for anti-people?
If you absolutely HAVE to plug in to some garbage-y dance music might I recommend LCD Soundsystem's 'Thrills' (?)
LCD Soundsystem's James Murphy sounds like a chronic masturbator with a lethal headcold as he brags about how some unfortunate enabling bitch unconditionally digs his pill-addicted flat white ass. Is Mr. Murphy bringing sexy back? Hard to say, but as far as I'm concerned...'plugged up' is hotter than ever.
Timbaland, rather.
First of all, there's not a whole helluva lot of 'Justin Timbalake' in 'SexyBack'. Timbaland (Tim Mosley) produced the monolithic chart-topping juggernaut and his cynical, spare, stutterstep signature is all over it. Justin warbles in seriously tweaked sampled bursts like an ambisexual karaoke victim here and there but mostly it's all about Timbaland and his seriously unsexy 'yEAh!' sample.
If this is sexy then a Sears credit card application is the kama-sutra.
What the fuck? Why are lesbians batshit for this cloud of toxic egg fart? They hop around to this crap like rhythm-impaired wood sprites. Don't they know that this shit is anti-music for anti-people?
If you absolutely HAVE to plug in to some garbage-y dance music might I recommend LCD Soundsystem's 'Thrills' (?)
LCD Soundsystem's James Murphy sounds like a chronic masturbator with a lethal headcold as he brags about how some unfortunate enabling bitch unconditionally digs his pill-addicted flat white ass. Is Mr. Murphy bringing sexy back? Hard to say, but as far as I'm concerned...'plugged up' is hotter than ever.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
A Dream Is A Wish Your Bloated Gasbag Of A Heart Makes.
My best pal Alfredo has granted me my most exalted wish via a stickynote stuck to my desk-away-from-desk in Crown Heights:
"Dear Goo (don't judge, grown men sometimes address each other in utterly batshit kittytalk...didn't you know?)
Please pick a list of 200 cds and 400 songs for the Big Lug Men's Bar jukebox. I'll pay you. Thx."
Dude. That's like the most awesomest task ever assigned to anyone ever. Big Lug, by the way, is a night Alfredo and I started on 14th street in the East Village two and a half years ago. As of October 24th, 2006 Big Lug The Bar will become reality and men who aren't bois, twinks or cracked-out circuit twats will finally have a place to go and chill. Alfredo will become an icon of NYC gay culture and I'll finally host the downtown ScuzzRock night I've always dreamt of.
Right on.
My night is called 'Sticky Fingers' and it happens every Monday at Big Lug Men's Bar, 85 Avenue A in the East Village. You'll come and you'll realize that although your mama don't dance, you daddy does in fact rock and roll - and thus you'll come back again and again and we'll all get trashed together and coagulate into one big happy scab (family).
Again, right on.
So back to my list. I want the jukebox to rock, not whine, so absolutely no John Mayer, that most odious dookie-butted hipster eyesore/jailbait-magnet/ClearChannel schlockmonger. No Pussycat Dolls (darnit, 'Stickwichu' is my most treasured guilty pleasure...I even wrote my own knock-off: 'Smokewichu' which has been recorded by Joey & His Bone-Tired Mothers and which I'll post on this site if I ever learn how to do that). I'd love to load it up with all the music I'll play at 'Sticky Fingers' but that would be redundant and not very democratic. As we know, not all fags sit around drinking boilermakers while bumping & grinding to T. Rex, Joan Jett and The Cramps (unfortunately That Demon TechnoThrob has got many of us in its sway). I have to include That Mystical Jewess: Madonna. Which Madonna masterwork will I include?
'American Life'? Just try and hum 4 bars of any one track, I dare you.
'Erotica'. Bingo. It's a dense, deeply funky four-star statement of purpose and who can't relate to 'Bye Bye Baby'? I ask you.
You're probably thinking to yourself Christ, it's a fucking jukebox not a WMD hunt just pick something/anything, who cares? (Something/anything...aha...Todd Rundgren!)
If you're thinking this a) you're a horse's ass and b) I must savor this moment for it will never come again.
Sex Pistols. Of course. Queer soccer hooligans singing along to 'EMI'? That's a no-brainer.
Thin Lizzy. All menfolk enjoy the musical stylings of Phil Lynott and his band: Gay, straight or vaguely confused.
Slick Rick. Rap is not my forte' but old-school hip-hop is reliable comfort food for many youngish New Yorkers much in the same way that a Thai food can be counted upon to evacuate my bowels post haste regardless of entree or location.
Souixsie & The Banshees. Interestingly enough, every single homosexual I have ever met harbors an unhealthy obsession for Souixsie Souix and her Banshees. This phenomenon merits a blog entry unto itself. I'll have to do a little field research.
The sun is laying low here in Clinton Hill so I'd better finish my list and submit it to Alfredo.
'Positively Ponyfied' is intended to be a music blog...if you've read this and you feel, well, disponyfied or you'd care to pony up with your own two cents I suggest you get you're own damn blog. After all, it's free.
'Sticky Fingers' @ Big Lug Men's Bar, 85 Avenue A beginning October 30th.
"Dear Goo (don't judge, grown men sometimes address each other in utterly batshit kittytalk...didn't you know?)
Please pick a list of 200 cds and 400 songs for the Big Lug Men's Bar jukebox. I'll pay you. Thx."
Dude. That's like the most awesomest task ever assigned to anyone ever. Big Lug, by the way, is a night Alfredo and I started on 14th street in the East Village two and a half years ago. As of October 24th, 2006 Big Lug The Bar will become reality and men who aren't bois, twinks or cracked-out circuit twats will finally have a place to go and chill. Alfredo will become an icon of NYC gay culture and I'll finally host the downtown ScuzzRock night I've always dreamt of.
Right on.
My night is called 'Sticky Fingers' and it happens every Monday at Big Lug Men's Bar, 85 Avenue A in the East Village. You'll come and you'll realize that although your mama don't dance, you daddy does in fact rock and roll - and thus you'll come back again and again and we'll all get trashed together and coagulate into one big happy scab (family).
Again, right on.
So back to my list. I want the jukebox to rock, not whine, so absolutely no John Mayer, that most odious dookie-butted hipster eyesore/jailbait-magnet/ClearChannel schlockmonger. No Pussycat Dolls (darnit, 'Stickwichu' is my most treasured guilty pleasure...I even wrote my own knock-off: 'Smokewichu' which has been recorded by Joey & His Bone-Tired Mothers and which I'll post on this site if I ever learn how to do that). I'd love to load it up with all the music I'll play at 'Sticky Fingers' but that would be redundant and not very democratic. As we know, not all fags sit around drinking boilermakers while bumping & grinding to T. Rex, Joan Jett and The Cramps (unfortunately That Demon TechnoThrob has got many of us in its sway). I have to include That Mystical Jewess: Madonna. Which Madonna masterwork will I include?
'American Life'? Just try and hum 4 bars of any one track, I dare you.
'Erotica'. Bingo. It's a dense, deeply funky four-star statement of purpose and who can't relate to 'Bye Bye Baby'? I ask you.
You're probably thinking to yourself Christ, it's a fucking jukebox not a WMD hunt just pick something/anything, who cares? (Something/anything...aha...Todd Rundgren!)
If you're thinking this a) you're a horse's ass and b) I must savor this moment for it will never come again.
Sex Pistols. Of course. Queer soccer hooligans singing along to 'EMI'? That's a no-brainer.
Thin Lizzy. All menfolk enjoy the musical stylings of Phil Lynott and his band: Gay, straight or vaguely confused.
Slick Rick. Rap is not my forte' but old-school hip-hop is reliable comfort food for many youngish New Yorkers much in the same way that a Thai food can be counted upon to evacuate my bowels post haste regardless of entree or location.
Souixsie & The Banshees. Interestingly enough, every single homosexual I have ever met harbors an unhealthy obsession for Souixsie Souix and her Banshees. This phenomenon merits a blog entry unto itself. I'll have to do a little field research.
The sun is laying low here in Clinton Hill so I'd better finish my list and submit it to Alfredo.
'Positively Ponyfied' is intended to be a music blog...if you've read this and you feel, well, disponyfied or you'd care to pony up with your own two cents I suggest you get you're own damn blog. After all, it's free.
'Sticky Fingers' @ Big Lug Men's Bar, 85 Avenue A beginning October 30th.
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