Madonna Who?

L'amour looks a lot like Leslie Feist:





Feist reminds me of my first love (seriously, I was tore up over that girl even though I was 5 at the time. I was devastated when she moved away and it was then that I turned to booze.). Her name was Leslie also. Leslie Allen: A tiny little slip of a girl but old beyond her years and so mod and funkdafied in her plaid schoolgirl skirts...

We played the 'Hair' Original Cast recording LP on her Close N' Play. We played doctor too behind somebody's couch.

I'm moving to Chicago on Thursday. Bye NYC. Kiss my sweet, sweet ass.

Courtney Love Is A Name-Dropping, Bug-Eyed Gay Donkey.

I think we can all agree that anymore the vag-flashing celebutard phenomenon appeals only to Perez Hilton, the GoFugYourself.com girls and paparazzi. Nicole Ritchie, Paris Hilton...even my fourteen year old twin nieces could give a rat's ass about these haggard convicts. These slags are so obviously without worth that 'washed-up' can't describe what they'll be next year because to be 'washed-up' you have to be treading water to begin with. Remember Paris Hilton's post-incarceration born-again week? That moment was so absurd pop-culture pundits couldn't bring themselves to snark online about it...to comment at all would have been so lame and obvious and just plain redundant that all snark privileges would have been instantly revoked by the Gods of Twat: Gawker.com. Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, other assorted Disney bitches and their useless little sisters (e.g. The Duffs), Zac Effron...their fates have all been foretold. If they play their cards right, they're all gonna grow up to be Courtney Love.

Courtney. Love.

The name alone gives me gooseflesh. I feel like the letters COURTNEYLOVE are an anagram for ROMAN CASTEVET. She's the sloppy drunk at the party who staggers by you en route to the bathroom and slurs "There's too many of 'em. I can't kill the world" into your ear. Howler monkeys berserk at the sight of her as do armies of recovering Seattle-area rrrrriot grrrrrrrls.

Fatty Arbuckle bred Paula Fox and hatched Linda Carroll who lay with Tex Watson and then begat the feral scourge that is the Courtney Love Cobain.

If you're in any way pro-Love check out these dismal five minutes up close and personal with this carelessly preserved husk of a woman and then reconsider:



Jesus. Because I've spent much of the last five years of my New York City existence spinning for inebriates in bars, that clip leaves me wracked with spasms of deja vu. How many times have I found myself cornered, bleary-eyed and blinking at some ghastly, fame-whore of a Gay leaning into me and braying names of people I've never heard of, all in the effort of selling to me the idea that s/he has a legitimate
presence in the public eye. Courtney doesn't just introduce her friend as 'Kimberly' but as 'Kimberly Stewart', as if broadcasting the fact that her Coachella companion is Rod Stewart's daughter will somehow give her some infotainment cache'.

Courtney Love took the road better off not traveled. At one time, I bought into her decadent California pop-rock goddess pose. Hole's 'Celebrity Skin' is a glorious update of the whole 70's Eagles/Fleetwood Mac L.A. noir aesthetic.




It demanded a series of sequels but instead she hooked up with the Jim Steinman of chick-rock (Linda Perry) and has opted to shill a wretched, screechy radio-friendly caricature of herself. I hated 'America's Sweetheart' (CL has confessed that she's not a fan either...probably because its chart performance was underwhelming)and I'll no doubt hate her long-delayed follow-up 'Nobody's Daughter'.

She's the Joe Pesci of rock n' roll which is sad because she could've been a contender instead of a mook, which is what she is.

Brooklyn Tornadoes, Rats & Zombies!

One would think that the fact that Parker Posey is starring in her very own Fox sitcom this fall (laugh track and all) would suffice as unimpeachable evidence that the GOP and their desperate intelligent design rationale have won the culture war...one would think so...but 'The Return of Jezebel James' is scripted and it's videotaped...so cute!...is it also filmed before a live studio audience and brought to us by 'Gee, Your Hair Smells Terrific'? Leave it to the queen of indie-snark to infiltrate the Murdoch fortress with a lame 'Odd Couple' retread featuring a Reverand Jim wild-card little sister/roommate (Parker Posey lookalike/beloved 'Six Feet Under' wild-card: Lauren Ambrose, replete w/ army surplus jacket and yucky matted hair). Here's a clip:



Funny, yes?

In other news of pending apocalypse:

Twisters touched down in Brooklyn early yesterday morning. Now, for those of you who live in fly-over country...this is totally unheard of. Tornadoes fucking up the morning commute? That's just crazy talk! Precipitation however...now that's a whole other animal. It dumped rain for a half an hour and that was enough to short circuit all the major subterranean arteries that drag our resentful, sweaty asses into hated Manhattan. Does MTA have a system in place to handle subway train hydroplaning? No, sir. And fuck you for asking.

A TWISTER TOUCHED DOWN IN BROOKLYN!!! FIRST ON RECORD EVER!!! UNDERSTAND???

I watched 'Rataouille' this evening. 'Ratatouille' is a French peasant dish as well as a Pixar creation about rats in the kitchen. The latter caused me to gape in wonder at it like a wee child. It was gorgeous to look at, it referenced one of my favorite directors, Jacques Tati, it was fast and funny and it had something meaningful to say. So I logged on to IMDB.COM to read what the hoi polloi had to say about this contemporary masterpiece...five-year old crumb-snatchers became bored 30 minutes into it so naturally the film sucked. Okay. Fair enough. But why would you ship your screamy, snot-caked progeny off to a 'cartoon' that didn't feature fart jokes, cell phone hijinks and Jackass-inspired pratfalls in the first place? Hunh? Don't get me wrong, I don't hate kids at all, it's just that I can't stand to be around feral, unhappy vanity projects for any more time than it takes to hold my breath. That's all I'm saying.

Music. Where would I be without iTunes? So I'm surfing the net, earbuds jammed into my waxy, indifferent earholes, and then all at once XTC segueways into The Zombies' 'Odessey And Oracle' and it's Kismet. Wow! Now you may know The Zombies for their three hits: "Tell Her No", "She's Not There", and of course "Time Of The Season". But The Zombies were so much more than a sub-Beatles British Invasion also-ran. They were the Radiohead of their time. They experimented with minor/major chord changes, choirs, keyboard driven melodies (as opposed to the default chart-friendly rhythm guitar antics as exemplified by The Kinks' "You Really Got Me"). Their magnum opus 'Odessey And Oracle' is the British Invasion 'Pet Sounds'...moreso than the cold, clinical Beatles bore: 'Sgt. Pepper'...who makes out to 'Sgt. Pepper'? Does anybody actually listen to 'Sgt. Pepper' for pure listening pleasure anymore? But The Zombies, they have it all: Warm, skinny-Britboy-R&B flavored vocals courtesy of mop-topped, Jagger-lipped studwaif Colin Blunstone, lush baroque strings, AMAZING Rod Argent keyboards (Argent branched off and recorded the epic "Hold Your Head Up" which was a Stateside hit and an AOR radio staple).

The Zombies. The Beatles wish they were The Zombies.

NYC Is A Godawful Shithole.

Thanks, Fear, for expressing my sentiments exactly.

Chick On Chick Violence Is No Joke.

She's French and she'll keeel her.

The Bloody Morning After: A YouTube Mix For The Terminally Disappointed.

Most people who know The Real DJ Satisfaction Pony understand that underneath that bittersweet, cynical shell is a happy-clappy youth center veteran/recovering altar boy who has absorbed more than his fair share of Jesus Freak Original Cast Recordings...The Cramps may have corrupted me in more ways than I'll ever know but I can still appreciate Stepford Wife harmonies and Up With People! platitudes. Here's a mix that maps my purple brain...and yes it's all queer as fuck but July was a beast so it stands to reason that I've earned all of August's candy-ass indulgences.

Coven, "One Tin Soldier"



Cokeheads, "I'd Like To Teach The World To Sing"



The Free Design, "Kites Are Fun"



Room 222, "Theme From"



I'm From Barcelona, "We're From Barcelona"



Jesus Christ Superstar, "Jesus Christ Superstar"



The Flaming Lips, "Do You Realize?"



Patti Smith, "You Light Up My Life" (on 'Kids Are People Too!')

This is actually incredibly beautiful. She skips the high notes.



Rent, "Seasons Of Love"



Polyphonic Spree, "Lithium"



The Carpenters, "Bless The Beasts And The Children"

Scared Straight:: Inmate Abuse In The Philippines.

Okay, so you're chilling in The Philippines for some reason and somehow you fuck up...you accidentally sold some black tar heroin to a ten-year-old or you had one too many margaritas and you sexually propositioned an officer of the law in the bathroom @ Chi-Chi's...next thing you know your ass is coverall-ed and you're doing time in some god-foresaken detention center. THIS is just a taste of the horror that awaits you:

Reason To Live Number Whatever: Los Campesinos!

There's just something about glockenspiels and a chorus you can holler along to...

!

These Blondes, They Don't Dick Around.

"I feel like C.C. Baxter in Wilder's 'Apartment',
That particular arrangement just came out of the blue
And who was it who sang 'I know that you love one
So why can't you love two?'
I was in full-time education when I got scared of the future
And I've only got a job so I don't disappoint my mother
It's like I've painted myself into a social corner
Well, that's what happens when you listen to
Saint Scott Walker
On headphones
On the bus."

Those words as mewled by The Long Blondes in the coda of "You Could Have Both" cut straight to my quick today much in the way that Pulp's "Common People" did back in the heady days of 1998 when I was in grad school and wrestling with class issues or much in the way that the mopey, autumnal stanzas of "These Days" stroked my malaise back in 1991, back when I imagined myself to be some sort of doomed love-struck Romeo. Yeah, I fancied myself the sweaty, spastic Henry Miller of my particular set of friends (barflies all of them) and yet I got laid rarely (imagine that).

I had a fairly agitated imagination.

What I like most about The Long Blondes is that they have this whole Faye Dunaway noir femme fatale aesthetic so figured out both visually and aurally which makes for some of the most seductive pop/rock to have diddled my ear-holes since Blondie's 'Plastic Letters'. Check out "Weekend Without Makeup". How classic is this song and how lethal is lead Long Blonde Kate Jackson?



Concrete Blonde has been weirdly dismissed by many as being an early 90's one-hit wonder, faux-goth fluke ("Joey" and to a lesser degree: "Still In Hollywood") but check out lead singer Johnette Napolitano's chest-tightening video/ single which dropped just a year ago last month: "Scarred".



I wake up just like that every morning, btw (apnea).

And here's a pair of footloose blondes bonding on the set over knives and plastic spatulas:

I Was Gonna Write About How Kate Nash Is The Next Lily Allen-Style Brit Kvetcher Or How Bryan Ferry And Bob Dylan Are Two Sides Of The Same Coin...

...but then I came across this Kathy Griffin/Dame Judi Dench sex-tape on the WorldWideNets and I thought to myself 'well fuckit...give the people what they want' so here it is:

It's Official: I Live In A Dump But Go! Team's New Shit Kisses My Boo-Boo And Makes It All Seem Worthwhile.

That's it, I'm moving to Chicago. I've had it. NYC has kicked my ass for the very last time. For those of you who don't know, I live in a haunted frat house in the historic district of Brooklyn (Clinton Hill) and as I write this, there's a cute little rainshower happening right here in my very own apartment. It's like a water park up in here. But you know what? My glass is half-full these days because I refuse to give in to negativity and those pesky little panic attacks that tend to happen in backseats of taxicabs driven by contentious fuckwits who wouldn't know their way around Brooklyn if you strapped a fucking homing device to their muddled, Manhattan-centric heads.

Positivity, y'all. Yep. It's The New Me.

So, having said all that...

We're pretty much at the halfway point of 2007 and so I would say that thus far the contenders for 2007 Single Of The Year would have to be:

Joss Stone, "Tell Me 'Bout It"
Queens Of The Stone Age, "Make It Wit Chu"
Sean Kingston, "Beautiful Girls"
Baby Boy Da Prince, "The Way I Live"
Timbaland ft. M.I.A., "Come Around"
Amy Winehouse, "Rehab/You Know I'm No Good"
Ne-Yo, "Because Of You"
Editors, "Smokers Outside The Hospital Doors"

(NOTE: No, this summer's biggest hit, Rihanna's "Umbrella", doesn't rate because it's just too grating and shrill. Her voice is like a ban-saw slicing chalkboard. I wouldn't want to stand under her um-ber-ella ("aye-aye-aye") no how, no way...she's a test-marketed, vat-grown derivitive of Pink but without all the trash and flash and with all the right producers. She's Pink-aye (Stink-aye?). Pass the Purell, please.)

...but what will trump them all is Go! Team's new single "Grip Like A Vice" off their forthcoming release 'Proof Of Youth'. True, I shamelessly adore Go! Team: Their website alone is worth shitloads of shameless adoration:

http://www.thegoteam.co.uk/flash/GoKids.html

They feed my 70's fetish, their Sly Stone-esque stageshows are legendary and their shepherd's pie of musical comfort food inspire me to almost want to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony...but their new single is less Charlie Brown and more Jackie Brown, which is a cool twist...2 years after the release of their sunkist sampladelic 'Thunder, Lightning, Strike' The Go! Team seems a little angrier but even a pissy Go! Team sporting an Angela Davis 'fro sounds uplifting.

Check this out:

Maya Rudolph As Pamela Bell (Patti LaBelle) Singing The Unsingable.

It's the 4th of July so let's all exercise our church-nurtured runs as we join together to raise our voices in song.

Does The Fact That G.W. Is A Flamboyantly Corrupt Despot Have You In A Funk? Watch This Go! Team Documentary...

...and hold yr terror close.

Enjoy.

Ya Don't Stop: Hip-Hop Is Dead, Long Live Hip-Hop.

Here's a YouTube Mix of HipHop that doesn't make my ears bleed:

The Go! Team ("Ladyflash")



Colossus ("The Tribute")



Baby Boy Da Prince ("The Way I Live")



Spank Rock ("Rick Rubin")



Brother Ali ("Uncle Sam Goddamn")



M.I.A. ("Bird Flu")

AFI's 10th Anniversary List Of The 100 Best Movies Ever Is Asstarded.

I'm sorry but 'Sixth Sense' is not the 89th greatest film ever made. It doesn't even merit rank on the list of the Top 89 Thousand Greatest Films Ever Made. 'Blazing Stewardesses' (1975) is a better movie than that manipulative piece of cineplex-friendly guilty parent-pablum. I hated every second of it and I wanted to blacken both of future DUI-perp Haley Joel Osment's squinty eyes throughout its 107 minutes of condescending predictability. 'Sixth Sense' is corporate Hollywood's idea of the 89th greatest film ever made but it's my idea of a really coke-fueled pitch given the green light because "I See Dead People" was said and all the George Lucas associates in the room freaked..."I See Dead People"...wait, that is a good pitch...fuck. It's still a trashy piece of shit and former New Kid On The Block Donnie Wahlberg gives the best performance in the thing. No. Wait. Hold on. Toni Collette was good. Alright...it's an alright movie but definitely not the 89th best one ever.

Go here to see what folks who know better than you or I judge to be the 100 greatest films ever made:

http://afi.com

Number One is still 'Citizen Kane' and who can argue with that? No one loves it but it's been referenced so many thousands of times that everyone blindly accepts it as The Best Movie Ever. Mostly it's the best photographed/ballsiest movie ever. Gregg Toland's genius is biblical and Orson Welles had cojones of steel to even get the thing made. 'The Godfather' ranks number two but 'The Godfather II' is better and it comes in at 32. Who votes for these lists anyway? Nobody asked me.

'Casablanca' is number 3 but it should be number 1 forever and for all time because it's not only a classic but it's contemporary mythology: the line "the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world" has become my mantra...seriously...that line alone effortlessly sums up centuries of Zen teachings...

'Raging Bull' is number 4 and I suppose that's all mod and shit but Scorsese's 'Taxi Driver' is the better, less film-studenty movie. I guess DeNiro's monologue in the mirror earns its elevated slot. 'On The Waterfront' (#19) is far superior however.

'Singin' In The Rain' is number 5. That's fine by me. Gene Kelly is effortlessly hot and charming as fuck, and Debbie Reynolds ("Leg Up!") is a lil' firecracker. Jean Hagen's nasal performance is a hoot as well...I still think 'West Side Story' is the better movie if you want to talk 'film art', however.

'Gone With The Wind' comes in at number 6. I just watched this again and this movie is amazing: The logistics of filming the burning of Atlanta, the tricky politics, Vivien Leigh...wow. 'Gone With The Wind' transcends pulp. Passionate, prototypical American movie-making: The studio system at its very best.

'Lawrence Of Arabia' rates number 7. Pretty much any David Lean film could occupy this slot.Watching this on a plasma, flat-screen tv on New Year's Day after 8 Bloody Marys and a bunch of beers is seriously life-altering.

'Schindler's List': Number 8. I don't get it. I don't get it at all. This movie presents Oskar Schindler as an extra-terrestrial sent from the heavens to save a bunch of wide-eyed Elliots (Jews). No further comment. Spielberg's best effort was 'Close Encounters Of The Third Kind' and it doesn't even rank on AFI's Top 100.

'Vertigo' (No. 9) Word. I prefer 'Rear Window' but 'Vertigo' is deep, dark Hitchcock .

'Wizard Of Oz' (10) It's an American fairy tale (literally) so I feel like it should rank higher but whatever.

As for the rest of the list:

'Nashville' (best movie ever) debuts at #59 and 'American Graffiti' shoots up 15 points but where's 'The Conversation'? 'Fargo' falls off the chart, and I'm very unclear as to why 'Forrest Gump' or 'Titanic' could even possibly be considered to be better movies than 'Fargo' but then what do I know?

Shangri-La Revisited.

For me, Mary Weiss is the true voice of real-live, honest-to-god street level chick rock. Forty years ago she more or less fronted the The Shangri-Las, the girl-group who scored a number one hit with "Leader Of The Pack", a song so entangled in camp and so tattooed on our collective American consciousness that many of us can't remember if it began life as a Coke commercial, a showtune, a Bette Midler bathhouse anthem or what the fuck. If it was written as a jokey mini-opera, Mary Weiss didn't get the memo. She's the real deal from Queens. She hasn't recorded in something like forty years (although rumor has it that she sang back-up for Aerosmith in the 70's) but her new cd 'Dangerous Game' picks up right where The Shangri-La's left off. The intervening years haven't done much damage...but then again she always had one of those preternatural old-soul voices anyway. Her phrasing is truly uncanny: Queensborough streetcorner blue-eyed bad-babysitter soul. No one can touch the way she pines like a girl who could either cut you or fuck you, she hasn't decided yet. 'Dangerous Game''s production feels neither gimmicky nor condescending. Her back-up band, Reigning Sound, is a raw-boned garage band who sound like The Ramones if The Ramones knew how to play instruments and could afford a Farfisa organ.

'Dangerous Game' is party music for pie-eyed grownups who know their way around a jukebox. Check her out:

Not Sick Of Amy Winehouse Quite Yet.

Many of us are suffering Winehouse fatigue because a) "Rehab", the worst track off of 'Back To Black', is the first single to be released Stateside. WHY? Why not "Tears Dry On Their Own" or "Me And Mr. Jones"?

"Rehab" is essentially a Dr. Demento variety novelty song that wore out its welcome three months ago and is only now scaling the Billboard charts!

b) It's cool to bitch about how over Amy Winehouse we all are because misunderstood 17 year old MySpace lonelyhearts are just now adopting her as their avatar.

c) Misunderstood 17 year old MySpace lonelyhearts are just now adopting her as their avatar because Rolling Stone put her on the cover of their most recent issue, and, even though nobody at all reads Rolling Stone anymore, Rolling Stone is reliably four or five months behind any given trend, thus the publication is strangely in synch with the learning curve of misunderstood 17 year old MySpace lonelyhearts hailing from Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin or thereabouts.

But...I just got a hold of Amy Winehouse's 2003 release 'Frank' and it's pretty great. A couple straightforward jazz standard covers ("(There Is) No Greater Love" & "Moody's Mood") and a barnstorming track rocking a nifty prohibition-era swing-band hook ("Help Yourself") are standouts on this brassy, gin-soaked, sailor-mouthed confessional that is Winehouse's debut. 'Frank' knocks it out of the park and it's worth seeking out.

Let the little girls n' gays have their 'Back To Black'. 'Frank' is The Shit.

Queens Of The Stone Age: Not Your Big Brother's Cock Rock.

I've been a fan of Queens Of The Stone Age since 1998 when my prematurely geriatric Irish-Italian tattooiste', Sparky, put their classic self-titled first cd on repeat as he sleeved me @ Steve's Tattoo in Madison, Wisconsin. Four hours is a long time to be exposed to 11 songs that on the average clock in at four and a half minutes, and what I noticed about the band as I lay prone in Sparky's chair, oozing ozone and endorphines, is that for all the crunchy chords & swagger, here is a metal band that pretty much caters to a sensibility that falls somewhere around 5 or 6 on the Kinsey Scale. I wasn't exactly sure why, maybe it's the final track ('I Was A Teenage Hand Model') or maybe it's all the keening dude-falsetto that frontman/frat-stud Josh Homme manages so effortlessly...Homme (built like a surfer and sporting a tufty $50+ haircut) must get lots and lots of Trimme...but I definitely don't hate myself for loving them. Also I think their variety of horny glambastic stomp fills a hole, now more than ever. Modest Mouse is all John Prine-y, warbly, swaddled in flannel (yet they still manage to chart high), Interpol is plucked and shaved, aloof and vaguely gothish, privately educated and not afraid to remind us that they're fundamentally pricks, but The Queens are accessible fuck-happy, reasonably intelligent dipshits: Douchebag Lite for Burning Men and Womyn.

Here's a live version of my favorite track off of 'Era Vulgaris': "Turnin' On The Screw".

No One Will Ever Describe Me As "Mathy" or "Deadsy" Or Even "High"...But I'm Definitely 420 - Friendly.

Bands (and people) I loathe and despise most upon first exposure usually work on my heart and mind to such a degree that within a year or so I come around and wonder why I was such a twat regarding this person or that band in the first place. Sometimes it takes longer...King Crimson only recently wore me down to a resigned acceptance/anemic love (sort of) and that was after twenty-odd years of nodding politely at the inevitable funkless, REI-clad, rock-climbing fuckwit who, stoned to the beejesus, would thoughtlessly snuff my buzz by extracting 'In The Court Of The Crimson King' from his Hampshire College approved collection of freedom-rock to treat all of us lucky, lucky party people to 'Moonchild' as if none of us had ever heard it before. Alright, so 'Moonchild' is just fine now but that's only because my testicles have dropped and I've mellowed some. Ah well, It's my karmic burden to have embraced whole-heartedly all that I've slandered throughout my undergrad years (prog rock, lesbians, ostentatious bongs...I've lived with and slept with manymanymanymany maintenance stoners, one was a lesbian). Sometimes I never come around at all. For example, I will always loathe Emerson, Lake & Palmer, (even though I know Greg Lake's son...rock-star spawnage are a whole other blogtopic altogether...).

So, there's these two bands currently hyped by Pitchforkmedia.com as being "mathy" (Battles) and as sounding "claustrophobic, almost sickly" (Black Moth Super Rainbow). And, being the kind of person who is helplessly drawn to foul smells, briney foods, and totally unavailable people, I decided to spend a half an hour floating in my nervous-suffering free space, listening to freshly downloaded Battles & Black Moth Super Rainbow. Having done all of that (not an easy task) I have but one question:

What kind of asshole pays for (not to mention sits around and listens to) mathy, claustrophobic, almost sickly music?

I really just don't get it.

Maybe there's some fun to be had watching this video but I didn't have any. Try, just try, to get loose to Battles' 'Atlas':



And then there's this mewling nonsense:



...starts off promising with that sun-dappled guitar line/funky drummer intro but then it goes straight to hell.

I predict Battles and Black Moth Super Rainbow will be two of my bigbig faves of '08...after all the kids have moved on to bigger and better things because that's just the kind of jive-ass, mutable, integrity-free suckerchump I am.

Just One Reason Why Stevie Nicks Will Forever Rock The Entire World.