With Only 40 Years Left to Live, It's Time I Finally Got Around to Digitizing My Cassette & Vinyl Collection [Part 7]

Stereo Total - Holiday Innn 2 x 7" (Two 7" singles on Bungalow Records, 1998)

Six aggressively loopy remixes of the Stereo Total pop/punk song Holiday Innn, which music scholars worldwide consider their abiding masterpiece. Spanning a two-fer clear-vinyl pack housed in a see-through plastic sleeve, every track takes the German/French duo's original and smears it in ecstasy and/or ecstacy--whichever is easiest to find first. It's incredibly rare, despite what the sellers on Discogs will tell you.

Wooly Bully

Now that cyberbullying has been outlawed by OPEC, or whoever the hell is in charge of these things, Disco:Very will review some recent albums, tempered by this kinder, more gentle format. [Click on each image to bask in its artistry.]

Band: Virus
Album: Raped by Mutants
A concerned global community thanks you for alerting us to the pervasive social problems which result from being sexually molested by aberrations residing in underground sewers filled with toxic sludge.

Band: Emily Osment
Album: Fight or Flight
Just a few years from now, you're going to make some plastic surgeon very, very wealthy.

Band: Ron Wood
Album: I Feel Like Playing
If your artistry on guitar is as good as your painting skills, we're in for a special treat!

Band: Daniel Schuhmacher
Album: Nothing to Lose
That is where you're wrong, my little schnitzel. You have one special thing to lose, and that is your innocence. Spread your wings, Daniel. Hold on to your hope. Dream. Believe.

Band: Kingfisher Sky
Album: Skin of the Earth
Bald eagle-centric album art + Kate Bush covers + cellos in a rock context = Another flawless masterpiece-come-lately for the best Dutch import since Kibbeling was first pulled from the deep fryer.

Band: Gin Blossoms
Album: No Chocolate Cake
Deceased leader Doug Hopkins is almost certainly spinning in his grave with pride after being told (by God) about this inspired album title, with a clever cover shot to match!

Band: Tinie Tempah
Album: Disc-Overy
Puns on the word discovery never go out of fashion.

My Precious Feelings on the 36th Telluride Film Festival

Although I am not the winner of this year's edition of the Be the First to Spot Ken Burns game, I do, however, witness many 4-year-olds around town with the same bowl-cut hair style, which scores me a few points in the end.

The next morning, I happily spot Mr. Burns being nagged by his wife in broad daylight and provide him momentary respite from her by insisting I get my picture snapped with him (that's me on the left).

The minute the festival schedule is announced, rumors being to swirl like Lysol® Power Toilet Bowl Cleaner as it washes away pesky lime and rust. Due to a surprise announcement that Up in the Air will be screening, everyone is on the lookout for George Clooney to make an appearance. It certainly explains why I keep getting stopped in the street by strangers assuming I am him. Curse my masculine square jaw and rugged good looks!

The festival begins on a high note for me thanks to Henri-George Clouzot's Inferno, an engrossing recounting of the unfinished masterwork-which-could-have-been by the director of The Wages of Fear and Diabolique. Some of the visuals are so strong, you want to take them home in your pants pocket to take out and look at later when you're alone.

I walk out midway during the first screening of the three-part Red Riding: 1974, which is too formulaic for my tastes. A few hours later, I endure a screening of The Miscreants of Taliwood--a potentially fascinating documentary on the local film production of Pakistan as it wrestles with local Islamic fundamentalism, but the story is overwhelmed by the self-absorbed director who inserts his hammer-over-the-head moral judgements into nearly every frame.

Despite critics who find his vision far too bleak, I personally delight in the films of Michael Heneke (Cache, Funny Games) and his deeply morbid take on the world, especially in his new flick The White Ribbon (a perfect date movie if you're trying to woo a Goth). He sometimes tries a little too hard to be The Bad Boy of Cinema ("I hope you have a disturbing viewing experience", he proclaimed before the screening I caught), but he'd be the type of person to which I'd gravitate at a party, especially as he gloomily points out the violent malicious nature of humanity to the shocked and horrified guests.

One of the delights of a great festival is when the selected films share similar thematic concerns. Such was the case of two very different films, A Prophet and Coco Before Chanel:

A Prophet: The protagonist is trapped in an oppressive prison system with no means of escape.
Coco Before Chanel: Lowly employees are trapped working for the oppressive Coco Chanel without any means of escape.

A Prophet: The lead character must resort to violence and murder to climb his way to the top of the prison hierarchy.
Coco Before Chanel: Coco must resort to violence and murder to climb her way to the top of the fashion hierarchy.

A Prophet: The protagonist conceals a razor blade in his mouth in order to slit the throat of an opponent.
Coco Before Chanel: Ditto.

It is announced that a special appearance will be made by Helen Mirren, who is in attendance with her new costume drama The Last Station. It certainly explains why I keep getting stopped in the street by strangers assuming I am her. Curse my matronly demeanor and bosomy man-boobs!

I hereby apologize to everyone sitting near me during It Came From Kuchar, the side-splitting new documentary about the Kuchar twins, George and Mike. The campy clips from their lewd filmography had me convulsing with booming laughter during the entire 90 minutes.

Early on, I decide to skip the special screening of the new Todd Solondz film Life During Wartime. If I wanted to experience tiresome smart-ass writing whose only intent is to make the viewing public uncomfortable, I'd just read my own fucking blog [*rimshot*].

I have a newfound respect for filmmaker Alexander Payne, whose films (About Schmidt, Sideways) have always slightly annoyed me. All of his picks as Guest Director of the festival were worth catching, from the weepy 1937 drama Make Way For Tomorrow to the Spanish black comedy El Verdugo to the darkly ironic Samurai epic Daisan no Kagemusha. His presentation of the splendid Italian romantic comedy Le Ragazze di Piazza di Spagna, which featured a very young Marcello Mastroianni in one of his earliest roles, was made even more special for me because I was sitting a mere two rows away from his frequent co-star Anouk Aimée. Being able to look over at her as Mastroianni appeared on the screen had me in cinematic heaven.

You Cef! I Cef! We All Cef for Unicef!

I have decided to hold a concert for Bangladesh in my living room. The goal is to raise at least $3 million dollars for the cause but because there’s probably only enough space for about 11 people (provided everyone helps me move the credenza outside to the front porch), tickets will be going for $28,000.00 each. To make my job a little easier, I’m only asking one band to play for the full 6-hour event: Varghkoghargasmal. Rather than have them repeat the same set for the duration of the concert, I’m requesting that they play Autumn Rain for the entire half-day show, making it progressively slower and sloppier as the song progresses. Varghkoghargasmal’s gloomy blood-splattered death metal dirge, paired with the type of ear-pleasing Casio keyboard arrangements you’d hear on a late night infomercial for Teflon pans, is sure to be a hit with the crowd. Refreshments can be purchased in my kitchen. I hope everyone likes buttermilk!

The Disappointment Only a Father Could Feel For His Worthless Wayward Children

I raised all of you better than this. Here is all the wrongness which you allowed to happen during my recent sabbatical:

1. You encouraged Leslie Hall to channel her inner Roches (but at least she possesses a much better fashion sense).

2. You catipulted Santogold into the charts simply for emulating M.I.A. when, in reality, she is also guilty of copying Gwen Stefani, The Breeders and Gwen Stefani.

3. You sanctioned Alec Empire as he morphed into Gary Numan without the sense of humor.

4. You replaced Stereolab with Monade and nobody has yet detected the switch.

5. You decided that since The Kinks and Green Day have not delivered any recent product, it would be fine for the Foxboro Hot Tubs to fill in during their absence.

6. I do feel pride, however, over how you continue to pick cartoon-like political figures to run for public office, giving me more practice to enhance and strengthen my burgeoning alcoholism: I drink a shot of tequila every time Sarah Palin has another baby.

Chicken Feast

Earlier today, as what appeared to be the entire cast of Wassup Rockers jettisoned past me on their skateboards, it occurred to me that my life would be so much more enriched if Mark E. Smith would fire his current hired hands (again) and simply continue using Mouse On Mars as his permanent back up band, as he did on the new excellent CD Tromatic Reflexxions. Curb your shock and awe as you dine upon Chicken Yaiamas and Duckrog. Think of how much better the last Fall album had been if it had featured The Rhinohead or Speech Contamination/German Fear Of Österreich. Dream of how much less wormy Graceland would have been if it had included Dearest Friends, and Smith never would have allowed Paul Simon to hog all the song credits for himself the way Los Lobos did. You can bet his false teeth would have been clamped on Simon's hair extensions in a Manchester minute.

Bloggers Against Drunk And Sober Societies

Nyquil wasn't made for those days like today, when allergies have got your head so swollen you feel like a balloon with a pulse. No, it was made for those days like today, when you have mind-numbing allergies but you also want to experience the full sonic threshold of Rhys Chatham's epic long player Die Donnergotter at the same time. Take a few spoonfuls of that green elixir, pop that baby onto the headphones and let the almost 22-minute ride steer you to new heights of alcholic epiphany. Trust me--this is one time you'll want to drive drunk.

A Pick Up (And A Pickup)

There are only three things which make me click my heels in a rush of orgiastic ecstasy: 1) puppy breath, 2) microwave popcorn (organic), and 3) walking into the local chain entertainment store and picking up a barely-played used copy of the Can masterpiece Tago Mago after years of avoiding buying it new because why should I give anyone $18 for a recording from over 30 years ago? Besides, I mostly just play Oh Yeah over and over so what's the point in paying full price? I was also delighted to find a barely-played used DVD of the Samuel Fuller masterpiece Pickup On South Street but let's not go there, girlfriend! (I was recently informed this phrase is making an ironic comeback and I'm hoping to be ahead of the curve.)

Sliced, Diced, Covered and Smothered

Just when you think a DJ couldn't possibly further the art of slicing and dicing a James Brown sample these days, along comes Nova Danca (Melo Do James Brown), by Malha Funk, taken from the new non-stop-dripping-with-grooves Latin American club comp Coconut FM, compiled by German performer/prankster Señor Coconut. If that track is a little too old school for your ass, wrap your brain around the crazy cumbia of La Cebolla by Dick El Demasiado, whose backing arrangement seems to have been sampled from one of my recent acid flashbacks. I think I like their cover better than my original version. Get the party started and order this cd from Sterns Music.

Teutonic Knight

About 15 years ago, while on a train in Hamburg, after an exhausting day spent record shopping at World Of Music (sort of the Tower Records of Germany, but so much better), an elderly woman sitting nearby began yelling things in German--a language I don't speak--and gesticulating violently towards me. This went on for the entire 20 minute ride but it wasn't until departing the train that my friend (a Hamburg native) explained what had happened: in my fatigued state, I had put my feet on the empty seat across from me, to which this woman took great offense. Not knowing the local language, I never responded to her harangue and continued brazenly stretching my legs out in front of her. Apparently, she was screaming to everyone within earshot about my rudeness and lack of manners, and all the while I just sat there, unknowingly taunting her sense of public decency. Of course, I was well aware of her hissy fit as it occurred, but assumed she was a nutjob, ignorant to the fact that she was merely acting as some sort of law-enforcing knight, keeping the social fabric of Deutschland sewn smoothly. Yes, those were good times, and I think of that warm and cuddly event whenever I hear Die Qualität des Staates by Felix Kubin. It's the perfect soundtrack to accompany images of a large-boned matriarch chasing after a lazy Yankee with loose behavioral morals. What I love about Kubin is that, like the self-appointed correctional officer on my train, he seems to scream everything coming out of his mouth, Donald Trump-style: all overpowering volume, lacking subtlety and dynamics, which I find so charming when placed on top of Teutonic angular electroclash. Someday, I'm going to turn my little stretched-leg train encounter into a Broadway musical, and Kubin is just the man who will be able to translate that Hallmark moment into a theatre event for the ages. You can buy The Tetchy Teenage Tapes of Felix Kubin 1981-85 at Forced Exposure.

It's The End Of The World As We Know It (And My Religion Predicted It Better Than Your Religion)

Envisioning the apocalypse is not a new sport. If one chooses to interpret The Bible literally, there are a great many passages which spell out Jesus Christ's belief that the world would end during the lifetime of his followers (of course, this never came to be). In 968 CE, the army of the German emperor Otto III thought a common solar eclipse to be a sign foreshadowing the end of Earth (naturally, the end never took place). Using a complex mathematical formula, the idiots over at The Watchtower predicted Armageddon would hit in 1914 (when it inevitably didn't happen, they rationalized that 1914 was the year Jesus began his invisible rule over the earth). What I'm getting at is this: when you listen to The A Frames croon the title track of their latest album, Black Forest II, happily extolling the virtues of all living life forms departing this earthly burden, take it with the same grain of salt that the band does. You can buy this enjoyably plodding album at Sub Pop

Moving Innn Stereo

Sometimes, your continued interest in a band is generated by their inscrutability over a period of time, usually ending when the band begins stepping forward for interviews or you finally see them on music videos. Up to that point, you can play their music and wonder, "Where did they come from?" and "Where did they get such an odd sound?" Of course, shrouded secrecy is no longer possible when every band can simply design a tell-all website, even for the cheesy Finnish trio Aavikko. It was a lot of fun a few years back when their cds and singles would mysteriously appear, usually without pictures or descriptions of the band. Now, sadly (or happily, depending on your viewpoint), I know almost everything there is to know about them. This track is from a limited-edition, double 7-inch release put out by Stereo Total, wherein 8 artists were asked to remix their seminal semi-hit, Holiday Innn. Aavikko's take (spelled as "Inn") was the most obtuse of the set, and although the single is now long out-of-print, the singles/outtakes comp History Of Muysic has included it to keep you in the know. You can buy it from the charmingly-named Stupido Shop, or from my favorite stand-by Aquarius Records.

Like Ever More

Nobody, but nobody does electroclash--does anyone still call it that?--better than the Germans. More proof you will not need: New Deutsch, a collection of cold and barren pop tones from the Der Fatherland, all of them devoid of warmth and humanity, which is what makes every single track so appealing. The tune Wie Werden Immer Mehr (Liebe, Brot, Einfacheit, Tod) is so lacking in English cognates, I can only guess what it's trying to tell us. Perhaps it's a musical warning that the toys inside every Kinder Uberraschung are too dangerous for anyone under 1 year of age. (Tell me something I don't already know.) You can buy this wonderful CD at Gigolo Records.

Doorbells-a-Plenty

When I was much younger, my family lived across the street from this crazy alcoholic neighbor woman who used to walk into our house unannouced every morning to visit with my mother (this was back when people didn't lock doors). My siblings and I used to find this action quite rude (I don't remember my mother's feelings on the matter), and one day, as this neighborhood looney entered our house, my brother shouted out to her in a loud sing-song voice: "Ding, dong! We have a doorbell!" All of us kids had a good laugh over my brother's outburst, although I seem to recall he probably received a whipping from my mother for his behavior. I relive this memory whenever I pass the wide selection of doorbells in certain well-known, unnamed home improvement chain stores (they don't need any free advertising from me), usually trying out every one of the doorbells on display just to hear the different sounds. Sometimes I will compose little on-the-spot melodies by alternating the different tones and timbres of each doorbell, making crude attempts at creating an instrumental chorus or verse by repeating certain doorbell figures over and over. My guess is that this track, No One At Home, by Doktor Kosmos could have been composed by this same method. This amusing ditty is available on the Pop Tics compilation, released by the wonderful Bungalow label in Germany. I bought mine (used) at Amazon. If you yourself should ever decide to compose doorbell melodies in certain well-known, unnamed home improvement chain stores, be on the lookout for employees coming to scold you, because they have to hear these doorbells being rung all day long and the last thing they want is a pop obsessive attempting to write a Top 40 hit song in their department.

It's The Puppetmastaz, Steppin' Up...

Guess who's back in the studio? The world's best German gangsta rap puppet act, Puppetmastaz (not that there are all that many gangsta rap puppet acts out there to begin with, at least not outside of Germany). For a sneak preview of their latest studio antics, check out their website to see for yourself. Is it just me or does the drummer sound more and more like Snoop Dogg with every release? What with Cookie Monster making exercise videos, it's good to see there are still some puppets out there willing to corrupt the world's youth. I doubt if they'd ever tour the US, but I would drive for days to see them if they did. The new album won't hit stores until August or September 2005, so this little snippet of video hijinx will have to hold me until then. If you're unfamiliar with their flow (however much a puppet can be said to have a flow), you can find all their releases (including some great remix singles) at Gemm.com.