Oops.

I completely forgot to mention: I moved over to Facebook about 2 years ago and never bothered to tell any of you.  If you wish to once again enjoy my witty banter, this is where you can get a daily dose once more.

The Perfection of Art is to Conceal Art. [And, Sometimes, Talent.]

Album Covers Which Somehow Escaped Being Added to the Permanent Collection at The Museum of Bad Art (click on the images to embiggen the lulz.)

Disco:Very Translates His Own Press Release Touting Free Give Away of Remastered Release of Disco:Very 2001

On May 24th, 2012, world-renowned music blog Disco:Very will reissue the acclaimed Disco:Very 2001 year-end compilation, which was originally given away to a small number of friends and family in December 2001.

[In this case, "world-renowed" means weird sections of the American midwest and two readers in Ireland, and "acclaimed" means "some people actually kept their CD's for a year before tossing them in the garbage".


"There is not a week that goes by without some fan of my current CD's asking if I will ever reissue the earlier comps", said Disco:Very CEO, Disco:Very. "The time felt right to remind the public why we are at the forefront of custom-made CD compilations given out free-of-charge on an annual basis." 

[How very edgy: still working in a media format less popular than the wax cylinder.]


As it has done for the past 12 years, blog readers are instructed to send their name and address to Disco:Very's e-mail address whereupon a CD will be immediately mailed to the requester.  Because Disco:Very respects its readers privacy, fake names are allowed in each request as long as the address is real.

[The validity of claims to privacy cannot be verified, so keep your soiled underwear locked up just to be sure.]


Longtime readers of Disco:Very and newbies alike will find much to like in this nostalgic trip from 2001, including artists familiar (The Magnetic Fields, Jurassic 5, Sigur Ros) and some off the beaten path (Zero Zero, Marvin Pontiac, Zoot Woman.)

[Anyone in the internet age who still can't stumble upon the music of Radiohead on their own must be some kind of specialized idiot. ]


The audio and cover art has been redesigned and remastered from top to bottom, so even if you already own an original Disco:Very 2001 CD, you should consider adding this newer edition to your collection for its crisp remastering and bold minimalist graphics.

[The original artwork from 2001 was so hideous, it was best to throw it all away and stick to the design of the last few years just to play it safe.]


Disco:Very is a music blog publishing since 2005 where it made a name for itself as an incisive, inflammatory blog of opinion, reviews and music links.

[In other words, just like every other music blog clogging cyberspace, but the author of this one doesn't know the meaning of the words "Give it up, already".]

Let's Deciper the Lyrics to "Eveningness", the Best Track on the New Album by Lotus Plaza

[INSTRUCTIONS: PLAY SONG ON REPEAT FOREVER AND EVER AND EVER]

Looking at my purse and not at you
I deathly need the rest of the tofu
Three’s a Crowd and Moopy and a foot
Chains smoking the drag and it’s a pain

[CHORUS]
I wouldn’t wear it again
And my waist is eveningness
I wouldn’t give it again
And my peas are eveningness
I wouldn’t have it again
And my pace is eveningness
I wouldn’t go it again
And my face is eveningness

Romper Room and gulls that pull it down
Shaggy mom and moves it to its head
Labor love and shadows aren’t that deep
I see them now and don’t want the bar keep

And now that I’ve seen how they change
I know the way you’d have it the same
My game is too pooped to change

CHORUS

[The most transcendent yet subtle musical interlude ever composed.]

[REPEAT FIRST VERSE]

[CONTINUE PLAYING SONG UNTIL YOU GET SICK OF IT, WHICH WILL NEVER HAPPEN, EVER]

Twin Peaks (Except One of Them Doesn't Peak at All.) (These Headlines Are So Fun To Write.) (I'm So Very Starved for Your Attention.)

If you decide, like me, you're going to become a slobbering fan of the new-ish combo Taco Leg, you must first understand a most important yet curious fact: there seems to be, amazingly, two bands with the same awesomely hilarious name. (Which is a Butthole Surfers reference, yes?) There is this Taco Leg--they're from Australia, their musically inept (that's a compliment) new single is pictured above on the left, and their primitive/fuck-you-I'm-a-dum-dum anthems are exquisitely pleasurable.  On the other hand, we've got this Taco Leg.  They should be boss, since they're from Austin and although they're not a complete suck-fest...well, um, can you hate a band because their poster art is pukey?  Great, because the Big Brother & the Holding Company-esque image above, right, is reason enough for my eternal scorn.  If you wish to own anything from the Aussie Taco Leg, empty your wallet here.  If you wish to own anything from the Austin Taco Leg, I'm afraid we can't be internet butt buddies anymore.

Trailer Tailing

Like all of you, I too have been repeatedly viewing the promo for the upcoming Wes Anderson feature The Darjeeling Limited. My hopes are 1) that it will reach the previous heights scaled by Rushmore and, to a lesser extent, The Royal Tenenbaums (was I the only one who found The Life Aquatic lacking?), and 2) that one of my favorite tunes by The Kinks--namely, This Time Tomorrow--will only be used in the trailer and not in the film itself. After its near-perfect placement during the most hopeful, uplifting scene in the stunning 2005 French flick Regular Lovers--with its luminous black and white imagery and eventually despairing story of 1968's lost innocence--why bother to use it in anything else?

I Peak, You Peak, We All Peak for Ethiopique

I hasten thee to visit the wacky world of Chocoreve where seemingly every album ever released is offered for the price of clicking a mouse. Lately, he's been posting every blessed CD in the Ethiopiques series, one volume at a time. It would behoove you to grab these links as soon as you're able--who knows how long it will last before the gatekeepers at Buda Musique track him down and force him into solitary confinement?[Update: It appears that Chocoreve has died. You're probably too late to download anything from him anymore. RIP, Choco. You were the man.]

Mopey's Choice

Which is worse: hearing the original version of "In A Big Country" performed by Big Country, or the yuppie FM-lite version on that icky-twee Kohl's commercial? Would you rather endure the faux-50's stylings in Grease or this sickening embroidery pattern? When I'm in the mood to hear moody opera pop, I pick Sigur Ros, except when they dawdle between albums, in which case I head towards the upstart quasi-Sigur Ros-esque-ness of Faunts, who creates, well, high expecations with High Expectations (on their debut CD High Expectations/Low Results). Sure, Gone With The Day sounds a bit too too too, but if there aren't any Icelandic post-rock albums appearing on the (tundra) horizon, what else am I supposed to do--sit around and pout? It's not like I can embroider one of my own.

Mein Leben ist Scheißewelt

Sure, you could say the forthcoming long-player Visitations from Clinic is more of the same thing they've been doing since their inception, hoisting ever-so-slight variations of past tunes onto the unsuspecting public in tracks like The Seeker, Harvest, Tusk and Paradise. Then again, you could say the same thing about Disco:Very, the only blog willing to tell the same exact joke again and again in posting after posting. Once you give up hope of ever winning a Bloggie, you don't sit around wasting time worrying about staying fresh day after day...

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.)

Abortion Is God's Way Of Checking The Guest List And Saying "I'm Sorry, And You Are...?"

Isn't anyone else mortified by Safeway's new slogan, "From Your Fetus To Our Store"? Are they proposing to eat America's babies? Why can't President Bush do something about this rampant disregard for human life? Every time a man masturbates into a sock--killing off more of the world's drastically limited supply of sperm--we run the risk of wiping out the entire human population. Every stem cell has the potential of becoming a mystical adult contemporary pop star along the lines of Stevie Nicks. Even when she and Lindsay Buckingham (then known simply as Buckingham Nicks) were unknown, unwanted walking sperm 'n' eggs wandering neon-infested Sunset Boulevard hoping to score a record deal with tracks such as Long Distance Winner and Stephanie, their lives had as much value as any petri dish of test-tube experiments you'd care to name. Sadly, this preemie LP is their only pre-Fleetwood Mac release, and because these songs are Buckingham Nick's precious babies, keeping them from being "born again" is akin to committing infanticide on a level not seen since the great Christian bonfire of albums back in 1966, when The Beatles were more popular with groupies than their main competitor Jesus.

Back To Your Future

Remember back in January 2006 when I sent some of you my year-end picks Best-Of-2005 CD? And remember how so many of you mocked me and scolded me and bruised my precious feelings for putting the Cansei De Ser Sexy track Acho Um Pouco Bom on there? But now they're the Next Big Thing and you're all listening to their Sub Pop debut and dancing around the house to Off The Hook and Alcohol and Fuck Off Is Not The Only Thing You Have To Show (even though the original Brazil-only version called Fuck Off Rock is so much better)? Well, get ready to emotionally abuse me once again later this year because I predict--thanks to tracks like Wild Moose Party and Siam--I predict the dance-y New Wave B-52's-ness of The Cosmopolitans is going to make them bigger than Jesus, Buddha and L. Ron Hubbard combined. Except that CSS are relatively new and The Cosmopolitans split up 25 years ago. Other than that, my gods can kill your gods.

Radical Dude

The anticipation has got me breaking out in hives. I simply cannot wait until Justin Timberlake radically changes the face of pop music as we know it. We have been suffering under the constraints of Jimmie Haskell & His Orchestra for far too long. Free us, Justin! Free us from the shackles of We Get Messages, Weightless Blues, Asteroid Hop and Rockin' In The Orbit! And while you're at it, can you radically change the face of popular cinema as well? I have a feeling you'd be able to show Snakes On A Plane a thing or two.

The Rise And Fall Of The Third Reich and Roll

"Girlfriend came out at just the right historic moment...riding the tidal wave kicked up by Nirvana's Nevermind and helping to fill the void that had been created by the instant obsolescence of the music of the '80's..." - excerpt from liner notes in just-released 2-CD edition of Matthew Sweet's 1991 album Girlfriend

The bloody battle begun just months earlier was finally coming to an end. Trapped in their reinforced bunker nestled deep underground, a handful of big-haired pop stars (including Whitney Houston, Cyndi Lauper and A-Ha) paced their cramped quarters, cyanide tablets at the ready lest they should fall into the hands of Colonel Cobain and his ragtag army of flannel-flying punk liberationists. The sonic bombardments continued apace from above, creating an instant obsolescence of all 80's music. Vince Neal, croutched in a dark room below, was preparing to die from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head, agonizing over the distress and betrayal of seeing Decade of Decadance, the Motley Crue quickie greatest-hits collection released earlier that year, failing to reach the dramatic heights in sales of Nevermind. Meanwhile, reinforcements from Seattle marched on: Mudhoney continued their destructive carnage southward (towards Los Angeles), single-handedly overtaking the Coconut Teaszer, while the more unconventional advance attacks of The Butthole Surfers drew in from the southeast. As the Mighty Pop Empire lay in ruins, a severed hand fitted into a single white glove--torn, somewhat hidden by fallen debris and charred almost beyond recognition--was the last remaining symbol of a once formidable influence over a generation. As Emperor Mellencamp signed the Treaty of Surrender, Matthew Sweet and his band took advantage of this unique surge of freedom--a tidal wave, if you will--to perform Divine Intervention, followed by the original demo of Winona, to mark the slow passing of wartime into a newfound spirit of peace, prosperity and neo-primitive Maori tattoo markings going mainstream on biceps across the land.

If I'd Have Known The World Was Ending I'd Have Baked A Cake

This is what the A Frames excel at: they write rock's biggest dumbest guitar riff--bigger and dumber than your head--then proceed to rub your face into it for the duration of an entire song. Cool enough, but when they top it off with deadpan apocalyptic/paranoid rants, it's the icing on the de-evolution cake. NASA should be sending out galactic radio waves of Ionic, Modula and Search And Rescue so other inhabitants of the universe can hear what Earth's final days sound like when set to music.

The Brian Joseph Massacre

Two qualities which make "micro-sampling" (or whatever it's being called this week) so much fun is, 1) hearing how similar it all sounds to the banned 'n' burned records of Brian Joseph Davis, and 2) figuring out from where the sampled source was taken. In the case of the staccato hiccup of Rikki (on Mylo's worldwide mega-hit Destroy Rock & Roll), it was pieced together from Living It Up, off the transcendent/depressing Rickie Lee Jones 1982 long-player Pirates. It is my pleasure to solve these sonic puzzles out so that you may sleep more soundly at night. You're welcome.

Frosted Flakey Goodness

I'm getting very nervous. Normally by this time every year, I've already discovered dozens of new (and not so new) acts whose music makes my receding hairline stand on end. But so far, 2006 has left me wanting--there isn't a single band at the moment about whom I'm urinating in glee. Where are all the good new bands for us to obsess over? After such a non-stop ride in 2005, is there something in the water supply keeping worthwhile bands from forming? Please don't tell me to name check The Arctic Monkeys and Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! because I have, and...well...yawn. So far, my favorite discovery of 2006 is a result of my newly-formed illicit love affair with speed/death/thrash metal: pop lovers, I give you Detsorgsekalf (which may or may not be "Frosted Flakes" backwards, but with a "G" instead of an "F"), and their new album Tr00 Grim Warriors Ov The Necrokkvlt. If there is a more ridiculous, over-the-top and hilarious metal band to watch in 2006, buy it.

The Power of the Music Power

Most of you who don't harbor an aversion to all things David Byrne (you know who you are) may remember Japanese pop star Shoukichi Kina from the Luaka Bop compilation Asia Classics 2: Peppermint Tea House released in 1994. Or you might already know the song Haisai Ojisan from the one-off strange bedfellows collaboration of the French/Frith/Kaiser/Thompson CD Live, Love, Laff & Loaf which came out in 1996 (whoever borrowed my copy and never returned it, please give it back, no questions asked). Either way, you need to hear more of this music. Musicians in Okinawa spawned a unique rock/folk hybrid as a reaction to the US occupation of their islands during the Vietnam war, creating a raw, forceful fusing which sounded like nothing else before or since. Recorded live in 1977 (save for an extra studio track at the end), the performances on The Music Power From Okinawa range from measured urgency to full-out frantic freak-out, Japanese style (proof: Tokyo Sanbika). I'm no musical ethnologist, so I'm not sure if the sanshin being played is electric or fitted with pickups, but the sound overall is great. I bought my copy of this CD used at Amazon, so you should, too.

Harlem Nocturne

Nowhere in these two songs will you find the typical mode of attack usually employed by the Flat Duo Jets, but that's precisely what draws me to them. While the rest of the band's repertoire sought out all that was wild, boozy and untamed, Apple Blossom Time and Ask Me How I Live (both of which close 1991's Go Go Harlem Baby) took the road less travelled to traditional Southern entertainment, and it helps illustrate that they weren't as one-dimensional in their sound as their live shows would suggest. Sadly, this album is currently out of print: I suggest you mosey on over to Amazon for a used copy.  Don't bother to write Rhino Records to reissue it.  At best, they'll ignore you.  At worst, they'll...well, my lawyers have advised me not to talk about it until the court case is over.

In A Category With A Lot Of Funny People

Like the rest of the pop music world, I'm a little under the spell, at the moment, of early Bob Dylan. He was not an artist whose music I grew up hearing much (except for the hits played on FM radio between the usual tracks by Led Zeppelin and The Allman Brothers), so its as if I'm (re)discovering an old artist for the first time. On some level, I'm much more excited to hear interviews with Dylan than actually listen to some of his songs. It's fascinating to hear just how much the relatively new field of music journalism was struggling to keep up with the places to which his mind (and his music) was already racing. The lavishly illustrated new book, The Bob Dylan Scrapbook, 1956-1966 contains a large amount of insights we all witnessed in Martin Scorsese's No Way Home: Bob Dylan, but the audio disc enclosed within its pages contains a number of fascinating interviews that weren't included in the documentary. Sadly, none of them match the hilarious histrionics of the infamous 1967 press conference with Ralph Gleason (fragments of which were shown in Scorsese's film). So, this interview with Martin Bronstein for the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, (held on February 20, 1966) will have to do. It may lack his obtuse wordplay but still shows how journalists were hanging on his every word, back when he was blowing people's minds with every album he released. You can buy this unsparing, overwhelming tome at Dylan's personal website.