Random thoughts: Glasgow, Scotland has some of the best hairdos I've ever witnessed, most of them mullets worn without irony. Everyone is very nice to visiting Americans, even though it would be completely understandable if they wanted to string us up for having the biggest dickhead president ever invented. No good record shops found yet but the music nut bartender in the hotel bar has recommended three local shops he swears by, which I plan on checking out soon. I saw political filmmaker Michael Moore walking to his gate in the Chicago airport. I spoke with him briefly and made him laugh (without once bringing up the dickhead president). I wonder if Glasgow residents have as much trouble understanding my accent as I have understanding theirs? Still experiencing massive jet lag--will try jogging 4 miles tonight in an effort to tire myself out before attempting sleep.

International Record Hunt

Technically, for the next 5 days, I'll be in Glasgow, Scotland for a work-related excursion. But we all know the real reason to travel the globe: record shopping. Check back after August 26th for all kinds of new musical experiences discovered wherever I can find them. For anyone who lives in--or has been to--Glasgow, feel free to post whatever record shop recommendations you want. I'll need them.

Cosmetic Man vs. Consumer Man

Same song performed (and titled) two different ways: I Am 'Cosmetic Man' is from the poppy/sloppy lo-fi punk album Night Club (top left), which I stumbled upon used at a local record store, took a blind chance on, and was hooked. I Am 'Consumer Man' is from Kinky Cinema (bottom right), a collection of early singles, b-sides and unreleased recordings (holding 60 songs, most of them under 2 minutes long). Both tracks are from the long-gone-and-almost-forgotten Glasgow band The Yummy Fur. This might change should the fans of Franz Ferdinand discover that one of its members was once a Fur. Their records are nearly impossible to find in the US but the usual outlets can sometimes get one in for you.

The Perfect Storms

It's hard to imagine anyone tackling a song by The Carter Family and ruining it. It's especially difficult to imagine a talented musician such as Bryan Sutton ruining it. He arranges The Storms Are On The Ocean with a subtle approach, letting the main melody carry everything along and filling in tastefully when the occasion calls for it. This track is taken from a very nice album entitled, appropriately enough, Bluegrass Guitar. You can buy it at Sugar Hill Records.

Do The Ostrich

Light postings today, mainly because I've got my head in the sand, avoiding packing for an upcoming 5-day visit to Glasgow, Scotland. This is an appropriate track, then: The Ostrich, written and recorded by Lou Reed back when he was a Pickwick songwriting hack, long before he met John Cale and formed The Velvet Underground. I love how it's a mixture of Doo Wop and teen dance hit novelty yet mixed with an I-don't-give-a-fuck stoner's sensibility. It's available on the bootleg LP, Etc. Your hometown probably has a record store specializing in rarities and illegal pressings which has an expensive copy stashed in its dusty shelves, or you can find an expensive copy stashed in the dusty cyber shelves of Gemm.

Tubular Moonlight

The dense lo-fi sounds of San Francisco's Kelley Stoltz have a playful homemade quality which runs the gamut from pop to rock to folk to blues, starting over at pop again. You would think this diversified output would lead to a widespread audience hungry for all the musical styles he taps into but that hasn't yet been the case. However, I predict fame (and, perhaps, fortune) will finally rear its puffy little head when his newest CD comes out on Sub Pop in January 2006. Until then, here is Tubes In The Moonlight, a track from Antique Glow, which came out in 2003 and is available for purchase at Inertia (where it comes with a completely different cover, oddly enough). You can also now purchase his song-for-song remake of Crocodiles, the classic album by Echo & The Bunnymen, which can be found at Darla.

You Are Bumming Me Out, Asshole!

Sandra, you are so right: we do live in such reactionary times. Sadly, not much has changed since this track, Apocalyptic White Trash, was first released in 1989. We're still a country overrun by paranoid Right-Wing fear-mongers, but now Madonna is married to a UK film director, practices Jewish mysticism and writes children's books. This hilarious CD is long out of print, but you can find expensive copies at Amazon. If you really want to splurge, head over to Bernhard's website where you can buy a limited-edition reissue of the original which includes an extra disc of outtakes. Anyone trying to think of what to buy me for X-mas need look no further.

This Space Available

It's taking a little too long for the follow-up release from Miighty Flashlight (the self-titled debut hit stores way back in 2002). This folk-pop side-project of Mike Fellows (of indie-faves The Getaway Car and Rites Of Spring) was recorded inbetween his hired-hand studio stints with Smog, Will Oldham, Royal Trux...pretty much anyone on the Drag City roster. The album as a whole is as hazy and relaxed as the vintage poolside scene on the cover. As such, it's a CD you listen to the same way you lounge outside during a warm summer evening. Until the sequel arrives (I'm talking to you, Mike), I thought it would be nice to revisit Forget This Space in the meantime. You can buy the entire CD at Kill Rock Stars.

Parlez-Vous Francais, Mr. Peecat?

The stylish retro pop look of Katerine has changed somewhat since his initial albums. Nowadays, he's more content to slump over naked (as on Les Creatures, top left) or cavort freely with chesty models in a futuristic leotard drag (as he does on his latest CD, Robots Apres Tout, bottom left). Laziness/lack of cash flow has prevented me from purchasing the latter, so here's a track from the former: Je Vous Emmerde, a jaunty little number which, according to my laughable knowledge of French, translates to "I, You Emmerde". Huh?? Perhaps a reader possessed of more intimate knowledge of the French language can write and let us all know what he's singing about. You can order either cd from the always-reliable Music Stack.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye! One and All!

Credit must go where credit is due: this track was discovered via Cake And Polka Parade. The album it's taken from, Mostly Ghostly, is one of the countless cheapo Halloween cash-in sound effects records which have been released ad nauseum since LPs became the staple of households around America. Per usual, it contains the standard bargain-basement actors attempting to stir up goosebumps with poorly-rendered screams and moans. The clincher, however, is Goblin Ball, an utterly bizarre yet spellbinding production which, on the surface, initially makes perfect sense but upon repeat listens reveals an overwhelming musical chaos. It's not just the quasi-R&B vocals, it's not just the organist attempting to play every single chord ever invented before the song ends. The moment that sends it into MSR Song-Poem territory is when the producers suddenly decide to add a rather arbitrary goblin shreik, shifting the entire song to the right speaker to accommodate it. What a better world it would be if more recordings were approached with such illogical abandon. As for tips on purchasing this gem, the web has turned up zilch. Perhaps a dusty record store in your neighborhood will have it lurking in the cut-out bin. Happy hunting.

Books: Frank Zappa: The Negative Dialecticts of Poodle Play. A dense read but even a non-Zappaphile would find its takes on politics, feminism, avant-garde history and rock conformism satisfying.

Ads: Those creepy (local?) ads for Bedmart. The spokeswoman inviting me to a good night's sleep while inducing nightmares with her uber-plastic delivery gives irony a bad name.

Food: Portabello mushrooms with goat cheese and roasted bell peppers. The answer to all life's problems.

TV: Martha Stewart's The Apprentice. Will she make contestants run over baby chicks as one of her tasks?

Film: Nine Lives, forthcoming film from Rodrigo Garcia. A slightly flawed work but loaded with many emotionally charged moments and more than a few brilliant performances.

Toys: Mac The Ripper. Enriching my life, one burn at a time.

Life: America's ignorant backward slide towards Intelligent Design. Devo, come home. All if forgiven.

While My Sitar Gently Weeps

What is it about sitars that can set one's heart aflutter (well, my heart, at least)? This odd little track, I Give You Johnee by The Saddhu Brand (yes, "Brand"--it's not a typo) rises above the usual consciousness-expanding foray into sitar noodling if only because the clunky start/stop rhythm gives it a more naive, primitive sound. The closest one could compare it to would be if The Shaggs attempted to faithfully perform a song from a Bollywood soundtrack. This track is available on Volume 7 of the Electric Psychedelic Sitar Headswirlers series and it's available at the UK internet store The Freak Emporium.

The Balls Of A Cupid

Johnny Nash (of I Can See Clearly Now fame) is nowhere near the equal of Sam Cooke. This is a given. Yet somehow, Nash's version of Cupid has the same soulful passion to it that almost mirrors Cooke's rendition while giving it a new twist of its own. Perhaps it's not as smooth an approach as the original, but the groove is a bit more forceful. Considering Cooke's enormous stature as a singer, you have to give Nash credit for having the balls to even give it a try. This track is taken from the Johnny Nash: The Reggae Collection and Amazon has it in abundance.

Dance, You Rusty Robot, Dance!

The title is slightly misleading: most of the tracks lean towards funky, not fuzzy, but when you're talking about such groove-laden songs as Sanjina (by Ochestre Regional de Kayes), any caveat is a moot point. The way the backing band gently swoops and glides over the oddly delicate melody could even make a rusty robot bump and grind. Even label honcho David Byrne would find his booty grooving smoothly to this slithery slab of beat.  You can buy this superb album at Insound.

Are You One Of Them?

It's common to hold a morbid fascination about serial killers. Ultimately, however, there is nothing to celebrate or hold up with glee. Sure, the twisted obsessions of Murder Can Be Fun are worth their chuckles, but think of how horrible it would be if it was your loved one who had been viciously tortured and senslessly killed. It's this very reaction which drives the power of the track John Wayne Gacy from the latest effort by Sufjan Stevens, Illinois. It begins with a somewhat neutral reporting of the facts surrounding Gacy's upbringing but by the time Stevens reaches the inevitable moment of describing the unfortunate victims and the innocence of their youth, he cries out "Oh my god...", as if the enormity of the grisly murders are more than he can stand. It's probably the only reaction anyone could muster in the face of such bloodshed, the first reaction of a family member who finds out why their teenager has been missing for so many months. It's a genuinely moving moment in an album packed with them. For anyone wondering why they're reading a post about an album already written up everywhere on the internets when it came out almost 2 months ago: the one big chain store in my vicinity, which shall go unnamed (**cough!** Zia Records!) never ordered any copies and I had to wait for a trip to LA to track it down (with the image of Superman still intact, thank you very much).

Attack Of The Hog People

Everyone knows the hits of The Coasters (Charlie Brown, Poison Ivy, etc), but their less-popular tracks are just as compelling. Witness the band attacking their one-note guitar solo on I'm A Hog For You, taken from the now out-of-print 50 Coastin' Classics: Anthology on Rhino Records. Somehow, I got away with only paying around $20 for my barely-used copy. Here's hoping you have as much luck as I did and don't pay what Amazon vendors are selling it for.

If Defintion Of Customer Relationship Management Feels Good, Do It

I wonder if I'm the only blog getting spam comments such as this: "Cool. Good stuff. Its boring, but definition of customer relationship management is what I'm into." Forgive me but I don't even know what "definition of customer relationship management" is. I mean, I've met a lot of people over the years into some pretty kinky stuff, but if definition of customer relationship management is what gets you off, more power to you, I guess. I'm not even going to mention the spam comment I received linking me to a myriad of cheesecake recipes. Hey, whatever floats your boat.

Be Careful What Your Heart Desires

It's a damp, cloudy and humid morning, which really pisses me off. Why can't it just be bright sunny weather all year round? Who the hell dictated that the earth had to be such a little busybody and rotate around the sun? Why can't scientists figure out how to prevent this damn planet from having such a wobbly axis? I least I don't live in the rain capital of the southern hemisphere, New Zealand, where the movie Rain was filmed. The setting is mopey enough but then the director goes and gives the soundtrack duties to Neil Finn (of Crowded House). It's no wonder he came back with a song as dour and depressing as Orange And Blue. I doubt if you can rent this film in the States, but the DVD and CD soundtrack are both available from various NZ stores peddling their wares at Gemm.

Exquisite Corpse

Incessant as a buzzing headache but a lot more fun, Rancid Hell Spawn (named after a Pussy Galore track) have been darting under the pop/punk radar since 1988, making records (as their website puts it) "packed with catchy, heavily distorted one-minute punk burnouts for the truly twisted, with record sleeves to match". As far as I can tell, the entire "band" is one Charlie Chainsaw (I've never seen them live--the one time they ventured to play in my vicinity, I was unable to attend the show), former editor of the underground fanzine Chainsaw. I've discovered that Mr. Chainsaw is also singer/bassist in another in-your-face band the Sexual Abominations, whose debut single "Rock'n'roll Meat Hook", is also on Wrench Records. My hope is that the Sexual Abominations aren't keeping Charlie from his Hell Spawn day job and he's able to juggle the two superstar stadium outfits simultaneously. I'd hate to live in a world without Rancid Hell Spawn. My Pet Corpse is taken from the Masochist Chainsaw LP (above left), but the entire album was recently compiled on the Scalpel Party CD (above right) along with a myriad of other "best of" tracks. Of course, when your music is about eating human testicles, getting drunk on Listerine and extolls the virtues of cholesterol, "best of" becomes a relative term. Update: It looks like Rancid Hell Spawn's entire output is now available via iTunes. Praise be!

Life Is What You Do While You're Waiting To Die

Because it was the fault of a room that prevented me from posting anything for so long, it only seems fitting to present Zorba The Greek by Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass. Why, you may ask? Well, shut up and I'll tell you: In our childhood days, my older sister and I used to skip around the living room to this song, increasing our mobility as the tempo builds, collapsing in a triumphant heap at the song's end. I haven't seen the movie this theme song was taken from (titled Zorba The Greek, of course, and starring Anthony Quinn) in years (nor have I seen a staged production of the Broadway musical based on the movie, entitled Zorba). As a child, this film used to fascinate me endlessly. Watching it as an adult, I have a feeling its tale of a simple Greek peasant teaching the depressed city man how to enjoy life will now come off as forced and overwrought. Sometimes I wonder if I created a connection to this movie as a child simply because it was released the year of my birth. Shout! Factory has been reissuing all of Herb Alpert's classic '60's albums for the last so many months and doing a fine job it: mastered from the original studio tapes, well-annotated liner notes, original artwork intact. A class act all the way. We should all make an effort to buy each and every one of them so they'll keep up the good work.

A Room As Big As My Heart For You, The Readers

Mea culpa, my half-dozen devoted readers, mea fucking maxima culpa. The reason I have not posted in almost two months is the very room you see before you. To complete this home improvement project involved scrubbing the walls with TSP solvent, applying compound, sanding every surface to a smooth finish, painting a prime coat followed by a latex coat, then laying the floor brick by brick. Such are the vexations of owning a home. It felt like it was going to take forever, and it took up nearly every ounce of free time I have, but it's finally done. My only regret is that the blogging suffered as a result. From here on in, I promise you this: I will devote all my waking time and energy to this blog and posting music for you, The Common Folk, the little people I love so much. In this I will never again waiver (except when I'm in Glasgow in two weeks, and then off to Telluride, Colorado after that, and also during Christmas vacation). Check back soon for some wonderful mp3 posts.

The New Vague

Is it a parody? Is it sincere? One listen leaves me feeling, well, vague. How is Nouvelle Vague any different from The Moog Cookbook? Or Bud E. Luv? Or Richard Cheese? I'm a lover of kitsch as much as any other collector of vintage skinny ties, but seeing this one-joke-pretending-it's-not-a-joke cd (and-not-even-a-good-pretend-joke-cd-at-that) receive heaps of praise (not to mention that it's on David Byrne's label) leaves me scratching my head in befuddlement. If I wanted to hear watered-down bossa-nova, I'd listen to Tropicalia.

The Sadness Of Sex

It's probably been up for a while, but I'm just now bothering to discover it: Secretly Canadian has a music video posted to accompany the sadness of Hope There's Someone, the still-stunning-no-matter-how-many-times-I've-heard-it first single off I Am A Bird Now by Anthony & The Johnsons. If you'd rather own the video (and who doesn't?), the EP contains the video in all its melancholic gender-bending glory.

The Selling-Outiest Guy On The Lower East Side

The connection between the dysfunctional family on The Lucky Ones and the new Mercury Mariner SUV is still a head-scratcher (navigating through the labyrinth of clues doesn't help much, either) but the soundtrack makes it all worthwhile: it features a new song (as far as I can tell) by Stephen Merritt of The Magnetic Fields (whose title, I'm guessing, is The Lucky Ones). I hope he's making a bundle off this thing. If you want an available-for-a-limited-time super-duper illegal download of this track minus the visuals, click here. Please note: I've saved it as an AAC file, so if you're living large PC-style, you're shit outta luck. As Flava Flav once sang to me, "I can't do nuthin' for ya, man." UPDATE: I'm told by some of my readers that Real Player can sometimes play AAC files. Hopefully this will prevent any anti-Mac comments flying my way.

Good Music And Circular Beats

Today, two songs instead of one, (mainly because I've been unable to find cd covers at the proper pixel size to illustrate the postings). The northern Swedish town of Umeà, has given us two worthy pop bands: Komeda and Ray Wonder. Komeda is still going strong (as far as I know) but Ray Wonder ended some years back, splintering into a few new outfits (including Hank, not to be confused with Hank). All that's left is Good Music, from which General Hugging Center is taken. The uplift in the song's message is genuinely heartwarming, without coming off maudlin or soppy. The other side of the coin, literally, is Coin, formed by Thermos Malling after Bob Log went solo upon leaving Doo Rag. Back in 1999, when Coin's self-titled CD-R debut was released, the Apple synthesizer voice motif on songs such as Circular Beats were still a neo-post-electronica novelty, but now it just sounds dated. Seeing the band play is the key, where the live vocals of Malling's über-Teutonic bride assist in easing the deadpan irony. There appears to be no way to buy this CD on the web--perhaps sending an e-mail to Coin via their e-mail address (chcl8@brink.com) might net something. Good luck.

1,702 American Invitees Dead So Far

Ah, Memorial Day. Another pointless exercise in honoring those fighting in a trumped-up war we never should have started in the first place, unless, like White House spokesman Scott McClellan, you believe the US was invited (which also means victims of rape were asking for it). Is the purpose of this war to defend the freedoms of misguided, religion-baiting assholes like this? Because the amount of patriotism I feel today could fit in a thimble, I have decided to offer a track whose lyrics make inadvertent ironic commentary on the current state of the twisted American mind: Jesus Is The First Line Of Defence by The Pilgrim Travellers. You can find this track on Like An Atom Bomb: Apocalyptic Songs From The Cold War Era, released by Buzzola Records in 2004. Their other excellent collections include Reefer Madness (vintage drug songs), Sugar In My Bowl (sex songs circa 1923 - 1952), and You Done Me Wrong (old-time country cheating songs). You can find them all at Amazon.

Thank You For Not Smokin'

Another find during my recent record store jaunts in San Diego. When I was in the 4th grade, I considered the album Do It ('Til You're Satisfied) by B.T. Express to be da bomb, except it was 1974 and this term had not yet come into use. Also, I was an awkward non-funky white boy and never would have spoken such slang had it even been in vogue (my exact recollection is that I found the album to be "neat"). The title track was the big hit but I always leaned towards the album's closer, This House Is Smokin', which I had always assumed to be a live track due to the cavernous ambience of the recording and what sounded like cheering after the first line (I now realize it's supposed to be the sound of crackling flames--apparently, I was so cracker I didn't even get the congruous analogy of blazing heat and hot funk). The vinyl copy purchased upon its initial release is still in my music collection but it's so scratched and unplayable that I was delighted to find it anew in digital form. Edsel Records reissued it earlier this year, tacking on the 1977 album Function At The Junction (which, due to its disco string arrangements on nearly every track, is more Fire Island than fire-on-the-dancefloor). You can purchase this cd at Dusty Groove.

Freestyle Grumbling

Sure, the latest Stereolab compilation, Oscillons From the Anti-Sun (top left) featuring rare tracks and B-sides is a real humdinger of a bargain (not just one, not just two but three CDs of music plus a DVD of music videos and TV appearances all for $25???). My only grumpy old man grumbling is that anyone outside of Japan and the UK will still have to pay big prices to own the pro-Atheism, grunge-tastic, riff-eriffic Freestyle Dumpling, which came inside initial Japanese editions of Aluminum Tunes (middle left) and, thereafter, was also featured on the UK-only Rough Trade comp Electronic 01 (bottom left). I had to pony up I'm-not-going-to-tell-you-how-much to own a copy of the coveted Japanese single (minus the Aluminum), but in the spirit of blog camaraderie, I'm going to share my well-worn 7-inches with you now. The all-inclusive Gemm.com has both the Japanese single and the UK Rough Trade comp but if I were you, I'd wait to see if this track ends up on their next rarities comp. Considering the frequency of the 'Lab's output, it should be released sometime next week.

It's The Fall, Damnit

Conventional wisdom dictates that The Fall made some rather spotty albums after the departure of Brix Smith. Although this rings true on some levels, I continue to buy the seemingly thousands of albums released during the post-Brix period because...well, because it's The Fall, damnit. But mostly because every album has at least one track worth hearing. For my money, on 2000's The Unutterable, it's Hands Up Billy, a tidy little rave-up that is probably a hoot to hear live. You can order it from DooYoo Records in the UK.  Let the full-on spastic rave-up pogo dancing commence.

Mr. Keith Goes To Washington

It took me almost 10 years to buy I Died Today, the Rodd Keith collection on Tzadik Records, which came out in 1996. At this rate, you can expect me to offer mp3's from Ecstacy to Frenzy (Tzadik's follow-up collection of Keith oddities) in the year 2013 (it was released in January 2004). Most of you are probably well aware of Keith's surreal genius (if not, check out this all-inclusive WFMU article, or buy the only song/poem collection currently in print, on Bar/None Records). Anything in the American Song/Poem canon is a must-hear, but the songs of Rodd Keith somehow outshine them all. Our Senators isn't the best track on this collection (that honor would go to Do The Pig), but in light of the recent behavior in Washington DC, this track somehow seemed more fitting for today. You can buy this cd direct from the label or from such fine stores as Tone Vendor.

Half The Bonanza At Half The Price

Unlike most Jamaican ska songs from the 1960's, Don Cosmic (by Don Drummond And His Group) has a gentle downhearted quality to it that always gets to me, especially that last held note, sounding like a question mark at the end of a musical sentence. Heartbeat Records has released this song on two similar collections, pictured above: Ska Bonanza! and Streets Of Ska. The former is a 2-disc, 48-track collection (top-notch from beginning to end) and the latter is nothing more than Disc One of the former. Why they would release one half of a 2-disc set is beyond me. Don't make the same mistake I did: splurge for the 2-cd set from the get-go. You can order it directly from the label or from Reggae CD.

Foxy (Disembodied Vocal) Lady

This song doesn't make any sense at all, even coming from the off-center mind of Neil Michael Hagerty. The rhythm stumbles along, as if recovering from each herky-jerky beat as it propels itself forward. The disembodied female vocals singing each non sequitur are so wrapped in layers of echo, so distanced from the action up front, that they almost come off as paranormal. Like the best songs of Captain Beefheart (or even The Shaggs), it contains its own inner logic. After Royal Trux dissipated, it didn't seem certain that Hagerty would be able to recoup his losses and regain what had been lost. With All-Night Fox, the latest cd by his new outfit, The Howling Hex, his fans can rest easy. Every track on this album is killer, and although Instilled With Mem'ry is arguably the least accessible song on the new cd, you still might find yourself banging your head (as best you can) as it grooves down its own crooked lane. You can purchase it at almost any record store you care to name (on-line or not) or get it direct from Drag City.

This Band Goes To Eleven

The best feature of technology is when it somehow organically heals itself. For whatever reason, the strange noises emitted by my hard drive over the last week have suddenly stopped. That's good news for you, too: the download postings will be delayed no longer (or at least not until I pony up for a bigger GB drive). There are, however, strange noises in my ears at the moment--a long, high-pitched roar searing through my head ever since seeing Caribou last night. Louder than all get-out, there were particular parts of their set where I felt the ceiling was going to cave in as the massive din they stirred up rattled the rafters of the nightclub. If they come to your town, drop everything you're doing--school, work, sleep--and see them. Be sure to bring a tenner for the above untitled cd--sold only at the live shows--which I'm told is comprised of outtakes from The Milk Of Human Kindness. Better to own your own copy of The Snow Capes now rather than pay five times that amount later on eBay. It's worth it alone for the crazy 36-minute mix that starts the cd off with a bang--layers of old soul records, Bollywood funk-ups and bizarre foreign language pop songs. Very cool.

I Walked The Line With Johnny Cash

So much music to post and so many interruptions preventing me from doing so. First my birthday, and now this--my computer is making odd noises and needs to visit the Mac doc for a few days. Here, then, is an mp3 you'll have to make do with while my G4 is getting serviced, Man vs. The Empire Brain Building, featured on the Ze Records compilation cd Mutant Disco #3: Garage Sale (top left). This track originally came out on the Was (Not Was) album Born To Laugh At Tornadoes (bottom left) back in 1983, a favorite cd of mine which some asshole swiped from my collection during a raccous house party about 10 years ago. Until Ze Records reissues that wonderful album (which they have been promising to do for at least a year), this is all I have to tide me over. Although every track in the Mutant Disco series is worth owning, I've always had a fondness for the music of Was (Not Was), if only because they openly admit that every album they made was influenced by taking LSD. You can find this superb cd at Forced Exposure. I promise to include more tracks from this cd in the future, as soon as my Mac is up and running again.

One Day I'll Grow Up And Be A Beautiful Girl

If there was ever an album deserving a "you either love it or hate it" tagline, I Am A Bird Now, by Antony And The Johnsons is it. The initial shock might be the melancholy cover photo of transexual heroine Candy Darling as she lounges in her hospital death bed. Or it might be the forceful, angelic vocals, which leap across any and all boundaries of gender. Perhaps the most surprising: a performer wielding such raw yet delicate emotional depths in a cultural climate overburdened with ironic satire. It's almost unsettling to hear such a personal work informed with unflinching sadness and pain. Every song on this album is weighted heavy with death and mourning, conversely seeking release in metaphoric flight from the darkness, finding its power through defiance against unseen odds. Don't feel bad if you find his work too painful to witness upon first listen--it's taken me almost four months to warm up to this most enlightening of albums. Antony almost dares you not to be affected when crooning the album's opening lines of Hope There's Someone. Press on, and you'll be rewarded. You can find this superb cd at most record stores, or buy it from the record label itself.

Stompin' All The Way Home

Because I was gone for several days, I feel I owe it to all my readers to make up for my absence with two songs instead of one. I do have readers, right? Hello? Is this thing on? I'm still in vacation mode so both song titles will make reference to this state of mind: Take A Trip (by Jimmy Vick and The Victors) and Come On Home (by Prince Charles), both tracks taken from Volume 3 of the (quasi-legal) 1950's/60's R&B series Stompin', which I found at the wonderful Lou's Records in Encinitas, CA (about 10 minutes outside of San Diego). This cd series is difficult to come by (I've only ever seen it on-line at such places as Roots And Rhythm). Remarkably, Lou's Records had nearly every cd in the entire series. How I wish I'd bought Volume 12, though, because I'm having the hardest time finding the cover for Volume 3 to post at the top of this paragraph. You'll have to trust me: they all look pretty much the same. I was genuinely shocked at some of the rare cds I found at Lou's (by such artists as Rodd Keith, Steve Nieve and The Band of Blacky Ranchette) but was also surprised at the cds I couldn't find (nothing by Annie, Vitalic or Circle). Still, their prices are quite cheap, and they were nice enough to find my cell phone when I thought I'd lost it. What more could you ask for?

I Got It All Wrong, Maybe. I'm Saying So Long, Baby

This Sunday, May 15th, is my birthday, and my traditional celebration involves a trip to a somewhat far off locale (this year: San Diego). Because you won't be hearing from me again until Wednesday, May 18th, my plan was to leave you with a song which, either in the title or theme, would reflect on birthdays or vacations. The two most obvious ideas--"Vacation" by The Go-Go's, and "Birthday" by The Beatles were quickly nixed (that overplayed Old Navy commercial has caused me to curse those L.A. femme-popsters in my sleep, and I am not wealthy enough to fight a copyright lawsuit by the Fab Four). After much thought, the decision was made to use So Long, Baby by The Wedding Present, for two good reasons: 1) the lyrics are concerned with the act of leaving (and being left behind), and 2) The Wedding Present are playing at a club down the street from me tonight. Sadly, I excel at procrastinating so instead of seeing them live, I'll be at home packing my suitcase. Offering this track (taken from Watusi), is my inadequate attempt at redemption. One more reason I'm staying home: the cover is $12 and I need every penny I own for spending in the record stores of San Diego. Who knows--maybe I'll find a used copy of Watusi for less than Amazon currently offers.

Chicken Del Sol

This new compilation album is getting lots of press, and it's easy to see why. Although Antena were ignored by both critics and record buyers when they began recording in 1982, their breezy tunes hit the current zeitgeist bullseye dead in the middle. With their softly-sung French lyrics, and cocktail party sound draped around a Kraftwerk-inspired tick-tock drum machine, you can't help but compare them to Stereolab (the boring current Stereolab, not the exciting Neu-influenced Stereolab of old), and The Boy From Ipanema, featured on Camino Del Sol, seems to be the track I hear everyone fawning over the most. Personally, I like the rest of the album much better, if only because the vocal effects on this track remind me of this absurdist commercial from Estonia (I've had more comforting images in my nightmares). You can find this album at the record label's website, or you can order a copy from Aquarius Records like I did.

Performance To Performance, Doing What You Want Me To

Of all the best qualities of early punk music, the most potent would be when dispossessed and bored rockers would throw the curtains back on the music machinery and expose it for the farce it really is: rebellious youth culture as just another form of drag. Late '70's punk was ready-made for this sentiment: if your band formed before even learning to play instruments, why pretend to invest on an emotional or intellectual level anyway? Going Through The Motions, taken from Amateur Wankers, a newly-released Acute Records compilation of everything by the 1976 working class British group The Prefects, distills this essence into a not-so-tidy nearly-5-minute rant, almost daring the audience to admit that they're as much a part of the sham as the band is. Although they toured with The Clash, The Jam and Buzzcocks, The Prefects as a whole never really fit into the standard punk mold and, unable to play the game the same way their peers did, quietly imploded soon after they'd formed. "Eventually," says vocalist/guitarist Alan Apperley in the liner notes, "We all got fed up and it fell apart. But that's how it should be, isn't it?" Purchase this essential cd at the on-line services of Carpark Records.

Your Love Made Me An Infidel

As Terri Ex (of politcal noise-niks The Ex and Terp Records) was recently assisting in the hunt of new material for the ongoing Ethiopiques series, the name Tsehaytu Beraki kept coming up during his musical hunt. After some investigating, it was determined she was an enormously popular performer who was forced to flee from the dangerous unrest of Eritrea, seeking asylum in Rotterdam, which is where she was eventually found living peacefully in exile. From there, an idea was hatched to release a cd of her songs but, sadly, very little of Beraki's music has actually been made available--despite decades of performing. So, recording time was booked, a few musical guests were hired to tastefully fill out the admittedly sparse sounds and the 2-cd set Selam was born. Beraki's weathered and soulful vocals glide over the rhythmic strumming of a krar (and occasionally a bass krar), a droning stringed instrument which looks like a harp but sounds somewhat like a zither. Many of the songs are centered on love, many more on loss and suffering. This is powerful stuff but not for the faint of heart--the average song clocks in at the 11-minute mark. In the interest of saving my server space, I'm offering Lale Bola, one of the few songs timed at 5 minutes (the headline above is a line translated from the lyrics). I bought my copy of this wonderful cd at the always-reliable Aquarius Records.

Playing With The Majors

What I am about to say will confound and amaze you: I actually enjoy it when major corporations use pop songs in their commercials. If a mainstream ad campaign helps bring more audiences to appreciate Nick Drake, Trio or The Caesars, isn't that a benefit to advancing great music? Sure, Carnival Cruise Line looks pretty stupid milking "Lust For Life", an ode to the joys of heroin addiction, to peddle their oceanic yuppie movers, but I'd rather hear Karen O singing on the Spike Jonze Nike commercial than...well, I don't know exactly how to finish that sentence. I mention all this simply because I finally found a used copy of Street Mix: Music From Volkswagen Commercials (Volume 1), which, I'm ashamed to say, took me so long to find that Volume 2 came out in the interim (lacking, for some reason, Ariel Ramierez by Richard Buckner). Volume 1 contains a lot of tracks we all own already (Pink Moon, Da Da Da, etc), but it has one track that seems to be available only on this cd: Jung At Heart by Master Cylinder. This was the song used in the ad where almost everyone on the street--a boy dribbling a ball, a man sweeping the sidwalk--are all moving to the same funky drummer. Try to forgive the gawd-awful pun of the track's title, and good luck finding this cd for sale anywhere on the web. Every copy seems to have disappeared, and I have no intention of selling mine.

The Place That Makes Managing Your Money As Easy As Spending It

Some of you may already know this song, some of you might not. If you've seen that TV commercial for Citibank, the one with the moody shots of kites and cloudy skies or whatever, here is a free download of the song the commercial uses. It's called Slow Down and it's by The Feelies, taken from their 1986 masterpiece The Good Earth (produced by Peter Buck of R.E.M.). I've often wondered if it was Buck or the band who decided to record the entire album with the vocals buried deep in the mix. It gives the entire disc a subdued feeling, even when songs such as Slipping (Into Something) are almost bursting with unchecked energy. Sadly, this album has been out of print for years, and I'm shocked--shocked!--that Rhino Records has not seen fit to reissue it in some deluxe 2-CD edition (they've rereleased albums by the truly wretched Firefall, for gawd's sake). I command you to send them an e-mail and complain. Be sure to use plenty of big words.

Woodpeckers Are In The House

Today's post is dedicated to the Ivory-Billed Woodpecker--a rare and beautiful bird thought to be extinct for the last 60 years--which was sighted in the Big Woods of eastern Arkansas, a large acreage of bottomland swamp forest. Bird enthusiasts and experts in the natural science world are bugging out, yo. There aren't many songs about woodpeckers, and if there are, I don't own them, so Woodpecker Rock by Nat Couty & The Braves will have to do for now. The 50's kitsch of this track doesn't do justice to such an important environmental discovery, but I doubt my man Woody will mind. This track is from Volume 4 of Born Bad: Songs The Cramps Taught Us, and because it's a bootleg series, it's not always easy to find. I suggest you try ordering it from Roots and Rhythm.

Blessed Are The Noise Makers

If there is a God, does he (or she?) permit us free will? If so, this would be the only proof we have that God begat freeform jazz. Well, make that freeform jazz and Soul Junk, because the two are so very similar in their means and in their ends. Much like their hero Jesus, Soul Junk are aggressively preaching their sermon on the mount to those who might not believe or understand, but unlike our Lord, lead yelper Glen Galaxy is using turntables, samplers and the noise of belching sax squanks. Yes, Soul Junk are Christians, but more than that, they're rappers, but much more than that, they create the most wigged-out, original and uncompromising hip hop this side of Infinite Livez. You actually have to admire a band that forges ahead year after year, despite being too pious for an indie rock audience and too bipolar for a holy audience. Can you imagine how Pat Robertson would react to Ruby Doomsday? My guess is he'd hire an exorcist to rid the recording of its demons (even though this is actually one of the least angular tracks off 1957). If you're itching to step into Galaxy's unique view of heaven and hell--and I highly recommend you do--you might begin your first purchase with the relatively-mellow 1956 and then stab at random from there.