Run Away From the Blight

 

There are those who would tell you Alabama Shakes and Rubblebucket are two new bands into which you should be plugging your earbuds, but I am here to warn you, children, that these are freshly-shaved lies. The morally reprehensible Alabama Shakes sport the most generic, lame-ass bar-band sound you could ever muster, tailor-made/readymade for Bonnaroo burnouts;  Rubblebucket are the polar opposite, pushing so far at appearing quirky, you can only respond by patting them on the head and pointing them towards the cut-out bin which they'll soon be inhabiting. The hype machine surrounding these yawn-inducing embarrassments must be avoided above all else. These are dangerous times to be a music lover, and we need to protect each other from all this lethal danger to our tastes.

The Homeless Emperor's New Clothes (Except He's Not Really Homeless)

I'm well aware of the fact that Willis Earl Beal is this year's hot new outsider artist but I don't see him as anything interesting, special or unique, and I'm OK with that. May I please go now?

With Only 39 Years Left to Live, It's Time I Finally Got Around to Digitizing My Cassette & Vinyl Collection [Part 17]

The McGuire Sisters - May You Always b/w Achoo-Cha Cha (7" on Coral Records, 1958)

The A-side of this single by The McGuire Sisters is a dull affair, pedestrian in its arrangements and sentimental yearnings, but the B-side involves allergic reactions which, as we know, always make for great music (though not always). This tune's theme is universal, which explains why it's a worldwide hit, with an admirable flexibility allowing it to be performed with everything from an inoffensive Branson, Missouri twist to an oddly instrumental man-with-stuffed-monkey camp fest. Now all we need is someone to write a tango about mental depression.

With Only 39 Years Left to Live, It's Time I Finally Got Around to Digitizing My Cassette & Vinyl Collection [Part 16]

Dub Narcotic Sound System - Fuck Shit Up (7" EP on K Records, 1994)

Olympia's boy wonder Calvin Johnson finally figures out how to bump 'n' grind and leaves a string of 7" singles in his wake. The A-side is the punk anthem James Brown forgot to write, while the B-side is a facsimile as spoken word performance art. I've grown tired of waiting for this slab to be pressed on aluminum and seeing how my death is imminent, I just wanted to dig in before my grave is dug up.

With Only 39 Years Left to Live, It's Time I Finally Got Around to Digitizing My Cassette & Vinyl Collection [Part 15]

Volumatix - Volume One (12" EP on Republic Recording Corporation, 1982)

Unknown and best-forgotten New Wave act out of Austin, with a legend just obscure enough to make their vinyl sell for obscene amounts on Discogs.  It's worth downloading this 6-song EP for the giggle-inducing opening track alone, whose entire lyrical content unfolds thusly: "What? Who? Huh? Uggghhhh!"  If only someone had a made a campy, poorly-acted, overwrought video to accompany it.  Oh wait, someone already did.

My head is hung in submissive shame as I announce that Disco:Very has now joined the reprehensible Twitter.  Same pithy postings, but now with 80% less content.  Postings will continue apace here at the mothership, but now you can get snarky Tweets for those times when I'm too lazy to link actual music.  Look, if you want this relationship to work, you're going to have to support me on this.  Divorce is not an option.

Sleepy-Time Music for Sleepy-Life People

On the pie chart in my head, snooze-inducing bearded bard Bon Iver is as compelling a listen as swallowing a bottle of Lunesta.  But now that we have to take him seriously after winning the 2012 Grammy for Best New Artist, the obvious questions becomes whether or not his career will mirror that of past New Artist winners?  Out of the professional options below, pick the one he will least likely embark upon:

1. Will become, like The Swingle Singers, the source of a stupefying Trivial Pursuit question.
2. Will go blind, like José Feliciano, from congenital glaucoma but get to enjoy image-enhancing sunglasses with untapped coolness factor.
3. Will give the gift of sperm to a famous lesbian, the same way David Crosby did.
4. Will be profiled in an underground film by Todd Haynes after dying of chemical imbalances associated with anorexia nervosa.
5. Like Milli Vanilli, will be revealed to lip-synching at every performance
6. Like The Beatles, he will become the best-selling artist in history, with estimated sales of over one billion units, influencing countless genres of music the world over.

The correct answer is: g) Bon Iver who?

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.

Acts of (Adorable) Aggression

The hypno-nervous post-punk energy of UK outfit Chapter 24 are enough to scratch the itch you've been missing since Gang of Four reformed and were promptly put to death for the crime of Playing Suck Music in Old Age (of which all reunited bands are guilty). Hooray for us, they're coming to US, though playing two hours north of me on a Wednesday night--an impossible excursion since I work for a living and would be forced to arrive at the office looking uglier than I already am after only 4 hours sleep. Thankfully, I have the band's (charmingly?) uncreative website to tide me over with various videos and Soundcloud audio until I get off my skinny ass and actually buy their awesome debut single. (You can also Stateside it at Aquarius Records.) Their blog also highlights another feature of the group: they look far too polite to be playing music this aggressive.

The Unintentionally Hilarious Press Photos of Bands Playing in My Area in the Near Future [Part 1] [Click Photo to Enlarge the Lulz]

Vag-Tastic!

Am I the only fan of this song who assumed the first line was "Vagina is greater..."?  In my mind, I had assumed this was some pro-Matriarchy right on Feminist treatise.

Don't hate me because I'm beautiful.

Me and My Precious Feelings While Attending the 2012 Sundance Film Festival. Me, Me, Me. [Part 3]

There is this young long-haired surfer dude I keep seeing at every film I attend, which means he has the same festival pass as me, and we always end up sitting on the same aisle (it's the one with the most leg room).  Without fail, if I hate a film, I hear/see him enraptured over it.  If I find a film engrossing, I observe him fidgeting with his cell phone.  I've come to the conclusion he is me in Opposite Land.  I must talk to him and find out if he enjoys Circus Peanuts and pretzels the same way I loathe them.

I've thought of a pretty good tagline for the film Keep the Lights On:  Love Means Never Having to Hold Your Lover's Hand While He is in a Meth-Addicted Fog While Being Sodomized by a Hustler. (Seriously, though, it's a great film with an excellent soundtrack by Arther Russell--check it out when it hits theaters.)

I saw Cheyenne Jackson in the lobby of the Festival Headquarters, and good god is that man tall.  He was with another gent I assumed to be his husband who was just as epic in size, and my hope is that medical science will find a way for them to birth a baby together, thereby breeding a race of super-tall toddlers which will one day rule the world.

While seated waiting for a film to begin, a woman stands near me chatting with her friends seated next to me: "Oh! I never knew this theater had a balcony!", she exclaims while looking up.  "I've never done balcony.  Have you ever done balcony?"  Not "done the balcony"--but "done balcony", as if it were a drug.

I've only walked out of two shit films, which is a new low record for me at Sundance.  I must be getting better at sniffing out the duds before entering.

I thought of a pretty good tagline for the film For Ellen:  It's Kramer vs. Kramer for the MTV Generation! (Seriously, though, it's another great film by So Yong Kim--check it out when it hits theaters.)

Whenever I'm in line for a screening, there is a moment in line where someone standing next to me asks where I'm from, and for a split second I debate whether or not to lie rather than admit I'm from Arizona, the Land of Fucktards.

The Grand Jury Prize for U.S. Dramatic Film went to Beasts of the Southern Wild and it was wholly deserving of all the accolades.  It's a grand work, thematically ambitious and addressing a fully-formed range of ideas, and yet the filmmaker is only 29 (after suffering through the reprehensibly boring Save the Date and its sitcom-level concerns, I had wrongly assumed all 20-something filmmakers cared about was telling stories of other 20-somethings trying to figure out this thing called love).  I'm reading a great deal of reviewers referencing Terrence Malick as an obvious influence, and although the narration of wise-beyond-her-years lead character Hush Puppy does put it in the same category as Days of Heaven, there seems to be more going on than that initial comparison.  I'd go one further and cite Malick devotee David Gordon Green's George Washington, Charles Burnett's Killer of Sheep and perhaps even Pedro Costa's Fontainhas trilogy (specifcally In Vanda's Room) in its deeply humanistic documentation and celebration of outcasts struggling to survive while being wiped away by outside forces.  So moved was I by this film that I've decided to skip all the screenings for the rest of the festival.  Beasts is such a perfect film, mixing moments of visceral tenderness, textured imagery and mythical grandeur in equal measure, I want to make sure this is my last memory of the festival.

Me and My Precious Feelings While Attending the 2012 Sundance Film Festival. Me, Me, Me. [Part 2]

Oh Parker Posey, you adorable urchin of independent cinema. When I saw you from below the staircase you were ascending, it almost felt as if you were treading on my heart. And where did you get that slim figure? Who knew that the improvisational comedies of Christopher Guest would make an actress burn so many calories! Too bad your boyfriend at the photo shoot likes the generic wanky reggae of Bob Marley. P-U! Dump him pronto and get a new beau with better taste in music.

Well, look at you Chris Kattan! You're such a tiny little thing, it's probably not such a good idea to stand next to Graham Phillips for too long. Oops, too late. He's already towering over you.

When I shook your hand, Vera Farmiga, I could tell you were completely interested in who I was and where I worked. It was as if the entire universe stopped at that very moment and you were consumed with making sure you heard every word I uttered. Call me...?

Thank you for taking the time to pose for a photo with my boss, David Duchovny. Your brain might have gone to Princeton and Yale, but that smirk will always be reserved for the undergrads.

If there is one thing you've got to love about William H. Macy (besides his flippy-floppity hair and the ability to stay glued for almost an hour on a single cell call) is the fact that he doesn't know who LCD Soundsystem is, thus allowing him to politely decline an invite to James Murphy's DJ set in the Bing Lounge. I wish William H. Macy was playing at my house.

Was that you, gay Bishop Gene Robinson, wearing that severely flashy purple Catholic blouse with the ornate cross on top during the private photo shoot? Just because there is a new documentary on you playing this year doesn't mean you get to hog the fashion spotlight from all those girls walking the streets of Prospector Square drunk in their Uggs.

Me and My Precious Feelings While Attending the 2012 Sundance Film Festival. Me, Me, Me. [Part 1]

Just attended the first screening of The House I Live In, a searing expose by Eugene Jarecki on America's so-called War on Drugs and its extreme effects on various racial and socioeconomic communities. There's probably more to this documentary than that, but I had been huffing goofballs all afternoon so the entire film is a haze.  I have a vague recollection that it has a happy ending.

The Snow Must Go On (Because Sundance is a Kind of Show, Surrounded by Inches of Snow.) (This Proves I am Clever.)

For the rest of the week, I will be writing you from the 2012 Sundance Film Festival. There is probably something more to say about this right now, but I'm too busy just hoping my cojones don't fall off from the cold.  If that happens, please don't mock me at least until I'm able to mock myself.

I Suck. You're Welcome.

The last day of every year always yields many dull and predictable events: nutter religious figures predicting the end times, over-zealous bargain hunters digging through bins of Christmas decorations slashed half-off, etc, etc.

Sadly, this little blog is no better.

Once again, I announce my sub-meager annual end-of-the-year CD compilation pulling together my favorite songs from the past 12 months.  This 2CD set (cleverly entitled Disco:Very 2011) has 40 tracks  of toe-tapping, head-slapping beauty guaranteed to make you dance around the house.

To get your free copy of this one-time-only gift, simply send your name (fakes accepted) and address to peecat at mac dot com and the package will be on its way.  Your name and address will be thrown away after your package has been sent, and will not be shared with anyone else.

It's the end of the year as we know it (and I feel fine giving away cheap CDs to random strangers).

It's Better to Light a Bulb Than to Curse the Darkness

Some Random Thoughts Upon Viewing Fucked Up Playing David Comes to Life in Its Entirety.

It's understandable that the lead vocalist Damian Abraham would remove his shirt during the first song--the room appears to be packed with slithery writhing bodies--but then why is drummer Jonah Falco wearing long sleeves? Does a drummer not work up a sweat? Does a drummer not bleed if you prick his skin?

What does the string quartet do in between their moments in this concert? When they're not playing, they are nowhere to be seen. Do they just sit there wearing earplugs and humming Handel to themselves? If I was a classically-trained cellist, I'm not sure I'd want to sit through an entire Fucked Up set, even at Union wages. I'd hear that cacophony of squall and think, "I went through Juilliard for this??

When lead vocalist Damian Abraham encourages the audience to finish his lyrics at the end of each line, or worse, gives each of them a high-five during guitar solos, it's the equivalent of Sting initiating a sing-along at a reunion show of The Police. I want it to stop.

Lead guitarist Josh Zucker looks a little bit like my friend Jeff Glave who, last time I saw him, was growing his hair out in a shaggy/ridiculous hippy-dippy fashion. I want it to stop.

Why does lead vocalist Damian Abraham put his shirt back on for the encore? I would think, after such a rousing performance, he would be more likely to stay stripped down, perhaps even getting more stripped down, as he did in the latest issue of Spin. Is this a cry for attention?

With Only 39 Years Left to Live, It's Time I Finally Got Around to Digitizing My Cassette & Vinyl Collection [Part 15]

Monopoly Queen ‎– Monopoly Queen / Let's Keep It Friendly (7" Single, Sub Pop - 1994)