"F" Is For (Not) Fake

The same exercise in futility which drives The Nazi Pope to ask why God was silent during the Holocaust sometimes propels me to stare at my overburdened CD storage shelves and ask why they can't magically increase in size to meet the demands of my bulging music collection. Most of the blame can go to my generous spirit: when copying CD's for myself, I always copy extras to lend to others, often resulting in 10 extra copies taking up valuable shelf space. Therefore, in an attempt to alleviate the already maxxed-out row of CD's filed under "F", I invite you to send me an e-mail with your name (phony is fine) and address, after which I will send you a CD of your choice: 1) the self-titled deadpan debut of New Wave pioneers The Flying Lizards, 2) The Good Earth, the Velvet-y sophomore effort by The Feelies (produced by Peter Buck of REM), 3) It's Only Right And Natural, the mostly-improvised queer/not queer folk-punk album by The Frogs (sampled by Beck on Odelay) or 4) the original version of My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts (which contains the track "Qu'ran", now unavailable on subsequent reissues) by Brian Eno & David Byrne (I am aware this CD falls under "E", so don't bother to point it out--I know more than you do.)
The fine print: This offer is not a fake. I will send you one CD free of charge (two CDs if you give me a good reason for being so selfish.) Your address will not be used for future unsolicited mailings. You will owe me nothing in return. I don't have to like you and you don't have to like me. You will not receive any spam in the future (well, at least not from Disco:Very.) Each CD in the overcrowded "F" shelf was chosen precisely because it is out-of-print and therefore not denying anyone a royalty check. If you are a member of The Flying Lizards, The Feelies, The Frogs, or happen to be Brian Eno and/or David Byrne, please don't sue me. I give because I love.

I Repeat Myself When Under Stress

Close personal pal Puss, after years of collecting my free-to-anyone-who-asks annual year-end best-of CD compilations, commented that I must really love drawn-out repetition in music. It's true. I love drawn-out repetition in music. It's true. I love drawn-out repetition in music. It's true. I love drawn-out repetition in music. It's true. I love drawn-out repetition in music. It's true. I love drawn-out repetition in music. It's true. I love drawn-out repetition in music. It's true. I love drawn-out repetition in music. It's true. I love drawn-out repetition in music. It's true. I love drawn-out repetition in music. It's true. I love drawn-out repetition in music. Why else would I covet Circle-offshoot Itavayla and their bizarro/electro ZZ Top-esque tumble in the hay on tracks such as Future Boogie and Tesco? Please note: quoting a King Crimson lyric is a concession to those upset over the missing umlauts.

Listen To A Weird Noise Band

More than a few of the compositions compiled on Another Wasted Sunday Afternoon concern themselves with the Us vs. Them state of mind dominating hearts and minds immediately following the emergence of early punk. Instant Automatons gave a snarling yet humorous report from the frontlines, whether the topic be on one's look (Short Haired Man), lifestyle habits (Gillian Is Normal) or musical choices (People Laugh At Me, Electronic Music.) With their stripped-down lo-fi electro-fuckery and who-gives-a-shit? vocal delivery, fans of The Fall, Wire and Swell Maps would better their lives to pick this one up. The good folks at Hyped2Death.com have sifted through hours of music to excavate the best 70 minutes of music you will ever find running through your head day and night. Do I have to draw you a diagram?

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.

Bling It On

It's a clever marketing angle, naming your 20th-something album Introduction despite the band/band leader whiling away in obscurity for 40 years. If such trickery leads unknowing listeners to take a gander at the loosely-tight meanderings of Vexations, Note To Selves and It Will Be (Delivered), all the better. This is The Red Krayola's most accessible album, but considering Mayo Thompson's previous track record, this is a relative assessment. The knowing wink of coupling caustic aural chaos with the slang title of closing track Bling Bling says just about everything you need to know.

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.

Insane In The Membrane

If there was an international contest held to name The World's Laziest Human, I would win before the race even began owing to the fact I'd be napping through the whole event. General laziness is the reason I rarely bother to digitally transfer all the thousands of albums I own. I have owned the LP-only comp of 1960's French rock tunes Ils Sont Fous Ces Gaulois (Vol. 2) for years but the idea of all the work it would take to convert the whole thing to mp3 files makes my eyelids go into a deep coma. And really, why bother when if you wait long enough, Elsebasto will do it for you? Maybe someday Monsieur Elsebasto will have the energy to tell us what Loups Tous Les Soirs is going on about. [Update: Elsebasto appears to be dead. Or no longer blogging. Or both.]

The Hardest Button To Button

It's no secret that I loves me some youthful retro New Wave dance rock. When I hear bands like Avenpitch--on tracks such as Butterfly Radio, Dusseldorf and Jack The Idiot Dance--they get me moving and grooving, instantly pushing all the right Electroclash buttons. Do you like my Electroclash buttons? I bet you do. Go ahead, you can push them. Yeah, right there, push them softly. Softer. No, a little softer. Yeah, that's it. Ooooh, yes, tell me you like those buttons. Tell me your friends like my buttons. Tell me your friends are jealous that you're pushing my buttons. Aren't these the nicest buttons you've ever pushed? Treat those naughty buttons a little rough if you want. Go ahead--teach those Electroclash buttons who's boss. Ouch! Ow! Hey, not that rough. Jeez, what do I look like, Pamela Anderson?

Easy Like Sunday Morning

DiscoColonVery.net interrupts the World Wide Web for the following announcement: After years of quest, I have finally found a song by Mogwai that I actually like: Acid Food off Mr. Beast. Yes, it's one of their "easier" songs (i.e. it doesn't screech and howl like early Sonic Youth.) Does that make me easy? It takes one to know one.

Cuts From A Hearty Stalk

It's amazing the amount of attention you can get stalking record companies via persistent pesky e-mails. The iconic New Zealand label Flying Nun has personally assured me--little ol' me!--that the very rare cassette compiliation Oddities 2, which assembles live and unreleased tracks by The Clean & The Great Unwashed, will finally be reissued on cd for the first time later this year. I can only meagerly repay them by urging you to buy the 2-cd set Cuts, which collects almost everything recorded by Toy Love, the late-70's/early-80's outfit made up in part of Chris Knox and Alec Bathgate of Tall Dwarfs. You'll get a headrush buzz from the pogo/thrash sing-alongs of Pull Down The Shades, Ain't It Nice, Toy Love Song and Don't Ask Me but when you injure yourself, don't expect me to take any of the blame.

It's A Family Affair

Longtime guitar cultist Richard Thompson is the forgotten uncle at the family reunion who, when you finally tear yourself away from the more short-term entertaining relatives with their bawdy jokes and staged screaming matches, turns out to be the most wise and charismatic of the bunch. That is to say, he's usually not the first artist coming to mind when I'm trolling around the web looking for downloads. When I do happen to stumble upon his music, I'm always surprised at how enriching most of it can be. How pleasant, then, to find Chocoreve offering RT: The Life And Music Of Richard Thompson (top left), the just-released retrospective with what has to be the ugliest boxed set graphics ever created. For dessert, you'll want to head to the buffet table of 8 Days In April which is posting the original efforts (eventually scrapped and re-recorded) of Thompson's masterpiece Shoot Out The Lights (scroll down a bit to find it.)

Pound For Pound For Pound

My black little heart does flips when Kelly Stoltz taps his inner "Chopsticks". That primitive piano pounding! pounding! pounding! is the primal pulse that courses through all our veins. Sure, anyone can slap those keys into submission the way he does in Prank Calls and Wave Goodbye but isn't that the point? His forays into blues pop (Birdies Singing) are compelling, as are his sad and weeply ballads (Words) but bottom line: I'm waiting for the man to return to those I'm Waiting For The Man rhythms that makes my blood vessels perform cartwheels.

Drum's Not Dead

The pop marketplace is a harsh mistress. Trying to sell Showtunes, Stephin Merritt's fey Chinese opera sountrack, to even the most ardent fan of The Magnetic Fields is going to be difficult. This rewarding but challenging work concerns a complex storyline taking place during the Ming Dynasty, thereby automatically overloading it with pretext (and pretense). It isn't likely to heat up the Billboard charts on the strengths of Little Maiden Of The Sea or And He Would Say... alone and is probably in need of a lot of controversy to shift units. I recommend a well-placed quote from Merritt proclaiming The Flower Drum Song as the best musical in American theatre, followed by frequent live renditions of "I Enjoy Being A Girl".

Get Your Freak (Flag) On

Good grief, is this fucking Folk Freak coup ever going to fizzle out? C'mon, we all found a lot of 90's IDM excessively stark and sterile, but that doesn't mean you should rebel by channeling crystals and spelling "wilderness" with a capital W. You know the trend has become twisted when even Matador chases bands such as Brightblack Morning Light. No doubt, they're going to hit it big with the Whitey-Ashamed-Of-Not-Being-Ethnic crowd. Tracks such as Everybody Daylight contain all the trappings of a Bonnaroo bonanza: the freeform flutes, the connection to freak queen Devendra Banhart, the Earth First! leanings, etc. Jeez, guys, we all embrace Eco-Terrorism but that doesn't mean it sounds good set to music. Maybe they'll take some lessons from Vetiver, the SF ensemble, also linked to Banhart, but who don't seem to be lysergically damaged. If anything, judging from Idle Ties and You May Be Blue (off their newbie To Find Me Gone), they have more of a latter-day Wilco-esque pop vibe going on, which will make existence a bit more uplifting when we're all forced to live off the land after the impending global warming catastrophe. That worthless flute can be used as a straw to suck water off the melting polar ice caps.

Bootie Duty

Will you continue to be my cyber-homie if I let you in on a shameful little secret? I still find myself getting excited about Mash-Ups. Yes, yes, how very 2001 of me. Pardon my blooper, but after a long day at work, I just want to kick back, loosen my boxer briefs, relax with a plate of microwaved Twinkies and enjoy me some bastard pop. You can understand, then, why The Best Of Bootie 2005 has got my heart all a-flutter. True, it's no As Heard On Radio Soulwax, Part 2--some of the tracks don't quite have the juice, such as Hot Rich Girls Dropped In A Grange (Gwen Stefani vs. Snoop Dogg vs. ZZ Top), while others seem to have relied solely on a lucky break (I could have mashed It Takes Two To Kiss (Rob Base vs. Prince) in my sleep.) The tracks that work, however, have a joie de vie that makes you slap your forehead in amazement (why nobody ever thought to make Gary Numan's "Cars" go "Boom" before is difficult to fathom.) Your only duty should be to download the entire album here, artwork and all.

It's Got A Good Beat, and You Can Dance To It (While Receiving Coded Messages to Assassinate Your Enemies)

Has anyone ever remixed a recording from The Conet Project as a dance track? If the answer is no, what the hell is the holdup? Is it due to the cost of owning the entire 4-CD boxed set? Well, these sites are just giving it away, so we've just knocked down that excuse. Wouldn't the cute 'n' cuddly achtung baby hissing those emphatic Germanic orders on The Swedish Rhapsody sound cool behind a thumpin' groove? It would be chillin' and chilling at the same time. Until some formerly-hot DJ gets off his ass and makes it happen--I'm looking at you, John "Jellybean" Benitez--the closest we're going to get is probably Punk Anderson's mid-90's club staple People, which retains most of the Teutonic goose-step but leaves out Conet's creepy Cold War ghostly vibe.

Freshly Stumped

I can name, on one hand, all the bands signed to Minty Fresh that I've ever liked. Specifically, one hand turned-bloody-stump after severing all my fingers in a ghastly blade saw accident. How surprising, then, that my latest obsession--French dance/punk New Wavers Prototypes (not to be confused with British dance/rock New Romantics The Prototypes)--have signed on Minty's dotted line. While their groove thang has been selling itself worldwide for many a moon, they'll only begin receiving U.S. exposure when their forthcoming self-titled album is released June 6th. Until then, you should thank me--nay, praise me!--for giving you an early leg-up with Danse sur la Merde, Gentleman, Exister and Autonomie. If you can't wait two more precious weeks for the rest of their life-altering output, take your mouse for a walk over to their official website. Or skip ye, oh merrily to Amazon (USA division), Amazon (UK division), Amazon (French division), Amazon (Canadian division), Amazon (German division), Amazon (Japanese division), Amazon (Antartica division), Amazon (Martian division), Amazon (People Who Have Trouble Living In This Galaxy division) and Amazon (Porcelin Pussy division).

Make A Run For The Border

Normally, I am not an advocate for nostalgia. Normally, I'm all like, "[dial tone][beep beep beep, beep beep beep beep][ring, ring, ring] Hello, Nostalgia Police? I've got an emergency situation I'd like to report. A seminal band, only recently discovered by the pop intelligentsia 30 years after they split the scene, has decided to cash in on their newfound popularity, and I'm fearing the worst: I believe they're planning a reunion concert! How fast can you get here??" But, and I've got a big but, this is Os Mutantes we're talking about. Yeah, brotha: Os Fucking Mutantes. They've decided to hit the spotlight again (without original member Rita Lee) and if you're one of the luckies who has been able to see them play, well bully for you, you smug little shit. Who did you have to sleep with to get those tickets? The rest of us will have to make do with Baby Borderline providing a download (sadly, WMA only) of Rosetta Stone proportions, capturing a show from May 22nd held at the Barbicanin in London. The Baby (as I like to call it) also provides a link for a free download of The Avalanche, the forthcoming outtakes cd by the now-backlash-bound Sufjan Stevens (via Polaroid Rainbow, but you didn't hear that from me.) Get both of them now before someone confiscates the goods.

Come For The Peanut Butter, Stay For The Wank

Long before Chris Manak became Peanut Butter Wolf, he and a childhood sidekick did what most pals battling carbonated hormones would do in the years before passing a driving test: they made dozens of fuck-around tapes of themselves wanking and jerking their way through snotty originals (Gotta Get Rid Of Rick, Night In Jail) and an odd assembly of covers (Walked In Line by Joy Division, Walking On Sunshine by Katrina & the Waves.) At The Mall, which compiles a meager handful of the hundreds of tunes languishing in the vaults (read: weathered shoeboxes), could be considered the The Basement Tapes of pimple punk. I hereby nominate Baron Zen to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. They're the most rambunctious musical duo since Chad fired Jeremy.

Children Are The Single Most Precious Resource We Have. As Much As A Heaping Handful of Illegal Black Beauties. Oops! Did I Type That Out Loud?

I know who you are. You're a parent and you want to teach your kids about drugs. Sit them down (chained), load up Psych Out! (which came free with the April 2006 issue of Mojo Magazine, top left) and force the little hellions to listen to Blow Up by The In Crowd. Tell them, "This is how you'll sound on good drugs (i.e., uppers)". Later, nail their feet to the ground and play Revolution (Top Gear Radio Session) written and performed by the very same band after they took bad drugs (i.e., hippy psychedelics) and changed their name to Tomorrow. Explain to your children, "Bad drugs twist your brain into writing songs with an overabundance of time signatures while convincing you that the image of your band is best served by adopting a new spacey moniker referencing the infinite". The closer is the clincher: Barclay James Harvest's Pools Of Blue, a soft heartfelt ballad that should keep them off downers well into teenhood. If all that fails to scare them, show this picture of what Barclay James Harvest looks like now (top right). That oughta do it.

Normal See, Normal Do

More than anything, I wanted to see myself liking and actively listening to the debut album Boo Hoo Hoo Boo from They Shoot Horses, Don't They?, the aural 3-ring circus on Kill Rock Stars. Sadly, they only bring to mind those dark days in the early 80's when the world was under the sway of Oingo Boingo, and the "Why Be Normal?" button was the name tag of a generation. If Big Dot or Hiccup is your cup of double-espresso latte, by all means, plant yourself in front of this CD. As for me, my time would be better spent strangling the young man who sullied my plane ride to Austin last month when he watched his Hell Freezes Over DVD during the entire 2 hour flight. Shall I make room for you on his neck? I'll provide the rope.

Donkey Begets Honkey

Let me get this straight: Two long-haired crusties win The Amazing Race, the grand prize for the American Inventor goes to a Polish immigrant, a honkey who hopes to turn Negroid someday is the favored American Idol, and to top it all off, Legacy Recordings corrals a 2-disc multi-label restrospective of roots rebel T-Bone Burnett...? Did I fall asleep for two years and the Democrats wrestled their way into power again? Putting the Donkeys back in the White House would make me smile, but I'm much more gleeful about Twenty-Twenty: The Essential T-Bone Burnett which not only highlights some criminally out-of-print recordings (Trap Door, Shut It Tight) but also points out some of his best songs as well (Power Of Love, Driving Wheel ). But who the hell gave this tall Texan Jesus Freak permission to remix certain tracks off Proof Through The Night? Is he trying to tell us the original versions of Fatally Beautiful and Hefner And Disney are somehow inferior? Unless America has altogether given up on checks and balances, I want an investigation launched.

Lost: One Horizon, Reward Offered For Safe Return To Owner

In the end, the world will forgive Tom Hanks for foolishly jumping into bed with the universally panned The Da Vinci Code, the same way we all once absolved Burt Bacharach for scoring the 1973 musical train wreck of Lost Horizon. I'm a big enough fan of The Burt that I can allow him the soppy spectacles of Reflections, Question Me An Answer, Things I Will Not Miss and the almost unbearably hippy-dippy World Is A Circle. Sitting through the entire film (still unavailable on DVD) is another matter entirely. But I'm more inclined to take on this Herculean task than watch any Ron Howard film you'd care to mention. But please, please don't mention any of them. I just had lunch, thank you.

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.

Torn Between Three Lovers

In much the same way Ginger used to worriedly pick between Gilligan or Skipper each night, I used to ponder, when riding an elevator stuffed with strangers, which of my co-inhabitants in the tiny box I would relent to have sexual relations with if the lift were to get stuck between floors with a flat tire in the middle of the ocean. It was the song Aerosmith forgot to write. Nowadays, as a semi-quasi-grown-up adult, I instead debate which track on Forgotten Lovers by Gary Wilson would be worth a naked snuggle or two: Rhythm In Your Eyes? Or perhaps Chrome Lover? Or maybe an indescretion with You Took Me On A Walk Into My Mirror? Mr. Wilson, is that a mixed metaphor in your lyrics or are you just happy to see me?

FORGOTTEN FAVORITES RECENTLY HEARD ON MY iPOD
[DURING WHICH I PEED MY PANTS WITH EXCITEMENT]

Dumbhead by The Shermans (buy)

Walk Through Walls by Half Japanese (buy)

Malibu Barbie by Al Perry & The Cattle (buy)

Dear Betty Baby by Mayo Thompson (buy)

Blood Done Signed My Name by Radio Four (buy)

The Hunt by Squeeze (buy)

Corona by The Minutemen (buy)

On And On With Lou Reed by Trash (Unable to Find Vendor)

Internet by Camille Davila (buy)

Heil Brockwurst (Großer, Dicker König) by Die Goldenen Zitronen (buy)

May You Always Be Troo

I've posted about Detsorgsekalf once before, but because they are, hands down, my current all-time favorite band, I couldn't resist writing about them again. In a 20-minute EP jam-packed with great lines--every single one of them shouted at a delirious pitch--here are my Top 10 favorites from Troo Grim Warriors Of The Necrokkult:

1. I wish I had marshmallows!/Goes well with man-flesh! (The Embers Of Your Church)
2. We are troo/We are grim/We will come to pillage your village, oh yeah! (Troo Grim Warriors Of The Necrokkult)
3. Slaying the poodle! (Troo Grim Warriors Of The Necrokkult)
4. Wait! We've already made that Star Wars reference! (Frostburn Upon The Winter Of Mankind's Discontent)
5. Cold!/Frostbite!/Elephant bread!/Cookies!/Milk!/Hot black tar! (Frostburn Upon The Winter Of Mankind's Discontent)
6. You remind me of my ex-girlfriend/She was a leper! (Necrolust Of The Whore Of Whormalton)
7. What are we doing on the highway? (Necrolust Of The Whore Of Whormalton)
8. I fucking hate Jumanji /Damn you, Robin Williams! (Necrolust Of The Whore Of Whormalton)
9. I shall now waste another, maybe, 40 seconds of your miserable, wretched life/With a keyboard solo! (Keyboard Solo)
10. And for no reason, here's a guitar solo! (Black Xmas)

Divine Secrets of the Yay!!!!!!!!!! Yay!!!!!!!!!! Sisterhood

My brow frets when I actually find myself in agreement with Jane's Addiction, but yes, nothing is shocking: not that new homoerotic "Network" Mac commercial, nor the annoying folk-freaks Feathers openly writing the word "Yay!!!!!!!!!!" on their website, nor Wolfmother claiming they'd never heard of Black Sabbath until a few years ago. The only thing in the world which makes me gasp in disbelief is when I find myself actively embracing a song by softie sister Vashti Bunyan. Can I help it if the hypnotic swirl of piano on Feet Of Clay makes my heart go into cardiac arrest? It's my shocking little secret.

20th Century Schizoid Men

There isn't anything I can write about Rainbow Ffolly that a bunch of mp3's couldn't better explain. The blame for my temporary bout of writer's block goes to a recently consumed feast of heavy Indian food. Mostly I'm just being lazy, and why bother getting all Trouser Press with the 411 when others are much more adept at it? If you're really needing some keywords upon which to base your knowledge of these tracks, here are a few: psychedelic, schizoid, Sgt. Peppers pop, Sixties UK art-school rockers. If you're really needing some tracks upon which to shape your opinion of Sallies Fforth, the obscure sought-after album just reissued by Rev-Ola, here are three of them: Hey You, Sun Sing and Labour Exchange. With this classic but rare album now available worldwide, collector scum will be prevented from raping our wallets with their hate crimes. What part of "No" don't they understand?

I Fought The Johnny Boy and The Johnny Boy Won

Upon my initial confrontations with this song, a violent wrestling ensued. After some fashion, the song and I were kissing cousins, holding hands as we walked merrily towards pop nirvana. I simply cannot stop playing You Are The Generation That Bought More Shoes & You Get What You Deserve. Yes, the song title is a little dummy dum-dum. Yes, the moniker Johnny Boy smells of Overly Clever Band Name Stink Rot. Yes, the Spector-esque production is excessively cutey-poo. So why can't I stop humming this tune every minute of the day? This song has helped me learn a little about myself, and I really do get what I deserve.

Hotel, Motel, Holiday Inn

If tumultuous headache-inducing white noise squall is the god you bow unto every sunrise, by all means, avoid The Persephones Bees and Mellowdrone, both of whom traffic in the kind of light and bouncy AM radio pop that would drive you to rip your tattoos off with your own teeth. The 'Bees--which I'm shortening as a means to avoid typing that damn 'P' word--could be seen as an update to Sixties groove-crooners The Association, but fronted by a female Russian expatriate, which may or may not explain why one of their songs (Nice Day) was featured in a Hilton Hotel commercial. Is that a compliment or an insult? Discuss. Mellowdrone are just as slap-happy catchy but they rock a bit harder and their album covers bear parental advisory stickers, which means songs like Oh My can only be used in advertising for sleazy motels such as La Quinta.

Let The Eagles Soar (Straight Into The Pits Of Hell)

The abrasive insect drone of the Japanese quartet We Acediasts will make your nose bleed, but for all the right reasons. On the career-spanning cd Pre Acediasts, a track such as Ibasho (produced by NYC dance-niks DFA) spins its sinister PIL-like groove at the same time it tightens the noose around your greasy spine. Kajiroudou resembles nothing less than a hotel lounge singer mainlining Draino as the accompaniment to your watered-down Rum & Coke. Meanwhile, Un No Iiyatsu takes all your favorite nightmares and distills them into the perfect 3-minute funk song. Since you asked: my favorite nightmare happened last month while on a 2-hour plane ride when this 30-something cretin in the aisle across from me had the gall to watch the artistically reprehensible Hell Freezes Over on his personal DVD player during the entire trip. FAA regulations prohibited me from dangling him by his tongue out the emergency exit door, but don't think I wasn't tempted.

Hot Crunk In The Summertime

YoYoYoYoYo is the perfect summer album, when everything is about hot sweaty dancing and even hotter, even sweatier nasty fun. You can't see it right now but I'm listening to Backyard Betty and Sweet Talk and my skinny butt is shaking all over the place. Maybe your ass is quivering, too, or maybe it's waiting for something a little more juicy? All right, then--here's Bump, which has the type of female empowerment raps Helen Reddy could have written if she'd waited 40 years to be born. Spank Rock, I summon thee to play my hometown. You need to see me shaking my pimply butt in person.

Shock And Awe

25 years after I first heard it, My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts, the groundbreaking 1981 sampling masterpiece of sinister funk and edgy dub by David Byrne and Brian Eno, still makes me shake my head in shock and awe. It hasn't dated a bit--if anything, it remains remarkably ahead of its time. The remastering is superb, with a few songs returning slightly extended (check out Mea Culpa and Moonlight In Glory.) The previously unreleased tracks--especially New Feet and Number 8 Mix--are the icing on an already overloaded cake (Nonesuch has even given the album it's own website, full of free tracks for remixing at home, alternate album covers and more.) Now if only someone would reissue those rare and long-out-of-print Obscure label albums languishing in Eno's vault...

Plays Well With Himself

San Francisco's one-man noise machine E-Z Tiger is so bent on twisting your ears into pretzels with his ha-ha funny squall pop that he should be forgiven for turning his back on the audience at nearly every show. Faced with the difficult task of single-handedly playing every enormous sound on The Tiger Bounce (taken from his eponymous debut), he probably forgot anyone was watching.

Long In The Tooth

The hip hop hijinx of Token Recluse continue unabated: stop reading this paragraph right now and download the entire (free of charge) Unconventional Science remix of Aesop Rock's long-player Bazooka Tooth. (top left) My two favorites just happen to be NY Electric and Easy, but your results my vary. And as long as you're letting them foist free shit upon you, make sure to check out their latest (again, free) monthly mix (top right), always worth hearing.

Zatanic With A "Z"

In the same manner Beltway homo Tom DeLay's perpetually dyed hairdo attempts to pass itself off as darker than it really is, the oddly lo-fi bizarro opera axe grinders Urfaust want every track on Geist Ist Teufel to paint it black. But how can you be an agent of The Antichrist when you seemingly have a Liza Minelli impersonater as your lead vocalist? No matter how tortured the howls of Drundenfß sound, they eventually set up camp in, well, Camp. More remarkably, these Kraut rockers even turn in a sprightly (if altogether aberrant) forest leprechaun jig ditty with Auszug aller tödlich seinen Krafte. It's the final untitled 15-minute track of hypnotic keyboard swashes, however, which finds them lighting into new metal territory. It's the only moment when their doom cabaret, old chum, comes to its full realization.