Me Love You Long Time

Call me a whore, if you will, pimping my wares all over the web like so many tarted-up, rosey-cheeked come-ons directed toward your ears, waving you down as your Firebird turns onto my street. We can role play that hooker scene from Full Metal Jacket, if that's your kink. But no, really, I just want to give you something, free of charge: send me an e-mail with your name (fake is fine), address and zip, and I will personally send you a list (audio style) of my favorite songs discovered in 2005. Sure, everyone else in the blogosphere is playing it old school, merely writing up their year-end faves. Me? I sit in your lap while you're driving and sing it lovingly into your ears. Figuratively speaking.

The fine print: Once you have received this free gift, your (real or fake) name and e-mail/home address will be thrown away and you will not be mailed anything by me ever again forever and ever, amen (for next year's list, we start at square one). I will not send you spam asking if you'd like firmer breasts or a larger penis (my assumption is that you are already endowed with both--feel free to prove me wrong). Delivery time can be anywhere between 5 days and 6 weeks, depending on where you reside. This offer is good until I damn well feel like rescinding it. Disco:Very loves you, and loves to "put out" for you. You may know the music on my list or you may not, but whatever you feel, at last you know you can listen to artists who are real. Disco:Very will not change its year-end list style to meet the whims of a frustrated world. You should appreciate this because you know Disco:Very is pure what more can you ask?

The Colon Makes Me Laugh

Please note the new address for this blog: www.discocolonvery.net. Also, I've slightly tweaked the site and, in additon, I have boldly removed my personal profile to establish a more dramatic yet hushed air of mystery. From now on, you will wonder from afar who I am and what makes me tick. You'll desperately want to be my friend, but I'll keep a wide emotional distance, allowing you into my vulnerable little heart only when I feel you are able to grasp the many complex layers of The Onion I Call My Soul. Also, the stink of my soul will make you cry, and it's delicious in soups.

Putting the 'Total' Back Into 'Totalitarianism'

Personally, I don't see what the big deal is. If state-sponsored censorship means an end to tepid classic rock and easy listening hits, fetch my passport, dawg, 'cuz I'm moving my cribs to Iran! Clearly, the head honcho of America's next refinery takeover is merely trying to ban his fellow citizens from listening to bad music. He isn't abolishing, say, He's Your Man by The Oblivions, so what's the harm? If anything, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is probably just pissed that lame-ass folkie Cat Stevens is fighting for his side. Purchase Popular Favorites at Mordam Records.

Dig Dat Crazy Boogie-Woogie Christmas, Daddy-O

No matter where I am any time of the year, complete strangers constantly come up to me on the street and shreik, "Hey Peecat, what are your thoughts on holiday music?" By and large, I hate all of it, especially the traditional stuff, but especially the stuff by contemporary artists trying to write a new holiday classic, like when Brian Setzer (inbetween fetishistically jerking-off with his guitars), reconfigures a by-the-numbers rockabilly tune, replacing the word "baby" with "Santa". Or when he performs a trad-dad number and peppers it with pseudo Swingers lounge-speak. I'm here to tell you there are only three Xmas records worth owning: the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas, the astonishingly-great A Christmas Gift for You from Phil Spector and Christmas Album by Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass. And in the case of the latter, the only track I ever play from it is Las Mananitas, which has little to do with Chirstmas being that it's a traditional Mexican birthday song. Upon the rare chance I feel like hearing a modern take on a holiday tune, I pull out the third Red Red Meat album Bunny Gets Paid and cue up their version of There's Always Tomorrow (originally from the animated TV special Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer). As I've mentioned before, they have a bizarre way of somehow saddening any song they touch. If you don't become a weepy, pouting alcoholic after hearing this track, you must already be one.

Sin, Wash, Repeat

Everyone knows that for surefire laughs, replacing "fucking" for the middle name of someone you hate is instant hilarity. George Fucking Bush, Donald Fucking Rumsfeld, Pope Fucking Nazi-Youth Jew-Hater Whatever His Name Is, etc. This helps explain why we should all hate Sting, Moby, Madonna, Cher and Beck: their one-name moniker prevents us from doing this (plus Beck if a fucking Scientologist, so we should hate him regardless of what name he goes by). And speaking of lousy religions, on this most holiest of holy days--the birth of Jesus Fucking Christ--it seems appropriate to post a track or two by The Knights Of The New Crusade, who hope to wash away your indie-rock sins with the beer-swilling, whoop-hollering guitar-punch attitude of garage punk. Ain't No Monkeys In My Family Tree might just be one of the best anti-Evolutionary Theory punk songs ever written, while You Got To Move is as inspiring and uplifting as any fiery sermon preached by Billy Fucking Graham. You can buy My God Is Alive! Sorry About Yours! at Midheaven.

A Different Kind Of Tension

Yes, yes, it's all very special that Killing Joke influenced everyone from Nine Inch Nails to Nirvana by grafting incisive agresso-punk sloganeering onto high-energy tribal rhythms and liberating the indie rock legion towards a new world of movement and sound, bla bla bla. Who cares? I JUST WANT TO HEAR THOSE FUCKING DRUMS! Tension-- taken from the newly-reissued (with bonus tracks) What's This For?--rocks my world but they get extra points for continuing to use that creepy clown figure on most of their album covers. Buy it at Amazon.

White Grlz On Dope

Yes, yes, it's all very special that Lesbians On Ecstasy are recontextualizing folkie feminist anthems by KD Lang, Melissa Etheridge and the Indigo Girls, grafting them onto hi-NRG dance rhythms and liberating our Saphhic Sisters into an empowering Womyn's womb of movement and sound, bla bla bla. Who cares? I JUST WANT TO HEAR THOSE FUCKING GUITARS! Parachute Clubbing rocks my (it's-a-man's) world but they get extra points for covering the (possibly non-lesbian, to the best of my knowledge) Fat Truckers (retitling their hit Super Bike into the more appropriate, and more hilarious, Superdyke). Fight the hetero-centric patriarchy at Alien 8 Records.

To All The Grlz I've Loved Before

The provacative sex-kitten schtick of Bow Wow Wow never much moved me. I altogether ignored the fad of C-30 C-60 C-90 Go! when it first came out in the late 70's. Now that I'm finally hearing it anew on Grlz, I'm hanging my head in shame--why didn't anyone warn me how great it was??  Although this compilation is sorely missing other female-fronted acts such as The Au Pairs, The Flying Lizards and Liliput, this one track has made it worth owning. Buy it at Crippled Dick Hot Wax.

Billy Fucking Joel: The Everyman

As a wise old friend once put it, Mick Collins of The Dirtbombs is a national treasure. I begin with this statement because, this morning, I turned the TV on for some noise to jump-start me towards arriving to work on time (which didn't happen--I was 30 minutes late!) and who should be on The Today Show but Billy Fucking Joel. The image of him plinking through his usual cutie-pie Everyman routine, coupled with what I can only describe as that sound has forced me to cleanse my palette with something containing a little bit of fuck you-ness: hence, Candy Ass, taken from the Australian-only EP Chariots Of The Gods? Buy it (or not) from Shock.com.

Sliced, Diced, Covered and Smothered

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

Rainy Days and Red Red Meat Always Get Me Down

Depression is a rarity for me (my life is pretty flippin' great). Probably a handful of sad movies (Nobody Knows, Tokyo Story, A Thousand Clouds Of Peace, Faces, You Can Count On Me, Before Night Falls, The Day I Became A Woman) and sad songs are the two motivators that get my eyes all misty-like. Some of the saddest songs ever written are by the no-longer-with-us Red Red Meat. How sad was this band, you might ask? So much so that they even sounded sad when they covered someone else's song (in this case, Polara's Listening Now). Cheer up and buy this 7-inch split single (Polara covers Red Red Meat on the flip) from Perishable Records.

Rebel Without A Camera

I'm all about breaking the law: J-walking, using the office photocopier for personal purposes, going 45 in a 35-speed-limit zone, and posting tracks found at NPR: grab this recording of The Magnetic Fields performing live at Carnegie's Zankel Hall on November 18th, 2004 before The Man throws me in the slammer. I haven't been this excited about a musically-related crime since I saw Calvin Johnson in nothing but his boxers at the downtown YMCA last week (and me without a camera).

I Vant To Be Alone (Swabbed In Dark Fabrics, Stage Right)

Did anyone else see Patti Smith on Conan O'Brian last night? She and her band (shown above, minus Flea) performed an oddly slowed-down Redondo Beach (sorry, I don't have an mp3 from that performance to offer you, only the studio recording from Horses). Much stranger than the tempo change, however, was seeing guitar guru Tom Verlaine hiding out on the left side of the screen, playing his trademark flight-of-fancy leads and fills almost completely out of the spotlight (all Robert Fripp style) and wearing various head gear (hat with mufflers, black scarf) to hide his identity (Greta Garbo called, she wants her affectation back). Why on earth Verlaine would feel the need to hide his visage from the Conan crowd has me mystified--has he suddenly leapt to the level of superstardom of Michael Jackson when I turned my back? You can buy the 30th anniversary edition of Horses from pretty much all the major vendors.

Serving Up Some Khold Cock

Damn you, Aquarius Records--you've gone and got me hooked on Black Metal. It's bad enough I find myself listening to the total-joke-band-even-if-they-claim-they-aren't-a-total-joke-band joke band Goblin Cock (Stumped sounds more Queens Of The Stone Age than it does King Diamond), but to make matters worse, Innestengt I Eikekiste by Norwegian death rockers Khold has been rocking my iPod for two days non-stop. AQ calls them the Nirvana of Black Metal, whereas I see them more as The Beatles (if they sang catchy pop tunes after smoking a dozen boxes of unfiltered cigarettes), My Bloody Valentine (for the multi-channeled, layered guitars) and early REM for the nonsense lyrics I come up with when I try to sing along:

"In the state behind your sister
You wrote a letter, signed it 'Mister'
Sounds alike, you're a water
Mr. Merchant, forced your daughter
(Chorus) I'm mixing teabags
I pissed on Doo Rag
Short decline
Some strap a He-Rag..."


Please be aware that I know you have some inclination as to the definition of a "He-Rag".

Consumption: Microbes made cuddly.

Film: Finally, a way for me to actually be entertained by Star Wars.

Web: A fascinating analysis of The Amen Break.

TV: Yet another in a long list of reasons to hate Lisa Loeb.

Ads: Former It-Boy Fatboy Slim makes a pathetic attempt to claw his way back into the spotlight, with the help of the musically-clueless Nordstrom (which figures) and Olivier Gondry (who should know better).

Technology: All I can say is, what took them so long?

Blogs: Don't. Mess. With. Lee Hartsfeld, the most knowledgeable music lover on the planet; The temporary technical difficulties of Out Of 5 appear to be over. No, wait--they're back again; Who the hell is Post-Punk Junk and where did he get such good taste? Every track is just begging to be downloaded.