The Reality Of It All

Due to my hectic career as a renowned creator of hit reality television shows, it sometimes takes me a long while to find time for a posting or two. Currently, I'm working on an offshoot of The Biggest Loser where, instead of overweight Americans resisting the temptation of food, we'll have wasted rockers struggling to avoid the downward spiral of excessive drug addiction. After hurtling gauntlets of managers with platters of pills and groupies offering bowls of coke, contestants will face the weigh-in, where the boniest post-rehab musician gaining the most pounds each week is declared the winner. I'm also developing a reality show for MTV wherein Neu!-influenced indie rockers--desperately attempting to prove their Krautrock credentials--will live together in a locked guarded house, keeping a 4/4 motortik rhythm going for the duration of an entire TV season. I'm placing my bets on Fujiya & Miyagi who, on the basis of Casettesingle and Conductor 71, could probably play this steady beat until Our Savior Jesus comes back to destroy the earth. Lucky for them, using a drum machine is not considered cheating.

The Agony Of Defeat Of The Pun Of The Agony Of Da Feet

Perhaps it's due to my freakishly large shoe size and thighs of titanium, but when I jog, I book. So even though it was made for running, the new long-playing corporate-ass-kissing concoction by James Murphy (mouthpiece of LCD Soundsystem) entitled 45:33 (Tales of Topographic Oceans was already taken?) is more suited to the Poky Little Puppy sweatin' to the oldies while plodding on the 3.3 setting of a treadmill (if you're anxious to just do it, it's currently being offered for free by my close personal friend Taste*). More likely, you'll catch me speeding past you to the live LCD Soundsystem concert being offered at Live Bootleg. It sprints along at a much more brisk clip, and helps me keep these buns of steel tighter than a clogged sink at the Playboy mansion**.

*Apparently, the Man made him take it down.
**Like you, I have no idea what that means.

Black Is The Color Of My True Love's Hair Is The New Black

Free Jazz and I are like oil and water: specifically, I'm the cheap rusty sludge coming from the faucet, and Free Jazz is the fancy aged European olive oil in a thick hand-crafted dark brown bottle. But in the Salad Bowl of Art-Damaged Free-Form Squealing, Patty Waters and I blend into a harmonius mixture of flavors, thanks to her notorious squawk-fest Black Is The Color Of My True Love's Hair. Ms. Waters takes this oft-covered Old World folk tune and bites it raw, spitting it out onto your lap like so much chewed Play-Doh. You haven't heard singing this deranged since Yoko Ono metaphorically fell into bed with Ornette Coleman and birthed Aos, the illegitimate love child which split up The Beatles. If, like me, you haven't yet learned how to suck at the nipple of the Free Jazz teat, skip on over to Destination Out where you can discover Patty Waters and more at A Beginner's Guide To Free Jazz, proof positive that the freshness date on your current favorite music genre expired at least 40 years ago.

Laughter Is The Best Way To Make Fun Of Those Less Intelligent Than You

Giggles came a-plenty earlier today when I was lucky enough to witness the spectacled, pasty white, Rebel-Without-A-Grill, Yo La Tengo-worshipping music store clerk at my local CD chain store as he attempted to help a thuggish, rough-looking gangsta Snoopafella figure out which artist performs "Slam Dat Ass" and "I Wanna Fuck You" (predictably, the Decemberists devotee came up blank.) I haven't laughed that hard since I downloaded (almost) the entire thrash metal oeuvre of Boston's bad boys Anal Cunt, freely available at Loadown. If I can't laugh at tracks like Pottery Is Gay, Recycling Is Gay, The Internet Is Gay, Windchimes Are Gay, Harvey Korman Is Gay, All Our Fans Are Gay, I Noticed That You're Gay, If You Don't Like The Village People You're Fucking Gay, The Word "Homophobic" Is Gay, I Just Saw The Gayest Guy On Earth, Song Titles Are Fucking Stupid and Having to Make Up Song Titles Sucks, I don't want to be part of your revolution.