With Only 40 Years Left to Live, It's Time I Finally Got Around to Digitizing My Cassette & Vinyl Collection [Part 3]

Mike Rep & the Quotas - "Heroes..."/"...and Idols" (7" single on Bag of Hammers, 1993)

Lowest-of-Lo-Fi early-90's grunge rock (only without the grunge and spelled "rawk", thank you very much), layered with thick swatches of Velvet-y squeals (on the A-side) and a humble Modern Lovers beat (on the flip). To the best of my knowledge, nobody else on the web has this single available for download, begging the question: "Do I have to do everything around here??"

With Only 40 Years Left to Live, It's Time I Finally Got Around to Digitizing My Cassette & Vinyl Collection [Part 2]

X-Ray Pop - DS/El Gato (7" single, 1984)

Endearing mid-80's keyboard-based French New Wave, with the kind of lulling Gallic vocals which would make Stereolab cry with jealousy. Although you can find downloads of their other records all over the web, I've not seen this single anywhere for download yet, so grab it now because the clock will be ticking for the next 40 years, bub.

With Only 40 Years Left to Live, It's Time I Finally Got Around to Digitizing My Cassette & Vinyl Collection [Part 1]

Al Perry & The Cattle - Fraidy Cat (cassette, 1986)

Nearly sixty minutes of sloppy lo-fi cowpunk instrumentals recorded on a cheap ass four-track with a portrait of Link Wray looking on in approval. Each sans-vocal track is a mini masterpiece, with the average running time barely eclipsing the two-minute mark. The range of sounds go from punk (with a hint of blues) to country/western (with a dash of punk) to blues (with a smidgen of surf) to noise (with a blast of noise wrapped in a deep-fried tortilla made of noise). This is quite possibly the greatest local release to ever come out of Tucson, AZ. If you aren't interested in hearing it, I will pee on your grave.

Wooly Bully

Now that cyberbullying has been outlawed by OPEC, or whoever the hell is in charge of these things, Disco:Very will review some recent albums, tempered by this kinder, more gentle format. [Click on each image to bask in its artistry.]

Band: Virus
Album: Raped by Mutants
A concerned global community thanks you for alerting us to the pervasive social problems which result from being sexually molested by aberrations residing in underground sewers filled with toxic sludge.

Band: Emily Osment
Album: Fight or Flight
Just a few years from now, you're going to make some plastic surgeon very, very wealthy.

Band: Ron Wood
Album: I Feel Like Playing
If your artistry on guitar is as good as your painting skills, we're in for a special treat!

Band: Daniel Schuhmacher
Album: Nothing to Lose
That is where you're wrong, my little schnitzel. You have one special thing to lose, and that is your innocence. Spread your wings, Daniel. Hold on to your hope. Dream. Believe.

Band: Kingfisher Sky
Album: Skin of the Earth
Bald eagle-centric album art + Kate Bush covers + cellos in a rock context = Another flawless masterpiece-come-lately for the best Dutch import since Kibbeling was first pulled from the deep fryer.

Band: Gin Blossoms
Album: No Chocolate Cake
Deceased leader Doug Hopkins is almost certainly spinning in his grave with pride after being told (by God) about this inspired album title, with a clever cover shot to match!

Band: Tinie Tempah
Album: Disc-Overy
Puns on the word discovery never go out of fashion.

Felon Phun

Rappers. Is there anything they can't do?

Feline Phun.

Cats. Is there anything they can't do?

Genitals Are People, Too!

My annual trek to the Telluride Film Festival beckons, which means I won't be posting in the next few days. Despite the fact that the organizers haven't yet sent me my laminated pass, I'm feeling a keen sense of euphoria and pee-inducing excitement. Who knows what adventures await me? Will I once again be yelled at by an incensed Charlotte Rampling after I selfishly plop my ass into the seat directly in front of her? Will I once again find myself stalking Mark Ruffalo while waiting in line for a film? Could my precious penis once again gain proximity to the withered penis of UK filmmaker Mike Leigh while standing next to him at a theater urinal? Both me and my penis will tell all upon my return.

Back to the Queer Future

High-fives to Jukebox Mafia for finding this uproarious slab of topical twang which was far ahead of its time, at least as far as trends like bigotry tend to go. I'm not sure which is more amusing: the song title itself terming the worldwide homo population in the singular, thus redefining God's hatred in a more philosophical bent, or the curious band name (why add the word Weather to EndTimes?). Either way, it's an oddly appropriate ditty now that activist judges in California are commanding the Real America to abort babies on command before forcing school children into shotgun weddings with their gay neighbors.

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

Children of Tomorrow by Itavayla [Buy]

Mommy and Daddy by The Monkees [Buy]

Chemiroch by Unknown [Buy]

Out by Mike Rep & the Quotas [Buy]

Mesela Mesele by Tunay Akdeniz and Gigrisim [Buy]

Cademar by Tom Zé [Buy]

WORT FM USA Interview by The Slits [Buy]

What Is a Party? by The Moog [Buy]

Untitled by Charlie Tweddle [Buy]

Pärt: Spiegel Im Spiegel by Arvo Pärt [Buy]

Les Souvenirs, Les Souvenirs by France Cartigny [Buy]

Here's the Thing by Girl Talk [Buy]

It Takes a Nation of Zulus To Raise a Zulu Nation

Suffering from what I considered an infestation of zits in my youth, I was once informed that toothpaste, applied liberally to each blemish, would erase them quickly. During an application one morning, I was distracted by something or other and forgot to wash the gooey cream from my face, arriving at work with white spots all over my forehead and chin, garnering odd looks from fellow employees too polite to point out my gaffe. Isn't this the same flustered feeling one gets when No Smoke Records (who can't be bothered to create a website) once again informs us, to our disbelief, that Africa was once a hotbed of '60's garage rave-ups? Zulu Stomp: South Africa Garage Beats contains more great tunes than you can shake a rungu at. From Get Your Baggies On (by Bats) to I've Got News For You (by the oddly-monikered 004's), you'll find yourself standing slack-jawed at the wealth of garage-y goodness dripping from every groove. Personally, I find myself returning again and again to Freedom's Children's take on the overplayed Stones classic Satisfaction--with a breathless rhythm so primal, so urgent, I could almost swear it was The Monks taking a turn at this haggard horse. The entire comp rolls along at a clipped pace. It's as potent as a shot glass of Proactiv acne treatment served on the rocks. Or at least a similar pimple-themed punchline which hasn't occurred to me yet.

Disco:Very Does Dallas. No, Wait: San Francisco [Part 3]

The Long List of Artists Whose Music I Was Searching for at Amoeba Music on Haight Street, Thus Annoying the Counter Clerk Because the List Was So Fucking Long, But Also Annoying Me Because None of Their Albums Were in the Racks:

The Black Jaspers

Crookers

Kevin Dunn

Filmzenek Tarr Bela

Gay for Johnny Depp

Andrew Graham

High All the Time (Various Artists)

Hunx & His Punx

Mazing Vids

Moderne

Pretty & Nice

Reading Rainbow

Sonny & the Sunsets

Charanjit Singh

UV Race

White Fence

The Second Part of the Long List of Artists Whose Music I Was Searching for at Amoeba Music on Haight Street, Thus Annoying the Counter Clerk Because It Dawned On Her at Some Point That I Was Making Them All Up:

I Run, I Jump, I Skip, I Fall Down: Hello!

Click Your Heels, Scream "I'm Anglo!"

Almost There, Almost There--Oops! Wrong Turn

They're Dancing In Unison and I'm Drowning Beside Them

You Ate What???

Everybody Bends at the Knee

Reach Up! Reach Up! Give it Here!

Ow! I Stubbed My Toe! Ow!

My Womb Held Aloft

Him and Her and Me and Them and Us and He and She

Let's Look at the Sun and Go Blind (Now We Are Blind)

Invisible Sheets of Yesterday and Forever

Aching, Waiting, Hoping, Spinning, Spinning, Spinning

Plausorchiadidian

Sounds Like Ass

Disco:Very Does Dallas. No, Wait: San Francisco [Part 2]

Stalking Benjamin Bratt in the Haight Street Amoeba Music: A One-Act Play

Cast:
Benjamin Bratt as Himself
Disco:Very as Himself

Curtain rises on a busy day at Amoeba Music on Haight Street. Disco:Very, dressed in the youthful fashions of today, is in the "B" section of the CD racks, mystified as to why the goddamned store doesn't have any music by The Black Jaspers. At that very moment, Benjamin Bratt, star of both TV and talking pictures, enters the store, eventually inching his tall lithe frame down the aisle across from where Disco:Very is shopping.

Noboby has yet noticed Benjamin Bratt except Disco:Very--similar to the same way nobody but Disco:Very spied Michael Moore walking towards his gate at the Chicago Airport some years ago, and how could they miss him because that guy's as big as a trash barge? Does Disco:Very possess a sixth sense of some kind? An ESP which alerts him to the proximity of actors, musicians and entertainment personalities? Perhaps, upon Disco:Very's eventual demise, scientists ought to slice Disco:Very's brain into thin tissues so as to study and learn from what are surely remarkable and perhaps even revolutionary cerebral impulses.

Benjamin Bratt is dancing the dance upon which all celebrities embark: hoping to not be noticed while hoping to be noticed; pretending to be an Average Joe out on a shopping excursion while fully expecting that his many fans will gather around him, gawking and gushing about his filmic achievements. Because Disco:Very sniffs his nose at the types of films and TV series in which Mr. Bratt would appear, no praise will be forthcoming from the lofty blogger. Instead, he merely follows Mr. Bratt at a safe yet inquisitive distance.

What music will Benjamin Bratt be buying, in this enormous shop containing millions of CD's, records and tapes? The possibilities are as endless as one's tastes. Will Bratt pursue the extensive International section, concerning himself in particular with Native American recordings, thus showing an interest in his own proud ethnic heritage? Or will he instead skirt along the edge of the jazz aisle, purchasing a Verve reissue of musical renown? Perhaps Bratt will indulge in some extreme noise recordings and surprise us all by brandishing a recording of Sunn O))), or perhaps he's into the experimental creations of mathematically-inclined composer Iannis Xenakis?

No, Benjamin Bratt stays in the vicinity of the rock and pop aisle, picking through the racks labeled Fleetwood Mac.

Disco:Very, seeing this, shoots himself in the head.

[Curtain]

Disco:Very Does Dallas. No, Wait: San Francisco [Part 1]

Terrible Songs Heard While Shopping at the 9th Street Trader Joe's in San Francisco and the Type of Customers & Employees Who Respond To Each Song:

Song: Island Girl by Elton John
Reactions: Young bearded employee in ball-crushing tight jeans dances in snack aisle, bobs head side-to-side while singing along; Yoga-addicted Earth Mama sings along while reading ingredients on organic trail mix bag, exhibits no ethical or ironic qualms while singing the words "Tell me what you wanting with the white man's world".

Song: You Are the Woman by Firefall
Reactions: Middle-aged female customer in layers of Tibeten shawls sings along as if romantically involved with the protagonist of the song; elderly-yet-hip employee gawks as she skips past him in the dairy aisle.

Song: Dance With Me by Orleans
Reactions: Disco:Very, while purchasing Tamari-roasted almonds, shoots self in the head.

A-R-I-Z-O-N-A Is My State, Arizona Let Me Say I Think You're Great!

Now that Arizona has successfully banned Hispanics from rudely assuming they, too, can breathe the White Man's oxygen, I--a proud native Arizonan--now feel safer to enjoy patronizing our abundance of Mexican food restaurants without having to actually be around all those Mexicans. And on that same topic, a stern word of caution to underground lofi-funksters Javelin should they ignore the worldwide band boycott and choose to perform in The Grand Canyon State: I recommend only playing songs from your David Byrne-approved new album instead of certain tracks off your underground demos (since they contain what is almost certainly traces of what we Gringos call Spanish). As for the rest of you, stop stating our State government is at least as dumb as Georgia's. When it comes to The Championship of Passing Senseless Bills, everyone knows Arizona has them beat at this particular parlor game.

Making Up the Lyrics of Two Kate Nash Songs Based on Her Own Brief Descriptions in a Recent Article Within Spin Magazine

“I’m not on [Billy Bragg’s] level, but on my new album there are a couple of songs about serious issues: ‘I’ve Got a Secret’ is about homophobia; and on ‘Early Christmas Present’, I’m talking about cheating on someone and leaving them with an STD.” --Kate Nash, Singer/Songwriter, quoted in Spin Magazine, June 2010

I’VE GOT A SECRET
I've got a secret
I’m keeping deep inside
In my black little heart it does reside
I don’t like seeing guys kissing on guys
Or watching women eat each other’s pies

[Chorus]
I’ve got a secret, but it’s a secret no more
Being open-minded is such a chore
I’m a homophobe
Yes, I’m a homophobe
Watching ‘Glee’ is such a bore

Rainbow flags really piss me off
And no male doctor will make me turn my head and cough
I don’t want a man to be touching me down there
And I don’t think women should ever have short hair

[Repeat Chrous]


EARLY CHRISTMAS PRESENT

What’s inside this box?
Unwrap it and see
It will make you smile
It will hurt when you pee

[Chorus]
Even though it’s only April
I’m giving you your Christmas haul
It’s a warm dose of Chlamydia
And it's one-size-fits-all

It took so long to pick out
Because you’re hard to buy for
But an STD is the perfect gift
To come from a cheating whore

Christmas time is magical
It's a time for living large
But even the Baby Jesus
Would be grossed out
By your penis discharge

[Repeat Chorus, Ad infinitum]

NPR Puts the 'Pubic' Back in 'Public'

This morning, while setting up a tent enabling me a place in line to catch Sex & The City 2: Revenge of the Sith, I looked myself in the eye and said, "Disco, nothing is as it appears if even NPR sees fit to stream the forthcoming Sleigh Bells album in its entirety". Gone are the days when the denizens of public radio are subjected to the low-energy yawn-inducing AOR stylings of albums by The Chieftans or Norah Jones. No, NPR has decided that, from now on, they want blood red blood to drip from their listener's ear canals, damaging them for life. I, for one, hail this bold decisive move and look forward to the day they'll stream output from the likes of Ty Segall, Billy Bao and Brainbombs. Sure, listening to Treats confirms what we already knew: the best songs this band has written were already revealed in last year's widely-distributed demos (except for newbie tune Kids, which fuckin' rules), but if this is the type of stuff NPR is going to post on a regular basis, I say we get behind them and push for more. I mean, what else are going to do until May 27th?

Elliott Smith Fans Declare Jihad Against Fans of Pink Floyd. I Smell a Sitcom!

A fading street mural which happened to be randomly photographed for the cover of mopey suicide-y singer/songwriter Elliott Smith's hilariously overrated 2000 album Figure 8 was "tagged" earlier this week by low-wage lackees hired by 84-year-old Pink Floyd kingpin Roger Waters to virally promote yet another tour of the flogged-dead-horse mainstay The Wall.

The viral marketing utilized by Waters and his publicists involves high-profile/big-budget underground guerilla-styled postings promoting the upcoming tour through the use of crudely prited stickers, scripted in an excessively ornate, barely decipherable typeface.

Although the marketing campaign is being seen throughout the greater Los Angeles area, when it left its mark on the hallowed ground that is this anonymous mural on Sunset Boulevard, fans of Smith's work were outraged. "Elliott Smith literally painted this mural literally with his own blood!", screamed Smith follower Glewanda Furklemier. "You can see his tortured soul in each random curve and swirl. Why doesn't Barack Obama do something about this instead of wasting time on that silly oil spill?"

When it was pointed out to Ms. Furklemier that Mr. Smith did not, in fact, actually paint the mural, and that, instead, the photographer hired by his record company merely posed Smith against already-existing street art, Ms. Furklemier replied, "It doesn't matter who painted it. Pink Floyd is going to pay for this, mark my words. There will be a bloodbath of epic proportions, and we will choke the rivers with their dead!"

Ironically, the success of both Pink Floyd and Elliott Smith have relied almost exclusively on compositions involving depressed whining about emotional isolation, but this irony has been lost amid the uproar.

Asked to comment by phone, Roger Water's response--given while counting huge wads of cash--was, "Elliott who?"

Play This at My Funeral (It Should Come On After Khia's "My Neck, My Back" But Not Before "Wind Beneath My Wings".

The strange little web doo-hickie Codeorgan allows your favorite website to be played as a nifty little ditty, using (as the website puts it) "a complex algorithm to define the key, synth style and drum pattern most appropriate to the page content." Is it any surprise that my Blogspot domain (http://discovery2005.blogspot.com/) translates into a dull monotonous dirge of minor keys played to a lackluster, unimaginative shuffle, devoid of passion and grace?

I wish I was dead.

[Update: the Codeorgan website seems to have vanished. Also, I am still very much alive.]

No posts for a short while as I will be in Los Angeles for the next 5 days. Let me know if you want me to buy you anything at Amoeba Music. Please note: I will not really be buying you anything at Amoeba Music.

Chank You For Talkin' to Me Africa (But I'll Be Damned If You Expect Me to Pick Up the Cost of Those Long Distance Charges)

The cheerfully sloppy Los Angeles quartet Wounded Lion kick up a shambling mix of Modern Lovers screech-pop on their forthcoming self-titled LP while furnishing the listener with a heaping plate of oddball topics on tracks such as Crünchy Stars and Hungry? When they express their obsessive torment concerning someone named Omar and his style of walking, I ask myself, "Could they be speaking about Egyptian film and music icon Omar Khorshid and the extensive 2-LP career sampler about to be released on Sublime Frequencies? Are they attempting to associate themselves with his mystical six-string noodling and exotic/hypnotic compositions?" Sometimes you ask the Universe for answers and it replies by pooping on your head.

Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On (Literally?) (Yes. Literally.)

Although I live thousands of miles from the epicenter, the recent earthquake in Baja California supposedly sent slight ripples throughout the state in which Disco:Very Global Industries currently squats resides. At the time it struck, I happened to be watching this video, played at maximum volume through professional-grade headphones. Any shaking I experienced I probably notched up to the awesome ground-splitting aural assault of My Bloody Valentine. In related news: fuck you, Mother Nature.

The Songs of Bob Dylan, Refashioned Into Porno Film Titles

Tangled Up in Spooge

It Ain't Me, Baby Batter

Jizz Like a Woman

Lay Lezzie Lay

Knockin' on Heaven's Door-gasm

Subterranean Homesick Boobs

The Times, They Are A-Bangin'

Ballad of a Hung Man

Bob Dylan's 115th Dirty Sanchez

It's All Over Now, Baby Blue Balls

I Shall Be Released (Of Sperm)

Love Minus Zero/No Limit Bukkake

Blowin' in the Wind

Q: Are You Ready for the Insects? A: This is a Trick Question, Apparently

If you're obsessed enough to buy the Are You Ready for Insects CD EP [bottom, left] by Brooklyn brat-punk duo Mazing Vids due to the assumption the awesome title track would be contained within, you should probably think twice and instead put your money towards the vinyl-only EP Drastic Mirth [top, left], which is actually where this jaw-droppingly-great track resides. Oh, sure, the Are You Ready for Insects CD EP has some spazzed-out wonders of its own, but it's just not the same, even if I can download "Insects", oddly enough, for free directly from the band's website. Welcome to Chumpville. Population: me.

Who'll Stop the Rain? Perhaps If We Plug the Clouds with All Those Fucking Tribute Albums on the Market, That Might Help

If you're hard-up enough to purchase John Fogerty: Wrote a Song for Everyone just to hear any number of are-they-still-alive? artists pay respects to the Creedence Clearwater Revival song-penner, you might think twice before purchasing it via iTunes, seeing how they inexplicably mis-label the best track: Fortunate Son, performed by Al Perry, recorded during his ill-advised but thankfully short-lived obsession with The Go-Go's. That's all. Class dismissed.

The Joanna Newsom Drinking Game

The newest masterpiece by Joanna Newsom is about to hit stores. As you bask in its unicorn-ey goodness, have some fun and take a drink whenever she uses the following bullshit-meter-breaking words or phrases:

Svetlana

A seagull weeps

Sage

I'm oozing surprise

Yoke

Chim-Choo-Ree

Ursala

Two-by-two (re-loo-re-loo)

Inflammatory writ

Seahorse

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Gasplessly

I am big-boned and fey

Dragons

Exhume your pinecone

Every 3.6 Seconds, Someone Dies of Hunger--Help Disco:Very's Efforts to Feed the World!

In actuality, this posting is really an excuse to offer up Burn, Tuning Out and I Can Be a Jerk, all taken from Rush to Relax, the forthcoming CD by Eddy Current Suppression Ring. Each album comes with a free disposable rack of lamb.

Christian Rock Band Makes Music Video. Hilarity Ensues.

Gauging from the talent with which they've been blessed, their God must really hate them. Perhaps they're not praying hard enough?

My Vagina is a Precious Butterfly Taking Flight in a Hard-Won Quest for Freedom

Now that King Khan (of King Khan & the Shrines) and Jasper Hood (of the Moorat Fingers) have outright killed the other members of their respective bands in a violent coup, the two unrepentant murderers have decided to carry on together with their new scuzz pop band, The Black Jaspers. Their debut album covers everything from amphetamine-induced noise pop (Smart Car) to thrash/punk pop (I Want My Face on the Radio), to hyper-aggressive power pop (Leather Boy), all delivered in the most fuck-you nasal-inflected vocal to ever grace rock and roll. A follow-up LP will be recorded as soon as Khan and Hood have paid their debt to society.

I Don't Swim in Your Toilet, Please Don't Pee On My Blog

Now that Gaz Coombes and Danny Goffey have outright killed the other members of Supergrass in a violent coup, the two unrepentant murderers have decided to carry on alone with their new cover band, The Hot Rats. Their debut album holds forth on tracks by The Kinks (a faithful reading of The Big Sky), Squeeze (a somber Up the Junction), The Velvet Underground/Lou Reed (a spirited take on I Can't Stand It) and even the Beastie Boys (supplying [You Gotta] Fight for Your Right [to Party] with a Who-esque melody it doesn't actually possess). A follow-up LP will be recorded as soon as Coombes and Goffey have paid their debt to society.

The Baffling Music I Listened To In The Days Of My Sappy Youth (Before I Discovered Punk Rock and Everything Changed For The Better) (Part 4)

That slamming sound you hear is from the collective jaws of my readers hitting the ground after hearing me admit to once liking the oddball collection of studio outtakes Garden in the City from Earth-mama songstress Melanie. If you're unfamiliar with her work, she's the aural equivalent of a doe-eyed pastel-shaded Margaret Keane painting.

I was introduced to her granola-infested oeuvre through a friendship with my high school's Freshman rebel. He seemed to abide alone (the parents he professed to live with were always away on mysterious "camping trips"), he sometimes smoked cigarettes and frequently got sent home from school for refusing to wear shoes. His unexplainable affection for this LP of boho folkie musings should have given me pause, but his outsider status amongst our age group drew me towards it all the more--it seemed to me just one more intoxicating swirl of icing on the iconoclast cake.

At the time, my alarming ignorance of rock history strengthened the assumption that Don't You Wait By the Water was a vérité recording of purist backwoods blues and that Lay Lady Lay was a Melanie original (after finally hearing Dylan's "cover", its curious lack of flute freakout left me wanting). Listening to the painfully sincere title track as an adult causes my eyebrows to arch ever upwards: why the freaky pronunciation of the word country? How can you befriend a cloud? To paraphrase Carla Bley's reaction to The Shaggs: that song brings my mind to a complete halt.

Although Garden in the City was not a chart-topping mega-hit, Melanie would later find fame via her soft-porn pop hit Brand New Key, as well as renewed celebrity amongst indie hipsters after being recruited by Stephen Merritt as a vocal guest of The Sixths. Garden's closing track (People in the Front Row) cemented its place in the pop pantheon after being sampled by Australian rap act Hilltop Hoods.

My shame over once favoring this musical transgression has never wavered. As soon as the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame installs confessionals, I'll be the first one in line chirping my Act of Contrition.

Disco:Very Translates a Very Bad (Overly Long) Press Release for Harper Simon

"Give a listen to Harper Simon’s shining solo debut and you’ll soon recognize that he is much more than just a shooting star."

[Translation: Harper's father is Paul Simon.]

"Harper Simon is the work of an exceptionally gifted singer-songwriter and guitarist who’s clearly discovered who he is and found his own way and as a recording artist in a time when the very concept of recording an album seems threatened."

[Translation: By focusing on the supposed demise of the album as an art form, which is a complaint one tends to hear from past-it no-longer-charting folk/pop singer-songwriters of the 1960's, it allows us the opportunity to subversively remind you that Harper's father is Paul Simon.]

“The long playing album is the great artistic medium invented in the second half of the 20th century,” says Simon. “The long playing album is not just ten songs thrown together randomly. It has an arc. It has a structure. It is the attempt to make ten songs that are all as good as each other, and fit together in a seamless whole. Long playing albums like Sgt Peppers, Bridge Over Troubled Water, Pet Sounds, Blonde On Blonde, Sticky Fingers -- these albums have helped define our culture. When I was making this record, I was very conscious of making a record that was an homage to the LP.”

[Translation: Why did we casually allude to "Bridge Over Troubled Water"? No reason. No reason at all.]

"Simon recorded his new album in Nashville, New York and Los Angeles with the help of an altogether impressive and decidedly eclectic and multi-generational group of musical collaborators, including famed producer Bob Johnston, an all-star group of veteran first-call Nashville session players, an impressive group of contemporary young singer-songwriters and friends, and yes, even Harper’s own father, the legendary Paul Simon."

[Translation: Have we mentioned that Harper's father is Paul Simon?]

"Making [this album] ended up being a journey in its own right. Simon started the long and searching recording process for Harper Simon in Nashville, cutting basic tracks with Johnston – who was behind the board for classic recordings from Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash and Leonard Cohen – backed by a Who’s Who of enduring session greats familiar from countless classics of the Sixties and Seventies...“I was also very honored and thrilled and moved beyond words to be able to work with some of the people whose work was featured on some of the best albums of all time,” explains Simon. “People who I had been listening to my whole life and whose names I knew only from liner notes and production credits. In search of a sound that satisfied him, Harper...gradually brought in other great players associated with other eras, including a whole new generation of wildly talented musical friends into the mix including Inara George, Petra Haden and Sean Lennon, ultimately mixing the results with Tom Rothrock, know for his work with artists like Beck and Elliot Smith, who all helped bring the shock of the new..."

[Translation: Nepotism fucking rules.]

“The people that came together to contribute to this album are a totally bizarre and wonderful collection of people that will never come together again,” Harper explains. “There are players that represent every era of Rock n Roll from the 50s, 60's, 70's... every decade up until now really. People like Bob Johnston and my Dad and the Nashville A Team, these people started making records in the 50's. Then they made some of the most groundbreaking records of the 60's. There are folks like Steve Gadd and Steve Nieve who played on great records in the seventies... Marc Ribot in the 80's... And many others from today like Inara George, Eleni Mandell, Sean Lennon and Adam Green to name just a few. I always wanted to blend these great session players from the 60's with my friends and contemporaries... that was always part of the concept. I think I may have gotten carried away, but it sure was fun.”

[Translation: Unlike Daddy's brief Graceland-era stint collaborating with Los Lobos, he actually let me keep the authorship of songs I wrote by myself.]

"In the end, it’s clear that there is real blood on these tracks, to borrow a phrase from another iconic songwriter who’s not Simon’s father, and let there be no doubt that blood is Harper Simon’s."

[Translation: We have no shame.]

"Finally, this is an album that reflects powerfully the long road to get to the point where Simon was ready to stake his musical claim...And so he has taken the time and care to make an album built to last. And this is only really the beginning."

[Translation: Although you'll be tempted to compare Harper's music to that of his father's, we can assure you that the only trait these two share are their receding hairlines.]

Whose Hilariously Pretentious Song Title?

Quizzes by Quibblo.com

Second to None (Except for Everyone In First Place)

The general public fires off a myriad of e-mail questions towards the Disco:Very offices once it learns of the year-end free CD offer. In an attempt to quell potential uproar, let's discuss some of these inquiries openly:

1. I just sent you my address--does this mean I can expect to be stalked?
    Only if you want me to. And even then, what's in it for me?

2. The new year began over a week ago--where is my CD already?
    Do I come down to your job and insist you cook my Big Mac faster?

3. I'm with the RIAA.  You're under arrest.
    That's not a question.

4.  What songs were left off the CD, and why?
     The reasons are as varied as the rejects themselves.  Here are a few:

• This track sounds too much like their other songs, only without the pathos.
• This one is even too disco for me.
• Another blogger already picked them as a year-end favorite, and I am a lone wolf.
• They used a flute on a previous song, therefore they must be penalized.
• My fans can only take so many songs in Portuguese in one sitting.
• Sorrowful expressions of ethnic cleansing through song is sooooo 2005.
• She lives six blocks away from me, and I do not pander to friends (again: lone wolf).
• Time constraint, pure and simple (also: ew, she's a widow).
• My fans can only take so many songs recorded on wax cylinder in one sitting.
• Just because it sounds like "Sister Ray" doesn't make it as good as "Sister Ray".
• This resembles Tom Petty a bit too much for comfort.
• When the fey receptionist at my gym doesn't even know this song, this singer's career is dead.

An Obvious Set-Up, Followed By Laughter You Will Be Powerless to Stop. Plus, Bono is a Putz.

For once, I am in complete agreement with Bono. All anyone need do is look at the way China has successfully curbed its citizens from enjoying freedom of information. If torturing is good enough for Americans to inflict on suspected Al Queda operatives, why not do the same for those who provide free music to the general public? I am so committed to this very notion that I have attached a taser machine to my testicles in a show of support. This expensive contraption is designed to activate any time I should dare to share music files with my adoring public.

On a lighter note, I've just discovered a new band named UV Race whose music has been non-stop on my headphones. Here are a few of my favorite tracks:

Gore Orphanage

[OH MY GOD!!! MY GONADS!! MY PRECIOUS DELICATE GONADS!!!]

All the Things I Do

[DEAR GOD, MAKE IT STOP!!! MAKE THE PAIN STOP!!!]

The UV Know

[HELP ME, BONO!! HELP ME WITH THE PAIN!!! MY BALLS ARE ON FIRE!!! CAN'T YOU WRITE A SONG OR A FUCKING OPERA ABOUT THE PAIN AND MAKE IT GO AWAY???]

Meet Me Under the Clocks

[AAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!! I'LL NEVER BE ABLE TO SHARE QUALITY TIME WITH MY TESTICLES AGAIN!!!]

The Gift That Keeps On Giving. Forever.

It's that time of year where I offer all readers a free 2-CD set comprised of my favorite songs from the last year. Simply send a name (any name will do) and address to the e-mail address listed at the bottom of the right-hand column and you'll be sent a package in a week's time. Regular readers will also get--at no extra cost!--a tall glass of herpes. Don't delay!