Dancing About World Peace is Like Singing About Architecture

Just when we thought our national nightmare was over, he returns. Before you accuse me of being a Negative Nigel, let's break down in real time why this man and his videos are so very reprehensible:

1. Please don't think that an upper-middle-class American encouraging some Iraqis to dance on cue is going to bring about love and harmony throughout the globe. There has never been world peace, there never will be world peace, and sloppy foot work to a fifth-rate Enya impersonator isn't going to change that.

2. Let's be realistic, here: this dude Matt didn't exactly get warring factions to come together in the interest of pacifist living. He didn't convince a gun-toting Israeli to spin into a waltz with an oppressed Palestinian. No, he simply set up his fucking camera, posted (I assume) notices around the village that he wanted extras to dance with him on a particular date and, presto! His job was done. Any idiot can get other idiots to mug for a camera.  This is why so-called reality television is so abundant.

3. His choice of music makes me want to pull out my own eyeballs, slice my head off slowly with a butter knife and then drive a 10-ft razor blade through each kneecap.  Many commentators on YouTube would toss about the word "inspirational".  I would, instead, describe this recording as "crazy-making".

4. Supporters of this man's work argue that this video is a reminder that, basically, everyone the world over is all the same and we should respect the beliefs and cultures of everyone else.  You need a fucking sappy video to tell you that??  That's just fucking Human Fucking Rights 101, baby.

5. The tot on his shoulders at the very end--who I assume to be his own offspring--is going to need decades of therapy when he grows up to find himself to be a part of this debacle.

On the plus side, it is admittedly pretty cool to get a seal to flap its appendages with you, I'll give him that.  Perhaps, in the end, Matt's legacy will be to bridge the opposition we face with our feathered and furry friends throughout the planet.

Bleakness on the Edge of Town

The all-dark-clothing urgency of Iron Curtain's music should make my eyes roll, yet they surprisingly stay firmly in place. Perhaps it's because the paint-it-black keyboard wash and echo-laden vocals of 25 years ago which drip over every track on Desertion 1982-1988 now finds itself in vogue once again. These tunes sound timely without being retro. Sure, some of the compositions push too hard at being seen as dangerous (the only reason to name a song Anorexia or Legalize Heroin is simply to ruffle the hair of the status quo, the same way I post anti-Poi Dog Pondering musings so as to receive threatening comments). But when the unknown pleasures of Love Can Never Die and The Burning begin their mesmerizing climb towards some mysterious ethereal target, you'll feel yourself being lifted off the dance floor into the heavens.

An Open Letter To Perpetrators Of School Violence

Will all of you psychotic gun-toting maniacs please stop killing innocent children in America's classrooms, if only for another week or so? Because everytime you unleash your weapons, it takes away from the Foley scandal in the mainstream news, and if there is one thing I love, it's watching Republicans writhe in agony like the fuck pigs they are. Besides, they'll be plenty of other completely horrifying news topics in the coming weeks to take our minds off sexual predators in U.S. government. As for today's take on music: bla bla bla Beyond Istanbul bla bla bla Underground Grooves of Turkey, bleh bleh bleh Depresyondayım and Reggae Turca Tone etc etc etc. Forgive my lack of enthusiasm but it's hard to stay interested in music when you're living in a deranged country where war mongers are hell bent on pushing us all towards Armageddon.

Back To Your Future

Remember back in January 2006 when I sent some of you my year-end picks Best-Of-2005 CD? And remember how so many of you mocked me and scolded me and bruised my precious feelings for putting the Cansei De Ser Sexy track Acho Um Pouco Bom on there? But now they're the Next Big Thing and you're all listening to their Sub Pop debut and dancing around the house to Off The Hook and Alcohol and Fuck Off Is Not The Only Thing You Have To Show (even though the original Brazil-only version called Fuck Off Rock is so much better)? Well, get ready to emotionally abuse me once again later this year because I predict--thanks to tracks like Wild Moose Party and Siam--I predict the dance-y New Wave B-52's-ness of The Cosmopolitans is going to make them bigger than Jesus, Buddha and L. Ron Hubbard combined. Except that CSS are relatively new and The Cosmopolitans split up 25 years ago. Other than that, my gods can kill your gods.

All Over Your Face And Stuff

There's no denying it: I'm an easy sell for a Mash-Up that has me cackling like a school girl. Especially if it uses Television's boho pre-punk masterpiece Marquee Moon. But especially if placed alongside the Khia grind and bump hit My Neck, My Back. The unstoppable superstar DJ Certified Bananas has merged the two into Television Is Crack, which made me gleefully skip around the room upon first encountering it last year buried within one of his genius monthly on-line mixes (no longer available except to stream on YouTube). Remember the first time you even heard this Khia classic? After you get over the short shock of such up-front sexuality, you really have to sit back and admire what is essentially a highly-instructional Joy Of Sex chapter to which you can dance.

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.

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.

Brain Candy

The aural candy of Nth Degree by Morningwood has been making me slam my head against the pavement for the last 6 months (in a good way), but now that I've seen the video, my eyes can join in the fun as well. It's like there's a party in my brain and everyone's invited. I have no idea what the bassist is shreiking during the chorus but it makes my testicles cringe into my abdomen (also in a good way).

Footprints In The Sand

One night, I dreamed I was walking along the beach with Pop Music. Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky. In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand. Sometimes there were two sets of footprints, other times there were one set of footprints. This bothered me because I noticed that during the low periods of my life, when I was suffering from anguish, sorrow or defeat, I could see only one set of footprints, and I was forced to hear somewhat boring, critically-praised, safe pop music that wasn't all that interesting such as Death Cab For Cutie instead of pop music that made me want to shreik and dance and sing and punch my fist in the air and play air drums and fuck and fight and kick people in the head. So I said to Pop Music, “You promised me, Pop Music, that if I followed you, you would walk with me always and provide me with fun youthful pop such as The Chalets and Cansei De Ser Sexy. But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life, when I was forced to put up with the pretentious swill of Modest Mouse, there have only been one set of footprints in the sand. Why, when I needed you most, have you not been there for me, and instead foisted dull cutie-wootie artists such as Bright Eyes on me?” Pop Music replied, “The times when I provided downloads of catchy ditties such as Red High Heels and Hollywood (Electro Grunge Shit Version), the times when you have seen only one set of footprints in the sand, is when I carried you.” (Buy the new cd by The Chalets from Amazon.co.uk, and buy Cansei De Ser Sexy from iTunes Music Store.)

Damaged Goods

My...um...many readers will balk, and I've avoided bringing it up earlier so as not to exacerbate the quiet calm of the comments box, but here goes: my personal belief is that once a band splits up, it should stay split up. Nothing frustrates me more than when a band who has concluded its run decides to dig up the corpse of their legacy and drag it onto the stage once more. The reason I'm stirring up this volatile turd: my high school heroes Gang Of Four, after thoroughly pissing me off when reforming for a short tour earlier this year, have just issued a CD of their classic cuts recorded anew. Judging by the sound of things across Music Blog Land, I seem to be the only one crying foul, the only one who finds these reunions disappointing. They never capture the energy and excitement of the band's first incarnation so why would any band wander into such numbing territory? Money, that's why. In this case, the Gang are claiming this fresh take on their back catalog is to at last receive income on these songs (whose performance royalties go to the various labels which released them). Is this a strong enough rationale to sully those perfect recordings we all love so well? Download this 53-minute, live-in-the-studio performance at KCRW's Morning Becomes Eclectic and decide for yourself. Side note: Be sure to do a Google image search of the words "gang of four" sometime. You'll get all the usual pics of our post-punk and communist heros, but you'll also draw up tons of snapshots showing dorky personal posings of four random people and things: boring secretaries in oversized sweaters, gringo golf buddies posing before teeing off, bird embryos...

Deaf Jam

WHAT DID YOU SAY?? HUH??? I DIDN'T HEAR WHAT YOU SAID!!! Sorry to be SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS, but it's the natural reaction to having what's left of my hearing being taken away by The Go! Team performance I caught in Phoenix, AZ last night. My guess was that, on stage, the Jackson 5/cheerleading thing would move to the fore but I was wrong--instead, that vague Sonic Youth skrawl jam that is briefly referenced on their records was FULL-ON BLARING AT MY EARS AT TOP VOLUME ON ALMOST EVERY OTHER SONG!!! Even after enduring 15 years of playing in loud bands, blasting my stereo to its threshold and abusing the volume control on the ol' iPod, how was I to know I had even more hearing left to lose? Thanks to last night's show, a supersonic jet engine has taken up permanent residence inside my eardrums (it's almost 24 hours since their show and my head is still incessantly ringing, ringing, ringing). As for their performance, my one quibble is that lead gal Ninja should drop the audience pandering. We've already paid, we're already fans: no need to keep encouraging us to dance and shout out the choruses. The more you continue this route, you're just shy of becoming Huey Lewis And The News singing "Heart Of Rock and Roll". Otherwise, a dynamic, high-energy set (as this live recording of Huddle Formation taken from NPR can illustrate).

The Wall Of Death

Someday, a wise, enterprising label will reissue the-way-too-long out-of-print Fourth Wall by dada-ist pop funksters The Flying Lizards, and there will be much gnashing of teeth and wailing of overjoyed record collectors. Much more challenging and multi-layered than their self-titled 1979 debut LP (whose hit, Money, automatically appears on every "New Wave Of The '80's!" -type compilation you'd care to name), Fourth Wall was the album that dared to take their sound to another level, away from the tight-trouser dance rhythms that were then (and now) in vogue. Some of the shadings and textures of this record are more dense, atmospheric and ghostly, almost as if the band were attempting to record the very sound of death. Hell, they even got reclusive guitar maven Robert Fripp to play on this track, Glide/Spin. How cool is that? (Perhaps it was their way of apologizing for ripping off his Frippertronics technique on An Age). Until this fantastic album is reissued, I command every one of you to write Rhino Handmade and demand that they stop releasing forgotten Melanie albums and correct this gross oversight right now.

Ham-Fisted Comparisons

UK electronic/noise/pop outfit The Chap are frequently compared to LCD Soundsystem, but the similarities aren't as common as you'd think. For one, these Brit art-popsters are far too angular and experimental, which doesn't always result in getting butts shaking on the dance floor, even when operating within the context of the "broken heart" rock genre (check out Baby I'm Hurt'n for a good example). The closest they come are the occasional Soundsystem-style rave-ups such as I Am Oozing Emotion and Arts Centre, but even these are too abrupt and unsettling to be spoken about in the same breath as the DFA flagship. My advice: give their new CD, the oddly-titled Ham, a listen and decide for yourself. You can purchase it at Midheaven.

Many Happy Returns

The Lexicon of Love, the classic 1982 album by ABC was much more of a chart-topper in Europe than it ever was in the US, which would explain why the deluxe edition 2-CD set reissue is close to impossible to find on these shores. If you're at all a fan of the original release, you will no doubt swoon over returning to this newly remastered pop masterpiece, as well as the surplus of unreleased outtakes, live tracks, demos and rare B-sides (such as the noir-ish croon-fest that is Theme From 'Mantrap') padded alongside the more familiar material. A good place to buy it, of course, is the UK arm of Amazon or HMV.

My Bloody Little Rabbits

Rumor has it--a rumor traveling all the way from France to Arizona, mind you--that the French pop rock quartet The Little Rabbits have split up. Here, then, in tribute, are two rare tracks taken from Yeah! Remixed By, an EP of remixed tracks such as Pic Nic Boy, remixed by Solex and La Piscine remixed by My Bloody Valentine. The MBV remix is probably worth hearing just to remind yourself that Kevin Shields is still alive, while the Solex remix has a upbeat playful quality that is a joy to hear.  You can buy this sucker just about anywhere, but why not throw your meager support behind Discogs?

Thank You For Not Smokin'

Another find during my recent record store jaunts in San Diego. When I was in the 4th grade, I considered the album Do It ('Til You're Satisfied) by B.T. Express to be da bomb, except it was 1974 and this term had not yet come into use. Also, I was an awkward non-funky white boy and never would have spoken such slang had it even been in vogue (my exact recollection is that I found the album to be "neat"). The title track was the big hit but I always leaned towards the album's closer, This House Is Smokin', which I had always assumed to be a live track due to the cavernous ambience of the recording and what sounded like cheering after the first line (I now realize it's supposed to be the sound of crackling flames--apparently, I was so cracker I didn't even get the congruous analogy of blazing heat and hot funk). The vinyl copy purchased upon its initial release is still in my music collection but it's so scratched and unplayable that I was delighted to find it anew in digital form. Edsel Records reissued it earlier this year, tacking on the 1977 album Function At The Junction (which, due to its disco string arrangements on nearly every track, is more Fire Island than fire-on-the-dancefloor). You can purchase this cd at Dusty Groove.

It's The Fall, Damnit

Conventional wisdom dictates that The Fall made some rather spotty albums after the departure of Brix Smith. Although this rings true on some levels, I continue to buy the seemingly thousands of albums released during the post-Brix period because...well, because it's The Fall, damnit. But mostly because every album has at least one track worth hearing. For my money, on 2000's The Unutterable, it's Hands Up Billy, a tidy little rave-up that is probably a hoot to hear live. You can order it from DooYoo Records in the UK.  Let the full-on spastic rave-up pogo dancing commence.

Half The Bonanza At Half The Price

Unlike most Jamaican ska songs from the 1960's, Don Cosmic (by Don Drummond And His Group) has a gentle downhearted quality to it that always gets to me, especially that last held note, sounding like a question mark at the end of a musical sentence. Heartbeat Records has released this song on two similar collections, pictured above: Ska Bonanza! and Streets Of Ska. The former is a 2-disc, 48-track collection (top-notch from beginning to end) and the latter is nothing more than Disc One of the former. Why they would release one half of a 2-disc set is beyond me. Don't make the same mistake I did: splurge for the 2-cd set from the get-go. You can order it directly from the label or from Reggae CD.

This Band Goes To Eleven

The best feature of technology is when it somehow organically heals itself. For whatever reason, the strange noises emitted by my hard drive over the last week have suddenly stopped. That's good news for you, too: the download postings will be delayed no longer (or at least not until I pony up for a bigger GB drive). There are, however, strange noises in my ears at the moment--a long, high-pitched roar searing through my head ever since seeing Caribou last night. Louder than all get-out, there were particular parts of their set where I felt the ceiling was going to cave in as the massive din they stirred up rattled the rafters of the nightclub. If they come to your town, drop everything you're doing--school, work, sleep--and see them. Be sure to bring a tenner for the above untitled cd--sold only at the live shows--which I'm told is comprised of outtakes from The Milk Of Human Kindness. Better to own your own copy of The Snow Capes now rather than pay five times that amount later on eBay. It's worth it alone for the crazy 36-minute mix that starts the cd off with a bang--layers of old soul records, Bollywood funk-ups and bizarre foreign language pop songs. Very cool.