Acoustic Cubicle

After seeing their awesome live show, this is how obsessed I have become with Yacht: I actually sat through an entire episode of a Tiny Desk Concert for the first time. God help us all.

Bizarro World

If you had told me, 20 years ago when I first laid eyes on bizarro brother pop act Sparks that they were someday going to achieve no small amount of critical acclaim late in their career, I would have punched you in the larynx. But here's where it gets really weird: their latest album gets hoisted upon the public by punk scuzz noise merchants In The Red Records (wha..?) followed by Wounded Bird Records reissuing their first two albums, the self-titled Sparks and A Woofer In Tweeter's Clothing. Most surprising is just how good these two early efforts are. The former chugs along nicely thanks to Girl From Germany and Whippings And Apologies, while the latter boasts the heavy hooks of Wonder Girl and Saccharin And The War. Neither reissue provides much-needed liner notes, but considering my man Ron Mael was rockin' the Hitler mustache when these two albums were recorded circa 1972, it's a wonder they've survived to tell the tale this long after the fact.

Mother Sky, Sister Moon

Sometimes, when La Luna is aligned with Sagittarius, I shuffle over to the stereo in my oversize kaftan and put on Mother Sky from Can's 2nd album Soundtracks and I just jam and jam and jam, shaking my dreadlocks until they're sore and begging for a good shampoo. Later, I strip down, put on a crisp white shirt (making sure my long translucent neck is jutting out of the collar, buttoned to the top) and play A Kitchen In The Clouds from the Come On compilation The Come On Story, all the while cutting my balding wispy hair to a choppy length. When I look in the mirror, I remind myself that I've been alive forever, and I wrote the very first song. I put the words and the melodies together. I am music and I write the songs.

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.

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.

Death To The Death Pixies

What can you say about an electro-schlock duo from Sweden who call themselves The Bondage Fairies? A band who writes about consuming a platter of penis (Fingus Cooked My Cock)? Who, on tracks such as Pink-Eye Paranoia, sound like a more death-obsessed Pixies than The Pixies? Who frame their aspirations for masculinity (and lack thereof) within an Atari video game soundtrack (He-Man)? What can you say about a band like that? No, no, I'm asking you. I don't have the answer any more than you do. Think over your answer while you pre-order their debut cd (the amusingly-titled What You Didn't Know When You Hired Me) at AB-CD.com.

You Are Oriental And We Are Oriental, Too

Don't even begin to tell me Neo-New Wave is on a rapid decline due to the slowly-rising popularity of Neo-Prog. I am so still into The Plastics from way back in the day, that my Neo-Post-Neo-New-Wave revivalism is half a decade ahead of itself. In other words, much like the hick trucker I spotted back in 1988 whose 1969-era muttonchop sideburns predated their full-on faddish return in 1993, my unwavering love affair with Dance In The Metal and Back To Wigtown (both from Origato Plastico) makes me five years ahead of my time. Unless you live in Japan, the closest you can get to the album are those rare occasions when CD Universe has it in stock.

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).

Teutonic Knight

About 15 years ago, while on a train in Hamburg, after an exhausting day spent record shopping at World Of Music (sort of the Tower Records of Germany, but so much better), an elderly woman sitting nearby began yelling things in German--a language I don't speak--and gesticulating violently towards me. This went on for the entire 20 minute ride but it wasn't until departing the train that my friend (a Hamburg native) explained what had happened: in my fatigued state, I had put my feet on the empty seat across from me, to which this woman took great offense. Not knowing the local language, I never responded to her harangue and continued brazenly stretching my legs out in front of her. Apparently, she was screaming to everyone within earshot about my rudeness and lack of manners, and all the while I just sat there, unknowingly taunting her sense of public decency. Of course, I was well aware of her hissy fit as it occurred, but assumed she was a nutjob, ignorant to the fact that she was merely acting as some sort of law-enforcing knight, keeping the social fabric of Deutschland sewn smoothly. Yes, those were good times, and I think of that warm and cuddly event whenever I hear Die Qualität des Staates by Felix Kubin. It's the perfect soundtrack to accompany images of a large-boned matriarch chasing after a lazy Yankee with loose behavioral morals. What I love about Kubin is that, like the self-appointed correctional officer on my train, he seems to scream everything coming out of his mouth, Donald Trump-style: all overpowering volume, lacking subtlety and dynamics, which I find so charming when placed on top of Teutonic angular electroclash. Someday, I'm going to turn my little stretched-leg train encounter into a Broadway musical, and Kubin is just the man who will be able to translate that Hallmark moment into a theatre event for the ages. You can buy The Tetchy Teenage Tapes of Felix Kubin 1981-85 at Forced Exposure.

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.)

Moving Innn Stereo

Sometimes, your continued interest in a band is generated by their inscrutability over a period of time, usually ending when the band begins stepping forward for interviews or you finally see them on music videos. Up to that point, you can play their music and wonder, "Where did they come from?" and "Where did they get such an odd sound?" Of course, shrouded secrecy is no longer possible when every band can simply design a tell-all website, even for the cheesy Finnish trio Aavikko. It was a lot of fun a few years back when their cds and singles would mysteriously appear, usually without pictures or descriptions of the band. Now, sadly (or happily, depending on your viewpoint), I know almost everything there is to know about them. This track is from a limited-edition, double 7-inch release put out by Stereo Total, wherein 8 artists were asked to remix their seminal semi-hit, Holiday Innn. Aavikko's take (spelled as "Inn") was the most obtuse of the set, and although the single is now long out-of-print, the singles/outtakes comp History Of Muysic has included it to keep you in the know. You can buy it from the charmingly-named Stupido Shop, or from my favorite stand-by Aquarius Records.

The Shock Of The New (Wave)

Back in mid-June, music blog kingpin Fluxblog surprised me by posting a track from the 80's New Wave act Squeeze. The jolt wasn't because the posting was unusual for the website's tastes (in fact, Fluxblog tends to post a wider variety of music genres than any other blog). No, the shock was that anybody even cared about Squeeze anymore at all--their music is hopelessly out of vogue, at least at the present moment. They're a guilty pleasure band for me, and it was lovely to see a much-visited blogger give them a mention. It was fate, then, that helped me find a new import copy of their masterpiece East Side Story, remastered with 2 bonus tracks (The Axe Has Now Fallen and Looking For A Love) at a Virgin Megastore in Glasgow. Because I didn't even know it existed, I never saw it listed in such mainstream music spots as Amazon (which has the song order inexplicably mixed up), and HMV (not to mention, of course, Virgin Megastore). I simply must spend more time web surfing. To these ears, it was smart for the band (and Nick Lowe, who produced the second track listed here) to leave these tunes off the finished album--they're much weaker than the rest of the album. Still, it's nice to hear these songs for the first time and remember why I used to listen to Squeeze in the first place.

They're Loud, They're Sloppy, They're Canadian

From the environs of Toronto (the city featured in almost every recent US movie set in NYC, Detroit or Chicago) comes the slap-happy sounds of this multi-gender pop/rock/noise foursome. For my money, Danes In Peril is their best song (taken from the oddly-titled Ackrill/Venning '91, and if you want to disagree with me on that, we can step outside and hash it out. Be warned: it is the loudest song you will ever hear in your life, especially if you play it extra loud like I do. I recommend everything in their discography, which you can find on iTunes here and here.