Staying Propped Up

Oklahoma psych-rockers The Flaming Lips tearfully announced on their website that they have run out of ideas for costumes and props for their highly-visual lead singer to wear and are now seeking the public's input for a rash of new ideas. As a public service to this iconic band, Disco:Very submits the following outfits for the band's consideration:

DARTBOARD COSTUME
ADVANTAGES: Playful game-like costume will encourage increased interaction between the band and the audience, recontextualizing conceptual boundaries of the performance space and its place in the larger public sphere.
DISADVANTAGES: Due to excessive consumption of alcohol by audience members, many will assume the costume to be a literal dartboard, leading to the throwing of actual pointed darts towards lead singer, possibly leading to severe injury, blindness or death, followed by protracted lawsuits between the band, its management and the venue's lawyers. Also, silly prop costume gives the band another way to hide the fact that they have no real songwriting skills of which to speak.

PINK RIBBON COSTUME
ADVANTAGES: Raises public awareness of the serious topic of  breast cancer and health issues for women, encouraging female audience members to schedule regular screenings with their doctors. Tour can be co-sponsored by local Breast Cancer Awareness organizations, who would be permitted to raise funds via strategically placed information booths at outdoor concert venue.
DISADVANTAGES: The mention of breasts will make those in the audience under the influence of various reality-enhancing drugs to giggle uncontrollably during entire concert. Also, silly prop costume gives the band another way to hide the fact that they have no real songwriting skills of which to speak.

FLESH COSTUME
ADVANTAGES: This costume's blank form examines notions of life's meaning and existence, questioning many facets of religion, morality and life itself. With no cultural signifier present, viewer is free to project identity and purpose to the person inside the costume, or eschew involvement altogether. Audience members at the band's outdoor concerts can engage in lengthy and complex philosophical discussions while waiting in line at the Port-o-Potty.
DISADVANTAGES: Heat created by stage lights will create large wet spots in crotch area resembling urine stains, thereby negating the seriousness of the entire image. Also, silly prop costume gives the band another way to hide the fact that they have no real songwriting skills of which to speak.

YOUTUBE PARODY COSTUME
ADVANTAGES: Makes a symbolic commentary on issues of celebrity and identity, positioning lead singer, now framed within the format of a YouTube video, as target for the public's love and approval or, conversely, scorn and hatred. Audience can ruminate on the Internet's role in creating and discarding instant popularity worldwide through viral videos and related media.
DISADVANTAGES: Attempts to parody a popular website created over seven years ago will position the band as hopelessly out of date, especially considering the band's rapid advancement towards senior citizenry. The word "YouBoob" is a wince-inducing, painfully-unfunny pun on the iconic website's name, further solidifying the band's unfashionable disconnection from pop culture. Also, silly prop costume gives the band another way to hide the fact that they have no real songwriting skills of which to speak.

Let's Deciper the Lyrics to "Eveningness", the Best Track on the New Album by Lotus Plaza

[INSTRUCTIONS: PLAY SONG ON REPEAT FOREVER AND EVER AND EVER]

Looking at my purse and not at you
I deathly need the rest of the tofu
Three’s a Crowd and Moopy and a foot
Chains smoking the drag and it’s a pain

[CHORUS]
I wouldn’t wear it again
And my waist is eveningness
I wouldn’t give it again
And my peas are eveningness
I wouldn’t have it again
And my pace is eveningness
I wouldn’t go it again
And my face is eveningness

Romper Room and gulls that pull it down
Shaggy mom and moves it to its head
Labor love and shadows aren’t that deep
I see them now and don’t want the bar keep

And now that I’ve seen how they change
I know the way you’d have it the same
My game is too pooped to change

CHORUS

[The most transcendent yet subtle musical interlude ever composed.]

[REPEAT FIRST VERSE]

[CONTINUE PLAYING SONG UNTIL YOU GET SICK OF IT, WHICH WILL NEVER HAPPEN, EVER]

The Unintentionally Hilarious Press Photos of Bands Playing in My Area in the Near Future [Part 2] [Click Photo to Enlarge the Lulz]

Run Away From the Blight

 

There are those who would tell you Alabama Shakes and Rubblebucket are two new bands into which you should be plugging your earbuds, but I am here to warn you, children, that these are freshly-shaved lies. The morally reprehensible Alabama Shakes sport the most generic, lame-ass bar-band sound you could ever muster, tailor-made/readymade for Bonnaroo burnouts;  Rubblebucket are the polar opposite, pushing so far at appearing quirky, you can only respond by patting them on the head and pointing them towards the cut-out bin which they'll soon be inhabiting. The hype machine surrounding these yawn-inducing embarrassments must be avoided above all else. These are dangerous times to be a music lover, and we need to protect each other from all this lethal danger to our tastes.

Disco:Very Openly Invites Reader Hostility, Defends Most Hated Album on the Planet

The dirty diapers at Pitchfork went and gave Lulu, the debut collaboration between Elder Statesman Lou Reed and mosh mascots Metallica, their lowest available rating, and from the uproar one finds all over the music webisphere, Pitchfork is not alone in their disgust. Indie purists, please. Calm the fuck down. If there's one thing we've learned about Saint Lou over the years, it's that he's never going to stop merging his interest in highbrow literature with his passion for rock and roll. Stop insisting that he write another Sweet Jane and let the man fucking do his thing. If you can't slam your fists around the brutality which envelops the galloping Dragon or sink into the beauty of the lovely, lyrical 20-minute closer Junior Dad, then move along. Better yet, give it another spin, ignore Hetfield & Company and just pretend it's Robert Quine, Fernando Saunders and Doane Perry backing him instead.

Grandma Got Run Over By the Art School Performance Artist Equivalent of a Reindeer

Hmmm. Yeah, I remember the first time I watched Liquid Sky...

That's Why Darkness Was Born

Thank goodness the dour art-damaged early-80's are over, allowing us the emotional distance to observe bands like Danny & the Parkins Sisters from a safe distance. The Mein Leben ist Scheiße Welt mindset on such tracks as This World is Bleak, War (Is On Your Doorstep) and On My Block (with its deliciously overwrought delivery of such couplets as Black boots/Bag o' loot/No one's gonna/Tell you the truth!) is enough to make you mainline Percocet. My own vinyl copy of this 8-track post-punk (but seemingly pre-rehearsal) masterpiece can now be sold to the highest bidder thanks to Chapter Music reissuing it on CD (yes, this occurred a year ago but don't mock me for only discovering this now--I've been very busy), even seeing fit to pad it with 10 extra tracks of live recordings and demos (such as We Are Indians, which has all the political correctness of a Sondra Lee dance routine). Buy this CD and relive the heady days when underground music was gleefully giving Reagan the finger with every note they played.

Lost and Found

The next time someone tries to sell you a rare copy of a Flying Lizards CD for $200, you just spit right in their mouth, mister, and let them know you have already have a dealer for that particular drug. In late 2010, RPM Records became a hero to New Wave record collectors everywhere by issuing a 2-CD set of the self-titled debut album by The Flying Lizards, as well as the much sought-after follow-up Fourth Wall. [Yes, I'm late boarding this trendy train because none of you bothered to tell me about it earlier, thank you very fucking much.] Both albums were only available as expensive Japanese imports and have been out of print for decades, and although this new reissue lacks a few tracks which the Nippon release included (specifically Glide and the Single Edit of Move On Up), I couldn't bear to live a life without this snappy 2-fer in my quivering hands.

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?"

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.

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.

A Feather of Down

Instead of resorting to the usual twee-indie visual of putting a fucking bird on their CD cover, the Bristol-based art-dub trio Beak went one better and simply named themselves after the most important part of the avian anatomy. Any band that mixes the hazy drone of Neu! and early Public Image, Ltd. is bound to make my goosebumps have their own goosebumps. Some of the songs on their self-titled debut are drastically sparse in their Metal Box-like focus (Ears Have Ears), while others pace themselves into a high-strung motorik gallop (Iron Acton). (Pill even begins with the kind of screechy Mideast violin howl familiar to anyone who got all the way through The Flowers of Romance.) In a perfect world, this would be the soundtrack for waiting rooms and elevators.

Crank Calling Record Stores on the Busiest Shopping Day of the Year [Part 1]

[Store Clerk for lame-ass local chain CD/DVD store]: [Name of store] on [name of street location].
Disco:Very: Hi. I was just in your store and I bought myself a copy of Where the Wild Things Are by Steve Vai but I think there's something wrong with the CD.
Store Clerk: OK. What seems to be the problem?
Disco:Very: Well, on the song "Taurus Bulba", Steve Vai is supposed to be playing a solo which is comprised of 2100 notes per minute but when I listen to it, I can only count about 2086 notes, tops.
Store Clerk: [Pauses.] Uh...
Disco:Very: I thought that maybe you had an in-store copy you could listen to and maybe you and I could count the notes together over the phone so we can determine if my copy is defective or if it was an error at the pressing plant.
Store Clerk: [Laughs] Well, uh...I don't think we have an in-store copy here.
Disco:Very: I know the mistake isn't on my end because I'm very good at counting. And I'm sure the problem isn't with Steve Vai because his nimble fingers dance merrily across the strings as if summoned forth by Zeus, with the power and majesty of 1000 winged horses.
Store Clerk: [Hangs up.]

Two Indie Rawk Darlings Scheduled to Face Off In Court This Week

A federal court Wednesday will consider the fate of a bitter fight between Portland hippy-dips Yacht (top left) and rough-and-tumble Brooklyn duo Sleigh Bells (bottom left), who claim they are “five times more rawk than Yacht”. Yacht, frequently seen posting naked against dreamy nature-like settings, isn't contesting the accuracy of Sleigh Bells’ claim, but says the argument is misleading. Yacht, in its legal response, says Sleigh Bells is suing because "we frequently refer to lightness and darkness as opposing forces of good and evil in our songs, and that paints us as New Age wimps." Sleigh Bells wants the court, which will hear arguments today, to force the music-consuming public to reevaluate Yacht’s standing in the indie rawk sweepstakes of 2009.

Sleigh Bells are asking the court to consider such endeavors as Yacht's current “Catalogue of Influences” poster as well as the title of their 2007 EP, “I Believe In You. Your Magic is Real”. “Give me a fucking break,” says Tony Melone, legal representative for Sleigh Bells. "Even Doug Henning wouldn’t have come up with a CD title that stupid, and he believed in vedic flying!”

Yacht spokesman Mark Siegel responds: “We think our music is simple, straightforward and honest," he says. “We think we're doing a great job. So what if some of that is performed while advocating awareness of extraterrestrial intelligence?"

The U.S. District Court in Atlanta will decide the question of when a band segues from merely being "simple" to becoming outright dopey. Sleigh Bells’ main beef is with the vague areas of Yacht’s lyrics and image, which denote a communion with nature and spirits.

Sleigh Bells’ image is awash in 80’s smarm and enough distortion to make your ears bleed; Yacht, in contrast, has almost no grit of which to speak. Sleigh Bells, in its lawsuit, says consumers may think Yacht’s association with LCD Soundsystem’s James Murphy means Sleigh Bells offer no downtown boho cred of their own.

"If our songs are judged to be truthful but not misleading, even though they're damaging to Sleigh Bells’ business, well, that's just competition," says Tom Zellerbach, a friend of the band. But Yacht has a hurdle, too. Their website lists a mission statement and urges listeners to find importance in triangles. The court "could question whether that manifesto is beyond ass-backwards," he says.

Riffs and Variations on a Single Joke (A Not-Really-All-That-Funny Joke.) [silence.] [sound of crickets.]

How fitting that Susan Atkins, former follower of cult leader Charles Manson would pass away so close to the release dates of the two latest Sufjan Stevens albums: The BQE and Run Rabbit Run. As I sit here, listening to the spritely Movement III: Linear Tableau with Intersecting Surprise and the mournful Year of Our Lord, it occurs to me that the parallels between these two icons of American artistry have been staring us all in the face for quite some time:

Both have connections to swords. Susan Atkins witnessed Charles Manson injuring a guy with a sword. The name "Sufjan" means "comes with a sword".

• Both became so-called Born Again Christians. For Susan Atkins, this occurred in 1974 while serving life in prison. For Sufjan Stevens, this occurred in 1975 (the date of his first and, so far, only birth).

• Both are connected to nonsense ramblings which have no rational meaning but are misjudged by followers to be riddled with insight. For Susan Atkins, this can be found in the Manson's crazed racial-uprising scenario he termed "Helter Skelter". In the case of Sufjan Stevens, this can be found in such song titles as "A Conjunction of Drones Simulating the Way in Which Sufjan Stevens Has an Existential Crisis in the Great Godfrey Maze".

• Both are/were imprisoned for life due to the crimes of their youth. For Susan Atkins, it was due to her role in the Tate/LaBianca murders. For Sufjan Stevens, it's due to being forced to come up with 48 more CD's to fulfill the terms of his "Fifty States Project".

• Both initially avoided confessing to playing a part in several violent murders. Susan Atkins eventually confessed. Stevens has yet to.

In addition, the name Sufjan Stevens has 13 letters in it, the same number of letters in the phrase: You bite my butt.

In conclusion: are we still boycotting Whole Foods? It's the only place I can find green lentils.

Watch What Happens (When I Lower My Blogging Standards)

Think of me as your Millionaire Matchmaker for music. There are many similarities: Like the host of that show, I am of indeterminate gender, no matter how hard you squint. The procedure my clients follow is also very much the same: you contact my offices (read: visit my website) and ask that I hook you up with a long-term winning relationship (read: song). After extensively studying your profile, I have determined that you'll be a perfect fit with Nerve City's The Armory, a mad echoey thumper which one hopes will be on his/their/its upcoming why-is-it-taking-so-fucking-long-to-come-out-I'm-about-to-pee-my-undies release.

If that suitor (read: track) doesn't twinkle your toes, how about I fix you up with This Land Is No Good, the electroshock-therapy-driven screamer by Love Tan from their Miscellaneous Night Feelings LP? My hope is to see you two walking down the aisle (of your nearest record store) in the near future. True love is never having to say "You Are Sorry."

Twin Beaks

Some weeks back, a rash of odd pointy objects appeared on the right side of my snout. Initially, I feared the worst: nose cancer, or some previously undiscovered disease which will make dermatology experts awash in excitement to be on the forefront of a new biological frontier. Eventually, after applying pressure to the area, the end result was a crusty crop of glorious blackheads jutting forth. Sweet!

This is somewhat the same reaction I feel when approaching a new album by The Fall: is it going to be a deadly cancer on the nose of music history? Or will the gamble instead yield delight and unmitigated ecstasy, much the same as those deliciously tasty blackheads? Unlike my arch nemesis Underneathica, I actually prefer Mark E. Smith when he sips one aging foot in the atonal clatter of his past and the other in the Brix-era sideways pop of what music historians now call "his middle years." I tend to swoon more over the kind of tunes where they almost sound like smash hits, except that this particular Billboard chart is buried in the bottom of a dustbin languishing at the end of a grimy Manchester alleyway.

The rickety construction of Strange Town, the taut tension of Senior Twilight Stock Replacer and the buoyant shout-along I've Been Duped are as brittle as any oxidized acne you care to name. Don't believe me? Just give my schnoz a hug (there's a lot of nose there for you to squeeze).

His Divine Hammer

Plugged-in Gaul rocker Electronicat scores your most masochistic toothache to a throbbing pulse as layers of guitar noise undulate on your brain waves in a shimmering display of aural menace. On his 2007 missive Chez Toi, tracks such as Pancake Lady and Seveneves become red-beamed sniper lasers zeroing in on your temple, while the thank-god-it's-finally-available-on-CD shoulda-been-a-hit She's a Queen plods its way to the dance floor through a back beat fuzzier than that Quaalude slipped into your mojito. The album's unending machine-driven drummer is only slightly more metered than Electronicat's unwavering duty to the eternal buzz he's been advancing for the last 10 years. It's a language he invented himself, and you'll only learn to understand it the more you're immersed in it.

Expressway to Yr Social Security Retirement Check

The one upside to the Patriot Act is the little-known provision allowing Federal authorities to forcibly remove musical instruments from any past-it performer reaching the age of 70: happy birthday and say goodbye to your artfully detuned gee-tar, Thurston Moore.  It's time for the broken-hip hipsters to step down and let the real youth-who-would-be-sonic take their rightful place on the world stage.  All the way from Monterey, Mexico come the incredible noise-maven mavericks Los Llamarada who, for reasons unbeknownst to me, are allowing Nene Records to offer free tracks abundanza to download pronto.  I'm overjoyed with pee (the happy kind) to see Siltbreeze pushing out releases by Psychedelic Horseshit and Teenage Panzerkorps, but until they sign up our scuzz-pop neighbors South of the Border, I'm going to be tattooing the word revenge on my knuckles as punishment for their oversight.  Yes, you don't have to tell me: I only have 5 knuckles.  Abbreviating it to revng will still have the same impact, thank you very much.

Today's Letter is M (for Mind-Expanding Head Trip Movie)

This is the reason an entire generation of kids is seriously messed-up. Or supremely brilliant. I can't decide which.