A Year of Regret, Misery, and Unending Pain--Set to a Jaunty Soundtrack!

Our annual 2-disc giveaway (given the title this year of Disco:Very 2012) is now available for you to enjoy, in two different formats.  1) E-mail us your name and address (faked names are acceptable, perhaps even encouraged) to receive a smartly-designed CD format (which Youth now declares dead), or 2) for a digital version, simply download Disc One here and Disc Two here.  File sharing between two or more people is the love which dare not speak its name.

Hilarious Headline, Referencing Article Below Yet Cleverly Playing Homage to Current News Item

The special remastered deluxe edition of Disco:Very 2001 is now available as a 320kbps bit rate. Download disc one here. Download disc two here. There's probably something snarky I can say about this but it isn't coming to me at the moment. Maybe I should take up drinking--I'd be far funnier.

This is an announcement to proclaim that Disco:Very (gulp!) has finally joined Facebook.  Dear god, help us all.  If you care to accompany us on our journey, please be aware that all Disco:Very posts will reveal little, if any, personal information, and we will not be commenting on your personal information at anytime, ever.  DiscoColonVery.net is a one-way dialogue, and we'd advise you to flow in the direction of the traffic.

Disco:Very Translates His Own Press Release Touting Free Give Away of Remastered Release of Disco:Very 2001

On May 24th, 2012, world-renowned music blog Disco:Very will reissue the acclaimed Disco:Very 2001 year-end compilation, which was originally given away to a small number of friends and family in December 2001.

[In this case, "world-renowed" means weird sections of the American midwest and two readers in Ireland, and "acclaimed" means "some people actually kept their CD's for a year before tossing them in the garbage".


"There is not a week that goes by without some fan of my current CD's asking if I will ever reissue the earlier comps", said Disco:Very CEO, Disco:Very. "The time felt right to remind the public why we are at the forefront of custom-made CD compilations given out free-of-charge on an annual basis." 

[How very edgy: still working in a media format less popular than the wax cylinder.]


As it has done for the past 12 years, blog readers are instructed to send their name and address to Disco:Very's e-mail address whereupon a CD will be immediately mailed to the requester.  Because Disco:Very respects its readers privacy, fake names are allowed in each request as long as the address is real.

[The validity of claims to privacy cannot be verified, so keep your soiled underwear locked up just to be sure.]


Longtime readers of Disco:Very and newbies alike will find much to like in this nostalgic trip from 2001, including artists familiar (The Magnetic Fields, Jurassic 5, Sigur Ros) and some off the beaten path (Zero Zero, Marvin Pontiac, Zoot Woman.)

[Anyone in the internet age who still can't stumble upon the music of Radiohead on their own must be some kind of specialized idiot. ]


The audio and cover art has been redesigned and remastered from top to bottom, so even if you already own an original Disco:Very 2001 CD, you should consider adding this newer edition to your collection for its crisp remastering and bold minimalist graphics.

[The original artwork from 2001 was so hideous, it was best to throw it all away and stick to the design of the last few years just to play it safe.]


Disco:Very is a music blog publishing since 2005 where it made a name for itself as an incisive, inflammatory blog of opinion, reviews and music links.

[In other words, just like every other music blog clogging cyberspace, but the author of this one doesn't know the meaning of the words "Give it up, already".]

My head is hung in submissive shame as I announce that Disco:Very has now joined the reprehensible Twitter.  Same pithy postings, but now with 80% less content.  Postings will continue apace here at the mothership, but now you can get snarky Tweets for those times when I'm too lazy to link actual music.  Look, if you want this relationship to work, you're going to have to support me on this.  Divorce is not an option.

I Suck. You're Welcome.

The last day of every year always yields many dull and predictable events: nutter religious figures predicting the end times, over-zealous bargain hunters digging through bins of Christmas decorations slashed half-off, etc, etc.

Sadly, this little blog is no better.

Once again, I announce my sub-meager annual end-of-the-year CD compilation pulling together my favorite songs from the past 12 months.  This 2CD set (cleverly entitled Disco:Very 2011) has 40 tracks  of toe-tapping, head-slapping beauty guaranteed to make you dance around the house.

To get your free copy of this one-time-only gift, simply send your name (fakes accepted) and address to peecat at mac dot com and the package will be on its way.  Your name and address will be thrown away after your package has been sent, and will not be shared with anyone else.

It's the end of the year as we know it (and I feel fine giving away cheap CDs to random strangers).

It's Better to Light a Bulb Than to Curse the Darkness

Some Random Thoughts Upon Viewing Fucked Up Playing David Comes to Life in Its Entirety.

It's understandable that the lead vocalist Damian Abraham would remove his shirt during the first song--the room appears to be packed with slithery writhing bodies--but then why is drummer Jonah Falco wearing long sleeves? Does a drummer not work up a sweat? Does a drummer not bleed if you prick his skin?

What does the string quartet do in between their moments in this concert? When they're not playing, they are nowhere to be seen. Do they just sit there wearing earplugs and humming Handel to themselves? If I was a classically-trained cellist, I'm not sure I'd want to sit through an entire Fucked Up set, even at Union wages. I'd hear that cacophony of squall and think, "I went through Juilliard for this??

When lead vocalist Damian Abraham encourages the audience to finish his lyrics at the end of each line, or worse, gives each of them a high-five during guitar solos, it's the equivalent of Sting initiating a sing-along at a reunion show of The Police. I want it to stop.

Lead guitarist Josh Zucker looks a little bit like my friend Jeff Glave who, last time I saw him, was growing his hair out in a shaggy/ridiculous hippy-dippy fashion. I want it to stop.

Why does lead vocalist Damian Abraham put his shirt back on for the encore? I would think, after such a rousing performance, he would be more likely to stay stripped down, perhaps even getting more stripped down, as he did in the latest issue of Spin. Is this a cry for attention?

Disco:Very 2010 2-CD Comp Now Available for Free (Or Best Offer)

It took far longer than it should have to complete, but Disco:Very 2010, our annual year-end free-of-charge best-of compilation, is finally done. This 2-disc extravaganza is chock full of booty-wailing, fist-shaking, foot-bleeding goodness (now with 28% fewer foreign languages)! You can download disc one here and disc two here, and the track listings are here. Or if you prefer a physical copy with all the graphic trimmings, send your mailing address to the e-mail at the end of the column on the right. While we might not respect you, we do respect your privacy and the name/address you send will never be sent to anyone else. Supplies are limited (meaning: I ran out of empty CD cases) so send your request in today!

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.

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.

Smack My Rhymes-With-Witch Up

There are some tradeoffs which, frankly, are not worth the risk:

1.) Medical advancements can be helpful to the human race, but the end result of ending Tiga & Megan's tenure as conjoined twins will result in two times the amount of shit-awful albums when they eventually both go solo years from now. Some circus freak birth defects should just be left alone.

2.) I'm not against human rights, per se, it's just that if America wasn't a beacon for the those yearning to be free, we wouldn't have had that loathesome yelp-dog Regina Spektor flapping her wings to our shores back when she was pooping pickled Masliak Mushrooms into her diapers. And now we're stuck with her. And she keeps making albums. And they all suck.

3.) It's a pleasure having Alexei Luthor (who appears to be the publisher of several prolific blogs) as my new special friend, but he's forcing me to post the entire self-titled debut EP by The Ping Pong Bitches, and now I'm afraid that their management--or worse, the Bitches themselves--will track me down and break my legs like Popsicle sticks. Due to my fear of death, then, these tracks won't be up for very long. Grab them before the Ping Pongs grab me.

Beat You Up

I Love You, Necrophiliac

Rock Action

Dynamite

Chinese Song

[Update: Alexei and his hundreds of blogs appears to have vanished into thin air. We wish him well.]

My Mind Is An Open Book, Which You May Check Out For 2 Weeks (There Will Be A Fine For Any Overdue Items)

That rat-bastard weasel Underneathica and I are in a violent mad-dash race to see who can post a write-up sooner regarding the album Jungle Rot by George Brigman. What Underneathica fails to understand is that I am far more obsessed with anti-social drug addict shut-in musicians than he is--perhaps because I am an anti-social drug addict shut-in musician myself. Michael Yonkers, Todd Tamanend Clark...name any one of 'em and I start drooling all over my government-issue orange jumper. I am way more into Don't Bother Me than him. I am much more likely to be humming I'm Married, Too during a lull while stamping license plates than he would be. I hasten to add: perhaps Underneathica doesn't even have a job in the first place? It is I, with my verbally-challenged speaking skills, that allows me to be in touch emotionally, physically, spiritually and--yes, telepathically--with songs like It's Misery.

On a related note, if you find yourself writing an article about mega-popular actor/producer Tom Cruise and his long-term triumphant success in Hollywood, you might consider using the witty headline Cruise Control. Personally, I lean more towards the headline Dumb Fuck Scientology Sleazeball Buttface Sleazebag. It's got a little something sassy to it, ne c'est pas?

Mission Acceptable

For those regular readers who are furious, burning with rage, frothing with anger that I long ago forbid you from sending me link after link after fucking link to Mr. Show clips on You Tube--clips which I already own, clips I have watched over and over until my eyeballs are nine months pregnant with laughter semen--can I make it up to you by offering a link to the hilarious new VH-1 sketch comedy show Acceptable TV? Can I help it if some Public Relations suckface named Jon Creech keeps sending me solicitations about these television clients he reps, just because I'm a raw and radical take-no-prisoners blogger and he's some 9-to-five suit-and-tie Corporate Corpuscle hawking his latest test-marketed edgy hipster laff fest? Does he think I'm some finger-on-the-pulse 16-year-old who will shit his diapers to be tossed an e-mail promo bone, blabbing about this show to all my friends on My Space, thankful to him for placing me so ahead of the pop culture curve? The joke's on him: he doesn't realize I'm a bitter, vile-spewing 42-year-old hater with thinning hair and an ulcer who is only using him as a means to net more free web goodies! Thank goodness this show (which begins airing March 23rd) is actually worth watching, otherwise I might say something about him I'd later regret.

I Can't Stand It Any More More

Although I appreciate the gesture, there are some of you who insist on sending me You Tube links of scenes from Mr. Show week after week. The problem is this: I already own all three DVD collections of the entire series, so you're preaching while barking to the choir up the wrong tree. Perhaps your spare time would be better spent downloading all those rare Velvet Underground bootlegs suddenly popping up at Chocoreve. Keep sending those other links--the ones of Kraftwerk, select scenes from Sesame Street, etc--but take care of your long-gestating VU obsessions first, is all I'm saying. [Update: Chocoreve hasn't posted anything since 2008 and is perhaps now dead. Or walked away from his computer for a really long time.]

How To Sundance

Do everything possible to assist global warming in melting the world's snow in a speedier fashion. Ridding the earth of the icy nuisance that prevents you from seeing more movies is a most commendable endeavor.

The cliche, in this case, turns out to be quite true: everyone living in Utah really is a white, middle-class, heterosexual Mormon family.

When running behind schedule for a screening after sleeping late, the ability to brush morning breath from your teeth while driving 65 m.p.h. down winding slippery snow-crusted highways is a skill well worth nurturing.

Should your cinematic hero David Gordon Green happen to sit on the same shuttle bus as you, remain calm. Do not wet your pants, no matter how enjoyable that might be. Quickly but firmly approach, conveying how much his films mean to you and what an honor it is to meet him. He will be humble, polite and will shake your hand. Retreat as fast as humanly possible back to your seat. When the woman sitting next to you asks, "What filmmaker is that you were speaking with?", try to refrain from weeping.

Abstain from disembarking off the shuttle at the same time as David Gordon Green: it will lead him to think you're a stalker. If this is unavoidable, bury yourself in the festival program, giving him a few seconds head start to be in front. Sadly, things take a turn for the worst when you find yourself walking right alongside him again a few blocks later; worse, he catches you looking at him. Pretend to be distracted--whoa, there is something really super duper interesting in that shop window across the street! Speed up, passing him in a dramatic fashion as a reassurance that this has all been one big coincidence. Chartering a zigzag path doesn't help: shockingly, you suddenly find yourself right next to him yet again a few minutes later! Holy fuck, how does this keep happening? Eventually, you will have to duck into the festival headquarters to finally and truly avoid walking next to him. Later, fantasize that he relates this run-in with a crazed fan to all of his movie genius buddies as they sip Meisterbrau in the lounge of their private-membership cineaste salon.

When driving between the Sundance Resort and Park City, be sure to seek out the woman selling blankets from her front porch in the quaint town of Heber City. These handcrafted gifts all bear the likeness of various favorite childhood characters: Mickey Mouse, Dora the Explorer, Barbie and...N.W.A???

That Peter Zaremba look-alike you saw on the street the other day turns out, in fact, to be god-like filmmaker Chris Smith. You don't understand this, of course, until later in the day when he makes an appearance for a screening of his latest effort, The Pool. Wait in line to speak with him after the film ends, sulking further when you only have enough time to ask what song played on the soundtrack over the credits. He promises to post the tune on the movie's website but this statement is only meant as an abrupt conversation closer. When leaving the screening of this excellent new film, refrain from slapping the women next to you who--knowing nothing of Smith's background as a documentary filmmaker--complains that it was "too slow" and that "nothing happened".

If you happen to blank out on the name and filmography of marginally interesting queer filmmaker Gregg Araki as he scurries past you, it's best to be accompanied by an aspiring filmmaker friend with few inhibitions. He is more than eager to shout out, "Hey! Hey, you! Did you make The Doom Generation? And what's your name?" The notorious filmmaker seems amused by this arrogant and ignorant outburst; the boyfriend standing next to him, less so.

If you are a frightfully hip young man from L.A, with artfully coifed blonde hair placed just so, a good way to project just how much more evolved you are than the teeming masses sitting amongst you in the theatre would be to continue wearing your expensive brand name sunglasses as you enter the auditorium, taking great care not to remove them until just before the lights go down. You should also take great care to avoid the blogger watching you from two rows away--if he catches you alone outside, he's liable to take those sunglasses and shove them so far up your ass, you'll have to call in a search team to find them.

Because you are movie star hunk Paul Rudd, your ears will burn due to the excited shrill conversation about you between three high-pitched sorority girls who spied you strolling down the street earlier in the evening. Although the encounter with you probably took all of 30 seconds, their recounting of this brush with fame will stretch for a little over an hour.

It's not unusual to find Protagonist, the new film by Jessica Yu, surprisingly accessible because of its direct emotional core. A seemingly simple exploration on the practices of character development handed down from ancient Greek dramas (all enacted by puppets), it's the interspersed personal stories of four real-life men reflecting on power, violence, hubris and redemption which has you bawling tears of empathy. Don't be embarrassed--everyone around you is crying, too.

When flying home, don't be afraid to speak with the diminutive gentleman behind you, taking off his shoes for the X-ray machine. It's comedy legend Bob Balaban and he's the nicest man in the world. He'll accept your compliments gracefully and engage you in a friendly conversation long after he had en excuse to end it. Both the talents and the warmth of Bob Balaban make the world a better place.

The Roots Of Emo

Part One

Rainy Days and Mondays and New Zealand Movies With Excessive Rain As The Central Metaphor Always Get Me Down

There is nothing witty or clever about the topic of re-posts. Believe me, it's true. If there was something humorous to be said, don't you think I would have said it already? Someone wrote me asking if I could repost a particular song from the soundtrack of the depressing New Zealand flick Rain and I'm not only going to comply (Orange and Blue), I'm going to up the ante (Summer Of Love, Drive Home, Red Room.) The soundtrack (mostly by Neil Finn) is very difficult to find in the U.S. Your choices are to have someone copy the entire CD for you (which, I shouldn't have to remind you, IS COMPLETELY ILLEGAL, PEOPLE!!) or you pay through the nose for it at Gemm. You must choose your fate. I have spoken.

A Day In The Life Of The Fool On The (MacWorld Conference & Expo) Hill

Future jailbird Steve Jobs has every citizen of the world at his denim-clad knees during this week's MacWorld Conference & Expo (well, at least those citizens of the world rich enough to afford a $500 phone), and when he's ready to coax a powerful tune from his latest technological innovation, he chooses...Lovely Rita, Meter Maid by The Beatles??? Wouldn't it have made more sense to choose Revolution? Hell, Tomorrow Never Knows would have carried more symbolic weight! By my estimates, over eleventy-billion-zillion songs have been written since recorded tape was invented and this is the one track you choose to play? At least you could have had fun with your musically-clueless image and picked something (anything!) more ear-grabbing off Flabby Road and Flabby Road II. Steve, if you want someone to provide better song recommendations for any future gadget unveilings, just give me a call. You know my name (look up the number.)

Cottage Industry

Scientists the world over agree: weepy feelings of nostalgia for the music of your youth makes one's brain turn to cottage cheese. So forgive me this curdled snack respite as I chuckle along to the way-stupid guffaw-fest music video of the Mondo Guano song, uh, Mondo Guano (unearthed for me by a devoted Disco:Very fan.) While we're already in this twisted neck of the forest, we might as well explore the unchartered lands of Fast Car and Pantano Del Fango (whose opening lines, "Going to the mudbog/Won't you come along?/I need to find the answer, I need to find the answer..." are probably brilliant, but who really knows for sure?) This was Bob Log before he became Bob Log. This was the sound of Young America gulping acid at midnight and taking 3 excrutiating hours to set up their instruments as a result. My hope is that attempts to resurrect those long-ago performances through pointless yearly reunion shows never come to fruition (I only like cottage cheese in small doses.)

My New Year's Resolutions

1. In 2007, I vow to finally "get" bands whose talents currently leave me scratching my head in utter dismay (i.e., The Raconteurs).

2. In 2007, I vow to finally learn to pronounce the word "raconteurs".

3. In 2007, I vow not to hate more bands but to intensify the anger over the bands I already hate (quality over quantity).

4. In 2007, I vow to find someone who can tell me if those recent Captain Beefheart reissues are worth buying if one already owns them as cheapo imports from 15 years ago (how many times do I have to re-purchase these things, anyway?)

5. In 2007, I vow to take TV On The Radio, grind them down into a fine microscopic dust, and have that dust analyzed by the world's top scientists as a means to figure out why everyone goes so fucking ga-ga over them, 'cuz dude, once I know the answer, I am so going to put that dust in my morning fruit shake and drink it.

6. In 2007, I vow to always surround the name Beck with the words Idiot Scientologist (as in, "The latest album by Beck, Idiot Scientologist, is a dull rehash of the lame white boy street funk schtick he's been shitting out for the last several years; or, It would be a shame if Idiot Scientologist Beck were to wake up one morning and realize his dumb-ass bad-sci-fi-novel religion has been a complete waste of time from the minute he was brainwashed into accepting it".)

7. Most of all, 2007 is the year I vow to download the billions and billions of albums this Napster-as-pig-face guy is offering at his website, despite the complicated subversive tactics which have been erected to avoid detection by the Filesharing Police. Just looking at the exhaustive list of everything he's got for the taking, I can tell 2007 is going to be a long year.