Cold Lampin' With Flavor

Ohio's The Minni-Thins like pop, and they also like noise, two great tastes that taste great together. These two flavors intermingle magnificently on the many tracks available for download at their website, and if you back me into a wall, with the proverbial gun to my head, I'd have to say I hear a little bit of The Fall (in the way they grab hold of a riff and trottle its pretty little neck until it dies), a little bit of Pavement and/or any number of Drag City bands we all love/loathe, and, hell, maybe they even resemble a less annoying Weezer. A post-Thanksgiving feast is clouding my brain so these are the best comparisons I can come up with at the moment. Feel free to comment with your own. I'm going to lie down for a while.

Let's Play Horse

To describe it, the image sounds perverse: a horse gently scooping a tiny fetus with its long-armed backhoe tentacle. If anything, that sentence reads like the Captain Beefheart album title that never was. But this is what can make music videos such a powerful medium--the poetry of the visuals coupled with the tone laid down by the music. You can understand why, after seeing the video for Heartbeats, the world-domination-obsessed evil Sony Corporation would want to use a Jose Gonzales track to sell its new glitzy television sets. Good for him--I hope Gonzales makes a million bucks off this thing.  Update: the animated video for Heartbeats seems to have been scrubbed from the internet for good.

Bowel Movement

It's a glorious time to be Jeff Lynne: American TV commercials are still mining the bowels of the Electric Light Orchestra catalogue ("Livin' Thing" for JC Penny's, "Do Ya" for Monster.com, etc), numerous critic's-darling indie bands are covering his songs without a scrap of irony, and EMI has finally given a proper reissue to the last album recorded by The Move (psych-popsters will love the title track of A Message From the Country, while It Wasn't My Idea To Dance should bode well with the current prog-rock movement).  But most importantly, 2006 will mark the 40th anniversary of Mr. Lynne having had the same exact hairdo. What else is there to say, but "grroosss!"

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).

Are You There, God? It's Me, Disco:Very.

When you're confronted with the hands-down punk genius of a band such as The Electric Eels, it's easy to scratch your head in bafflement as to why they weren't more popular. Could it have been because the group (all of them straight) used to passionately kiss onstage to piss off the rednecks in the audience? Was it because their lead singer was more of a lead snarler and purposely started violent fistfights with his fellow bandmates during every show? Perhaps the record-buying public was put off by the title of the 1988 compilation God Says Fuck You (top left). Personally, when I hear song titles such as Agitated, Anxiety and You're Full Of Shit, the band instantly becomes bigger than Jesus in my book. Perhaps if they had been anthromorphized to make them more approachable, they would have enjoyed the adulation given to the Lamisil mascot Digger the Dermatophyte (top right). If marketers can make toe infections appear cartoonish, why not a pissed-off mid-70's punk group? Tap your (infected) toes to this top-notch piece of punk history at Amazon.

The Answer, My Friend, Is Blowing

George W. Bush is a complete and utter fuck-pig, a doddering nitwit who hasn't the sense to utter two words in proper succession let alone lead a nation into a trumped-up pointless war. The question on everyone's mind is: "How can we get rid of him?" My fellow Americans, as a sacrifice to this country, I volunteer to perform a wet slurpy blow job on President Bush while he's in the Oval Office in order that we can alert the press to his transgressions and begin proceedings to remove his tired ass from office. During the impeachment trial and the subsequent victory parties celebrating his departure from the White House, I will play Oh Mother, The Handsome Man Tortures Me, taken from Choubi Choubi! Folk & Pop Sounds From Iraq, newly released by the fine folks at Sublime Frequencies. In these trying times, we all have to swallow our pride (or what have you) and step up to the plate to oust the axis of evil where it resides. I draw the line, however, at blowing Rove. Ick! I mean, c'mon, even my patriotism has limits.

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.

Acid Flash-In-The-Pan

As the weird outsider folk fad creeps along, it leads to more early oddball outsider music from around the world being discovered on a monthly basis. 1970's psych-Swede freak show Pugh Rogefeldt probably has a leg up on this trend, mostly because he sings in Swedish, but also because he was doing it over 30 years ago. I only mention the timeframe because everyone is seemingly drooling over the latest Devendra Banhard as if he were the first elfin acid casualty to crawl out of the rustic forest peat with a guitar strapped to his back. Compare Rogefeldt's Stinsen I Bro (Del I & II) to Banhard's Chinese Children and tell me the tiny (Tim) acorn didn't fall very far from the tree. You can purchase Pughish (top left) from Aquarius Records, and you can easily purchase Cripple Crow (bottom left) just about anywhere else.

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.)

A Night In Catatonia

A Halloween hangover from last night's festivities has slightly damaged my mental facilities, so rather than fill out all the details of bizarro 1960's British guitarist/songwriter Big Boy Pete (known to his parents as Pete Miller), who has been writing and recording music for decades, I'd rather you just click here for his complete history (I think of the All-Music Guide as the Scrubbing Bubbles of music blogging: they work hard so I don't have to). The best part of performing archaelogical digs in the psychedelic era are the ridiculous lyrics, and there isn't a song on Homage To Catatonia that disappoints in this regard. Wrap your mind around such logic twisters as, "You candy-coated crimson flea/I know you spiked my cup of tea/You shot my bakelite toothbrush dead/And buried him inside my head..." (from Knit Me A Kiss), but what makes Big Boy Pete so much more interesting than most consciousness-expanding pop from the sixties is that his songs are so damn catchy. If you're not bobbing your head along to Captain Of My Toy Balloon or The Procession, perhaps it's time to turn in your Rock Lover Membership Card for a full refund. Open your doors of perception by purchasing this cd at Dionysus Records.

Radio On The TV

Because I must hit the pillow early each night in a somewhat fruitless attempt to arrive on time to work each morning, I tend to miss a lot of late night talk shows. The upside: I'm not forced to endure Jay Leno. The downside: I miss those rare opportunities to see a few of my current musical heros kicking out the jams (Mmmm...jam). Thanks to the web, this no longer has to be the case. A tip of the mouse to my savior Big Stereo who has posted both a Quicktime video and an audio mp3 of Antony & The Johnsons performing You Are My Sister on The David Letterman Show (and don't call Antony goth or I'll make you eat my clove cigarette). In the interest of Karma (which I don't even believe in), allow me to pay it forward: No sooner had I given you what I believed to be a live recording of "Huddle Formation" by The Go! Team performing live at the 2005 South By Southwest Festival in Austin, TX (which I'd found at NPR) when I discovered that this track was, in fact, not live but a remixed studio recording already offered on a number of the band's various singles and the recent US-only edition of their debut cd. For shame, NPR, for shame. You've made me into a fool in the eyes of the world. As a way of begging your forgiveness, dear readers, here is the truly live recording of the 'Team performing Huddle Formation on ABC-TV's The Jimmy Kimmel Show last Friday, October 21st. If you'd also like to see the streaming video of the performance, click here, but be warned: it's surrounded by an onslaught of beer ads and hemmed in by live clips on all sides from the likes of Shinedown, 3 Doors Down and other bands taking alt-rock liberties with the word down. If this is an indication of Kimmel's taste in music, can I ask why, exactly, Sarah Silverman is sleeping with him?

Keep On The Sunny Side

Bob Dylan revisited is so two weeks ago: now I'm on a Carter Family kick, thanks to the PBS series The American Experience, which aired a documentary last night on the music group who is undoubtably the cornerstone of country music. Per usual with historical programs examining anything pre-mass media, there wasn't a lot of film footage to illustrate the proceedings, so we had to endure the standard goofy reenactments showing rehearsals and performances. And can anyone tell me why a documentary purporting to show the long-reaching impact of this iconic American musical group would barely mention one of their best known songs (Wildwood Flower)? Still, nobody can deny the power of the music played throughout the show, that lonesome, emotional and moving music. Forget that O Brother horseshit--The Carters are the real McCoys. Everyone has their favorites, but mine will always be Single Girl, Married Girl, Chewing Gum, I Never Will Marry, Hello Central, Give Me Heaven and There's No Hiding Place Down Here. Inexplicably, Rounder Records has chosen to delete the 9-CD series they released about 10 years back (two of which are shown above), collecting every recording the 'Family ever released on Victor Records (yet Rounder still rationalizes putting out dreck like The Best Of Jonathan Fucking Richman...wha...?). Your choices are to pay the slightly-increased used prices at Amazon, or if you're wealthy (and good for you if you are), simply shell out $200 to the German roots label Bear Family for their brain-boggling 12-cd set, which collects nearly everything the Carter Family ever laid on magnetic oxide and includes a 220-page hardcover book (which, when read alongside Will You Miss Me When I'm Gone?, the definitive biography on the Carters, will make you feel like you just received a PhD in early American folk music). You'll end up broke and unable to make your rent/mortgage, but what a way to keep yourself on the sunny side.

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...

Precious Feelings Interrupted

The following plug is not standard practice for Disco:Very, where the usual focus is on me, me, me, me, me, me and my precious feelings about music, so sit tight a spell while I hawk the current reading tour of literary wunderkind (and my Close Personal Friend) Karl Soehnlein whose latest novel, entitled You Can Say You Knew Me When (published by Kensington Books), has just hit book shelves across the country. If you're in the Los Angeles area (I'm looking at you Eddie, Pat and Scott), make sure and drop by Book Soup (8818 Sunset Blvd., West Hollywood, 818.659.3684) on Tuesday, November 1st at 7pm to buy your own autographed copy and hear Mr. Soehnlein read. He's a wonderful writer whose stories are filled with shockingly perceptive passages about life, death and love. If you wish to buy the novel before the reading, the usual on-line outlets have it, as do the individual bookstores where he'll be reading. Be sure to check out his snazzy website for more book tour information.

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 Power of the Music Power

Most of you who don't harbor an aversion to all things David Byrne (you know who you are) may remember Japanese pop star Shoukichi Kina from the Luaka Bop compilation Asia Classics 2: Peppermint Tea House released in 1994. Or you might already know the song Haisai Ojisan from the one-off strange bedfellows collaboration of the French/Frith/Kaiser/Thompson CD Live, Love, Laff & Loaf which came out in 1996 (whoever borrowed my copy and never returned it, please give it back, no questions asked). Either way, you need to hear more of this music. Musicians in Okinawa spawned a unique rock/folk hybrid as a reaction to the US occupation of their islands during the Vietnam war, creating a raw, forceful fusing which sounded like nothing else before or since. Recorded live in 1977 (save for an extra studio track at the end), the performances on The Music Power From Okinawa range from measured urgency to full-out frantic freak-out, Japanese style (proof: Tokyo Sanbika). I'm no musical ethnologist, so I'm not sure if the sanshin being played is electric or fitted with pickups, but the sound overall is great. I bought my copy of this CD used at Amazon, so you should, too.

Harlem Nocturne

Nowhere in these two songs will you find the typical mode of attack usually employed by the Flat Duo Jets, but that's precisely what draws me to them. While the rest of the band's repertoire sought out all that was wild, boozy and untamed, Apple Blossom Time and Ask Me How I Live (both of which close 1991's Go Go Harlem Baby) took the road less travelled to traditional Southern entertainment, and it helps illustrate that they weren't as one-dimensional in their sound as their live shows would suggest. Sadly, this album is currently out of print: I suggest you mosey on over to Amazon for a used copy.  Don't bother to write Rhino Records to reissue it.  At best, they'll ignore you.  At worst, they'll...well, my lawyers have advised me not to talk about it until the court case is over.

Make With The Nice Nice

Besides pining for amorous adventures, The Spinto Band must spend a lot of time watching TV. Not in a who-gives-a-shit-about-the-outside-world, wasted pop-culture malaise, but more in a romantic sense, as if the fictional characters on The O.C. are going to jump out of the idiot box and deliver these guys from their empty, loveless lives. Several songs on Nice And Nicely Done (such as Late) casually mention hurrying home to catch a favorite boob tube program, and while the obvious musical references for this band might begin with mid-90's indie rawk (Sonic Youth, Pavement, etc), the more overt influence might just be TV Land. You can buy all things Spinto at Amazon.

In A Category With A Lot Of Funny People

Like the rest of the pop music world, I'm a little under the spell, at the moment, of early Bob Dylan. He was not an artist whose music I grew up hearing much (except for the hits played on FM radio between the usual tracks by Led Zeppelin and The Allman Brothers), so its as if I'm (re)discovering an old artist for the first time. On some level, I'm much more excited to hear interviews with Dylan than actually listen to some of his songs. It's fascinating to hear just how much the relatively new field of music journalism was struggling to keep up with the places to which his mind (and his music) was already racing. The lavishly illustrated new book, The Bob Dylan Scrapbook, 1956-1966 contains a large amount of insights we all witnessed in Martin Scorsese's No Way Home: Bob Dylan, but the audio disc enclosed within its pages contains a number of fascinating interviews that weren't included in the documentary. Sadly, none of them match the hilarious histrionics of the infamous 1967 press conference with Ralph Gleason (fragments of which were shown in Scorsese's film). So, this interview with Martin Bronstein for the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, (held on February 20, 1966) will have to do. It may lack his obtuse wordplay but still shows how journalists were hanging on his every word, back when he was blowing people's minds with every album he released. You can buy this unsparing, overwhelming tome at Dylan's personal website.

Art: The dazzling graffitti stylings of Bansky are rude, shocking, whimsical and hilarious--exactly everything street art should be.

Books: There isn't a more comprehensive listing of gay/lesbian/transgender videos & movies than The Bent Lens. It can be poured through for months and you will have only barely skimmed the surface.

Film: The (finally) forthcoming DVD release of Killer Of Sheep makes a great Xmas gift. (Do I have to draw you a diagram?)

Blogs: The delightful technology blog We Make Money Not Art seeks out the most rewarding and curious inventions and art projects around the world. In the past couple of months alone, it has written up this Japanese door (to see it in action, check out this video) and a performance artist who combats cell phone abuse.

TV: Phew! So I'm not the only one who fucking despises Everybody Loves Raymond. I propose a total ban on the Emasculated Husband sitcom plotline.

Design: The witty designers of Suck.Uk must be music obsessives like the rest of us. Witness their CD shelf (which illuminates the cover spine), and CD dividers.

Consumption: Does anyone know where I can buy the cd reissue of The Return Of The Giant Slits (CBS 85269) which has, as an extra track, the rare 7" American Radio Interview (b/w "Face Dub")?

Music: All hail Stolen Recordings which, besides having the best rock graphics ever, has sloppy poppy music by the likes of Silk Hot Pockets, Wet Dog, Salt, Manic Cough and Snow White, who have a wonderful potential chart-topper called "I Really, Really Fucking Hate Led Zeppelin".

Marketplace: My current worth as of today: $321.59.

The Thoughtful And The Thumping

If it sounds like sour grapes, it's not: I really was planning on posting some Volcano Suns this month but 'Buked and Scorned beat me to it, damnit all to hell. No matter--the web is big enough for two blogs to drool some praise over this sadly forgotten Boston outfit. Most lovers of this post-Mission Of Burma band savor the first album (The Bright Orange Years), but I seem to be the only fan who leans more towards the follow-up, All-Night Lotus Party, perhaps because it mixed the thoughtful (Room With A View and Sounds Like Bucks) with the thumping (Dot On The Map and Bonus Hidden Mystery Track). This is yet another in a long line of albums that, sadly, will probably never see a reissue on cd. If only I owned the Sony Corporation! Gemm has quite a few vinyl copies, if you're interested.  Boy Is My Face Red Update: The good decent people at Merge Records have seen fit to reissue this album with extra tracks.

The Current Punk/Scuzz Pop Roll Call

A friend recently turned me on to a host of punk/scuzz pop bands, perhaps payback time for turning him on to Sudden Ensemble last year. Hailing from Anaheim, CA (home of the evil ABC/Disney/Mickey Mouse World Dominition HQ), The Willowz (above, left) have released Talk In Circles (on Sympathy For The Record Industry, top left) mixing primitive garage fuzz with scruffy screaming scrawl (need proof? try Unveil), which the musically-clueless Rolling Stone magazine compared to the ilk of Brian Wilson and The Beach Boys--huh??? Meanwhile, Demon's Claws, Memphis-by-way-of-Montreal blues rawk takes the legacy of bands such as The Oblivions, The Gun Club and other booze-addled fuck-ups and pushes the envelope to its logical conclusion--in short, they're anything but Laid Back. (Buy it at Dead Canary Records.) Finally, we end with The Casual Dots, alum of such indie punk royalty as Slant 6, The Frumpies and the mighty mighty Bikini Kill. The 'Dots self-titled debut is all upbeat energy and high-spirited sloppiness, which is all well and good, but how can you not like a song called Mama's Gonna Make Us A Cake? (Purchase it at Kill Rock Stars.)

Levitate Me

The world of adults, as seen through the mind of a child, can be abnormal, unfamiliar and just plain wacked out. If you're in need of a soundtrack to this kindergarten horror show we call Life, it's best to leave it to 1960's outsider artist Bruce Haack (and his sometimes dance/movement assistant Miss Nelson), whose slightly askew compositions about robots, spiders, motorcycle rides, rubber bands and poppies, help to explain the world as the beautiful, shocking and bizarre place it is. The very thought that little tykes might have been exposed to such tunes as African Lullaby, Saint Basil, First Lady, Mara's Moon, and Goodbye (all taken from Electronic Record For Children, top left) makes my heart levitate all the way up to my eyeballs. Seek out Haack's expensive Japanese-only releases wherever you can find them (Amoeba Records almost always has them in stock), after which you may want to indulge yourself with the Haack tribute album Dimension Mix, (normally I encourage readers to shy away from tribute discs, but this one raises funds for Autism research), featuring such luminaries as Beck, Eels, Apples In Stereo and Fantastic Plastic Machine, whose I'm Bruce removes all the surreal qualities of a Bruce Haack song and reduces it to a wink-wink pop diversion.

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.

Manic Pop Thrill

Yes, yes, it's been nearly forever since I last posted. Blame it on Mark E. Smith. I've spent the last two weeks wading through the nearly 100 tracks of the Complete Peel Sessions 1978-2004, an extensive boxed set recently released by The Fall. It’s highly doubtful that anyone but the most rabid enthusiast has listened to all six cds--more likely, each Fall zealot only has the time and interest to concentrate on their favorite era. Me, I’m a devotee for the ages: the early difficult and abrasive years, the melodic pop-oriented undertakings of the Brix years, the post-Brix efforts written in between rambling alcoholic brawls, the current century where Smith is more involved in toying with his false teeth than actually entertaining the masses, etc, etc. Here’s a number of tracks, (Industrial Estate, Who Makes The Nazis?, Cruiser's Creek, The War Against Intelligence, Hey! Student, Touch Sensitive) from pretty much every interval of this long-standing band's career, so you can pick your own personal favorite, all of them preserved for future generations thanks to our Lord and Savior in the Church of The Manic Pop Thrill, John Peel. You can buy this essential part of music history at Amazon.

Sweet Home, Nagasaki

Instead of spending their time combatting illegal copying and downloading of music, the various recording organizations around the world should save their energy for fighting the proliferation of tribute cds. Honestly, now, do we really need tribute albums to Queen, Jack Johnson and even the Insane Clown Posse? On Matthew Sweet's 2003 release Kimi Ga Suki he takes it a step further by paying tribute (as it states in the goofy, gushy liner notes) to the entire country of Japan. I'm not sure how songs such as Spiral tie into a national conciousness, exactly, but it's a great marketing idea.  Think about it: if you pay tribute to Van Morrison, the most you can expect to net is his entire fanbase (how ever many of his fans are still alive), but if you pay tribute to an entire country, there's a good chance every citizen with a nationalist bent is going to pad your royalty checks for years to come. You can purchase Kimi Ga Suki at Paste Music.

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.

It's The End Of The World As We Know It (And My Religion Predicted It Better Than Your Religion)

Envisioning the apocalypse is not a new sport. If one chooses to interpret The Bible literally, there are a great many passages which spell out Jesus Christ's belief that the world would end during the lifetime of his followers (of course, this never came to be). In 968 CE, the army of the German emperor Otto III thought a common solar eclipse to be a sign foreshadowing the end of Earth (naturally, the end never took place). Using a complex mathematical formula, the idiots over at The Watchtower predicted Armageddon would hit in 1914 (when it inevitably didn't happen, they rationalized that 1914 was the year Jesus began his invisible rule over the earth). What I'm getting at is this: when you listen to The A Frames croon the title track of their latest album, Black Forest II, happily extolling the virtues of all living life forms departing this earthly burden, take it with the same grain of salt that the band does. You can buy this enjoyably plodding album at Sub Pop

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?

High Expectations Is The New Black

Did you ever love a band so much you were blindly convinced they were going to commandeer the pop charts in a violent bloody takeover? And when those high expectations didn't pan out, did it make you lose all sense of purpose in life and want to murder everyone around you in a frenzy of bullets and gore? Brother (or sister), I am right there with you. There was a short while when I was absolutely certain the Cupid Car Club was going to run for President of the United States, lose the election to a Supreme Court-appointed puppet regime, which would be overthrown by the entire band in an orgy of killing and stabbing and shooting after which they'd take power and declare hunting season on mediocre music. C to The Third Power (as I liked to call them when nobody was around) was James Canty, Steve Gamboa, Ian Svenonius and Kim Thompson, all of whom went on to form either The Make-Up or The Delta 72 or Weird War or...good gawd, I could be typing this list out all night--let the Band To Band website spell it out for you. They released one single (left) on Kill Rock Stars and then promptly split up. Join me, won't you, as we raise a glass to their memory and collectively bang our heads to Vapor Rub Out.

Second That Motion

Too messy and chaotic to make a dent in the rock marketplace during their initial formation, it's remarkable that the UK experimental punk group Swell Maps continues to inspire countless bands long after they played their last hurrah. Their 1979 release A Trip To Marineville is a personal favorite, densely packed with buzzing guitars, clattering rhythms and raw, urgent vocals. Much like The Prefects Going Through The Motions, Another Song starts out as somewhat of a love song (if you could call it that) but ends up being about the act of writing a song in and of itself, in the best bored-with-rock, post-rock tradition. Never mind that--just listen to that energy! If it doesn't make you pee in your pants with excitement, I'm going to come to your house and kick your ass. Secretly Canadian began re-issuing all of the 'Maps output last year, so I don't want to hear any more excuses about how hard their records are to find.

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.

I Predict A Riot

It probably had more to do with the social upheaval at the time, but right after Sly & The Family Stone released their moody and unsettling There's A Riot Going On in 1971, there seemed to be a flood of Soul groups recording songs (if not outright concept albums) urgently concerned with life how it was lived in Black urban areas. As a child, I seemed to think that Sly started it all but I was most likely incorrect. One of my favorites from that period is this epic mini-opera by The Temptations, entitled Masterpiece, (top left) released as a 7-inch single with the song spread out over both sides. I cherished that record in my youth. (I wonder where that record is now?) I was gratified to see that the European imprint of Motown has released this album as "two-fer" (along with 1975's Song For You, bottom left). The rest of the album may not hit as hard, but the intensity of this track alone makes it a worthy buy. You can get it from Soul Music.

Like Ever More

Nobody, but nobody does electroclash--does anyone still call it that?--better than the Germans. More proof you will not need: New Deutsch, a collection of cold and barren pop tones from the Der Fatherland, all of them devoid of warmth and humanity, which is what makes every single track so appealing. The tune Wie Werden Immer Mehr (Liebe, Brot, Einfacheit, Tod) is so lacking in English cognates, I can only guess what it's trying to tell us. Perhaps it's a musical warning that the toys inside every Kinder Uberraschung are too dangerous for anyone under 1 year of age. (Tell me something I don't already know.) You can buy this wonderful CD at Gigolo Records.

They're Trying To Wash Us Away

A benefit has been scheduled--chock full of a multitude of pop, rock, rap and country acts--with proceeds going to victims of Hurricane Katrina. To name just a few of the many, many stars performing: U2, Alicia Keys, the Foo Fighters, Kanye West, Neil Young and, remarkably, Randy Newman. Hmm. I wonder which song he'll perform?

Before we return to my regular dribble of mp3 downloads, here are my highly opinionated takes on the best films I saw at the 32nd annual Telluride Film Festival. Try and guess how many times I had to utilize Spell Check and raid a Thesaurus:

Spirit Of The Beehive (1973), director Victor Erice's beautifully shot poetic meditation of remote landscapes, haunting dreams and the dangers of Spain's encroaching dictatorship.

The Passenger (1975), a stark masterpiece from Michelangelo Antonioni, starring Jack Nicholson as a man assuming the identity of another, with every long take creating large spaces of disconnect.

Army Of Shadows (1969), a passionate, personal film by Jean-Pierre Melville about the early days of the French Resistance in WWII, this tense noir explores many of the themes in his other works: betrayal, honor and shocking brutality.

The Child (2005), a simple yet moving story of immaturity, greed and salvation--a second Cannes Palme d'Or winner for the Belgium-born director siblings Luc and Jean-Pierre Dardenne.

Wanda (1971), written and directed by (and starring) the late Barbara Loden, this sadly overlooked drama is an almost cinema-verite study of a woman under the influence of everything but her own freedom.

Johanna (2004), a modern retelling of Joan of Arc reimagined as a harrowing Hungarian opera (directed by Kornel Mundruczo, with music by Zsofia Taller).

Paradise Now (2004), a controversial political polemic, written and directed by Hany Abu-Assad, which follows a Palestinian suicide bombing from its fateful beginnings to its tragic ends.

Iron Island (2005), a terse allegorical tale by Iranian writer/director Mohammed Rasoulof.

Brokeback Mountain (2005), a love story which veers somewhat from its source (the original Annie Proulx short story describes the main characters as paunchy and unattractive--director Ang Lee instead casts them as slim muscular hotties), yet whose lesson of unrequited love still packs enormous power.

Sisters In Law (2005), a new documentary from directors Kim Longinotto & Florence Ayisi, investigates domestic abuse in Cameroon, West Africa, finding tragedy and triumph among a group of brave African women.

Help Me, I Think I'm Tripping

For the next 5 days, no postings, thanks to yet another trip, this time to the Telluride Film Festival. After this is over, a stronger promise could not be made: no more trips for at least 4 more months. Check back on Tuesday night for a strong return to form.

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.

Father's Place Knows Best

Some years back, Rhino Handmade caused great celebration among Captain Beefheart aficionados by releasing the rare live recording Live At My Father's Place (top left), by Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band. Because I'm lazy and forgetful and lazy as all get out, I never got around to buying it, and as you might know, Rhino Handmade cds are all limited edition, and every copy eventually sold out (you'd have to mortgage your house to afford a used one now). Imagine my surprise when, in a local Glasgow chain store, I stumble upon a European release of this same live show (bottom left) on Masterplan Records. Granted, it doesn't have the attention to detail (live photos, liner notes, etc) that make Rhino Records the Criterion Collection of music reissues, and the track listing is shorter (3 songs are missing from this version), but egads, what a pleasure it is to finally own this and play the wild and wooly performance of Old Fart At Play that graces this album. Surprisingly, the cd is relatively easy to find on-line: the Polish store Tanie Plyty has made it available (with the price in US dollars, no less), and depending on how well you translate French into English, FNAC also has it for sale. Good luck.