Unfinished Novellas

Greetings from Nebraska

2005-07-13T23:06:00.000-06:00

From a one-star Howard Johnson's, the third and final of my three-night stand in Grand Island, and the first business trip in my short tenure at my new company. It's a far cry from the trips I took at my previous job: a month, off-and-on, in Los Angeles, a four-day weekend in NYC, a coupla days in Vegas. This is a different ballgame. I’m in a weird place. Here, boredom and restlessness reign, and a disdain for chain restaurants is not a useful commodity. My short time here has actually led me to appreciate the dining scene in good ol' Peoria, my once-again hometown. But I’ve put the HoJo pool to good use, and have certainly enjoyed the mullets I’ve seen around town.

I wouldn't have foreseen this: a rebirth of Unfinished Novellas? Several months ago, the new mp3 blog seemed so right. After two months of brainstorming, Doug and I finally nailed down a name upon which we could agree. But as time passed, it became obvious my heart was no longer in it. It seemed impossible to keep up with, even with a co-blogger.

And now I realize, without a doubt, it wasn't blogging per se that I was so sick of, it was writing about music! After nearly four years of writing music reviews and articles for Skyscraper magazine, it only took a few months of strict mp3 blogging for me to lose my way. No more music journalism, no more writing for an audience. What I’d like to do now is take away the pressure, and just write whatever I feel like writing. I can’t focus right now, and I don’t want to.

More later. Maybe.

N/P Audrey Hepburn in Green Mansions

In my head: "Moon River"

Levitate Me: Unfinished Novellas Calls it Quits

2005-04-15T13:57:00.000-06:00

That’s right. Your boy anti-rove is hanging up his blogging jersey. Okay, not really. I’m just getting married and changing my address, so to speak.

Most readers of this blog will know of my longtime friendship with the noiseboy of The Blank Generation. For several months, we’ve been cooking up a scheme to merge our two blogs, and we’ve finally done it.

Friends, cruise on over to getLevitation. This is the new hangout.

N/P Danny Ben-Israel – Bullshit 3 ¼

In Praise of Inventory Nerds and the Strung-Out Reptile

2005-04-12T09:53:00.000-06:00

For years now I’d wished that I had an inventory of all of my records. I used to have one, WAY back in the day, but I gave that up ten years ago. I was working at a record store and bringing home wax practically every single day, and it just became too much. If only I’d kept it up, though, I’d have saved myself so much work!

Since then, I always said someday, someday I’ll take that project on, but it wasn’t until I sat down with my insurance agent last August that I made the decision to go forward with this colossal project. It seems that if my house burned to the ground today, they would need a little bit more evidence of my collection and its members than just my poor memory and good will.

So I drew up an Access database, wrote a quick front-end and got to work. It was slow-going, though, tedious, and not exactly the most exciting of tasks. Roundabout mid-September I halted work, for what I thought would be a brief pause, which then became an extended vacation that would last the rest of the year. It began to look hopeless that I would ever complete Project X.

But I picked it back up after Christmas, and just about every day since, I’d grab a stack of LPs when I got home from work and enter ‘em into the database. And now, finally, praise Jesus, the light at the end of the tunnel is in sight. Not quite done yet, but I’m real close, probably about a week or two out. (Long, heavy sigh of relief.)

Going through my entire collection, I’ve really enjoyed coming across records that I haven’t listened to in years. A few weeks ago I hit the G’s and H’s of my rock section, and pulled out some old Helmet records, along with one of their lesser-known Amphetamine Reptile labelmates, the Minneapolis trio Guzzard. They put out three records on AmRep in the mid-nineties, but never really got the respect they deserved. Here’s a killer track from their second album, Quick, Fast, In a Hurry. Check out those snare hits!

~~Guzzard – Supersonic Enemy of Evil~~

N/P The Moles – Untune the Sky

T For Texas, Flatlanders Redux

2005-04-06T23:38:00.000-06:00

So I had a blast in Texas, and while I was there I managed to sniff out a used record store entirely by accident. Because we were in town only a few days, I had sworn off all hopes of making the record store scene in advance, but lo and behold, at a time when we had nearly twenty minutes to kill, we just so happened to run across one. I am blessed, or cursed, some would say, with a keen spidey-sense for used wax. Needless to say, I dragged the rest of my party in there, and boy was I glad I did.

Having only twenty minutes, I flipped through the used bins like a madman. The selection wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t exactly the mother lode either. It wasn’t until I hit the “H” section that, uh, “up from the ground came a-bubblin’ crude,” so to speak. Three late seventies/early eighties pristine Butch Hancock records on the man’s own long-gone Rainlight label, and the prices were definitely right: $12, $12, and $15. These babies are hella-hard to come by, and generally go for more like $25, $30, or more, if you can find them at all. Unfortunately, I couldn’t afford to snag all three, but I picked up two of ‘em: his 1978 debut, West Texas Waltzes and Dust-Blown Tractor Tunes, and his fourth, 1981: A Spare Odyssey.

Considering I was in Texas and all, I shouldn’t have been THAT surprised to find these gems, but I’ve been to Austin and Dallas a number of times and never seen any Hancock LPs before, so it’s not like they’re plentiful, even in the Lone Star State. I thought it was pretty ironic, too, as I’d just completed my Flatlanders post less than a day before, PLUS I had just been introduced to my sister’s new boyfriend, who just so happens to hail from Lubbock, the hometown of all three Flatlanders, not to mention the great Terry Allen and some cat by the name of Buddy Holly.

One of Hancock's finest tunes for your aural pleasure...

~~Butch Hancock – West Texas Waltz~~

N/P Mojave 3 - Spoon and Rafter

T For Texas

2005-04-01T14:35:00.001-07:00

Not much time...I’m leaving for the airport in a matter of minutes...Jodi and I are headed to Dallas to visit my sister at TCU. My bro is driving down from Illinois too, so it should be a fun, if brief, coupla days. I’m not a big fan of Bush Country, save for the island of comparable sanity that is the state’s capital, Austin, but it’s all good. There is, in fact, a lot about Texas to like, not least of which is the band of brothers that makes up the alt-country supergroup The Flatlanders.

Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Butch Hancock, and Joe Ely—all formidable acts in their own right. Once upon a time, in the early seventies, they played together as the Flatlanders, before moving on to their respective solo careers, while still remaining the best of friends and collaborators. A few years ago, they shocked everybody by regrouping as the Flatlanders and issuing a number of new records, thirty years after their original formation. I saw them at a club in Boulder in ’02, and it was easily one of the best shows I saw that year. But while the new records were pretty damn good, they still couldn’t touch the band’s original sessions from the early seventies, some of the best tunes I’ve ever heard. Here’s a couple of my favorite numbers from those sessions, in honor of the city of Dallas and all that is good about Texas.

Oh yeah, and fuck Tom Delay!

~~The Flatlanders – Dallas~~
~~The Flatlanders – Waiting for a Train~~

N/P The Beau Brummels – Gentle Wanderin’ Ways

Goin’ Home

2005-03-29T08:03:00.000-07:00

Paul Hester, former drummer for ~~Australian~~ New Zealand bands Crowded House and Split Enz, hung himself yesterday.

I have one Split Enz album, but have yet to really explore their music. As for Crowded House, I’ve had their first two records for years, though I don’t pull them off the shelf all that often. I grew up hearing “Something So Strong” and “Don’t Dream It’s Over” on the radio when I was a kid, and they’ve stuck with me all these years. Great songs, if the victims of radio saturation.

Their second album, Temple of Low Men, didn’t do all that well commercially, but its first single and closing number, “Better Be Home Soon”, was an absolutely gorgeous song that seems a somber goodbye of sorts. Here’s to peace on the other side.

~~Crowded House – Better Be Home Soon~~

N/P Current 93 - Calling for Vanished Faces

Absence, Overhaul, Vinyl Haul, MP3

2005-03-27T23:25:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone, I’m back from my extended absence. I know that lately the posts have been fewer and farther between, but I’ve had a lot going on and just couldn’t get around to the dear ol’ blog. I had a job interview last week and was out of town for a couple of days—everybody cross yr fingers for me—and I’ve also been mulling over some significant changes to the site—changes which will paradoxically result in both more consistent updates and less self-imposed pressure to post nearly every day. I got a phone call this morning that has me excited to get on with it—so hopefully you will see said changes in the not-so-distant future.

Jodi was out of town again this weekend, so I spent its entirety in anti-social hibernation, curled up with my record collection, reading a fantastic book (John Fowles’ The Magus), and watching movies. I hit up a number of record stores and traded in a fat stack of unwanted vinyl and CDs for a good chunk of my current wish list and some used gems. I finally picked up the Joanna Newsom record, got the new double LP issue of Devendra Banhart’s last two, and snagged the excellent new Out Hud record.

Other essential pick-ups this weekend:

Sandy Denny – Sandy LP (now that I finally “get” Ms. Denny, I’m, like, SO in love)
Alex Chilton – Like Flies on Sherbert (one of the classic “bad” records of all time)
The Other Half – s/t LP (smokin' sixties garage rock featuring guitar virtuoso and future Blue Cheer member Randy Holden)
The Pentangle – Basket of Light (one of the best records from this English folk supergroup)
Townes Van Zandt – High Low and In Between (Getting close to completing my Townes collection)
Robbie Basho – The Falconer’s Arm I (stylistically similar to fellow Takoma-ite John Fahey)
Betty Davis – s/t LP (sizzling, sultry funk from ex-wife of Miles Davis)
Rocket from the Tombs – The Day the Earth Met the Rocket From the Tombs (wasn’t sure I’d see this on vinyl ever again; legendary, pre-Pere Ubu and pre-Dead Boys)
Bobby Womack & various artists – Across 110th Street soundtrack (just saw this movie a few weeks ago when I was sick—one of the better blaxploitation flicks, WAY better than Van Peebles’ incoherent Sweet Sweetback's Baad Asssss Song)

I know, it’s quite the haul. God, how I’m gonna miss these record stores when it comes time for us to leave this town in the proverbial dust!

I also spent some time in front of the tube this weekend. Saturday night’s Illini game—omigod! Can a mere basketball game get any better than that? Methinks, um, no. I could barely speak afterward, I was screaming so loud those last four minutes, plus OT. It was a nice change of pace from the dullness and drudgery of Oliver Stone’s HBO documentary, Looking For Fidel, which I had just finished watching—only an hour long, but it easily seemed like two. Earlier today I caught Gary Cooper in High Noon for the first time. I figured this was one of those movies one should just be familiar with. It was okay, worth watching once, but I don’t know if I really understand why it’s such a classic.

Saving the best for last, I finally watched Prince’s 1987 concert film, Sign O’ the Times, for the first time today, and I just can’t say enough great things about it. An absolutely sizzling performance, it is everything a good concert film should be—it made me wish I was there—SO BAD I wish I could have been there—yet it stood on its own legs as a satisfying experience in its own right. There’s so very few concert films that you ever wanna watch more than once or twice—usually one viewing is enough—but I’m already thinkin’ ‘bout picking up a copy of the DVD so I can watch this one over and over.

Anyway, to celebrate my vinyl haul, I got an eclectic assortment of mp3s for ya this week:

~~Sandy Denny – It Suits Me Well~~
~~Bobby Womack - Across 110th Street~~
~~The Other Half – Mr. Pharmacist~~
~~Prince – U Got the Look~~
~~Townes Van Zandt – To Live is to Fly~~
~~Serge Gainsbourg – New York USA~~

N/P The Jam – All Mod Cons

Hold Steady for Indie’s Uncle Remus

2005-03-21T14:08:00.000-07:00

May 3rd, baby, mark that date on yr calendars right now, for that’s the day that The Hold Steady’s sophomore effort, Separation Sunday, hits the street. If you missed this genius band the first time around, on last year’s Almost Killed Me (one of my Top Ten records of ’04), do not—DO NOT—miss out this time.

Led by one of the cooolest motherfuckers in all of indie rock, former Lifter Puller (please…do yourself a favor and check them out too) frontman Craig Finn, The Hold Steady is a wild romp through bar band rock that serves as a platform for the twisted tales of Finn. Finn is like a modern-day, indie rock Uncle Remus, spinning stream-of-consciousness tall tales like everyday conversation in the most distinctive voice this side of Waits or Dulli. Listening to The Hold Steady is like watching Saturday morning cartoons on four hits of blotter at two in the morning in a dive bar just outside the Minneapolis city limits.

The new album, while very much in the same vein as the first, is quite possibly a slightly more mature effort. The riffs are catchier and nearer classic rock, supported by the funk of piano and a horn section, while the lyrics display less emphasis on proper names and pop culture (though MacKenzie Phillips makes a hilarious appearance on “Cattle and the Creeping Things”).

Here are two of my favorite tracks from the forthcoming release—May 3rd, don’t forget!

~~The Hold Steady - Cattle and the Creeping Things~~
~~The Hold Steady - Your Little Hoodrat Friend~~

Hit up French Kiss Records for some MP3s from the first album.

The official Hold Steady site

N/P The Hold Steady - Separation Sunday

My Main Man Willie Hightower

2005-03-18T09:01:00.000-07:00

And now for part two of my favorite new soul obscurities. Earlier this year, Damon Albarn’s Astralwerks-affiliated Honest Jon’s label released an eighteen-song collection of Willie Hightower’s late sixties recordings (three brilliant singles and one incredible album), and it’s simply mahvelous, dahling.

I haven’t actually managed to pick up the CD yet, but I did snag the six-track 12” sampler at my favorite local record store. Why the entire record wasn’t issued on vinyl with full artwork and documentation, rather than a skimpy one-third of its tracks and no liner notes, is beyond me. Someday, perhaps. Still, listening to these tracks, one can hardly complain, and the sampler does serve its purpose, I suppose, only whetting my appetite for the full disc.

Alabama’s own Willie Hightower is one of the forgotten men of Southern Soul, but with any justice this collection should vault him back up where he belongs—with the company of Otis Redding and James Carr, in the pantheon of the masters. It’s certainly no accident that, like much of the great Southern Soul playbook, a number of these tracks were recorded by Rick Hall at the legendary Muscle Shoals’ Fame Studios—they certainly stand alongside anything that ever came out of that studio, and that's saying something. Hightower’s debt to Sam Cooke is an obvious one, and he carried his legacy into a new era that Cooke, sadly, was not around to see.

For any lover of soul music, it is absolutely thrilling, almost dreamlike, to hear such striking echoes of Cooke in a deep soul setting; although he was arguably the most important forebear of the southern soul style, Cooke died before the sound of southern soul solidified, and the question of how his talent might have been applied in the idiom has been left hanging for forty years. Hightower’s music, while absolutely his own, gives some hint on how exhilarating a Muscle Shoals Cooke would have been.

Unfortunately, as the sixties became the seventies, Willie was a casualty of the shifting sands of musical styles and largely disappeared from sight. Since then, his lone LP and handful of singles have become collector’s items, worth a pretty penny on the market. But now, finally, his work is available to the masses, and supposedly, due to the success of this collection, Hightower has been sought out and is presently at work on a new album, proving that miracles do happen, and that great music does eventually receive its due.

And now, a feast for yer ears:

~~Willie Hightower – Walk a Mile in My Shoes~~
~~Willie Hightower – Back Road Into Town~~

Pick this up at Amazon , like yesterday. You NEED this in yr life.

N/P Hala Strana – These Villages

A New Day! The Complete Mus-I-Col Recordings of J.C. Davis

2005-03-15T08:35:00.000-07:00

The last several months have brought to light a number of excellent reissues of out-of-print and obscure artists from the heyday of soul music, and I’ve had the great pleasure of picking up several of them. You just can’t go wrong with good soul music—I don’t know anyone who doesn’t dig on a little Otis Redding or Sam Cooke from time to time—and frankly, if those people are out there, I don’t know that I’d want to know ‘em. :) The recent unearthing of these neglected classics is a cause for celebration, not to mention a source of astonishment at the ridiculously high quality of said recordings compared to the ridiculously low number of people who actually heard them the first time around.

Case in point, one James C. Davis. Known primarily for his role as the band director of the James Brown Orchestra in the mid-60s, Davis played a significant role in establishing the sound that would make The Godfather rich, revered, and famous. After leaving that band, he cut several records for Chess Records before retiring to the quiet life in central Ohio, where he still kept a band and played local shows. In May 1969, J.C. and his band laid down six cuts at John Hull’s Mus-I-Col Studio in Columbus, four of which were released on 45s on the band’s own New Day label. These same 45s now fetch hundreds of dollars apiece on the collector’s market.

Enter Chicago turntablist Dante Carfagna and Josh Davis, aka DJ Shadow, and their Quannum-affiliated Cali-Tex label. Having exclusively licensed these rare tracks, Cali-Tex has pressed up a super-limited vinyl-only run of 1500 copies, collecting the entire Mus-I-Col Studios session recordings on one thick-ass black slab for the first time.

You can definitely hear that JB sound on these tracks, as Davis wails on the tenor sax and his band drops some of the baddest funk breaks ever heard, alternating between sung songs and wicked instrumentals. And hearing Benny the Hat kick out the percussion, it’s no wonder that the Shadow swooped in on this stuff. Now, about those Chess sides…

~~J.C. Davis – A New Day (is Here at Last)~~
~~J.C. Davis – Coconut Brown~~

Order the vinyl at Forced Exposure

N/P British Sea Power – The Decline of British Sea Power

More Tales of Woe, and Nevermind the Good Doctor Mingus, Here’s Schooner

2005-03-11T18:48:00.000-07:00

Well, this’ll hafta be another short one. I was oh-so-mistaken when I ventured to guess on Sunday’s post that I had kicked the virus—I tried work the next day and all was well until mid-afternoon, when I started feeling it again. Came home, crashed for three hours, cold sweat and a bloody fever. So I’ve spent the rest of this week at home, yet again, taking four naps a day, watching my vacation time plummet to absolutely nothing, pleading with the man upstairs to help me get better. I do think I’m getting there, but damn, it’s already been two weeks. I’ve never felt quite like this before—feeling totally overcome and beaten down by a mystery virus, never knowing when the next fever will hit. And I’ve never wanted to get back to work more.

But then, you’ve gotta be sick to death of my illness rants. I know I am. I’m sorry, folks, I just can’t help it. I ain’t used ta being held hostage like this.

Somewhere along the line this week, I picked up a jazz bug. My love affair with jazz is a flighty thing. I’ve got a pretty decent-sized collection of wax, but the majority of the time I’ll go months and months without putting on a single jazz record. But this week I’ve found myself playing the hell outta some Charlie Mingus. Toss in a little Roland Kirk, sprinkle on some Stan Getz (with Astrud Gilberto), and top it off with a pinch of Ornette Coleman, and I’d say there’s the makings of a mini-renaissance there.

But that ain’t what this post is about. Fooled ya.

I don’t remember exactly where I first heard about the North Carolina band called Schooner, but I was impressed enough to pick up a copy of their debut recording, You Forget About Your Heart. Released in 2004 on Pox World Empire, whose web site features a delightfully unique user interface, the eight-song disc is a charming and enjoyable romp through a range of fuzzed-out pop music, Smiths-esque balladry, and indie rock stylings that just don’t go out of style, at least in my book. Don’t look to this band for the pushing of envelopes or the cutting of edges, for you’ll be disappointed. But if you just want a catchy little bit of ear candy, this one is worth your while. A promising, if uneven debut, I’m interested to see where these guys (and girl) go from here.

~~Schooner - My Friend’s Band~~
~~Schooner - Trains and Parades~~

Visit Schooner Headquarters

N/P Big Boys – Where’s My Towel

Ladies and Gentlemen...The Phenomenal Nick Castro

2005-03-08T23:08:00.000-07:00

It was early January when I chanced across a review on the Foxy Digitalis web site extolling the virtues of one Nick Castro. Intrigued, I put him on my list to check out, and lo and behold, less than a week later, I came across a vinyl copy of his debut LP, A Spy in the House of God, and snatched it up. Limited to 300 copies (mine is #210), you probably won’t be able to find this on wax anymore, but the disc can certainly still be had at Eclipse or Midheaven.

Castro also has a sophomore LP that should be out in the next month or so, and I, for one, cannot wait. I suppose that with all the new folk stuff coming out these days, Castro just flew under the radar and got lost in the shuffle, but he deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as Devendra Banhart, Six Organs of Admittance, and Matt Valentine. His work is along similar lines, cutting traditional songwriting with an experimental edge, at times recalling the brilliance of Nick Drake.

From the upcoming LP, Further From Grace
~~Nick Castro - Sun Song~~
~~Nick Castro - To This Earth~~

From A Spy in the House of God
~~Nick Castro - Jack of All Seasons~~
~~Nick Castro - If Your Soul Could Sing (edit)~~

Castro’s web site
An interview with Castro

N/P The Twilight Singers - The Twilight Singers Play Blackberry Belle

This is Spinal Tap or Total Freakout?

2005-03-06T22:36:00.000-07:00

I don’t wanna jinx it, but it looks like I may have just about kicked this damned mystery virus. The last week, especially the last five days, has been a seesaw of fever, malaise, and a dearth of inspiration, all tidily wrapped in a vicodin-based numbness; thus, the lack of updates. I spent Friday afternoon in a hospital bed getting a freakin’ spinal tap, for chrissakes—fortunately, ‘twas not the dreaded meningitis as suspected, or I wouldn’t be tappin’ this note out to ya’ll right now. Best to be cautious, though, and withhold judgment ‘til tomorrow, at least, as I’ve thought this beast kicked before.

So, for my first night back, I briefly toyed with the notion of a timely post on Spinal Tap, the band, but, for some unknown yet prudent reason, I nixed that idea. Instead, I will be reporting on a thoroughly wonderful and equally obscure comp of French, Belgian, and Canadian psych bands from the late sixties and early seventies:

Satan Belanger presente:
Total Freakout Volume 3
Quebec-France-Belgique 1968-1973 Psyche Jello

First things first. Just dig on that album cover. A coupla wackos, fer sure, all duded up in bear costumes AND space suits.

Secondly, on compilations in general. There was a time not so long ago, that I didn’t spend much time on them, but as I dig deeper into the obscurities of the past, I continue to find a multitude of absolutely stellar collections that end up spending a great deal of time in my disc player. Surely there will be more similar-minded posts to come in the future.

And you thought the French-speaking weren’t psychedelic? This is some of the nuttiest, most exotic, all-over-the-place music I’ve ever heard! Compiled by Satan Belanger aka Biberons Batis aka Bruno Tanguay, an apparently legendary underground musician and record collector from Quebec and issued on the Montreal-based Mucho Gusto Records, these eighteen tracks of wah-wah, fuzz, horns, echo, shakers, strings, and sound effects, will get yer booty a-shakin’ and yer lysergic dreams a-flowin’.

Consisting mostly, but not entirely, of total obscurities and one-hit wonders (the liner notes do claim that one of these songs hit #1 in Quebec in 1973), this compilation comes highly, highly recommended. I’m a bit skeptical as to whether the first two volumes of Total Freakout even exist, as I can’t find any information online to support that notion, or if maybe this disc was labeled "Volume 3" just to fuck with me. If not, I’d love to track down copies of those earlier volumes.

And now, the mp3s. Song-by-song analysis c/o Aquarius Records—head over there now to order this gem!

~~P.B. + 3 ½ - Gazou, gazou~~
The opening track by P.B. + 3 1/2 is a funky soft porn soundtrack (well, sounds like it, the liner notes assure us it is not even though the artist did indeed do porn sountracks) slowly loping bassline and the melody played by a kazoo. Yep, a kazoo. Complete with summery feel-good background vocals and bizarre Perrey And Kingsley sound effects. Apparently P.B moved to L.A. and recorded music for Star Trek: The Next Generation!

~~Chris Gallbert – Sing-Sing~~

Track two is just as wacked with a total head nodding groove, the main riff played on a violin and booming Morricone choral style men's choir background vocals, swirling cinematic strings and a wailing Scott Walker-ish vocal, super dramatic and WAY over the top.

~~Stella – L’idole des jaunes~~

The third track is a fuzzy, psychedelic girl-group-groove from Sixties French pop idol Stella, a totally guitar heavy workout, with a super Hendrixy 'scuse me.. type riff, kick ass horns and her throaty, over affected vocals, but totally catchy and wonderful.

N/P Fit & Limo – Terra Incognita

The Dolphin Whisperer

2005-03-02T14:52:00.000-07:00

I’d wanted to check out Fred Neil for many years, but just never got around to it until recently. In January, I went to New York City and stood on the corner of Bleecker and MacDougal, taking in the famed Café Wha?, and thought to myself, man, I should really pick up that Fred Neil record when I get back home. And so it was that I finally made the acquaintance of one of the great legends of our times.

~~Fred Neil – Bleecker & MacDougal~~

While I certainly dig a lot of sixties folk music, much of it sounds the same to me. But the instant I dropped the needle on that Neil record for the first time, I knew that this man was something special. Mystical. That voice, the one John Sebastian dubbed a “honey-laden baritone with the Southern lilt,” it got way under my skin. His songs, self-penned, timeless, many of them already familiar to these ears by way of innumerable cover versions, they stuck with me. They res-o-nated.

From Bleecker & MacDougal, “Other Side to This Life” became a staple in the sixties songbook and was covered by the likes of Peter, Paul, and Mary, The Youngbloods, The Animals, The Lovin' Spoonful, and the Jefferson Airplane. Here is a 1965 recording of Gram Parsons, back when he was just another folkie, performing this song, along with Neil’s original.

~~Gram Parsons – Another Side of This Life~~
~~Fred Neil – Other Side to This Life~~

And, from the same album, Neil’s “Candy Man” was also a modest hit for Roy Orbison.

~~Roy Orbison – Candy Man~~
~~Fred Neil – Candy Man~~

Neil’s influence on the Greenwich Village folk scene of the early-to-mid-sixties is difficult to overestimate. By most accounts, he, along with Dylan, were the best of a talented bunch that also included Mr. Sebastian, Odetta, David Crosby, Stephen Stills, and Richie Havens.

Bob Dylan, Karen Dalton and Fred Neil
at the Cafe Wha? Feb. 1961

Among his fellow folk song purists, Neil stood out, with his mournful and emotional voice adding experience far beyond his years. And Fred not only kept the classic folk songs alive (his interpretation of the traditional, 'Cocaine', was bone-chilling), he was writing his own songs. Few of the Village performers were contributing new material in their efforts to carry forward the folk tradition. In Fred's case, you couldn't really tell that he was. His songs sounded as old and road-weary as his voice did.

—Rush Evans, Discoveries magazine, September 2001 issue.

And so, after playing the hell out of Bleecker & MacDougal, I bought his second solo record, the self-titled one that most fans consider his finest hour. While still a folk album, Neil has fleshed out his sound by adding electricity and drums to his bag of tricks. “The Dolphins” opens the album with a wash of reverb and a touch of Eastern influence and stands as one of his greatest creations, while most famously, the record features the song “Everybody's Talkin’”, covered by more than a hundred artists and made famous by Harry Nilsson in Midnight Cowboy.

~~Fred Neil – The Dolphins~~
~~Fred Neil – Everybody’s Talkin’~~

The intensely private Neil was an enigma to most, even to those who knew him best. He detested the promotional trappings of the music industry and refused to play that game, declining opportunities to perform on the Tonight Show and the Johnny Cash Show as well as turning down a tour with Harry Belafonte. Throughout his entire life he only granted one interview, to Hit Parader in 1966.

He would go on to record only a couple more records before withdrawing from public life and retreating to his beloved Florida. There, he would explore his lifelong love and passion for dolphins, dedicating the rest of his life to dolphin research and preservation. When he did make a rare public appearance, it was nearly always in conjunction with the Dolphin Project, an organization he co-founded in 1970, dedicated to preventing the capture and exploitation of dolphins worldwide. He passed away quietly in 2001.

FredNeil.com

the flatmates 86-89

2005-03-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

I don’t have my usual energy for a big ol’ long-winded post tonight, and, because I’m still battling a mild temperature which drifts in and out between doses of Dayquil, I’d like to get to bed at a semi-decent hour. So I’m taking it easy. Please forgive this half-assed post—the Flatmates certainly deserve more than I can give ‘em tonight.

Long story short, the Flatmates were around for the latter part of the eighties and were a part of what later came to be known as the C86 scene in Britain. They recorded a number of killer singles and the usual number of comp tracks before going bust in ’89. A posthumous LP, Love and Death, followed, collecting the best of the singles and comp tracks alongside new recordings from the band. After being out-of-print for years, someone (Thank you, Clairecords) finally had the sense to reissue this band’s finest moments.

Something that's really bemused me in the intervening years is how The Flatmates picked up a twee tag. Our early demos were cover versions of songs by The Ramones, Stooges and Velvet Underground. Whilst I'll never deny the debt owed to Blondie, The Ronettes and Shangri Las we always tried to combine that with gutsy guitar thrash.
—guitarist Martin Whitehead on TweeNet

~~The Flatmates – I Could Be in Heaven~~
~~The Flatmates – So In Love With You~~
~~The Flatmates – Shimmer~~

Official site

More mp3s

Splendid Magazine review

Pop Matters review

Buy this excellent CD at Parasol Records.

N/P The Sleepy Jackson - Lovers

What If They Threw a Genocide And Nobody Came?

2005-02-28T08:56:00.000-07:00

The humanitarian catastrophe in Darfur, Sudan, continues to get worse and worse and worse, and nobody seems to give a damn. Sadly, it’s quite possible you don’t even know what the hell I’m talking about, for while the media loads up on Michael Jackson and Paris Hilton, they have, with a few notable exceptions, basically ignored this genocide raging in the Sudan, affecting more than two million people.

“Not since the Rwanda genocide of 1994 has the world seen such a calculated campaign of slaughter, rape, starvation and displacement.”

Former President Clinton is on record as stating that the greatest regret of his time in office was his failure to stop the genocide in Rwanda. Yet here we are again, a decade later, repeating that tragic mistake, quite unforgivably, even as we purport to bring freedom and democracy to the world like some superpower Santa Claus. And compared to what’s going on in Darfur these days, Iraq under Saddam Hussein may as well have been a trip to Disneyland.

“During past genocides against Armenians, Jews, and Cambodians, it was possible to claim that we didn't fully know what was going on. This time, President Bush, Congress and the European Parliament have already declared genocide to be under way. And we have photos. This time, we have no excuse.”

Nicholas Kristof of the New York Times has been one of the lonely few following this story for some time, trying his damnedest to put the issue on the radar. Yet the silence from the US, the UN, and the EU has been deafening, even as ten thousand more people die horrific deaths every month.

Above, a drawing by a young child
in response to the prompt,
"Draw a picture of what your life in Darfur is like."

The President likes to swagger around and talk about battling evil. He claims to see things in black and white. Where the hell are you, Dubya? Certainly it’s not fair to lay all the blame at his feet, but his bully pulpit does loom the largest. Where is the leadership in Congress? Calling Mr. Obama…Step up to the plate, Europe. Earth to Kofi….

Where are our churches and religious leaders? I’m talking to you, Billy Graham, Jerry Falwell, James Dobson. Surely we can put aside our significant differences on other issues to work on something of this magnitude. Isn't this a moral issue on which we can all agree?

Where the heck is MoveOn.org?

When the tsunami hit, Americans of all stripes saw the horrors, opened their wallets, and gave freely. I believe we all want to do the right thing, however much we may disagree with each other about tax cuts for the rich or Social Security privatization. We have a responsibility to do something here, to step up to the plate. This catastrophe could be halted in short order with a minimum of resources.

So stand up. Get angry. We can make a difference. All we need to do is get this issue on the radar, and the shame at our complacency will take over. Write a letter to your newspaper. Contact your congressman or Senator.

Click here, here, or here for more info.

No MP3s today.

N/P Jackson C. Frank – Blues Run the Game

Left Hand Path, Part Two

2005-02-25T09:02:00.000-07:00

<< Read Part One >>

MP3 of the Day: ~~Black Widow – Come to the Sabbat~~
-From their monster of a debut, Sacrifice. This one might surprise you, as it did me, in that it is more prog than it is Sabbath-like.

Lucifer Rising: Sin, Devil Worship, & Rock n’ Roll
by Gavin Baddeley

Finally, after a number of casual references on the blog and an unintended, long-winded introduction to this post, the book itself. It’s not literature, certainly, nor is it a thorough guidebook for prospective Satanists; it's more of a compendium of pop culture references as threaded through the eye of the Beast. It is considerably flawed, yet an entertaining read from start to finish, written by a card-carrying member of the Church of Satan.

“Christians longed for the blissful ignorance of the Garden of Eden, regarding the fallen Lucifer as the epitome of evil for tempting humanity with enlightenment.”

“Christianity, in common with many cults, was an apocalyptic sect that awaited the end of the world with glee.”

“If people knew of the role the Hellfire Club played in Benjamin Franklin’s structuring of America, it could suggest changes like: ‘One Nation Under Satan’, or ‘United Satanic America.’”

In the first chapter, Baddeley traces a line from the Garden of Eden and the birth of the Christian Church through the Gnostics, the Bogomils, the Knights Templar, early witch-cults, the depravity of the French Baron Gilles de Rais, the Faust legend, the Black Mass, the Hellfire Club, Ben Franklin, the Romantic poets from from Shelley to Blake to Byron to Keats, Baudelaire, Poe, Twain, Comte de Lautreamont, and Nietzsche.

All this and more in a rather dizzying initial eleven pages. Much like the rest of the book, it is a mile-wide but an inch-thick. The author covers so much territory that he can’t possibly explore any of these subjects to the extent that my curiosity requires. But then, details aren’t the point, for he is merely laying the historical groundwork for the romp through pop culture to come.

“Crowley’s ‘Do what thou wilt’ can be read as a maxim for Satanic libertinism, as well as a command to discover the true self.”

By the second chapter, A New Aeon, we’re already up to the twentieth century. Aleister Crowley, “The Great Beast” himself, is the focus here. If you’re not familiar with Crowley’s life and works, you may know him only as a significant influence on Jimmy Page, but having previously read a five-hundred page bio on Crowley (Israel Regardie’s excellent The Eye in the Triangle), I can attest to the fact that this was a highly complex, misunderstood, and painfully interesting man, who stood as one of the tallest figures of the century. To dismiss him as a mere devil worshipper is sorely missing the point.

Chapters three and four cover volkish occultism and Satanic links to Nazism and the sixties counterculture. Hitler’s links to the occult make for a rather compelling read, while hippie utopianism is thoroughly deconstructed and set ablaze. Even though a lot of this material was already familiar to me (Stones, Beatles, Manson, Beausoleil, Anger), it is by no means less absorbing. I am obsessed with this period in American cultural history—the crumbling of the hippie dream, circa ‘68-’72, of which the late Hunter S. Thompson spoke so eloquently in Fear and Loathing:

“What Leary took down with him was the central illusion of a whole life-style that he helped to create ... a generation of permanent cripples, failed seekers, who never understood the essential old-mystic fallacy of the Acid Culture: the desperate assumption that somebody - or at least some force - is tending that Light at the end of the tunnel.”

“We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark -- the place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.”

Baddeley then delves further into this Zeitgeist, in which the freewheeling spirituality of the times morphed into something far more sinister. Manson’s ugly head arises again, and we are introduced to Robert de Grimston’s Process Church of the Final Judgement, as well as a significant number of lesser cults that arose from the ashes of the sixties. Here too we are introduced to Anton LaVey and The Church of Satan.

“The Church of Satan—unquestionably the most significant movement in modern Satanism—is a bizarre beast, sustained by a web of conflicting values and concepts. It is an anti-spiritual religion; a totalitarian doctrine of freedom; a cynical romanticism; a profoundly honest scam; a love of life, garbed in the symbols of death and fear.”

Founded in 1966, The Church of Satan was LaVey’s attempt to codify (and cash in on) the hopelessly incoherent and practically incomprehensible satanic tradition. To his credit, LaVey succeeded where many others before and since have failed. His success was due mostly to the straightforward, common-sense approach he took to his material. His Satanic Bible was written in easy-to-read language that could be grasped by anyone—far different from the willfully obscure texts of Crowley and other black magicians of the past.

“Much closer to a philosophy of pragmatism than any religious dogma, The Satanic Bible now reads like an early self-improvement manual.”

LaVey sneered at the hippies and their “half-baked Eastern mysticism and naïve philosophies of universal love, recognizing in the hippie ethos another Utopian movement—like Christianity—fatally flawed by its refusal to recognize the bestial nature of the human animal.”

LaVey’s Nine Satanic Statements:

Satan represents indulgence instead of abstinence.
Satan represents vital existence instead of spiritual pipe dreams.
Satan represents undefiled wisdom, instead of hypocritical self-deceit.
Satan represents kindness to those who deserve it instead of love wasted on ingrates.
Satan represents vengeance instead of turning the other cheek.
Satan represents responsibility to the responsible instead of concern for psychic vampires.
Satan represents man as just another animal—sometimes better, more often worse than those who walk on all fours—who, because of his “divine spiritual and intellectual development” has become the most vicious animal of all.
Satan represents all of the so-called sins, as they all lead to physical, mental, or emotional gratification.
Satan has been the best friend the Church has ever had, as he has kept it in business all these years.

I certainly do not stand behind most of these principles, but it certainly beats the typical media caricature of the devil worshipper. And while LaVey may have been a gifted and intelligent genius, he was also a world-class liar, manipulator, hustler, and charlatan. Although many of his grandiose claims were entirely fabricated, Baddeley dishes them out as if they were undisputed facts—another reason that it’s more than a little difficult to take this book seriously.

A brief run-down of the rest of the book:

Satanism in the cinema (Rosemary’s Baby, the Exorcist, the Omen, et al). A quick google would lead one to believe that an uncredited LaVey played Satan in Rosemary’s Baby, and I’ve long thought that as well, but apparently, this was merely one of his more widely believed legends.
“Satanic” music of the late sixties and early seventies (Coven, Black Widow, 13th Floor Elevators, Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin).
Schisms and splinter groups in the seventies: The Temple of Set and other Satanic offshoots (Cathedral of the Fallen Angel, Brotherhood of the Ram, The Church of Satanic Brotherhood, Universal Church of Man, The Order of Satanic Templars, Order of the Nine Angles, to name just a few).
The PMRC and the Moral Majority. AC/DC, Kiss, Motley Crue, Judas Priest, Ozzy. Censorship, backward masking, the rise of religious fanatics in the eighties. Familiar stuff.
The “Genesis of Black Metal”: Witchfinder General, Mercyful Fate, Venom, Bathory, Witchfynde. When the music really started to get wicked.
Satanic Crime, Conspiracy, and the Ritual Abuse Myth. What is most disturbing about this chapter is the gullibility of the media and the public at large, who were led to believe in a non-existent worldwide Satanic conspiracy in the eighties.
“None of the talk show hosts did as much to promote the Satanic conspiracy myth as Geraldo Rivera who, between 1987 and 1995, ran no less than four shows dedicated to Satanism. In the first of these, Geraldo claimed, ‘Estimates are that there are over one million Satanists in this country…The majority of them are linked in a highly organized, very secretive network. From small towns to large cities, they have attracted police and FBI attention to their Satanic ritual child abuse, child pornography, and grisly Satanic murders. The odds are that this is happening in your town.’”
Social Darwinism and Satanism in the 80s: The Werewolf Order, Genesis P-Orridge and Psychic TV, Coil, Current 93, Boyd Rice, right-wing fascism, Satanic links to high-ranking members of US and British Army Intelligence.
Thrash, Speed, and Death Metal: Metallica, Slayer, Possessed, Death, Cannibal Corpse, Deicide.
The “Second Coming of Black Metal”: Danzig (huh? black metal?), Emperor, Darkthrone, Mayhem, Burzum, etc.
War in Hell: The Death of Anton LaVey and Satanism in the 90s.

This book is fun and silly, if not an especially light-hearted read, but it plays extraordinarily loose with the facts, to its significant detriment. As for Satanism in general, there is certainly more to it than meets the eye, but it’s pretty difficult to take seriously as an ideology or doctrine.

Additional links:

Has the Church of Satan Gone to Hell?
Jack Boulware meditates on the devilish infighting over Anton LaVey's legacy
Varg Vikernes of Burzum tears this book apart
Another review of Lucifer Rising
Washington Post article on LaVey’s 1997 death
Got two hundred bucks burning a hole in yer pocket? Join the Church of Satan!
Methods and Perspectives in Understanding and Reaching Satanists. Wow—this article floored me. Enormously interesting in that it was written in a Christian magazine for Christians, yet its author actually tries to examine the truth about what Satanism really is rather than prattle off the usual ignorant bullshit. Highly recommended that you check this out.

N/P German Oak - s/t

This Morning Hurts

2005-02-24T09:53:00.000-07:00

Damn. I woke up this morning thinking that this must be what a linebacker feels like on Monday morning. My whole body just aches. And while it’s true that I was aurally pummeled last night by a tremendous triple-bill of Kylesa, Planes Mistaken for Stars, and High on Fire, it’s not like I was bustin’ skulls in the mosh pit or anything. I only had three drinks, I smoked no cigarettes. So wtf? Yet for whatever reason I feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders.

I was real depressed most of the day yesterday, for some reason. Nothing in particular, just feeling stressed out and ill at ease. I had Part Two of my Left Hand Path post about 3/4 complete, but felt no desire to finish it last night, nor do I today, at least as of this moment. So in the interest of not burning myself out altogether, I think I’ll be taking the day off. Not from work, though I wish I could, just from the blogging gig.

Anyway, last night was a good time. The Planes guys arrived back in town from a successful tour, and they brought my boy Stan Wood with ‘em, along with the usual gang. He did sound for Planes on the tour, but I wasn’t expecting to see him, as I thought he was staying behind in Chicago. I’m so glad he came out. We go way back, and I love the guy so much but hadn’t seen him since a couple Decembers ago. I hung around him most of the night, catching up.

Kylesa was really fucking good. It’s been quite awhile since I’ve gotten into that crusty sludge-punk sound, but I was all about it last night. I picked up the album, on Prank Records, to go along with the seven-incher I already had. And Planes were their usual explosive selves. You could tell they were stoked to be back in town. I only caught a few songs of High on Fire, as I ended up in a side room with Stan and half the band, shooting the shit.

Until last night I had forgotten about the last time I saw High on Fire, or rather, didn’t see High on Fire.* I’m trying to remember what year that was…I think it was 2001. I was in the iron grip of a massively ridiculous Brian Wilson/Beach Boys obsession (I listened to nothing but Beach Boys records for nearly six months) and HoF played in town the same night as Wilson’s Symphonic Pet Sounds tour. My friend Brian and I caught the Pet Sounds show—one of the two or three best shows I’ve ever seen—and I was majorly, majorly fucked-up—let’s just leave it at that.

After that show, we cruised over to the Lion’s Lair to catch the late show with High on Fire. But I was so chemically twisted, and so incredibly obsessed with Wilson at the time, that all I could hear in my head were the beautiful strains of Pet Sounds, playing over the top of High on Fire’s wall of guitar noise. After a few songs, I had to excuse myself. I ended up spending the rest of the night holed up in my car, listening to Pet Sounds.

So anyway, I’m signing off for the day. No mp3s, but I’ll point you to the Kylesa website, where you can download a couple of killer tunes. More later.

N/P International Harvester - Sov Gott Rose-Marie

*This just in—actually, this wasn't the last time I saw High on Fire. Jodi reminds me that I also saw them at the Tavern a couple years ago, when Keith loaned some cash to my broke ass so I could go. Forgot about that one. Damn. This memory of mine just gets worse and worse.

Left Hand Path, Part One

2005-02-23T00:53:00.000-07:00

After coming across this article on the Reuters wire earlier today, I figured it was about time to get down to my little book review of Gavin Baddeley’s Lucifer Rising: Sin, Devil Worship, & Rock n’ Roll.

BUSTO ARSIZIO, Italy - The leader of Italian heavy metal rock band Beasts of Satan was sentenced to 30 years in prison on Tuesday for killing the group’s singer and two women in Satanic ritual murders.

I mentioned the book briefly in last week’s Skye Klad post, vis-à-vis the title of that band’s latest record and its probable origins from within the Bobby Beausoleil/Kenneth Anger/Charles Manson triangle of Satanic hippie black magic:

This story, unsurprisingly, played a significant role in Lucifer Rising: Sin, Devil Worship, & Rock n’ Roll, an equally fascinating book that I received as a surprise Christmas gift from the noiseboy. His accompanying note said that when he saw it, he thought of me, and just had to pick it up. I don’t know exactly how well that reflects upon me, but I was glad he did. I finally completed the book a few weeks ago, and I’ve been meaning to blog a little on it for awhile now. If all goes according to plan, there will be more to come.

Interestingly enough, only weeks earlier my wife's grandfather loaned me a copy of C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity, thinking (correctly) that its logical and philosophical approach might make me consider its subject a bit more thoughtfully. Me, I got a real kick out of reading books on Satanism and Christianity at the same time. I tried to enter both with as open a mind as I could muster—a pretty difficult task, as I have fairly strong feelings on the material—but I did my best. In short order, I will take on C.S. Lewis, but right now, it’s all Lucifer, baby.

First, some background. My father was a Nazarene minister for the first fifteen years of my life. I went to a strict Protestant church three times a week and was forbidden to go to movies or school dances. I was a Bible quizzing master at age eight, facing off against eleven year-olds and smokin’ ‘em. At some point, my dad had a bit of a midlife crisis and quit the ministry. I don’t know much about his reasons for making such a monumental decision, as he passed away before I had much of a chance to pick his brain, but I’ve since built up quite a mythology in my head around the whole ordeal. From what I can understand, it was all about the hypocrisies of the church, coupled with a lifetime of pent-up feelings and existential dilemmas. But as I seem to be straying from my subject, and you, dear reader, are not my psychiatrist after all, I must move on.

A Battle of Tomes

After accepting the Christian paradigm as unimpeachable truth for my first fifteen years, I have spent most of my time since then questioning that paradigm and wondering just what exactly it is that I believe in. I have found some amount of solace in the tenets of Buddhism and Taoism, but it wasn’t until I read Robert Anton Wilson’s Cosmic Trigger eight years ago that I really found a belief system that I could take to heart, namely: I DO NOT BELIEVE ANYTHING.

“My own opinion is that belief is the death of intelligence. As soon as one believes a doctrine of any sort, or assumes certitude, one stops thinking about that aspect of existence. The more certitude one assumes, the less there is left to think about, and a person sure of everything would never have any need to think about anything and might be considered clinically dead under current medical standards, where the absence of brain activity is taken to mean that life has ended.”

Basically, I discovered agnosticism.

ag·nos·ti·cism n.

1. The doctrine that certainty about first principles or absolute truth is unattainable and that only perceptual phenomena are objects of exact knowledge.
2. The belief that there can be no proof either that God exists or that God does not exist.

Given Wilson's brilliant quote above, I must take exception to definition #1, as I do not see agnosticism as a doctrine of any sort. I suppose this speaks to the certain amount of pride I take in reading about different systems of thought, however contradictory or opposed to one another they may seem. Thus, my appreciation for the irony of my reading material.

Oh yeah, the book. Well this introduction is getting long, and the hour is getting late, so I’ll have to save that for tomorrow.

In the meantime, quench your thirst for the dark side with these anthems:

~~Entombed – Left Hand Path~~
~~Rotting Christ – Lex Talionis~~
~~Venom – Welcome to Hell~~

*Btw, if I could recommend one and only one book to you, it would be Wilson’s Cosmic Trigger. Pick yerself up a copy. Changed my life.

N/P Kylesa - "No Ending" 7"

The Noise of the Okies or “They Should Have Force-Fed Nixon This Album”

2005-02-22T09:40:00.000-07:00

Last Friday’s post on Homestead & Wolfe inspired me to pull another Anopheles reissue off the shelf: the mighty Static Disposal, by Oklahoma’s own Debris’. As much as I enjoy the H&W record, this one is definitely more up my alley, musically speaking. And some fine day, when I draw up my definitive list of Best Avant-Noise/Art-Punk/Spazzcore Albums of the Seventies, this monster of a record will come in right at the top of the list.

I wrote about Static Disposal at length for Skyscraper magazine back in 2002, and rather than chopping up that article into blog-sized nuggets, I posted the entire article off-blog. Being now several years older and wiser, there are a few edits I would have made here and there, but I left the piece intact, as originally published. Revising your past work is a slippery slope… would someone please pass that on to George Lucas?

Please click for:

Exhuming Debris’
(Discovering an Unknown Classic
aka An Appreciation of Lists)

For those who felt that the Homestead & Wolfe tracks were a bit too, well, nice, might I suggest you try these on for size?

~~Debris – One Way Spit~~

“Aeauhieeerahhhieeraaahhaaa. . .1-pft--2-3-FOUR!”. . .the record kicks off and you can virtually feel the spit in your eye. . . it seems perhaps a stroke victim’s take on the intro to Minor Threat’s cover of Wire’s “12XU”. . . “One Way Spit” kicks off the album with totally wacked-out vocals and screams, undoubtedly one of the all-time classic unsung punk rock songs. . .aggressive and passionate, with cool background vocals, subtle skronks of horns, lots of guitar spazz and artsy noise. . .energy and intensity reminiscent of the classic ‘80s DC hardcore band Void. . .basically, I was floored.

~~Debris – Female Tracks~~

The second song, a (mostly) instrumental entitled “Female Tracks,” opens with a series of frequencies and modulations, which then unfold into a guitar-based spy theme of sorts. Horn runs splay all over, the image of Iggy Pop impersonating Ornette Coleman in a James Bond flick clearly comes to mind, as one deanna ‘D’ thrills the ears with her “sensuous mouthings.”

~~Debris – Witness~~

“Witness” wraps its horns and electronic whistles and gizmos and noise around the spoken word dada of a cartoon character in the tradition of Tom Waits’ auctioneer from “Step Right Up” or John Cale’s dark-humored Waldo Jeffers of the Velvet’s “The Gift.” An utterly bizarre story unfolds which reads like a stream-of-consciousness series of encounters with Jesus freaks, brought about by a flurry of Dali’s clocks; immobilization and hypnotism play a role in the final verdict, which, not surprisingly, remains unclear. More horns, more noise, more freeform freakouts.

Vinyl addicts: last I heard, Anopheles still had a handful of these left on wax, but if that’s still the case, they’re certainly down to the last few remaining copies. So don’t waste another second! For those who prefer the CD format, you should be okay, but it won’t be in print forever—do not hesitate to snatch this up!

Finally, as the Nurse With Wound list plays a significant role in the Debris’ story (see the article), I’ll point you here for more background.

N/P Espers – s/t

Hunter S. Thompson 1937-2005

2005-02-21T00:14:00.000-07:00

Oh my god. I was just getting ready to post on something completely different, when I checked in at MSNBC, to be faced with this tragic headline:

'Gonzo journalist' dies: 'Fear and Loathing' author Hunter S. Thompson shoots himself at 67, son says.

Needless to say, posts are subject to change up to press-time.

I’ve gotten uncomfortably used to depressing headlines the last four years, but I was ill prepared for that one. I expect a bazillion tributes to Thompson on the blogosphere in the coming days—he was a universal figure, one-of-a-kind, and hero to many—so I wanted to get my brief one in at the front of the stampede.

“I wouldn't recommend sex, drugs or insanity for everyone, but they've always worked for me.”

Few people have had a greater psychological impact on me than the good Doctor. Looking back, I figure I spent a good chunk of the years 1997 and 1998 tweaking my reality to apply the Fear and Loathing aesthetic, as I saw it, as I could try to implement it. This was both a conscious and unconscious act, I suppose. A trip to Arizona in the summer of '97 (cue Bryan Adams) with Jamie D to visit Stan and Matt at recording school—my eighty hours without sleep—ended up a conscious, if clumsy, tribute. Oh, the stories I could tell!

June and July and part of August of the next summer found me in DC, working an internship on the Hill. Much of my off-hours time I spent bumming around various quarters of the city in my then ubiquitous hat and leather satchel, all Huntered-up—my emulation was so blatant, I’m surprised I didn’t take to smoking my Camels through a cigarette holder.

Cheesy, naïve, a tad embarrassing? Oh yes, without a doubt. Yet I feel that those years I spent emulating the cartoon image of Thompson were vitally important to my growth as a human being somehow, though it’s not a thing easily explained.

“He who makes a beast of himself, gets rid of the pain of being a man.”

Neither is there an easy way of summing up this man’s life, a blurred cocktail of reality and fiction and self-invention and gonzo journalism. In a way, he was the last of the outlaws, fully embodying Dylan’s aphorism that “to live outside the law you must be honest.” You can’t read his work and not wonder how he got away with it all. In the end, I suppose, he didn’t. I guess what’s amazing is that he managed to make it this long.

Yet that is what depresses me most about Thompson’s demise. Like Keith Richards, he was a survivor. Having cheated death so often, he seemed invincible. His was a life-affirming tale.

I’ll never forget sitting around the old house on Division Street during the great snow-in of January ’98, listening to Thompson’s 1996 spoken-word adaptation of his most popular work, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, or going to the opening of the film later that year, heavily, heavily under the influence. Much as I enjoyed the movie, I like the disc better. Here is its final track.

~~Hunter S. Thompson – End of the Road…~~

So pour out a little liquor for one of the true greats of our time. Whatever he finds in the afterlife, we can be assured that he’ll make the place twice as interesting.

N/P
Dock Boggs – Country Blues
Sleep - Dopesmoker

Bumpin’ Elbows With the Stars

2005-02-19T11:14:00.000-07:00

Happy weekend, everybody. I'm jotting down this post between glances up at the Illinois/Iowa game on the tube. Nothing like an undefeated season to rekindle one’s interest in college basketball—I know, lame, right?— but honestly, I haven’t paid much attention to the Illini or college basketball since the days of Kendall Gill and Nick Anderson…and when was that, ’89 or somethin'? As of this writing, the Illini are down and not shooting or rebounding as well as usual, but on the plus side, it’s shaping up to be a good game.

Anyhow, I got a big day ahead of me. After the game, lots of errands to run, ebay packages to get in the post, taking my turntable into the shop (and another component bites the dust), trading in some discs at Wax Trax. Then Jodi and I are out on the town—first for a nice dinner somewheres, then we’re heading downtown for The All-Star Weekend Super Party, co-hosted by Allen Iverson and Catino Mobley.

Yep yep, it’s All-Star Weekend in Denver, and this town is bumpin’ somethin’ fierce. TV crews and cameras everywhere, press passes goin' around, scores of parties every night, and a shit-ton of sports legends, movie stars, and hip hop heroes in town. It’s one of the biggest things to happen to Denver in quite some time.

One of Jodi’s co-workers, her husband happens to be one DJ Cee Why, a DJ for The Ground Zero Movement in Denver, who is manning the turntables for Iverson and Mobley’s little shindig tonight, and she scored us a couple of tickets. There’s a “special celebration” going on for Donovan McNabb, and other invited guests include 50 Cent, the Neptunes, Lebron James, Terrell Owens, Shaq, Dr. Dre, and Jermaine Dupree. So, depending on who actually shows, we may be bumpin’ elbows with the stars tonight!

Apparently this friend and her husband were hangin’ at the Brown Palace early Friday morning with, among others, Ludacris and Lil Jon. They were all asking her where she worked, and when she said “Corporate Express,” Ludacris piped up, “Yeah, I know Corporate Express…I used to work at Barnes & Noble, and that’s where we got all our supplies.” “You used to work at Barnes & Noble?” she asked. “I ain’t always been famous,” he replied.

So anyway, Ludacris is a cool cat, which works for me, cuz he’s one of the handful of contemporary mainstream hip hoppers that I really like a lot. Not so, the hometown boy Carmelo Anthony, who’s apparently a dick. Or at least that was the word around town that night. Methinks he needs to take some pointers from his buddy Lebron.

Anyway, no mp3s here today, but I’ll point you to the following:

Check Cool Hand Bak for his write-up on Sweden’s Hip Whips. I would’ve blogged these guys eventually, but Bak beat me to it.

Go to The Cool Out for another obscure nugget made famous by a DJ Shadow sample.

Check out this cool promo video from the Congo's Konono No.1, who’ve been rockin’ my world all week!

And last but not least, download the debut podcast from the great Brad Rose and Foxy Digitalis.

N/P The Illinois/Iowa game

They Don’t Make Youth Ministers Like They Used To

2005-02-18T00:33:00.000-07:00

HOMESTEAD & WOLFE – Our Times: The Gold Star Tapes 1973-75
Anopheles Records

Here’s another fascinating, little-known musical moment that might have been swept away into the dustbin of history were it not for a chance encounter with fate, which in this case, took the form of one Karl Ikola, founder of Anopheles Records and longtime purveyor of musical obscurities, mostly of the psychedelic variety. Best known for magnificent reissues of Debris’ wacked-out seventies psych-core and the pre-Dirty Three Aussie garage-punk band Venom P. Stinger, Anopheles took a major left turn with their 2004 reissue of this 1975 private press.

Named after the cross streets at the Good Samaritan United Methodist Church in Cupertino, California, Homestead & Wolfe were a musical collective borne of said church’s youth group, led by former Rip Chords member Ernie Bringas. In his role as youth minister, Bringas developed an extensive musical program, from which this ensemble sprang, performing at churches, jails, and high schools in the Bay Area in the mid-seventies.

Their recorded material was put to tape over a period of several years at Gold Star, the premier studio in Hollywood at the time, with H&W’s lineup fleshed out by a number of top-notch session players, including ubiquitous drumming virtuoso Hal Blaine. The vocal and instrumental arrangements of the young church organist, JoAnne Avery, are remarkably sophisticated, while the music bridges rock, folk, and pop: think Joni Mitchell and the Carpenters backed by Sneeky Pete and the Free Design, and you’re getting warm. And while you could certainly bring them home to your mother, they tackled a number of heavy social issues in their lyrics (Vietnam, Nixon, drug culture, the Middle East, even Wounded Knee!) alongside other songs of love, individuality, and human nature. Their squareness is in fact precisely their charm.

~~Homestead & Wolfe – Slow Down~~
~~Homestead & Wolfe – See the Children Die~~

Buy it at Forced Exposure, Revolver, Carrot Top, or Subterranean.

N/P: Kemialliset Ystavat - Varisevien Tanssi / Silmujen Marssi

Antony & the Johnsons vs. George W. Bush

2005-02-16T12:04:00.000-07:00

I had a bizarre dream last night. As usual, I can’t recall many of the details, but I remember that it involved George W. Bush, the U.S. military, and Antony & The Johnsons. Apparently Bush had just pushed through some new draconian anti-gay measure (imagine that!) which forbade citizens from sending any material deemed “pro-homosexual” (books, music, etc.) to a member of the Armed Forces. The shit hit the fan when I mailed a copy of the latest Antony & The Johnsons record to someone I knew in the Army, culminating in a showdown between Antony and Dubya, with me stuck in the middle. Now that’s one match I’d like to see! The rest is lost in a fog of REM, but it was one helluva vivid dream. I only thank God that militarystud Jeff Gannon/James Guckert and his giant cock didn’t make an appearance!

Antony & The Johnsons have been around for a number of years now, having issued their first album on David Tibet’s World Serpent label back in 2000, but have largely flown under the radar until recently. But with the release of I Am a Bird Now on Secretly Canadian, the Johnsons and their androgynous frontman figure to see their popularity skyrocket.

Featuring guest appearances from the likes of Lou Reed, Devendra Banhart, Rufus Wainwright, and Boy George, the record is an exquisite gem of astonishing beauty and quite unlike anything I’ve ever heard. It embodies a fair amount of cabaret and camp, yet above all it feels emotionally honest, tender, vulnerable, and seductive. And there’s no denying that Voice. Love it or hate it—and I’ve met folks from both camps— there’s no denying that Voice.

Listen for yourself. And there’s loads of information to be found here.

From I Am a Bird Now:
~~Antony & The Johnsons – Hope There’s Someone~~

From the self-titled debut:
~~Antony & The Johnsons – River of Sorrow~~
~~Antony & The Johnsons – Cripple and the Starfish~~

Others:
~~Antony & The Johnsons – Frankenstein~~
~~Antony & The Johnsons – Boy (excerpt)~~

Mad props to Secretly Canadian. That label has really come into its own in the last year or so.

N/P Jay Farrar – Stone, Steel & Bright Lights

Rock Mosaic of Vancouver

2005-02-15T09:06:00.000-07:00

Regular readers of Unfinished Novellas will recall my raving about the new Black Mountain LP, most notably on this post of January 19th. In the weeks since, I’ve lost not an ounce of enthusiasm for the band or the album—if anything, my gusto has only increased.

It’s still my favorite of ’05 so far, though the new Antony & the Johnsons LP is beginning to make some major inroads. Can a self-described “utterly genderqueer musical sensation” kick a lumberjack’s ass? Stephen McBean, watch your back!

So after creaming all over the Mountain, it seemed essential that I delve more deeply into the band’s close-knit Vancouver-based collective, which led me to some splendid long players by alteregos The Pink Mountaintops and Jerk With a Bomb. Apparently JWAB and Black Mountain are one and the same band, the former having changed its name, expanded its lineup, and morphed into the latter, while The Pink Mountaintops are a separate band featuring many of the same members. What is it with Canadians and their collectives, and how do they make it work? Much of the credit is probably due to the infinitely more progressive political landscape up north, far more conducive to artists of all stripes. But I digress.

Because I bought all three of these records (Black Mountain’s self-titled, The Pink Mountaintops' self-titled, and JWAB’s Pyrokinesis) within the span of several weeks, and the differences between the bands are rather subtle (though both The PMs and JWAB definitely sound rootsier and less RAWK than BM), their individual identities have, for better or worse, washed away, at least inside my head. I now hear them as one blurred mammoth mosaic of seventies trappings.

While perusing online reviews, I decided to jot down a list of other bands these three have been compared to. Here goes:

ZZ Top
Talking Heads
Joy Division
Fleetwood Mac
Bo Diddley
Billy Childish
Velvet Underground
Neil Hagerty
Rolling Stones
Led Zeppelin
Neil Young
Blue Cheer
Galaxie 500
Comets on Fire
My Morning Jacket
Jimi Hendrix
Dead Meadow
Smog
Black Sabbath
Jan & Dean
Pink Floyd
Hawkwind
Foghat
Oneida
The Gris Gris
Grand Funk
Budgie
Suicide
Iggy Pop
Queens of the Stone Age

Quite a list. I’d say if you’re conjuring that disparate a catalog of influences in the people’s heads, you must be doing something right.

~~The Pink Mountaintops – Rock n Roll Fantasy~~
~~The Pink Mountaintops – Can You Do That Dance?~~

~~Jerk With a Bomb – Fine Health Is At Home~~
~~Jerk With a Bomb – Don’t Forget Your Love~~

So have a taste, then buy their records at Scratch.

N/P Konono No. 1 – Congotronics