But, no. Until he officially died, he was apparently considered alive. Yeah, I’m being facetious here; as, of course, I’d heard of the 50 show tour planned for England wherein he’d milk the Euros and other gullibles with frequent flier miles to burn for one last money-printing hayride before finally fading into the background , he and Gary Glitter riding a two-headed eunuch llama toward a blazing red sunset, finally out of our lives forever.

Instead, he went knees up on the eve of his triumphant return; and now we’re hearing reports that the DEA wants in on the investigation, that his body was riddled with injection site marks, big pharmaceutical drug addict, as much as $48k/month for ’scrip drugs, blah di dah di dah….

All very sad, very unfortunate; and the outpouring of grief has reflected all of this. From celebrities to so-called everyday people (hello, Sly Stone, you fucked up shit…), the masses have been tripping over themselves to make Michael Jackson out to be some sort of Christ-like victim of…what?

A love of kid-fucking? His own drug/booze excesses? The paparazzi?

Celebrities trill his praises when ambushed by third-rate ‘entertainment’ shows, saying how Michael was the greatest ever, how he influenced this and that, how great THRILLER was, etc…

The masses have gathered in the streets of Hollywood, Tokyo, London, New York, etc., and ALL have only good things to say, even if in the most language-mangling ways:

“Michael is now an angel! I love him! He didn’t do that stuff because I grew up listening to him; and in 6th grade, I wore a Thriller jacket and glove to school on Halloween, so no, OH NO!, he didn’t do none of that stuff because he loved kids and tried to help the world…….”

Yes, staryy-eyed apologists out there, he didn’t do that shit because you grew up listening to and emulating him. What perfect logic! Or at least it would be if it weren’t for a certain payout, reported numerous times by credible sources as being in the $20 million range- yet, in the wake of his demise, we aren’t hearing nearly enough about that, are we?

Sorry, folks; but no one scratches a $20 mil hush check if they’re innocent.

Read that last line again.

$20M.

More than most of us here, as a collective, will make in our lifetimes; paid to make a mistake just, poof!, go away. But, since he American legal system is set up to favor those who can meet the bottom line the accusers set, it’s essentially a “no harm, no foul” thing.

Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen; as, again, no one pays that kind of hush money if innocent, do they?

It just means that certain strains of parents are willing to sell their souls and the ‘taints of their young boys, to the highest bidder.

Not to make light of this; but, James Brown caught all sorts of legal shit for, if memory serves, beating one of his ladies with a pipe– and he couldn’t wriggle out of it.

And, while beating the chicks is in no way cool, it can be argued that, in a domestic situation, maybe they (the victims) might’ve seen it coming and could’ve done something to prevent it, be it leaving, a restraining order, or whatever.

The same CANNOT be said of starry-eyed children who got a once-in-a-lifetime chance to meet their culturally fading hero. They don’t know his star was on the wane, or that his solo music was pretty much dated the moment it was released– and, being kids, they didn’t care.

Because, in addition to being innocent, most kids are fucking stupid. It’s their job, isn’t it?

Yes, and the recently minted Saint Michael not only knew that; but exploited it.

He asked us all to try and understand him because he had a rough childhood, with emotional and physical abuse at the hands of his father, Joseph– who is possibly one of the most creepy and scary fathers I’ve ever seen, so I can dig Michael being a bit bent out of shape from growing up under the authority of such a hideous dictator.

My Dad was an asshole, too.

I only had him in my life on a daily basis until just after my 8th birthday; and (REALLY, REALLY short version here…) this man I looked at as a hero llooked at me like I was the enemy. For whatever reason, I just tripped his alcohol-sotted mind; and whenever he needed to let out his rage, he went looking for me. Verbal abuse aplenty would’ve been enough (for me, anyway); but, he always followed up, at least once/twice a week with beatings that included closed fists, kickings with wing-tipped shoes and, one time in particular, a whipping with a belt buckle so severe (he’d caught me playing with matches as he came lurching home after a drunken Vegas weekend fucking someone, again, other than me Mom) as I cowered in the corner of my bed, that I not only had to be kept home from school for a week, but the bedroom had to be repainted to cover the blood spatters on the walls.

And, yeah, that was the short version.

Point is: Did I decide to go around fucking children, or in any way hurting others, using my shit father and upbringing as an excuse? No! And, no, this example was not intended to make this piece about me; but merely to illustrate that a lot of us have had hard lives that, at times, totally fucking sucked; but, we’ve gotten on, without frozen scrotums in our fridges or children hanging off our dicks!

We manage. We know what has happened to us, and we take the necessary steps to make sure we do not use our sad sack stories as a series of convenient excuses to just do whatever the fuck we want to a new generation of victims.

Why?

Because not all adults who were abused as kids are shit people; and, not everyone who was pushed around by someone they trusted will turn out to be a  BTK, Dahmer or Gacy.

Or Michael Jackson. Giving booze to kids (”Jesus Juice”); showing porn to them, sleeping in the same bed, etc., etc….

Using his then internationally immaculate image to dazzle, exploit and, ultimately, wear down the still-forming minds of those who held him in the highest regard.

All for a few lousy orgasms.

Again, NO ONE would ever pay $20 million to keep quiet something that never happened.

Would you, if you hadn’t done it?

No! So, what kind of dipshit PR Kool-Aid-drinking mindset has befallen these faux-weepy camera-hog fuckwads that have traveled here from all over the globe, just to pay “respeck” to a guy who so wanted to be thought of as the eternal child, yet so hated children in general, that he actually fucked them to the tune of multi-million dollar payouts, through trials and all, just to taste that baby poon…?

And yet, no one in the legitimate media seems to have the balls to bring this up (sit down, Nancy Grace….). Instead, all we hear is “King Of Pop”, “Thriller”, and on and on…..

So let’s say a few things here: Michael Jackson was, as an adult, a bad, bad man. Who’s bad?

He was. He was fucking horrible. Don’t hold your breath waiting for Larry King, Anderson Cooper, Rolling Stone or anyone else on a national or global media scale to say this, as they won’t. Instead, it’ll be us retard bloggers, so take all this for what you will….

But, before I go, just one last thing, that might go on for a bit.

Again, Michael Jackson as an adult made a few good records (OFF THE WALL certainly didn’t suck; and “Billie Jean” had a great whomping bassline…); but, to me there is a great separation between the Michael Jackson people are donning gloves for and mourning in the streets and the Michael I choose to remember….

(And, note here: I’ve not even mentioned the Sony/ATV, Beatles catalogue thing– as there was just too much kid-fucker grist for the mill…)

The Michael Jackson I choose to remember is not the kiddie-teabagger grotesquerie that floated like dense shit to the surface once he stopped being culturally relevant.

That latter-day Michael was, then and now (ask my old high school friend, Doug) always a joke to me. Kabuki, mask-wearing Michael was an even bigger joke…..

But, before he went on to do the horrible things he did, the young Michael Jackson, along with his brothers, made some music that actually manages to transcend all the apocalyptic bullshit he brought upon himself later….

It’s weird, I mean really weird; but, in my head, there is a definite split when it comes to the Jackson Five, and solo Michael Jackson.

If a J5 song comes on the radio, all that hits me is their vocal brilliance; and it feels again like the summer after my Mom ditched my asshole Dad. Though not my favorite song by the Five, I always keep going back to the “la-la-la-la-la-la…” background vocals in “I’ll Be There” as my favorite moment in their canon. God, they were fucking great….

And then we play all that happened afterward against that early and innocent canvas, and you just wanna ram your head through a wall….

The break-dancing apologists crying in the streets for the benefit of the news cameras; the drunken bloggers like me, and all the rest of us…..

We can all only guess; which might be unfair, I suppose.

But, I’m guessing we’ve all, at one point or another, undertipped a waitress when the service sucked; just as we’ve also overtipped a bit when the service was good, right?

A few extra dollars here and there ain’t exactly TWENTY MILLION DOLLARS just to silence someone you claim you did no harm against.

But, no one wants to talk about that, as it involves facts. So, instead, let’s all raise our voices in revisionist history! After all, if we’ll let a celebrity pedophile slide by and be canonized in death, then I guess it just makes good sense to let off the hook all the other celebrities who only choose to put him higher up on the cross, and all the idiot fans massing in the streets, karaoke-ing and dancing to the boomboxes, and denying all the while the sad truths with which they cannot be bothered….

Regrettably, there has been another death that deserves notice.

Atlanta musician Bobby Ubangi (born Benjamin Jay Womack) has, as of July 1st, lost a well-fought bout with brain cancer. We did not know Bobby, but he was a person well loved in the Atlanta music scene. He was a member to several bands, including the Jared Swilley-fronted Gay Blades, but was too busy going off and getting beat up by his girlfriend to be serious about putting out records.

After his diagnosis, B Jay Womack didn’t give in to depression, but instead went to work, making the last part of his life the most productive while outliving medical expectations. You can read more about the life and times of Bobby Ubangi right here.

Unfortunately, this was not a man of means. A cost of $4000 – $5000 is required to give Bobby Ubangi the “green funeral” he wanted. Sounds like he deserved it.

Make your donation here.

r.i.p. bj from rob downs on Vimeo.

Please welcome LA’s own DIOS!

Buddyhead #30, Dios – “Cosmic Rays” EP, is a solid 6 song collection (as well as three videos and countless photos) from these Angelinos.

Stream/download/share = http://www.buddyhead.com/recordshop/Dios/CR.html

This $4.00 digital-only EP is meant to tide you over until we drop their third (and in our opinion, their best) full length, “We Are Dios”, in the next few weeks. Keep it in you’re pants until then boss.

For press or interview requests, please email travis@buddyhead.com.

Please share this streaming widget with fellow music lovers! Put it on your webpage, your blog, your myspace or wherever you like! Start spreadin’ the news!

I feel lucky to be working closely with such talented people as the members of Dios. Real musicians. Real songwriters. Real performers. I was told that Dios originally stood for Do It Our Selves, that is until someone broke the news that “ourselves” was one word and not two. Now that could be a lie, sometimes I can’t tell when Joel is lying to me, but either way it makes for a good story. Plus that IS what Dios is doing… they’re doing it all themselves. They write they own songs, they record their own songs, they make their own t-shirts, do the art for their records, play their own instruments live and now they’re even putting their own records out with my help on Buddyhead.

I really got to know the band Dios after I booked them on a train-wreck of a Christmas party Buddyhead threw this past holiday season. We hit it off over a bottle of Jim Bean and the fact that they were one of the few bands who played well and didn’t cry about the clusterfuck of a show that was happening around them, not to mention we shared the simple joy of a few laughs at other people’s expenses. When I asked what they were up to, they replied that they were looking for a new label. I had no interest in running a record label (in the traditional sense) so we together we said a collective “FUCK IT!” And with that, we decided to put their record out together. So for the time being were stuck with each other so we’re gonna make the most of it. We’re also gonna build a psychedelic rainbow made out of all the ugly colors while weird looking French children run up and down the sandy beach cursing at god in their native tongue for making everything backwards and for making them smell weird too.

Where Dios are from has a lot to do with who they are. Yeah they’re from Los Angeles. In fact I think they represent this city better than any other band their age. They are true Angelinos and understanding the city where they’re from will help you understand their entire approach to making music. The members of the band all hail from the legendary South Bay of Los Angeles. Everything and anything south of Imperial Hwy is what I’m talking about. But I could ramble for days on ends but you should get the dirt straight from the horses mouth… and with that, I give you, Joel Morales.

“Don’t give in to the music business!

Dios are from a part of L.A that is usually disregarded for its artistic contributions to the city’s culture. The South Bay isn’t the suburbs you see in movies or T.V. It’s beachfront ghettos, airports, refineries, ports, you name it. It’s a pretty diverse part of town – Whites, Blacks, Hispanics, Asians, Polynesians – all going to the same schools and working the same jobs at the mall. We’re friends with surfers, skaters, gangsters, musicians, artists and 9 to 5ers we grew up with. It’s a good place to experience people.

A few of us grew up near the fabulous forum in Inglewood, home of the Showtime Lakers, minutes from the Beach Boys’ childhood home in Hawthorne. Our bass player grew up near some of the raddest tide pools and cliffs in Southern California, minutes away from where Black Flag practiced and played their first shows. And our newest recruits grew up in and around Long Beach, from Cerritos to San Pedro occasionally seeing Mike Watt driving down the street to buy lottery tickets. There’s musical history here, and we’re very proud of that. Because of that musical history, and I guess, to some extent, the isolation from the better known artistic areas of L.A., we had both a lot and a little to learn from. When your world is scaled down to a 5 mile radius, money and transportation are scarce you don’t want a 9 to 5, you suck at school and you don’t like shitty Westside and Hollywood douche hotspots your options become very limited. You stay home, get drunk in the backyard with your friends, smoke pot, and listen to music. You form a million and one bands and if you’re stubborn you actually may do something with one of them. Which is exactly what we did.

For being in what seemed like an artless cultural bubble I’m still surprised at how our tastes in art and music represent such a wide range of colors. We definitely have punk rock to thank for instilling in us the idea that art and music is freedom. Freedom to explore what it is we like as long as we are being genuine to ourselves. Having a great college radio station like KXLU didn’t hurt either, because without that source of alternative musical options lord knows my musical education might not have developed beyond Jim Ladd and his so-called “free form” rock radio. Our influences range from Chavela Vargas to Os Mutantes to Karp. I grew up listening to Rap through its first golden age on K-DAY, to its late 80’s dichotomy of NWA and east coast Afrocentric rap up until the early-90’s with Ice Cube and “The Chronic”. Other members of the band grew up listening to South Bay punk like Black Flag and The Minutemen to stuff across the pond like Northern Soul, The Small Faces, and Wire. I’m sure it all comes through one way or another in what we do now.

As for the “sun-kissed-California-easy-breezy-beach-pop” label we were plastered with in the past, we feel it’s always been tremendously shortsighted, clichéd and misrepresenting. We’re probably at fault for giving lazy journalists those Beach Boys, and every cliché relating to California, taglines because we constantly gave The Beach Boys and Hawthorne huge shout outs. But they never really got it. Our connection to the Beach Boys is very simple. We respect the Beach Boys for Brian Wilson’s experimental compositions. It’s about “Heroes and Villains”, not “Fun, Fun, Fun”. Hawthorne isn’t Surf City. Pat isn’t playing bongos at a fire pit. Our existence has absolutely no resemblance to an episode of The O.C. (gotta pay rent) If our sound is reduced to a catchphrase, or some California postcard-like description, the range of mood and innovation in our albums is lost. We’re just trying to write good songs and dress them up or down, creatively and interestingly. Satisfying ourselves first and last.

In the past few years we’ve played with many great bands and played some really big shows that we never expected to play. We’ve had the opportunity to travel around the country, go to the UK and Mexico City on someone else’s dime, and we greatly appreciate that. Now we just want to record the rest of our backlog and continue to write bigger and better things. We want to find new ways to play our recordings live, be as good we can be and hopefully not self-destruct in the process. We are still trying to get our act together, we’re still evolving, trying to figure out who we are and what we’re doing. Hopefully we’ll never figure it out, because we’ll always be doing something a little different. Never forgetting that a good song is first and experimentation is a must.

We aren’t into fads. We like things that are genuine, soulful, and dirty. We’ve definitely had many good years being in this band and we’re gonna be doing it for many more. We’re liferz. All in all, not bad for a shitty little band from the South Bay. ”

Love,
Joel Morales of Dios

Dios website – http://www.wearedios.com/
Dios myspace – http://www.myspace.com/diosmalos
Dios twitter – http://twitter.com/wearedios
Dios Facebook page – http://www.facebook.com/wearedios
Buddyhead – http://www.buddyhead.com

Rumble L.A. presented by our good buddies over at Future Sounds, Stranded in Stereo and RM 64 is back on for July 2009. It’s going down this Thursday (7/02) at the 3 of Clubs in Hollywood and the newest addition to the Buddyhead family, Dios (formerly Dios Malos), are playing with Audra Mae and The Nights.  The show is priced right up our alley…. IT’S FUCKING FREE! Hit up the show and then come over to the Good Luck Bar for some drinks where I will be DJing.

First band goes on at 9:15PM. Don’t blow it!

So we’ve got another kickass giveaway here. This time it’s for Freeland.

Right, so we’ve got TWO [2] prize packs, and ONE [1] ticket giveaway for a pair of tickets to Freeland’s 7/11 show at Vanguard. Needless to say, in order to win the tickets, you’ve gotta be able to get yourself to the show.

So with the prizepack, you get a few things:

1. “COPE” CD.
This is the CD that Freeland has just put out with guest appearances by a lot of awesome people, including Twiggy Ramirez, Joey Santiago, and Brody Dalle.

2. “Two Hours To Jupiter” CD

3. A T-shirt

4. “Under Control” vinyl.

You gotta live in the US for any of these prizes, and you gotta send us an e-mail at contests@buddyhead.com telling us whether you’re competing for the tickets, or a prize pack.

If you’re going for the tickets, you gotta let us know why you wanna go to the show so bad, and give us an example of what you’d do to get them.

For the prize pack you gotta tell us how you found out about Freeland, and why you want the prizes.

While you’re waiting to hear if you’re a winner or not check out these songs here via their Topspin player:

or give this video a gander

.

You can even check out their website where you can take a listen to the COPE album. Or take a look at his Twitter and see what he’s up to on a minute by minute basis.

Despite having broken up in 1999, the Oblivians remain a representation of Rock & Roll at its most fundamental. These cretins and lowlifes are often said to be progenitors of the garage-punk movement. And true as that may be, it does not do justice. The Oblivians are best described as a gospel band. Not only because they covered traditional gospel songs, but rather on account of how they embraced the unapologetic soul of that music. The Oblivians are among the best bands to realize the spirit of Rock & Roll is a thing belonging to the black and Baptist. Hell, the Oblivians are among the best bands, period.

A gospel-punk band probably sounds like a disaster. And in the hands of anyone else, it probably would be. But gospel music is purposed for setting the spirit loose in Holy release. Traditionally, this has been done in the name of the Lord. The Oblivians, inspired by that pure, powerful music, took what began as a joke band, and started a Rock & Roll religion exalting drugs, sex, violence, and yes, the Lord. The Oblivians rip with a baseness and honesty that is truly a thing to behold. Greg and co. might be getting really old, but they haven’t aged. The Brothers-O shouted about faggots and sex and drugs and hitting women like it was the first time. This was not a reunion, it was a revival.

And seeing the Gories GO OFF just made the whole weekend that much better! We met our new friend the Ice Cream Man at the show and ate his ice cream. He gets WEIRD for the Gories! And his camera guys were actually allowed to go inside the Hi-Tone without harassing Eric O.! Ice Cream Man’s got you covered on those Gories.

My spirit has been lifted:

Now, I would like to take a moment to air my grievances with several members of the Oblivians’ audience. I say the following with the understanding that I am the dick with the camera. But I am this sort of dick for a productive purpose. And I really do try to stay out of the way. Given that the dude who normally operates the second camera couldn’t make it to Memphis, I was stuck with a tough shoot. Most of the audience actually helped me out, but the following idiots BLOW:

1: He-who-blots-out-the-sun. You know the nine-foot tall dumb ass that decides someone with his dimensions should be RIGHT AT THE FRONT OF THE STAGE? He’s gotten worse. Now he has a huge afro and looks like the mongoloid from Coheed and Cambria. And just in case someone, somewhere, could see around his titatnic ass, he constantly shook his retarded fro back n’ forth for good measure.

2: Shirtless e-freak. You can see him rolling in, oh, ALL of my shots. On account of no one wanting to get anywhere near him, this slimy wiener had a ton of stage-side real estate to keep touching himself in. He spent the rest of his time scutteling on stage like a desperate lizard to guzzle whatever beer was left in Eric O.’s discarded bottles. You’re a freak. Take your pills at home and stay there.

3: White girl dreads. If there was one thing I thought I could avoid at an Oblivians show, it was white girl dreads. No luck there. I got slapped in the face by some of these garbage ropes and the stink still won’t come out. That isn’t hair, sister; it’s a putrid, yellow disease.

4: Rock-a-billy pervert: I have no idea why this elderly-looking guy was humping a table when he thought no one was watching. Yes, it looked just like it sounds.

5: Will-call tickets: So, the first night, Vishal was explaining to me the merits of will-call tickets. He’s a dork and so I tuned out. We got up to the front of the line and guess what? Yep– “NO VISHAL ON THE LIST, SIR!” Guess, what happened the next night with my lady’s ticket? Guess who had to go to the A.T.M for another 23 big ones? Oblivians/Gories Shakedown ‘09!! WOO!!!

Now with that out of the way, let’s rap about Greg Cartwright and the Oblivians.

I was stoked to be interviewing Greg Cartwright. He is an artist whose work I very much admire. In all seriousness, this man is a contender for best musician working. He is also a terribly nice guy. No matter the band, Cartwright’s music is unflinchingly honest and always spiritual. You would be hard-pressed to see the performance of a musician more connected with his own work. The Reigning Sound begs on bended knees and the Oblivians fuck you all night long, but it’s always Greg Cartwright doin’ his thang. And with his heroes mostly dead, there is no one doing it better.

In person, Greg Cartwright is a lot like his songs. He’s modest, laughs frequently, and is stoic as a western. When I met up with Greg at Goner records, he was wearing shorts and old man sandals while listening intently to records in a corner. Just after saying hello, the family man received a call from his wife. I heard the apologetic stutters and saw the fear of God in his eyes and knew this was going to be a brief interview. He had to hang out with his grandma, you see. By our count, Greg’s grandma cannot be less than 142 years old.

After the interview, homeboy dropped nearly $700 on vinyl, like a damn rapper. “It’s a disease!” he says. In addition to the two rooms in his home already filled with discs, Greg has had to build an additional garage to support his habit. No wonder Mrs. Cartwright is pissed. His taxman helps him write the addiction off. “Research!” he says.

Digging information out of Greg is a chore (he doesn’t remember what songs are on his upcoming albums– or the release date), but I can tell you that his current band, the great Reigning Sound, is releasing Love And Curses on In The Red Records come August 11th. If you’re not an idiot, you will buy it. He also let slip that the Reigning Sound has an acoustic album in the works. He didn’t know any of the songs on that one either.

I should also spend a few words on Eric Friedl and Jack-O. Eric Oblivian, who owns and operates Goner Records, is probably too nice a guy. I pestered this dude something fierce. But I don’t feel bad about it, because he’s from Hawaii which is kind of weird. Eric’s record shop is everything a music store should be. The dudes working there are friendly and were actively rushing about helping customers like it was a damn Wal-Mart. It’s nice to know that one of the best record stores still going is run by guys who aren’t dicks. I guess it should be expected from the fellow who wrote “Guitar Shop Asshole.”

I can also report that Jack-O. is as bomb as I suspected him to be. This Oblivian was carting around a hot little thing that couldn’t be half his age. He also got the hell away from me. Smart man. You still need to buy his latest record, The Disco Outlaw.

Hopefully, I can catch up with both Greg Cartwright and Jack-O. this September when a reunited Compulsive Gamblers play Goner Fest.

Until then, you should buy the web-only, Oblivians live LP, Barristers Ninetyfive. It was recorded in 1995 and kills the rest of your crappy records. You can probably find it here. Garage-punk labels seem to prefer their sites looking like anglefire and tripod web-fossils. Sell all the buttons and denim and buy a web-designer, dorks. You too, Eric O.

If you’re a filthy, undeserving European, you can still see the Oblivians and Gories here:

03-Jul El Sol – Madrid Spain
04-Jul Kafe Antzokia – Bilboa Spain
05-Jul Venue tba -Barcelona Spain
06-Jul BT59- Bordeaux France
07-Jul Maroquineri -Paris France
08-Jul Vera – Groningen Netherlands
09-Jul Brussel or Gent Belgium
10-Jul Blast Off- Nottingham UK
11-Jul Paradiso – Amsterdam
12-Jul Sjock – Gierle Belgium
14-Jul Gleis 22 – Munster Germany
15-Jul Festsaal – Berlin Germany
16-Jul 59 to 1- Munchen Germany

The past few years have produced a shitstorm of reunions that’s ultimately been a colossal disappointment, ranging from embarrassing records (Chinese Democracy, Zeitgeist) to blatant cash-grabs for the sole purpose of funding vocalists’ side projects (Faith No More, Rage Against The Machine) to failing to take advantage of the renewed interest (Slint) to “Mileycyrussaywhat?” (Limp Bizkit).

Black Francis/Frank Black/Butterbean pushes the Pixies further into the landfill as he envisions an album/soundtrack à la Air’s work for The Virgin Suicides.

Courtesy of NME.com:
“The band needs to work with a film director. Quentin Tarantino or someone like that. It’d be like, ‘Make some music for our film, you guys [Pixies] be the sound of the film.’ Spread the word about the idea ‘cos I think it’s gonna work.”

Sorry Butterbean, but it looks like you didn’t get the memo: NO ONE CARES ABOUT THE PIXIES ANYMORE. If you couldn’t make a massive impression back then (post-career bandwagon doesn’t count), you sure as hell aren’t going to make people care now, especially considering 75% of the band is bald and your drummer performs magic tricks for pizza money. There’s a better chance of Nine Inch Nails fans having their creamiest dreams realized with David Lynch helming the Year Zero television series rather than “Best Before 1994” Tarantino giving two shits about what the Pixies want. If you‘re that desperate to see this project come to life, Fred Durst is always looking to expand his cinematic palette. Just be aware he’s prone to casting Method Man and Pauly Shore for no other reason than to amuse his stupid self. Other than giving Wes blumpkins in exchange for new guitar tracks, he should have more-than-enough free time on his hands.

The world’s not exactly clamoring for a Pixies resurgence, particularly after the slap in the testicles known as “Bam Thwok.” The title alone should’ve earned them a stint at the county jail, not to mention that they somehow managed to sprinkle Fozzie Bear‘s “wocka wocka” throughout the chorus. Although, for a song written for Shrek 2 (and shunned in favor of the fucking Counting Crows), it’s as good as a DreamWorks-sanctioned tune gets.

Should a record come to fruition, I’d prefer one that didn’t sound remotely anything like the piles of ass Bossanova and Trompe le Monde turned out to be. Actually, I’d prefer that they fuck off completely, but that‘s just wishful thinking. No hard feelings, Pixies. I just don’t have faith in a band that once approved “Here Comes Your Man” for Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo.

07/15 – New York, NY @ Bowery Ballroom
07/18 – Chicago, IL @ Pitchfork Fest
08/28 – San Diego, CA @ Street Scene

I was thirteen years old when I first got stoned- and heard sonic youth.

The story goes like this; i was auditioning for a band that my friend Phil was putting together and after embarrassing myself with my horrendous guitar playing they all decided to smoke pot.  I had smoked pot once before when I was 11 with a bunch of skateboarding friends down the street from my parents house, who ended up pulling me out after they thought I was stoned (which I wasn’t) and beating the shit out of me, so I was psyched because this shit Phil had was really good and the stuff i had smoked before was brown.  So homeboy fires up a green acrylic bong and puts on a sonic youth compilation.  Now my buddy lived in the guest house of his dad’s place in Northridge, though it wasn’t quite a guest house because when you think of a guest house you think of one room a mini tv and maybe a bathroom but this place had a full on kitchen like three bedrooms a living room – basically it was another house and they had one room that was just a smoking room, pot cigarettes whatever.  After the first rip I was stoned and to further this cliche’d story they had strobe and black lights in the room with fucking black light posters everywhere.

I think the first real sonic youth song I heard was Titanium Expose off of Goo.  I was hooked I went out and bought Confusion is Sex, which if you haven’t heard it – is a weird fucking record that will confuse you if yr 13 and pretty much only listen to the Wu Tang Clan.   At that point I stopped listening to everything I was before, besides Wu Tang and just listened to Sonic Youth and related bands – Dinosaur Jr, Mudhoney, Pavement, Sleater Kinney etc.

I’ve been with Sonic Youth for 10 years and I’ve seen them turn out record after record and I have to say I’ve liked all of them.  There are songs on the records that don’t really grab as much as others but for me Sonic Youth has been pretty consistent.  So when I found that Travis had sent me a copy of the newest record, The Eternal, I went straight to my email and downloaded it.  I was working on a record at the time so I waited until we had some down time, threw it on the speakers, opened up a beer and sat back.

Now I don’t really write record reviews, I’m not really much of a writer, I’m a musician but I’m gonna give it a shot because Travis called me out.  When I first heard Sacred Trickster I got so angry that i wrote a two and a half page piece just bashing Sonic Youth saying how the song was derivative and unimaginative.  The same gutteral Kim Gordon vocals over dissonant but cohesive pieces of alternate tuned guitars but after listening to it, it’s a good song.  This is new Sonic Youth, and though you could compare this to Rather Ripped – like the dudes over at pitchfork who wish they had as much wit and bite as Robert Christgau (I mean who can give a record an A+ and still just bash the shit out of it, dudes a prick, but dude is good)- it’s different.  There are elements of everything they’ve ever done in their previous records but for a band who’s been imitated and not once replicated they keep it pretty fresh.  This record is great and I’ll keep coming back as long as Sonic Youth keep putting out records.