Thursday, October 13, 2011

Bobb Trimble-Iron Curtain Innocence

"Done because we are too menny"

-Little Father Time

Here (Reuped 6/6/12 (with a little help from a friend))

Charles Dodge-Synthesized Voices

Being that I'm just about done with the human race (thanks for the heartache, it was pretty funny) this is the only way I want to hear from people. Unless your voice sounds like a some early synthesizer than keep your trap shut. You'll probably either end up hurting me or pissing me off (the only two feelings I am still capable of feeling). In a world where every fucking pop song is using some sort of voice alteration this probably seems old hat. Sometimes electric friends are better than those made of flesh.

Here (Reuped 6/8/12)

Rocket from the Tombs-The Day the Earth Met the...

There once was a time when my life seemed full of stories. Not that I was ever the prolific raconteur, but that there were points of interest that dappled my day. Now routine and listlessness have dulled my senses so that the fella walking down my block carrying a hatchet doesn't even seem to pique my interest (that actually happened). Maybe it's that little surprises me anymore, but it's most likely that I don't even care. Even my grandmother told me I'm boring. So there's no need to explain the saga of this most influential band. Dead Boys, Pere Ubu you all know it. Punk before punk. Yes that too. But fuck...it's Peter Laughner so that means it's mandatory (if you're missing that reference you're missing much more).

Here (Reuped 6/8/12)

Crow Tongue-The Red Hand Mark

I spent the majority of my youth as well as my twenties fearing I would go insane. I have a bi-polar uncle and a schizophrenic aunt (just one side of my lovely genetic inheritance) so hitting my thirties was a massive relief. And passed that age, I feel this weird return to that fear. Some late creeping psychosis? Perhaps. But I just don't understand how things function anymore. I mean I get general principles but I feel like I was kept in some mid-Victorian cocoon for over a century until I was somehow extracted yet I retained the mentality and perspectives of the time. And maybe that is the signal of insanity, right? When you become so detached from the world you live in then something must be amiss. Yet there are these artifacts, like this album, that do not seem to follow the strictures of the time and tap into something much more elemental. Listening to this I can only feel like I was smoking hash in some Martian-Arabic cafe in a liminal state that exists in some non-linear plane of existence. And that doesn't even make sense. So maybe this is the exercise that lays bare my fears of mental illness for once. I dunno, listen to this and tell me where this takes you. It's a sort of sonic Rorschach I suppose. But however the ears receive it, I doubt they will be disappointed.


Here (Reuped 6/8/12)

dISEMBOWELMENT-Transcendence into the Peripheral

My mouth is still tingling from that pepper spray spritzing I received earlier in the day and I'll admit it's a bit enjoyable. But numbness, whether it be in the mouth or the soul, comes with the territory when teaching in my school. And numb is actually the type of non-feeling I wish I could only experience in this topsy-turvy mess of a week. Who thought stasis would ever be so desirable? I'm thinking about digging a ditch and bedding down there for a while. And as the dirt pillow absorbs my tears I'll think of this gloomy antipodean curiosity. Most will hate this but most people hate me, so why should I bother trying to please everyone/anyone? Snail paced doom that is surprisingly meditative an soothing. The perfect score to that final relaxation.

Here (Reuped 6/8/12)

Monday, October 3, 2011

Amon Duul II-Wolf City

Perhaps the lumbering giant in a catalogue deep enough to drown molasses. I admit my bias here in that I love both Amon Duul and Amon Duul II to an unhealthy degree. And even with my rose colored glasses on, this album still took a while to grow on me. Where is that thuggish caveman tude that blessed the chaos of mach I? The more stream lined mind fuckery of there early releases doesn't seem to be as prevalent on initial listen, but dig, dig deep my friend. It shant take long since the lead track is already positioning you towards some outer recess that most dare not explore. Fuck those who claim this as their softening. Sure I still miss those elements already address, but if those ears are pricked they cannot deny the wigged out brilliance of this under rated classic.

Here (reuped 7/19/12)

Friday, September 30, 2011

Airways-Live at the L.A.C.E.

So there's a bit of confusion on my part here that maybe a few of you can clarify. I know there's a vinyl copy of this and the tracks are longer but the fidelity is shit. So I ripped this out of this impressive box that I picked up for a sou. And there's additional tracks too. So why not crop the tracks, amp up the quality, and give you more variety of what this band is capable of. Apparently there's all this subliminal messaging going on and I can't speak to that (hence it's subliminality) but I can say the urge to milk a goat and eat a card board box has never been felt so strongly. Sure it's noisesome but that's all enfolded into something womb-like and comforting. All the while you realize this is picking your pockets and leaving you destitute. If you want to hear this the way it was meant to be heard finish up that time machine, go to the show, position yourself about a block and a have East-South-East, have your friend give you a charlie horse and you'll be set.

Here (reuped 7/19/12)

Norma Loy-Romance 12"

These guys seem to be footnoted as for the fact that they were named by Alan Vega (is this really true?). That seems a bit daft as the record holds up on its own merits. Nice and buzzy and synthy as it should be. I know the kids like this kinda thing but just talking to someone I was reminded how much more I'd rather listen to some Gordon Lightfoot. So this is good and it's here to download. But young uns don't forget to pick up thy Lightfoot. Synthesizers will only take you so far.

Here (reuped 7/19/12)

David Sylvian-Blemish

Always the dapper gent, this cover illustration betrays Sylvain's charm by depicting him as some slackerish bum with bad fashion sense. Perhaps it was his transformation from the highly constructed elegance he advanced while fronting Japan. And while they had some moments, they were always a little too slick for mine ears (fretless bass, no matter how well played, is a no no). So how did this guy get from glam to new wave to what ever the hell this is? Not too sure, but he clearly got weirder and better with age. As most of us who actually know a thing or two actually do. For fans of late Talk Talk, late Scott Walker, all Martyn Bates. Basically, the type of music I am obsessed with but have the greatest difficulty finding. Sam, you will like this one.

Here (reuped 7/19/12)

Milton Nascimento-Clube da Esquino

Well shit. This was one that I definitely thought I'd post on some breezy summer night where all the daily bullshit has been washed away and it almost has you thinking that there actually is such a thing as a soul and that at that moment you actually have one. Those be rare moments indeed. And fictional ones too mind you. But you know kinda what I mean. This album can actually enhance those moods. Not to say that it's going to all the sudden bring you to some new faith or anything (why would I post that?) but that it certainly gives you that warm, almost buzz-like, spine tingly feeling that you might have gotten occasionally in your youth when things seem to be going right momentarily. My ex once explained this phenomenon as akin to listening to Tina Turner's version of River Deep, Mountain High (though she thought the song was called Rag Doll). And I knew what she was talking about. For me, I remember a time in kindergarten when I picked up this dwarf-sized girl in my class and receiving a furious scolding, but I'm not too sure what that says about me or why I would write that (I do recall, however, a particular penchant for small people). Anyways...As you got older that feeling just seemed more like a memory or a half memory so far removed from the present that you began to doubt its actual existence. Then it somehow surfaces again and your reminded of this strange sensation that seems more of a fiction than an actual experience. Like looking at that childhood photo of yourself that seems so defamiliarized and detached from your current existence. I suppose its the feeling of connectivity. "Only connect," right Forster?

Here (reuped 7/19/12)

The Wooden O-A Handful of Pleasant Delites

Tis true, nothing does compare to languidly reclining whilst one dearly loved caresses you inner ear hole with the soothing sounds of a recorder. Just look at this Pre-Raphaelite-cum-hippy filth cover and you just want to grab them grapes and squeeze. This is one of the lesser known in that pagan loving, olde tymey, return to the Earth Limey brilliance that readers around here seem to fetishize. But really, if you're not up for some fluting than forget it. But back on that cover. Doesn't that really seem like such a charming way to pass some sunny fall day?

Here (reuped 7/19/12)

Friday, September 16, 2011

Astor Piazolla-Tango: Zero Hour

For my grandfather who plays the accordion/concertina. I'll cop to the fact that I was never to big on this instrument. Even though gramps (never actually called him this) knows how to play, I can't really get behind that Polack oompah polka business. However, this is where the instrument truly becomes captivating and speaks to those grand romantic gestures you almost never make but wish you have. Gosh, it's funny that music created in the whore houses of Argentina (ed. thanks for catching such an egregious error) to soundtrack god know what type of insidious escapades can be so damned enthralling. I guess that's what happens when you place the old squeeze box in the hands of a true master.

Here (reuped 7/19/12)

Cozmic Corridors

Pure synth-esthesia for those looking for some analog bliss. Everything I see on line tells me that this is something German from the 70s, but there's a weird part of me that seems to remember this being some fake out that was part of a hoax concocted by one of the guys from Sundial. Am I wrong about that? Is this one of those fake lost classics, or is legit? I can remember. I don't care. Neither should you. this one spans the spectrum, moving from some enlightened cosmic clouds to some trenchant darkspaces. It's forward thinking sounds only reinforces my believe this fraudulent. If it be the case that I'm wrong about this one, then it only makes it all the more a success.

Here (reuped 7/19/12)

Ruby Andrews-Casanova (Your Playing Days are Over)

This album just seems to reinforce my current state, and it's one I'm sure readers have found themselves in. i know it's a predicament that I am inevitably bound to repeat an endless amount of times since it's one of those things that even if you learn from it, it seems foolish to accept the lesson. So I'm sure everyone can surmise from that prologue that I'm talking about romance and the stupid things it leads us to do. It's funny that often times (at least with myself) I can see that what I am doing is most likely stupid and will probably only make matters worse, yet that attraction is strong enough to force me to preclude reason and experience and act like that junior high boy that we've all tried to forget is still lurking somewhere within us. And that's why I'm been listening to this album. This is a case where not fitting into a particular region helps the artist as she is able to draw from all modes of soul. I think if you listen closely you can find elements of nearly all of her contemporaries, yet it is distinctly her own work. Hail Chicago soul.

Here

Saturday, September 3, 2011

C.O.B.-Spirit of Love

On one of my too many flights around the country this summer I had one of those unexpected moments where all the antipathy and misanthropy seem to just dissolve due to some kind stranger. Surprisingly, the stranger here was a Texan. I won't hold that against her even though I couldn't wait to stop hearing her accent. Anyways, sharing a flight to somewhere (can't even remember anymore) we decided just to snuggle under her blanket and take a nap together. I know it's no penthouse forum letter or anything, but it was oddly more significant in that something as simple as falling asleep next to a beautiful girl could even make a staunch grouch like myself feel something long dead. Then we got off the plane and that was that. I don't know her name even but it was something simple that just sticks in the mind. Well, there's something warm and comforting about this album that made me think of that time. If you're like me then you'll probably find it easy to slip in to some cocoon of sad music and get comfy with your misery and that is exactly why albums like this are so dear. This isn't some bubbleheaded, life affirming, vapidness but something precious and human and fragile. So by now you've surmised that I am the world's biggest pussy. Top flight sleuthing skills there Poirot.

Here

Third World War

Infinite screaming baby heads within another is certainly an unpleasant image. Imagining the cacophony this abomination would produce just makes me want to pour some tar in my ears. Whistling aside, that shrill cry from unformed humans is definitely on my list of shit I never want to hear but somehow find myself hearing every day. But I'm sure Third World War was aware of this reaction when choosing cover art since it seems appropriate when considering their no bullshit stance. Confrontation and political years before some upstart twats decided to hide their love of Genesis and pierce their cocks and shop at boutiques. This is real punk played by people who sound like their would seriously fuck you up rather than knit a scarf while complaining about how bored they are. Seriously though punks, I love you. You have such cute little uniforms.

Here

Friday, September 2, 2011

Urban Sax

Yo cuz, why you gettin' all jeffy with me? Don't be gettin' all ornery and shit. Bro, you know this album is crispy, right? So why you tryna play? Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag. Swag.

See, it's true. Teachers do learn from their students. Just don't ask me to translate.

Here

Vorgrow-Black Metal is Elitism

Hey Matt, you know how you always whole "I just can't stand the silly vocals" thing everytime I get on a jag about some metal album? Well amigo, I now have something that we can share since it's basically a metal record (albeit a rather strange one) that has NO VOCALS to worry about. That's right others, if you're the type that wouldn't download other metal albums I've posted because you can't stand the singing then this is the one to grab since it might just be the turning point where you realize that not all singing has to come from the maw of some crybaby "poet." Just check the title and you can see that this dude knows what he's talking about.

Here

Art Bears-Winter Songs

Art rock in the way that the term used to mean before a buncha kids in plushy costumes started to breath their rancorous breath into some melodica whilst a naked drummer molests an audience member. There's no art in that shit. It's all tacky gimmickry. And it's stale at that. So art kids, stay away from rock (please don't mention that the Talking Heads wend to RISD--they suck too). And please stay away from art for that matter. I've seen your work and you'd be lucky to get it hung on a convalescent home's wall. So that's why albums like this are important, see? I'm sure everyone is aware that anything with Fred Frith's involvement is at least worth a listen (not going to say that it's all gold however). But this shit is 32 years old (if I recollect correctly) and it still out weirds most of the lame-os who think beards and ironic shirts are edgy. I can't wait for you dumb shits to explain to your equally dumb children why your tattoo of a bunny fucking a robot is hilarious.

Here



Sunday, August 28, 2011

Duncan Browne-Give Me Take You

Well, this album could pretty much be the title of my autobiography. Pretty strange considering that I've been known to be quite the bastard. Yet as I get older and begin selecting songs for my funeral (don't have a funeral please) I find that I am somehow nicer than I have ever been in the past. I have no idea how that happened. Oh, and if you are going to have a funeral for me, rather than just pissing on my corpse, play Valuska by Michaly Vig (I guess I'll be dead so the pissing won't really matter anyways). But back to the point. I should be hitting kids on the head with my cane, instead I have bunch of people relying on me to move shit for them and drive them places and act as a general caddy for their lives. And I can't figure out how I made this switch from a total dick to a guy who does all these nice things. Maybe it's some fucked up arc that my life has taken. Maybe the path was already established but I was too fucked up to see it clearly. I'm not too sure how comfortable I am in the ole of the responsible nice guy. Right now, I can only see how this help others and makes me feel like shit. And I guess that experience is more common that I believed. Listening to this album there's certainly a whimsical (Naive?) feeling that hippies of the time relished in. Now, it sounds deflated and worrisome. But that might just be the fact that my ears have a muffle woven through years of disappointment. Okay, I guess now the boozing is starting to become evident in the writing.

Here

Schizo

So I believe that this is the complete works of Schizo, but somewhere along the line, I noticed that a track had dropped out. Don't know where it is either, and I'm way to lazy to try to fix this mess. So if you like Richard Pinhas or Heldon this is a no brainer since he's laying down the guitar on these 7"s. Or if you're like me and have a Hawkwind fetish, then you'll most likely want these too since a mountain of Hawkwind bootlegs still leaves more to be desired. Really, this will surprise some in how much it actually sounds like Hawkwind. That is a GOOD thing people, as if I needed to explain that.

Here

The Secret Syde-Hidden Secrets

The connection between psychedelic punks and later day punks is a fairly clear linear movement. But most people don't think of their beloved punk records as being psychedelic and that is often more of a socio-historical understanding of the evolutions of genres. But here was a band that clearly demonstrated a love for classic psych while simultaneously being able to play the same stage as Black Flag. Forgive them for being from Jersey. There actually was a time when great things came from that state. I suppose that notion sounds as antique as these recordings. But I am still on the lookout for a mission oak coat rack and a nice art nouveau floor lamp too, so who am I to criticize antiques.

Here

Superunit

Don't let the picture fool you. I just couldn't find an actual photo of this 12" so I assumed this one would do. The Superunit here (not the addition of the R) is actually Zeni Geva with Steve Albini. I've posted stuff by both of them in the past so readers should already know what's up. Fans of either will want this one since it really doesn't sound like either. Unfortunately, two tracks are all you're going to get.

Here

Magnog

I seemed to remember thinking at the time of its release that this sucked pretty hard. But pretty much anything that came out on Kranky I disapprovingly have the gas mask to. Is it that I've softened somehow in my old age, or is it that the biases that prevented me from truly loving a band like the Rolling Stones were still in place. Don't misunderstand, these guys are nothing like the Stones, but I'm getting at the fact that I lived with all these weird prejudices about how music should be (Hi old punks), and in the process, ignored plenty of good things along the way. This has all been previously written about, but it bears reiteration in that this is a great space rock band that so many now wish they could sound like. Either forget that they exist and continue to believe that so many of the "cutting edge" bands are as great as some media outlets/dick sucking machines will lead you to believe, or give the guys the cred they didn't receive by old shits like me.

Here

Nekropolis-Musik aus dem Schattenreich

NOT METAL. Don't let that pile of skulls fool you. This is not a metal album people. I know some of my friends who read this think that I'm going to keep pressing them on why they should listen to metal. I'm not doing that here. I can tell who has enough of a sack to listen to some throat shredding and who would rather listen to Sufjan Stevans. So this is not a ploy. Despite its cover and its name, this is actually some weird ambient, synthy, kautish, dark space explorations that are really a great late night listen. Friends, I promise that you can actually fall asleep to this album. But it might be a little difficult only in that it really is captivating. Definitely not new age. Or metal.

Here

Eyeless in Gaza-Photographs as Memories

First album by a band that I always have a really fucking hard time describing. I am certain that somewhere there's a lone scribe tirelessly compiling the definitive history of this band. I have no idea if there's enough dramatics to make it a worth read, but I would definitely like some insight into how these two came up with their sound. It has that cassette d.i.y. sound, but it's also less punk and more croony. Shit description, I am aware, but really, aside from the fact that it sounds 80ish and lo fi, it's a little hard to describe. It does seem to fit with a lot of those British bedroom bands of the time, but then Bates lays his vocal histrionics over the whole thing and it starts becoming something else altogether. Maybe like the non-slick version of ABC or something. Anyways, they change up the sounds quite a bit as they went on (check the Martyn Bates album previously posted for further evidence) but, you know, there's the whole first thought best thought principle to consider.

Here

Del the Funky Homosapien-I Wish my Brother George was Here

All of my students want to listen to rap only. And no, I don't teach at some posh suburban school full of wigger frat boy types. I had years of that already. Now I teach brown children how to to speak white. It's true I am Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds (nice try Scott but that joke has been used plenty already). I even have a leather jacket. So I have students who have to wear ankle bracelets and are actually tough kids; and what do they want to listen to you might ask. Oh, how about Drake (look him up, I had to). All these kids listen to rap and know nothing about anything that is over a few months old. I don't get it at all. They ask what rap I'm into and I give them a list of things from the 80s and 90s and they have no idea what I'm talking about. Then again, their parents probably wouldn't either since I realized that I'm older than most of their parents. But for those of us with a memory beyond 20 years, let's recall this little gem. I even remember that this was a marginal hit at some point. Funny that kinds now want to hear Nickelodeon approved Canadian rappers.

Here

Lorelei-The Bitter Air 7"

So when I was living in L.A. this month I had the farcical, but true, story of having a squirrel that would break into my place and eat my chocolates. I never actually saw the squirrel in my place, but I did see it poking into my window, the holes it left in the window screen, the gnawed bars of chocolate it left on the floor, and the piles of shit it left on my desk. So I feel pretty safe in assuming it was that fucking squirrel that was eating my chocolate. And I just thought the whole thing was a bit cute. Like this album. Don't worry, this one won't unload atop your papers or anything, but it will make you smile when those days seem longer than ever possible. This might be a little too cutesy for some but I don't care. When your insides are tar black, do you really need more of that coming in your ear holes?

Here

State Children-Bomb Shelter for Moneymaking! 7"

What a fucking brilliant mess this weirdo flexi is. Hard as shit to find pre-internet days, this mutato was destined to be a holy grail like record. I think most people can pick up instruments, having never played them, and instantly record this album verbatim. But guess what? You didn't do it, so don't cry that it's primitive and retarded and only a few minutes long. You're the same fucker who looks at a Rothko and says "I can do that" aren't you? You can probably also write The Sun Also Rises too, huh?

Here

Saturday, August 27, 2011

Andrew-Woops

This cover just screams Iceland, doesn't it? Not that there's some geographical point of reference we'd all pick up on. But shit, this homemade good vs. evil heavy handed conflict just seems so daft that it must be Icelandic. Not to sound mean but don't you all actually believe in elves and shit like that still? I still give Andrew credit though. I like the name. And I love the album title. Kinda sums up the whole life experience in a rather succinct way. This album is all over the place like many albums of its time. And I kinda like it more for that reason. I am petty sure this was the work of some dude with money/time/sadness on his hands. At least, that's what I want to believe is the case. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Here

The Screamin' Mee-Mees-Live From the Basement: 1975-1997

Lead track, "Hot Sody" was about the most appropriate track to play when I finally arrived in my new Kansas City home as the ambient temperature was approaching 114. It was hot. India hot. Add 90% humidity as you've got a crabby, sweaty bastard that doesn't feel like moving fuck all after driving down from Chicago. But the new place is lovely and I really love this city. The state itself might be a different story however. Lots of bibles and guns. But then I'm reminded of these miscreants from St. Louis and I smile. Dumbo antics in that way that we all like. Naif and fun and reckless. All the things we forget about as our eyebrows grow long enough to hang in our eyes (I've got eyebrows that are straight out of Dune). Even when they got old they still ruled. That might scare me a little more than the fact that corporal punishment is still legal here and that conceal and carry is something people take as a point of pride.

Here

Raspberry Bulbs-Finally Burst

I love Bone Awl, so I was really excited to hear about this side project all that time ago. But shit gets hectic and posting goes to the wayside. And during that interregnum this cassette only seemed to charm its way into my heart like some nasty little parasitic worm. Speaking of weird shit of the sort, I think I'm still coughing up mold from my last place. Fucked lungs aside, this is a great piece of metal that really isn't metal. Change the vocals and the fan base increased by tens. I'm just being realistic here. This isn't some bullshit pop, but it still could have a greater fan base than most things of the sort.

Here

Servile Sect-Stratospheric Passenger

Some guy (?) with a rather large set laid down some heavy suggestions that I might in fact be a secret hipster. Or maybe he was saying that it's not so secret since he was able to sleuth it out. Tis neither here nor there. People, think of me as you will. Most tend to see me as a massive asshole. This assertion is probably correct 96% percent of the time so I'm not going to argue that. Then again, there was another incident that someone unknown to me asked if I was sad (why do people keep doing this?) so maybe I seem more like some weepy sap. But back to that main point. I know when I post albums like this, it lends credence to the charge of hipsterism. But fuck that. It's good and if that's how I'm going to be seen then I'll just wave my whatever those stupid middle-east looking scarves dudes wear now at you and dry my tears with pages from the latest McSweeny's (do people still read that?). I guess if people really need to know, I'm probably a bit old and definitely too much of a loser to be classed as hip or a hipster. Hope that helps.

Here

The Reflections-Slugs and Toads

Some long, long time ago a gent inquired of whether or not I was interested in the peripheral work of Karl Blake (see past post). Of course, I responded, I love all that the man is associated with. But consider how much the love increases when he is joined yby the might Mark Perry (ATV) and cronies from the Door & the Window. Not kidding, but I just bought a jar of marmite and some powdered mustard today. Now I'll just flounce around and speak in my faux British accent and make all the ladies swoon. Or just eat some marmite and toast in my underwear while my cat looks at me with an underwhelming sense of hopelessness.

Here

Cecil Taylor-Chinampas

Don't even try to fucking deny it you little maggot. This guy is THE guy when it comes to full on piano brilliance. The discussion ends there. So why he decided to make this album of out there sound poetry might not make all that much sense. But once you give it a listen then all is revealed. Yamataka Eye dry humping Kurt Schwitters while some guy jerking it in the corner occasionally hits a bell or a wood block or just stares at a fly kind seems like what's going on here. Doesn't sound like your cup of tea? Then darling you've come to the wrong place to fill your cup. The rest may drink up.

Here

S.F. Seals-Truth Walks in Sleepy Shadows

You're really going to open the album with a Pretty Things cover? And you're gonna add some horns and synths and a buncha other sounds? Huh...I guess that's a little weird. What's that? There's a John Cale tune too? That's cool. But what about your own stuff? I mean, it's great and dark and weird and poppy and really has a lot going for it. Oh shit, I completely forgot that you were forgotten way back in the 90s when no one really seemed to care about things like that. Oh well, I guess I probably shouldn't have brought this up. Too bad though. I always thought you had some pretty swell songs.

Here

Aqsak Maboul-Un Peu de l'Âme des Bandits

I'm a lover of weirdo combinations that don't seem to make sense when explained to me. Those moments when you finally hear the tracks and the descriptions your friends were trying to convince you about finally make sense are truly scared moments. But I guess that's all a bit of a teaser since I don't really plan on describing this one. I will say this, however. Moments of this seem right for a weirdly drugged out senior home dance where feeblemindedness and nostalgia seem to ensconce the room. And I can also some someone sniffing glue to this and really laughing at how disconnected his/her hand seems from the rest of his/her body. You ever do that? Don't hands sometimes seem like such a weird thing? Like it's not even part of you but some odd appendage that is almost separate from your body.

Here

Paperclip People

Since I got school supplies on the mind, this seems like a logical item to post. Unless you know of some bands dealing with pencil sharpeners or something (please tell me that you do (or please send a pencil sharpener since my kids need one of those too)). Anyways, I've got a friend who really hates the whole dubstep thing. Personally, I'm about as ambivalent about the whole thing as I am about fabric softener. It's fine if it's there, but I'm not going out of my way to find it. Maybe his concern is that it was done in a much better mode many years before. I've already posted some heroin house type of stuff (I think I did, at least) and here's more of that. Kind like if electronic bees attacked a slumbering aardvark mummy, these two tracks are hypnotic and hard to ignore. Time to get swept up in those sweet moments of distraction before the painful reality of your existence come crashing through your idle mind. Such sweet mechanical solace.

Here

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Neutral Spirits

Loyal readers will note that some time has passed since my last batch of postings. But I really have an excuse this time that doesn’t involve my laziness. Just read below and I think you’ll get a sense of the shit I’ve been doing and why blogs have to go on the back burner. This will all seem like bullshit, but I guarantee this all happened (honest injun). All the following documents have yet to be declassified, so keep it under your hat.

The KC Report.

Sir,

It’s over two weeks since I have been able to report. I have infiltrated the designated group. They clearly are the future leaders of industry, politicians, those in the know. They are young and good looking. They jog. I smoke. I wear white pants and paisley ties. They wear khakis and stripped ties. They compliment me on my tattoos and clothing, yet they seem unfamiliar with the style (note: tell Deborah in the costume department to investigate this further). When they jog by, they affably grin at me. I nod. And smoke. The disguise unit must really be performing well since they believe me to be near their approximate age. Little do they know I was born in the same decade as their parents. I accidently let my age slip. Rookie mistake. Yet they didn’t believe me so I think my cover is secure. Walking around town today to get a sense of the environment. I was stopped by some derelict bridge dwellers sipping his malt liquor. I assumed he wanted money. Here’s the dialog: He: “Hey.” Me: “What is it?” Him: “I was just wondering if you’re okay. You look sad.” Me: “That’s how I always look.” I’m starting to get paranoid. I think they may be on to me. I see a leaf on the sidewalk and think it’s a dead bird. Or that it’s concealing a dead bird. I twist my ankles avoiding them. And an old lady laughs at me. Sir, I have sent my last seven reports to the given address and I haven’t received any responses. I am beginning to believe that the relocation initiative may have been enacted and I have yet to be apprised of the situation. I am cut off. I haven’t heard from Central in over a month. I am beginning to feel that I am on my own. If someone receives this document, please establish the extraction protocol. I am alone.

Here

Lee Moses-Time and Place

The KC Report Cont’d

Sir,

I have now made contact with several other outsiders who seem to also be on the periphery of the goings on in this organization. One is clearly another agent. A Swede again. It’s fortuitous that our paths cross at this moment. We can both speak of the old times and old assignments. We recognize that we are both withered. At the end of it in many senses. It’s established a camaraderie that’s atypical in this line of work. We laugh at the expense of the objective’s naivety. And also our own failures. I am not sure if, at this point, this mission will succeed. Sorry to break protocol Sir, but, please don’t make me put a bullet in this guy like last time.

Here

Max Roach-M'Boom

Return to Base (in transit)

Sir,

Conflicts have surrounded this assignment. Namely, the mode of transportation. Yesterday, I flew from Kansas City back to base in Chicago. Today, I have flown from Chicago to Nashville to Austin to Houston and finally arrived in Los Angeles. There was a baby in the airport who I am pretty sure it must have been an op. Or at least a stress test. The continual cries reminded me of tier two training. Maybe it was sent by the agency or by other sources, but I can tell there was something off about the whole thing. Maybe the baby was bugged. Maybe the baby was the bug. I didn’t have time to consider the options and just stepped on it’s head. I didn’t see the wires but I am certain a full body profile scan will reveal abnormal activities. I have collected samples and await the results.

Here