Here’s the first of a foray into lossless FLAC conversion. Unlike previous 320 kbps conversions, nothing has been manipulated after the initial recording; no digital pop & click removal removal, no equalization, no nothing. If you’re lucky you might catch a spot where a piece of fuzz gets caught under the needle. It’s about as close to the actual vinyl as you’ll get.
Take a listen and make sure to post your comments. This album has a rich diversity of instruments, which should display FLAC’s increased musical capabilities. I hope you enjoy.
What interesting things can I tell you about this tasty treat?
Well, for starters the name “Dismemberment Plan” comes from an exquisite movie. More specifically, it rolls from the mouth of one of moviedom’s greatest supporting comedic characters: Ned Ryerson.
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Additionally, this is the only album that Pitchfork Media hasn’t completely fucked up rating.
It received a 9.6 out of 10 when originally released. This vinyl re-release, with its 4 extra songs, received a 10 out of 10. The initial 1999 review was also a very tidy 21 words. I would have preferred an even 20, but I’ll let it slide.
If you consider yourself a fan of groundbreaking pop, go out and buy this album right now. Now. Get up. Go. – Pitchfork Media, 1999
I’d quote the re-issue review but it doesn’t have any pictures…which means I got bored before finding a meaty blurb and gave up.
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Pictures: The only source of engaging entertainment.
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Finally, I have a vague memory of seeing The Dismemberment Plan at the Southgate House during their farewell tour in 2003. It was the summer before I could legally drink. I was a bright and bouncing baby boy.
Unfortunately I obliterated most of my memory cells were during my 21st birthday party. Because it was so huge. Biggest 21st birthday party ever. Strippers from all over the Tri-State.
(It was actually quite a sad affair…lots of Super Bust-A-Move 2 and chasing Piano Little. Please don’t tell anyone.)
ANYWAY, Despite that bitchin mind-erasing party, one thing stuck with me from that show. No, it wasn’t the catchy snare-snapping beats. No, it wasn’t Mr. Morrison’s double-reed vocals. It was a short and sweet quote…just short enough to remember without the aid a two-dimensional graphic.
Morrison looked around at those dancing in the ballroom–up A-Frame and myself in the balcony–and said, “Where were all of you when our first album came out?”
Like if we’d all been there this wouldn’t have been their farewell show but a sold-out international extravaganza that cured AIDS, or at least gave it to Bono. And it wouldn’t have been a converted mansion in Newport, Kentucky they were playing but Carnegie Hall…with Matchbox 20 and Aaliyah as openers.
Do you really want to know where I was? Do you really want to know, Mr. Morrison? Ok, I’ll tell you.
It was 1995, I was 12 and riding in my Mom’s Chevy Celebrity Eurosport wagon, probably on my way to some Boy Scout jamboree at the Mormon Cincinnati South Stake. Perhaps I was utilizing the Celebrity’s rear jump seats.
And I was undoubtedly listening to this:
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Or maybe I was looking for pair of Airwalks at Tri-County Mall, and this was playing on the Muzak:
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But if I’d been Lakota Kool I probably would have been listening to this:
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In any case it was 1995. If you’d asked me what Indie was I would have told you he’s a guy with a brown hat and a whip who hates Nazis.
I love Halloween but always wait until the last minute to figure out my costume. In the past few years I’ve been a piecemeal Walker Texas Ranger, an abridged version of The Dance Commander (twice), a shadowy representation your mom, and–when my locks flowed like the mighty Mississippi–a shoddy Andrew W.K.
This year the problem remains the same–what to be, what to be.
Maybe a Steve Jobs zombie? But then the decision becomes which Steve Jobs to reanimate.
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Uncle Steve Zombie?
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or is it….
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Evil Steve Zombie?
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or maybe even….
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Prep Hipster Steve Zombie, complete with Apple belt buckle-wearing Zombie Woz?
Strawberry shortcake was created in 1977 by an illustrator for American Greetings, as in the greetings card people who also brought you Care Bears. During the following five years the Strawberry Shortcake marketing machine pumped out dozens of characters to populate a truly fruity world full of sweet adventures.
These include lovable dreamies like Plum Puddin’, T. N. Honey, Cherry Cuddler, Café Olé, Lucky Bug, Flitter-Bit, Philbert Wormly III, and the putrescent Peculiar Purple Pieman.
Most characters were packed to the brim with sugar, spice, and a pun that was quite nice. However there was one character whose story is truly tragic. Se llamo es Baby Needs-A-Name.
Let’s meet her, shall we?
Hey wait a minute, that's not Baby Needs-A-Name! That's just Hector being a crybaby. Stop scaring away my readers, you big crybaby!
Well who is this masked baby? Why, it's the Phantom Pooper, making stink you wouldn't believe. But you better believe it, brother, because it's here to stay!
Whoa there, Don, this is a family establishment! Put some clothes on and help us find Baby Needs-A-Name!
Geeze Louise, Vaibhav, right out in the open? Finish up and help us find Baby Needs-A-Name!
You too Trish! And while I don't agree with your religious beliefs I respect your right to worship how you see fit, ya big wethead!
You aren't even a real baby, Reborn Rhonda! Just the extremely lifelike representation, or rather idealized fantastication, of some lonely woman! Get a life!
Baby Leroy, are you ok? Baby Leroy? BABY LEROY? Don't worry, we'll come back and check once we find Baby Needs-A-Name. I promise!
Gosh, Tigerbaby, you sure are cute! But I have to find Baby Needs-A-Name, stop distracting me with your vacant eyes!
Hey Baby, aka Birdman, aka Ronald "Slim" Williams, what in the heck are you doing here?! Nevermind, I'm sorry, stay as long as you'd like. Hey, you haven't seen Baby Needs-A-Name have you? Sorry, right, I know...stupid question.
Jesus, Baby Jessica? Wasn't that like 20 years ago or something. This is getting ridiculous. Where in the Sam Hill is Baby Needs-A-Name???
Oh, God, it's...it's ManBaby Steve from the Costco bulk candy department. I, oh God, yeah I threw up a little. Yep, definitely some corn on my uvula. I don't want to look for Baby Needs-A-Name anymore. Thanks Steve. No, I most certainly don't want to play. Yes, I know what you mean by "play." Please go kill yourself.
