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Tag Archives: 00’s

This one goes out to RyGuy.

Your bodily functions will forever live on in our hearts.

Even the stinky ones.

Stinkyheart Memories.

Gross.

RIP buddy, see you at the big bagel in the sky.

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Click here to download Bodily Function in MP3 converted from vinyl LPs

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Here’s the reasons why hardcore punk doesn’t make sense on vinyl.

1. Hardcore negates the need for vinyl’s superior sound quality.

People buy records because of their accurate sound reproduction. Vinyl brings out a richness of tone you won’t hear on CD. The sound is crisp, robust, and mellow all at the same time. It’s like a freshly-baked chocolate chip cookie for your ears.

Hardcore punk albums have nearly zero production quality. I understand that this is the point; it’s meant to be raucous and abrasive. The artists want to sound as raw as possible. Vinyl isn’t the way to go about achieving this sound.

I strongly believe that all hardcore punk should be recorded and played on a Talkboy. The microphone’s limited capabilities, paired with the Talkboy’s half-inch playback speaker, will give punk artists the terribly tinny sound they all so desperately crave. Plus, you can always speed up the sound to make tracks totally shred. Or you can slow it down to turn the album into a goth punk affair. So many possibilities.

2. Thirty-second songs make track selection a total bitch on a record.

Not only that but what’s the point of a 30-second track? I know it’s tough playing drums that fast for an extended spell but come on. By the time I can figure out what the hell the lead singer’s saying the song’s over. I want to know what you’re so angsty about, Mr. Man!

**Pig Destroyer is the exception to this rule.

3. The album artwork always looks like the inside of a junior high bathroom stall.

Back when I was in junior high I thought the album artwork  on punk albums was totally boss. Screeching Weasel’s simple covers were my shit. And this album, with all sorts of gnarly dudes missing eyes and chicks with huge head tumors, would have been especially edgy to my tween eyes. Almost as edgy as a wild boar and an alligator working as cooks at Waffle House. Uh oh, somebody call the health department!

Now it doesn’t appeal to me. Maybe I’m just too old. But then again, the guys making hardcore punk aren’t in junior high. They’re all around my age. Hell, one of the guys featured on the album liner of The South Will Rise Again is suffering hardcore from male pattern baldness.

Is there something I’m not seeing? Should I look at this like a Magic Eye?

4. It’s more expensive than other music genres. Seriously? Seriously.

When I visited the local punk vinyl shop I ended up buying this 7″ because it was $4. What I really wanted was a full-length LP from a band I listened to when I was younger. Unfortunately everything, from used discs to re-releases, was priced at $20 and up.

I thought the whole point of punk was that it’s made for the poor youth of America who are hell-bent on fighting the man and his capitalistic oppression of the masses. Now it seems that the tables have turned and only those making prodigious gains from that capitalistic monster can afford to rock out with their cock out. At least if they want to do it via big black discs.

5. You can’t make music for a genre that doesn’t exist. Punk is dead because Green Day killed it.

Capitalism in action.

>>>Go ahead, punk. Make my day.

 

Tracklist

A1 Ugly Law – SBBS
A2 High Life (3) – Four Dead, One Drunk
A3 High Life (3) – M.A.D.
A4 Logic Problem – Untitled
A5 Socialcide – Morning Disaster
B1 Bomber (10) – Go & Tell
B2 Reason Of Insanity – Job Nazi
B3 PMRC, The*  – Madonna Death Cult
B4 Archaic (3) – Black Hole
B5 Cult Ritual – Eat The Police
B6 HRT – Big City

There isn’t much I know about King Of Woolworths. There isn’t even a Wikipedia entry for the group. The little I’ve found out about project has been through sites run by fans around the globe. I only know that I LOVE this album.

It was only by a chance that I ever even heard about them in the first place. During the summer of 2002 the radio station WOXY, in Oxford, OH at the time, starting playing this curious little track called “To The Devil A Donut.” It started off in slow rotation but eventually made it into heavy play for a few solid months. I’m not sure the DJs even knew much about it…they just liked it so they put it on the radio.

It’s a pretty creepy track with bits from an old horror movie entitled “To The Devil A Daughter”. On the face there are very obvious reasons why it’s got a case of the creep. It uses snippets of dialogue about baptizing a baby in the blood of her dead mother, bringing that babe up in seclusion as the devil,  and then pumping her full of morphine. You know, the usual.

But it’s not really what’s on the face that makes it creep hypnotique, verging on a dream. With every song on this album I envision myself lying on the ground, staring face up at a different situation. The beat, the strange use of strange 70′s British synth, and the vaporous ambient cloud swallows you up and spits you out on another locale at each track’s start

With “To The Devil A Daughter” I envision myself sprawled out in a cold cellar of an ancient English country manor. It’s so old, in fact, that the floor is composed of soft, damp earth instead of hard cement. The walls are large stone without caulk. The ceiling is comprised of old oak beams, covered in spider webs. The room is lit by the soft but terrifying flicker of torch light. Hooded shadows work their way in and out of the ominous glow, always threatening but never pouncing. The suspense is terrible but just as it comes to a climax the track changes and I’m transported elsewhere.

In “Theydon” I’m lying on the beach somewhere on the coast of the North Sea. I don’t know how I got there and I don’t know why I’m wet and I don’t know why I’m wearing a blue and white fleece because I don’t ever wear fleece but I don’t care. I don’t care because beautiful music floats over my drenched body and connects me with the little pebbles covering my jeans. I say hello to the passing gulls. The sun rises and I worry temporarily that it will melt my bones, but the fear quickly passes and I’m at peace. Everything’s OK.

The album takes turns tossing you psychologically from dark to light, harm to safety. It’s like a continually operating wooden rollercoaster in an abandoned park that you keep riding over and over and over. You always think it’s gonna jump the tracks and fling you into a bloody underbrush demise. But it doesn’t, it keeps on round and round in a beautiful and terrifying loop.

I think Mr. King Of Woolworths himself, Jon Brooks, puts it best: “Everything’s fine, but there is something not quite right about it.”

>>>Click here to download Ming Star

Tracklist

1 Kentish Town 5:33
2 Bakerloo (Main Titles) 6:19
3 Where Fleas Hide 1:58
4 Stalker Song 4:44
5 Colcannon 5:14
6 To The Devil A Donut 6:02
7 Kite Hill 5:30
8 The Watchmaker’s Hands 7:11
9 Theydon 6:49
10 Bakerloo (End Credits) 4:40

I have to admit that I was disappointed with Daft Punk’s last LP, Human After All. I know that Discovery was a really, really tough act to follow but I was still hopeful they’d fill my dreams with 4 more years of hentai fantasies. And maybe this sounds like a gripe that’s too little, way too late. So sue me, again, and this time you’ll end up owing me money. Don’t blame me, blame our broken judicial system.

Samples were the Shayne Graham of the last album. Now, let me stop everything right here. I don’t want you thinking that I’m against samples, because I’m not. If I may say so: au contraire, mon frère (Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo and Thomas Bangalter would probably say that because they’re French!)

I’m all about samples. Daft Punk just dropped the baton, leaving the funk for Justice to grab with a clear line to the Slush Puppie vendor. But I’m still bummed that Guy and Thomas just dropped Le Groove. It’s not that the samples were bad. They were actually pretty good picks. But they didn’t do anything with them. It’s like a chef allocating the perfect lamb chop from a butcher and then placing that big, bloody, uncooked slab of wooly bully on your plate and saying, “Dig In.” You gotta prep, sucka!

Just take a listen to the next to two songs here. If you have the time give Robot Rock a good, full listen. Experience its repetitive beats with little variation.

Now take a listen to “Release the Beast” by Breakwater from 1980.

Notice any….similarities?

It’s basically the same damn song, although Breakwater’s original is a better musical representation of a Mylar glove, filled with testosterone, stuffed inside of a black velvet glove, slapping a Detroit traffic cop.

LUCKILY Daft punk released 12″ remixes of the songs from this album. In my not-so-humble opinion I feel that one of these Robot Rock remixes, especially the Soulwax Remix, should have taken the original LP spot. Soulwax took the original sample and made it something truly unique instead of just adding “ROCK, ROBOT ROCK. ROCK, ROBOT ROCK” over and over. It’s something clever, something catchy, something you’d hope to meet in a metallic bikini on a spring morning along the Uruguayan coast. Just take a listen-see to the next vid and download the damn thing.

>>>CLICK AND DOWNLOAD THE BEST VERSIONS

Note the most awkward album signing of the 21st century.

I went to see Themselves at the Southgate House in the winter of 2003 with my brother. At the time I had this little Canon digital camera that took its sweet old time capturing precious moments. So, it could take anywhere from 5 to 10 seconds from the time photographer pressed the clicker to when the shutter snapped.

Anyway, I went up to the merch booth after the show with my brother and struck up a conversation with Dose One. We discussed the show and how I worked with a guy that used to tour with him back in the day. While I was trying to help him remember how he used to rap with a guy I washed Porsches with, a guy named Zebediah, I got the brilliant idea that I should get my freshly purchased albums signed.

I asked Dose if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, to which he replied “hell naw” while whipping out black and silver markers. He signed The No Music original LP with a little black Sharpie drawing on the front. It was really quite adorable. For The Remixes he pulled out the sparkle silver job. I thought, “Yo Boy, you better get this histowic moment on record or your crew will NOT believe it. Word is bond!”

I handed Junior the janky little digi, struck the thumbs-up pose and copped a triumphant smile. Dose did his best to look excited and we froze the pose. And then everything hit slow mo. We both could see the little infrared autofocus light on the front blinking, so we just sat there waiting for the flash. And waited. And waited. I had totally forgotten about the totally unreliable snap. It was the longest 10 seconds of my life.

Suddently, Dose One grabbed my erect thumb and shook it. He grabbed that little dude and went down to Funky Town. What you see in the picture is the immediate aftermath of that member molestation. This wiggle ushered in a total loss of cool…and the moment I decided I’d never get an autograph ever again.

Click here to download The No Music at 320 kbps

Tracklist

A1 Terror Fabulous 4:03
The No Music Of Hospitals.
A2 Hat Set For Butler 2:42
  Remix [Demix] – Themselves
A3 Mouthful 4:12
  Keyboards, Bass, Guitar – Jerome Opena
Remix – Controller 7 , Matth
B1 Good People Check 5:03
  Remix – Hrvatski
B2 Poison Pit 3:15
  Remix – Why?
B3 Livetrap 2:51
  Remix – Hood
The No Music Of Mother’s Milk And Going Deaf.
C1 Only Child Explosion 2:56
  Remix – Alias (3)
C2 Dr.Moonorgun Please 3:20
  Remix – Grapedope*
C3 Darkskydemo 4:18
  Remix – Fog
D1 You Devil You 4:26
  Remix – Odd Nosdam
D2 Out In The Open 5:35
  Remix – Notwist, The
D3 Hat In The Wind 7:13
  Remix – Electric Birds

With the new cooling fan finally installed on my Gibson it’s time to get back into things with an 8-bit uppercut to the nuts. This is one of the most prized black biscuits in my collection. It arrived mysteriously one day as an apology for a late-sent album I won on eBay. At first I had no idea what it was…no markings of any kind on the album sleeve or the disc itself, except for the Headbanger rocking triumphantly in the cover’s upper right corner.

So, I put the disc on and almost instantly it blew the top off of my head. All the kilobytes, nay, megabytes of Nintendo strategy blasted through my domepiece in a volcano of flashing blue/red screens and turbo firepower.

CONTRA DESTROYER

Doctors were able to locate all but a 4 square inch chunk missing from the tippy top . It’s totally worth it…I just can’t play full contact sports and my friends still call me Poached Egg Baby.

If you’ve never heard this album, or even if this 12″ holds a tender position on your iPod, you must get this rip. I took extra liberty with boosting the BASS when I ripped it to MP3. God, it’s so good.

CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD GAMEBOY VARIATIONS AT 320 kBPS

1 Bad Cartridge (E-Pro Remix) 2:54
  Remix – Paza (The X-Dump)*
2 Bit Rate Variations In B-Flat (Girl Remix) 2:44
  Remix – Paza (The X-Dump)*
3 Gameboy/Homeboy (Qué Onda Guero Remix) 2:37
  Remix – 8 Bit*
4 Ghettochip Malfunction (Hell Yes Remix) 2:41
  Remix – 8 Bit*

** Supplementary: Were any of you that little shit who had a Gameboy in elementary school? Maybe you went to Shawnee Elementary? Yeah, you brought your big ass, Nintendo-approved portable GameBoy vault that had a whole slew of games and extra batteries AND headphones. You displayed that personal gaming temple prominently at the berth of your cubby… just so everyone could look but not touch. At lunch you made everyone take turns being your best friend–”Check out this sweet Lightboy attachment,” you said. “The lurid claws of night are of no consequence for my Gameboy and me,” you said.

Yeah, so you let me borrow it. And I had a ball using that Lightboy as I sat playing Tetris on a box of Utah riverbed fossils in the dark seclusion of my bedroom closet. But it didn’t last. You eventually made me give that GameBoy back; despite the repeated trade offerings of my baby brubba. How could you be so cruel?

Remixes fantastique from the French getup Phoenix. I always anticipate their releases with great worry…always worrying they’re just one LP away from breaking my heart.

This is because I used to worry they were bitter that Cincinnati put a bad taste in their mouths after their performance at The Southgate House several years back. Because of this, I feared, they would only send us special Cincinnati Remixes with fart sounds replacing the vocals, similar to what Guster did with their album Keep It Together in 2003.

Back then Cincy was, even more so than  now, in this terrible hipster-concert-audience-funk where everyone would shift their weight to one leg, put their hands in their pockets and do their best Helen Keller impersonation. Phoenix kept doing their darndest to get the audience involved by addressing them directly in French accents, “Hello, this is our first time in Le Kentucky, we will play our guitars very best with strong hearts,” but the knit-capped, sleepy-eyed crowd weren’t having it. I don’t think I’ve ever been so embarassed by an anonymous rabble.

So, they’ll probably never come back. Cincy put on a poor performance but so far Phoenix hasn’t returned the favor. I’m seriously surprised they still send vinyl to this market. Maybe they saw me fainting over and over from audience-induced melancholy up in the balcony and took pity. Yeah, that must be it.

Click to Download Lisztomania Remixes

Tracks

A1 Lisztomania (Album Version) 4:02
A2 Lisztomania (Alex Metric Rmx) 5:05
B1 Lisztomania (Yuksek Rmx) 5:08
B2 Lisztomania (A Fight For Love / 25 Hours A Day Rmx) 5:42

*download below*

I’m really bad at paying attention to lyrics in songs. Most of the time I’ll get into a track just because I like the beat or its sound brings up a long-lost memory. But sometimes I’ll catch just a little snippet of the lyrics and think I know understand the song. Take, for example, the first song of this album: “Wop-A-Din-Din.” For the longest time I thought it was written about a sexy, exotic lover because of the first few verses:

She’s got big green eyes
And a long Egyptian face
She moves across the floor
At her own pace
When I’m here in bed
She’ll jump up on my chest
And when we lock eyes there’s so much love
I wanna cry

Wow, I thought, that’s a pretty intense. Big green eyes, long Egyptian face…this chick must be quite a looker. Yeah it’s a little weird that she jumps up on his chest but she’s probably just primed for some lovins. Those crazy kids.

And that’s how my perception stood for a long time until one day I just happened to catch the wording in the song’s next chunk and it left me scratching my head.

She comes in near
When I scratch under her ear
And she lifts her head
When I kiss around her neck

Won’t go to sleep
When she falls along my side
And two green eyes fade
To a porcelain marble white
And somehow when I sleep
She’ll end up at my feet
And if I roll and kick her out
I might knock her to the ground
But she’ll come back anyhow

Why is he scratching his lover behind the ear and making her sleep at his feet? The song took a total 180 and I actually felt pissed that he was treating her so crudely.

Then I looked over at my cat, Piano Little, as she took a stretch break from her 22 hour nap in a pile of laundry and it all became clear. The big green eyes, Egyptian face, jumping on his chest, scratching of the ear. This wasn’t some sultry Mediterranean fling. Wop-a-din-din is his kitty and I am a fool.

It was really quite obvious after taking n the time to listen to what’s right out in the open. After this I told myself I’d never listen to a song again without understanding its true meaning. And for a while I did listen to the lyrics and found that most of the songs that I liked now really bothered me. They were either too repetitive, too trite or too confusing. Sometimes I just don’t get things.

So I’m back to merely absorbing the tones of the human voice instead of comprehending the underlying message. Yes perhaps that makes me a philistine but maybe if I wanted to read a poem I’d go to the library. Asshole.

Click here to download Old Ramon

*Vinyl Re-Ripped and Updated 12/6/10*

I’m really excited to finally have the opportunity to share this online.

This album was one of the first I heard after the Miracle at Aural Canal–aka when I finally regained full hearing in my left after a mysterious year-long drought.

Anyway, I’ve had experience with Portishead in the past but always thought their tracks sounded a bit too much like Xanax-popping James Bond theme songs that are prevented from nodding off with repeated slaps by a cruel snare druminatrix.

However, Third completely broke out of this box. And thank the Lord Above.

This is what I envision when this disc drops and the lights dim.

I stand in a greyish-green, abandoned amusement park which lies dormant in the middle of rolling countryside.  Nothing fancy, no big rollercoasters or log flumes–just a lonely carousel, a spinning swing, and a popcorn cart sitting derelict upon the side of a cobblestoned walkway. A thick, greasy film covers everything. Countless years have passed since the park’s seen any people. Now, the only visitor is the constant, frigid wind. It’s silent, bleak, and ever-so-lonely.

Suddenly, everything in the park springs to life.  The carousel, with its faded pine fauna, begins to spin wildly.  The giant swing whirls with rusted chains entangled in a dangerous waltz.  It’s a terrible clash of sight and sound from which an ominous hum seeps. Sickly notes emerge in D Minor to give the  attractions newfound voices in a ghostly chorus.

There’s a tug on my leg.  At my feet stands a tiny doll with wooden hands, glass eyes and a paisley-printed dress. She grinds furiously to the throbbing sound.  The feeling to punt her like it’s fourth and thirty is quelled as she speaks in a shrill, hollow voice. “Hello, sir. It’s been ages since I’ve seen a strapping buck like you. Will you be my kissing friend?”

Her ruby lips look warm, very warm. And I oblige as she tugs my hand all the way to the crawl space under the carousel.

Kissing turns to necking.  Necking turns to petting. Petting turns to coitus. Coitus leads to baby. And of course a man and doll must marry once she’s with child. The Parish would be in an uproar if it were otherwise.

In a flash it’s 10 years later and I’ve fathered a litter of doll babies who’ve overrun the park and cater to my every need.  It’s not easy to keep the townsfolk at bay, with their pitchforks and torches and whatnot, but I’d do anything to protect my tinderbox family. They are so a tiny and their lips are so, so warm.

You are the softest Daddy I know!

What it boils down to is that this album creeps me the fuck out…in exactly the right way.

>>>Click here to download Third at 320 kbps from vinyl

The following video uses “Plastic” from this album.

Tracklist

A1 Silence 5:01
Cello – Charlotte Nicholls
Voice [Spoken Intro] – Claudio Campos
A2 Hunter 3:59
A3 Nylon Smile 3:20
B1 The Rip 4:31
Bassoon – Wendy Bertram
B2 Plastic 3:31
Clarinet – Team Brick
B3 We Carry On 6:28
C1 Deep Water 1:33
Vocals [Additional] – Ben Salisbury , David Poore , Somerfield Workers Choir, The , Team Brick
C2 Machine Gun 4:46
C3 Small 6:47
D1 Magic Doors 3:32
Electric Piano [Rhodes] – John Baggott
Hurdy Gurdy – Stu Barker
Saxophone – Will Gregory
D2 Threads 5:48
Bass – Jim Barr
Cello – Charlotte Nicholls
Drums – Clive Deamer
Guitar – Beth Gibbons
Saxophone – Will Gregory