Let’s ease back into things here with a butt-ripping electroshock track from Mr. Hancock. This post is a test to make sure that everything is working hunky dory on this monstrosity of a laptop. So, if you encounter any flukes, nukes or watery pukes upon listening, please turn off your amplifier and notify Dr. T. Ranny immediately.
Furthermore, check out the music vid if you haven’t seen it before; it will creep the beat out your shit.
Finally, I’d like to point out that Herbie Hancock used the Fairlight CMI synthesizer to bake this tasty cake. If you’re a follower of this site you might remember that the Fairlight is the same $25,000 synth that L. Ron Hubbard butchered on his soundtrack to the book Battlefield Earth. However, Hancock is proof that the electronic Excalibur can do terribly delicious things if put in the right hands.
Bonus! I’ve included a second video to display Herbie’s ridiculous Fairlight crackskills. Also, I’d like to point out that he’s using JBL 4311b speakers in his studio, which is what I use in my hillbilly soundcubicle.
Danny Elfman is the Evil King of the Gingers. This title affords him all sorts of red magic, charms and glitter powers. Since 1984 he’s been using his quartet of fetish dolls to perform terrible tasks to make life terribly good for him.
The first black kitty cat with the squiggly zipper stomach on the left landed him the gig of as soundtrack composer for every Tim Burton film ever made. It did this, of course, by breaking into Burton’s duplex in the middle of a full-mooned night. Once inside, little kitty found Burton and made fun of his silk pajamas well past the break of dawn. Burton’s spirit was quickly broken–he handed over full soundtrack rights for the next century to Elfman by mid-afternoon.
The other three, especially Skeleton Jack over there, wrastled Elfman composer duties for the theme song to The Simpsons. You see, 20 years ago Matt Groening was really into training Shetland Ponies for the show circuit. It was basically the only thing he lived for. He enjoyed doodling every now and then but it was basically ponies for life. That is, until one night, when the Ginger Trio arrived.
Well, you know the rest…they poisoned his pony, Mr. Trickets, and promised the antidote in return for a contract to a show he’d have to create. And not just a show, a cartoon with yellow people. Lots of them. Too many to keep track of unless you watched the show every week for 20 years. And somehow Groening fulfilled his end of the bargain and got the antidote. But the fetish dolls killed the pony anyway the next evening by Burger King overdose.
All right, fuck this.
All I can think about while writing is the little field mouse that died in my apartment this week. He didn’t even get the dignity of dying in a trap laced with peanut butter or anything. No, somehow he squeezed his tiny body into my box fan and lost his life to a great spinning electric monster he couldn’t possibly understand.
He escaped a Kentucky’s midsummer monsoon by finding a dry 19th century home. He even made it up to the second floor to assure he was totally out of harm’s way. Once he wiggled his way through what I assume was a heating duct he was clever enough to outsmart two dark cats. Keep in mind that these cats are accomplished mouse hunters; both trained in the jungles of Clifton.
And all I can think about is that dead, chopped up mouse and Danny Elfman’s lyrics from the song on this 12″: “Life’s been so good to me, has it been good to you? Has it been everything that you’d expected it to be? Was it as good for you, as it was good for me? And was it everything that it was all set up to be?”
Well, that mouse probably heard this album pumping through my abode right before he died. Sure, he might not have understood English but I know he felt the vibes…I just know it. And I can safely say that his life was not as good for him as it was for you, Mr. Elfman. You are such an asshole.
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.
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Now take a listen to “Release the Beast” by Breakwater from 1980.
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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.
There’s a new record store in Cincy called Another Part of The Forest that has a TON of awesome singles from the 80′s. I picked up a few while I was there this past week and will be back soon to feed my craving. Many of those singles all came from one huge collection with handwritten notes on each album cover. I feel bad for the DJ that had to let go of his preciouses. Everyone keep this New Wave Club Kid, whoever he/she is, in their prayers.
May Stacey Q smile upon you once again, my fallen turntable warrior.
You all will know this as the memorable tune from the teen-angst-turned-young-adult-triumph tale The Breakfast Club. You know, it plays throughout pretty much the entire film–most notably at the end when the suspiciously old-looking Judd Nelson pumps his leather-clad fist triumphantly into the crisp autumn air as he passes under the home team’s goal post. The scene froze as Judd’s bad ‘tude fouled the once virgin soil of Glenbrook North’s turf. That cinematic effect forever locked Judd in the bliss of near youth. That single fist pump told America that yes, movie stereotypes of high school cliques really can get along.
They totally believed I'm a teenager. Yes!
So yeah, Simple Minds performed that song and this is the longer version of that song. And you know what they say, longer Simple Minds songs really do satiate a woman’s supple fantasies in a more efficient, glistening manner.
The B-Side of “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” is an ambient new wave jaunt into the heart of Molly Ringwald. Should she really wear such high boots with that low-neck pink blouse? It hasn’t been tried before but she’s the most popular girl in the school so she can pretty much do what she wants. However, if she makes a huge fashion faux pas her position at the top may be jeopardized. On the other hand if you don’t take risks you’ll become stale and that new girl from Seattle will finally become appealing even though she wears Chuck Taylor All-Stars like SUCH a dweeb. Well, you better make your choice, you’re going to be late for detention…and you’re NOT going to spend another Saturday in that sluthole.
Emilio...why don't you like my boots? EMILIOOOOOOO!
“A Brand Band in African Chimes” is almost akin to some of the more ambient stuff by M83. Except this is real deal 80′s teenage angst.
