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Monthly Archives: April 2010

This album is funky. It has a solid funk foundation…think if Ohio Players and Donna Summers had a baby…a really sweaty baby. This moist infant was funky enough to be sampled in the Beastie Boys track “Shake Your Rump”.

Fun facts are all well and good for funk aficionados but I am only concerned with two things. Two things that, with a single flash, could put an end to all famine and strife on our planet and bring the Earth’s brothers and sisters together in a thousand-year reign of sexual satisfaction.

Those two things, of course, are the left and right eyes set deeply in the skull of Harvey Scales.

I just want a nibble, baby.

Well hello there, I’m glad you could make it. My grandmother calls me Harvey but you can call me Hot Foot. No, wait, don’t leave baby just sit down! You don’t want to sit? Ok, that’s fine…you stand right there and I’ll drink you all in. You’re a tall drink of water, haha. Yeah, tall and sweet like grandmama’s summertime peach tea. I bet I could finish you in one gulp too, girl, haHA! No, wait, baby don’t cry. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry come back. I promise I’ll mind my manners. Yeah, I’m sorry girl…I’ll just take baby sips and mind my manners. Yeah, that’s better. You want to blow your nose on my handkerchief? You sure. Baby, it’s silver, you sure? Ok that’s fine baby. Damn your hair looks soft…where you get it done? Trina’s? No? That Korean place down on the corner of 7th and Broadway? Can I smell it…it looks fragrant…fragrant like Egyptian Cocoa Butter…No wait baby please don’t call the police!

Beware the bramble patch past witching hour!

Yes, girl, your car keys are somewhere here within the confines of my all-expenses-paid Safari Suite. Maybe they’re under that gen-u-wine zebra-skin rug. Hmmm, no…no. They probably under that shining mountain of highly flammable jumpsuits in the corner. Baby, we could look all day and never find them in that synthetic mish-mash of lapels and zippers but why? We should just relax in this loveseat made of gazel butts, sip on this big ass bottle of Corbel and just get lost in each other’s eyes. What you think, baby? I wore my best onesie today just for you. It shows my manhood in all sorts of provocative ways. Just let me unzip it a little. You see what I’m sayin? It breathes baby, and the world breathes back.

A friendly giant.

Oh damn girl, you just fainted and everything. Shit, like a damn Georgia Oak. That, that’s ok. Come here, my slumbering princess; yeahhh. You just sit here right on my lap. Whoa, whoa don’t slide girl. Damn jumpsuit slippier than a motherfuck. Don’t worry baby, I’ll keep you safe. Just squeeze your hips like a teddy bear. Shit, girl, your hair is fragrant. Just like Egyptian Cocoa Butter…aahhhhh. You’re my little Cocoa Crisp, yeah. You just sleep here forever girl, right here on papa’s lap…daddy gonna take care of you.  Don’t ever wake up…not unless you want a taste of Hot Foot’s ring.

Click here to download Hot Foot (A Funque Dizco Opera) at 320 kbps

The album cover was altered to say Wendy after Carlos underwent sex reassignment surgery. Note that cartoon Carlos is still male.

Click here for a random Rebuilt Tranny post!

There are a lot of tasty fun facts about Walter Carlos. First off, he was the she that composed the Clockwork Orange soundtrack. The second is that Walter, later Wendy, is the only Father and Mother of Electronic Music. However, the most mysterious tid bit that stuck out in the hard-hitting Wikipedia article about Carlos was two curious words: Faraday Cage.

Scientific pursuits for the benefit of mankind.

A Faraday Cage is a special room that’s typically used to protect electronic devices such as industrial computer equipment from outside sources of electronic interence like lightning strikes or power surges. The Faraday Cage comes in handy for NASA when maintaining Tom Hanks’ neuronet processor during his bi-annual checkup. And, as the previous photo illustrates, it’s critical for protecting fedora-donning dumb dumbs from homemade tesla coils.

As any audiophile will tell you, the foundation of solid sound is clean electricity. Improper grounding and interference from appliances sucking your Jiggawatts can really throw a monkeybone into gears of the best-planned stereo system.

One of my apartments in Clifton during my college days had ungrounded outlets. This really played havoc on my home theater’s subwoofer by causing the most terrible buzzthumping. The only remedy was continually lassoing the connective cable around my apartment until it meshed with the friendly electromagnetic frequency of the day. Or something like that.

Getty Images just spit in your mom’s hair. Pictured is Walter pre-op.

On her website Carlos’ explains how her NYC neighbor’s mood lighting would mess with her home studio recordings:

Oh, yes, those are the remote controls for the various tape machines that you see on the far left, and just above, on the meter housing for the console, is a pair of Phase Linear Autocorrelators. These were a pretty decent single ended noise reduction devices that we had to use during the late 70′s due to power buzzes that came from the light dimmers in the brownstone next door (not amusing). I’d nearly forgotten about that nightmare, since (as I just mentioned) the console is now immune to such things, and the new studio, in being a genuine Faraday Cage (conductive walls, ceiling and floor, tied to common ground) is truly free from essentially all external signal

Carlos’ Frankensteinian Sound Cruncher

Just imagine Wendy flipping her shit as she went through countless wires trying to figure out which one was the harbinger of the dreaded analog buzz. However, she couldn’t freak out too hard because violent convulsions might, ahem, rip out the stiches that kept her womanhood roaring.

So basically Carlos was and is a mad scientist. She still toils her hours away by torturing electronic equipment into screaming the desired tone in her gigantic, eletronically-inert box. But we shouldn’t fear her for, as you will see after listening to By Request, the ends justify the end. And that’s always what’s most important…right?

Wendy Carlos: The Original Rebuilt Tranny

Click here to download By Request at 320 kbps


A1 Three Dances From “Nutcracker Suite” 5:20
A2 Dialogues For Piano And 2 Loudspeakers 4:00
A3 Episodes For Piano And Electronic Sound 5:50
A4 Geodesic Dance (Electronic Etude) 3:21
A5 Brandenburg Concerto No. 2 In F Major 5:50
B1 “Little” Fugue In G Minor 3:44
B2 What’s New, Pussycat? 2:05
B3 Eleanor Rigby 2:06
B4 Wedding March 1:12
B5 Pompous Circumstances 12:00

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.


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.


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?

Gil Mantera’s Party Dream rolled through our quaint little Midwestern village on Friday night like a spandex tornado. Many good Christian boys and girls died and were born again as nasty, naughty little dance slaves at the Southgate House, home of the Tommy Gun and the most insane sound system since The Grateful Dead’s “Wall of Sound”. Because my laptop is still shooting blanks, here is a short but sweet rundown on the boys from Youngstown for those who haven’t been fortunate enough to have their faces slapped by Gil’s sweaty manhood.

GMPD isn’t a new band. In fact, they’ve been around for some time now. The first time I saw the dongtastic duo was during a trip up to Cleveland to visit some chickadees in either 2003 or 2004. I remember one of the ladies telling me about this crazy band that was playing at the Grog Shop. “It’s a couple of 40 year old dudes that strip down to their underwear on stage and tell retarded jokes and play a synthesizer. It’s really stupid but really funny,” she blurbed. I wasn’t too pumped but what the hell, I’m in Cleveland, what else am I going to do…lick a bunch of rusting bridges?

Well, that broad was right for all the best reasons.

What I witnessed was the most pleasantly uncomfortable show in my entire life. Half the time I was shaking my ass to their throbbing synth, guitar and vocoder cocktail. The other half the time I was squirming in my skin from their awkward but somehow hilarious inter-song bantering. I didn’t know if I should run for the fire exit or let my whole person metamorphose to the beat of “Blatz from the Pabst”. But I stayed and it was awesome. Too awesome for your possum.

**A funny side note to this initial encounter with The Angels from the Outfield is that Girl Talk opened for them that night. I think I vaguely remember that it was his last show before graduation or something like that. I just thought he was a total spaz up there playing MP3s on his laptop and it really pissed me off. Ah, the follies of youth.

Anyway, since that first show I’ve seen GMPD probably 10 or so times in various venues and each time its just as unreal as the next. At each show they’ve never failed to impress me with the truly ridiculous amount of neon/tasseled/leather clothing they have in their possession. They must have twin closets the size of a Jiffy Lube. The jokes just get weirder and more disjointed with every viewing. I thought they would just run out of material sooner or later but it just keeps flowing. And somehow the guys never seem to look older…the endless headstands, PBRs and chaffing never slowed them down.

Oh yeah, and the music is really good too.

This final clip is from the show on Friday. Make sure you turn your speakers waydown before you press play. Standing near the stage at the Southgate House is an otherwordly experience. The bass shakes the air around you with a ferocity that makes your entire outfit vibrate and the tip of your nose tickle in the most curious fashion. This makes audio recording on Mr. Familiarity’s iPhone totally impossible. So, this time, just feast with your eyes.

Check out GMPD’s tour dates, more photos and purchase their sweet cuts at

I’m proud to present to you a handful of high quality tracks from Fidel Catastrophe’s upcoming debut album: And The Bleak Shall Inherit The  Earth.

The Cincinnati outfit uses this highly synthesized jackhammer to pound the listener through frontman Karl Spaeth’s ear canal and straight into his medulla oblongata. Inside his slimy labyrinth you’ll find yourself rubbing shoulders with judgmental dead relatives, dodging tractor trailers on Ohio’s medieval highway system and possibly witnessing a terribly graphic cry job.

I’ve heard a whole boatload of versions on the journey toward this completed album over the past year or so. Tracks  chopped, diced, indian-burned…. tracks introducing the disturbingly maternal background vocals of Sophia Cunningham (JK SoCu)….tracks that abandoned instruments and vocals in favor of the primal sounds of a cat in heat locked inside a dishwasher. While I must say I am disappointed with the omission of the moist mew mew I am pickled pink with the final outcome.

However, there’s one final hurdle to making this vinyl a reality. Take a good listen to the three songs posted here and see if they’re to your liking. If so, make your way on over to Fidel Catastrophe’s Kickstarter website. There you will be given the option to make a contribution toward getting the disc pressed. $15 bucks will get you a copy of the actual vinyl AND a CD with demos that went into the writing and recording of the album. Contribute more and, well, you’ll get even more goodies. Just check out the link for details.

If you take a listen and don’t dig what you hear, well…you’re heading down a dangerous path. Also, stop being such a knob.

You can also find out more info about Fidel Catastrophe and hear a few more tracks at

Track Downloads

The Breeze Knees

An Endlessness, Thanks

Another Garden Song