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Monthly Archives: May 2010

***Warimashi! You can also find Holst’s original classical version of The Planets, conducted by Sir Adrian Boult, by clicking here!

Does anyone want to visit outer space anymore? I doubt that anyone could find any allure in sporting a big, airtight body-diaper and leaving the comfy oxygen bubble surrounding Earth. I’m pretty sure that you wouldn’t get any 3G coverage up there. So, you couldn’t even bitch to your friends on Facebook about how totally boring the endless panaroma of our planet, viewed from a freely-floating spacesuit, can really be. Plus, your umbilical cord to the space shuttle totally wouldn’t match your moonboots. Um, so lame.

But I remember, not too long ago in the great scheme, when things were much different. Back in my day, when kids ate coal and shit diamonds, we had this little show called Double Dare. Kids would risk life and limb climbing through metric tons of fake earwax and green gooble-dee-goop to capture little red flags. It was tough work, by George, and many kids lost limbs, important limbs, wading through that synthetic muck. Also, Mark Summers was there but he wasn’t unwrapping the mystery of how Nutter-Butters are made…instead he was turning boys’ nuts into butter on the obstacle course.

So, why oh why did these kids take such sticky risks for such tiny red flags? Two words: SPACE CAMP.

This child abuse was outlawed after Congress passed the Summers Bill in ’89.

That girl at the beginning is having a BLAST in that awkward astroscope. Bad touch, bad touch!

Back in the 80′s, when it wasn’t exploding, the space shuttle was rocking back and forth from the USA to OUTER SPACE. Up and down and round and round it went. Back then we felt the whole thing was just some horribly dangerous and vulgarly expensive workout session for the real deal: Outer Outer Space. You know, past the moon, which we (the good guys) first visited in 1969. It was universally assumed that, sooner or later, Admiral Reagan would tell the boys, “That’s good enough. You’ve trained like true Americans. Now, I want you to aim that big ol’ stick right at Mars and bring back a damn Alien for the Gipper. So let it be written, so let it be done.”

But, somehow, the nation got distracted by all sorts of things…the end of the Cold War, MTV, Tony Danza, Sega Genesis, Melrose Place…beautiful beasts that seeped into our televisions and stole air time from NASA and their team of gee whizzers. And before you knew it we had even more cable channels and we didn’t have to watch the same old boring news clips of that Interatmospheric Baluga’s migration patterns anymore. Soon, no one gave a damn about what bizarre insect mating rituals NASA’s astronauts observed in zero gravity. We were all too busy letting Hollywood give us a tutorial on 21st century virtual reality bonin’.

Eventually, space was out. What’s the point of strapping yourself onto a guided bomb and risking your life when you can experience the same deal at home on your PS3? I mean, subwoofers have gotten pretty good…you can almost feel the second-stage rocket boosters right on your Gucci. And, after all, real space is pretty boring. There aren’t any aliens with plasma rifles. There aren’t any richly detailed story plots with 60+ hours of play time. There aren’t any bulbous spacelady boobs. Well, not that we know of. At least I don’t know about them. If you know of any space boobs, please, Motorola two-way page me.

We have lift off.

Space is just a sad, broken old man on the corner of McMillan and Vine. Someone told you that he used to be the head train conductor for the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad when it ran out of Union Terminal. That may be true, but all you know is that he smells like piss and Wild Irish Rose. And pistachios…is it pistachios? No, I think it’s pecans.

Let’s take a trip back for second to when this man had his suit pressed on a weekly basis. Back to when you could set your watch to the crease in his crotch. Back to when the God damn whole world was pulled behind a magnificent silver train, hell bent on reaching the world of tomorrow not a minute too late.

………And when Japanese space electronica was way in.

>>>Click here to download The Tomita Planets at 320 kbps

The videos don’t really do the sound justice but the concept is really cool. I’d like to get my hands on this VHS some day. Just because.

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.

Praise be unto Stacey.

>>>Click here to download the Two of Hearts 4-Song Single at 320 kbps


A Two Of Hearts (Vocal / European Dance Mix) 6:00
B1 Two Of Hearts (Instrumental) 4:39
B2 Two Of Hearts (Vocal / Radio Edit) 3:58
B3 Stacey’s Dream (A Capella) 2:32

Does anyone else envision hobos doing all sorts of hobo things when they listen to this album? I mean this is a great album but I just imagine…

A hobo blowing his nose into a used diaper.

A hobo promising to pay a cobbler with three questionable cans of sardines.

A hobo inexplicably sweeping a lonely stretch of train track.

A hobo drowning his sorrows in a bottle of gin because of his messy divorce from a mongrel dog named Scraps.

A hobo sneezing one of those really gross snot bubbles, complete with just a hint of blood.

A hobo who takes credit for unsuccessfully aborting César Chávez.

A hobo wearing suspenders…funny ones.

A hobo using coal dust to polish his shoes in anticipation of the Frogtown Ball.

A hobo with unquenchable dry mouth, brought on by worry that Halfpint Jim discovered he peed in the local swimming hole again.

A hobo who continually waxes nostalgic about his time as rig foreman for Standard Oil…but everyone knows he’s full of shit.

A hobo with a set of disturbingly pearly whites.

A hobo who toured as roadie for Bob Dylan until he mistakingly asked what foreign tongue Dylan used.

A hobo with a life-threatening urinary tract infection.

A hobo with soft hands and deliciously hot breath.

A hobo who stole The Golden Spike and sold it for 10 tickets to a 5 cent peep show.

A hobo midget with a Kings Island Gold Pass.

A hobo with a heart of fool’s gold.

Download The Best of The Band at 320 kbps

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


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

Click here to download barrels of fun at 320 kbps!

Festival season once again reared its drunken head in Covington this past weekend. I figured I’d share a little sweet treat to celebrate the upcoming months of Hudy Delight, Goetta Balls and common-law love in the Commonwealth. Here’s a collection of traditional Dutch carnival music to creep your balls off. The album features the following jolly time instruments:

The Carillon

Introducing Willem, the star attraction for ladies’ night at the Amsterdam public library.

The Music Box

Kiss your 808 goodbye!

The Barrel Organ

There are also a lot of other instruments on here that don’t seem to exist anymore in a functional capacity, at least on the first 3 pages of any YouTube or Google Image search. These include but are not limited to the canary organ, the tongue organ, and the belly organ. The weenis organ is featured on the rare 7″ epidermis-colored bonus disc for this album that, unfortunately, isn’t in my collection.

It’s my hope that someone will take this album and sample a bit of it in the worst way possible. That, of course, would be in the same vein as the following song by Mark Mothersbaugh:

Please, I need it…so badly.