Wednesday, December 07, 2005

A film without peer



Audubon Park fanatics:
this Friday, December 9, at Duke University's Griffith Film Theater (in the Bryan Center), will be the premiere screening of "Run, Sugarbush, Run", a "film" by Finn Cohen and Benjamin Spiker (formerly known as the "Right-to-Work Rhythm Section"). This cinematic landmark is a stop-motion animation chase sequence involving President Bush and his pet squirrel, Sugarbush, which escapes his neo-conservative master. Shot in 16mm black and white film, this sure-to-be-a-Christmas-blockbuster-look-out-Peter-Jackson runs just over 3 minutes long. The showing will start at 6pm. The filmmakers hope you can attend.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

I put new strings on my guitar...

Just a reminder, that Erie Choir, Meredith Bragg (and the terminals) and Samuel Robison (aka Rob [the puking wonder?}) will be making various sounds at Nightlight this Wednesday, Dec. 7th. And to celebrate I've put new strings on my guitar. I know some of you liked the old strings, but you'll learn to love the new ones.




Monday, December 05, 2005

A Jowl Without Peer



Plus: astonishingly,
this exists.

Stay Tuned

Soon there will emerge a jowlphoto that is second-to-none. Soon it will be posted. Soon it will be seen. Stay tuned.

Jowlin' Comes Home

Recently in Raleigh, some real live jowlin' was observed and captured on film by Finn Cohen, Lauren Carter, and Ben Spiker.





Here is Something You Can't Understand. . .

. . . how Cypress Hill could have been so ridiculous and good. Here are some choice photos from December 1, 2005, at Kings:





Friday, December 02, 2005

Hating

Seems there is some hating going on related to Conor Oberst.

Hmm.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Bob Dylan Can Be Really Funny


Since we have been rocking the Destroyer tip of late, here is an interview at Junkmedia from last year with Dan Bejar that is really good.

"I would never write something down just to confess it. Usually it's a pretty conscious effort to create something of aesthetic value. You know what I mean? I mean, my approach to language is not super conscious in that I sit down and have some over-arching idea that the language has to fit into. It's actually really instinctual. But the aesthetic is one of using language that just works. You write it down, and somehow it's just working for you. It's not what the words mean, but what they do, I guess. How the phrasing interacts with melody, and how meaning can change once you throw that in there. That being said, you could probably comb through my lyrics and find a handful of threads that would piece it all together."
This man is good, tell you. How about an other example (aside from the Bejar-o-matic):

THE SUBLIMATION HOUR

So you had the best legs in a business built for kicks,
but was this changing of the guards really supposed to make you sick…
It’s alright - The Sublimation Hour!

Medium Rotation, the Shock of the New,
and a memo from Feldman saying - “everything is true.
It’s alright - The Sublimation Hour!

Don’t spend your life conceiving that the widows won’t get sick of their grieving
till everyone walks out. Hey, isn’t that what rock ‘n’ roll is all about?
Princess, express your bloated self, willful and indignant in the face of
somebody’s lord.

You try to summon up the spirits live on Face the Nation,
but the Port Authority just taxed incantations.
It’s alright - The Sublimate Hour!

Auction off the temple. It’s money well-spent.
Hey, are those tears in your eyes as the wind cries enlargement?
It’s alright - The Sublimate Hour.

Don’t spend your life conceiving that the widows won’t get sick of their grieving
till everyone walks out. Hey, isn’t that what rock ‘n’ roll is all about, princess?
Confess your bloated self, willful and indignant,
in the face of somebody’s lord.

So put your hands together. I hear it’s a ‘must’,
until this phoney Beatlemania has bitten the dust.
It’s alright - The Sublimation Hour.

I guess the streets will suffice till everybody makes nice,
but there’s a rumor going round even Destroyer has a price…
Don’t spend your life conceiving…
And what I know is one of Clint's favorites:

VIRGIN WITH A MEMORY

Was it the movie or the making of Fitzcarraldo
where someone learned to love again?
‘I can’t remember’ is not the same as ‘I don’t know,’
virgin with a memory.

Was it the movie or the making of Fitzcarraldo
where your mother decided to fashion herself
after the sad deity we left on the shelf.

She wanted blood, all she got was sacrifice.
She wanted blood, all she got was sacrifice.
She wanted blood, all she got was sacrifice.

Virgin without a memory, now is your chance to be free
of all those favorite bands you ditched for one that’s grander:
No Use For A Name to the Make-up -- it’s all the same.

The singer not the song, no!
The singer not the song, no!
The singer not the song, no!

Formative years - wasted. In love with our peers -
we tasted life with the stars. Anticlimactic as Mars was, still…

A red earth with no way of knowing this silver colossus exists
just to be growing.
A red earth with no way of knowing this silver colossus exists
just to be growing…

Was it the movie or the making of Fitzcarraldo
where someone learned to love again?
Where someone learned to love again…
Where someone learned to love again…
I often try and explain Destroyer to people in terms of Bob Dylan (which I know does not resonate with one popular reader of this internet news source), but I think the comparison holds: both are brilliant and frustrating, willing (actually, eager is a better word) to confound, confuse and destroy expectations and assumptions. Shaggy, inexplicable minds. I am really working myself up for Destroyer's Rubies.

Cover What?















Not to distract people from Recess on Saturday night, but instead to distract them from the Knot's Landing Reunion Special airing on CBS on Friday, I announce that the Wusses Collective, of which I am a member, will be performing Friday evening at Kings Barcade. This very eve(Thursday), Sir Stingwell will be performing alongside I say Cy, you say Rawls.

RECESS


To boot:

RECESS, this Saturday, December 3 at Nightlight in Chapel Hill, will feature new music from both David Nahm and Matt Kalb of A.P.

For better or worse, Nahm has chosen to be accompanied by Ben "Steady Conflict Rhythm" Spiker and Robert "Dark Crystal Synth Cloud" Biggers, and may or may not appreciate having his pick-up group referred to as Ocular Nookie. Or Despicable Beaches. Or Rhododendron Mitchell. But probably not Crowmeat Bob.

Also of the genus T of F, Rob Maggard will play several of his "suitcase instruments" (from the suitcase, not just playing suitcases), and the secret hot-shit-here's-why music will be played by Todd Emert (of Mowing Lawns). Be there at 2200h sharp to see Robison play foist.

Ad-Out and En Garde!
Presented by the Tired Nachos of My Mind, Inc.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Destroyer's Rubies II: Citizens on Patrol

In the comments to the post below, Alicia hipped us to Bejar-o-matic. I will never get work done again.

You get nuggets of lyrical science such as:

What specifically about me made you choose to occupy the most absent stage of beauty, so innocuous, so complete and so sweet?

Maybe I should have sworn not to be born of this wretched glove too soon. But a dragon needs room to run.

Jennifer, your halter top: a consecrated altarBut I've wrung my hands and knees in shame there one too many times

What fun.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Destroyer's Rubies, Michael Chabon and David Mitchell

So, I wrote a long thoughtful post about the new Destroyer record, Destroyer's Rubies,--a post full of insights and excitement and links. Then I wrote about the new Chabon and Mitchell novels, again,--a post full of insights and brilliant thoughts and links. It was a really great post. One of the best. Lots of different colored words. A long digression on the over-arching themes of Mitchell's novels and how they are taking on a Yoknapatawpha-esque character, and I even had a link to the Wikipedia page on Yoknapatawpha--it was really great. I extolled the brilliance of Michael Chabon's prose style and gushed about how excited I was about his new novel. It was a great post, one of the finest posts of not just the internet, not just American History, but all histories of all times thoughout the universe and one each and every separate string of existance. The post was so good many facts that I claimed to know without any evidence or back up came into existence just so I could be right. In fact, the post was so good that the best part of it wasn't jus this picture of Dan Bejar that I ganked off of some flikr account--who's account is now lost to the shifting sands of history. Yes, it was a very good post, but like all great things--pop songs, butter, children--it came to a violent end when I hit the back space buttong to remove a little extra space I didn't want. Unfortunately, the space wasn't just blank space, it was Spacetime, and as such, you have the crap ass post you see before you with a very nice picture that I didn't take and I don't know who did. And now links.

Monday, November 28, 2005

Oh the weather outside

Bon Annie Vert Slayer

























The members of Tropic of Food, Audubon Park, the Nein, Hotel Motel and a few members of Erie Choir would like to wish a warm happy 23rd birthday to Matthew "Stumpy" Burr on this his 24th birthday. It seems like only Wednesday, many years ago, his mother's womb said, "Dude, serious, you have to bounce." And bounce he did.

If Stingy were a cake, I would stick burning bits of wax in his head.

We, being AP, would also like to thank the placid Mr. Springy for his vocal style renderings on the unexpected, unplanned, unlearned, unrehearsed, and un-non-awesome Pavement cover we played last night. Remember, if we almost played "Hunger Strike." You can take that to your grave with you.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

NASA SCIENTIST RESORTS TO PROP COMEDY



NASA's John Chapman, manager of the external tank program, makes a few poorly-received one-liners while he points to problem areas on a model of a space shuttle rocket during a news conference Tuesday, Nov. 22, 2005, at Johnson Space Center in Houston. Chapman recently attended an improv workshop at the Laugh Factory and thought he'd try out his newly honed wit on unsuspecting members of the media. Awkward silence followed.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Thanks to everyone!


Sunday, Sunday, Sunday:

Audubon Park
A Northern Chorus (pictured)
Burdocks


Local 506, 11/27/2005, 9pm

Bring the love to us as we celebrate our just completed eating frenzy. It's a Sunday, it's a holiday, what more do you want!

FOLDED!

Recently, I was asked, along with a number of other local musicians, to contribute some reviews to a new music magazine that was starting in Raleigh. Even more recently, I was told that the magazine was folding even before publishing the first issue. Here are the reviews that I wrote, but that were deemed to hot for financial stability (all songs rated on a scale of 1-10):

Ashley Simpson "Boyfriend" 5.5

How would you feel if your career took a backseat to your big sister's marital problems, to your own career miscalculations (or the miscalculations of your overbearing, totally scary ex-preacher father), or that time you got really drunk and made an ass out of yourself in McDonalds?

Have some love: Ashley is everyman. She's done nothing that we haven't done, we just weren't on TV when it happened. On "Boyfriend", Ashley has taken a cue from the far superior Kelly Clarkson and sings a rock song. Let's be honest: this song doesn't really sound any different than Franz Ferdinand? I can't tell the difference. It even has a little dubbed-out Andy Partridge yelp. But, unlike Kelly, Ashley is not a very strong singer, or a particularly charismatic personality. It isn't that her voice is weak or bad, it is just too clear, to characterless. It would be better if it were worse. That would be awesome.

Ahh, Ashley. Perhaps next time.


Madonna "Hung Up" 6.9

We are at the dawn of Madonna's sunset and don't we all wait, eagerly, for her to wake to her age and sing to us of her twilight? She told us how to feel about our youth and independence, about the nature of justice and sex. But where is the Madonna of our dotage?

"Hung Up" is good, good like a Kylie song, but shouldn't Madonna be good like herself, with others being good like her? Really, at this point, Kylie, among others, does dance music better than Madonna. The production here reminds me of a CGI dinosaur--it looks alive to me but the mind knows that it isn't, so I don't run away. I don't know what I mean by this. No, wait, I do.

There was a time when a Madonna song, any Madonna song, could break my heart. There was a time when her voice, imperfect, was evocative of my own internal life. This is what popular music should provide when done well--a mirror, a computer read-out of our inner-selves. I hear the galloping beat, I hear the throbbing synths, I hear her still voice and I want to feel, but do not. It is terrible when you are brilliant--we all expect so much more.


The Flaming Lips "Bohemian Rhapsody" 4.3

The joy of hearing a band cover Queen, and in particular this song, can only come from the audacity of attempting such a futile feat. Who can cover Queen? Who can sound like them? In fact, the mistake is to try to sound like Queen at all. I would have loved to have heard The Flaming Lips attempt this song 12 years ago, when they were still ragged, still wild, weeping smack into the gutters. That would have been something, because their attempt would have been unexpected and there success would have been total.

But now, they are the kings of studio magic. They play the song too straight, get it too right. Why listen to their version as opposed to the original? There is nothing new, nothing odd. But the real let down: the drums at the end. The whole song I waited, eagerly, for the rock portion, to hear Stephen Drozd's massive, clattering drums. When they came, they were muted and unimpressive. Where is the bass drum that made the Soft Bulletin so beautiful?


Ying Yang Twins ft. Mike Jones and Mr. Colliepark "Badd" 8.2

First off, having Mike Jones on a track instantly makes the song sound like it was recorded in a special education classroom. He gibbers his own name, over and over, as though his identity is slipping and he is afraid.

This song proves, I think, that music really matters and can change the world. As soon as it comes on I am possessed of a self-confidence that I have never known in my life. Sirens, sitars and bass drums. The string hits on the post-chorus: added-value. What more can one ask for in life?

This track is much better than "Wait." Let's admit it to ourselves. That song just wasn't that good. It was neat. It was novel. But it got old, very fast. We were in the thrall of profanity and the power of whispering. But "Badd" is a real song, heavy like an anvil dropped from a great height.


Three 6 Mafia ft. Young Buck, Eight Ball and MJG "Stay Fly" 8.5

Swooning strings and that beat: this song is fast, something I have been looking for in hip-hop for a long time. I feel that I am on the run, chased perhaps, sweat burning my eyes. "Stay Fly" exudes and apocalyptic vibe--I am reminded of "Quiet Running" by Mike + the Mechanics. The tabla breakdown crushes all competitors, it introduces space and breath into the track, a perfect break, a perfect pause.

This song throws the work of 50 Cent into an unflattering light. Fifty likes to play a "we all could die, but do we have love" angle, but his limp, careless delivery leaves me cold. Three 6 Mafia care. They know the score. They know what is at stake, what is to be lost. We have to stay fly until we die. The world is ending soon, I can tell.

Friday, November 18, 2005

Sorry. . .

But I got to get all political for a second. If you haven't heard about Rep. John Murtha's speech yesterday calling for an immediate withdrawal from Iraq, here's a link to video of the speech, via the most-awesome Crooksandliars.com.

Lord knows there is plenty of good comment about this out there, so I won't do any here beyond linking to my man Nitpicker on the subject.