Blogging on Meds

From Heartworm :

We are proud to announce that Jonathan Shaw’s Narcisa is released today and is Heartworm #21. Narcisa is a 360 page beautifully designed memoir and Shaw’s first leap into the world of shock literature.

This book was released in an edition of 1,000 copies. Please visit the Heartworm
STORE to order a copy.

According to Johnny Depp, “If Hubert Selby Jr., Charles Bukowski, Ernest Hemingway, Jack Kerouac, William Burroughs, Neil Cassady, Dr. Hunter S. Thompson, the Marquis de Sade, Antonio Carlos Jobim, Joao Gilberto, Edward Teach, Charley Parker, Iggy Pop, Louis-Ferdinand Celine, R. Crumb, Robert Williams, Joe Coleman, Dashiell Hammett, E.M. Cioran and all of the Three Stooges had all been involved in some greasy, shameful, evil whorehouse orgy, Jonathan Shaw would surely be its diabolical, reprobate spawn.” With a fan base that includes Lydia Lunch (who provides an introduction), Depp, Jim Jarmusch and Iggy Pop, it is already a much-anticipated debut.

We also released two photo/collage zines by Dan Murphy- Stuck On The Map and William Boone- Suicidal Tenants (Heartworm #17 and 19) and there are a few copies of each left.

Founded by Wesley Eisold and based in Philadelphia, Heartworm has released an impressive string of projects ranging from books and zines to limited albums and artist prints. Narcisa is the latest must have as all the releases are in limited runs. Quit reading gossip and or jerking off and hit up their site now and buy it along with their other releases before they vanish.

With most releases reaching “out of print” status within days, you’ll have to scour and dig to find some of their gems but it’s worth your time and effort. The recent casualties make up and unholy trinity that you’ll need to avoid purgatory :

The Father :The Cold Cave Demo 12″, a collision of synth, dissonance and melody.

The Son : Max G Morton’s sweat, spit and acid soaked diary set to the Void side of the Faith/Void split Indestructible Wolves of the Apocalypse Junkyard

The Holy Ghost : XO Skeletons‘ Bored By Heaven Lp pressed on vinyl with sketchy layout and your own piece of the gospel to read before your dreams of fetish and licorice.

Digital is convenient, but objects are forever. Someday we’ll have to buy a “convertorator” to turn our mp3s into mp33s and catalog our jpegs into the latest and greatest form of ones and zeros but your Heartworm wares can be stored conveniently in your hope chest at the bottom of your altar for your perusal sans wifi connection or electricity.

Visit the site often as it’s constantly being updated with new saccharine for your cavities.

Yesterday I mentioned that children should be causing trouble in the woods not rolling around on Heelys and listening to Wilco.  Judging by the graphics from  newly launched New Jersey based comapny Totally Skateboards, they agree.

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I see muscle cars, fire, butterfly knives and chains. All things of these objects seldom lead to anything productive but they are fun as hell. In fact if you put them all together, marinate them in yellow beer and drop them in New Jersey you have a good fucking time in the making…unless you’re a girl I guess.

Jersey boys Dave Wasnak, Pat Guidotti, and Anthony Anastasio were united in the desire to create a skateboarding first company with quality products using top notch wood and simple, functional shapes.

Peep the promo to see new and old blood rip and get ready to be wiped out TOTALLY! (If you’re a surfboard dude of course….AYE!)

Totally Skateboards

Aww how cute Ms. Feist was on Sesame Street to share her death chant with all the earth’s annoying little children. The Pixar loving little shits that ruin my brunch by spazzing around and throwing shit while their passive aggro parents have a defeated look on their faces and just sigh. Said parents might even mumble and inaudible “Don’t do that Belle” or “Sebastian please sit down” but the indie-babies / children don’t give a fuck, from the moment they dawned a Motorhead onesie they knew they had the upperhand.

I don’t like children, specifically your children. The ones that crash into me while I’m on a mission to buy alcohol, records or clothes. The ones wizzing by with a cocky smirk spinning the wheels of their fucking Heelys. The one’s who have parents that just pretend you aren’t there rather than reprimanding their children or apologizing for them.

If you have a child and make me interact with it I’ll be polite. I might even enjoy it in small does but if I am trying to go about my adult or semi-adult life and have to be around throngs of children after I’ve tried so hard to hide from them (I can count the minutes I’ve spent in Park Slope BKLYN) I am going to start taking action. The cute stories and pictures you share with me about your child are actually amusing, I like cute things but they have a shelf life. My cell phone is actually a digital tribute to the wacky hi-jinx my cat Raleigh gets into. He sleeps on top of the oven, he poses for pictures, has a piercing meow which is captured on video and he’s cute. The difference is that since he’s a cat it’s all he’ll ever do. When he does something remotely smart it’s always entertaining because he’s a fucking cat, he’s stupid as shit, he’s not going to grow up, learn how to talk and become a politician. I don’t need to see every shitty thing your sucky kid does because at some point you’ll hate that kid and not want to show me shit about them. You aren’t going to show me a picture of the bong in their dorm or the chick they had Bud Light Sex with but I will never tire of my cat, he’s a perpetual kitten. He’ll be talking to me in Siamese when you’re bailing Britt out of jail for possession.

Your children are cute and funny but they don’t need to be little versions of you. They don’t need to wear Ramones shirts, your babies and little adults don’t even like the fucking Ramones. If they are such Ramones fans can they even name the members, hint they are on the fucking shirt…whoops they can’t read. They are reacting to noise, they would do the fucking baby dance (see video then continue) to Skrewdriver, GG Allin or Raffi and they should be doing it to Raffi.

Children shouldn’t be cool. The only tattooed arms pushing strollers should be owned by Bikers not Graphic Designers. They should be breaking shit in the woods not in a hipster park where dudes have hangovers or just shot Ron. They should be named after Michael Jordan not Conor Oberst, they should be wearing Sponge Bob the Builder gear not Baby BAPE and BABY/DC shirts. If you try to make your children cool you have a big surprise coming. These kids are used to not being scolded, not respecting anything and having semi-business hippie post-hipster green parents. Bingo dipshit, picture American Psycho crossed with Alex P Keaton on the best cocaine money can buy and that is who is going to push you around in a carriage, I mean wheelchair long after your Wilco CDRs have stopped spinning.

Lastly, if you’re going to bring your child to a musical event cover his or her fucking ears. There are ear plugs made specifically for your shitty kid. It sucks watching your kid baby mosh to music but at least ensure they won’t have hearing loss before they can tie their shoes. Maybe these kids don’t listen because your dumb ass made them deaf with a steady diet of Arcade Fire while you changed their shitty diapers and loud free outdoor concerts. If you are somewhere that the baby mosh/dance is happening you have to access the situation quickly and react.

Are you in the wrong place or is the baby in the wrong place?

Example  - Baby spotted dancing at My Morning Jacket show while you and your bud pull out a device used for smoking marijuana.

Verdict : What did you expect you fucking indie hippie? Go somewhere away from the baby get high and shame on you for being at the concert in the first place you deserve to be there. Your second option is to leave the venue and leave that life behind, in this case you are getting your head right and I owe you a beer.

Example - Baby doing the baby mosh in a club to High on Fire with Nigel Hipster Parents.

Verdict : You are legally* allowed to put a cigarette out on the father’s forehead and douse the wound out with PBR. You should get security and have the baby taken into child custody. High on Fire are boring and not good anymore but you did nothing wrong other than liking Sleep and trying to pretend HOF are “pretty damn good!”.

*This is only legal by my rules which the United States doesn’t recognize as actual law.

Last night former first round draft pick Josh Hamilton hit a record 28 home runs in the first round of the MLB All Star Game Home Run Derby breaking Bobby Abreu’s record. Hamilton had a break out season last year with the CIncinnati Reds hitting .292 and swatting 19 home runs before being traded in the off season to the Texas Rangers.

Hamilton’s well documented battle with drug and alcohol addiction lead to eight trips to rehab and a temporary ban from the major leagues. Since being drafted by Tampa Bay right out of high school he’s fought his was back and was rewarded with his first All Star appearance at age 27. Despite actually losing the contest to the Twins’ Justin Morneau he’s become and amazing story about battling addiction but there is an inaccuracy in every article stating that he’s a former heroin addict.

I too thought Hamilton was once addicted to Heroin as I texted back and forth during the contest : “Damn,  a dude who was on Ron Ron is killing it” and “Hamilton has an ill her-ron flow! R U watching this?”. (Yes I text like a 14 year old girl, I watch Gossip Girl too)

Something didn’t make sense to me though. I had a tough time believing that Josh was a heroin junkie. All the former junkies I knew did three things :

1. Talk about how long they’ve been clean before going into some sexy tale of addiction with a 10 carat twinkle in their eye.

2. Make the worst music of their career, usually country or folk influenced with songs about children.

3. The most productive and noble and path least traveled, help other addicts recover. This one is tough because you’re forced to be around what almost destroyed you, help people who probably don’t want help and everyone who kicks heroin smokes like a thousand cigarettes so you’re probably going to die from second hand smoke.

I looked around for pictures of Josh Hamilton with his shirt off to see if he had that leathery Iggy Pop/Anthony Kiedis thing going down but no dice, in fact in all my searching I only found him talking about his former addictions to alcohol and crack cocaine. That’s right  like Tyrone Biggums, Josh smoked rocks but didn’t boot Ronzo.

Now it all makes sense. I could see Josh and his flame tattoos roasting a rock, getting aggro and smashing shit with a bat but I couldn’t picture his goatee junked out on a couch with the lock groove of a record skipping while he stared at the ceiling. So people, get that fucking shit right! My man over came an addition to the white stuff, that cooked crack, not heroin. It’s still and amazing story, I’m still stoked for him, and the performance brought a tear to my eye.

Applaud Josh Hamilton getting his shit together for himself and his family and breaking a record held by a guy who looks like he’s always getting an allergic reaction but don’t call him a junkie.

Last night Jigga headlined the biggest greenfield music festival in the world and decided that he’d start by responding to the irrelevant and bloated Noel Gallagher for saying that brothers shouldn’t be rapping at this storied fest.

First video footage of Noel’s remarks dissing Jay lit up the greens and then Hova rolled out with a shit eating Joe Camel grin “playing a guitar” (in the same way Weezy plays a guitar) doing his rendition of the Oasis hit Wonderwall. He was off-key and smirking but it was a nice fuck you and tribute. I ended up at a party above the Spotted Pig about 2.5 years ago that was essentially an empty living room with 5 record executives, 20 white chicks, two sistahs and Jigga. I guess it was to celebrate something, we shouldn’t have been there but myself, Karaoke Ryan and Galle® ended up at this private party where Jigga was putting on a clinic, dancing with chubby white chicks, leading the Electric Slide and playing favorites from his iPod including Coldplay, Phil Collins, and Amy Winehouse , complete with waving his finger that looked like a black tree branch for the “No No No” refrain and also rapping over his own songs to the small crowd. He also dropped his own verse over Mims’ This Is Why I’m Hot, my white brain couldn’t believe that I was seeing Jigga spitting in front of me, literally spitting on white dudes as he rambled and flowed.

I did my best to hide the Michael Mann-esque light my cell phone emits mid-text messaging but I had to fire off the details of this encounter to at least have a breakdown of what I was seeing if vodka and piff clouded my recollection the next day. There was one moment of struggle that night; in my head I’m an honorary member of Dipset since I’ve chosen to side with them over 50’s Vitamin Water empire. I felt slightly guilty for being there since Cam’s diss of Jay and his open toed sandals was still buzzing in my speakers. I scanned the room and noticed that there were no body guards among the small crowd, maybe I should text message Killa, maybe I should call the Goons? Jigga was easy prey for my favorite rap conglomerate. The problem with being an honorary member is that you don’t have anyone’s actual number so I convinced myself I was a DIP-SPY keeping tabs on old head and I’d report any suspicious activities to Jim Jones’ myspace if necessary.

Wonderwall was the closer, it was Papelbon irish jigging his way to the mound that night. Jay queued up the iPod and a familiar jangle came out of the speakers, he parted the crowd and motioned towards the only “rock niggas” there which happened to be the three scruffy honks that shouldn’t be there. The nostrils were flared, lungs pushing out strained notes with a grin and a battle cry of “ROCK N ROLL NIGGAZZZZZZZ” was unleashed as I stood there, arms draped on my comrades trying to detune my vocal chords so I was out of tune in unison with Jigga as a show of unity.

We split after that because honestly unless Giselle came in and gave me a foot-rub while Tom Brady told me I had a stronger chin than him there was nothing left to do.

As I’ve said before, Jay is a performer now, his records only have a few good songs now but if it’s a vehicle for him to put on spectacles like this I will continue to pay retail for them. The guitar, the head bobbing to Coldplay with Ricky Gervais are ridiculous, semi-embarrassing but ultimately cool somehow and much more interesting that some recycled grumbling from a guy named Noel who can’t write a good song anymore, he can’t even guest on a tune and make it cool.

Roc Boys in the building. Peep it here.

Jay-Z Kills Wonderwall

There are several achievements tonight for the Boston Celtics and the city of Boston. Buried beneath the fanfare and confetti is something very real and human to us all, it’s Ray Allen rising above adversity and the devastating news that his son had fallen ill during Game 5 to win the NBA Championship title, it’s Pierce dousing Doc with Gatorade, it’s KG hugging Bill Russell after the victory and our favorite story line, the Cigar that Red lit up somewhere during the 4th when he knew it was a lock. Boston fans are drunk off this victory and hopefully some champagne as well but let’s not forget the passion and drive that brought us here, what these individuals have gone through and most importantly what Ray-Ray has been through, this man didn’t sleep, he played this game with a heavy head and heart and was able to rise above and drain 22 three-point shots in total in the finals, the most in NBA history and lead the Celtics to an emotional victory.

Growing up in the suburbs of Boston, one thing was fact, the Celtics were gospel, they were Winners! They were a tradition much like going to Church and Sunday dinner. My Italian family would gorge after mass and then enjoy the Celtics, often times it was a playoff situation where I quickly learned to hate players named Rambis, Lamibeer, Thomas or Worthy. Ultimately the results were favorable and I wore my “Six Pack” shirt with pride as the Celtics were Champions, they inhaled the fumes of Red Auerbach’s cigars and raised banners. My father pooled together with friend to buy Celtics season tickets for a good portion of the 1980s. He could have taken anyone to some of the most important and pivotal games in NBA history but he chose his son, barely in the double digits. He shared these moments with a young boy who would barely remember the humid Boston Garden where even Greg Kite was a hero. My memories are foggy, the details are aren’t sharp but with every passing year I realize what a sacrifice my dad made, taking a young boy to so many epic games and I him and his unselfish acts for the gift he gave me. I was lucky to witness so many classic games and I realize the importance more and more each day.

One must remember that in the 1980s the Red Sox were the puffy faced hard luck girl that you could convince to date you, she was flawed and cracked but she filled a void and ultimately you knew it would end in some shouting match that stung. In the end she was a quick fix, she left you upset and asking for more even though she wasn’t your first choice but the Celtics, the Larry Bird led Celtics were that hot blond that was way out of your league. They helped you develop a swagger, you wore the color green with pride and you felt like you had the biggest cock in the room even if you hadn’t really used that cock yet. In contrast, the Red Sox, now the copyrighted Red Sox Nation®, were really the Irish bartender chick who looked ok after a few shots, the one from Southie that cursed a lot and smelled like body spray. The edge of the bar conveniently hid her big ass and the whiskey shots blurred her ruddy alcoholic features and borderline see-thru complexion. She was second place, your consolation prize but not your holy grail. She was your Calvin Schiraldi. You didn’t expect jack shit from the Red Sox aside from pain and frustration mixed with a few highs, you weren’t bringing your hard luck girl home to meet the parents but the Celtics were the talk of the town, tthe press darlings, they ruled the 1980s in Boston and were the Boston fans’ trophy girl.

As I reside in Williamsburg, Brooklyn where Red Auerbach grew up I am overwhelmed by the moment, by KG exclaiming “Anything is possible!” and “I’m on top of the world!”. Oh yeah and I forgot he also said “What you gotta say now!” before he hugged Bill Russell and asked Bill he had made him proud. Even in his ultimate moment he was humble and conscious of what was happening, big shout to KG! It’s these moments where a multi-millionaire star player is being candid with a legend where I realize how special these celebrations are. It’s Doc Rivers’ Gatorade tie-tied suit, it’s Rajon Rondo hoisting a championship trophy, it’s Big Baby getting his first minutes in the finals and most importantly it’s the fucking shit bag, soul patch having Zen-Master not getting into the history books, that’s right fuck you Phil you fucking douche. Oh did I mention that was the biggest ass kicking in a deciding game in the NBA finals?

Finally, let’s celebrate Paul Pierce, the first thing he did is thank us for supporting him, despite the emotion, the moment, the history, the energy he chose to immediately to address the regular ass guy, thank you Paul, we love you, you ARE the truth, get that SHIT in to PIERCE!

Congratulations to the Boston Celtics, to a history, a tradition and a moment Boston and its fans are enjoying now.

PS- There was a brother in a rain coat and goggles being incredible during the celebration repping hard with the mic being the master of ceremonies, big shout to that dude.

PPS- KG is on ESPN right now being humble, would Kobe or Shaq ever do that? Nope. KG always considered himself as a champion in his heart, tonight he’s one in the history books. Holler at your fucking BOY!

PPPS - Lakers, did you really lose by that much, GOD DAMN.

PPPPS - If this doesn’t make sense fuck you, it’s 1:33 AM and I am crunked, eat my shit!

ESPN Page 2 columnist Jemele Hill has everyone heated with her controversial comments that were pulled from her latest article :

Rooting for the Celtics is like saying Hitler was a victim. It’s like hoping Gorbachev would get to the blinking red button before Reagan.

The column got past her editors with this comment which isn’t surprising because they let Bill Simmons submit the same article every fucking day. Just a side note, does he have a “Sports Guy Column Generator” that spits out tired 1980s guy pop culture references in Men’s Mag Slang centered around a Boston team or his latest man-crush? Bad news Bill, Karate Kid sucks, Star Wars sucks, the Godfather is long and fucking boring and you have Bank Teller hair. Now back to Jemele, in keeping with ESPN Page 2’s style, she’s a terrible writer and she used a pretty raw comparison. Hitler and 9/11 comparisons normally result in someone going “Whoaaaa man stop it don’t go there!” as if some imaginary line has been crossed that could only be crossed by a complete asshole. I don’t have a problem with people making such comparisons, when Katie Holmes’ tits are described as the opposite of the holocaust it was cool and what Jemele did is cheap, in poor taste for an ESPN writer but the Celtics fans, especially the ones that call Boston their home are the ones who are offending me right now.

Everyone is upset in Boston, popular fan site Red’s Army is calling for her to be fired and wbztv.com posted some fan responses yesterday :

“We’re not talking about war; we’re talking about basketball,” one fan outside the Garden said. “How can you compare Hitler to a basketball game?”

“I don’t think you can say Hitler is a victim no matter what the circumstance is. That’s over the top,” another fan said.

These responses sicken me, Celtics fans are as fucking soft as the Celtics’ performance in the 4th quarter of Game 5. Boston Massachusetts is a city that was pissed off that a Holocaust Memorial was being constructed downtown too close to whatever the fucking Bank World Dunkin Donut Garden Center was called that week and too close to the Italian district, the North End. How dare they make us remember Holocaust victims while we’re staring at a statue of Paul Revere en route to a Celtics game (who the fuck went to Celtics games in 1995) belly stuffed full of carbs from the North End. This is a city built on racism, where Smitty O’Houlahan can blame anything he wants on a “nigger” and cops will turn the other red alcoholic cheek. Some area Jews didn’t even want the memorial in Boston because they felt it wasn’t an appropriate location. Downtown Boston is so fat and white that Jewish people actually felt bad breaking up that vibration

So now the poor fans are pissed off and are calling for the head of Jemele Hill the latest goat. It probably helps that she’s black as it’s easier for the city to rally against her. There is a bigger task at hand for the Celtics and their fans and that’s winning a Championship not whining about bad journalism and cheap shot comparisons.

Oh yeah, the Celtics fan side of myself would like to get a jab in though because that side of me is petty, Jemele your gummy grin and bulbous features are as shocking and offensive to me on this Tuesday afternoon as your attempts at journalism. Leave the vulgarity and cheap shot comparisons to bloggers, it’s all we have, you get the pay check, the paid appearances and fanfare, we just want to have exclusivity on swearing and Hitler comparisons if that’s cool with your fat ugly ass. Thanks.

PISS REPORT SPECIAL UPDATE

Robert Sylvester Kelly has been acquitted of child pornography charges, for real it’s right here. The tape was inconclusive here’s a quote from juror John Petraean :

“Most of us felt that maybe it was Kelly, maybe not,” said juror John Petrean, a Romanian immigrant. “But nobody could agree if it was her. We had seen photos of her at other times and she seemed like a young girl. It seemed like the girl on the tape was much more developed.”

So it may or may not have been R and his Goddaughter in the video but most of the jury (but maybe not….?) agreed it wasn’t enough to convict him. Some Romanian immigrant couldn’t tell her age along with the rest of the jury and that’s all we really know. The most important thing is that there was pissing and dude pissing allegedly had the same mole as R on his back. It’s important to me because I want R free but like the idea of him as a pisser.

Conclusion, it’s safe to say R is a pisser and that my friends, provided the pissee is of legal consenting age, is 100% legal.

Whitey is already upset about the verdict. That calloused hand having, Howard Stern listening stand up guy who loves his wife and family even though he’s constantly touching himself dreaming about the Maxim Hot 100 and flirting with waitresses thinks this is a case of a rich celebrity getting off. We’ve already heard the OJ comparison being thrown around because OJ got off and is a black celebrity. When white celebrities shoot, rape, kill and have a million affairs they are just troubled, usually by their fame and can always get a second chance on some VH1 show but R Kelly is not getting that pass.

My questions for those who think R should have gone down are simple then :

1. Is pissing on a consenting adult (as far as we know) the same as murder? We don’t know the age of the girl so let’s just go on fact, a chick was pissed on in a VHS tape (this shit is so old that it’s on VHS). This is legal.

Pissing on people is totally legal and protected by the constitution (which is kind of awesome, USA, USA!) . This isn’t New Zealand where you can’t show pissing on people (Fuck that place!)

My friend Jamie pissed on me and a few people by mistake on the balcony at Bungalow 8 once, should I have him brought up on charges? The answer is no. You just wash whatever was pissed on and move on.

2. We know for a fact that the OJ trial wasn’t about money as this trial allegedly was. People were murdered in cold blood, most likely by a dude who’s DNA was all over everything, the guy who ran away from police…remember ( though I respect a man who won’t talk to police).

R wasn’t hiding, the evidence was a sketchy ass tape, the victims family was divided and there was money to be made.

I don’t think anyone on earth doesn’t think that R Kelly is fucking insane, if you’ve seen Trapped In the Closet and simply wondered “Wow is this really going to be one song with one cadence for 48 parts? Is this funny on purpose? Is that the dude from the Wire?” you know R is on a different level. But unlike most of us R’s eccentricities are on the surface, Urolagnia is a common fetish, I bet some of your parents, teachers, friends and co-workers like a golden shower or have at least pissed on their sig other in the shower once.

He’s crazy but he’s not hiding it unlike your parents and teachers and I respect that.

Sorry folks, R is probably a pisser but as of June 14. 2008 his only crime is having a weirdly trimmed hairline, even though that’s legal too it’s a crime to me. He should have someone who can give him a good shape up.

Regular skeptical white guy and girl who got pissed on in college and hates men, please stop comparing R to OJ, take a fishing trip or slam a bunch of sugary drinks and make out with a guy in Abercrombie gear that kind of looks like David Beckham while I listen to Double Up in the name of R and his freedom.

Considering that people want to read about piss and I need a niche, I accept the role of pissmaster and will provide you with a weekly Piss Report. This week we’ll focus on Kobe Bryant and his post-game rant last night after the Lakers failed to hold a 24 point lead :

Whine about it tonight, a lot of wine, a lot of beer, a couple shots, maybe like 20 of them, digest it, get back to work tomorrow. Nothing you can do. Nothing. We just wet the bed. A nice big one, too, one of the ones you can’t put a towel over. It was terrible. Nothing you can do about it. They played great in the third quarter, we played like crap. They pulled out a great win, now it’s time to move on to the next one, period.

That’s correct, Kobe is a pisser. There’s a lot going on here let’s start with the lethal mix of wine, beer and shots. It’s safe to say that Kobe might have benefited from a little time in College learning how to drink. It’s no wonder he’s pissing the bed and getting accused of rape. I’ve seen humans do incredible things after two or three shots, things they didn’t remember but won’t forget because it was witnessed and become urban legend. A fraction of the Kobe equation caused some dudes I know to try to cut a tree down (bad call having a saw in your whip) only to pass out and have a cop wake them up the next morning asking why they were sleeping in a parking lot with a saw while a Honda Civic bisected by a tree was illuminated by the rising sun in the background.

I’m saying there’s no way Vanessa Bryant doesn’t wake up to a Laker Golden Shower thanks to Kobe’s binge drinking, she probably got drenched last night.

Make it rain Kobe!

Unless you’re a complete honk who still listens to some fucked up CDR with Goo Goo Dolls, Gin Blossoms, and that annoying song from Friends some guy named Smitty burned for you in college you know all about Tha Carter 3.

Basically the short version is Lil Wayne has been all skrewed up sippin’ sizzurp for about three years and making a mixtape every three days. This was supposed to culminate in Tha Carter 3 , his masterpiece. The record kept getting delayed because for real he’s got that stryo cup all day slowing his fucking roll, it leaked, rap dude blogs buzzed and bitched and the result…. according to Billboard, Weezy sold over 423,000 thousand copies on June 10th of a record that everyone already downloaded weeks before. It could do a million the first week and most importantly it could shred Kanye which would make him shut his tacky ass up for a minute. Ok maybe not but at least I can not hear how revolutionary Kanye is for rapping over music that E’d out white people loved in the late 1990s (puke).

The Verdict? Rap blog dudes love mentioning how the mixtape version of a new LP is better than the LP. That’s a given, it’s all they have, they downloaded it months ago, jerked off to it, smoked weed to it and thought about how “ill it was son”, emailed their boys the best verse and secretly added their own weak lyrics in Garageband on their favorite track. These people think Weezy’s latest is just “ok” and that the over-produced beats boast tired and uninspired lyrics. Jesus Christs I hate them. I hate them because they don’t like having a fucking good time. Listen, the average car stereo, party stereo, laptop DJed Party, dorm, BBQ or other random place you’re going to be drunk this summer doesn’t have that fucking mixtape you downloaded off Rapgodfathers.com, thank you. They do have the regular ass commercial version of Tha Carter 3 and you’re going to be fucking drunk somewhere, slurring your words, thinking you’re in a video, picking up a fat chick getting psyched to Lollipop and that’s the end of the fucking story.

You aren’t going to be playing Wii stoned out of your mind on some expensive delivery weed getting your dick sucked by some half asian chick to a downloaded blog leak where dude “is a beast on this track”

Thank you , we’re done. This is a Rap CD and dude raps, sometimes the songs really don’t have a structure, he uses too much Vocoder and the choruses are so-so unless someone is paid to sing them but Track 14 is called You Ain’t Got Nuthin’ On Me, Juelz and Fab beat the track up, they are like meat tenderizer getting shit soft for Weezy to go in on the last verse and kill it, actually his verse is kind of the worst but it doesn’t matter I like the idea of them softening shit up for the Greatest Rapper Alive® When you give Santana and Fab a good beat they shine, specifically Santana who usually gets the bootleg semi-past their prime Dipset Protool Fake-String Orchestra Mixtape DJ beats. So yeah on the best beat on the album he says “You surf board dudes get wiped out, Totally!” Think about that.

Buy this record and support the economy. In my brain if you buy this it supports the opposite of Coldplay so that’s a good thing.

Oh yeah, Mr.Carter boasts Jay-Z and once again, Jigga proves that he should stay retired, not because he can’t rap, because he’s at the sketchy knee comeback Washington Wizard Jordan stage of his career.

Translation, he’s a better contributor / role player than living guitar solo. When Mike made his 7,000th comeback he flashed brilliance but couldn’t do it for a full game (see American Gangster or the Budweiser Commercial record) but when he was playing a role (Errry Day he’s Hustlin’) he was legit and made you remember the dunk from the free throw line. Mr.Carter is the same shit, Jay is brilliant and his freestyle over a Milli that’s floating around is equally amazing. Jigga, you’re on the verge of becoming a real life Joe Camel Cartoon, hang that shit up and just guest on tracks and tour. No bullshit concept records and shit please…please.

So the blogmosphere is really bummed about this. Formerly faux-hawked super hunk Jude Law had the audacity to make out with a chick when he was wasted and because she’s not a “hottie” by the standards of gay men and fat women St.Jude is under fire here and here and other places where people who don’t get laid bitch about people who get laid.

Poor Kimberly Stewart. Her only real crime is not having an ass and being known as a Hollywood skank which could be major selling points depending on what you’re after. I’m not really sure what it says about the world when Jude Law is championed as “handsome” other than the fact that the world is a giant pussy run by pussies who praise men with feminine features and no scruples. And yes that was my roman nose and Michael Impirioli-esque profile talking.

The Nazis would have never been defeated if manicured eyebrows, man-purses and moisturizers replaced toy soldiers, baseball bats and slingshots. Even the highest paid baseball player in the universe (Yankee Universe too!) has a fully waxed face and frosted tips. The flip side of the coin is some bullshit Maxim Hot 100 list of 100 women that look exactly the same in the same fucking boring way.

Kimbo, I love you. You’re not even that busted and you’re doing a great job pissing off every Cosmo drinking pile of shit who has the ultimate Girls’ Night Out planned for the release of SATC.

No Fun Fest 2008. May 16,17,18 at the Knitting Factory In NYC
single day tickets:May 16(18$) May 17(THIS DAY IS SOLD OUT)May 18 (18$)
Questions : info {at} nofunfest(.)com

Friday, Saturday and Sunday the Knitting Factory will host No Fun Fest, aptly titled because to most of us shows with more than 3 bands are negative fun but this noise/experimental/non-blogrock summit is worth your time.

The days have been broken down into three convenient themes :

DAY ONE - FRIDAY 16 at 7pm
Former Free Jazz Guy Who Misses TONIC Day

Stage 1:
ASTRO (Hiroshi Hasegawa)
Tony Conrad + MV Carbon
White Out
Burning Star Core
Thurston Moore + Nancy Garcia
Dinosaurs with Horns
Randy Yau
Sickness

Stage 2:
Damion Romero
Handicapper Hornz
Greg Kelley
Jason Crumer
Failing Lights
Sewer Election
Black Quarter
Workbench

OK you still get the glitched out noise of Sickness and others but with Mr.Conrad, Thurston Moore and Burning Star Core fresh off a review in the NY Times here it will be the thinking man’s noise show.

Name of the day : Handicaper Hornz (I’m a sucker for the letter Z used to pluralize)

Type of Weed Being Smoked - Free Jazz mid range joints hidden in English teacher blazer pocket (not hip blazer).

DAY TWO - SATURDAY 17 at 7pm

Record Store Clerk Day / Hipster Noise Day

Stage 1:
CLUSTER
Religious Knives
Demons
Carlos Giffoni
The Skaters
Keith Fullerton Whitman
Nautical Almanac
Nevari Butchers

Stage 2:
Hair Police
Tovah Olson and The Jasons
Alvars Orkester
Emeralds
Cornucopia
Baby Cobra Headsz
Eskimo King
Pax Titania
Afternoon Penis

That’s correct Cluster will be doing their post mid-life crisis thing including being German and giving record store clerks something to buzz about, perhaps it’s the most “musical” day as there might be drums and a few structured songs with the Knives playing. Your ears won’t split as much as you get blissed out to The Skaters or Emeralds and if you make it to Hair Police you’ll be rewarded. Big surprise this one is sold out but you can find tickets if you look, I’m not telling you where because I still need one. There will be nonconfrontational beards here today, better posture and more eye contact you actually have a chance of getting laid, it’s gotta be the drums.

Name Of The Day - Afternoon Penis by a landslide.
Type of Weed Being Smoked - Highest Grade of the three days, you’ll need patience and endurance and want to be sucked into some drones, something called AK-47 or Strawberry Fields.

DAY THREE - SUNDAY 18 at 6:30pm
Official Harsh Noise Day

Stage 1:
The Haters
Consumer Electronics
Illusion of Safety
Lee Ranaldo: Blind Piece #2
Lasse Marhaug + Dror Feiler
Sudden Infant
Edwige
Werewolf Jerusalem

Stage 2:
John Wiese
Cleanse
James Plotkin
Alan Licht
FFH
Ahlzagailzehguh
Halflings
The Cathode Terror Secretion
Shallow Waters

DJs:
Kai Parviainen(Enema Syringe),Tommi of Finland

This is the day for the dudes who hate the people going to the other two days for being pussies. This day is official straight up, it’s going to be ugly, smelly, harsh and grim in the best way possible. There will probably be violence of some sort, people will be bummed out and it’s just not going to be nice. After years of Hardcore and Punk shows my body won’t let me do anything more aggressive than watching sports on a Sunday so my attendance is doubtful but it’s the day I’m the most curious about. I wouldn’t even be bummed if I went and some weird Power Electronics dude beat me up for being there as I probably deserve it.

Name Of The Day - Werewolf Jerusalem

Type Of Weed Being Smoked - Brown Frown Dirt Weed that will give you a headache and make you hate everything a lot.

Info here

Prior to dawning Celtic Green, Mr.Garnett was my favorite non-Celtic. A lot of this appreciation was centered around the fact that he looked dope in a uniform that incorporated green. It was easy for me to fantasize what it would be like to see him dominating alongside Paul Pierce and making that team legit, I’ve seen enough potlucked together Celtic teams, the Antoine Wiggle, Rogers and Delk jacking awful threes, trades for injured white dudes, etc.

Mr. Ainge made this dream a reality and the Celtics have delivered thus far aside from a perplexing series against the Hawks. My brain cannot grasp why they almost blew that series, I’m hoping that it was as simple as Bibby (who is a dead ringer for 2nd place White Rapper John Brown) was calling in hookers in the form of fat white chicks to their hotel rooms before each road game causing lethargic play.

This post is not about sports, Boston, basketball or anything other than competitive swagger.

As you see in the pictures accompanying this post, KG has not only brought a winning team oriented mentality to the Celtics, he brought a serious swag and a signature look, the sketchy towel wrapped around the neck or head, the premier post-game / bench look. This can also be modified into a look similar to something the king of swag’s Jim Jones, signature new look, which he’s repping on the cover of his latest CD:

Once again my white skin permits me from doing anything this cool so I have to celebrate how good this looks on brothers. Seeing cool black people in green with sketchy towels makes me almost hate how white skin looks in those uniforms, how did I ever think, Bird, McHale, or even fucking Greg Kite looked remotely cool or intimidating in those uniforms when something like this exists. Pasty white skin looks negative cool in anything white and sleeveless, sorry any-dude-USA wearing a wife beater, in case you didn’t know you look like an asshole.

Thank you KG for all your contributions, I hope to see dudes rocking the towel look this sticky New York Summer.

On January 28Th 1986 I was home from school sick with a fever. My family had just moved to depressing suburban New Hampshire from depressing urban Massachusetts, specifically Lawrence a city that excelled in car theft, arson and welfare scams in he 1980s. After using my best “I’m sick” voice to negotiate the day off I burrowed back into cartooned sheets only to wake up to an explosion on my television. Whipped into consciousness, my haze gave way to shock, I remembered that I was supposed to be in school celebrating space travel, watching the shuttle launch live. One of New Hampshire’s own, Christa McAuliffe a grade school teacher, was to be sent into space along with the Challenger crew. We were going to watch the launch, talk about space travel, eat dried ice cream and then be really hyper. Instead I was at home tripping on a fever wondering what the fuck an O Ring was and how this could happen.
There’s no doubt I was really jealous of Christa, I wanted it to be my teacher or specifically me, I was way more into space travel. Remember how cool that was as a kid, you hated Russians and thought space shuttles and specifically anti-gravity was the hottest shit. You’d obviously do something way cooler than some stiff teacher in space, you could drink Coke that was suspended in the air and do all sorts of cool flips and shit, not look at rocks and measure things or whatever. Regardless 1986 was packed with unexpected disappointments for a lad Living Free or Dying from the Challenger disaster to the Red Sox collapsing in the World Series and my now useless Berry the Bears shirt. These little life lessons mixed with a few yeas of Catholic School have had me looking over my shoulder my whole life for that variable that is going to fuck me up. O Rings, routine grounders, wild pitches, hail marys by a dude with a stuffy nose, a chick with a wandering eye, code enforcement, sketchy friends, it’s a robust list of paranoia.
On 4.29.08 Burning Star Core releases Challenger on Plastic Records (LP) and Hospital Productions (CD). Challenger is robust with psychedelic drones and hypnotic layers that loop, resonate, cut and swirl. It’s lucid ambiance that spins maudlin circles around you then unexpectedly jolts you back into consciousness. Burning Star Core is one of the weapons in C.Spencer Yeh’s quiver that he uses to punch holes in conventional music, creating new spaces and voids simultaneously.  His deep catalog of improvisation and structured performance has put him along side Double Leopards, Comets on Fire, John Olson, Hair Police, Thurston Moore and other noisey notables. Drone, avant-electronics, improv and many splinter factions and tags often remove our most familiar friend the vocal chords. Our ears have to connect to the space created by the absence. Wanton post-rockers take the safe route by noodling away in “sad” keys, rarely achieving more than a rock song sans vocals lacking any direction while avant structures that drone, slash or lay ambient often lack the familiarity or reference new ears crave to stay tuned. The washes of sound and silence of Challenger give enough clues to keep you stuck and invested while Mr.Yeh orchestrates the arrival of the unnoticed variable, the inevitable sharp turn laced in sparsely rich psychedelic sound. Challenger is a perfect introduction and a brilliant companion to a rich resume of sound.

LP for the vinyl heads on Plastic Records
CD for the digital sect on Hospital Productions
Visit C.Spencer Yeh here
Preview Beauty Hunter from Challenger above and here.

Since September 11th 2001 pop culture has been stuck in a time loop. Nothing produced after 9.11.01 will ever be revisited or romanticized because we all long for the world when we could walk through a metal detector while wearing shoes and a tiny war on CNN that was as competitive as the average Tyson fight.

VH1 is bummed because when they try to make “I Love The 2000’s” they can only go “Hey remember when we remembered dance music and cocaine, remember when we remembered hair metal, remember when we remembered breakdancing?”. So it’s only fitting that All Tomorrow’s Parties ups the ante and puts on the most pre-911 show possible.

This September 19th - 21st you’ll be able to re-remember or misremember the heart of the 90s with a My Bloody Valentine curated festival in the Catskills, NY. Just the visual of that blurry Fender guitar is pretty soothing. It reminds me of striped shirts, floppy hair, and weird chicks. I don’t know if I am really looking forward to MBV08 but I don’t mind giving K.Sheilds my money and rolling the dice. MBV are kind of like the Creation records equivalent of Guns N’ Roses, I’m hoping homeboy doesn’t have braids or a dude wearing a KFC bucket on stage but I can’t rule anything out.

Not only are the key bands 90s bands but some are being forced to play their most 90s material here’s the line up so far :

MY BLOODY VALENTINE
FUCK BUTTONS
POLVO
LOW
EDAN WITH GUEST DAGHA
MOGWAI
THE DRONES
BUILT TO SPILL PERFORMING PERFECT FROM NOW ON
WOODEN SHJIPS
SHELLAC
THEE SILVER MOUNT ZION ORCHESTRA
AUTOLUX
MEAT PUPPETS PERFORMING MEAT PUPPETS II
TORTOISE PERFORMING MILLIONS NOW LIVING WILL NEVER DIE
THURSTON MOORE PERFORMING PSYCHIC HEARTS

A world where Polvo can reunite is not right. Exploded Drawing has a cool cover and a few good songs but there aren’t enough gas station jackets and pocket tees left in the world to give a fuck.

No one will ever convince me to “appreciate” the Meat Puppets, I hated even typing that name it’s bumming me out just looking at those two words together. Let’s hope one of them gets back on heroin in time to cancel the performance.

 http://www.atpfestival.com/

Natalie Portman, perhaps jerked-off to by more hip graphic designers than any other female or at least tied with Scar-Jo. My Portman time-line goes like this :

Didn’t give a shit, went to Harvard still didn’t give a shit, plays a stripper in a movie where Clive Owen is real cool and things start getting interesting, watch Garden State and think it’s a horror movie, V is for Who Gives a Shit? Back to being not interested, and then Rushmore licked her ass on iTunes or something. Notice Star Warzzzzz isn’t mentioned.

Verdict - Hot chick who is jerked off to for Shins, Veganism, Comic Book and Star Wars affiiations. Things that don’t interest me. I don’t have a fantasy of turning her onto the new Shit Wolf record while we eat Pepper Seitan Skewers overlooking the Brooklyn water front but she’s a million times cooler than Jennifer Anuston or something.

Recently she’s been hanging with Devendra and that was too close to the gene pool for me. If she wants to pork shitty Hollyweird dudes or go to Moby shows fine but dating a mildly talented long haired bearded guy actually is frustrating. I want to write her off as the annoyingly hot pre-cursor to Juno but when she’s dating a Venezuelan douche who plays Tyrannosaurus Rex covers shirtless with paint on his chest I really feel like someone got over on me. Devendra is essentially your annoying “finding himself” trustfund guy that’s someone’s roommate that you don’t really like, too close to home. It’s the tortured artist version of the kiss ass male airhead dude in the office getting the promotion you wanted and then trying to give you a high five.

I wrote Nat off another Pitchforker and was stressed about how Hip the world has become because a real actress is dating a dude like this, it’s differentt than Winona dating Soul Asylum dude because that dude was never actually cool but in some regards Devendra (a dude I’m negative into) did something cool and original no matter how fake-hippie cultured kid it is. There was something rooted in an interesting idea and culture not a bro with dreads looking for someone to shove.

So the few brain cells I had left were freed up for thinking someone else was mildly cool and attractive. That was until the NY Post came out today and showed Nat getting pissed on by a dog.

This is a win /win.

1. It’s the closest to Piss Porn we’re ever going to get with Ms.Portman, she’s not going to ever be featured on Goldenshowergirls.com and it’s a dog which really ups the sketch factor. Dudes flipping around the paper go “Man she is so cute, I want to play her this song I wrote in Garageband” then they realize she’s covered in dog pee-pee and they feel weird. They have a similar dog but a not-similar girl friend and weird thoughts are going through their passive aggressive project manager brains. “Hmmm..should I give our min-pin Sebastian too much water tonight and maybe he’ll piss on my super annoying girlfriend?…is that legal?”

2. Her hippie weenie broseph dude is next to her watching his chick get pissed on by some shitty little groomed dog while cameras flash. So yeah his chick is getting pissed on and it’s not by him, it’s not even a human. Sorry homie, you don’t have a gold or plat record but Soul Asylum dude does, Side Show Bob from Counting Crows rolls with more chicks and there isn’t enough acid in the world to change this. Regular dudes win again.

Bonus Points - She’s holding shit too.

Best day ever.

Just kidding but seriously, does the biggest “brand” in Sports need to put themselves on Front Street this much?

It started with doughy Hank running his high cholesterol mouth about anything and everything, boasting that the Yankees’ offer for Johan Santana was superior, boasting that the Cowboys are jealous of the Yankees, calling Red Sox reliever Jonathan Papelpon a mouse after berating the Red Sox and a slew of other powerful and articulate quotes.

Then of course, and this really happened, they signed Billy Crystal to a one day contract, it would have been cooler if it was Hillie Crystal but he’s dead, but actually why didn’t they just haul his corpse out and put the CBGB awning behind the plate for a one day contract. They could have Jetes, Andy, Jorge and new skipper Joey “Firery Flattop” Girardi impersonate the Ramones doing the National Anthem

Now we have the emotional game versus Virginia Tech. I am not mocking an absolutely gut wrenching tragedy that obviously impacted so many people but it’s fucking disgusting that the Yankees are now Ambulance Chasers instead of “winners”.

Seeing A-Rod pretend that this was the most important game of his life in his VT Colored Nazi cap, hearing the Captain remind us of September 11th and imagining the inappropriate jokes Shelley Duncan was probably telling in the locker room before the game made my stomach turn.

I wouldn’t rule out the Yankees playing at Ground Zero in pinstriped Fireman Uniforms with Never Forget glowing on the Jumbotron.

Are we that fucking stupid by the way that we’d forget September 11th? Is there some asshole faxing his resume to the World Trade Center right now wondering why he’s getting a busy signal or some Arab guy at an airport totally shocked that he has to take his shoes off and can’t bring mouthwash on the plane?

I’m pretty sure the answer is no.

My condolences to the families who have been through this tragedy.

My middle finger to the Yankees for using this tragedy to promote their embroidered white swazi logo. Congrats, you’ve won some tear jerking face time, maybe they should have landed Santana, they wouldn’t be so starved for attention.

“Can’t talk now, I’m at SXSW” sent from my iPhone.

It’s that time of year where music industry people respond to anything you ask them by letting you know that they are at SXSW and you aren’t. I’m going to preface this by saying I’m semi-jealous.

Here’s the regular dude’s guide , I’ve enclose a graph so you can understand this mess, essential a shit load of money goes into this thing in order to not make money, I swear to god this is true. The Green line shows the dollars spent, the Doo Doo shows the money made.

Does anyone really understand South By Southwest? Here’s some things that make sense to me :

1. It’s fun. Especially if you’re a music industry peon, suddenly you’ve got an expense account and your job is to get fucked up with the band of the minute. How could that be a bad thing?

2. You have a new label, a new booking agency, or some new thing that you’re establishing and promoting, where else would you hype it but in a sweaty tent in Texas.

3. Established big name labels can get washed up bands to perform (R.E.M., Lemonheads) and show the world that hey “We’re trendsetters! HELLLOOO! You indie labels don’t have shit figured out there’s a reason why we get dental and you don’t!”.

4. It gives bloggers something to blog about. Hey bloggers, I’m not really sure how much advertising you pull in but I hope to christ sucking off Tapes and Tapes, Dan Deacon or The Tough Alliance actually pays your bills because otherwise you’re just telling me about really bad music that is as disposable on the 90s bands on Sub Pop that no one cared to check out despite Seattle being “the” place. Does anyone really know what Skin Yard or The Walkabouts sound like or more importantly does anyone give a shit?

So we’ve established that it’s important convene in Texas in a tent, spend tons of money and give the economy in Austin a major jump in order to succeed in the music business.

Who really profits from this besides hot dog vendors and hotels?

Booking agents - They scout new bands, see who blogs about them , gage the buzz and make calculated risks. No one buys CDs but people go to shows so that means these people actually make money, I know weird right? For some reason people that try to sell you plastic haven’t figure this out yet.

Bands - One feature on Pitchfork and you’ve gone from local whogivesashit to Recommended Listening, this could lead to a nice advance that you could purchase a loft in Brooklyn with or maybe a full career in music. You get exposure, your shows generate more cash, you sell more t-shirts , get free blow, and you’re getting laid. Bands are tied for the lead with the Booking agents.

Steve Jobs - The little rectangle that you store all the hot music that you stole that will break in 2 years is still helping Steve buy the world, he’s killing the music industry more than anyone but let’s face it, iPods are incredible and they look better than a Zune (is that even the name of an mp3 player? Did I make that up). It is a brilliant invention, I am cool with the music industry dying

Those seem to be the big winners. The magazines are dying, I have no clue what money blogs really take in , (hey big labels, pay more dudes to do blogs , remember payola, I know you do this already but get better at it), big labels spend way too much money and don’t get a return, in case you didn’t notice the best selling records last year were records aimed at people that don’t really download music yet :

Kids - High School Musical Soundtrack 2 - 2.7 Million Sold

Old People - Josh Groban - Noel 2.8 Million Sold

Those numbers are pathetic considering punch-lines like The Bullet Boys, Jackyl, Dangerous Toys and Slaughter have gold, platinum and multi plat records…think about that. None of those bands were even remotely the biggest names of their genre.

The moral. SXSW is a good time, if you’re there and not paying for it . You’re stoked, you’re seeing 50 shows a day, getting smashed and having more fun than me , that’s no lie. If you’re footing the bill you’re losing money and basically buying stock in a company that makes VHS machines or something, seriously what the fuck are you thinking.

I didn’t even get into people who refer to “rock stars” by first name ( Oh, I’m meeting Will for lunch, you know Will from The Analog Captians! They just signed to this new imprint of Sony that Devon’s running..you know DEVON who used to play in….), people who are “on the list” and the worst humans ever, people who wear laminates all day long.

Never trust anyone who wears a laminate if they aren’t carrying equipment, period.

Jean Feraca, I Hear Voices: A Memoir of Love, Death and the Radio

March 13 07:00PM - 08:30PM at Strand Book Store
Located at the corner of 12th Street and Broadway, NYC

“Jean Feraca, Wisconsin Public Radio’s Distinguished Senior Broadcaster and poet, will read from her new memoir, I Hear Voices, accompanied by her son, Dominick Fernow, electronic artist Prurient. The focus of this mother and son duo will be the first chapter in the book, “My Brother/The Other,” which tells the extraordinary story of Feraca’s brother, Stephen, a man with “a life force that verged on the diabolic,” who left home at an early age for Pine Ridge Reservation and was adopted into the Sioux tribe. To carry the text through Stephen’s redemptive death, Prurient will perform dark layers of synths and electronics to create a landscape where the voice breathes a message of existential paradox.”

If you aren’t familiar with Prurient it’s hard to just throw you into a new genre and give you an overview. It’s not like saying “Oh you like the Bright Eyes, man you’ll dig Okkervil River!” plus no one should ever say that. My suggestion is that if you have an interest in thick synth blankets of feedback with structure, tension and dissonance you should start with Pleasure Ground. If you’re a noisemin you know the name, if you’re not and maybe had a Throbbing Gristle phase or pretended to have a Throbbing Gristle phase in order to get laid by a germanic goth chick that was probably into sketchy shit you have some point of reference. If this doesn’t make any sense it I’m kind of psyched because you’re a clean slate and my job becomes easier. Prurient, or Dominic Fernow to be proper has a grip of releases ranging from limited edition cassettes to lathes and CDs. Dominic also opened the New York source for noise, experimental music and black metal, Hospital Productions. The Village Voice has already romanticized the Hospital Productions store located in the basement of Jammyland on 3rd Avenue in Manhattan so we’ll skip over the whole “a dark lair of black metal and experimental music” prose and get to the main course. What’s inspiring and incredible about the store is the care and craft of so many of the releases sold there. While intricate packaging was always been a staple of many noise releases since it’s inception, it really appeals to the early nineties guy in me that consumed any 7″ screened on a paper bag or cover with something glued on it. I know Dom wasn’t into Nuzzle or Mohinder so it’s coming from a completely different head , don’t worry. Knowing that these records were crafted by someone and not a machine adds to the experience. Knowing you can get tapes and records packed with human hair, blood, skin and probably / maybe doo doo adds a new layer. Two Prurient releases probably came out since I just typed that I bet they’re incredible.

Instead of shimmying down the sketchy ladder into the Hospital you should visit the Strand tomorrow night if you are in New York to hear him do his thing while his mother reads from her memoir, I Hear Voices. I’ll be there and I’ll be jealous of both of them as it’s an impressive and unique opportunity. I know your inner NPR voice is telling you what a rich event this could be and at the least you’ll have something interesting to spin to your housemates or fellow free lancers while you sip Kombucha and bash Elliot Spitzer.

Visit the Hospital Site : Here

Pick up the Prurient / Kevin Drumm release - All Are Guests In The House Of The Lord. The only time I was ever disturbed by music was the first time I heard Swans in my teens, I knew there was something mangled and frustrating going on, something that was more shocking than loud guitars and demon imagery. In my adult years I’ve laughed at corny slideshows and drum circles by Neurosis, laughed louder at grown men in corpse paint and became really annoyed by “metal” records that are always compared to “the sound of hot steel ripping through your larynx while you take your last gasp”. All that stuff is bullshit, All Are Guests In The House Of The Lord is disturbing, draining, droning and lucid. You need to let it sink in and give it your attention and it will reward. Trust me I’m cynical, old and a pain in the fucking ass and few records impress me in this way.

Then go here

Read Jean Feraca’s blog, once again get familiar and gear up for tomorrow.

Lastly go here if you’d rather be really pedestrian and read boring reviews by interns that are “so over Justice” and like the sketchy Brian Eno records.

Irony Has Become The New White Power

“The most influential model in the history of irony has been the Platonic Socrates. Neither Socrates nor his contemporaries, however, would have associated the word eironeia with modern conceptions of Socratic irony. When Socrates’ interlocutors were annoyed with him for behaving in this way they called him eiron, a vulgar term of reproach referring generally to any kind of sly deception with overtones of mockery. The fox was the symbol of the eiron.”

Taken from the University of Virginia Library

You have been out foxed America, specifically the free range fine meat loving, New Yorker quoting, Arcade Fire iTunes only EP purchasing assholes who are snubbing Hillary for PROGRESS! I mean Obama.

A white mouth saying “nigger” might make jaws drop and spark law suits but I’m more offended when I hear girls with Master’s Degrees referring to things as “so ghetto” calling each other “crackheads”, and the granddaddy of them all “My Nizzle”.

As stated yesterday, you hear someone drop “nigger”, you know they are a piece of shit. You hear someone say “my nizzle” and you know they are some honk that has no idea they are saying “my nigga” which is what the man wants. The same asshole who has America watching Flavor of Love, getting balding men who hate jungle music to yell FLAVOR FLAVVVVV at their softball buddies over yellow beer.

Back to Socrates, he was white and white people love irony. We love ironic t-shirts, pilfering thrift stores and backpacking around countries with weak economies (Dude, Pad Thai is 48 cents here!). We love stealing without giving credit. I’m staring right at Good Charlotte who, like any great Rock and Roll swindle, steal from black dudes and eclipse them. Their scam was taking rap lyrics and farting on them so that Juicy Couture mini-dog loving bedazzled cunts would make them the soundtrack to Los Angeles.

Black People don’t dig on irony as much. Remember when some streetwear company tried to recolor the Confederate Flag with African colors and make a statement? Yeah no one remembers because it didn’t matter. Fabolous sums it up for us in his Village Voice Profile :

Even when he comes out on the walkway, he comes out in a Mickey Mouse T-shirt—and he’s supposed to be Marc Jacobs.” The idea of being rich, yet not showcasing that wealth in the most ostentatious possible way, seems to baffle Fabolous. “Maybe he’s attracted to the simpler things in life. I think a lot of black people are attracted to the big names and flash because we don’t come from it—we always looked at material things as a status symbol or the object you could never afford. I looked at this car as that. Now if I ever went back to having nothing, I could say, ‘I drove a Bentley.”

White people acting “ghetto” is funny. Wearing second hand clothes is a nice fuck you to mom and dad and the trust fund that’s about to kick in. We can thank Joe Strummer for creating the punk / rap / revolutionary hybrid that has manifested itself into tightly sagged jeans, iced out medallions, New Era Hats, sailor tattoos and faux-retro Misfits shirts.

The piss bum trying to sell his scribbles is just a “nigger” trying to get money for crack but Basquiat is a genius. Jean didn’t have to live in a box but it was a nice selling point and a reason to get hooked on heroin. Addiction is frowned upon unless art is involved, then it’s romantic. With a few great white minds involved, friendly safe negro art was created and viola! High priced scribbles for all! It was also a safe and cutesy blueprint for fake graffiti branding, paving the way for Obey and other streetwear geniuses.

Where does the Big O tie into this? Young voters who don’t remember how rad the Clinton years are sick and tired of things man! It’s time for CHANGE and PROGRESS! We’re one Shepard Fairey poster away from storming the Oval Office and getting free health care for lazy freelancers! FUCK YEAH! Sorry Mr. SUV you’ll be required by by law to drive a hybrid car and we’ll pass out ironic Kaffiyah Scarves to children to remind Republicans of the blood on their hands.

Why vote for the most qualified candidate, the Clintons and the Bushes are the same thing, HELLLLLOOOOOOOOO. We’re swept up in this dashing, Jay-Z listening, Wire watching revolutionary even though we have no clue what the fuck he’s really about.

Bad news, get ready for a democratic loss. At best Young Revolutionaries, we’re ending up with the Black Jimmy Carter. Sweet.

I don’t know Barack but I know that blind support of him is a form of under the radar racism and white guilt that will continue to erode our culture.

OBIZZZLE FOR PRESIDIZZLE MY NIZZLES!