December 23, 2005
Teardrops
Let me be absolutely clear; these high holy days are kicking my ass. Certainly you all have noticed my weak levels of posting… you have, haven’t you?
Anyhoo, since the Toestubber (that’s me) will be mostly incommunicado until a couple days after Xmas - way up in the hills of beige-ass Fresno County - here are a handful more totally soul-groovin’ songs by the Equals to help you cope. To paraphrase Sara Lee, nobody doesn’t love this band. So cheer up, put on your dancing ‘fro and let’s get to mingering! And be sure to have a Merry whatever, suckas.
The Equals - “Honey Bee”
The Equals - “The Skies Above”
The Equals - “Just Me and You”
The Equals - “Michael and His Slipper Tree”
Rick at 12:09 am
December 16, 2005
The Voice of Nations
Are you a romantic? You like perfect songs about love and death? Do you have a high tolerance for cabaret-style tunesmithing? Do you appreciate when raw emotional sincerity is smoothly blended with bitterness and desperation? Do you agree that the French language has a certain je ne sais quoi? If not, move along, pal - yer blockin’ up traffic.
Jacques Brel is one of my favorite singers, and I have never heard him sing a word in English. I would not want to hear such a thing. When I was a kid, my mother used to play his records, and my brother and I mocked them mercilessly in an attempt to portray ourselves as badasses. I believe that hearing his casual, precise enunciation when I was that young helped me when I was learning French in high school, even though Monsieur Jacques sang a kind of Bruxellois a French teacher might not like. And now, of course, I am recommending you dig the music - whether or not you understand what he’s singing about.
Although he’s revered in France and his native Belgium as the French-speaking world’s own Frank Sinatra (with perhaps a little Bob Dylan thrown in), Brel’s American exposure has mainly consisted of this retarded piece of horrible hippie shit. (The video actually features one great clip of JB hisself singing “Ne Me Quitte Pas”; too bad this gem is found inside the movie equivalent of a drippy fart.) Brel was also a publicly avowed atheist, a ballsy stance that earns him special Toestubber miles which can even be redeemed after one’s death.
Brel the pop star always looked freakin’ cool as hell, exuding that kind of suave handsome/ugly combo I often relate to for some strange reason: Smoking a fag in literally half the photos ever taken of him, tousled hair from driving his sports convertible, tailored dinner jacket… the complete early-’60s jetsetter intellectual, frozen in time. That’s how it seemed, anyway. He often sang partly in Flemish, and about the Flemish ladies (”Les Flamandes,” among others). He famously stopped performing a few years before the cigarettes finally croaked him in 1978.
There are lots of records you can buy, but precious little video footage, with apparently one exception: After obsessing over these songs during a busy xmas season, I’m seriously thinking about purchasing what must be the most expensive DVD set in history. What the fuck.
In 1973, Alex Harvey of the Sensational Alex Harvey Band did a tango version of Brel’s “Next” and named their best album after it. SAHB is a post for another day, but this is the most rocking Brel cover you’ll ever hear (beating out even Sinatra’s reworking of “Je Ne Quitte Pas” as “If You Go Away.”). I love the way the soldier’s story introduces itself as a light, cheesy farce and then suddenly takes a nasty, apocalyptic turn into full-on existential horror. “Next…”
Jacques Brel - “Ne Me Quitte Pas”
Jacques Brel - “Amsterdam (live)”
Jacques Brel - “Marieke”
Sensational Alex Harvey Band - “Next”
Rick at 11:42 pm
December 11, 2005
Open the Blinds
In May of 1979, a San Francisco band called the Maids put out their first and last 7″ single.
John “Ritalin” McCormick’s information-rich memoir in the L.A. Weekly five years ago is a mindblower. I recommend you read it.
Though I was already aware of this lovely record from side A’s inclusion on Killed By Death #7, I had no idea of the torturous backstory. I only knew that the song is great. Just goes to show that some of the most intense human drama might never see the pages of history, so take plenty of notes. And that true artists don’t know what they’re doing half the time. I mean, if the Maids themselves can’t be convinced of the beauty of this 45, what does it really matter what a critic says?
Anyway, back to Bataan for a moment. Although I myself never experienced a cross-cultural homosexual affair amidst the horrors of World War II, I do love those lyrics, and feel a personal affinity for the Maids record. It’s crazy and chaotic, and poignant in its sarcastic fury. (And it’s mine. Sometimes it feels good to clutch the vinyl disc against my bony chest before drifting off to sleep.)
Those high rollers who spend hundreds for a rare 45, though? No offense, just not my scene. I’m a packrat, not an antiques dealer.
But it turns out the record geek world is so incestuous, even a lowly bottom feeder like myself has encountered three of the ruling collector scum mentioned in McCormick’s story - Johan Kugelberg, Ryan Richardson …and Roger Mah, who actually traded me this record, along with some other stuff, in exchange for my copy of the super-scarce The Nothing 7″. This transaction marked my first, and probably only, ascension to the rarified heights of bigtime rare punk record deals.
Hey, it’s all about the music, folks. “Back to Bataan” was also covered by Sir Dance-a-Lot & his Dancing, Romancing Pranceteers, and they did a fine job. Here’s the original - mint in sleeve, or something, with only a couple of jizz stains.
The Maids - “Back to Bataan”
The Maids - “I Do I Do”
Rick at 6:30 pm
December 6, 2005
How ‘Bout That Taste
Yes, I need to feed you some mp3s, and no, I don’t have time to write a big long post. That’s when I reach into the hip hop cabinet and pull out some 21st Century vintage. Sure, this underground stuff might have a better flavor when you know more information about it - the vineyards, the process, yadda yadda… But I’m a little too white to give you that.
Quasimoto is the martian-voiced alter ego of Madlib, a guy who’s got his finger in so many pies he’s a one-man music machine. Stones Throw Records brought this guy to my attention (if you dig him, click that link; they’ve got tons of cool videos and more mp3s for download). Lord Quas has some connection with Melvin Van Peebles, and you can hear Mr. Peebles’s vocals all over the last album. Madlib is also a member of the strange combo Yesterdays New Quintet, a mellow fusion of hip hip instrumentation and spacey free jazz. Anyway, no one can convey the beauty of getting baked and digging through old records like this qwazy cat. It’s a vernacular even I can understand, and I haven’t smoked weed in 16 years.
Quasimoto - “Bus Ride”
Quasimoto - “Microphone Mathematics (Remix)”
Yesterdays New Quintet - “I Am Singing”
The quicktime movie below is Madlib’s delightful two-minute history of rap.
Quasimoto/Madlib - “Rappcats pt.3″ (.MOV file, 11.6 MB)
Rick at 8:07 am
December 3, 2005
The Bullshit
“I have never heard one person say that the most difficult thing about Antarctica is working outside, or being cold. I have never heard one person imply that Antarctica’s tough physical environment would be the main reason not to return. I have never heard of one returnee who finally quit because it’s the world’s highest, driest, coldest, or whatever. People leave because of the bullshit.” - Nicholas Johnson
I work as a DVD production manager in a well-established porn production company. My unconventional job means I’m forced to deal with less of the outright bullshit you find in most occupations. By “bullshit,” I mean smallminded attitudes - in or out of the workplace - that exist only to crush our spirit, or consider such spirit-demolition an acceptable bit of collateral damage in the cause of social prudery, fear, ass-covering or bureaucratic tidiness. Y’all know the kind of asinine shit I mean.
My employer pays me an acceptable wage. At heart I’m very unambitious (although I still have the dream of one day finding a box of money). But I am not subject to pay cuts, because pornography always has and always will turn a profit. My idiot-savant skills are utilized fairly well, and I occasionally get professional praise for my work. I interact with famous pornographers and enjoy their respect, and every so often, pretty ladies drop by the office. More frequently, I look at endless photographical representations of beautiful women having sex… a lot. So much that it can get boring. I also constantly get to see horrific porno atrocities, which is entertaining.
My being a weirdo is more tolerated, because it’s recognized as common; in fact, a perverted mindset is considered an asset when you are marketing to other perverts. There’s a sense of freedom in interpersonal relationships. For instance, in many office environments, I would be compelled to watch what I say. Sexual humor would be tightly controlled or banned outright. I might not be able to invite a female coworker to “bleach my asshole,” in front of the boss, with impunity, or engage in simulated public sex in the parking lot on the hood of my car. Where I work, the difference between a joke and a malicious insult is determined by its effect; it’s not a blind political calculation made by a Human Resources tool. (This is a side benefit of: 1. a small workforce, and 2. the type of work environment that makes it necessary to discuss gaping anuses, bondage and lactation on a regular basis.)
So, this post is kind of my belated Thanksgiving essay to myself. National holidays really mean nothing to me, aside from an opportunity to get the day off work, but I figured it’d be a good idea to step back from my incessant bitching and count a few of my blessings. Some rabid smut fans come at me like I have the greatest job on the planet, while certain “straight world” acquaintances just assume I must be a skeevy old creep. The truth, as usual, is somewhere in the middle.
Rick at 4:17 pm
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