Category: Blogs A-J

WORKDOGS – “FUNNY $â€Â 45

I once remarked in the early 90s that if I ever had to rip off the record, film and pop culture ephemera collection of one single individual, I’d have chosen Larry Hardy’s – Larry of course being the wunderkind behind IN THE RED RECORDS, for many, many years one of the world’s finest rock and roll record labels (still is to this day). I said this not because Larry’s vast holdings were necessarily more valuable than anyone else’s (of course I’d truly go into Joe Bussard’s basement first), but because he seemed to have every cool record that I wanted that had just gone out of print, and because he always seemed to get that edition-of-100 7â€Â single that I always found out about one minute too late (from people like Larry).

Naturally it was Larry who turned me onto this 1986 scorcher from THE WORKDOGS on “King Dog Bisquetâ€Â records. This two-man, lo-fidelity, crazed blues/comedy band have played with many heavyweights over the years, but back in ’86 they were just starting to build their mythos and put their raw sounds out directly to the people. “Funny $â€Â has a riff that will claw its way into your cranial lobes and never leave, which I assure you will be crazy-making for most folks, but me, I’m happy to have it bouncing around in there. It’s a marathon workout by “garage punkâ€Â standards, too – at least six or seven minutes, right? For fun, here’s the phonus-balonus liner notes they included with the single way back then:

The Workdogs are the hot, new blues sensation that has all of New York on it’s ear. A two man rhythm unit employing the services of a third – replacable – instrumentalist, the Workdogs have cut a wide swathe across the contemporary music scene. Equally versed in rock, jazz, trash and noise as well as their acknowledged mastry of the blues idiom; the ‘dogs are in high demand – not only for their legendary live performances but also as New York’s premier rhythm section for hire.
In spite of the Workdogs’ phenominal popularity, little is actually known about Robert “HiRex” Kennedy. His name appears on the 1980 census three times – aged twenty seven – residing in Los Angeles, New York and Helena, Arkansas. Sources in these cities describe him variously and contradictorily.
It is thought that Kennedy spent his teen years following the fabled “Dumb” John Gomer (Cosmar) who apparently was his first and only teacher. Gomer would play the blues but he would (or could) not sing them; perhaps this accounts for “hiRex’s” idiosyncratic vocal techniques. Likewise his lyricism, in which verses have little logical sequence and may – as rumour has it – flow directly from his subconscious mind. Besides these many intangible nuances his work is spiked with vocal asides, topical references and other special effects that suggest the buffoonery of the Workdogs’ live performance.

Of Scott Jarvis we know considerably more. Jarvis’ North Carolina Piedmont background is well documented. He himself often speaks fondly of his maternal great grandfather who is still something of a Piedmont legend for his drumming at most major local sporting events – especially baseball games. This, apparently, is the inspiration for Jarvis’ sobriquet: “Blind Frothin’ Baseball.”

Sometime during his twenties, “Frothin” became acquainted with J.F. “Peck” Curtis and subsequently taught him everything he knew: the “controlled skid”, the “hesitation recovery”, the “stop immediately” and the “blues waltz” to name a few. Listening to his playing, one might think that he had set out deliberately to develop a style that could never be reproduced by machine – an all too common practice at the time. in fact, first person accounts confirm Frothin’ Baseball’s obsessive – some say superstitious – distrust of the newfangled technology.
Perhaps this explains the Workdogs’ shunning the recording studio in favor of live performance. It is said that the ‘dogs will set up anywhere, anytime and do virtually anything to hold an audience’s attention. Numerous stories and hundreds of “bootleg” tapes attest to this fact. Yet these two sides are currently the only Workdogs material available anywhere in print, a sorry situation that King Dog Bisquet hopes to soon rectify.

Even more depressing than….

….the continuing existence of Southern Culture on the Skids or The Reverend Horton Heat is the hard truth that there might be an audience for Kickin It Old Skool. At this point in the game, the only demographic that could possibly find this movie entertaining would be….what? I don’t even know. A frat boy after an eight-month, freon-induced coma? As the preview played on the tube (just now), I was hit with a sadly familiar â€Âwhy?â€Ââ€¦..the same â€Âwhy?â€Â that Coffee and Cigarettes, the Starsky and Hutch movie, and The Naked Trucker and T-Bone Show spurred. Creative Bankruptcy indeed.

The cars that I’ve driven.

1978 Pontiac Lemans (first car, 15,000 orig. miles, subtle and wonderful, bent the frame and front axle screwing around, totalled out)

1987 Buick Century (second car, the running dog, 2.8 L V-6, fast, loud A/C Delco stereo, I destroyed this car before it was ultimately taken away due to a DUI/other offenses)

1982 Honda Accord (four door automatic, classic blue, third car after long period without wheels, loved this one, too, paid $400 for it, never quit on me, self-installed Sparkomatic stereo and speakers, drunk woman totalled it from behind on a Sunday afternoon, in hospital overnight)

1985 Honda Civic (five speed, hatchback, drove all over the South to see good and bad bands, amazing stereo, eventually died from an odd engine moisture problem)

1988 Honda Accord (four door, gold, this was my father’s car, inherited after he passed, I totalled it making a u-turn)

1991 Ford Escort (Hatchback, high miles, emergency cheap-o after totalling the Accord, installed nice stereo, timing belt popped in the middle of traffic)

1991 Nissan Pick-Up Truck (lots of problems, bad memories)

1993 Ford Ranger (good memories, strong, great stereo, crazy family of assholes ran stop sign and briefly changed life for the worse)

TO BE CONTINUED…..

FLY ASHTRAY: “SOAP/BIP/FEATHERâ€Â EP

I wasn’t exactly looking for a nonsensical east coast heir to THE FUGS and the HOLY MODAL ROUNDERS who played sideways pop tunes in an absurdly playful, demented manner, but when this 7â€Â arrived in my mailbox in 1991 I immediately pronounced it one of my favorite records, and FLY ASHTRAY one of my favorite bands. I quickly interviewed them by mail for my fanzine; I struck up a “pen palâ€Â friendship with Glenn Luttman, the band’s drummer; and I pimped them to the pals and non-pals wherever I could. For a couple years there Fly Astray, on the strength of some excellent 45s and EPs (“Let’s Have Some Crateâ€Â from 1993 being a particularly good one), built up a nice foaming head of underground steam. Sure, you could quibble with the “sillyâ€Â aspects of the band – the meaningless song titles, for instance – or with the sometimes directionless timbre of the music itself, but when the band were hitting on all cylinders, they made a joyful, strange noise. Believe it or not, they soldier on in 2007. Check out both their web site and MySpace page for evidence. Me, I think this 45 is their “apotheosisâ€Â, and I’m pleased as punch to broadcast it to the World Wide Web this morning.

Play or Download FLY ASHTRAY – “Soapâ€Â (A-side of 1991 single)
Play or Download FLY ASHTRAY – “Bipâ€Â (B-side, Track 1 of 1991 single)
Play or Download FLY ASHTRAY – “Featherâ€Â (B-side, Track 2 of 1991 single)

Tone it down, Earles.

Here is a previously-published installment of my current (and only) metal column, which can be read in its corrected/edited (though I had some pretty amazing free-reign with this one….please note, so as not to scare off potential/future editors) form by picking up the last issue of……DIW Magazine…….the one before the issue that you just looked at (where there is a second installment). Ok, so who out there wants a big care package of metal promos (I’ll forget to mail it, so don’t bother)?

(complete with notes to the editor!!!)

 

Proposed names:
 “So You’re Not A Metalheadâ€Â
 

or….
 “Another Indie Rocker Writing About Metalâ€Â
 

or something really funny, like….
 “Faceplant: The DIW Metal Columnâ€Â
 

“Back Alley Beatdown: The DIW Metal Columnâ€Â
  “Pussy Eraser: The DIW Metal Columnâ€Â
 “Whisker Biscuit Repellent: The DIW Metal Columnâ€Â
 

An intro disguised as a disclaimer, or vise versa….

I pitched a no-thrills metal column to my editor hear at DIW and he went for it…obviously. I am perhaps a little too aware of the negative and positive attention hoisted upon “hipster metalâ€Â (as a round table discussion in Decibel and a piece in Guitar Player magazine refer to such things) and the simple act of non-metal people getting into metal, or saying they’re into metal, or dressing like they’re into metal. I don’t know where I fit in, and would rather not waste the energy trying to figure it out. I have never considered myself a metalhead, tried to look like a metalhead, or tried to pass myself off as a metalhead. Unsurprisingly, I come from an indie/college rock/post-hardcore upbringing (in terms of taste, not creation), but have been writing about metal, on and off, since 1998. The best I can give you, dear reader, is a fair knowledge of the word and its innumerable sub-genres…AND SOME LAUGHS.

The Column
 

There is a built in problem that unites the progress of the otherwise very different Mastodon and Lamb of God, and this problem has reached a head on their respective new albums. Both bands are gradually getting worse, moving away from the interesting places that they were once taking metal, and in the context of “extremeâ€Â metal, that means that the pressures of popularity (from labels, increasing size of fanbase that is now very meathead-heavy, etc) have changed the music itself, for about half of each record, into the LCD crap that wouldn’t be out of place entertaining semi-literate halfwits in the playlist of your local date rapist X-rock station. You have plenty of places to turn after giving up on those two superstars, and if you want to confuse the hell out of people, start espousing the wonderment of the Harvey Milk discography. Like Mastodon, they are from Atlanta, unlike Mastodon, they make little sense in terms of consistency, alternately perfecting the difficult and the great. Special Wishes, on Megablade (Troubleman’s “we’re into metal now, too!!â€Â imprint), is the latter. Isis are back with In The Absence Of Truth. I can help that problem by hereby declaring Isis the next Tool. There is your truth. Seriously, take out the ever-decreasing element of guttural vocals, and all of the pieces are now in place: The palatable, slower-moving prog parts, the not pretty/not ugly singing, jazzy-song construction. Mark my words, and if more proof is needed, head over to the latest In The Fishtank EP (#14, on Touch and Go/Konkurrent) – a pairing of Isis and Aerogramme that sounds exactly like a Mogwai mini-album with occasional screaming. With help from the two guys that make up Big Business, The Melvins clean house with (A) Senile Animal (Ipecac). Fans of Stonerwitch and Stag take note, or at least unstrap that Baby Bjorn and take note. Size 4XXL’s rejoice, Dream Theater mark their 25th anniversary with a 3-CD live set, complete with (big surprise) an orchestra. They were, at one time, a metal band. Load Records has once again taken a detour into structure and released the new one by The USA Is A Monster, titled Sunset At The End Of The Industrial Age. It’s like Dream Theater, or Fate’s Warning, or Meshuggah done by two crustcore holdovers that live in a refrigerator box. No matter the praise that Striborg accumulates, the colorfulness of its Tasmanian rain forest origin, or the popularity of one-man BM outfits, Embittered In Darkness (Southern Lord) sounds like Mortiis, late-period Christian Death, and any sociopath with a keyboard battling it out with 400 slot machines on Senior’s Day. What I meant to write is that it sounds really fucking silly. It immediately makes me thirst for this column’s token non-metal entries, Planes Mistaken For Stars’ Mercy (Abacus) and The Hope Conspiracy’s Death Knows Your Name (Deathwish). The former: Barely metallic, but very hard, Midwestern post-faux hawk rock and roll. The latter: Total 90’s hardcore without a Metalcore meathead in sight. No matter your current stance with Tom Araya and Co., everyone should be a little curious as to what a new Slayer album sounds like in 2006. I’m a Seasons in the Abyss man myself, choosing the 16-year-old underdog of their “seminalâ€Â period as a fave, and Christ Illusion (American) should have, and could have, been the follow-up. Across Tundras’ Dark Songs Of The Prairie (Crucial Blast), despite their frosty name, foreboding title, band member pedigrees, and original origin in a Midwest hellhole, is only metal in the way that Bitch Magnet was OG indie-metal in 1989. In duty to the temporarily unknown, Memphis’ Evil Army (s/t CD on Get Revenge! Records) make real-deal crossover magic (Accused, Hirax, Misfits, S.O.D., and early Metallica) and Clevelend’s Skeletonwitch follow-up their full-length with the Worship The Witch EP (self-released), one of the better Blackened melodic thrash attempts out there. To conclude, I was sent the new Mushroomhead CD, Savior Sorrow, but you have got to be fucking kidding. Really.

-Andrew Earles

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Ending (Pretty Much)

And so it came to pass that a consortium of Berlin bloggers purchased Jim’s Adlon gift-certificate for the full price. I took possession of the cash on Sunday.

And then I did an incredibly stupid thing: I put it, and some money I had in my pocket, in the bank.

Monday I got up, wrote a transfer-slip to the Obergerichtsvollsieher, and took it to the bank. On a whim, I checked my balance. The €220 I’d deposited twelve hours before had turned into €150 and change.

I hiked back home, picked up the receipt for the deposit, and went back to the bank. €74 and change had been taken out that morning, the woman told me. A few more clicks on her computer disclosed the culprit: Deutsche Telekom.

I have no idea how this happened. I have never authorized them to do this. I’m not completely sure how they got my account number, although it’s been the same since before I moved here (I got it when I did a short-lived “Letter From America” for the late Radio For You station here).

So I was still short.

Fortunately, this morning, a notoriously undependable magazine I write for deposited $300 in my American account, so in a few minutes, I’m removing more than enough to pay this guy when he shows up on Thursday. I’m not taking any more chances.

And today I picked up three hours’ proofreading work on a newsletter and brochure from a German sausage-seasoning company. Not what I want to be doing with my time, but it’s work.

I’ve been sickly with a cold since late last week,…

I’ve been sickly with a cold since late last week, meaning that I spent a good portion of the weekend vegging on the couch (as opposed to my usual large portion of the weekend). Anyway, I watched both The Departed and The Devil and Daniel Johnston.

I thought the former ok at best. It made about as much sense as Infernal Affairs, which will never win an award for making sense, but felt bloated and unsatisfying. In Infernal Affairs, part of the pleasure was the cat-and-mouse game between the two leads, but The Departed downplayed this to focus on Jack Fucking Nicholson playing the same guy he always plays, except in Boston (and here’s a query: if you play the same person everytime a camera is rolling, whether or not you are appearing in a film or at an awards show or wherever, can you legitimately be called an actor or are you, in fact, just some guy?). Marty can do better, but, to be fair, he can certainly do worse.

Phil Nugent hated The Devil and Daniel Johnston, but I didn’t. I seem to remember that Phil thought Daniel an annoying person who insisted that everyone cater to his eccentricities, but I think it’s a little more accurate to call him an person indulged as a child whose mental illness requires that same indulgence in his adulthood. I’m a big fan of Johnston’s songwriting, which maybe makes a difference (and I note that one detractor on Netflix was kind enough to point out that he wouldn’t pass the first round on American Idol). I mean, yes, Johnston’s approach to his songs is primitive at best, but like in that lovely moment where Kathy McCarty demonstrates the complexity of his melodies in a little a capella burst, his lyrics and the craft in his songs are quite sophisticated. As in Crumb, the tragedy of his life is on display, especially in a wrenching segment where his father bursts into tears while describing Daniel’s attempt to crash their tiny plane during a nasty psychotic episode. Unlike Crumb, the filmmakers do not damn Johnston for his illness and eccentricities.

GIRLS AT OUR BEST!: “GETTING NOWHERE FASTâ€Â 45

I have only known the brilliance of this 1980 British punk song for about four years now, having heard this for the first time fairly recently, but damn if “Getting Nowhere Fastâ€Â isn’t one of the classic songs of that or any other era. GIRLS AT OUR BEST! have a terrific fan site that is located here; I myself wrote a thing about them in 2003 right about here. As I said then, “’Getting Nowhere Fast’, from their 1980 debut 45, is one of those face-slapping moments any music obsessive lives for – a fantastic, classic, top-tier rock and roll song that I’d never heard before, at a time when sometimes I snobbishly think I’ve heard everything brilliant this era had to offer. Picture a driving, snotty, femme-voxed cross between “Pretty Vacantâ€Â and “Suspect Deviceâ€Â; “Getting Nowhere Fastâ€Â is easily as good and catchy as both…..â€Â. Alas, beyond this record’s B-side “Warn Girlsâ€Â, the band never duplicated their feats here, but I could play this song on endless repeat for at least a couple of hours – what about you?

Play or Download GIRLS AT OUR BEST! – “Getting Nowhere Fastâ€Â (A-side of debut 45)

What I thought about the Aqua Teen Hunger Force movie

No complaints, really. Like the Strangers With Candy movie, which sadly disappeared from party discussion about three days after release, the ATHF feature is as good as…..a good episode of the show. Not a great episode; a good episode. Maybe I’m being a little harsh. Maybe it’s just a little better than that. I was never scared of its failure. There was really no logical way that it would all-out suck. The only aspect that scared me was the idea of being in a theater full of Aqua Teen Hunger Force fanatics. 

This Slate review is as ignorant as the writer professes the subject to be. The film stands on its own without a front-to-back knowledge of the show (though it might help). I’ve missed big chunks of the past two seasons. Before that, I kept up, and even unsuccessfully auditioned for a peripheral character V.O. via phone. That was August of 2003. Before that (I think), I interviewed the creators for Chunklet Magazine. In February of 2005, during a particularly fucked-up period of my life, I blew town and went to Atlanta as a guest at the Aqua Teen Hunger Force Appreciation Party. The guy that voices Master Shake looks exactly like you’d expect, though series DVD owners/renters already know this. My point is, as a lapsed fan that almost entered an outer fold of sorts, I used to know the show. Through no fault of its creators or content, it appears to have attracted a Burning Man/Complete Dumbass/Stoner audience (what percentage of the full audience this accounts for, I don’t know), though it’s still smarter than (and a totally different animal from) the vastly-improved South Park. It takes quite a wit and gift for dialogue construction to write ATHF.  Belly laughs? A couple. I laughed especially hearty at the “Will you answer that fucking phone?!?!â€Â line. Look for it when you go see the film. That brings me to another thought. It was a little jarring, then really funny, to hear the characters unleash a torrent of fucks, fuck-you’s, and fucking’s. And in a rare instance of pop-cultural name-dropping (a crutch that the show has always brilliantly managed to avoid), director Bob Clark gets a shout-out (eerily, he died in a car accident on April 4th).  So yes, I liked it.  

ÂÂ