It's never coming in your lifetime.
I gotta work late at night; our pet's heads are falling off!!!
2009/06/05
2009/06/03
2009/06/02
Audio Visual
Stupid Fuck
To be on tour while at home or the inverse, most at ease on the road that is something to aspire to for anyone.
Poor Comma Usage
Despite the alarming number of tools on twitter, celebrity impersonators (all of you), there must be one who uses the social network itself as a tool; part-time douchebag Bill Simmons succeeds in this endeavor by quoting himself in recent NBA articles/mailbags.
Putridity
The chemical factories’ stench had disappeared from the morning air; or should I say that my sense of smell was last used effectively in late May of the Roman Calendar year 2008? Huelva had its moments of pure, unadulterated bliss; the rolling of an ‘n’ joint; as in, I had smoked the hypothetical infinite variable of a power series of 1.
Capoing the 8th fret
Complete selfishness has resulted in little more than a life of lonely doubts; the taker finds the giver ever willing. We are the fuckers, chanted in slightly detuned unison, echoes off and passes through the paper thin walls. Just waves now, far far away from the port, of pure nothingness running through everything. This is a dream? Get me back to Fort Lauterdale related stories of German holidays.
To be on tour while at home or the inverse, most at ease on the road that is something to aspire to for anyone.
Poor Comma Usage
Despite the alarming number of tools on twitter, celebrity impersonators (all of you), there must be one who uses the social network itself as a tool; part-time douchebag Bill Simmons succeeds in this endeavor by quoting himself in recent NBA articles/mailbags.
Putridity
The chemical factories’ stench had disappeared from the morning air; or should I say that my sense of smell was last used effectively in late May of the Roman Calendar year 2008? Huelva had its moments of pure, unadulterated bliss; the rolling of an ‘n’ joint; as in, I had smoked the hypothetical infinite variable of a power series of 1.
Capoing the 8th fret
Complete selfishness has resulted in little more than a life of lonely doubts; the taker finds the giver ever willing. We are the fuckers, chanted in slightly detuned unison, echoes off and passes through the paper thin walls. Just waves now, far far away from the port, of pure nothingness running through everything. This is a dream? Get me back to Fort Lauterdale related stories of German holidays.
video game
I used to think that Guitar Hero and it's ilk were a horrifying development for anyone with pop culture nostalgia and a hit of fanboy desire lingering somewhere near the synaptic surface. Why, when one could practice playing guitar for some specific period of time (in the case of guitar hero) or hang out with your friends and play covers ("rock band") or take it to the next level and become a single band cover band (yuck, buttfucking crusty hetero hipsters...)? Now that pitchfork tells me that; 1) I'm a hypocrite for decrying hipsterdom's heinous anus expansion (POPPERS). 2) What if a shitload of people buy this stuff because it's cheaper than buying and maintaining real equipment? 3) It does pretty much all the work for you and rewards specialization/dedication. 4) It has a social element (gamers unite online and lord knows where else) 5) The Beatles got their own version, signed off by Paul Mccartney, Ringo Starr, Yoko (Plastic) Ono Lennon and Olivia Newton-John, I mean, Harrison.
Berlin offers a kind of cultural nourishment that my aching bones have been desiring since I set foot in Southern Spain's Southwestern nook that tourists the world over call "Andalucía" (often with the accent falling on the 'u' (Pixies Debaser) I found the DDR museum last night at 3:30 am strolling around unable to locate the proper way to arrive back home; no keys, no cash, just a strange bus ticket that somehow is acceptable to the driver no matter what. Sometimes the locals themselves omit the 'cía' and th-ay, "Omo Andalú!" (Somos Andaluz) (We are andalusian.) Speaking of bones, the milk in Spain tasted a little funny; it actually freaked me out. Then one day fresh milk randomly appeared in a bourgeois illusion fancy market; except they wilfully left out 'free' sample containers in a non-refrigerated area. German milk is delicious; I didn't know they had an A&P here too. So, maybe you think I'm talking about supermarkets too much, so then how can I really be absorbing culture? Well, I really just got here, and am experiencing a serious cerebral shock from all the various stimuli; people don't stare at me now on the street as if I am in the wrong place. "ESO QUÉ ES?"; with a slight crescendoing inflection on the final syllable.
Meal Time.
Berlin offers a kind of cultural nourishment that my aching bones have been desiring since I set foot in Southern Spain's Southwestern nook that tourists the world over call "Andalucía" (often with the accent falling on the 'u' (Pixies Debaser) I found the DDR museum last night at 3:30 am strolling around unable to locate the proper way to arrive back home; no keys, no cash, just a strange bus ticket that somehow is acceptable to the driver no matter what. Sometimes the locals themselves omit the 'cía' and th-ay, "Omo Andalú!" (Somos Andaluz) (We are andalusian.) Speaking of bones, the milk in Spain tasted a little funny; it actually freaked me out. Then one day fresh milk randomly appeared in a bourgeois illusion fancy market; except they wilfully left out 'free' sample containers in a non-refrigerated area. German milk is delicious; I didn't know they had an A&P here too. So, maybe you think I'm talking about supermarkets too much, so then how can I really be absorbing culture? Well, I really just got here, and am experiencing a serious cerebral shock from all the various stimuli; people don't stare at me now on the street as if I am in the wrong place. "ESO QUÉ ES?"; with a slight crescendoing inflection on the final syllable.
Meal Time.
2009/05/29
Gargling Salt Water
Ducasting #9 of 10: Grand Finale Pt. II (Sorry, no stream this time)
Musical Chronology:
Algo, Beat-O and Alex Sugiura have forged a creative partnership known as the Monday Night Band. They will be performing at STudio 54 in Berlin, Germany every Monday until midway through July. Here is the preliminary EP, entitled Table for 1.
Musical Chronology:
Algo, Beat-O and Alex Sugiura have forged a creative partnership known as the Monday Night Band. They will be performing at STudio 54 in Berlin, Germany every Monday until midway through July. Here is the preliminary EP, entitled Table for 1.
2009/05/25
Home Stretch
Dudcasting #8 of 10: Grand Finale pt. 1 of 3
The Lemonheads ask for so precious little.
Algo/Beat-O proceed to give you a sampler of the last calendar year's variety in sound;
Variation on a theme #1: Jack Ramsay's Sport Coat
Unemployable?
Now!
Tempting Klepto Klepel
High (ly Illegal)
Light Heart
Y, Dijo Miguel feat. Alex Sugiura on guitar/vocals
Oh, you know (in space)
Finally Unknown feat. Alex Sugiura on guitar/electric bass
Take Care of Business Yowza (Not Yogurt)
Roll Your Joint-Saving Grace feat. Danny Diction.
The Lemonheads ask for so precious little.
Algo/Beat-O proceed to give you a sampler of the last calendar year's variety in sound;
Variation on a theme #1: Jack Ramsay's Sport Coat
Unemployable?
Now!
Tempting Klepto Klepel
High (ly Illegal)
Light Heart
Y, Dijo Miguel feat. Alex Sugiura on guitar/vocals
Oh, you know (in space)
Finally Unknown feat. Alex Sugiura on guitar/electric bass
Take Care of Business Yowza (Not Yogurt)
Roll Your Joint-Saving Grace feat. Danny Diction.
2009/05/23
2009/05/22
MoonChild!
Dudcasting #7 of 10: I Can't Wait
Musical Cronology:
Algo/Beat-O hologram, Alex Sugiura on lead guitar.
Gladys Knight and the Pips get all cinematic.
Big Star get all holier than thou.
Teenage Fanclub say it loud and clear.
KMD blows it in your face.
Gram Parsons and the International Submarine Band country fry it.
Buddy Rich and his Big Band refer back to earlier posts.
Musical Cronology:
Algo/Beat-O hologram, Alex Sugiura on lead guitar.
Gladys Knight and the Pips get all cinematic.
Big Star get all holier than thou.
Teenage Fanclub say it loud and clear.
KMD blows it in your face.
Gram Parsons and the International Submarine Band country fry it.
Buddy Rich and his Big Band refer back to earlier posts.
What it is!
Dudcasting #6 of 10: TO THE MOON!
Musical Chronology:
Algo/Beat-O go for a ride.
Built To Spill remind certain suburban female 20 somethings of their bedroom when they were fifteen, also known as me and Domenico in 2009.
Donny Hathaway being real.
MFSB say SAMPLE THIS.
Michel Polnareff never ceases to amaze me.
Musical Chronology:
Algo/Beat-O go for a ride.
Built To Spill remind certain suburban female 20 somethings of their bedroom when they were fifteen, also known as me and Domenico in 2009.
Donny Hathaway being real.
MFSB say SAMPLE THIS.
Michel Polnareff never ceases to amaze me.
2009/05/21
V.
Dudcasting #5 of 10; rococo riposte.
All told, the foundation, established in 1939 by New York Jews who wanted to foster culture in the land that would become the state of Israel, used to give out about $2 million a year. The scholarship program is unabashedly aimed at casting Israel in a positive light. “A.I.C.F. works to create a broader understanding of Israel by facilitating opportunities to directly experience Israel’s culture,” its newsletter reads.
Musical Chronology:
SMOOTH ISRAEL PALESTINE CONFLICT; algo/beat-o
The porro says, anything to stop the pain.
Bill Cosby and a certain funeral/marching band play one for Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
Blackout 2!
All told, the foundation, established in 1939 by New York Jews who wanted to foster culture in the land that would become the state of Israel, used to give out about $2 million a year. The scholarship program is unabashedly aimed at casting Israel in a positive light. “A.I.C.F. works to create a broader understanding of Israel by facilitating opportunities to directly experience Israel’s culture,” its newsletter reads.
Musical Chronology:
SMOOTH ISRAEL PALESTINE CONFLICT; algo/beat-o
The porro says, anything to stop the pain.
Bill Cosby and a certain funeral/marching band play one for Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
Blackout 2!
Par Four Course
Duncecasting #4 of 10: Reflections
Musical Chronology:
Algo throws back to the summer child haze.
Wolf Parade play in 3, I think.
I flange for days.
Mike Watt's Tensile funk stink.
Elliott Smith and Co. circa '94.
(Brief auto-referential intramural basketball team name)
Terry Jacks gets ripped by Beat-O.
Musical Chronology:
Algo throws back to the summer child haze.
Wolf Parade play in 3, I think.
I flange for days.
Mike Watt's Tensile funk stink.
Elliott Smith and Co. circa '94.
(Brief auto-referential intramural basketball team name)
Terry Jacks gets ripped by Beat-O.
Big in Japan!
Front Page on the NYT Website
My Dad met Bobby Valentine at the U.S. Open (Flushing Meadows, Queens) in a booth with rich, white people and later told me that the master of disguises himself spoke a convincing "gaijin" japanese.
My Dad met Bobby Valentine at the U.S. Open (Flushing Meadows, Queens) in a booth with rich, white people and later told me that the master of disguises himself spoke a convincing "gaijin" japanese.
2009/05/20
Building Cresecendoes
Duncecasting #3 of 10: Learning to Count to Three in French w/ a Native Speaker
Musical Chronology:
An Ode to left-handed Curtis; Algo on the boards, Alex Sugiura on Guitar and Beat-O on the ritmo kit.
Milano Calibro 9, anybody got a copy of that movie? Osanna with the preludio (theme).
Non-Phixion flips it.
Gram Parsons writes a period piece.
Outkast crumbles ‘erb.
The Million Dollar Quartet takes you out on a walk with Jesus.
Musical Chronology:
An Ode to left-handed Curtis; Algo on the boards, Alex Sugiura on Guitar and Beat-O on the ritmo kit.
Milano Calibro 9, anybody got a copy of that movie? Osanna with the preludio (theme).
Non-Phixion flips it.
Gram Parsons writes a period piece.
Outkast crumbles ‘erb.
The Million Dollar Quartet takes you out on a walk with Jesus.
2009/05/19
Esto, QUÉ ES!?!?!?
DUNCECASTING #2 of 10: A continuación
The Briques, Dun Dudnick happy to be here.
Musical Chronology:
Return of the ‘G’, G for Giorgio Moroder? More Giorgio in hip-hop to come.
Gazzilionear, DOOM, all big letters but it ain’t no acronym.
Belle and Sebastian’s Dirty Dream #2, thanks Shayne.
Hey Pup.
We Hate it When Our Friends Become Successful; check out Taka’s blog.
Trail of Tears leads to
Lee Hazlewood, okay till next time.
The Briques, Dun Dudnick happy to be here.
Musical Chronology:
Return of the ‘G’, G for Giorgio Moroder? More Giorgio in hip-hop to come.
Gazzilionear, DOOM, all big letters but it ain’t no acronym.
Belle and Sebastian’s Dirty Dream #2, thanks Shayne.
Hey Pup.
We Hate it When Our Friends Become Successful; check out Taka’s blog.
Trail of Tears leads to
Lee Hazlewood, okay till next time.
2009/05/18
Reconstructing Ralston
Oh well, I kept drafting the same sad story that had you and me meeting at a birthday party for Michael Blue. He was wasted, he was falling down stairs, I was confused, John got asked if he was sporting “emo hair” it was a jarring experience for the both of us. Dude was like non of the others that I had encountered; he seemed real, wound up, in terms of projecting, touching and feeling. I got offered a night in a sorority and I turned it down, a girl from Shaker Heights, Ohio no surprise. I made a stop off near the Davis Street ‘El’, above the Fish Market, inside a courtyard iced over in the paltry winter. Apartment 2B; ‘B’ for Bennum, as I channeled my inner Agatha Christie. So what did I spy inside this Studio: The same YAMAHA keyboard owned by Matteo (that came later), and Epiphone Songbird®, a Heritage Casino-Style electric, no bass (oh, really?), a closet of shirts and pant so organized that I actually stopped and thought that I was the most cluttered piece of shit that ever had the misery of seeing the light of day. A Chuck Klosterman suggestion sheet on how to talk manly; Rodney Rogers may god bless, that was an example of the power of rhetoric. He said make a data disc if you wish, I said that’s benificient. Then he let me choose ooooooh, there was finally choice in the matter of man. It was all that mattered, the strangeness of it all, man he was the man it was ridiculous, well he was a hero and I was some charlatan who could help chart his thoughts; I gave him on bridge on a track where we went G-Bm7-Bb-C; like this. So I was thinking, yeah I TOO find Ben Kweller’s brand of power pop to be particularly spellbinding. He makes suggestions, he too has been an 8-year plus reader of the All Music Guide,m REDEMPTION. In the land of the swampy armpits of the late, great Capone, I found someone who would do commercials. HE had band posters; I would later get annoyed at the poor grammatical skills of Grandpa’s “La noche es oscura pero tu es beautiful.” I am high. Oh, ok. Push-Pull, reactions happening all over my mind. He has a record player, and a stack of Beatles LP’s, as well as
2000 by the French Kicks, with some poster. Oh, yeah he seemed to be the coolest person who had ever made human contact with me. He suggested we share the space, that was eternally kind. He didn’t ask for anything, he just kept it going, I too was going insane; we kept each other happy, somehow I was always happy, sometimes sad, but that’s what happens when you feel like the walking dead, wandering of the mind, it’s a beautiful beast. Joel, he was a mutual acquaintance. I clicked on “One Chord To Another” and there was something magical happening, yeah man, yeah, that was a fucking great album, I had only heard one track from Shayne Weinstein’s lovely library of music, “Everything You’ve Done Wrong” a blast of horns and an ole-time feel progression that was changing my mind about what individuals were capable of in a group setting. So I sought to seek out the idea, 4 one man bands. Spinning like turntables with computers inside; not regurgitating, but leaving things to chance through the simplicity of the framework; 12 notes, chords, scales, that’s that. Also, I’d been reading Thoms Pynchon’s V. recently, that summer it was that theory book, the Vonnegut, the Greenwood Tragedy (the bloodiest race riot in the history of America in Tulsa, Oklahoma), Tom Robbins and Foppish Dandy Chuck Klosterman. Also, other random shit, books on the Beatles and related arts. He had two Powerbooks, an 8 track digital m-box type, but higher-def and, like some kind of modern snakecharmer, neatly organized cables of all types necessary in performing and recording; 1/4-1/4, XLR-1/4, XLRmale-XLRfemale, of varying lengths and color schemes. Joel had a PA, Mike had a kit, I had the bass, John had EVERYTHING else, it seemed like things were weighted a little funny; oh, they were. He had a close-knit musical belief structure to Nat, who may or may not be training to be a luthier as we speak; a profession I hope to follow one day. Graham Parsons, lead in “Sweetheart of the Rodeo” by the Byrds, The Flying Burrito Brothers and solo-work with Emmy Lou-Harris singing harmonies, that guy was on to something, before he got derailed by a crippling drug addiction. So, what did he see before he found the abyss, wandereres wanted to know. We watched an informing documentary, his pops was a mover and a shaker amongst corporate/Washington (It was the post-war era, industry and government were like birds of a feather) and so he led a privileged life leading to his acceptance at Harvard, he wouldn’t last a year. He befriended Keith Richards, in a deep way, and like so many others couldn’t keep up with skeletor’s threshold for pain. So, he burned out eventually, in pretty sad fashion, getting in a bad way with heroin. He probably envisioned himself having more significance when he was dead than when he was alive; poor sap.
2000 by the French Kicks, with some poster. Oh, yeah he seemed to be the coolest person who had ever made human contact with me. He suggested we share the space, that was eternally kind. He didn’t ask for anything, he just kept it going, I too was going insane; we kept each other happy, somehow I was always happy, sometimes sad, but that’s what happens when you feel like the walking dead, wandering of the mind, it’s a beautiful beast. Joel, he was a mutual acquaintance. I clicked on “One Chord To Another” and there was something magical happening, yeah man, yeah, that was a fucking great album, I had only heard one track from Shayne Weinstein’s lovely library of music, “Everything You’ve Done Wrong” a blast of horns and an ole-time feel progression that was changing my mind about what individuals were capable of in a group setting. So I sought to seek out the idea, 4 one man bands. Spinning like turntables with computers inside; not regurgitating, but leaving things to chance through the simplicity of the framework; 12 notes, chords, scales, that’s that. Also, I’d been reading Thoms Pynchon’s V. recently, that summer it was that theory book, the Vonnegut, the Greenwood Tragedy (the bloodiest race riot in the history of America in Tulsa, Oklahoma), Tom Robbins and Foppish Dandy Chuck Klosterman. Also, other random shit, books on the Beatles and related arts. He had two Powerbooks, an 8 track digital m-box type, but higher-def and, like some kind of modern snakecharmer, neatly organized cables of all types necessary in performing and recording; 1/4-1/4, XLR-1/4, XLRmale-XLRfemale, of varying lengths and color schemes. Joel had a PA, Mike had a kit, I had the bass, John had EVERYTHING else, it seemed like things were weighted a little funny; oh, they were. He had a close-knit musical belief structure to Nat, who may or may not be training to be a luthier as we speak; a profession I hope to follow one day. Graham Parsons, lead in “Sweetheart of the Rodeo” by the Byrds, The Flying Burrito Brothers and solo-work with Emmy Lou-Harris singing harmonies, that guy was on to something, before he got derailed by a crippling drug addiction. So, what did he see before he found the abyss, wandereres wanted to know. We watched an informing documentary, his pops was a mover and a shaker amongst corporate/Washington (It was the post-war era, industry and government were like birds of a feather) and so he led a privileged life leading to his acceptance at Harvard, he wouldn’t last a year. He befriended Keith Richards, in a deep way, and like so many others couldn’t keep up with skeletor’s threshold for pain. So, he burned out eventually, in pretty sad fashion, getting in a bad way with heroin. He probably envisioned himself having more significance when he was dead than when he was alive; poor sap.
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