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.

FOPPISH DANDY

DUNCECASTING #1 of 10: Too Long To Twitter, Too Short to Die
I’m your host, Dun Dudnick, here with me on the boards is Algo and Beat-O on the ritmo kit/celery sticks. Let’s hope I don’t get too excited and jump in to a door frame.

Audio Chronology:
Funkenstein; the first trans-atlantic Bird of a Feather co-production by Carsten and Beat-O et. al.
Rivers Cuomo made an ‘a capella’, and the logic came to give it the typical slacker treatment.
Albert King & SRV talking about what it’s all about for the worker bee.
Hot Sugar refixes another anthem of our youth, like only he can.
10CC off the album Sheet Music, “Wild Old Men”; Ratatat sampled that guitar solo, no?
Abbreviated TRANS, for my sake and everyone else’s. Neil Young (!) in Berlin (!) in June!
Nico’s “Wrap Your Troubles in Dreams”, a lushly orchestrated piece that Danger Doom sampled on ‘Korn Dogs’ a track that I used to listen to a fair amount in my time as a summer child.
De La Soul is Dead! De La Soul is Dead man! I don’t want to deconstruct Born Like This, I want to praise it for clueing me in to the importance of Prince Paul in making real music again.
Studio 54 in Berlin, June 29th, why not?

Keep On

Things always take a turn for the worst, before they ever seem like they can even get better.

The waterfall has gracefully returned to my life in a way that leads me to believe in the power of inanimate objects; not outright materialism, but I also think that Thomas Pynchon's 'V' is excellent, so far.

People are calling me out for making mistakes on message boards, they are right.

So, I'm reinventing this blog from now on; 3 audiovisual posts and 1 essay every week. Music will continue to find its way on through, and maybe there will be posts by Newhouse.

A satisfactory shit

We all like a good DDL reference on the WWL whenever possible.

Cackling Hens!

So, there's more basketball blogs to read these days than ever; TRUEHOOP is still the truth, but I'll be damned if I haven't completely fallen for Bethlehem Shoals style of writing; it seems that every sportswriter finds his/her own way to incorporate popular culture/obscure culture in a way that some part of the population will enjoy, and I think I've found my kind of basketball writer.

If my girlfriend doesn't visit I'm gonna start compulsively masturbating in public, since I work with kids this might get dicey. LESS THAN TWO WEEKS!


I cannot fucking wait to play the Sheraton II again, it's been so long! The JP-90 is also going to be a treat, for those who don't know, that might be the greatest bass Fender ever made in 1990; the poplar body weighs less than 6 lbs., throw on an aftermarket bridge (I put on a badass II, thanks to some weird, but kind metal dude at a Sam Ash in Pennsylvania)

Just what are chicharrones? How about churros? Cheerios? Beer and go? Fear and loathe your way to the top with this lovely Bay-Area banger.

why god, why?

Life is not fair
Herbert wins the Alex Sugiura award for best op-ed columns by a man over the age of 40. Sorry William Kristol was not eligible for this award this year; the ancient formula prohibits the inclusion of right-wing hebrews out of dissapointment.

There are spanish titties flapping around like crazy on the tv. It's kind of silly.

Al Sugiero's 2nd to last daydream

Stop Trying to Set The Scene!
Hawaiian Tropic tanning oil met high-pH water in to off white harmony. The supposed son of Galt MacDermot® was trying to look more like an extra in a “Soul Glo®” commercial than his DNA deemed necessary, or, it could be said, within reason. The gleaning off his pharmacy-last minute purchased aviator lenswear, showed the reflection of a pool perfectly mirroring the skyline and up in to the ghastly moon in the daytime. I was wandering by, the recent recipient of vending machine money from a 2nd-cousin’s ginger-besepectacled high-times reading friend, when I noticed the bottle of tanning oil falling in to the pool, it’s cap removed long before the oil and water made their ‘salsa picante’ in the side that read “No DIVING!” So what the hell was I gonna get at this third-world COCA-COLA® vending station with several sandy pieces of mother of pearl that I assured were a type of New-World Wampum that could be exchanged for any number of beverages from a particular brand-name dispenser that was savagely displayed all over their shell’s duller side. I made my graceful way up to the machine, diddled over the dials, with names that read like they were plucked from Denis Diderot’s encyclopedian armpit: SPRITE®, FANTA®, MR. PIB®, SQUIRT® and DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF CONGO® RED SODA WATER. There was a slot for the shell; two of them got me one 20. Oz bottle of my choosing; I hit “C4”, think of Chris Bosh, Chris Rock and taking off my flip-flops in the shade long enough to have the clunk of my drink down near my ankles awaken me. The red-sunglasses man is happy that I got him a Mr. Pib after having suggested I “surprise” him with my choice; this is getting gay. My 2nd-Cousin holds out an expecting hand, I push her out of the way as the steamroller comes crashing in to the north wall of the mini-compound/time-share luxury suites/micro-lending for local vendors in beautiful parts of Central Africa. Before I could get a word out, there were at my throat, smoke was pouring in like an exhaust pipe and I awoke coughing my head off.

COMPUTER ASSISTED LANGUAGE LEARNING IS THE FUTURE

Unoriginal Lameness

I woke up at 5 in the morning on Sunday and made a series of fake Radio Broadcasts.

Here's the first one: Dudcast

Crying.

BahBah

International Feel

Excuse me while I continue malingering, but I am sad to leave Huelva and am enjoying my slow breakfasts where internet is abundant.





Tom Robbins and Tom Waits co-wrote a novel in my dreams last night called; Deborah's Mayonnaise Prom Dress.

I'm having trouble breathing properly, again.





She's fucking great, huh?

Cien Montaditos

Ice Cream Sandwiches!


Don't you dare say I don't love you, madam.

Ralston Buffalo!

John Bennum, where the fuck have you gone? I can't keep doing this internet thing all alone...if personal e-mails won't get through to you, then I must resort to this last ditch attempt at getting a rise.

ball tongue

It's a long way to the top if you want to rock and roll.

It's a hard cock on the block if you got a vice like hold.

I went searching for my soul, listening to hole, and Melissa Auf Der Maur she can get it.



WE gonna get cancelled for sure.

Thrift Shopping

Happy Friday.

No day can be complete without youtube clips interspersed between snippets of real spanish dialogue that I'm hearing as I post!

"Sí, Sí, Sí" (Soundchecking on the stage next to the bar for the outdoor spring festival)


"Qué te pongo?" (How do you take your coffee?)


"Fuck Sam Coggeshal, that guys a fucking pretentious asshole." (Milk Based Drama)


Blue Sky microwave Adrian Dantley dance of the dead; I went bobbing for apples, and got this lousy t-shirt instead.

shit

I NEED $$$$$$4

TAKA start drawing!

well well well

DAvid George, son of Robert P. George, something like that, sends notice of this clip:

Elvis Presley covering 3 dog night?

Bo Shanks.

turn back the clock!

Yowza, Bristol Palin says, "abstain from sex, and buy tacky platform shoes!" Where is Jenny Mccarthy when I need her most?

bug tits

This post is dedicated to those who made the transition from high-level performance in a particular sport at college, but made a change for their professional careers.

Example one, Carolina Panther (for now)/UNC Power Forward Julius Peppers, who had the grand misfortune of playing during the Kris Lang era.



Antonio Gates is considered by many to be the premier tight end, when healthy, in the NFL today. I was always an Alge Crumpler guy, but oh well.

No clip of him playing ball found, sadly.

What about this guy? That's right former Detroit Piston 12th man Darvin Ham; he went to the Hun School!



Ok this post fell apart fast, but it's fun to dig for crossover appeal.

Jewel

Oh, my my my.

I wonder what Alaska is like this time of year.

Here's some music, related to the long foam. Bingo Bango Bongo

Spanish people have officially made the transition from, "qué frío" to "qué calor"; are you people never happy?

Long Foam

Today's long foam ramble is brought to you by: Cheese Fries

Writing is fighting for your life, that’s what David Foster Wallace told me, and that, is some shit; this is one of the possible ideas that developed after recently speed-reading Infinite Jest, a technique I learned at Oberlin that didn’t help me with the classes, but did help me read for pleasure with superior speed, he was grappling with depression, he was using tennis as a mirror shining on your self-perceptions and how you believe you are being seen by those who see you, like Tom Robbins, Alistair Crowley and Ornette Coleman used the mirror that we call the moon to make magic. Otherwise, you are probably wasting your time, or maybe there is a greater process to it I should re-read it, it’s only the first read, or is it a labyrinth?



These things are the paradoxes that will continue as long as the paradoxical existence of my own does: RE-Phrase, why do I exist? There are initial questions that make everything under the sun fair game; in the end, what you understand is that a routine is the only way to accomplish something over a long period of time; many people find this through all kinds of channels, mine seem to be so very varied, but it’s not quite like that, I don’t think. Stanley Fish was writing about his on his NYT blog recently.

I just need space, and I realize that I’ve met people who make me feel like living, which means I’ve met the right people to die by, take the bullet, kick down the nightclub paparazzi like Kevin Costner did for Whitney.

Bobby Crosby probably listens to Pet Sounds; with a name and game like that he just
wasn’t born for these times.


Kevin Youkilis is reminding me of Matt Geiger in a big way.





Chris Andersen is a monster on the boards. I wonder if David Stern is scared of Crystal Meth, compared to traditional perfomance-enhancing drugs for professionals.

Kenyon Martin is Wario; Darius Miles is Waluigi.

I shudder to think of extending this in to dinosaur territory; Antoine Walker getting held up at gun point isn’t funny.

College was a playful tragicomedy, I suppose; kind of like that Unicorn’s album, “Who Will Cut Our Hair When We’re Dead?” They figured out a way to ask a question and get people bothered in a way that maybe led to some level of satisfaction, kind of like sex, yes it could be said that if you’re all alone and you’d rather not knock one out on your own, aka home run derby simulator, aka bowling, aka drinking, alias Bo Shanks, the good stuff.


I live in the middle of nowhere, that’s what I think, because the people are getting together over crazy false idols’ screaming prophets; these days, they’re just trying to rehash some computer age falsetto, it’s less impressive now than it would have been without all the digital advances,

you can’t fool all the people all the time, but maybe it’s nice to fool yourself sometimes with some friends. So the first album gets dropped one way or the other, the memories get put in to place for something, how you go about responding to your synaptic fibers dictates how you’ll strum it,

How come people are so quick to love Dilla's Gazillionear beat when Return of The Gangster had essentially the same loop almost 10 years ago. It all somehow relates, in my head, to a FREE DARKO POST.

also who you choose to surround yourself with in your new post-apocalyptic world; shit is starting to move so fast, you gotta stay focused on something or you’re gonna get the spinsies and pass out, this is why old people/a youthful John Lennon could be seen as sleeping a lot,

this also relates to what you do to make you tired, some construe this as work, others as self-destruction, others as an opportunity to get known.

Noise, Noise, Noise! The slow, broken march to one’s inevtiable end; that’s what Leonard Cohen said, others followed suit, in slightly more dramatic fashion.

Oh, I miss those lazy hazy high school days...

Nah man that animal is furry as hell.

I don't want that fucking pirated DVD you're trying to sell to me while I drink my coffee/use the wireless in this bar. In fact, you can suck my dick.

Eddie Kendricks is an important figure in the history of music.

What about more music? How can you resist? It's free.

Fuck Jeff Lynne.

All praises due to Jim Keltner.

All other living Wilburys get a free pass in my head.

Fuck

I thought I might catch a glimpse of my girl in Sevilla for a hot minute, but it was not to be and I'm all alone again, except I got a surprise visit from a Princeton pal and it put 5 or 6 years back on my life I think.

What's the deal with Bill Simmon's basketball book? I wanna read that shit.

I had a long winded conversation with a rather good looking french brunette who told me that work is the only way to keep her going, without it she would most likely fall to pieces.

Money sucks, I hate it.

Frank Rich writes really good columns, this must be why they only come out on Sunday.

blah, blah, blah I wish I could watch nba games and download porn.



MORE MUSIC FOR YOU, you mystery surprise dl.

newhouse and taka

I don't read blogs. I hate bloggers. I am lower than a blogger.

That said, what about these handsome 20-somethings?

Taka

Newhouse

Have I no shame? None whatsoever.

Dun dudda

Archived post that makes more sense with time.

Hey, what about swine flu?

city love

Sample this now!

why not?

Nipsey Hussle?

Bump

I really like the new DOOM; I also happen to like the snakey, sparse bass playing on the track "Bumpy's Message" in which Freddie Foxxx sounds like he's fucking dying.

I keep bumping in to NYT books articles on David Foster Wallace or vacation homes.

What's up with AIDS research? Are we making any improvements lately? What about Larry David in a Woody Allen movie?

What about falling asleep at the wheel? What about Conservative Oberlin grads speaking their mind on Senator Specter? Right here, Michelle!

I can't stop reading deadspin, I CAN'T! Will Leitch is the writer of things that hurt my brain in that soft, subtle way. So of course they switch it up and let someone else write about a derival, but intriguing sub-plot of ten human body parts.

INDUSTRY SHAKEDOWN

Dearth of Big Men in the Draft

Who is Blake Griffin?

He is good at dunking with tremendous ferocity, not unlike a feral hamster in heat on the fourth of july.

Who is Ricky Rubio?

He had a turnover in the closing minute of his team DKV Joventut's 3 point win over Gran Canarias while they were down 2 and they still won!

Who is Steven Curry?

He goes to the same school as the girl whose skull you could see through while she was giving you brain.

Who is James Harden?

Who are you?

Hey

J.J. has always been one of my favorite first names.

Cale can be really good steamed (correction: Kale)

Let's start over; NAturally.

Hip Hoop

Hey, I went to high school with Derrick. One time we played Beat It, yours truly on guitar and himself on the kit. It was a hit with at least 20% of the minorities in attendance at said private K-12 institution.

Everyone likes Galt MacDermot and noone really can say why; allmusic will say his brand of "no-funk" finds its appeal from being so damn cheesy and uncool, people who use the full 10% of their brain would call this unpretentious on the part of señor MacDermot and his personal crew of flunky session players.

Dan The Automator and Prince Paul are blatant fans of the man's jams.


He also wrote the music to the musical HAIR, people younger than myself, who didn't perform in a high school/summer stock/amateur basement version of it, would probably know of the song "Age Of Aquarius" thanks to Judd Apatow directing Steve Carrel, Paul Rudd, Faux-MC Hammer (that poor bastard, might as well have played I NEED $) in The 40 Year Old Virgin

CLick here to add your name to the list of fans of the man's work "Shapes of Rhythm"

basketball

I feel like one of those fucking kids in Newsies posting links to a Bethlehem Shoals Sporting News® Post, but I think he is writing about the best sub-plot of the entire playoffs so far. Remember the Fish that Saved Pittsburgh!

I can't comment on the playoffs in any capacity because I'm isolated from the immediate impact the viewing of a game delivers. I DO want to watch Denver play, really badly; almost as much as I can't believe they're actually doing this playoff thing without Iverson; the Jadakis/AI corollary only grows stronger over time, I don't know why, but I always thought the most prophetic thing that ever was uttered by Kiss and Styles P. in tandem went:

J: You might find your man dead in the ocean
P(A little too far away from his microphone): IT BE AIGHT THOUGH
J: You know dead rappers get better promotion.

I wish I wouldn't feel the need to complain about having to work an hour on Friday, because I'm a selfish child, but listen to birds of feather, why not? It's linked below from an earlier day.

Blood

Does oxy clean actually work?

Why do fat bearded men get paid exorbitant sums of money to appear on obnoxious infomercials?

Youtube is cool, here's a song called Princess Gika by Galt MacDermot



Here's my favorite track off of the new Doom record, Born Like This:


Coincidence, I think not...

Here's a potentially danceable MP3 that I constructed recently: Algorhythm

92 million wangs in china

Lex told me according to the NYT the above factoid.

Joel Handley writes this

Format-OH

Disk Space is a funny thing; so was Marcel Proust, most likely. He has the only speaking part in "Silent Movie"; is Mel Brooks a genius or what?!!?!


Anyhoo, more music...I don't know...now!

thanks ryan welsh!

As I laugh/wince at Ghostface's Korean accent on the track "Angels" off of Born Like This and that earlier compilation they put it on together, the name escapes me, I must also think of things more relevant to real people like you, the reader. Here's an artist doing cool shit that feels like Fractals would approve.

Decline

Beirut is one of several names that is associated with Beer Pong, a drinking game that jumped the shark long before Rick Reilly was encouraging his sons to flick their way to victory; if ONLY that could have been a lesson to them about finger fucking!

Beirut is one of several names that guy from New Mexico has assumed when recording his lush orchestrations that incorporate elements of Balkan Rhythms, unusual horn/string combinations and one of those very once in a while kind of voices.

Beirut is one of several places I cannot locate on a map without some type of aural aid device.

Jacques Brel is the secret behind all three of these examples; his "Seasons in The Sun" is all I can hear in my mental tapes when I contemplate Canadian Pop in the '70s, even though the performance we are all so familiar with is by one Terry Jacks. Peep his allmusic.com profile if time allows for enhanced factoids and related artists.

Here's a certain work of his that you can find all about by clicking through!

Pavo con alliolli

When you want to figure out a room's acoustic tendencies you can stick a microphone next to a speaker that runs a feedback loop of the single phrase you wish to have heard perfectly clear by as many of those in attendance as possible; "The reason we're all here is to get along."

So, the blog can have it's own feedback loop if it wants to with the uploads.

Here's one from a band that featured a gay guy, Elliott Smith and a guy who married a member of a band that I always thought was full of lesbians, Sleater-Kinney.

Anyhoo, it's here.

Speaking of Portland, who's excited for the playoffs? I for one, having not witnessed a single regular season game, don't know what to think; what's the playoffs without either Mike Dunleavy?

flaky flake

flake music; that pre shins shindig that Chiara threw my way once.

Hope everyone is having a great weekday segue in to weekend; I personally am doing great; a period of intense listening has begun anew!

much love all

Latin Prescriptive Grammars

Hey, remember putumayo?

I once purchased a cd of theirs while having a sleeping pill related trip in Buenos Aires; you can dl it here.

time passes slowly, and then fades away.

White Man Can't Jump; basketball for money!

WHITE OJ

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/14/us/14spector.html?hp

Phil Spector is GUILTY

now look at yourself

I put up a fake link for an album I recently completed yesterday; that was wrong of me, but I don't really think anyone is reading the fine print carefully enough to care about these kinds of things; whoever said, "jews have no rhythm" should have thought about non-metered aspects of timing.

Mom hoped I'd become a writer; it's not looking likely. Dad wants me to be a hard worker; a diminishing return. Max is always excited, but cynic in the grand scheme of things; that's life.

A few thoughts on this album, life and the process of placing oneself in the vast continuum of cultural identity;

I am 0.
Rosa is number one.
One minus zero is harmless
Zero minus one is only games in your head.

I want to thank the following people for making this hour or so of digestion possible; Adrian Pacia, Nick Koenig, Lena Leson, Taka Yasuzawa, Saul Flores (You're still a young man!), Mike Blumenthal, Joel Handley, John Bennum, Mike Garcia, Barry Sanders, Darren Dutch Daulton, Mickey Rooney, Mickey Rourke, Louis Weiss, Alex Visotzky, Burton L (the holy sprit), Samuel Crane Newhouse, NOT Rafa Capo, Derrick Tuttle (you shredder, you think I forgot you cause I was drunk...), Baron Davis, Tango & Cash.

I want to thank the following animals; The Iberian Lynx, The Elephant (a process unto itself), and Mick Foley.

Can you tell I'm stalling while it uploads? Damn stolen Spanish Wi-Fi in sterererero.

There's an "artist statement" in the genre section of the album if you listen to it in iTunes; or read it in installments with your media player of choice.

Everything is in parenthesis in this phase of my life here in Huelva, Andalucía.


My girlfriend is going to China and then Bangkok, she is a nut and that cracks me up.

bronx reggae

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/13/nyregion/13reggae.html

for all the lazy, non-copy paste crowd.

newsworthy or James worthy, you decide...

hmm...

fuck you

Ok, pre-release party, but first: Harvard has problems, yikes...and now, birds of a feather; I wrote a poem in the genre section, kind of. Thank you's and other things tomorrow, until then, listen up!

and check out minnie ripperton at Nice Guy Eddie's joint, those who know know, or so said a great sage of the college age daze once, we thought.

Berlin?

Wow, you are like, hot and good all at once...

Oberlin at large

First of all, I have no comment as to the tendencies of Oberlin College graduates; that shit is nobody's business but themselves.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/12/books/review/Schillinger-t.html?_r=1&emc=eta1

For the lazy non-copy past crowd.

St. Francis loved the birds
so it's only right
to head on out to capastrano
even if it's for just one night

I can't spell too well
especially not digital
toes and fingers
feign inertia
read a book

who is this bird? I found out about her here: LDP KOO KOO!

I was at my free beach house flat earth piso México, with Germans, A French gal, a finnish-american princess (a frog and a princess together, just like Tom Robbins said...) and of course the entire Italian Royal family.



R-BD

strawberry banana hammock in heaven

http://www.interviewmagazine.com/blogs/culture/2009-04-09/nick-koenig/

for all those who don't like copying and pasting. Choice is important!

Lord Have Mercy

The team is all here again in Huelva, it's pretty magical, that is to say, magical things are happening.

Rafael Capo García Rodon

That's it.

I love Ten Years After, I know not everyone will, but the album WATT has taught me everything I ever needed to know about my life as an aspiring musician/pirate.

Lead singer/lead guitarists are cool, and Ten Years After has a great one.

'Gonna Run' is my personal favorite, but 'Think About The Times' is a close second.



TYA-W

WEll Well Well

I am not a hiphop fan. I am not a rap fan. I am not sure of anything anymore. I don't care.

Here's Tupac's album that came after "All Eyez on Me", the one that most people don't have a copy of but have mix CDs, labeled with words like "Middle School Dance Party".

It's pretty pretty good. Why would I lie to you? AMG gives it 5 stars, I didn't know that.



2P-MATW

Working Out

Basketball is the best form of meditation available as things currently stand in this industrial hovel in the dirtball dirty south of Spain. Slovenia is producing 3/4's at an astonishing pace. I have noone to talk to about Tom Tolbert blowing dunks on the Magic nor Bill Walton having a conversation with Greg Oden after three swishers and a gravity bong built by Nate.

The Kinks wanted to make a movie, and why not? The idea was that they could base it loosely on real events, and somehow incorporate Australia. You can read about it anywhere but here. So, by that logic, they made a soundtrack to the movie before they could secure the funds for shooting the darn thing. The "concept" album that emerged has some elements to it that I am highly fond of; they turn the drums up and let loose on a few tracks as well as including horns in a totally distinct manner, vis-a-vis "Muswell Hillbillies" or "Lola Versus Powerman and the Moneygoround, part one"

They called it Arthur.


TK-AOTDOTBE

Graham Chapman rest in peace, 20 years that's fucking crazy.

Speaker Wire

This basically explains everything, I think.

Tom Robbins is a rollicking good time for this reader when he's under the influence of small town spanish isolation.

Listen to TAKSTAR, he actually has something to say; at least the message reads loud and clear when amplified.

Keep living, start breathing with some vigor.

better

shame on you

shame on me?<

Morning Wake Up

I don't want to go to work. I'm petrified, sitting stone-faced in a cafeteria with headphones on.

New Jersey Nets Basketball is once again dismal and lottery bound.

Do I have wisdom teeth coming in at 22?

Berlin gaga is all exciting, I hope I can actually muster up the courage to go to work.

Oh fuck

Two Things

R. Kelly's "I Wish" remains atop my most played songs that I don't have in my iTunes.

Watch here, now that it is unembeddable.

Dick Cavett blogs movingly over his love affair with magic.

Voglio

I am in love, yes yes yes yes, love.

It's perhaps a young love, but that's ooooook.

Naivete is a friend in this day and age of cynicism.

Here's the third Make Believe LP: Going to the Bone Church

People are SLAMMING Jim Cramer, can you blame them? Populist RAGE!!!! Soon the government will have to outlaw ragehol...

MB-GTTBC

Some things

time is not passing slowly here in Andalucía, even if it is the tendency of the people to move like molasses on the streets. Good news is that Tocaya is back together and better than ever. Bad news is that I have to keep hearing these same shitty Spanish pop songs whenever I access internet, but headphones in a coffee shop is kind of rude, no? I'll try next time when I come in the morning here...

I can't stop listening to Bob Dylan's "Idiot Wind"; some of the lyrics aren't his best, (or are they?) but the chord progression is so awesome to jam along with. Also the organ on the version I have is absolute wrenching; I read once that there are two versions of Blood on The Tracks, one with NY session players and one with a band from Minnesota. What is it about the great lake state that produces so many fine American musicians; Zimmerman himself and Prince to name a few (I'm including Morris Day over The Hold Steady, and probably ignorant of a slathering of other top notch artists, but oh well)



I also have been listening to a lot of Nick Drake. I read his biography over last summer on a chance discovery at Raven Books in Harvard Square area up in Cambridge, Mass. His usage of so-called open tunings, and the really austere, but moving arrangements of his songs are almost as powerful as the bass lines of the random Daddy Yankee song that currently thumps on the television here in Lyceo, the wifi spot.



ND-FLL

Like Blagojevich

HOw long does it take for something to become "un-newsworthy"; I was reading about the Wire recently and there is a part when Mcnulty loses it because his fake story gets put in the middle of the paper instead of on the front page; so, perhaps there are degrees to one's newsworthiness.

Corruption charges tend to loom long after the initial damage has been done. Nothing seemed more farcical in the wake of a looming economic crisis than the proceedings in Springfield/Chicago Illinois with the Governor Rod.

Matters not, it matters not!

Some light reading on the topic of existence, or maybe existenz. I JUST DON'T KNOW ANYMORE!

So, a friend recently referred to the Mean as the meh, but I think everyone should take a listen to the full length that is available for streaming and decide whether or not this band is doing something really great.

Now, the first Make Believe LP, I believe; Shock of Being. The first time I heard "One Zero"; I was overwhelmed with thoughts and a bit of confusion, after 50+ listens I know that this band is official. Their bass player had to learn on the fly, the drummer omits a hi-hat in favor of a stationary tambourine, while playing some snaking, quaking keyboard lines with a free hand. I could sing this band's praises for days, but instead just grab this and hear something yourself.

Personal comment of the day: I miss everybody back in the States more and more and more and more everyday; the return will be glorious, for there can be no glory without war, this is our unsavory condition.

Is it cold back in Ohio? Is it cold back East? It's unseasonably cold here in Smellva; which makes me want to head for the hills once more and sleep in a warmer, albeit smaller bed.



MB-SOB

I just broke a chair by sitting on it and concentrating, my power is growing...

Gimme Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment

I am always sold on a band when they can make me feel something exciting. Morphine's snaking bass-lines, eruptive saxophone and hypnotic vocals combine for a really interesting listen.

Thanks to el gato negro for this lovely possibility




M-G

Writhing in Agony

There might be a music video in the works for some stuff I made.



Who's afraid of Virginia Woolfe?



Ok, enough sputtering. There will be plenty of music to come in the near future as well as some PDF, printable, files of texts that are deemed of interest by yours truly. Maybe Sam Newhouse will help, maybe this is the first he's heard of it, I'll wait and see if he responds.

Tarentino's face is plastered all over Dewar's ads here in Huelva, along with Clive Owen; ok...

Son

Let the record state, that when I had the chance to go pursue love over logic and reaso/the mundane day to day of buttfuck Spain, that I made the easiest decision of my life. Goddamn, it's been an incredible 5 day weekend; never felt more productive or happier with how I spent my time. Now I'm off to Olive Country, to seek my fortune in turning pits in to some kind of device for sustainable energy, same goes for Orange rinds in Valencia.

I just finished a butt ton of tracks, but I've got to finalize them before they can be consumed for general purposes. Two thoughts on that:
1) Knee Jerk-Reactions are never voluntary.
2) I am learning the limitations of the human vocal chords, slowly but surely.

Anyways, why not some spicy pub jazz to compliment that Kinks record that you're no doubt putting on heavy rotation? Squirrel Nut Zippers are a lovely one-hit wonder with the single "Hell" off the album "Hot": all DMX/Earl Simmons comparisons begin and end here, save for the possibility of the worst kind of mash-up.



SNZ-H

My only other thought, before I run for the hills, is that class conflict might become en vogue again; like someone doing a cover of Pulp's "Common People" and not remembering that Shatner fucking KILLED IT (Ben Folds on production).

Birds of a Feather

I'm gonna hype myself up, new release coming soon.

Love,

al

Smuse

I have this feeling I completely missed St. Patrick's Day; well at least the drinking portion, I was festooned in the finest green I could find last minute.

You know who looked Irish? Elliott Smith. He also had a thing for quiet, trembling melodies and the occasional gutty guitar hook that has won me over since I was introduced to his music through "The Royal Tenenbaums" scene that always makes me cry.

His last album, released posthumously, that wasn't titled "New Moon" or whatever the fuck that was, came to be known as Songs From a Basement on a Hill. It was supposedly going to be his "White" Album, that was 2006. Crazy to think that Heatmiser's Mic City Sons came out in 1994! 12 years is a serious grind when you're writing music like that guy; in reality he was really incredibly prolific. So, I'll pay tribute, one way or the other, and hope someone finds something in at least one of these tracks.




ES-FABOAH

is Jeff Lynne a rock legend?

The guy behind ELO, The Traveling Wilburys (he played bass/spent a good number of hours removing George Harrison's then-greying pubic hair from his teeth)and a handful of other projects that I don't know dick about, is producing Regina Spektor's new long-play record. Well, he's been around the block, but his production has never been something i think back too fondly of. Spektor has undeniable talent; that voice, oh my the voice, and the piano skills to compliment it all. She has changed sounds on every album; the dark, dirty "Soviet Kitsch" the foray in to pop/dreamy love songs that we call "Begin to Hope" and probably some other shit.

Ben Folds Feat. Regina Spektor-You Don't Know Me

Sumthin i read on pitchfork that made me write the above.

Farley

Ok, so there is at least one person studying/teaching abroad who has to look exactly like Chris Farley; I think I found her.

While we're on the topic, did you know the Farley family made serious bank up in Wisconsin in the pavement business.

NYT front page is blabbing about 27.5 billion for road construction crews, the country over. I wonder who gets the money in Wisconsin...

I've been had

I was reading the visitor counter to the right, and I have a feeling that someone is going to flag the blog soon; you can't ever be too paranoid, but it seems that the clamps are going to come down in the future upon those who share music for free on their website, even if they go about it in a slightly sly manner, but oh well, here's some more music anyway.

Lesley Wynn, thank you.



K-MH

I smoke weed all day

Hello Punta Umbría. Hope everyone has a lovely weekend.

Check out the following things, if you haven't already:

A chance to improve the 9th grade Spanish you learned, and get some goodies.

Pay Sean Mair, according to his facebook status; I'm inclined to agree wholeheartedly with this.

Tocayo is a Spanish word which means that you have the same name as someone.

Punta Umbría; update.

Good weather. Lots of titties like the third world girls gone wild.

Slovenia

Thanks Miha.

el teatro de sueños

jungle love

As much as I should post another Time video, I'm going to instead pass on some information that was no-looked off the elbow my way (oh White Chocolate, I miss your thunderous passes, rendering the finish an exercise in futility, if only you could have played with Shaq in 1996 instead of 2006).

Via the only guest poster ever, Pedro Astacio (not Pedro Martinez, rest assured), a bunch of established veteran MCs go to work over hijacked/sampled/straightjacketed Sufjan Steven's tracks.

Here it is:


hokay, download here: gimme the biz baby.

Possible Tracklist for "Tocayo/a: Whatever your name is"

-Hey Zeus!
-Creed Stone
-Este Hombre
-Fumado
-Gunga
-Run DMT
-Dumb Fun
-Old Spinster's Tale
-Breakfast in Deathbed
-He's Just a Bird
-Flying
-Free Hugs For Free People

Am I the only one gorging at the 2ND Free Crack Giveaway over at Taka's blog? I thought all white people loved Taka(note, perhaps untrue).

Dunking the basketball on a 7 foot rim, just because you can is acceptable only while playing pickup soccer on the same "court".

BLOWWWWWWWWWW

Dr. Bepper

Cool article on Deadspin

Gunga Gunga Gow

Big NEWS!

Strawberry Banana just got a sick redesign, check it out post-haste!

Old Drink

My fingers are sore from playing a steel string guitar for many hours yesterday; fuck flamenco guitars. I was fucking around with an open D tuning (DADF#AD) with a clipper lighter as a slide in between trying my best to sound impressive to the strangers and companions in the carmona complex.

I'm gonna re-plug this band, The Mean, because their music is excellent and deserves multiple listens (finally, someone will give you your money's worth).

While we're at it, why not one more album before I head off to work?

I was introduced to Gil-Scott Heron through secondary/tertiary sources; an obscure hip-hop reference, allmusic.com cross-cultural comparisons, or maybe it was my older brother Max who laid the seeds of appreciation for a true activist/musician.

Anyways, I don't have TV here in Spain, and my excessive internet usage could be categorized as addictive or compulsive, but viva la revolución!



GSH-TRWNBT

Stuff and Things

Hello world. A chance encounter in Sevilla with a Senegalese folk musician named Malik was incredibly rewarding.

There may or may not have been a man screaming/singing sevillanas in the middle of the night outside my window.

I'm up remarkably early, although I got some new chamomile delivered from granada, that is quite delicious.

So, here's the first post of the day, perhaps more to come if I don't turn in to a lazy bones.



P-SE

hey sluggo

big shoutout to one Raymond Daniel O'Brien III, who put me on to this. What a grand opportunity to maneuever within the simulacrum of power that Colbert has created for the organized, slacker youths of today.

Fucking Cool

There's no use in having pretensions these days, especially concerning places that are judged on the basis of their own perceived closed-off manners. Mooney was the first person to explain bridge and tunnel syndrome to me, well, second-hand, but that's good enough for this mannish boy. Friend of music and related things, Marisa Beltramini put me on to a very interesting music label/story of interest, that you can read here.

Oberlin alums are scattered throughout King's County, and methinks this says a lot about how I won't be able to afford an apartment anywhere but salisbury, Maryland upon my return to the old glory herself.

If Burger King sponsored a Ben Kweller concert in Brooklyn, my head might explode.

Staring At The Sea

You can scan through your brain, past the short-term memories; what you ate most recently, the source of the intermittent high-pitched noises on a local pedestrian street, the number of times you stared at that same photo (for the record, 17) longing for someone while you're supposed to be doing something else. You can get caught up in a melody or a rhythm and lose all track of time, and then as soon as you think you're getting somewhere you look around and forget everything that's just happened. The simulacrum of the internet promises nothing more than what it is, a pooling of information, while you might spy a baroque soliloquy on plateauing you could also click on the links within that article and tune out.

I recently read Tom Wolfe's "The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test" for the first time recently; I think I understand why it's so goddamn highly recommended by everyone, and my mom; Wolfe was never on the bus, but he understood what it meant, and that it couldn't be expressed with words, that's some shit. There is a critical moment when Kesey and co. go to Berkeley, California for a serious anti-war rally/march in to Oakland. His takeaway message for the bright-eyed left-leaning youths of yesteryear? "Fuck it." Couldn't agree more, at some point we have got to all say, "fuck it", if we're ever going to get out of this crisis mode bullshit.

As far as I can tell, repackaging is the crux of America's ascendancy and probably it's rebirth in this time of tumult.

Fill My Heart

So, why stop a good thing?

I rambled yesterday about the merits of dropping one's pretensions about the perceived coolness of music, and in that vein, attempting to embrace the randomness/emptiness of discovery.

With that in mind, why not listen to some Bob Zimmerman?

John Wesley Harding was the last album Bob Dylan released before breaking his neck in a motorcycle accident that for some reason revealed the beauty of christian grace from the bleakness of his hospital bed. BOORING, but at least this is a good listen.

I just finally noticed how many songs are described in his early catalogs as dreams, fucking cool.



BD-JWH

A slight sigh of blessed relief

Hooray David Brooks.

Thrillseekers

If we all knew about all the same bands at exactly the same time, and we could all vibe on it, then there would be no need for the elitism that lays to waste so many potentially beautiful minds. That said, most people have terrible taste in music, and that is totally acceptable (most people believe that most other people have terrible taste in music).

I was particularly late on the Wilco bandwagon; I was watching THE Ohio State play for the national championship against UMiami (FL) and kicker Mike Nugent's favorite band was none other than the above mentioned. I had known of them for some time, but "A Ghost is Born" was the first album I ever actually acquired and listened to multiple times. Freshman year hallmate Marisa Beltramini was a big fan of "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot", but I only knew that from my clandestine mental photo-cataloging of her CD collection; it was sandwiched between Sufjan Steven's "Come On Feel the Illinoise" and Ben Folds Live.

So, 2007 marked the release of Sky Blue Sky, which, fittingly, I listened to for the first time today. It's pretty fucking good. I was doing dishes and lying on the couch at various points while taking it in, thinking of a lover far away; it's real good for that.





W-SBS

Four Course Meal

Awesome. The bestie bounces yet again, so now I have to keep whittling down the list of eligible euros to hang out with. Basically it's a slow road to hope, but, lord willing, I won't go insane with the slowness of Huelva (aka nuclear contamination land, seriously they just completed a serious investigative report on this toxic dump) in a non-productive manner.

I met a guy named Deshawn who listens to good music; it was the perfect antidote to Spanish pop. The shit he's in to sometimes reminds me of Make Believe, a band that Joel Handley put me on to some time ago.

The brothers Kinsella and their kinfolk/bandmates thrash with elegance, I don't know how else to put it. Their second LP, "Of Course" shows them maturing (they somewhat recently released a new LP entitled "Going To the Bone Church" which I HIGHLY recommend).



MB-OC

Kids Don't Know Shit

After a lovely weekend of traveling around southeastern Iberia with Red, friend, Rosa and co., I'm back grinding the axe of the death pit of despair we call Huelva. It's not that I have any odious thoughts so much as I am a tad disorganized, or at least perceive myself to be extremely far away from where I could be at; this type of thinking usually results in an extremely satisfactory nap.

This looks interesting, if you're in to that kind of stuff.

NYT Op-eds have a tendency of scaring the bejesus out of me, especially when coupled with the baroque e-mails I'm getting from working adults (READ: not recent college grads) about the gravity of the situation back home, that said, everybody is kind of full of it, so at some point you gotta say fuck it.



I have just discovered; some girls are bigger than others.

Uploads will continue now that there is interwebbing; the one euro tariff per session isn't so bad I suppose.

Princeton Heads Continue Making Moves

Hokay, I just creamed my jeans. This is the best new band I've heard in a long time.

All youse guys on faceboo might be interested in giving these dudes some well deserved love, here.

credit this to the OFFICIAL Nick Koenig facebook page, as well as some humble hype from keyboardist\vocalist martin raboteau.

The Hardest Thing ever I done

I have a theory that Tennessee Williams would probably like Bill Simmons; at least he might consider him a fellow writer. That said, T-Dubs would probably be appalled at the hyperbolic amount of analogies Simmons uses in comparing sports teams to marriages.

So, I know I said I wouldn't be posting any albums or writing this weekend, I was supposed to be on the road to partly sunny Lisbon, but plans change; Red's feeling under the weather and her 2 week paid vacation to Prague requires her full health. At least, if she wants to have a better time than Maurice in Albert Camus' "A Happy Death".

So, I want to talk more about Nick Koenig; who doesn't? Besides being my number one influence musically, Hot Sugar has always had the balls/confidence to understand that making beautiful/interesting/funny things will not captivate the minds of all who come across your creative work. It's good to start in 8th grade, because his star began its rapid ascent thanks to several pranks which will forever live in my head.

A group of 9th graders had started a mountain bike gang, just writing those words leads me to believe that I am a two bit hack (but you gotta fake it till you make it), that also occasionally sang unaccompanied renditions of RHCP tunes (namely, under the bridge); they all wore Hoagie Haven T-Shirts and talked shop on shocks, disc brakes and the like. Us outsiders, namely the chubby cum insecure underlings, were in awe of their brazen confidence and zen materialism. We all wanted fancy bikes too; we didn't care about the process back then, like a child in the CVS who sees the candy isle, and by that logic, in my case, didn't get the coolest bike in the world (in hindsight, I'm so fucking grateful that my dad bought me a bike, since our mini-mansion in the woods was a stones throw from some really lovely hills). I had befriended Koenig, so to speak, at a little league game at the tender age of 11; I was kind of a motherfucker on the diamond, to the extent that I was a big baby who could waddle around the bases with a cocky gracelessness. He was talking shit, and despite at first finding him unsavory, came to enjoy that someone without even a minimal knowledge of the admittedly complex rules of the game could heckle anything/anyone that he felt like.

It is also worth noting that DMX was HUGE amongst suburban boys and girls at this point; and that I paid out the ass for Capital Punishment and It's Dark and Hell is Hot second hand, thanks Zac Anglin.

One sunny spring morning, while the masses are gathered out on the northeastern entrance of John Witherspoon Middle School, the one that leads to the parking lot/cafeteria/basketball courts, a faint signal grew stronger and stronger. As, we all stood and waited, it became abundantly clear that it was "Party (up in here)". Slowly, but surely, Koenig arrives, flanked by two now anonymous counterparts blasting the music out of a shitty CD/Radio player that he has fastened to his handlebars. Noone could deny him, and rightly nobody did; I made some snide remarks, but the truth is that he had won everybody over with his winning confidence/remarkable lack of awkwardness.

Basically, pay this motherfucker.

Oh, and he put me on to this triumphant work of guitar great Ryland Cooder. Enjoy.



RC-BS

quick comment

I hope the music uploaded this week will tide you over for the weekend (which in my case is friday-sunday). I'll be running around the western coast of Iberia with Red & co.

If not, then oh well, but either way don't feel disappointed that I am lazy and selfish.

Inevitability

One of the links on the right side of the blog will no longer be providing new posts. Yes, that's right Katharine Mooney has hung up her golden gloves of caffeine induced web log posting to pursue a career in fine dining/writing/living away from the unhealthy glow of a macbook screen. So, what's a guy to do? I suppose you could skim the archives. Or, you could do the only thing that seems to make sense on a cold, blustery March afternoon and put up a special post to serve as the death knell to an occasionally fantastic read.

So, it's only right to offer some context first; Mooney often spoke highly of The Band, mistakenly referring to them as a quartet, but an aficionada nonetheless. Enough so to change the name of her blog's final incarnation to "Moondog Matinee"; late in the game, The Hawks released an album with the same name. For those in the know, The Band were a quintet composed of Levon Helm on drums/mandolin/vocals/guitar, Richard Manuel on Piano/Vocals/Drums/chugging Gran Marnier (wikipedia says around 6 bottles a day before cirrhosis won out), Rick Danko on bass/vocals/fiddle, J.R. "Robbie" Robertson on guitar/vocals (it's worth noting that the only song he sang lead on in their entire studio discography is "Till Kingdom Come" (obligatory pontification of the relation to Jay-Z/Coldplay and this song begins and ends NOW!) and Garth Hudson on Organ/Saxophone/Accordion/Piano (he plays that signature line on "The Weight"). Some serious fans consider producer/tuba player John Simon the "6th" member of the group; you can't deny his playing on "Rag Mama Rag" among other standout tracks. I forgot to mention that every single member took a turn on playing various auxiliary horns among other things, leading to a distinct sound (the breakdown in "Chest Fever" springs to mind most immediately).

In honor of the passing of a blog, and the broke as a joke nature of basically everyone I know (save the rich jews, I'm not kidding), I'm doing double time in posting a second album today. Also, I think Mooney eye fucked my older brother at commencement.

It's also worth noting that this album is composed entirely of cover songs; an odd juxtaposition to a group that produced some of the best original music of their time.



TB-MM

Vincent Gallo approved

RJD2 seems pretty universally adored by those who are fans of various genres of music; hip-hop heads call him one of their own, progressive rock fans are likewise enamored with how he wears his influences on his sleeve, college students who aren't too hip still come out in droves to angrily demand a return to the turntables (hello Cleveland!) and aspiring producers who utilize samples can do themselves a big favor by seeing the thin line between Moby and the guy who made Deadringer.

One group that the dude really seems to lean on as an influence is King Crimson. One of the more well known, and, furthermore, respected names in the progressive rock game. More on these fellows in a moment; until then, let's watch this clip.



As a quick tangential statement; the ploy by youtube/big music companies to end the embedding of music videos that contain copyrighted material is alright with me, in fact it is only fair.

Anyways, King Crimson get love from both sides of the rock pond fanbase; yeah their flights of fancy are indulgent and a tad ridiculous, but at the core of everything they rocked and grooved (something that few bands can do with taste).



I don't even want to write anymore about this fucking shit, I just think that one might have time to listen, if they have time to browse my incoherent ramblings.

KC-ITCOKC