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.
2009/05/17
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?
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?
2009/05/16
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.
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.
2009/05/15
2009/05/14
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.
2009/05/12
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.
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.
2009/05/11
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
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
Here's the first one: Dudcast
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?
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?
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