Doc Martian's Lounge

deet dah dit dit deet deet dah dit dit. Election 2012.

2012-01-13T03:01:00.000-08:00

Every year the Dems put up a new Quimby, and the GOP puts up a new Ralph Wiggum. Now Ralph may need a kick in the slats now and again. But Quimby often needs a bullet in his head along with DAILY kicks in the slats.

Ralph = I'm scared of guys in dresses Quimby = rat milk and horse meat subsidies for school lunches.

On the other side of the coin, Ralph = No. Milk Means Milk. Not No Icky Rat Milk and Quimby = I like you guys, your dainty hands are good at milking rats.

Wow.

2011-12-30T09:09:00.000-08:00

“Our Latin Thing”
(Nuestra Cosa)
40th Anniversary Limited Edition CD & DVD
Fania All-Stars
FANIA Records
www.fania.com

OK, I had it all wrong at first on this one. I started by listening to the CD, and while it was good, it didn’t move me, I thought maybe it might be better if I’d actually been at the club that night, August 26, 1971. What club? The Cheetah Club, a discoteca where Salsa was born on that night, about 3 blocks away from where the Gershwin Theatre is now and a block away from where Roseland Ballroom was then and still is, at the same intersection as Mad Magazine. I think maybe Ray Barretto has read some Mad Magazine, he’s the conga player and steals the show, but I’m getting ahead of myself a little bit here. So there I was, kinda nonplussed by the CD, digging the music, but not totally into it the way I was with Tito Puente’s FANIA Box set. Kinda kicking myself for getting involved in reviewing a genre I’m still learning the ropes in, but loving the tuneage so determined to make something of it.

So I finally get around to watching the movie, and that’s what it took, like seeing Breathless or Star Wars or King Kong or something all rolled into one. The quality of the filmstock (I have to do this sometime so I might as well get it out of the way) isn’t great, it looks like one of the films they usta show in the library when I was a kid or the old 60s films they’d show in class in grade school. A lil’ cruddy, some artifacts, the sound once in awhile is from the print rather than the higher quality sound that most of it has. That aside (and believe me, you’ll forget that as soon as the music gets rolling), this is one of the best movies I’ve ever seen. Sat there and applauded in my room as it projected on my wall after watching it. Maybe I’ve done that for one other movie before in a home environment, but hell if I can remember what, something with John Wayne mebbe.

Great film, footage shot in what looks like a couple of days in NYC Nuyorican territory, Loisaida or mebbe Spanish Harlem, some street parties, an arrest, what looks like a Santeria ritual, but central to all these is a performance by The Fania All-Stars at the Cheetah Club, and what a performance! Hector Lavoe, Ray Barretto, Willie Colon, Johnny Pacheco, Pete Rodriguez, Cheo Feliciano (others too, but I’m trying to stick with FANIA artists with their own albums) all banging out a blistering hot session with horns and drumlines that feels like you’re right there at the club with folks swivelin’ their hips like they were Chubby Checker and Elvis put together in some horrible genetic experiment to triple their genetic hip-swivelin’. You’re gunna be wowed. I was. Wasn’t expecting it either, figured it’d be decent though, FANIA doesn’t mess around with bad recordings from what I’ve seen, and like I said, the CD was good, but not awe-inspiring. That’s OK though, it’s a souvenir, from Loisaida, where at night, they get all dressed up, scoot on over to Broadway, and raise the roof like it hadn’t been raised since Duke Ellington worked a supper club. Loisaida, where the snow cone vendor might turn out to be a huge recording star, and even the drunk guy who’s hanging out by the alley has a great sense of rhythm. And yes, the CD set IS that good, but watch the movie first, it’ll give you a sense of place.

after not watching the american music awards...

2011-11-21T03:04:00.001-08:00

As elitist as I am about music, I really like Taylor Swift. She's one heckuva singer/songwriter. Like maybe America's best since Tom Waits. I don't know if I'd want to listen to her all the time, but every time I do, its been a rewarding experience. 1 of her makes up for a whole lot of pop acts, Christina Aguilera and her phenomenal lungs excepted.

A lot of pop groups are really pretty good when you aren't bombarded with them. Back when I worked at the White Sheet (a newsprint shopper), I usta hate the nights it was like blasting pop radio. I remember cringing every time Bel Biv Devoe's Poison came on... however, 10 years later, I heard the song and was like \m/. Its really a good song, just hypeityhypeityhypeityhyped way too much when it was popular. So with many pop acts. I was sitting here thinking about picking up a Christina Aguilera Greatest Hits the other day, and I wouldn't have had a single qualm about it, instead I went with James Brown though, or was it The Temptations?

Like many bands, its tough to separate the fans and the packaging of a performer from the performer themselves. Snoop Dogg and Dr. Dre are a good example of that statement. Back when The Cronic came out, Dre was marketed as straight up hip-hop king from the streetz boy yeh, and the man had all kinds of talent, Snoop got marketed just the same way, and years later, he had all kinds of talent too, but to see their hype and their fans, it would be impossible to tell the difference.

Today's pop music like any other form of music over the last 100 years, consists of some very talented individuals, and some individuals that aren't as talented but know who to blow or buddy up with, and sometimes, its a matter of learning a craft. Timberlake. 5 years from now, he might do something I really dig, he does some stuff that is pretty fair bubblegum->funk the last I listened to him (2 or 3 years ago).

I'm as unlikely to write off the pop scene as I am country or jazz or rock or metal, at least today, all those scenes have gigantic floparoonis as far as being able to create anything worth listening to, but then, in the middle of it all, is goatwhore, or eli 'paperboy' reed, or dwight yoakam doin' tejano with buck owens, and it seems worth having those scenes in place even with all the crap that's come out of them. After all, I don't have to put Usher on my iPod.

blues lyric

2011-07-31T14:56:00.001-07:00

Well you know that it seems to me, that a man don't ever get free, until he's shown the whole world all he can be.

Swedish guy went to film skool and all I got was a wind-swept tundra.

2011-07-14T10:17:00.000-07:00

Thriller: A Cruel Picture {Limited Edition} aka 'They Call Her One Eye'
Synapse Films

OK, I like this one a LOT. It stands head and shoulders among most of the rape and revenge movies. Its a little self conscious, aware of its place in the genre and trying to buck the system of sleazy films a bit with something high concept. Every once in awhile the theremin/synth weeooos get a lil' comedic, the psychotron action gets a lil' overused, but its a solid film with mad chops behind it. I mean Bo Arne Vibenus must have watched like every Ingmar Bergman flick and Call Me Curious Blue and Yellow like a dozen times on psychedelics. But what it lacks due to slight heavy-handedness, it makes up for with guns, gore and slow-mo blood splattering, kung-fu fightin' pwnership. Lots of noodity too, it isn't erotic though, i mean yeh, nekkid chick and hardcore imagery, which probably was shocking back in the days before porn was a household word, but the eroticism is overshadowed by the characterization of a victimized gal in the thrall of an evil piece of shit. Neat point-of-view video to see her victimizers through the eyes (eye) of Frigga. Rewarding escalation of her plight rather than just casting her amidst the bad guys and whomping her til' she loses her shit like in the Tarantino movie that found inspiration in Thriller - A Cruel Picture. You'd be hard pressed not to like this film or at least admire it. I mean I suppose if you have ethical standards that preclude grindhouse themes as entertainment, or if you've never seen anything but comic book movies. Mainly though, its a grueling 107 minutes of rape and revenge flick with one of the best twist |snicker| endings ever. I won't go into details... but... the bad guy... {does his best swedish chef impersonation} "He vuz hang-ed by teh horses".

Great extras, mad trailers in multiple languages and states of edit, nude photo session with Christina Lindberg, in her role as Frigga. English and Swedish audio and English subtitles, alternate footage, photo storyboard. Nifty Title Menu too. Pick this one up, its essential for any low-budget film collection.

Women in Prison Triple Feature

2011-06-13T00:48:00.000-07:00

presented by Mr. Skin
Panik House

Crazy sleaze. That was my first thought on picking up this triple feature. Women in showers nekkid and doin' the nasty all over the place along with some domineering dominatrix and probably a couple of rapo pig authority figures. While that is a horrible experience in real-life, when properly filmed by an inspired team like American International Pictures or Roger Corman, it can be a whole lot of Grindhouse cheesy exploitation fun. So I figured what the hell, I'll give it a shot and see if it rocks. It does... but not for the reasons I thought. More on that in the individual reviews, but the basics are that there are three films on two DVDs (one non-flipper double disc) all with trailers and introductions by Mr. Skin of www.mrskin.com. Good transfers, clear sound, a Cadillac loaded with trashy captives in various states of undress.

Chained Heat

This is the one you wanted, camped up dialogue, catfights, lots of nudity, John Vernon gettin' it on in a hot tub with inmates at his prison. Sybil Danning. A couple of rape scenes, some girl on girl beatdowns, mean girls out for revenge and hellcat threat scenes, shower seduction, a script that has something to do with power plays between the guard captain and the warden. Its just what you expect and maybe a little more. Dancin' and romancin' on Cellblock B and shivery little Linda Blair bustin' out her big boobs and gettin' all doe-eyed before doin' a take charge number. Solid cinematography, decent script, heartfelt acting, girl power meets shakin' the moneymaker. If all three movies were just like this, you'd be really happy and gotten exactly what you expected out of the triple feature. They aren't all exactly like Chained Heat but if you're really a fan of exploitation flicks and not just looking for some low-budget bewbage, you're going to be happy anyways.

Red Heat

This (in my opinion) is the weakest of the three films, its kinda kinky though and if you dig on that whole slavic commie dominatrix in prison togs inyourfaceness that you usually only find hints of in bad soviet art films, you'll be diggin' on it. Plenty of sublimated tension. Better psychological torture than Chained Heat. More of Linda Blair's nay-nays as well as Sylvia Kristel and Sue Kiel's. A horrible industrial accident featuring an extra-sproingy nardclip. This is the movie that they would show on Skinemax back in the 80s on Wednesday night so that there'd be actual noodidity but not so exciting that it overshadows their Friday night feature. Its a sleeper, chances are it won't be your favorite movie of all time, but the acting is decent as these things go and they're trying to set a tone of East German repression and KGB tyranny. And what would a coldwar flick be without some wannabee rambos. Lesbian tension, probably the first on-screen daisychain in an R-rated feature (just a split-second probably edited from a longer scene), and if you're a sociopath wanting to see an American college gal fucked with hard by a bunch of simmering commie cooze, you'll love it. Still, its worth seeing, like it tries to move beyond simple exploitation and doesn't quite make it but at least they tried.

Jungle Warriors

OMG. Telemundo-verite. This is the movie you catch the last half of in the middle of the morning or at 3 am on your local Spanish-language station. What it lacks in noodidity it makes up for in chicks with guns and really bad telenovela horseplay and cokelords and helicopters and hong-kong sized squibs. Jawdropping badness of the moar moovii naow variety. This movie has nothing going for it scriptwise or cinematography-wise, but it doesn't matter, plenty of shit gets blowed up, 1 snake attack, incredible talent in the form of Paul L. Smith, John Vernon, and the great Woody Strode in a role that probably involved gambling debts. Sybil Danning is also featured in a role less powerful than the one she played in Chained Heat. One time, I was flipping around on the tube at 10 in the morning on a Wednesday and a biker gang is terrorizing a bunch of ranchero farmers with a smoking hot daughter and one of the farmers blasts a biker's head to exploding goo with a shotgun. This film is probably written by the same people. It features one hell of an aggressive rape scene, but for the most part the gals keep their clothes on. Somehow it doesn't matter though. Smoke a bowl, text some friends or something during the first half and once the first head is severed, put on the ludovico eyeclamps and sit back for some sweet, sweet straight to cable fare that will have you downloading the animated gif software as soon as the horrible theme song closes the movie. This is a gem.

A double scoop of Pinky Violence.

2010-12-29T19:19:00.000-08:00

Sex and Fury
Female Yakuza Tale
Panik House Entertainment

Yeh. So you've gotten this far, so you've probably seen parts of this already, nude sword frolics, doomed lovers, the eternal brought a knife to a gunfight conundrum solved for Meiji-era film. Sex and Fury is a revenge story, other peoples lives intertwine, some with death, some with scars, not all on the surface, some with heroic acumen against people that have done wrong. This is the kind of movie you hope to wander into in the middle of the night in some brightly lit district. Fascinatingly constructed shots, like each image is intriguing or seems imbued with power. The plot whirls about 3 playing cards all to mark death. Her life was wrecked young, by men doing her family wrong, and so she faces down bad guys with a sword in her hand and not a whole lot of clothes. This is good. Strife in culture appears amid the new political mathematics of the Meiji-era, who is invested in who, and who is just tooting their own horn. You can't help yourself, there is no way out except the slaughter of the people necessary to end the bloodfeud. You can see it coming to an end, like everyone's wrapped up and Peter Falk is pacing the room muttering to himself. It has the Spaghetti Western thing goin' on where everyone dies except for the hero. Somehow though, it all seems par for the course, like the next day the same hero will be doing the same thing, or maybe next week. Great music though, like a country-psychedelic band with rock action going on interspersed with traditional Japanese folk tracks.

OK, that there's Sex & Fury but Reiko Ike is gunna strip down and whirl her sword around for another one and this one's even better, well... maybe not better, but more tightly scripted and sleazier. Where does Paris Hilton hide her drugs? Well, the folks at the Toei Company are certainly taking an opportunity to explore the possibilities on that. You know that scene where John Belushi is under the bleachers in Animal House, ok, imagine if Bluto wrote the picture and were determined to do something to tick off the peace corp era twats he went to school with. Now throw in lots of gratuitous nudity and a vendetta from a bygone day, now throw in some more gratuitous nudity, now a swordfight and chicks spattered in blood and some psychotronic film school stuff plus the usual spaghetti western camera angles and characters behaving badly and you've got yourself a great movie. Awesome packaging too, complete with a decal, although they should have decals of all the 3rd tier gangsters plus a group poster of the gals, or even action figures. Its that kind of movie, the kind where you can just imagine the marketing possibilities. Only it was before all that, practically in the Meiji-era.

Matriculation

2010-12-18T15:26:00.000-08:00

New Sounds of Exotica
The Waitiki 7
www.waitiki7.com

You've passed Exotic Rhythms 101. You can mambo and cha-cha-cha, and you do a passable birdcall. Plus, you know that the second rum barrel should NOT be administered to yourself on an empty stomach. Where do you go from there? The Waitiki 7's answer, their 2010 album New Sounds of Exotica. Their focus is on a little more depth getting thrown into the mix, and it sure does. Like the Grateful Dead when everybody left the stage except for the drummers. The Dead keep coming to mind in relation to Waitiki, a band with a strong live following, who have a noted preference for an intoxicant (in this case, rum!), as well as a devotion to musicality that many bands tend to ignore in their quest to rock out or chart or freak people out. Maybe its the jungle though. The lush sounds that the Rhythm Devils and Waitiki both present hearken back to the days when we all lived somewhere among a canopy of trees and scary animals (have you SEEN Abe Lagrimas, Jr.). Great album, filled with exotica standards and songs that are rapidly becoming Waitiki standards (they throw 1 or 2 like China Fan on most of their albums, like a groovy reminder that the album is part of a greater body of work that is slowly growing.)

All in all, this album gets 4.5 outta 5 stars, and that ½ star is only cuz its treading over a fair amount of already covered ground, but what are you gunna do, horn section? mass chanted vocals again? hoochi-koochi dancers? this one's a little more complex. Mighty good album, Like Laurie Anderson doing Mister Heartbreak after United States. You know their work, you appreciate it, its great to get down with on a Friday evening after you've survived another whirlwind week. But hmm, maybe its time for a double album with a theme. If you dig Hawaii, exotic rhythms, polynesian cocktails or just like smooth jazz with post-latin rhythms and vibes, you'll be in hog heaven.

Perfecto!

2010-10-27T14:25:00.000-07:00

Tito Puente
The Complete 78s Volumes 1-4 1949-1955
FANIA Records
www.fania.com

Its rare that I get to review a box set that is just pure perfection. This box set is.

I like roots music, the origins of modern musical forms, oftentimes they are the profound sounds that establish a plethora of followers, although occasionally you’ll find a rut that inspires others, usually there’s something behind it. Louis Armstrong, The Beatles, Bob Wills, Jimmie Rodgers, LL Cool J, Charlie Parker, Jimi Hendrix, Robert Johnson. The early work of Tito Puente is no exception. I’ve listened to dozens of lounge and lounge mambo and 60s orchestrations of Latin music for a broad general audience, and while most of them have all the trappings of a dancehall in early 50s New York, they don’t have heart. Its like watching a bunch of marionettes all programmed with animatronics. You know someone with talent inspired it, but given the modern state of Latin roots music (good luck trying to find an authoritative Vincente Fernandez or Luiz Gonzaga compilation, although if you know a few names, you can usually buy up 5 or 10 albums that as a group will leave you feeling satisfied but kinda ripped-off because most of its like ‘what Michael Jackson is doing now instead of Thriller’), you’ll be looking for awhile before you build a satisfactory compilation of most seminal artists. That’s what photographer/record collector Joe Conzo did. He collected the complete Tico singles of Tito Puente and with FANIA records released a set of music that paints a fairly defining picture of the Puerto Rican/Cuban/Mambo/ChaChaCha music scene in New York City in the middle of last century. It is a 4 double-cd set of about 40 songs apiece sold as a 2 vol. (with 2 double-cds (also called volumes) in each set) set. Although I think it would be better served as an 8 cd box set (take a look at Billie Holiday’s Complete Verve Studio Master Takes) for about $60. Awkward packaging concept aside though, the music on these is what counts, and DAMN does it. The arrangements on these have popped up on nearly every modern-era lounge album I’ve heard, but for Tito Puente, this was original and the result of long years of study of musical forms in places as diverse as the U.S. Navy and Julliard School of Music. Picture all the street smart performance savvy of the jazz giants, combined with a formal musical education and a bunch of years knockin’ around in clubs putting it all together. The King of Latin Music indeed, but this is back when he is still building his reputation before he gets crowned. The reputation doesn’t come from building coalitions though… although… I suppose in a way it does. Musical coalitions with the like of Mongo Santamaria, Willie Bobo, Vinçente Valdes, & Charlie Palmieri. This after playing with Machito, the King Oliver of the New York Latin scene. All of those artists above could spawn their own box sets (especially Machito (who a solid box set for is long overdue)), but here they are, all playing together makin’ a beautiful ruckus that sounds like it came outta a gangster-filled lounge in the heart of the Big Apple.

Here I would normally break down the albums into constituent reviews, however, a combination of annotation that doesn’t indicate artists on each track (making it difficult to discuss individual contributions) and an underlying feeling that these singles should be taken in as whole body of work rather than a neatly segmented set of discs prevails. Essentially though, they consist of a collection of Puente-penned, Latin Standards and Jazz standards (the popular music of the day), all performed vibrantly by one of the most talented combos of the time, this is especially notable in that the time was a musical explosion when all the sounds that had been pent up in the musician’s strike of 1942-1944 were still coming to the fore. Plus a celebratory element in that the hated Democrats (A governor appointed by FDR had slaughtered 17 men, a woman, and a 7 year old girl in Ponce, Puerto Rico because he was opposed to peaceful protest of political imprisonment in 1937) were finally out of office after a 15 year long interregnum reigns. Most of all though, these are fantastically fulfilling albums, filled with the sounds of a street culture that had built a niche in New York City and America following WWII and the service and loss of its manhood, including a stint by Tito Puente on the U.S.S. Santee in the Pacific Theatre. Put your dancing shoes on, grab your lady by the cuchifritos and mambo and cha-cha-cha with her until the cock crows.

OMG! Don't watch the Knight Saber voice actors in Bali extra or your BRANE WILL DIE!

2010-09-06T11:43:00.000-07:00

Bubblegum Crisis
AD Police
Bubblegum Crash
animeigo.com

As much as I want to like these a ton, I still like them a lot. I can sum this up in one sentence, Anime are like zombie movies, no matter how good a zombie movie it is, its still a zombie movie. Akira aside, I have yet to see an anime that breaks this rule. Some chirpy character, an explosion that looks like a thousand others even though its still cool, same bulwarked background you've seen in a dozen other animes inside of some bad guy's lair. These aren't necessarily bad things, often the kawaii character is one of the more rewarding parts of an anime, sometimes even its only saving grace, some of those explosions are mighty, mighty cool too (especially when they do it in slow-mo or like frag-mo) and well, those bulwarked backgrounds? OK, they just suck.

All in all though, before I get to individual reviews of these Animeigo releases, I have to say that these are among my favorite anime, the creators have tried to create a unified world with more than episodic elements and story arcage from a time when most television still was staying clear of arcs. There are pop culture references a-plenty, both within the Bubblegum Universe mk. 1 (1987-1991), and references TO the Bubblegum Universe in modern filmmaking, anime and cartoons (sources as namedropping as Revenge of the Sith, Tarantino's karate flick & The Powerpuff Girls). You have to consider that the inner struggle of free ai and ai in circuit depicted in Bubblegum Crisis had some influence on the Matrix as well (although mebbe that all got picked up from TRON).

While there is a sense of fragmentation when the entire set is viewed as a whole, some of that may be due to the long lead time between episodes and series, many Bubblegum Crisis episodes have more than 6 months between episode release dates, and while this made the individual episodes feel more eventful and often have a 'coming home' feeling, you can note some confusion regarding plot elements in the psychic vibeage of the viewers. This is often made up for with a laissez-faire GENOM? Largo? who cares, just kick his ass sensation.

Bubblegum Crisis
Four young women, Priss, Nene, Linna, & Sylia regularly leave the drudgery of their daily lives, don battle armor, and become The Knight Sabers. A combat-ready crew whose primary goal is to destroy Boomers, androids often indistinguishable from humans that are used for menial tasks, combat, and (until they started going bonkers on a regular basis) sex. The world is a slightly expanded modern world, with more oceanic communities, some satellite, lunar and possibly inner planet habitats, the primary difference being the development of Boomers in the years after the Second Great Kanto Earthquake of 2025 to help repair the damage wrought by Mother Nature. A megacorporation (GENOM) is one of the primary architects of Boomer technology and they have worked aggressively to maintain their dominance, including the murder of key scientist in Boomer development Dr. Katsuhito Stingray 'father' of Knight Saber Chief Sylia. GENOM and its operatives are the primary antagonists in the eight episodes of Bubblegum Crisis, often intertwined with the machinations |snicker| of the Knight Saber's arch-nemesis Largo.

Most of the stories are an excuse to get the Knight Sabers armored up and kicking ass, but there are subnotes of humanity within Boomers (notably Priss's friend Sylvie and her counterpart Anri) and also many moralistic fables riffing upon revenge, including some that take place in the Knight Saber family. There are also a number of Blade Runner references, fitting in an anime that discusses the right of AI to live freely, these elements are as key as the names of the primary protagonist (Priss) and her erstwhile but hapless paramour Leon. Most stories go like Boomer want take over world. Knight Sabers happily going about their business. Argh. Boomer Kill! Knight Sabers suit up and kick ass. But the Knight Sabers have slightly more complex social lives than the Power Rangers, some are like totally across town, not in just another classroom, and sometimes, one haz a sad. Note that this doesn't bring down the sustainability of belief in the Knight Sabers adventures. I mean the Powerpuff Girls have equally predictable situational dynamics and they pull them off with even more aplomb. It does mean you're watching anime, and that's ok, its a comfortable genre, with ZOMBIES! and the creators are definitely doing their best to achieve high concept, and in the two sequels, succeed in attaining greatness.

A note on the art too. Very nice. Lots of lighting effects, including hand-drawn 3d lighting effects, plasma effects, nifty zings of light off everything and some of the coolest reflective shades I've ever seen in animation. One of the last great hurrahs of hand-drawn/xeroxography anime.

AD Police
As much as I dig Bubblegum Crisis; AD Police does something that Bubblegum Crisis doesn't. It focuses on ACTION! While a key element of Bubblegum Crisis is the action. AD Police has this gritty urban action feel like a good Dirty Harry movie. Cop jokes, car chases, mourning the fallen, strange villains, even corruption within the department. Plus, 1970s level n00dity and even some sex. Way more of an homage to cop genre films than a parody of them, this would be worth watching even outside of the Bubblegum continuity, sort of a sleeper sci-fi action series. Boomer bad guys/gals as are to be expected in post-quake Tokyo, a little bit more of the mean streets though, black marketeers, hookerbots gone bad, drug dealers, a serial killer, and the anti-Robocop. The primary focus of the series is the rookie years of Leon McNichols, why he seems so edgy when Boomers are discussed and other character building elements to flesh him out as much as the Knight Sabers have been.

Of special merit is Officer Billy Fanword, so injured in a battle with a Boomer that the only parts of him left are his brain and his tongue! Needless to say, he soon goes mad, but not before an exposition on what it is to be human, as well as some gratuitous sex, violence and drug usage. Like if Robocop weren't intentionally goofy and didn't have the noble spirit that Officer Murphy possessed.

I recommend this DVD most highly, and although it fits best into its sequence after the 7th Bubblegum Crisis episode, it stands alone well and would serve as a good intro to someone too macho to watch a buncha gals kick ass in battle armor, or for someone big on cop action drama.

Bubblegum Crash
So, the Knight Sabers have lain fallow for awhile, all of them are going about their business as regular workers in the giant Tokyo hive. Beneath however, danger lurks, somehow an enemy of the Knight Sabers has returned from the dead and is striking at good guys. All this is told to you in a slightly exposition heavy trio of episodes that still manage to be entertaining and have the spirit of the first batch of episodes. There are suit modifications, new jobs, slightly more developed character traits (as is to be expected among burgeoning young adults), and an underlying feeling of dissatisfaction from the fan base. Still, the stories manage to be decent (if a little more formulaic than the AD Police stories) and (trying not to lay down any spoilers here) some interesting things happen (although some folks are still in denial about it) regarding your understanding of the Knight Sabers and Sylia in particular. Less inspired artwork than the initial series though, and the computer-aided design intro seems dated and poorly advised given the hearty hand-drawn animation that is featured throughout the rest of the series.

Bubblegum Crash is a worthy successor to Bubblegum Crisis, but you can feel dissatisfaction of fans and probably some spiritual sabotage by Youmex (Former partner of Artmic in creation of the original series). While its pretty decent for the most part, it doesn't so much blaze new trails as tie up loose ends. If you've watched and enjoyed the original series, you'll want to see it and if you aren't too picky (Where'd GENOM go?!?!?!) you'll probably enjoy it. I did. A solid conclusion that lacks a little in flair, but still delivers and expands upon the ideas in the initial series only a little heavy-handedly.

Note: Some video artifacts/blear probably from the source tape are on this DVD, only a couple minutes out of 3 hours and nothing to make the DVD unwatchable, but still, hopefully someday a better master will show up.

Afterword
The extras featured in all these discs bear mention. While mainly they consist of music videos of the vocal performers doing songs from the series (think Bonnie Tyler meets Footloose), there is one feature that is practically too horrible to mention. Somehow, the primary vocal talent managed to convince the ARTMIC/YOUMEX execs that them going to Bali and dining and walking around pointing at stuff and shopping and singing a song would make a good live-action television special. Its LOL bad. Talking almost claw your eyes out. Although I'm sure there were some tweenage girls who want to kill me now because they are so otaku over anything regarding the Knight Sabers. Get in line! I've got way worse enemies than anime fans. Rabid Clash of the Titans fans want me dead too! Still, its probably the worst television special on DVD until the Star Wars Holiday Special is released by George Lucas' fan-bribed heirs. Now you HAVE to buy a copy, at least if you're into horrible video. AIYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Some stone cold groovage.

2010-08-18T21:33:00.000-07:00

Crack Symphony/Plan B/DTMWIS
The True Loves
q-dee records

OK, so there are the E-Street band, and they're layin' out a stone cold groove behind that old guy. Then, Clarence Clemons walks up to the microphone and says, "We've had enough of that Boot Heel Drag, now we're gunna play OUR kinda music" and they launch into some sweet doo-wop stringage. That's pretty much what the True Loves do on this single on Q-Dee records. They hop from the sixties soul-sations that they play backin' up Eli "Paperboy" Reed, to some groovy ass Philly soul. They do it well too. Fat bass driven' with scattershot percussion and nifty organ fills. Only problem is, it isn't long enough. Just as you start to get your groove on, its done. Still, mighty sweet single, hope they put out some more. Part of a color vinyl (digital downloads too) set featuring Barrance Whitfield, Muck & The Mires and three unnamed artists, I hope they put out a second one, in Vomittone. I mean if you're going to do a color vinyl single, why WOULDN'T you do it in Vomittone?

Lady Snowblood and its horrible sequel.

2010-08-17T22:11:00.000-07:00

Lady Snowblood
Lady Snowblood: Love Song of Vengeance
animeigo.com

Lady Snowblood

This is one of the classics of Japanese cinema, as recognizable as Ran, The Seven Samurai, Akira, or In The Realm of the Senses. It is based on a manga by the same guy that wrote Lone Wolf & Cub (aka Shogun Assassin), but where the Lone Wolf & Cub films seek conflict as their central component, Lady Snowblood seeks quietude and stillness, even within the act of vengeance. The direction by Toshiya Fujita is narcotic, drifting from one visual element to the next. The violence within it comes quickly, from the stillness that is the 'woman of the netherworld' Yuki. Still drifting snow and people walking through it, swordflash, death. This is even echoed in the flashback scenes that describe Yuki's inception and the fate of her family. The storyline hops back and forth, Yuki's mother giving birth to her in a prison, the slaughter of one of Yuki's targets, training of Yuki, flushing out of Yuki's targets, the fate of Yuki's mother and how she ended up in prison, but integral to these vignettes, is death coming quickly from hidden sources. Yuki's blade hidden in a parasol, Yuki's mother's concealed blade killing her rapist, Yuki's birth resulting in the death of her mother, ruffians hidden in the outskirts of a town bringing death to Yuki's family, a hidden target behind a one-way mirror bringing death to Yuki's paramour. The structured form of the manga does a lot to keep the plot of this film driven, it could easily be lost in the twists and turns that the screenplay negotiates through dreamish landscapes of Meiji-era Japan, although the film has variations from the manga, the expectations of its readers are considered while providing enough plot devices to keep the film intriguing even to someone familiar with the manga. All in all, a refreshing bit of cinema candy to while away a few evenings.

Lady Snowblood 2: Love Song of Vengeance

Ass. This film is ass. It isn't assbad, it isn't truly horrible, but man, oof, compared to its predecessor, like if Star Wars became Spaceballs but wasn't funny. The plot is all over the map. Arrest drama, infiltration, anarcho-sensei-political-socialistica, gully dwarves, plague drama, throw it all at the wall and most of it doesn't stick but man is it up there on the screen anyhoo. Still, it is watchable, in a train wreck sort of way. Think Godzilla movie. You know how when Godzilla isn't on the screen stomping around Godzilla movies are kind of stupid. Some kid and his kinda crazy scientist uncle and his g/f and an old scientist and the army and they're all trying to kill, persuade, defend, or give blowjobs to Godzilla maybe with like a bomb planted somewhere and the army. That's this movie, when Lady Snowblood is on the screen and killing something, poetry in motion, makes up for all the ass we've suffered in the last 15-30 minutes, stick a knife in that fucker's OTHER eye! Yay! Stomp Mothra and King Ghidorah! Woohoo! That's what I'm talkin' about!

But then, the writers happen, and they're like hmm... well... we need social commentary and something bad about the Russians so we can get some U.S. dollars, I KNOW! PLAGUE INJECTIONS! The actors? Alright, Meiko Kaji suffers gamely through this film, and the slight light source tilt that exposes most of the characters as cardboard stereotypes that wasn't apparent in the tighter scripted and more story-driven and less story-battered Lady Snowblood isn't the fault of the actors and I think they'd have done just as well as in the original film given the same quality of writing. The directing/cinematography is pretty decent too. Nope this film flops because of the writers, they are the ones who need to bare their swords and make their peace with God. Still, worth watching if you know its gunna be bad. It is in that area of silly-bad that is watchable, not that horrible crush-my-head-in-a-vice-so-i-don't-have-to-see-any-more badness that I'd tell you to avoid like power-mad social climbers with buri-buri sticks and hypodermic needles filled with plague germs. I want some of whatever the writers were smoking. Enough to make this film good. I don't know that there is that much though, in the world.

Gitcher Soul Food Cookin' for this one.

2010-06-13T21:22:00.000-07:00

Joe Cuba's Greatest Hits.
Fania Records

www.fania.com

OK, this is a pretty good album. I came to it with false expectations, having heard the Joe Cuba Sextet's 'Do You Feel It' and figuring it'd mainly be sweet ghetto homage and soulful post-boogaloo. Those expectations of mine were inappropriate though. It'd be like picking up a Bob Dylan album and expecting him to be in his Nashville Skyline phase. Not that there isn't a little of Joe Cuba's Nashville Skyline phase. Its well represented by 'Ain't It Funny What Love Can Do' and 'Oh Yeah'. Still, there's lots more to this album. Mambo, rhumba, post-mambo, latin boogaloo, some stuff that's straight-up soul, jazzy grooves, return to roots mambo, salsa and latin dance. All of that is in here, and its a pretty good album. Had me up and dancin' within the first couple of songs, and I haven't had an album that made me wanna get up and dance for a long, long time. Joe Cuba, a whole bunch of band members and sidemen. It gets down. You'll dig it. Still, I've listened to a lot of greatest hits albums, and while it moves me, it isn't real real gone. But that's to be expected, it takes a lot to make my big toe shoot up in my boot, and while this doesn't quite do that, it gets it jigglin' around a little bit.

Joe Cuba is one of those unsung musicians that never breaks national press. I mean Tito Puente, Poncho Sanchez, Carlos Santana, but who the fuck is Joe Cuba. The man brought forward Latin Soul and Latin Boogaloo and had a lot to do with designing Nuyorican musical forms for 40 years. Guarantee Tito Puente, Poncho Sanchez and Carlos Santana all have a few albums by him. "Bang, Bang" is one of the key tracks and the point when Cuba developed a following, a silly novelty lyric with a hella sweet timbale orchestration backin' it up. 'I'll Never Go Back to Georgia' is another kind groove. This is the stuff that was bumpin' in the barrio when the hippies and the soul hipsters were bumpin' their respective grooves. Cuba recognizes the tenor of the times though, he tosses a few English tracks into the mix, as well as soul, funk & R&B grooves. You'll get down. I'd say this one should be picked up as a good survey of the years 1962-1980 in New York Puerto Rican tuneage. You won't be disappointed. I even came expecting it to be something else and still dug it.

You might also want to download 'Do You Feel It' from fania.com as one of your two free tracks from Fania that are advertised for signing up for Fania Records website. I wouldn't hazard to guess what other song you might want to download though. I mean Fania has the heart and soul of New York City's music for 40 years in its archives and releases. If you dig Latin Dance, Puerto Rican, New York City, or 50s, 60s, 70s and 80s music, you'll have a whole treasure trove to explore.

One CD for Dancin', One CD for Romancin'

2010-05-11T11:13:00.000-07:00

Eli "Paperboy" Reed & The True Loves - Roll With You
Q Division

Eli "Paperboy" Reed - Come and Get It
Capitol Records

www.elipaperboyreed.com

OK, if you don't like soul music or a good rock'n'roll rave-up (which hard soul can be mistaken for) then don't read any further. Now, for the rest of you WANGBAMALAMALANGA. This is what I've been waiting for. Somethin' undeniably real. Somethin' where everything you've ever been dragged through comes back and bites you on the butt and says WHAM! Two magical soul albums, a guy from Boston who even smokes Johnnie Taylor. This kid has grit, soul, and all the musical moves that you ever imagined. OK. Pretend you're new to this. Pretend you've never bought any Otis Redding, pretend you've never collected any James Brown, pretend you haven't listened to the Stax/Volt Singles, pretend Aretha is just an old gal at the Grammys, pretend Sam Cooke and Otis Rush and Steve Cropper and the Bar-Kays and Marvin Gaye and Eddie Floyd and Eddie Kendricks and The Temps and the Tops are just names that you've surfed past on your way to buy another artist. STOP! and take a listen! "You'll know just what you've been missin' when I get through with you! Cuz I'm the Satisfier {satisfiiieeerr}" Homeboy's got it. The reigning monarch of soul. So good that Sly Stone hadda get wasted for two years straight after hearin' 'Roll With You'. Fucker wails. End of story. But that ain't much of a review. So lemme get with the fingers wagglin' and tell yah a little bit more. I was disgusted with neo-soul! I mean yeah the Dap-Kings and Hm but not bad Sharon Jones and Trash Bitch (you know who I mean, the racist twat) and a few other lesser lights, but still reminiscent of that sound that shook the city back in the Sixties and such. Damn it though, it just made me bury my head deeper in the classics. Listenin' to stuff like Booker T.'s McLemore Avenue and thinkin' wistfully that they don't make stuff like that anymore... well... I'm here to TESTIFY! That there exists, a saviour of soul! a punk of funk! a chief of the bamalam! a man who has brought the sound back to make the world do the frug, the hully-gully, the watusi, the camel-walk, the funky penguin, and the Boom-Boom. This is the stuff to make memories with. To dance with your wife for the first time to. To sing out to the world that you know the heart of pain and love. One album is harder edged, a little more gritty, somethin' to make yah get up and dance. The other? is for romancin', to put tears of joy in her eyes, a little softer, a little more lovin', and damn doesn't it. His background? Man, that almost got me, band guy, Dad with a record collection, almost ready to write him off as a poseur, but then, got the albums and BOOM! The simple obviousness of how fucking awesome Paperboy (fer his grandad's paperboy hat) and the True Loves (also featured on the second album but not listed as the artist (probably for marketing purposes)) are. Steeped in Soul with shoutouts and shiny suits. The only thing missing is the sweat, but these guys HAVE nothing to sweat, they'd make the old-time soul masters sit up in their graves and start rattlin' their bones. Masterful music. Hype these fuckers like crazy! Give them to anyone you know with a DJ booth, tie up the lines at your radio station, request them from your favorite venue, then get up and dance! Halllaballloooollaaaaaaaaaah!

JJ Cale outta cigarettes with 100 miles to go to the next truck stop.

2009-11-11T16:58:00.000-08:00

A Quiet Evil - Lee Harvey Osmond
Latent Recordings - www.leeharveyosmond.com

There's a lot of music in Canada that sounds like this. The last frontier with ruggedly dressed outlaws (toke) building a world with less ready resources than us Americans. It sounds mighty good to my unjaded ears though. A lot like JJ Cale, a little like Cowboy Junkies too (who have teamed up with Tom Wilson and members of the Skydiggers) on this album. Its not a horrible out-of-control beautiful train wreck album like Tom Waits at his best; its not a sultry afternoon in the blues with a warm guitar hugged close album; its not a be-boppin' Rickie Lee Jones outting with scat and soul leakin' out of it, its not a sing-along Velvet Underground know all the lyrics heard all the covers album either. It does owe a little bit to all of those, mebbe a little bit of Springsteen too.

I dig it. Still, I was sitting there in my mancave listenin' to it. Thinkin', hmmm, kinda restless, kinda ummm... hmmm... cook something... hmm... no.... lay back and snooze to it mebbe.... no... that's not it.....

Then, I roadtested it... and there it was. Long focused concentrate on the highway music because you've got dozens of miles to cover and you're fuckin' outta cigarettes. If any of that sounds good to you, pick it up, its a good one.

The Republican Manifesto!

2009-10-01T15:39:00.001-07:00

I dream of a world without Democrats, where all the seceding, racist leadership has been exposed and the remainder has fled to their individual parties for drug-dealing, socialism, money laundering and lawyerin'. A world where EVERY American is ...treated as an Equal. Where a person is rewarded for the sweat of his brow, not the grasp of his greed. Where Bill Clinton and Barack Obama are tried equally under the laws of our great nation! Where Nancy Pelosi has to WORK to get another butt-tuck! Where Hillary Clinton is stuffed in a cage so she can be EFFECTIVELY guarded by the secret service instead of having them tote her bags and massage her flabby ass! Yes! The America I dream of... is the America that we've told our children exists. A just nation. An honest nation! A nation without lyin', tax-grabbin', confederate-flag wavin' (I'M TALKIN' TO YOU HOWARD DEAN!), peckerwoods who should be whupped about the head until they VOTE REPUBLICAN! Thank you very much!

Step by step, inch by inch

2009-08-22T02:14:00.000-07:00

Shogun Assassin - 5-Film Collector's Set by Animeigo
www.animeigo.com

Alright, let me get the hard part out of the way. There's only one thing I DON'T like about this box set. The commentary on Shogun Assassin. Nonstop barrage of data that'd be way better as a second accompanying booklet leaving room for discussion on elements like the ghosted images that float during a multi-ninja attack and where they came from, or whether the female ninja leader would be able to run backwards disappearing into the distance if she HADN'T jumped out of her kimono. I guess what I'm saying is I prefer the pop-up video style of commentary that riffs on the film than endless streams of data, even if the data is erudite and well-researched.

OK, hard part's over, now the fun begins. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! 5 Films dubbed into English (one of which is a well-edited pastiche of two films) from the Lone Wolf and Cub movies (themselves based on a manga by the writer Kazuo Koike and the artist Goseki Kojima) released in 1972-74. Now 1972 was a strange time in filmmaking... most of the taboos of filmmaking that had built up since the first gasp of censorship in the 1930s had been broken in the late 1960s, in token forms, and in the early 70s, the gore, the sex, the language, the violence and the adult situations were being utilized not only by the grindhouse and exploitation companies but by the major studios as well... which gave more leeway to artists to incorporate these elements into their work. This resulted in films like Fritz the Cat, The Last House on the Left, Last Tango in Paris, Deep Throat, Aguirre, the Wrath of God, and Pink Flamingos arriving on the scene in the Western markets. Similarly, 1972 saw Hanzo the Razor, Female Prisoner #701 Scorpion and the Sword of Vengeance/Lone Wolf & Cub/Baby Cart movies appear pushing the limits of what Japanese cinema consisted of during that period (after all... how many Kurosawa clones can one endure before committing ritual suicide).

Although these films were visually exciting and brash by any critical standards, they didn't translate well to U.S. markets and were a long cross-country journey away from European markets. That doesn't mean they completely languished on the shelves, there were some subtitled releases of the Lone Wolf & Cub series, but they usually didn't make it out of Chinatown... even though there was an interest in martial arts films with the success of Bruce Lee, the television show Kung Fu and Sonny Chiba's The Street Fighter.

In 1980. Ka-BOOM! Big Dubbed Cinema with Synthesizer Massacre Slaughterama 9000 with eerie little kid voice-over ATTAAAAAAAAACCCKKKKKKK! The second Lone Wolf & Cub film's (along with a 12 minute backstory from the first film) rights were purchased by Robert Houston (Bobby from Wes Craven's The Hills Have Eyes) and David Weisman (Andy Warhol associate and director of Edie Sedgewick in Ciao! Manhattan). Dubbing was done based on hypothetical scripts by deaf lipreaders with voice talent that featured Lamont Johnson, Sandra Bernhard (pre-fame), Marshall Efron and six-year old Gibran Evans (son of the film's promotional artist Jim Evans) providing a spooky voice-over and the voice of Daigoro (the Cub). All this is supplanted by a riveting score performed and co-written by Mark Lindsay, former vocalist of Paul Revere and the Raiders. The slow plodding of Ogami Itto toward his inexorable revenge upon the Shogun/Leader of the Yagyu Shadow Clan begins beneath the haunting score and the unearthly voice-over of his son Daigoro.

Part I
Shogun Assassin

When I was little, my father was famous. He was the greatest Samurai in the empire, and he was the Shogun's decapitator.

You probably first heard that at the same time I did, as the bedtime movie of B.B. in Quentin Tarantino's 'Kill Bill', I'm not saying that you didn't hear it earlier (you crusty old fuck) but chances are, you heard it there first. Me? I figured it was anime, and in a way, it is, being a depiction of a manga, but the cinematic artistry of Kenji Misumi (director of Baby Cart 1, 2, 3 & 5) surpasses the simplicity of design in most animated features with a simple iconography. Lone Wolf haggard and worn after the death of his wife. The baby cart loaded with weapons, the flashing sword, the blood, the split crazy fiber baskets on the heads of the Yagyu Shadow Clan soldiers, the road, inns, temples (where Ogami Itto meets his clients for assassination jobs) the home of a daimyo where blood is always shed by the visitors who arrive and nature. All of these themes repeat throughout the film series, the editing in the first film of the series is slightly sensationalistic however. Not that that leaves anything to be desired in my book, I like my films visceral with entrails strewn everywhere, but perhaps some of you would prefer to pick up the original films (also marketed by Animeigo as the 'Lone Wolf and Cub' series) with subtitles. Well you just go ahead you pretentious frauds! Argghhh Slash Massacree if it moves, kill it muhahahaahahahahahaahahahahahah. This here film a slaughterfest of epic proportions. When things aren't getting cut by swords and daggers and blades concealed in Daigoro's babycart, it setting things up so that MORE things can be cut by swords and daggers and blades concealed in Daigoro's babycart. Thumping great soundtrack splatter splatter splatter ka-blash ka-blash ka-blash slice followed by the plod plod plod of Tomisaburo Wakayama's Ogami Itto as he staggers along pushing the cart to the next slaughterfest. BUY THIS FILM! BUY MULTIPLE COPIES! SO WHAT IF YOU DON'T HAVE FOOD MONEY THAT MONTH! FEAST ON THE PAIN AND SPLATTERED CONDOMS FILLED WITH BLOOD AIYEEEEEE!

Part II
Shogun Assassin II: Lightning Swords of Death

After the storm comes a calm, but in this case, it is merely the eye of the hurricane. The film known as Lone Wolf and Cub: Baby Cart to Hades has been dubbed (without a score by Mark Lindsay {SOB!}) by a new set of voice artists and team of translators. I'm the first to admit it doesn't pack the punch of the first film in the series. Like the Black Knight in Monty Python and the Holy Grail however, Once your arm has been cut off, the rest hardly matters, you're beaten no matter how many times you re-iterate your ability to still fight. Just sit back and let the anticipation and joy as Itto continues on his assassin's road fill your soul. Edo Period Japan, in all its finery is again the backdrop for the adventures of the Lone Wolf and Cub.

Strangely, with less bloodshed, you are able to see how Ogami Itto is less characteristic of a Samurai with the Bushido code largely related to his relationship to his lord or a Ronin protecting his own interests as he is representative of a feudal saga-like Knight Errant. He protects the weak, avenges wrongs, cultivates renown, and acts like frickin' Lancelot more than Miyamoto Musashi. My theory for this is that these stories take place in late-era Edo (as evidenced by the revolvers) where Western culture has crept into Japanese culture surreptitiously at a psychic level. I picture Queen Victoria fascinated by intelligence reports of a Shogun's deposed executioner walking the earth and meting out justice and defending himself against the vengeance of the usurper of his position, or maybe he has been taken under the psychic wing of a Westerner he encountered at court before being deposed by inciting the Shogun (now distinguished as separate from the Yagyu Shadow-clan leader Retsudo). This film does a lot to establish Ogami Itto’s strength of character and distinguish him from just another killer in the hire of officialdom. He is outcast and even finds himself tortured by buri-buri whipping torture (long story how he gets there, watch the movie you dope!) where guys with canes spin him on a rope, beating him and shouting buri-buri at him repeatedly. buri-buri! buri-buri! buri-buri! buri-buri! buri-buri! buri-buri! I’m getting dizzy. MUST KILL MANY SAMURAI NAOW!!!!!! PLOD! PLOD! PLOD! Not to spoil... but he gets his chance... he guns down dozens of his target’s mercenary samurai with a cannonade from the baby cart and chops down the rest with his sword! What this film lacks in its less sensational aspects and more naturalistic scoring, it makes up for by giving Ogami Itto a heart. He’s not just a murder machine, he’s a murder machine with a heart of gold as well as a priest of the warrior code! buri-buri! buri-buri! buri-buri! buri-buri! (sorry, couldn’t resist doing that again!)

Part III
Shogun Assassin III: Slashing Blades of Carnage

NAKED TATTOO CHICK WITH A WAKIZASHI TAKING THE TOPKNOTS OF HER FRESH KILLS! OMGOMGOMGOMG! I’m such a fucking fanboi when it comes to merciless women! This film returns to the storm. Mayhem, Slaughter, HYPNOSIS AND FIRE MAGICK FROM A BLAZING KATANA! The only Japanese cinematic elements I find MORE entertaining are GIANT RUBBER SNAKES ATTACKING KOFUN PERIOD PRINCESSES AND THEIR SERVANTS! I digress however.

This film begins to explore the character of Daigoro. While he is demonstrated as capable and even skillful and insightful before, here he shows cunning, determination and knowledge of weapons when confronted by an opponent. There also returns the antagonist of the series, Yagyu Retsudo as he demonstrates the origin of the cliche ‘Its all fun and games until the leader of the shadow-clan loses an eye’.

The naturalistic soundtrack and character development continue, but the 3rd film in the Shogun Assassin series (4th film in the Lone Wolf & Cub series) is more action-packed than its immediate predecessor, this as well as the addition of an often topless anti-heroine should keep the interest of those with shorter attention spans and less interest in Edo-period Japanese cultural practices, I mean I love a good historical novel/film but man do I love seeing dozens of combatants sliced into ribbons in the methodical pursuit of vengeance against a foe who has used guile to cast down a hero from his happy place!

Part IV
Shogun Assassin IV: Five Fistfuls of Gold

This film REEKS of spaghetti western. Ogami Itto meets his most challenging adversary, Barney the Giant Purple Dinosaur, oh wait, that’s Shogun Assassin VI: Five Fistfuls of Giant Purple Dinosaur Guts! Ogami’s adversary HERE is an Abbot who convinces him that to fulfill the contract upon him will leave the Lone Wolf spiritually bankrupt, Ogami buys it for a time, but upon seeing his son tortured for a crime he did not commit while upholding a promise to a mere stranger (a pickpocket caught flatfooted when her accomplice goes off to take a leak), he realizes that the fulfillment of his assassin’s contract upon the Abbot (a contract delivered by 5 sword-slingin’ Nippon cowboys who provide bits of data on the contract as Ogami sends them swiftly to meet the Lord Buddha) has merit. Yagyu Retsudo makes an appearance in this film as well, primarily to spur the audience into not forgetting him for the climactic final battle in the 5th Shogun Assassin film, but also to illustrate clan warfare and the role of intelligence data in struggles between clans. The data here is substituted by Lone Wolf leaving Retsudo gnashing his teeth, tearing out his hair and vowing eternal vengeance. Highlights include masked warriors, slaughter of daimyo families and ritual decapitation as their servants show diligence in performing their duties in spite of the cowardice of their leaders.

Part V
Shogun Assassin V: Cold Road to Hell

This film feels the most episodic of the adaptations of the manga series. The two key vignettes united by a unifying narrative strand. The primary strand is that of Yagyu Retsudo being pressured by the Shogun to put an end to Ogami Itto or be put in a position where his clan loses face by requiring other clans to declare the Lone Wolf an outlaw. To first accomplish this, Retsudo sends his only remaining legitimate offspring, a dagger-juggling gal who quickly gets slice-n-diced by Ogami. This pressures Retsudo to call upon a hidden resources, the dark hill-dwelling clan bastard son who has disowned him and learned dark magic physical disciplines to drive Itto from society by killing all he comes in contact with. For once, the unflappable Ogami Itto appears frazzled. However when presented with an opportunity to duel, that’s all she wrote for Yagyu Hyouei who mortally wounded leaves combat to impregnate his illegitimate sister. I mean that’s just all a shadow-clan leader can take. Retsudo stabs them both and leads an army to take out the former shogun executioner himself. But not before utilizing the services of 3 hill-clan zombies who crawl through dirt and snow only to get soundly butchered by Ogami Itto (they interrupted his dinner). So Retsudo is left with his army, and what an army, over 100 strong. He surrounds Ogami in the snow leading to a gunbattlin’ bob-sleddin’ climax to the series. This results in the largest single person on-screen body count in movie history. 150 dead samurai. Retsudo flees muttering vague threats and promises. Shades of SPECTRE or Dr. Claw or Darth Vader or any movie serial villain you can think of. Meanwhile, Ogami Itto is momentarily free and has soundly tromped his enemy a second time. Lone Wolf and Cub are safe to be made into a television series.

Part VI
Slowly I turned...

OK. The first movie is the undeniable gem of this batch. True movie magic. Beauty mixed with epic cheesiness. However, if you have any interest in Japanese Cinema or hard-boiled action films or bloody mayhem and martial arts gore, you aren’t going to be satisfied until you’ve seen them all. 1 is the Wasabi. 2, 3 & 4 are the Sushi with a variety of flavors but with plenty of body to fill you as a meal so that you aren’t just telling people you saw these movies where 3734780283402384083048390840 guys got decapitated, and 5 is the sweet ginger palate cleanser that leaves you walking away from the film series feeling satisfied and cleansed by a massive massacre in the snow as well as a crazy dueling babycart (yes Retsudo has a babycart too!) scene. All together? 5 stars, not that you won’t have moments that are less than riveting, but taken as a slowly digested whole. MAXIMUM ENTERTAINMENT.

The Many Moods of Waitiki

2009-07-23T16:04:00.000-07:00

Paradise Lost & Found: Songs of Hawaii Old and New - Various Artists but mainly Waitiki and Randy Wong

Magic Island Sounds: the wedding album - presented by Helen and Randy of Waitiki

OK. These two albums are off the beaten track for Waitiki (now incarnated as Waitiki 7). Neither are as good as the Waitiki core albums, but as there is a long way to fall from those, I'm still recommending both of these albums. Think of them as Sister Street Fighter to Sonny Chiba's The Street Fighter trilogy, not quite as good but still far from easily dismissed.

The first one consists of a number of musicians, most of whom are members of Waitiki with some additions such as Jim & Liz Beloff, Denny Moynahan "King Kukulele" and his band The Friki Tikis & Chris Kamaka. It contains a number of old school (practically 20s novelty-era) Hawaiian songs with a focus on slack-key and a bunch of more traditional (for Waitiki) Martin Denny-styley soundscapes. Most of the examples of the first style hit me wrong at first, mebbe it was cuz I had a headache, mebbe it was cuz I'd become accustomed to the polished jazz brilliance of Waitiki's usual fare. I was even considering saying something about The Captain & Tennille: Live from Waikiki, but upon repeated listenings and relief from pain I feel that is uncharitable. The sugarsweet novelty style grew upon me and now I find myself tapping my feet along happily instead of tapping my feet and feeling my feet are betraying me! That'll teach ME not to trust my feet. The other 7 or 8 songs on the album are the melodious wisdom that fans have come to expect from Waitiki. Groovy bass, vibes, flute strains floating around, be-bop hip snare. Good stuff that sounds even better after a few listenings and familiarity with some of Waitiki's standards. The only thing its lacking is a new version of L'ours chinois.

That (another L'ours chinois version) you'll find on Magic Island Sounds, an album commemorating Helen & Randy Wong's January 2009 wedding. This album is slightly restrained, no howlin' bird calls, or raunchy jokes about the ex, perfect fer company of mixed generations to drink champagne to. About half the songs have been presented in slightly less dignified form on previous albums, don't let that stop you though. This is the album to slip onto the changer at that family formal gathering so that you don't look out of place in your 70s acapulco-style ruffled tux with your fruit salad of a drink. You nut!

It was 50 years ago today...

2009-06-11T07:10:00.000-07:00

martin denny taught the band to play. will they surpass him? dunno. but they're doing a mighty fine job of trying. Waitiki 7's Adventures in Paradise greets you with the howls and bird calls of Lopaka Colon (son of Augie Colon who did bird calls for Martin Denny). How good are they? They were good enough to perk up the local fauna when I busted the album on me stereo. Birds outside started chiming in. That says something right there. This here album does two things that the albums by Waitiki (another incarnation of Randy Wong and his troupe of flying rum-drinkin' cohorts) didn't do. One. The vocal mixing is downright perfect, no claustrophobias, it sounds like they're doin' their number in a jungle clearing. Two. They've begun to swing. Not that they weren't totally groovy before... but now its something not just to listen to... but to dance to. Just in time too, Hawaii's 50th anniversary of statehood is coming up in August, 3 days after the release of Adventures in Paradise on August 18, which should give you some time after purchasing the album to fly to Hawaii and get a stinkin' good lost weekend on. Lots of sweet lounge jazz/exotica tunes to bust while you're getting there on this album; some by Martin Denny, one by Duke Ellington, others by Les Baxter and Waitiki 7's Tim Mayer and Randy Wong. Smokin' hot album, pour yourself something with all kinds of crazy plastic stuff stickin' out of it and lay back to a marvelous vibe.

For more on Waitiki 7 (including bios of the band members, performance videos and drink recipes). www.waitiki7.com

Pow

2009-01-06T01:00:00.001-08:00

Pow
by Kevin Anderson

dedicated to George Herriman

1.
Dat never been told. What happened to me when I was a young pup. Dere I was, looking dumb an long came my dad an save me. You see. I'd just klimbed like 2 milez a long way from where I started with a friend of mine. An I thought I was so smart. You see there was snow up there. A long way. But a waterfall too. An so I thought cool lets go see the snow (and the waterfall too) so off we go tra-la-la an river run beside us and I getting tired but I be 7 years old and there be snow (and a waterfall too) so that keep me goin. Trail pretty obvious. Friend OK but he not talk much. OK I not talk much either. He had gone to see the waterfall (where there was snow) with his grandfather the day before. He said it not long hike but it was kind of long. River rushing by. It beautiful and loud. Rusharusharusharussshhhhhhhh. Tried to fish in it the day before with my dad but it too rushing with not enough quiet spots. So we going to creek tomorrow where fish hide.

See. This long time ago when gas was expensive the first time. Whole $1.50. Dad cuss a lot about dat. Dad cuss a lot too when the wood paneled station wagon he just bought from skinny little ginger guy broke down. Oh wait. Dat not yet. This when 1972 Dodge Dart break down hauling trailer in the middle of the desert. It was about twenty miles from home but it seem like long way. I all happy because Mom and Dad give me and my brother bag full of comics and coloring books and football ii and games and crosswords and stuff so we shut up for the trip. So we have to sit out in the 110 degree heat til' Mom start complainin' and we go to gas station with restaurant on top of it. I ordered a hamburger and it was kind of dry. So we have to go home after Dad fix the car enough to get us home. I think he just have to dump a bunch of anti-freeze and water in it cuz radiator busted. So we go home, and Mom and Dad take away the bag full of comics and coloring books and football ii and games and crosswords and stuff cuz we not on vacation now. Like if your Mom and Dad tell you to go to bed without dessert when it be banana split with hot fudge and chocolate sprinkles and m&ms and skittles. I too old to cry, I smart enough to not be pissed off, but I sure was sad. I was halfway through a word search with superman words. Mom and Dad say it be week before we be able to go on vacation again. Dad have to fix the radiator or something. I forget. Not that I didn't care or didn't know what it was, but it was 30 years ago.

So we go to the library and I read lots of Danny Dunn books and Edward Eager books. Half Magic was my favorite, in dat one you have to wish for twice as much a wish as you want or you only get half your wish. Half-zombie eating Mrs. Mauck, bad teacher.

Whole week pass and it seem to take for ever. Wanna go on vacation. Wanna go on vacation. And finally (after I check out a whole bunch of books from the library like Lord of the Rings and Interview with the Vampire (see I was a precocious reader but I also read books about kids so I know what to do as a kid and not go trying to slay Sauron or interview vampires.)) yay we go on vacation again. I ask Dad if we get to eat at the restaurant on top of the gas station again. He and mom both say no together real quick then. Then I go back to doing the word search with superman words. I find Kryptonite and I find Lex Luthor and I find Lois Lane and I find Krypto (the superdog) and I find Bizarro (him backwards Superman) and I find Daily Planet and I find Metropolis and I find other words too but I forget what. So bout den we are back to where we were earlier when car break down. Car is still working this time. So we keep going to Sequoia to see the giant trees.

2.
Hokay. So now you get the picture. This all about when I was a lil' kid and the forest and Sequoia National Park and dat stupid waterfall. But it not. That just the jumpin' off point. This is about all kinds of stuff. Look. Two books. Morte Darthur and Finnegans Wake have absolutely nothing to do with this book. So if you pick them up to look for influences. You be looking long way. Krazy Kat don't have much to do with this book either, but it sure gives me an excuse to manglefy the English language. Not dat the English Language in proper don't manglefy on its own evry 500 years or so. I dare you. OK. I save you the effort. Here Sentence. And whan Sir Bleoberys and Sir Ector were comyn there as Quene Gwenyver was lodged, in a castell by the sesyde (and thorow the grace of God the Quene was recovirde of hir malady), than she asked the two knyghtes fro whens they cam. That from the Norton Critical Edition of Le Morte Darthur. An you all lolcat people think you someting new. Here someting from Krazy Kat by George Herriman, Ignatz: EVERY DOT A DELIGHT - EVERY SPOT A JOY - THIS DAY PROMISES MUCH. Officer Pup: SIN IS AFOOT - THE MOTTLED MENACE MARCHES ON - AND I CAN DO NOTHING ABOUT IT. Do you see? How 7337 is dat. But all this exposition and you forget about my story. What story? Dis just be you blabberin' an' babblin. Cept It Ain't. MY PSYKIK POWERZ BE WRITING DIS STORY AN' EVEN IF YOO PUT TEH BOOK DOWN. YOO BE IN MY COMPLETE CONTROL. JK. What I'm trying to say I guess is that 10 years from now peepul be goin' 'tut tut what unusual grammatical structure and abuse of the English language, harrumph'. But den 35 years frum now. Again it be like want me cheezeburger an macaroni por teh massez of supertings an stuff. So here. Now. All you need to know is teh reezon I don go full on lolcat or 7337 is because I want to make money 10 years from now as well as jus' now. However should you decide to read it lolcat in you head den you might be happier kitteh then if you try an read it like i write it. Like Quene Gwenyver was lodged, in a castell by the sesyde. I mean that shit makes you nuts.

3.
So. There me is ridin' in the back seat of a Dodge Dart that has that goldy color you don't see anymore cept on Olde English cans. An I got a ton of books an some video game or dat electronic trivia game whose name i ferget but you can plug in cartridges with like sports or comic books or history and then have all different questions till it break after 5 years or so when the buttons don't push no more. And California is rolling past like lancaster and visalia and all those places. Visalia lots of fun because there is a KOA (Kampers On Acid) there that has like Pac-Man and Space Invaders and Submarine game with telescopy thingy. Dad can I have some more quarters, Mom said I could. No I didn't. You did too you just forgot because I hypmotize you. OK, I wasn't DAT smart but then who is when they're seven. They even had a primitive breathalyzer, except it not do your breath it just do your reflexes and see if you can stop a dime that you put in the machine before it reach the red part that mean you crash if you drive. The KOA be like maybe the coolest part of the trip. I mean oooh wonder of nature and mr. ranger and riverrun and snow (and a waterfall too) and playing yahtzee because we too young to play card games for money like Mom and Dad. One time funny looking guy with big funny handlebar mustache come up and play cards with Mom and Dad real late while I read "The Two Towers" in the trailer and my brother sleep (he like 2 or 3 then). He talk loud and long time and never shut up and keep talking real loud while I try and read while he talking real loud. Some people are like that. I kid then though so I no think to tell him to shut the hell up you big mouth with funny mustache. I don't remember if this the time we camp when there were blackberries along the trail, but one time there were blackberries along the trail and they were yummy. However, I be digresseratin'.

So you know the kind of trailer I'm talking about, the kind that get parked and rot away to rust and broken toilet in a trailer park somewhere after it get sold to some doh-doh who think it be a good place to live so he have money for speed. It was nice though when we had it. A big bunk for us the kids. A table that slide down an den you pull teh mattress that is the two comfy bench chairs over the table so it makes another bed for the grown ups. a lil shower. a small toilet that today i don't think i'd be able to get my big fat ass to balance on like clown riding on teeny tiny bike but was fine when i was a little kid, and a propane stove and oven and cupboards and door with a door and a screen where if you didn't slide open the slidey thing on the screen near the door handle the door handle would plonk into it. It was a status symbol back in the seventies before the status symbol in the 80s of the motor home. It was also a status symbol because my dumbbell cousin and stupidass aunt (i just have to say right now i love microsoft works word processor because it doesn't spellcheck dumbbell, lol) just had a tent and always had to go to the public toilet and showers or come and stink ours up. Stupidass aunt always ate lots of sardines so she really stinky.

This was long time ago. When kids were safe. When only superwacko Manson and weird people from like Kansas and New York were serial killers or child abductors. OK that is an oversimplification, but the world was perceived as safer then. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe there was just as much bad stuff that happen to people but it not get put in the papers. But I had a sense of security that was strong enough for me to like talk to the people in the next trailer over at the campground and they were comfortable enough to let their kid goof around with me climbing rocks and pulling puzzlebark off trees and running around going yaaaaaaaaaa and playing guns and stuff.

Speaking of playing guns, I know one guy now who is like aggro all the time and like is always looking for an argument or an intense but non-violent confrontation. I think that is because his parents were like suuuuuperhipppieeechrssstiian in the 80s and would no let him have stormtrooper rifle. dzzzot, dzzzot!
4.
So you see. Life is pretty much whatever the hell you've been put in. Dat dere is worthy of Archy teh Cockroach. Dats some other old guy. He was smart though. He changed his name when he write in the newspaper so the nanobots from Atlantis no chase him an try and make him into Giant Robot Monster like me RAAAARGGGHCRUSSSHSTOMMMP. OK Dat nuff of dat. The thing that I most want to tell you about when I was a kid is that I pretty much trusted everyone. Until about 1st grade. Then, I was watching the three stooges and I saw Moe clonk Larry and Curly's heads together. So the next day at school. I clonk Tim and Gilbert's head together. Oh but how they betrayed my trust ;). Later on at recess they both punched me an knocked me down. Lucky they were little kid punches. Dem not so bad. See! Betrayed! By my faith in Telemuhbision. LOL! Yes, I know I had dat one coming. It was a weird class back then. Hippie teacher sitting on the desk playing michael rowww teh boat ashore while all us kids go yaaaaaaaaaaaarunarounrunarounyaaaaaaaaaa. Still. She nice teacher and even good teacher, but still she just a little bit of lsd or something... i mean it raaaaayaaaaaaayaaaaaaaaarunarounrunarounyaaaaaaaaaaaaa. That first grade. Sometimes. Even today. I want to have pretty teacher play gitar while I run around and go yaaaaarunarounrunarounyaaaaaaa. Is that too much to ask of life? A pretty teacher who play michael rowww teh boaat ashore while sitting cross-legged on the desk? She don't even have to be a teacher, or sit cross-legged, as long as she not wicked old witch doing psychic evil hell to make me go aiyeeeeeeeeoww-oww-oww-oww-oww-hurt. So you think I joking? Some women watch charmed and do like I did when I watch the three stooges. Now here if this were the 90s I make long erudite comparison bout charmed an which one be Moe an which one be Curly an which one be Potsie an which one be Shemp. But we beyond dat now! Dis is teh meme generation an dat be just teh comparative meme compare dis to dat to dis to dat to dis to dat oh noez teh brainlock meme. I guess what I be trying to say to you (yoda meme) is dat no matter how your life be, you could be dat teacher playing gitar an singing who peekin' out frum undter teh stairway blinted by everybody she see. I mean you could be her. Think about it. I know some of yoo be like OOH I always wanted to play gitar or be a teacher or be a woman or have little kids running around me goin' yaaaaarunarounrunarounrunarounyaaaaaaa. But when you put it all together. When you add the fact that it probably 110 degrees outside so you can't leave Skippy Wunderkid Hall Monitor in charge for 10 minutes and puff on a cigarette while you go make copies real quick without being super hot and coming back all sweaty teacher. DEN YOU KNOW BETTER! YOO BE BETTER OFF SINGING TO A PACK OF RABID DOBERMANS CUZ AS SOON AS TEH 1ST GRADERS SMELL TEH SWEAT OR TEH FEAR YOU BE HAVING TO HIDE UNDER YOU DESK AND POKE DEM WITH LETTER OPENER AN SCREAM FOR WILLIE TEH JANITOR. YES. TEH JANITOR'S NAME REALLY WAS WILLY. NO. HE NO SCOTSMAN. BUT HE HAVE COOL HAT.

5.
OK. Now dat you know my seekrit, dat I love crazy hippie gitar girl. I tell you bunch more junk. I never surfed when I was a kid. I boogie-boarded. Still have my boogie board too. I figure it make nice thwacking sound when I be making moozik someday. Can't you see that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship? I be writing lots of books. And yoo like robot automatons go to store an buy dem so dat when teh government shuts me down for beeing subversive an talking about how much fun a boogie board is an how you can do it super drunk where you surf super drunk you go kerploosh. Yoo even wash up on the beach an go bleeecccchblluhhuhhuhhuhblorrpblechblechblech an it just go over edge of boogie board insted of like all over your hobie wetsuit. Triumph for the drunk guy witout teh perilz of teh bodysurfing or teh wonk on head by teh real surfboard. OK. I kidding again. None of dat matters. What does matter is peril. I was in INFINITE PERIL when I was up on dat mountainside with the snow an the waterfall an my dad chasing up teh trail after me cuz dats what dads do when their kidz are in infinite peril unless their kids are really stoopid kids calling gangsters with automatic weapons doo-doohedz. Den dads just sadly shake there heads an go poor kid it be the law of the west. See. Supversib. Teh government make law where yoo have to write like pierce brosnan. And then I was catamaraning off the coast of aruba oh here are our piña coladas shall we trip the light fantastic my dear. think i may puke agin. here. bleeecccchblluhhuhhuhhuhblorrpblechblechblech. but until that day. i be here writing the absolutely stupidest shit imaginable. an like the fifth time you reed it you go i can't believe i bought this stupid book i wonder if my friend will buy it for 10 dollars since there is no price on it and he no know it cost me dat much. contempt for my reader? no. not at all. but i guarantee you about teh fifth time you read ANY book you start going dis be dum-dum book i no read no more gib me copy of dat decline and fall of the roman empire dat wash deh stoopid out of my brane after dis book. if you buy this book to be smart. den hah hah laffs on you. people see you reed it an dey go omigod he reading dat dumb-dumb kevin anderson what he read next dianetics with the seekret xenu soul eating thing and volcano crypts an oh noez scimentology guyz at my door an tey got thetans wit them that they going to release on teh unspespecting reeder run! drop book an run now! or teh thetans come after you bliblbllbiblblundobleeep! jk. there no scientologists at my door. you drop book an run for nuthing. maybe someone more smarter come along an pick up this book an it make them less smarty so dey don't tink like oooh perhaps teh curvanture uf space can be equalized wit sooperpower ray and legion of doom be teh one to fund it wit sooper nose ring shaped like green booker dat hang down an go bloop bloop bloop noize when you exhale throo your nose.

6.
Conjure teh magic dragon. Dat not even part of the picture. But imagine a giant magic marijuana joint spinning gently in space about 2 feet from your nose. Just dere for the plucking. Or if you not pot smoker imagine a Chevy Blazer with title and keys bran new for like $100. Or hot nekkid bartender(ess) to make yoo mojitos an mai-tais at your command. Dat's how cool seein' snow in the middle of summer was to me as a kid. Yoo see, I'm from the desert, It never ever well once 29 years ago but never ever ever snows here. Summers are like 110-120 degrees, winters are like 48-65 degrees. So, to see snow it be cool as teh mystical floating joint appearing for y00 to smote. Dere. Motivation. Must See Snow! Giant Monster Must Stomp Tokyo! George Bush Must Invade Oil Country! Israel Must Grab Land Their Ancestors Genocided To Grab! Superman Must Save Lois Lane! Kool-Aid Man Must Smash Wall! French Waiter Must Raise Eyebrow At Your Hawaiian Shirt. See. All Falling Into Place. Soon Yoo Understand Teh EXTREME PERIL! OH NOEZ! EXTREME PERIL FOR YOUNG KEVIN ANDERSON RUNROUNSMAKONHED!

7.
Quiz Wiz, dat be teh stupid name of dat trivia game I was trying to remember earlier. It had like 30 different cartridges about tings dat you don't give a rats ass about. Like Jeopardy for 1970s 2nd graders. While I didn't play that a lot. It wasn't as cool as microvision or football ii. It did make the time pass on the car trip so it wasn't, Let's go to McDonalds an' I gotta go to the baffroom an can we stop an see the dinosaurs and how fast are you goin dad is teh car goin to break down again an shit. Yes, my parents bribed us to stfu. It worked too. Although sometimes my mom want us to like sing smokey teh bear with her or some stupid shit. that probly so our brains no die from all teh books an video games and mad libs an such. smokey teh bear, smokey teh bear, fartin' an a poopin' an a sniffin' teh air, he can make some doo-doo before he eat a steak. dat why dey call him smokey an dat how he got his name. I tink maybe mom do dat to torture my dad cuz he usta work for the forest service an so did his dad an so he had to hear dat shit like all teh time. My mom has a cruel streak sometime, but then that cruel streak probly rubbd off cuz man can i fuck assholez up when dey start fucking wit me. So deh everything fly by an den we up near teh forest an it smell like pine and dad start worryin' cuz teh lil' dodge dart pulling teh 16 foot trailer on teh windy road an he be like extra shut up or i slap y00 cept he no haf to cuz we good kids. so we get dere an out come teh ice chest full of teh coca cola an teh beer an teh shasta (i haf dis one fren name shasta an she say her name indian for cheap soda) i like teh shasta blackberry soda. an so dere we are an we got to balance teh trailer so it no tip over when we jump up an down on teh bed an set out teh lawn chairs an get a mess of pine cones an pine needles to start teh fire wit. mmmmmm marshmallows. an soon we go fishin'. fishin' almost as cool as snow. although now i have friends who i love very much who are like no fishing bad dem haf faces so no eat dem or yoo get eat up by big monster buddah monster who suck teh marrow from yoo bones an make happy yummy noises as he eat you. so i no be making happy yummy nom nom nom noises about fish out of respect for my frens who no wan to get eat by giant buddah monster. Although cuz I have other frens dat be carnivores I tell tem if y00 wan to read gory bloody butchery of giant sea creatures read moby dick cuz dat make teh vegemetarians go oh noez. it make me go oh noez too... not because i no eat meat but because me try an stick wit the less intelligent meat cuz tey probably not survive in teh wild teez days an maybe someday some wily baywatch activist girl set all teh animals free in teleportation macheen an we haf to eat like broccoli an kale an soy dat make men retarded an gif women breas cancer (dat no joke dere be studeez an stuff). I eeven was vegetarian for a year. It was a very good year, wit smalltown girlz in tight bathing soots when i was 27. OK dat a lie, it was a really hard year, probably din't get enough protein, ached a bunch, an got super-duper sick of curry. like blech sick of curry. like so sick of curry dat only 10 years later do curry sound like a good idea. Will i eber go vegematarian again? Dat depend. Like if she better cook den me (an I is real good cook) an she no freak out or get all icy mean no sex if once in awhile i get a hamburger or make a steak or someting. no kiss yoo cuz yoo eat meat hate you, but i not do dat very often because she really good cook. den maybe. but not soy. mushroom protein an legume an rice protein an other good stuff. soy make retarded guy an brest cancer girlz. blech blech. although I am willing to believe (becuz teh chineez haf been eating it for like thousands of years) dat small quantities of soy probably not be make you retarded or breast cancer an stuff. but i no want to risk. i want a smoker too, one of dem tings dat you smoke food in so it be all smokey an yummy but den dere dere a risk of cancer too so I put it to teh back of my mine an try not to tink about how yummy smoket cheeses are. OK, tere establish psychological stuff about me concern for health but not fanatic an run aroun having steel cage matches with bulls running after me in pamplona eeven though i grab a pit bull an kick it in teh nutz if it be attacking my kid or someting. yoo see why dat important soon.

8.
Massacre at twin pines chapel. a goddamn bloody mess. dere I was. grinnin' from ear to ear. wit teh gun in my hand. ack ack ack ack ack ack ack. die fascist pigz die! ack ack ack ack ack ack ack. dat be great beginning of a story. maybe i write dat next. call it teh book uf die fascist pigz die ack ack ack ack. If McCain wins i probably make a lot of money wit dat one. Dems will be strappin' bombs to dere bongs an blowing up head shops to cut republican funding via rolling papers an tie die tee shirtz. What? y00 tink DEMS not-stoned long enuff to make art an manufacture pipe screens an bongs shape like penises for dems to suck on? lol. yoo right. yoo dems done got it all figured out. teh head shops are all hillary's which is why dere be fat guy like comic book guy behind teh counter cuz hillary give him hamburger stand right nex door to teh head shop so she make money coming an going.

9.
In teh cool uf teh evenin'. teh fire glow golden orange an flicker an heat from teh fire warm troo my shooz an glowing coalz spark an pop an ahh pretty an soothing. fuggin' haf to drybe all teh way up to nordern calnifornia for teh lava lamp. lol! cookin' hot dogs. yummy farmer john hot dogs just like teh los angeles dodgerz sell. an big fluffy marshmallows. i like mine golten brown but not so hot inside dat it burn my mouf or fingers. haf special long fire cooker spikeforks in teh trailer cupboard dat we yooz to skewer teh marshmallows an hot dogs an holt over teh fire for long time so tey be cookt an yummy. no. we not sing campfire songs an shit. what y00 tink dis is. teh mickey mouse club? not smoke teh hippie weed either. my fohks was too olt for dat by bout 2-3 yearz. dad smoke 2 packs a day of marlboros, he quit dat eventually mebbee he not get teh cancer. sometime we haf teh radio on. like ballgame or news or someting grown up boring. not no hippie music cuz dat waste teh batteries on teh radio an dat way we saybe teh environment not like dumb hippies who use like all sortz of batteries so dey can play dere hendrix sooper loud. lol! i just kidding. i like hendrix. i have all tree uf his good albums an haf listened to some of his utter ones. i eeben listen to him loud. crank up teh logitech z-2300 speakorz an duhn duhn duhn duhn dooodllldooodooooo doodledooodoo doodledoooodooo doodledoooodooo yeah! purmple hayze iss in my brane! but back den? i listen to pop raydio at home. always call teh 14-Q am an ask tem to play teh starwars cantina song. i also like teh song werewolfs of london. dere lots of good songs back den. put teh lime in teh coconut an drink it all up. i beleeb in miraclez which way yoo go sexy ting you. if yoo like pina colada an getting caught in teh rain. imaginary lover... in y00 mined all teh time. yah... i lay me down to sleep... yow... i just can't find dat bass... flashlight! dat when music only half crappy pop like thunder island.... now it like 7/8's crappy pop. but den someting like 'i'm a slaybe 4 yoo' be all kindz of ear candy but den like 500 crappy pop/r&b songs after dat an folks like david banner never get on teh radio. still y00 probably be wondering what dis haf to do wit the snow (and a waterfall too) an I tell you look, dis like life, we get dere, y00 hear teh story, but now dere be sumpting else going on an listen to it now. ooh, i chastise my reeder. chayme on me. but i not talking to y00, i talking to teh guy at barnes an noble who alreaty reed dis far witout buying teh book. what? y00 hat money too get all high but y00 don' haf monee to buy my book? i hope y00 koff up all teh thc or drool in teh bong. dere. dat take care of dat guy. now yoo all my lovely an wonderful an smelly hippie (yaz y00 too) readers. still be by teh fire wit my feet in flip-flops an it starteen to die down an dad chuggin one las beer cuz it almos time to go to sleep. an den teh fire crackle an dad break teh coals apart an pour a cup of water on dem so dat we no wayke up in smokey teh bear hell wit him poking us with marshmallow skewery tingy going 'onlyee y00 can preebent fores' firez' for all teh eternity an den teh whissle blow an it be break tyme an teh sunz uf teh pioneerz start singin' smokey teh bear smokey teh bear yoo burn down teh forest an burnt off his hair. aiyeeee pheer dat hell why dat put out fire instead of let it burn like stoopit hippie! lol!

10.
So. OK. Like the only dream I can remember from when I was a kid was when Johnny and Scott from Sigmund and the Sea Monsters were hunting me and they had like green faces and they were chasing me through sand dunes. Now, its not that Johnny and Scott were so terrifying in themselves... int was dat dey HAT GREEN FAYCES! I didn' dreem for a long time after dat. I tink I shut down my dream functshuns cuz dat shit was externally produced (sometimez dey R) an I din't want. Maybe it wuz my moms or my grammy though. Dey sometimez do (did) lil' favorz like dat for me so dat I no go koo-koo! Haw haw! I fool dem! I go koo-koo anyways! lalalalalalalaaltralabinlahtidoodoodoo.

11.
Dere once was a big giant, an he hand a big club an he uuzed teh club to scare off a nazi asshole who had a bigonted hart regarting hispanic peepul. He propably hat a bigoted hart regarting udder peepul too. Teh big gian jus say, I be cumming out in 1 minute wit my gian club den teh guy wit teh bigonted hart go lahlahlahrunawayrunawayorigetmypinhedbroken. tee en.

12.
So dere I be... climing up teh hill an tere bee teh bat mopster nutsy herman chasing mee wit his tirty-8. i din' know doh so i be like tralalalalasmurfalala. no. dat not teh kin' uf INFINITE PERIL i was in. nor was it like debbil worshipping place at teh top of teh hill. dat be MORTAL PERIL. An den just my soul anyhow. Did I ever tell y00 I collect souls? I haf tree (counteen my own). One girl in a chatroom where everyone was like oooh bad john kerry an YAY MURFA GOT FUCKT an Howie Dean is a doh-doh bet me dat I was sum guy who also freequent teh chantroom. I tolt her no dat not me! She go yes y00 is. I go no I not an she go Yes Yoo Is an I go NO I NOT an She Go YES YOO IS an I go, OK, y00 wan bet me y00 Immortal Soul dat I not be who y00 tink I be? an she go YES I DO! An I go HA-HA got y00 soul! |POOF!devilsmoke| den. later in chatroom where guy be all like i no like dem muslims (i not tell you racist term he use cuz den you not get tortured by it or use it on other people but it not teh one dat teh whorez frum bush 1 uste.) but he be like i no like muslims an i starnt talkeen about how I win dat girlz immortal soul earlier an he go I no beleeb in soulz. so i go, can i haf yorz? an he sed shure! y00 can haf mine. So dat be how I gont tree soulz mine, teh bikiniwaxerz (cuz dat what shee is) an teh raycis dick. I be teh unholy trinitee! gent away frum me wit doze cronsses an dat holy wanter. I jus kiddeen' not bout teh soul part doh. Teh holy wanter haf no effec on me, ok. a lil' effec. I haf to cleen my glassez an punch y00 out cuz I haf to cleen my glassez. an teh crosses? I donayt tem to a trift store so tayk dem wit yoo when y00 go unless y00 wan sticker on dem dat say 75¢ or sumteen.

13.
Dis be the graytes day ub my lyfe. I wayke up an predator AN karate kid pt. ii come on the TB at the same time. The part where Mr. Myaki kick everybody ass. Ooh! An I hat a mess uf Del Taco too an the assho who been wurking tere so I be goin' to teh udder Del Taco (same distance, wurs access) so I no haf to play drama wit teh assho. Plus girl who like me tere, she not reel cute, but she like me an dat put smile on my face. Dere lots uf girls who like me. I no get close to many uf tem beecuz i get hurt long time ago by settlin' for less then the bes'. I not talkin' stupormotel paris hitlon, i talking gril who look like girlz in won uf doze olt don notz moobies where dere be sexy girl tryn to get up in don's pantz but dere be girl who be homespun purty wit nice legz an kind. Meppe I haf to wait til' I old az don notz in dose moobies. I hope not. he be like 52 in doze an say i be 35 year olt batchlor. Den deh Vic Mizzy pianner moozik start to play an Don run all skerredy until he realyze it just be Crazy Olt Mister Jeeberz tryin' to scare him to clear hiz name frum teh seekrit blacklist uf creepy gardenerz. BTW, no, girl ant Del Taco not teh girl dat be her, but she be nicer dan freeky gangsta girl who tink I chould be bussin' teh Fat Loc moozik an wearin' my cap all funny while bussin' sign. Not dat I habbent. Not dat I don' like foks lyke dat, but dat not 4 me. I be happier kinda happy bouncy daybe attell meet scooby doo meet teh wufman but witout all teh daybe attell supstance abooz. ok, maybee a lil' supstance abooz but not like lookin' at teh waitrezz wit two olt fashiont glazzez ober my eyez wit ice still in tem an goin' boogityboogityboogity to teh waitress so she go dis st00pit fuk benter gib me bick tip.

14.
My mom ask me about my firs book (brick bye kebbin anterson) teh udder day. I go it full uf all sortz uf crayzee beatnick stuff yoo wan reed? she go 'me no want'.
no. she not say it just like dat. but sayme dam diffrence. see. not eeben a book a mudder could lub. weh! no wunner nutzy herman chaseen me up dat hill. y00 my deer sir haf ay dee dee becuz i awredy tel y00 dat it not be nutzy herman wit hiz tirty-ate but y00 no lissen cuz you be lookeen for seekrit israylee informayshun too torture me wit cuz I reemin a lot uf peepul aboot teh 'lavon affair' where y00 dress up like ayrabz an blow up englesh an unimeted staytz targetz. hah hah hah. y00 tought dis all book about wen me lil' kit so i no sleep dat won in. gotchoo! lol! wee teh s00per power win won bronz metel an melt down all teh utter bronz metal into teh fonz statuu so wee grayt arteests an not grayt afleetz. btw. don bee starteen dat y00 antee-stumpetic beecuz y00 tink israel bunch uf nazees for all teh mazz murder an senteen lepeneez mercenareez into sabra/shatila encampment while fat areel shitrohn's troopz surroun encampment an fyre all sortz of flarez so dat teh lepaneez merkeneareez can see teh doctorz an nursez an u.n. ait workerz an chiltren tehy be slawtereen. Teh way I feel aboot teh j00z is dat dere is angles an eediots in ebery rayce creet an culntur, but dere be a lot mor eediots in teh zionis ismuhraylee supcultur ten anywere eltz. My suspitchun is dat teh reel j00z y00z Ismarayel az a prizon camp for all teh j00z dat are bick st00pit genocital azzhoz. Yaz, dat mean y00 mr. punitive shooteeng gye. An y00 t00 mr. trow bomz in2 1947 iranian synagogz so dat teh j00z dere tink dat ayrabz be sh00ting dem jus lyk teh 'lavon affair'. ok. dat shunt ump teh guy dat wuz fisheen in my het for someteen seekrit or someteen dat he can y00z 2 torcher me wen I be mackin' on bootyful girl. lol. yaz. yoobetcha dere bee dum shit i dit az a kit. wunner wye?

15.
capz. oooh. i usta lub capz. dem big payper stripz wit gunpowter spotz in tem dat yoo can hit an go pap pap pap. lyek i get bick hammer an bus whole roll uf capz at once an it lite on fyre. two or tree rollz an teh payper get all in teh way. but one roll? bam! an lil' fyre. not dat i din't try an do like 5 rollz ant wonce a fyu timez but int no work reel goot an seem like a ways. like capbomz fun too. put like 5 or 6 capz in capbom an trow it up an it lan on roof an wen dad get homez yoo go dat, gent up on teh roof an gent my capbom an water rokkit an frizbee an eebil keneebil stunt byke an my sooperball an teh dog an all y00 porn magz an teh french fry i frew ump dere an y00 cowboy hant an MY cowboy hant an momz beer an all teh sokkit renchez an teh mexican fooot an my seely string can an my wanter pistol an my little brudder an my roller skatez (dis wuz too early for skatebort) an y00 dinner. naow naow naow naow naow.

16.
uf courz dat no go ump an gent my skaytebort an seely strink until lyke crismas-time wen he bee putteen up teh litez an go oooh. look at all teh cramp sanna lef up here an he trow it down into teh tree. gee. tankz dad!

17.
so den, i look up an dere bee teh wanterfall (an teh snow) an it chilly an i wearin' shorts but not cold cuz just walk long way. an I look for a lil' bit an dere be peepul aroun goin' ooh, look at wanterfall an snap, snap, take picchur an i step back couple stepz an sit in snow. it be cold an my hanz kind uf cold but not reel bad cuz it still summer an i an my fren whoz name i forget but like chuck or someting so i call him chuck is dere too but me momentarily time slow down cuz it be snow.

18.
crystally flaky dark corner glisten-light tink me eat snow. jus a lil' cuz it cold an long walk an nopudy step in it or nuttin' den dad cum up an grap me by dee arm an i tink he bick jerk cuz i haf to walk all teh way up dere to see teh snow an chuckz grandfadder dere too. both pisst well chuckz granfadder not pissed cuz he older an laid back. but dad kina beered up an just haf to walk 2 milez or sumtin' to find his kid so mom not bitch at him an giv him sex dat night. an now. though there be lot more to this book. this the part i want y00 to know. dad keep me from eatin' teh yellow snow. well. it not yellow. but it like in corner, close to end of a trail, where it pour teh snow down teh playce dat I know dat if I wuz hikeen an it not snow dere an me no wan to piss in ribber or clim down 2 waterfall to piss dat i piss dere right where i wuz sitting. it good piss spot. an deh snow collect dere so it probably be yellow snow but i never know, but, dat there at just right time to keep me frum eating it. he good dad, an mom good mom cuz she kick his butt to get him to go get me to keep me frum eating teh yellow snow. see. tey psykik. y00 like oooh s00prize. but they timing good t00. when i tink now yerz later at all teh shit i put tem troo an tey put me back troo when i growin' up. i probably soopriz dey no let me eat teh yellow snow. but den dey proply been parentz longer den i haf an know dat giant parent god eat tem an snap dere headz off if dey no treet me right even toh i lil' shit.

19.
ok. y00 can stop reeding now. dat all seekret stuff to torcher me wit dat y00 get in dis book an it not eeben bee torcher cuz i din't tink about it til' now. deh res is prosaic tayl uf teh boyhoot an sum reminisces an all dat kin uf shit but if y00 like it so far y00 like teh res uf it too. maybe i werk in shaggy dog special my word saying like don't eet teh yellow snow or y00 be stoopit or sumting. but dat not teh seekret saying dat cum later, right now? i want to tell y00 about teh oh, i dunno what, i wryt dat tomorrow. right now i in weird flowspace headchange dat me no want til' tomorrow so i nighty night an take shower an in teh morning or tomorrow when i be feeling refresh an happy wit a lil' cup uf coffee or sumting i be wryt wryt wryt wryt wryt wryt wryt wryt til' i be tired an go watch teh gotfater or sumting on tv dat entertain me til st00pit democratz go we be in charge if we don fuck too many hookerz or get caught wit teh stain on michelle obama's blue dress. wryt now seekret agent peepul going we mayk sure she get it dry clean so bill no get impeeched now gain.

20.
OH NOEZ! SEEKRIT HILLARY AGENZ AT MY DORR! TEE EN!

siouxsie. the whole magilla.

2008-12-31T15:34:00.000-08:00

slobber, slobber, pant... drool. you are about to read a motion picture filmed in hell. the inside of her mind. giant jet phantoms screaming round. Assholes 9 to 5. they're like hot and cold running water around here. and vroom, goes the icebucket down over the head of sid vicious. their stupid partying is legendary, rawr! drunk and food all over with jones hwarfing in a corner while you pig out on roastbeef sandwiches with some other drunk pisshead. all wonder and glee in the morning. you wake up first, climb the crispy cold stairs, and piss into a flowerpot. you're drunk and there's no denying it. stoned off your bacon, and with half a check still in your pocket. the seriously sweet days of tomorrow echo cheaply in your stoned throneroom. and you bask in the glee of all you've ever seen as you step off the curb onto wallaby street, blitzed off your gunkard, wishing you'd taken a shit, but not wantin' to hear the cracks of the guy in the bathtub about the size of your ass. you can't imagine the wonder and sacramental evil that tittilates through your veins today. you long to eat a pizza, with love, alone, before they find out you have pizza money and a pocket of change. hopefully you can scarf and play ms. pac man. thems were the days, but today? we have a different standard.

so now.

i put siouxsie to the acid test.

Book 1 - The Scream.

Smoke the Purple Urkel and put this here one on.
steamboat. outside the window. really. buncha drunk girls on it. some of them naked. woohoo! lesbian week in south iguana. but far off. in london. is siouxsie wicked mad with glee cuz she just found a tooth extraction mechanical bank where the extractEE looks just like boy. hee hee hee.

her monster mind is uncanny. depth of smiling snarl. never can tell for sure when she's drunk. good book open. something 19th century open over there. makin' guacomole. but mainly. this here song. pure. a leaden fade in to a series of songs that are so completely full of the wisdom of the streets and crawlways and alleyways of the mind's eye. that first song there? is guaranteed mom crawlin' up the wall stuff. the rest? free of the need to do anything but rock. like a pureifying metal feed to gold. it has oppressed media outlook. from having to completely not have any whirlwind moments as you get pisseder and pisseder faced. woot! take the bike around the yard.

howlin' madness.

i never can remember which artist i'm in awe of next. louis often comes to mind. as do some of the first jazz greats. up to parker. trane and davis and rollins n' shit have so much, but trane don't swing. and rollins is pissed. he's puttin' together range... but not like that solid love of the aspect of jazz that just beams outta django. you can imagine django blowing his wine fund on some hot seven session. the giddyness and glee of swing. that stuff sinatra used to sing. when he was pissed.

you can't remember. can you. the last time you were this pissed. reading some crap. goin' ooh tarkins, maybe he'll do siouxsie again. whatta hoot. blithers! Blistering giggles. Oh! You Media Weasel. etc. cept i got principles. i ain't just some salon.com whore you can trot out to fill your mind with crapspew. i have a mind to half fill yah with bullshit and then leave you swimming in it. oooh! i got the feelin' and the feelin' ain't bad. giant tardomatic mall people.

ganja plane

it flies in. hits a bank. and the smoke from it gets these tarsiers stoned and they start buildin' cities. woo! that ergot beastie made for a wicked boogie oogie oogie through towns and large cities. whutta yuck. at least folks aren't poopin' out windows and crapping in corridors much anymore. jeez. you folks don't know the signs of our winging mild upon a planet filled with right wingers. me? bush spirit will live on. ad hominems just don't do it. i hope clinton is in the dunk tank now. for that is what it has become, a place to put our goony birds and pelt the target until they become soaked with poison we spew. politicians are like soap, they wash away. there are a few that are like ass though.

a sterilized death machine.
beasty album.

Book 2 - Join Hands

The Karhmann Ghia
karaang. start this mudder up in your headphones and your head will get whanged. bells. sweet. you cruisin' down the street, infinitely paranoid, figuring its some crazy rebellious shithead whose been torturing some people from the nation of the asshole. that guy who went in with a plague censer after 40 months of adaptation. pissheads. they are an idiot subculture of a great nation who all members know and abhor them. generally they get fucked up all the time. sheepfuckers.

Evil Work
who? what? siouxsie? never! her heart sells love to the victims of many. i've seen too many missiles that splash into kids to stand it however. so. this here album is best mildly sedated with your sedative mildest. mmm. yeh.

Stampede
part of 4 of the most essential albums of more than 1/12th of the world's music. the others fucking smoke too. buy lots. this is a hypnogogic suggestion. lots and lots and lots and lots and lots. yeh. you'll be non-plussed if yah get it on its own. as powerful a companion to the scream (in cast and presence) as it is, it feels like elements of a repetoire being developed. the album is sweet sweet aftermath of 'the scream' where angels wrack a studio.

MECHANONICON
#3 is next.

Book 3 - Kaleidoscope

Sail Away
whooo. miss annie fannie. you got the tingerhodes. whut the time of night to be playin' this album.

Jive Turkey
siouxsie is defined. this here beastie rocks the house.

Mexico
sweet deep culture. mexico city on a saturday afternoon. opera this afternoon.

Howlaylooyah!
gunna get mo' money! gunna get mo' money!

Book 4 - Juju

Juju Calls

maximum megatokeage. this here album is the reeking heaven of goth in dance. sinuous rhythms evil mind head cut etc. cut

Evil Eye
hoobetcha if you like rock n' roll you should grab this baby. best darn album of the 80s. she's out of her mind and on a rolling holler that could shake cities. packed arenas.

Whoritzoreunion
woohoohooo! you'll never rock as hard as you will to this album. makes zepp look like josie and the pussycats. edge. right on it. incredible beats. mad love.

Pissheads
buy it.

Book 5 - A Kiss in the Dreamhouse

Coming in with the golden light in the morning
somber lacking.

Bang! goes another kanga
in the morning.

Dangle devils in a bottle
and?

Many an aborigines mistaken for a tree
so you see. she's laying there. half drunk. kate bush singing her sweet love song. and she knows that he's there. she has no problem seducing him. its almost too easy. and there ain't no worries coming from her heart. ain't nothing to sweat right now. ain't no pain she can't muster. cept for those fuckers peeking in the windows. bastards.

Book 6 - Nocturne

cold metal woman
boy!

eyesore
hee!

jumbolaya
shower.

rift
shave.

Book 7 - Hyaena

inGenious
OOOH! WE GOT ALL SORTS OF PRODUCTION MONEES FRUM TEH VIDEO LOL! DON'T PASS OUT BOB!

Core
This here must be how it felt to be Pink Floyd! WITHOUT ANY GODDAMN STUDIO TIME EXCEPT FOR THE OVERTIME THAT THE TWIDDLEMONKEES PUT IN!

Vomitorium
Imagine a painter's canvas. Now imagine how many times that canvas got painted over. This is about the seven hundredth time. Maybe the 50th time was enough, except for one thing, all the tatters are AWESOME!

Blech!
Fat Bob

Book 8 - The Thorn EP

sorehead

I'm transcribing from psychic projections from God.

Book 9 - Tinderbox

JUMBOTRON!
Thank god for the video revolution. In the HQ there is a giant video screen that we never watch except when our fingers are sore.

PISSHEADS!
Stop looking in our goddamn windows or we'll move to France.

Jingo Jango Jingo.
Beatles.

Mustard.
Can't leave home without it. Nothing sticks in the craw of a restauranteur who used to deny us service than a hearty mustard fight.

Book 10 - Through the Looking Glass

Core Values
Oldies!

Just another bastard waiting for Monroe
Yer loossssssst littttleeee girrrrrrrrllll!

Heepacheep
No geeniuz producer would touch this album! so we got a bigger cut.

For the living
trust in me.

Book 11 - Peepshow

KA-Boom!
ok. so now i'm a fan band. grateful dead circuit here i come!

Explodin'
in reverse.

My Scene
songs written in a cool room without the band.

Jygantic Reams
can't believe how many i threw out. no, not band members. songs on this album.

Book 12 - Superstition

The Evil Angel
time for a kinder, gentler siouxsie. what? want me to bite yer freakin' head off?lissen to juju again!

Never can tell the wind.
or can you!

Our Basket
is the softest wind of all.

Kill and tell.
immature. so. i'm rich, yer not, neener neener!

Book 13 - The Rapture

A little bit lonely
and john cale

turn around
gemini song.

And I need you now tonight
tearing apart, tearing apart!

Once upon a time I was falling in love
now i'm only drunk like a tart!

Book 14 - Downside Up

The pile of beer
BACKWARDS THIS READ.

The vast cougar
instance of dream decay

Her nibs
was on a saturday last

Stungaroo
boyo!

Book 15 - The Seven Year Itch

a fat wind of desire
FOR THE FIRST TIME I FELT THE HEAT LIKE I KNEW IT WAS. 100 DEGREES IF IT WAS MORE. I'D MELT.

team avenger
cackle! REVNEGHE SQUAT!!!!!!!

KILL THE WABBITS
I just couldn't find an armband with israel's symbol on it.

Fudd
enough.

pinocchiobama and jiminy biden

2008-12-24T10:16:00.000-08:00

My Book!

2008-09-04T11:33:00.000-07:00

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1440402582

Waitikistravaganza

2008-08-20T03:44:00.000-07:00

Charred Mammal Flesh: Exotic Music for BBQ - Waitiki
Rendezvous in Okonkuluku - Waitiki

OK. There's a LOT to like in both these albums, and what little there ISN'T to like can be summed up pretty simply. At a cocktail party, I'd want the music to fade into the background, whereas at a live performance, I'd want a number of virtuoso performances to hold my attention. This definitely has an ambient vibe to it... but for the moment I'll stick with Les Baxter cuz he doesn't demand quite as much listening. Now, that said... I really like these albums... both of them provide a suitable tropical ambience for the artificial tropics that the stupid golfers around the Coachella Valley build in microclimates when they water the hell out of the desert sands during august and september to create an ambience that is supposed to imitate scotland or pebble beach or something... turns the place into a goddamn sauna for 2 months... music like this is good to melt to in that extreme environment.

First, Charred Mammal Flesh. This has it all goin' on. Its a lot like one of those dusty old records you find in a bin and hope it isn't just the pretty cover, martin denny, les baxter, the mystic moods of jackie gleason, esquivel, or all the 60s studio orchestral music like lalo schifrin and oliver nelson. While slightly lo-fi (not so you'd notice unless your stereo is tits) it demonstrates the unmistakable musicality of Randy Wong and his band of rum-snookered collaborators Tim Mayer, Brian O'Neill and Abe Lagrimas Jr.. Horn and flute-led free jazzy anchored by solid percussive sense and massed chanted vocals.

Central to the Waitiki experience? Booze. And Plenty Of It! in large funny shaped containers with umbrellas and shishkabobed fruits and swizzle sticks that say stuff like ONKONKOOKULOO just to fuck with yah a lil' while yer drunk and expecting it to say Okonkuluku. The kind of drinks that make yah want to put on a tiki mask, take off yer sarong and whirl it around yer head while you repeat the catalog of Homer Simpson drunken buffoon noises until you pass out on the beach somewhere. But its OK, cuz yer under the protection of the Spirits of Okonkuluku who are placated by the sacrifice of a watermelon during Waitiki's stage show (and on their first album so be sure you pick it up so that the maztikoloa don't grab you and haul you into the surf or the opposing lane of traffic) No, I'm not going to say drink responsibly, the world is overpopulated enough as is, just don't take anyone out with you.

Covers of Martin Denny and Don Tiki as well as orchestrations by Waitiki make for a wonderful sweltering experience. Shell out yer hard-earned akahi dalas for this and you won't be disappointed. It'll also help fund the massive outlay that Wong and crew put out for higher ditch amplification and recording equipment for their next album Rendezvous in Okonkuluku.

Rendezvous in Okonkuluku is more of the same... but its a lil' less claustrophobic... looser... wider stage spaces or something... cleaner sound... and the experience of lots of live gigging in places as diverse as Honolulu, Berlin, London and Pittsburgh, as well as spots around their home town of Boston. I think the only complaint I have about their sound on this album is their vocals don't have that spacious awesomeness that the old guys managed to capture in massive recording studios for like Capitol records. That's hard to capture though, maybe a good live album will pick that openness up. The acoustics are perfect for the instrumentation though... but the vocals sound mildly cloistered, I'm sure that's something they'll figger out how to beef up in a couple of albums. Soundstages like that don't come cheap, I wouldn't have the first idea of where to go for that kind of recording ambience. Even Capitol records old monster underground studios are getting messed with by neighboring condo-building. A lil' more presence of Mistress Helenini on violinitar and also as their flower-bedecked cover model on this one too. This one has a lil' more of that cocktail party ambience... but they still have that live band focusization (probably because it suits their large live fanbase) that sometimes draws your attention away from the phantasmic babe yer chatting up to their slightly better on stage musical antics. All in all, on a 5 star scale, I'd give their first album a 4.5 and their second album a 4.7. I'm looking forward to hearing their next one too, cuz these folks just keep getting better. A lot of those old guys had 6 or 7 albums under their belt before that one you found in the dusty old bin that blew your mind. Waitiki is just shy of mind-blowing, but they're just getting started... like the first couple of sips of the Paralyzed Polynesian that the waitress just dropped off.

Plagues & Pleasures on the Salton Sea - a Metzler/Springer doc

2008-04-09T00:30:00.000-07:00

The Salton Sea. It lies about 30 miles southeast of me. I haven't been to it in nearly 30 years. Sometimes though, It comes to me. On hot muggy afternoons when the wind shifts just right. P.U. Smells like the oldest toilet in the world just backed up somewhere near you. It'll stink until late in the evening... then... the temperature drops and the smell drifts away. Used to do that about 10 days a year back in the 90s. Now? It does it about once every 3 or 4 years for a day or so. A lot of that has to do with the restoration started by Sonny Bono and continued with federal funding. The dead birds and fish get cleaned up by fish & wildlife officials instead of being just left to rot. Look, if you want the blow-by-blow of the Salton Sea and its ecology, pick this movie up. It'll tell yah all the whys and wherefores about the sea's creation and failure as a resort as well as federal response to the ecological disaster it became in the late 80s and early 90s. It also will give yah a good picture of the plucky folks that lived on down there or moved in since that mess. A wild bunch, from born again modern-day mountain men, to land barons out to make a fortune in one of the last open markets of land in America, to working-class heroes living on in a place that God forgot. Heck, one of the guys selling land down there I even used to do flyers for, a guy named Manny Diaz aka The Landman, who is now the Crazy Gideon's of real estate, back then he was just a laid back real estate guy moving land in a place where the fish die-offs and avian botulism were out-of-control. Now? I'd say he's got a chance. Not just of selling to folks looking for cheap land, but a chance of actually building a community down there. Some of the nation's top ecologists have been batting away at making the place liveable. There've been changes in laws regarding agricultural run-off, the dead things are getting picked up instead of left to rot, and the folks there are actually showing some hope that it'll become a place to raise families; even if it probably never will become a tourist mecca again.

This film tells it like it is, including artful narration from the little filmmaker that could, John Waters, it features a mixture of archival data, human interest, 60s promotional films, and community action footage from the restoration project. It also features groovy background tuneage by the band Friends of Dean Martinez. Lots of extras including a 60 minute Environmental Version of the Theatrical release just right for a biology/natural resources/conservation classroom session. Pick this up if you're a fan of John Waters, David Lynch or have an interest in the southwest, water utilization, ecology, the brown pelican, ecological disasters or people who have had their dick knocked in the dirt a few times and still came up swinging. Available through Amazon, Tower or the filmmaker's website http://www.plaguesandpleasures.com which ALSO sells lacquered and mounted dead tilapia fish harvested by the filmmakers at the Salton Sea.

Trinity Revisited - Cowboy Junkies

2008-04-04T21:02:00.000-07:00

Trinity Revisited - Cowboy Junkies

This is a review of the soundtrack album to the Cowboy Junkies film 'Trinity Revisited'. Fortunately they are both packaged in the same case so it'll be easier to find than the Bee Gee's Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. First, a note about the album this is based on. Its one of my favorites. A treasure I carried through me during one of the more physically challenging periods of my life, that period just when you get out of high school where you get a job where you have to walk as well as do 10 hour shifts plus some hours at college. Yes, in a period where I drank way too much coffee and came home exhausted and wired 5 nights a week and just lay there tossing and turning trying to sleep; that album gave me moments of peace and calm that few others could approach. This one? Its as good. I know some purists are like, but... but... but..., and all i have to say to them is take a listen to "Help me, Ronda" (the lp track from The Beach Boys, Today!) and "Help me, Rhonda" (the classic single that we all know and love), there is the same difference in a familiar treasure to be found there. A harmonica wails.

Is it an improvement? Well, here and there. Ryan Adams vocal performance on '200 More Miles' is exemplary, Vic Chesnutt provides an entertaining alternative sort of like one of Dylan's re-interpretations of his own work, and Natalie Merchant does a stirring performance of "To Love Is To Bury". I'm kinda dodging something here though. Its hard to approach. OK. Here. Plop. This album made me cry, or at least the film did which I saw before I listened to the album. All the tension and things you leave behind from your youth, when they come back with added emotional resonance. My gut started quivering, shaking and tears started tricklin' down my cheeks when I heard Margo sing "Mining for Gold" again. You see, when you've done 10s of thousands of hours of human rights work, shit sometimes happens to things you love, they get stolen, wrecked, or damaged, sometimes happens to people you love too. There's always some asshole trying to fuck you up. Junkies albums are one of those things that have gotten stolen a few times. Enough that I don't keep 'em around any more because I love 'em (at least the first few) too much. Some stupid shit will probably happen to this one too, cuz its really good and nazis of various states are always trying to get even with me for exposing their crimes. I hadn't heard Margo sing the songs of Trinity Session for a long time. There was a period of emotional resonance that she provided a central calming end of the day soporific to, and man do I love this band, even though there are a few albums by them that aren't at the top of my list; but then there are albums by Pink Floyd that blow too. This isn't an album that blows. It makes a wonderful companion piece to 'Trinity Session'; and would be a minor classic in its own right. I'm really stoked they did this. Nice advancement in form too. Maybe not as big a leap as "Surfin' U.S.A." to "Pet Sounds", but as big a leap as "Surfin' U.S.A." to "Shut Down, Vol. 2".

Also, a note on the film. Noice.

mad chops, but helplessly adrift.

2008-01-31T11:50:00.000-08:00

Ever met that guy at school who is obviously brilliant, but still hasn't quite figured out his field or what he likes to do? That's kinda like this album by Astrid Williamson. Boy For You has moments of deep-seated brilliance, her vocals soar, her background has a mess of good textured depthy stuff goin on. Still. It lacks. It isn't just hooks. BUT. Without hooks its like a vessel without a sail. There's nothing that calls me back to this album other than my duty as a reviewer. Her lyrics are introspective and reflective and probably her strongest suit. She isn't untalented by any means. Imagine going into your favorite neo-folky bar and hearin' someone with a great band and great lyrics and really good vocal chops but on the way out the door... you don't buy her cd. Still, you'd go back and see her again without a qualm, and maybe? you'd be stoked when you heard her break out a few years later. I would be. Ms. Williamson has an awful lot of heart. This album is 10 years old, and i think somewhere up there a sea change is at hand. Like when Hendrix joined the army and some kid busted out his The Who albums for him, after years of fartknockin' around with Little Richard and the chitlin circuit guys. She's in the Lilith circuit. Somehow though... it doesn't sound like her heart's in it... not that she doesn't have heart... not that it doesn't show that she's got a ton of heart. Remember when you were at that job that had people you liked working there, and a good boss, but the work was a drag? Like that. I don't know what it'll take. Maybe a weekend in New Orleans listenin' to the Chee-Weez. Maybe some session work. Maybe a step back into traditional instrumentation and folk reels. I can't say. I can say that there is an audience for this artist, maybe its you. If you dug sinead before she went off the rows of cast steel, and I did and sometimes still do. If you dig Joni Mitchell's stuff between blue and hejira. If you go to a lot of folk bars and like that place with artists before they find their groove (which sometimes takes years) then there's a better than even chance you'd like this album. I'd probably pick it up the third or fourth time i went to one of her shows just cuz i wouldn't want her to fade away instead bein' some great background music to a hella good evening. I have one buddy who spent decades playing R&B, jazz and soul, he did session and live work with folks like stevie wonder and mr. jesus juice, he went solo and put out some introspective albums that while filled with chops and skill and hard work didn't move him but sold a few copies, he quit, he started working at a kinko's where we played shit on the stereo like naughty by nature, bob wills, sonic death, art tatum, samba, dancehall reggae, and david byrne's collections of cuban musical touchstones. He continued to fart around with graphic design and i went off the rows of cast steel, but 10 years later, he went to cuba, and started playing with the musicians down there and found his niche, he's happier than a pig in shit after faking it for decades. She'll get there, there's no way to force it either. But I swear to my soul that this woman has a holy mission that'll make her and the crowd's big toe shoot up in their boot. I hope its soon, but if it isn't, Astrid, please don't get discouraged, just remember that nothing really really really cool comes easy. It took me thirty-five years to find my soul, some folks it takes even longer. Love yah and if I was at your show, I'd probably pick up a t-shirt to show solidarity with someone I think is really cool even if she is a little bit adrift.

The J.J. Cale Album that DOESN'T have a superhooky song on it.

2007-09-24T12:48:00.000-07:00

J.J. Cale - Rewind - Time Life Records

I'm not complainin' however. I love Art Tatum. He's got fantastic chops at the pianner, but you aren't going to buy his album for its hooks like you would a Jerry Lee Lewis album, you're going to buy it because his virtuosity and ability to build a wonderful ambience surpasses even such stellar talents as Oscar Peterson. This album has similar strengths. It comes from the explosion of rural music sounds that were found to be popular again after The Band released its eponymous album and Dylan did "Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid". Not that that is where J.J. Cale found his inspiration, but it sure did amuse him to be found commercially viable after a few years lurkin' in honky-tonk bars. This album isn't a typical Cale release pandering to music execs who didn't see how to work his gospel shufflin' blues into a rock format, and didn't find him appropriate for the Nashville or Countrypolitian sounds that were the mainstay of country music at the time. He wasn't 'southern rock', he wasn't 'country', he wasn't 'blues' and he wasn't 'gospel', what he was was hard to market, much like his contemporaries the Grateful Dead who wouldn't roll over and play strawberry alarm clock like good hippies. This album is a series of cuts from his early releases that his producers didn't find commercially viable. That doesn't mean that they don't weather the test of time. They're warm, human, enveloping in a slow country languor or gospel fervor that sweeps you off to an afternoon with the windows open and the smell of magnolia drifting through the screened porch. You aren't going to find an After Midnight or Call Me The Breeze or even a Don't Cry Sister on this album, there's no airplay they are defined for, but if you've learned to appreciate the artistry of Mr. Cale's precision of comfortable groove, you'll eat this album up. Includes some covers by Randy Newman, Eric Clapton, Waylon Jennings and Leon Russell, not that they sound like covers; in fact, on first listen I didn't distinguish them from the other songs on this album, they seamlessly fill a lazy evening with harmonic beauty. Would I recommend this album for someone who has never listened to J.J. Cale before? Yes, but not as a single purchase, do yourself a favor and pick up one of his compilations along with it so when people ask you what you're listening to you can hum a few bars of After Midnight at them so they shut up and listen without prejudice. This is a great album, maybe even essential, I'll let you know in a few years, the best albums rarely are apparent until they've found their way time and time again to your IPOD stack, this definitely has all the earmarks of being a long-term favorite however, even if it isn't as flash as some of his other albums. heh.

this one just might be someone's "...and justice for all"

2007-09-07T07:36:00.000-07:00

Le Concorde - SUITE E.P. (fourchette records)

rewarding e.p. filled with frothy roland hooks, traditional european guitar, and masterful songwriting. Stephen Becker has created one of the finer albums i've ever heard. Lots of elements from the frothy roland era of intelligent 80s songwriting with a strong emo streak, something like scritti politti and the psychedelic furs meets fallout boy meets paula abdul's zingy organ riffs from the days of forever your girl. I picture a really well-adjusted working gal fixin' her hair and rolling out the door while pumping this. sweet soul elements, dreamy love ballads, 'the bears'-like lyricism. I even had to check to make sure 'international flight' wasn't a cover from 'the bears'. Its really good. How good? So good that I can see someone considering it representative of their persona/culture at this time. that dinosaur hip/suave 90ish guy with 80sish musical loves in a setting that says nothing but 2007 bounce. Somebody could make a lot of money if they get this person into the right venue. My local adult alternative eclectia public radio station (kcrw) would eat this shit up for their morning show. Could this guy be the west coast's singer/songwriter answer to MC Solar? Quite possibly. Am I going to be listening to this album 5 years from now and wish I had gone on about the perennial warmth and grooviness that pumps outta this 6 track 18 minute e.p., i wouldn't be surprised. I was tempted to write a one-word review to this one that'd leave people intrigued but unable to classify it according to their musical tastes. here that is. sweet.

The States - The Path of Least Resistance

2007-07-30T12:28:00.000-07:00

Its not that this is a bad album, its just that I think these guys are capable of a lot more. Like on the any generic band album scale, i'd give this one a B. On the how well do i think The States could do given their talent? C-. If you liked their first album? Go give this a listen http://www.bomp.com/Lovetones.html It'll fill that achey-breaky-soulful-lovesongwithmystery place that this one doesn't. Don't buy this one for your g/f. As far as their new political bent. Do I appear rallied? More bitchin' about the power instead of fightin' it. Not even skilled bitchin'. However, I'll give them credit, if you take all the music and totally remove it from any context and just listen to it as a musical groove, it IS fairly groovy. Enough to warrant buying it? Well, if you're compulsive. Lots of R.E.M. flashbacks. They tried to get political too, murmur? beautiful timeless and completely magnificent album. That political 2-3 albums they did back around document? well...... I spose if you grew up listening to them, you'd dig them, but i couldn't recommend them to you without a healthy recommendation that you don't bother until automatic for the people. The last time i reviewed these guys, I said, they're headed for some doldrums and poor weather. This album is a good example of that prophecy being fulfilled. It ain't a bad album, but it ain't a good one by any stretch of the imagination. Not that they don't have some good albums in there if they hang in there and ride out the standards of today as they seek timelessness. I still give them even odds of becoming a band that rides out the times and becomes classic, elo's first couple albums weren't exactly timeless either.

the weirdness - the stooges

2007-04-08T20:15:00.000-07:00

krog like this album, but it give him headache. music rock. band good. iggy take too much smart drugs in 90's. krog hate gingko biloba, it make iggy too smart. now instead of singing about t.v. eye and how it be watching you, iggy sing about end of christianity. it make krog think hard. krog nearly hit kid on bike krog thinking so hard. now. me not hate album. me not hate iggy. me not hate band. even with funny looking new guy. but krog not want to cruise while thinking 'what iggy mean by that.' good songs. free & freaky in the u.s.a.. krog live where lots of cops show up if you get free OR freaky. good anthem though. almost as cool as six-pack. beni-hana-talibana-groovarama. iggy now like smart jim morrison. go iggy go. krog even see iggy and the stooges at their first show in thirty years. then it wasn't iggy that make krog's head hurt, it too much hippiesmoke and hot sun, krog's head hurt bad but still know crack kills. this still fun album. mexican guy stomp song with groove, krog have girl run off with guy with cooler car too. i'm fried i'm fried i'm fried. dat iggy krog know. me no want think. me listen to henry rollins talk if me want think. me still buy this album. it rock hard. try not think. remember krog, krog nearly hit kid on bike he think so hard to this album. me go listen to black flag now. they only make krog head hurt little bit.

the sirens - more is more

2007-03-10T14:40:00.000-08:00

LASH ME TO THE MAST! The Sirens are back. More is More owns. In spite of my all time favorite all-girl fantasy dress-up rock band taking on a couple of sailors that washed up on the rocks. They look a lil' banged up too. Probably sucked getting there. Welp, they're there now, and they look like Dr. Strange villains or something, so do the rest of the Sirens in their new promo pic. The new guys sound like Dr. Strange villains too. Miggy Starcrunch and Malarsh! May the Vapors of Valtarr protect me from the wickedness they emanate. Also a new girl, Miss Lela although Miss Shelly plays a couple tracks on this album. Great album. Perfect to take to the lake some night and listen to in the back of the truck. Especially the cover of the Bay City Rollers "Saturday Night", When i get that truck i'm gunna pick up muffy and take her to lake st. clair for a fling. Muffy Kroha, baddest good girl in rock. She took Nina Hagen's throne and holds it with aplomb and 18 inch platforms. I worry about Muffy sometimes. I mean jeez, she's in pink central doing art direction the Detroit neiman-marcus and at night? the skin at the back of her designer duds splits and out comes muffy kroha, howlin' werewoman night rocker fitted tight in gold lame and boots fatter than your ass. I love her. Her taste in music. Her ability to destroy songs from even the greatest 70s glamorama monsters, bowie, slade, sweet, hollywood brats, among others. The first album? inside i was like, hmmm, i wonder if they ever are gunna stop doing covers and write some of their own material. But then? I started thinking about it, and realized, the great american songbook didn't end when harold arlen died. I mean jeez, what does burt bacharach got that the mc5 doesn't. An office that smells like chanel no. 5 instead of marijuana? Pretty darn much. The pot was the dividing line, even though folks like gershwin smoked the occasional doobie, arlen and bacharach didn't. So when the kids came up with the spliff hangin' off their lip. The great american songbook was closed to them. Welp, I'm here to tell you. It ain't the case. These days, more kids know Britney's "hit me baby' than know "ding, dong the witch is dead', and before britney, there were 30 years of rock and roll that got passed over by the folks that were defining america's standards with a deathgrip on their royalty checks. I'm here to tell yah that muffy and the sirens are doing the world a great service. paying royalties to folks that got passed over by ANOTHER new generation of singer/songwriters who were just as hit and miss at the hits as anyone else. Muffy. I salute you, in more ways than one. Great album, keep 'm comin'.

my favorite query letter.

2006-05-10T14:00:00.000-07:00

Subj: Funktacular Reviews

There is nobody in the world that can review your action the way I can. Send me some stuff
to review, i'll put my signature stank on it. http://docmartian.blogspot.com/2004/05/iguana-chronicles.html that's muh favorite review, but then, i had some room to stretch out. i'll get just as loosey goosey with reviews of your albums, but send me a mess of them (so i don't have to play favorites). check it out, my suggestion, for an optimal review (as well as cross-affiliated reviews for newer stuff as you release it, (imagine the massive brain trust of retardation that i can lay on those badboys given a mighty background work to draw psychic cornerstones from 'kiss and iggy beat up led zeppelin'-styley)) would be for ya'll to send me like the whole funkadelic catalog (or the whole parliament catalog). I'll rant and rave until my fingers drop off, you'll be like i did'n know sir nose d'void of funk owned a yacht and played yahtzee and drank yachtermeister while singing yachta-yachta-yachta by frank yankovic. yes. what i've done for iggy and nashville pussy http://docmartian.blogspot.com/2005/09/nashville-pussy-get-some-pinball.html i can do for you.

now, if yer strapped fer stuff to send to wacko reviewers and want to not antagonize your wreckord company... then maybe you ought to just send me a couple of your next releases as they are released. but were *I* George Clinton... and who's to say that someday i won't be; i'd take a chance on a crazy kid (take a chance on the kid, harry. Hen-RYY, coming mother! yeh, take a chance on him, you boogerschniztzer from planet whackadoom!) and send me a whole messa funkaparlimeclinton action to review. you'd have the right to quote or utilize my reviews in any form that does not conflict with where i make MY money (i.e. journalistic or literary or book publication for dollar) but can use them in your liner notes, in-house rags, or ads, interviews, websites or virtually anything else that you desire. YES! you can whipe your ass with them, but i advise you print them out on something absorbent, xerox paper would just smear it all up your backside.

that said,
please send me anything you'd like reviewed (and yes, i do en masse reviews (but separated to highlight each individual product that needs reviewin'.)) to
Doc Martian (aka Kevin Anderson)
##-### #$*#$(#**#($ St.
#($*(#$, CA #####-####
USA

fun with nitwits.

2006-04-27T07:36:00.000-07:00

From: "Doc Martian" <docmartian@verizon.net>
Newsgroups: alt.politics.org.cia,alt.politics.usa.congress,alt.politics.org.nsa,alt.politics.bush,alt.journalism
Sent: Thursday, April 27, 2006 12:43 AM
Subject: what the iraq war means to a republic.
> Krulag: i'm sure that stuff is classified. congress had access to it. most> of them voted for war. we as members of a republic have to respect that our> representatives have the ability to discern truth from fiction, we ALSO have> to accept that as humans, sometimes they DO make mistakes. accept for> bruised egos and sour grapes there are no signs that bush attempted to> mislead the american people.... the moment there is... he stands a good> chance of being impeached. until then? pblblblblblblbllltt!> >
From: <rhooker123@hotmail.com>
Newsgroups: alt.politics.org.cia,alt.politics.usa.congress,alt.politics.org.nsa,alt.politics.bush,alt.journalism
Sent: Thursday, April 27, 2006 1:43 AM
Subject: Re: what the iraq war means to a republic.
> Well the problem with Bush is he is using the Reagan defense which> states that the leader of the United States is, unlike the rest of the> nations executives in business and private life, not liable for any> errors he makes because he is so stupid he could not have known better.> > It has been well established that information reducing the confidence> of Bush's assertions were well known to the White House and that if> Bush wanted to get a fuller picture and hear some doubts both on the> WMD claims and the length of the war effort he could have done so with> a few phone calls. But he only seems to have heard what he wanted to.> If that was because he was only told what he wanted to be told, he> heard different points and agreed with what he wanted to agree with, or> he was told the truth and ignored it we will never known.> > You see there is a good chance Bush will be impeached, and it will be> for Iraq, but the articles of impeachment will not concern Iraq. Since> so little was precisely known about Iraq at the time it is impossible> to prove that the President was not convinced that what he said was> true. The fact that experts around the world doubted his claims does> not establish a case that he lied. Its rather hard to establish such a> case when the evidence is so hidden. Anyways lying to the public is> not a crime, one would have to find evidence that he must have known A> with certainty and then told a court of law that he did not know A or A> was false, the kind of knowledge that did not exist in pre-war Iraq.> > But he still could be impeached for something else. He has done enough> stuff to get articles together and the GOP under Clinton set the> standard for impeachment so low a Democratic House would have no> problem creating them. Remember that one of the articles of> impeachment against Clinton was difference between him and Monica on if> she had ever cum with him or not (go look it up) another concerned the> date they were both introduced. Certainly domestic spying, torture,> neglect to perform duties and various other factors, along with ties to> DeLay and the developing scandal, will allow Congress to form some good> articles, and a nation sick of a weak economy (the fact the stock> market has taken 6 years to simply recover is seen as some kind of> great news in the GOP), high energy bills, failure in Iraq, survival of> Al Qaeda, collapse of new governments in Iraq and Afghanistan, Iran> ability to make nuclear weapons, North Korea making nuclear weapons,> the Home Land Security diaster, the terrible response to Katrina, the> massive corruption problems, the failure to remove Rumsfield , and I> would add in the case of Rice and Myers the appointment of unqualified> people to the highest post because of personal friendship, have all> gone to poison the climate enough the public may back his impeachment> as it revolted against the impeachment of Clinton.> > And what do the democrats have to lose? They saw how the GOP gained> power after a failed impeachement of Clinton, perhaps this is the new> way to unite your base. I would go as far as to say that a democratic> House must impeach Bush to establish a baseline that both parties can> later reject. It would be wrong to have the GOP use this feature to> gain power and then when it's President had failed so utterly to be off> the hook.> > Summing up Bush sucks so bad that it would be possible to impeach him> and have public support. Will he be removed? No, probably not. But> he has become so unpopular the political gain for the Democrats would> be great.>

From: "Doc Martian" <docmartian@verizon.net>
Newsgroups: alt.politics.org.cia,alt.politics.usa.congress,alt.politics.org.nsa,alt.politics.bush,alt.journalism
Sent: Thursday, April 27, 2006 7:33 AM
Subject: Re: what the iraq war means to a republic.
> then, the rest of the american government is just as stupid. with the> exception of our estimable court system. congress, the military, and> american journalists all believed given existing intelligence that saddam> had wmd's. as did our first-line intelligence sources israel and the united> kingdom.> > all your mindless yada yada yada does is echo the sentiments of the> post-iraq anti-war contigent, that we should have known better; as you> recall, saddam's scientific community were stalling hans blix at each> weapons inspection stop for 2-3 hours. enough time to squirrel away weapons> caches. we went with best possible intelligence. had saddam's sites been> more open, had we had better intelligence, had congress appointed cindy> sheehan to use her meditiational psychic aura to SEE THROUGH SADDAM'S> WEAPONS SITES WALLS TO THE PEACE-LOVE RAINBOW GATHERING THAT WAS GOING ON> INSIDE. then perhaps the need for the war would have been obviated. it> wasn't. where were you then? maybe you could have yakked your into saddam's> weapons sites. maybe you could have spurred hans blix's guys into faster> entrance to get away from your dumb ass. If only Bill Clinton had been> president; he'd have known what to do. Have sex with one of his interns.> That could have stopped the war! Abuse of public trust (by having sex with> your employees.), not war! That could be the cry for a whole new generation.> > Bush Sucks? who are you? al gore? that's been the dems rallying cry since> november 2000. Bush Sucks! He's Mean! We hate you! go away! let us smoke pot> and have sex with interns and pardon tax defrauders again. Well, you'll have> your chance again someday. That is the way of things. First the just people> with ethics have their day in the sun, then the idiots bask on the rocks.> The rocks are getting warm.> > Cheers!> Doc

Like when IRS Records Ruled the world, only better.

2006-04-11T14:46:00.001-07:00

Love, Loss and Lunacy - Mary Lee's Corvette

This is one of the greatest albums I've ever heard. Jumpin' in with a jangly rockin' beauty 'all that glitters is not gold'. boy is she sweet, like an angel dancin' in your ears... I'm proud to have just heard this young lady play her stuff.

I don't know if I've ever put such a high hurdle in front of a performer though.... I don't know what I wanted to have her do... surpass tom petty or something... she does. Hip, sweet, and rooted in folk gal mannerisms that sing out of her like curlicues sang out of lefty frizzell.

I opened the promo package, and thought... hmmm.... lesbian seagull music.... welp... i love joni mitchell to death so i'll give it a listen without the bias you'd expect from a crusty ass hardcore punk blues guy like myself. a tight band was the first thought on popping it in... musically literate in all that 60s 70s 80s stuff that i loved but kind of tended to not want to explore as a performance skill. horns ala sgt. pepper, jangly rem guitars, steel slide awesomeness, tight crispy drumming, and solid unfathomable bass that drives, not hogs the limelight.

She's out on the porch, her tunes get hashed over in herself a dozen times before they pop out of her like the ultimate yummy toaster strudel. This woman is smart in ways i'll never be... she shows signs of the total assimilation in the world with love that I know and sometimes return to but boy i wouldn't want to live there. She sings like I dance on the keyboard.... its her forte... her heart... and i can picture her out of place with love singing in mean streets in new york city... echoing like a nightingale off of brick facades and rigid steel construction.

Have I listened to this one to death? FUCK NO! This is a treasure... a gem that does not uncover all its facets by sitting there like gollum gazing into it goin' myyyyy precsssshious.... it's like that car you got when you were a kid that all of a sudden you realize yer goin' 110... or you're leaning up against with some buds and a nice curvy corner of it catches your eye and glints just right with a smile at you. You know that you could take it out to a test track and zoom it around a bunch.... but that'd bury the magic beneath performance tests. Keep this one, put it in the same place you have Van Morrison's - Astral Weeks, Junior Walker and Buddy Guy's - Hoodoo Man Blues, Dr. John's Gris-Gris or your favorite Minor Threat album. Its a keeper, and if you get it you'll still be uncovering nuances 30 years from now. I hope she makes the big time.

muh new gitar.

2006-04-07T17:59:00.000-07:00

woohoo! corned beef and cabbage today.

2006-03-15T08:17:00.000-08:00

why wait until st. patrick's day! this way? i FINISH it on st. patrick's day!

no. you can't have any! pblblblblbbblblblllttt.... well.... cept fer you hotstuff. ;)

cheers!
Doc

just finished decline and fall of the roman empire.

2006-03-14T14:56:00.001-08:00

woohoo!

it's been an ongoing project of mine for the last 18 years... read 100 pages... then go off and do something else for 5 years.

wouldn't have missed it for the world.

cooler than grace jones vinyl.

cheers!
Doc

yes, post-emo has arrived.

2006-03-11T17:36:00.000-08:00

The States - Multiply not Divide

I can't say this is my favorite album in the world. That's OK. It's heartfelt, skilled, and has a trio of guys that are out there trying to move mountains. Touchstones: The Edge, Nick Lowe, coldplay, the lovetones... all wrapped up in a package that's like All-American Rejects only not as derivative. skilled scatter drumming, stinging guitar, plaintive warm vocals, lyrics that evoke the younger days of rock n'roll... back when it was still striving to the ragged hacking death that it made for itself in the wild asssmackin' parody of sum-41... back before it was reborn as an eternal spirit of elvis and rem and iggy stooge and ugly kid joe all fighting among each other like brothers over the last eggo.

is this band going anywhere? i'd like to hope so... they might have to stick together through some doldrums... they might have to fart around in dens of iniquity like the lazy cowgirls for 20 years.... but i have hope in them and the reborn spirit of rock n' roll... they'll survive... and they might even prosper... my suggestion? a reality show where they all get plastic surgery so the girlies all get swoony and goofy over them.... before they're too old so they don't suffer that goo-goo dolls dinosaur impediment.

would i buy this album? cuz that's what it comes down to. no. i wouldn't... but i'd recommend it wholeheartedly to someone who likes the postpostpostmodernproggopunkathing that's been building up the last 4-5 years. i personally find it a great soundtrack to playin' tony hawk... sharp grinding guitar... lyrics that mean more than rem but less than the smiths... almost as groovy as James Blunt... without the 70s hooks. go skateboarding to them... you know you want to. blink 182 sucks. these guys might suck someday... but i think they'll pull themselves out of whatever hole they fall into. remember 2000 light years from home? remember the stones playing weenie psyche-beatleic music? these guys will fall into a trap too. most of us do. even my heroes. buy this fer yer g/f.

2006-03-08T22:12:00.000-08:00

just got my ass a dobro.

woohoo!

t-shirt Billy Beer Logo

2005-10-08T07:54:00.000-07:00

2005-09-20T20:56:00.000-07:00

Nashville Pussy - Get Some!
Pinball machine theme.

Rip.

Ka-chunk.

Here's the thing. I don't know that the person who psychically designed this album will ever hear it.... you see.... he was deaf, dumb, and blind...... BUT... when he powered up a pinball machine.... he... umm.... had a supple wrist.

yup, this is the music that tommy heard in his head. harder. faster. badder. like nothing you ever wanted to hear... but damn is it good.... fucking nitrous oxide of the mind.... all i can bother to tell you about the band is they have paid their dues.... the bassist is hot as fuck.... the vocalist/guitardude is like trapped in a ted nugent inferiority complex.... but he surpassed nuge long before.... dude's like out of control... not just wang-dang-poontang.... but wangbamalamapoontahmoofungoboogielicious.

now. a note about karen... cuz lord knows i love hot bass players... she's even hotter then that... like her tongue could launch a thousand screaming fanboys.

ruyter (blaine's wife) is a cutie too.... but man does that not matter.... these musicians could be an ugly ass bunch of warthogs and their music would still smoke.... start this fucker up add a keg of beer and hit the replay button. I couldn't begin to tell you how much I enjoy it.... the whole hardrock mantra crap they sent me is fairly decent.... but i just want you to know.... if i had dwarves' blood guts and pussy and this one to choose from.... i'd have to think about it a minute...... not that they're as insane as the dwarves were.... but they rock so fucking hard you forget that they aren't fucking nutso.

now. nutso. the ball just dropped out the bottom.... but i got 4 more to launch.

Rip.

Ka-chunk.

These motherfuckers will keep you entertained for at least a roadtrip to lake havasu.... daytona... or whereever the fuck else you might decide to pump them in yer truck. now... while i don't have a truck.... i have an awfully sweet car stereo and it make my mirrors bump rhythmically.... not talkin' spasmodically or vibratorily here.... they bump. boom boom boom shaka boom. better then even my public enemy fave yo! bum rush the show.

how cool are they? cooler then the ed lover dance.

cooler then a giant truckload of milwaukee's best.... now... while that's a pretty sick image there.... a full fucking truckload of it would certainly make up for the fact that it tastes like fucking dogpuke.

they're cooler then that though...

they definitely are part of my modern rock'n'roll cosmos.... they've spent a few years onstage tearing up jaded audiences.... and i imagine getting in a few fights.... it shows.... fuckers are menacing and lethal....

fuck.

Rip.

Ka-chunk.

All you gotta know for sure about this album is that I wouldn't part with it for anything less then a vintage Black Knight William's pinball machine. You see... it's a promo copy... and chances of me ever finding another one are infinitesimal.... i wouldn't loan it out... i wouldn't let you touch it.... i wouldn't even take it to a party unless i was able to sit by the box for 40:09 minutes and keep anyone from spilling beer on it or dropping it on some beastie boys dreck. Piss and moan all you want.... you've got to go buy your own copy.... i'm not going to let you touch mine. If you don't like it.... you can choke on a motley crüe lp and go watch nikki sixx attend a junior college. The songs. should touch upon them a little bit.... titles like raisin hell again, hate and whisky, good night for a heartattack and the coolest cover in modern southern rock history...... nutbush city limits. fuckin' owns.... lots and lots and lots of backbeat in all of them.... fat bass licks in the entire thing... lyrics that bludgeon rather then convince you of any emotional balance rather then rage, hate and slam...... BUT... THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT THEY WERE AIMING AT.

heh. extra ball.

Rip.

Ka-chunk.

You'll think... hmmm... should i spend my money on ANOTHER heavy rock band.... i mean shit... i've got white zombie... fear... dwarves... pantera... and all the dio black sabbath albums.... why should i bother..... here's why... because you'd have to put all of those on at once to approach the level of narf that these guys (gals) reach.... they aren't exactly worried about impressing you with their erudition or lyrical aplomb (the way led zeppelin were) nor are they trying to satan you all out like dio is/was.... they just happen to rock n' roll pretty fucking hard and know it. humor is one of their characteristics.... some shit about god sending down a bunch of monkeys and a superchimp to whip their ass (heh.) they deserve an extra bottle of jack daniels for this album.... maybe even two... maybe even three.... not that they need it.
now. me? i almost didn't want to hear them again.... not that i don't love the hellraisin' aspect that they wear as a soulgarment... but i really had to lay off the booze for a couple days after discoverin' the wonder of finlaggan (a sweetass islay scotch that runs fer like 16.99 in my neck of the woods) it not only is tasty as fuck in itself..... but damn does it improve the quality of lesser blends when added to them. of course... i had to try it with a few... and boyyy did it work. this here album has nothing to do with finlaggan.... or scotch.... or anything but a rippin' bad metal/hardrock/pissdrunk southern rock.

k. down to muh fifth ball.

Rip.

Ka-chunk.

what would elvis think? I personally think elvis would probably make a fried banana and peanutbutter sandwich to it then bulldoze a neighbor's house fer yuks to it.... and that's sayin' a fuck of a lot.

the cover of nutbush city limits is so fucking kind that you have to wonder one simple thing.... is ike turner gunna incarnate again? fucker whupped on his wife... whupped on his bandmates... probably shot a couple of people.... used... smoked.... and sold drugs for years... dui'd... maybe a couple hit n' runs.... maybe even offed a couple hookers..... so.... is ike going to go to heaven? doubtful... is he going to go to hell? welp.... probably.... but the devil might just want him back here to do more damage to the GREAT NATION OF AMERICA. and if he did.... it's very very likely that he'd come back to the earth as blaine and ruyter's kid... it'd be the right home environment... empties everywhere.... huge dickhead neighbors.... bimbos running around naked whenever ruyter ain't home... pissed off manager showing up demanding another tour so the taxman won't start lookin' too close at her books.... and like a 12 foot glass bong to break as soon as he hits his terrible twos. I think that while they may not give birth to the antichrist.... they're at least looking at the reincarnation of ike turner. god help us all.

k.... there's one ball left in the game if anyone wants to play it... me? i'm gunna go whomp me up a fried banana and peanut butter sannich.

cheers!
Doc

the sirens.

2005-08-02T19:30:00.000-07:00

the sirens - the sirens

ain't nothing i can tell these girls. they know how badass they are... they also know that i love them.... i'd crawl across broken glass for them.... i'd slice i love you muffy on my tongue with a rusty butterknife for them. now. the music. it's incredible. it smokes and is hypnotic. it's like your first taste of a really good scotch... layers upon layers slowly reveal themselves... all with deeper layers to come. their roots? somewhere between punk and noise and glam and dunderheaded metal.... it all shows... it's all beautiful. they do tasty covers of stuff like gud bye t'jane by slade and glycerine queen by suzi quatro.... but what stands out most is that they're having fun... a mess of fun... so much fun that they'd destroy folks who claim that they're rockers that aren't... these ladies have been through dozens of bands between them... more then i care to count... but one of them rang a special bell with me a few years back.... the gore-gore girls.... i believe two of these ladies did time with that gal group. like they came down out of the wall of sound thing they were doing there to a wall of drums/bass and gitars. and muffy. muffy is like a freakin' goddess... move over nina hagen... i've found love... i'm going to pack my gitar up... take my pants off... steal my mom's car and drive to colorado before i run out of gas... then? i'm going to hope that i can coast down the continental divide to detroit without having to brake too much and when i get there? i'm going to ask muffy if she'll get drunk with me. i'll even bring my own bottle of scotch.

it isn't all muffy though.... it's about miss shelly pumpin on fat bass, melody licious on fuzzed out gitar, double-d bustin' on power chord drums and now (even though she's not represented on this album) baby ruth dolled up in hotpants with her axe. any one of these girls could make your brain melt..... all of them together in total fantasy gear is enough to make even the most jaded record buyer consider how many crappy albums he's bought from pinheaded guys trying to be the next mick jagger. speaking of miss jagger, if you buy his latest hunk of crap instead of this album.... elvis and gene vincent are going to come back from their respective afterlifes and gun you down like the dufus you are.

what? you want more? ok. here's more... these ladies dressed up in evel kineval gear, them dressed up like the cutters from 'breakin' away' them dressed up in birthday cakes (believe it) them dressed up like hottie devil dolls with flames lickin' up their wazoos...them dressed up like gangsters, prisoners, indians and even road warriors. interested yet? you should be... if you aren't? go buy some stupid diva album and watch beaches.

muffy. moaning. sounding like the vibrator is in tip-top condition and you're in the motel room next door wishing you had a suite door. i can't focus on muffy though... my brain would melt... it's all i can do not to pray to the dark gods that created her for power to teleport to her bedroom and grant me a fat ass motorcycle with evil lights glowing all ufo like on it. for what? to be her suitor... or at least her boytoy fer the night.

yes... she's blonde... she's leggy... and she wears 18 inch platform transmuters that i can just imagine planted firmly in my chest as i lick her calves. that doesn't mean that any of the rest of the band are any less to die for... it just means that i've been singing for enough years that i can't escape her hypnotic rhythms... even if the fuzz would quit. their songs are completely perfect. their image is flawless. their beat is mindnumbingly cool. their record is beautiful. their covers have mad flavor. we're talkin' johnnie walker blue label here. they best be gettin' some major label attention soon or i'm goin' huntin' record exec. the high point? for me? cruisin' down the road blastin' hellraiser.. from the ep that muffy herself (pant, drool) stuck on a cd for me. the low point? there is none... even the least notable songs on this 12 song album have humor, power, rhythm, and sex behind them; and isn't that what rock'n'roll is all about.

http://www.thesirensdetroit.com/

cheers!
Doc

i'm up to 6690 newsgroup posts.

2005-07-24T23:01:00.000-07:00

http://groups-beta.google.com/groups?q=author%3Adocmartian@verizon.net

p.s. the 6690th http://groups-beta.google.com/group/alt.slack/msg/e2b8bcea4bbbed53?dmode=source&hl=en

cheers!
Doc

Cowboy Junkies - Early 21st Century Blues

2005-07-06T02:05:00.000-07:00

Ok, this isn't the review i thought i was going to write. the review i thought i was going to write was a glowing reverie of all my moments with and around the cowboy junkies, their music, their shows, and my eternal love for margo. this ain't that.

what happened?

welp... i picked up a tammy wynette album, and realized that the majority of the last few years of junkies albums just didn't compare. not that i've listened to them all... i couldn't stand to... in fact... i haven't bought a cowboy junkies album since 'pale horse, crescent moon'. only... i never gave up hope.... i still haven't.... but i sure don't want to listen to 'early 21st centry blues' very much. the songwriting is strong, the musicianship and vocals are powerful, but somehow... the soul isn't there anymore.... i go back to her early albums.... and know plain and simple... that her heart is in the music.... that it touches her.... that she feels for the people she's singing about or as. tammy wynette is the one who clued me into it.... i heard her belt out'til i got it right... and her soul was torn through the song and her love was swelling out of it. margo doesn't sound like she gives a fuck.... not that she isn't a naturally kind person... not that she doesn't have a strong personal emotional sense.... but it doesn't connect with michael's songwriting anymore. not that his songwriting isn't great.... not that the covers they choose on this album aren't devoted to the craft of songwriting... not that the peace/anti-war/protest thing they're doing isn't heartfelt... but it still fucking sucks... not that you could tell... the craftsmanship is inexorable.

Look. I love the cowboy junkies.... i've listened to the trinity sessions over 500 times... i've listened to at least 4 of their other albums more then half that much.... but still.... i can't say i enjoy where they've gone with their music. Here's what i think it is.... margo was younger... she was more emotionally connected with the torch songs she was singing.... but she also was in touch enough with herself to know that she wasn't all about torch songs. I don't blame her.... torch songs take a certain destroyed passion... a love that's been tossed in the crapper.... and that ain't her.... at least i don't think it is.... maybe as a kid she had the rotten relationships we all sometimes have when we're kids. She needed a more mature framework for her music though.... and the critical acclaim at 'powderfinger' kind of clicked with her... her and michael started doing tunes that were like isolato-culturalmisfit-destroyedpeople.... but they were people that weren't her... or him. and she? completely stopped writing songs... which was a major blow to her musicianship in my opinion.... it takes a very rare angel who can sing other people's songs... no matter how much she loves the person whose songs she is singing. maybe they're giving up too much for the fans... maybe they're playing to us too much... maybe they just plain are out of touch with themselves.... but the persona they put across seems fairly well grounded... and that's tough to fake.

now. there are moments of true beauty in this album.... the refrain 'time to kill our children... and sing about it' lingers on in my mind even when i put this album down. i dunno though.... i just think that margo should be more connected to her music... it'd pour out of her instead of feeling like a reading then. i guess it's kind of like art.... when you're pouring out your soul on your medium... it shows... no aficionado of art can compare in their collection of art... even if it fits their soul. ok... i take that back.... there is an art to life... and there is an art to selecting music... as folks as diverse as britney, al green, marvin gaye, tammy wynette, and margo/the junkies have demonstrated... shit... even dylan drops the occasional cover on his albums.... but whatever they are doing now... they were doing better early on. sometimes though... that's part of evolution... your roots are still there... the things you were doing right at the beginning are still part of your soul.... but the natural simplicity of your beginnings needs to be filtered through the complexity of life. two examples in modern filmmaking.... lucas' star wars series.... and robert rodriguez both come to mind.... lucas was fumbling a lil' in return of the jedi, the phantom menace, and attack of the clones... but in revenge of the sith... he brought back the heroism that had escaped him in the storytelling.... tell me you didn't feel the rush of artoo's heroism as he fucked the destroyer bots with the oil slick thing.... he also brought together the sorrow that had been haunting his films since return of the jedi... the sorrow of the loss of luke's father... the sorrow of the loss of anakin's mother.... the sorrow of the loss of peace... the heroism of artoo stood like a gem of joy in a ring of sorrow. rodriguez... his hardboiled style was effaced in the craft of filmmaking in the sequels to el mariachi... but it came right back in sin city... and is enhanced by the filmmaking chops he has built from his early shoestring budget potboiler. in this album? i think that the junkies are close.... the musicianship that has always been there has grown stronger.... and margo is feeling her way out of her brother's songs.... but i don't think she's really pouring her heart out the way she did in misguided angel, baby, please don't go, to love is to bury, and walkin' after midnight. maybe she will again... maybe she'll pour herself into the craft of writing again.... maybe she'll tell her brother what she wants to sing... maybe she'll dig deep into the songs that make her heart break. i hope so....

once... i nearly killed myself to a cowboy junkies album... i was depressed over some stupid girlfriend who i fucking loved more then i could tell. i went out into the garage.... layed out towels to seal the cracks... and started the engine.... then i put 'the trinity sessions' into the tape deck. 3, 4 songs play... i'm laying there in the driver's seat miserable as fuck... and a wordless sense of 'this is so fucking stupid' fills me... i turn the car off... and stumble inside. narcosis in my limbs... i ache for about 40 minutes... later... i go to work. why does that matter? dunno... but her album moved me enough to take into that hell. i bet i'm not the only one who has a story like that... and maybe? it was too much for margo... maybe she had to move away from that emotional wrenching... maybe she needed to escape from the total adulation that i know she's had to face. maybe she's hiding behind the music rather then put herself out there like that. i don't know. i hope she comes back though. i miss her.

the truth as broadcast to ALIENS by seti.

2005-06-08T06:31:00.000-07:00

Shock-a-Lock-a-Boom!

2005-05-20T13:30:00.000-07:00

Ok, now it is time to reveal my role.... I am the official priest of Crom for the Gonzo Herald. When men drink to Crom they become mighty in ways unfathomable to you mere mortal yutzes, and women? when they drink to Crom, they become nubile and unquenchable. So. Yuh gunna drink to Crom? Dean Burgess did. This is his story.

Dean was a big ole slobbering dio fan, loving the music... but stuck making sounds that didn't destroy earthly denizens... he grew weary.... he flirted with suicide... he whined a lot about how australian television sucks.... you know.... the usual shit.... then.... he pounded a 12 pack to Crom... and it all began.

What began? LUTHOR... his band.... a band of him destroying the 80s rock gods that he used to idolize and now has surpassed. Crunchy metal riffs.... mind destroying slubhuman vocals... atmospheric synthesizer crap that turns your will to dogshit... and the girls? girls crawling out of the woodwork to lick his left buttcheek.

Now. I know you're thinking... what kind of shit is this.... all we gotta do is drink to Crom and our soul will become shriven and mightier then yer standard yahoo? The answer is Yes. Yes to booze. Yes to Crom. Yes to Mind DESTROYING Metal.

Ok, maybe i've been preaching to the disciples of Crom for too long..... maybe you don't understand... maybe you're bound up in some primitive lightning god cult that got softened and turned to pap by the romans. YOU CAN DIE. I mean that... you can take the top of your head off and smear your brains on crackers for all I care. The dogs will eat your corpse and I'll still be hoisting the flagon of greed to Crom. For Crom knows what I want for his service.... not just your usual future afterlife battle skills and giant sword to slaughter democrats with.... but a full on earthly crom stash of gold, jewels, and maidens dripping with chains.

More about Dean though..... his music is to 80s metal what the starwars special edition releases of the 90s were to the 70s-80s releases of starwars.... he refines and strengthens their elements and adds some modern operatic vocals that sound like they are being sung down an atlantean hallway at your slowly broiling noggin. His theme choice is magnificent.... oceanic struts.... power ballads chanting 'i am evil' mad destruction of your brain as your driving down the road waiting for the drugs to wear off so you can get to some mundane gig constructing your heart from the ashes that bitch left it in. You will never hear this again.... i believe that the power that mr. burgess gained from Crom is more then that conan did. You see.... conan was only a slacker in the crom faith.... dean is the true believer... his heart and soul are completely enveloped by the drinking god that is crom. what? you thought he was a battle god? he is.... but it is the power of drunken sword-swinging and conquest.... not the power of righteous murderous genocide and conquest that many battle gods claim as their power.

Hunter S. Thompson.... for now it is time to be told.... he thought it was cute to drink to odin... in spite of his awareness of the power of Crom. He was like.... oooh... I can stand to be slaughtered by my own hand and come back from the dead as an omnibus work of odds and ends from my journal.... but he didn't realize the POWER OF CROM. For now... his journals have been used as asswipes by his loving offspring who though he should at least have laid out some hefty bags so that the den wasn't all splattered in gore.

You want me to tell you that there is no truth in human justice? there is. but the power of crom suffuses your soul and mine and all you have to offer back is the puke that comes from the unhallowed booze you quaff. Our toast to CROM results in the battletransmutation of booze to liquid amberglossin that flows through our veins and makes us unstoppable in battle. Of course.... as battle is hard to come by these days.... the amberglossin builds up in our system to make our translation to THE METAL GATES OF ANGBAND less painful.... we appear to have strokes in our 90s after long fruitful lives.... but instead? we are instantly translated to THE METAL GATES OF ANGBAND where we battle beneath the sun for Crom's amusement. At night? we drink and wench endlessly. And what do you do? you go to heaven... where you sit around on fucking clouds all day playing stinky harp.

Cheers!
Doc

Vote Ernie? or Vote Bert.

2004-10-07T03:47:00.000-07:00

Now... Ernie may be stupid, but Bert's stupid too, and Ernie's a better judge of human character. What do you spose happens if you call Bert smart, or cool, or funny, he's your friend for life... no matter how evil you are. Ernie's smarter then that... he's like Why are you kissing my ass, Mr. Evil Guy.

I'd trust Ernie a lot more in charge of the country, he might come up with some loo-loo concepts... but I can't see him making everyone do those loo-loo concepts at gunpoint... with Bert I can.

Both Bert and Ernie have handlers... who do you think sees through them and calls them Mr. ChowderHead. Ernie. No doubt. Huh.

So.... when the election comes around.... who you going to vote for? Ernie? or Bert.I'm votin' Ernie, he may be dumb, and can be Sneaky as fuck, but it's a good kind of sneaky. Bert's just dumb, and sometimes... he's mean and dumb.

cheers!
Doc

2004-09-06T07:53:00.000-07:00

Seperated at Birth!

2004-08-30T14:47:00.000-07:00

heh heh heh heh.

http://superbad.com

2004-08-28T07:47:00.000-07:00

strangest site i've ever seen.

cheers!
Doc

symmic message...

2004-08-18T11:29:00.000-07:00

http://groups.google.com/groups?q=docmartian%20symmic&hl=en&lr=&ie=UTF-8&safe=off&sa=N&tab=wg
here's some of the methods i used.... included reporting them to the better business bureau... sucking a bunch of their time through long haranguing emails... reporting them to the U.S. Justice Department... and even showing up at their store at 187 Pacific Street, Pomona, CA and ranting at their counter.
while I didn't gain satisfaction.... writing other dissatisfied symmic customers is rapidly taking care of that.
cheers!Doc

gravely voice

2004-08-15T06:14:00.000-07:00

smoke marijuana.... it rained it rained marijuana.... smoke marijuana.... november love..... november love.....

bunnies.

2004-08-01T13:42:00.000-07:00

http://www.angryalien.com/0704/alienbunnies.html

2004-07-25T12:31:00.000-07:00

Israel's Hero speaks out.

2004-07-18T23:13:00.000-07:00

My new South Park character, cheyenne.

woohoo! respect.

2004-07-16T14:28:00.000-07:00

----- Original Message -----
From: info
To: docmartian@msn.com
Sent: Thursday, July 15, 2004 2:52 AM
Subject: RE: Contact From Web Site
Dear Doc Martian,Thank you for contacting us. Indeed your email has been well recieved. Best Regards, Communications Department Negotiations Affairs Department -----Original Message----- From: Sent: Wed 7/14/2004 7:04 PM To: info Cc: Subject: Contact From Web SiteSender Information: Name: Doc MartianEmail: docmartian@msn.comSubject: Now would be a good time to draw a map of an acceptable borderComments: draw an acceptable map of where the isgaylee\'s blitzkrieg fence should go. display it prominently in international quarters... offer assistance in both manpower and building materials. it will give you some serious leverage as far as international negotiation. continue to insist that they have the right to build a fence on land designated by the u.n. as belonging to israel. feed their puppies to chipper shredders owned by israel\'s lawnguys if they don\'t. cheers! Doc

2004-07-11T15:13:00.001-07:00

watchman T-shirt

2004-07-11T15:13:00.000-07:00

Batman T-Shirt

2004-07-08T09:19:00.000-07:00

Duckman gripes about his running mate.

2004-07-07T09:58:00.000-07:00

After campaigning with Hanoi John in Ohio.... Duckman has an epiphany.

2004-07-07T02:01:00.000-07:00

Duckman realizes the harsh realities of his position... but perseveres.

2004-07-06T19:47:00.000-07:00

Duckman reacts to being chosen as Hanoi John's running mate.

2004-07-06T04:29:00.000-07:00

Duckman chosen as Democratic Vice-Presidential Running Mate by Senator John Kerry

heh.

2004-06-23T12:37:00.000-07:00

http://www.paulzarouii.com/crap/Mastercard.html

2004-06-06T21:37:00.000-07:00

docmartian

num.

2004-06-06T21:30:00.000-07:00

Mexican Santa
- 2 part(s) Egg Nog
- 1 part(s) Milk
- 1 shot(s) Tequila
- 2 dash(es) Cinnamon

some old halloween stuff for something new to look at.

2004-06-04T22:08:00.000-07:00

one -

my baby calls me on the telephone.
but I'm not alone.

there's a dream operator on the line.

she hammers on the line hacking hacking hacking at it... screaming... let
me
in little piggy....

I answer back. nobody but us in here! nobody but us!

cuz I'm stucco. my hours only limited by the hours of abuse I receive...
otherwise? I'm around for a long while.

woo! huh.

if I tell you the ending. promise not to get scared?

in the end. my baby comes over... and we hang up the phone.

-

two - maximum overdrive.

except it's not the truck that's alive.

it's the cats. and the people they claw in the skull.... piercing the
brainstem.... destroying the lower cortex and channeling nerve impulse
thru
their claws. angeleyed people eating crap on the lawn. cat in control.

-

three - serious.

my child. has shown a proclivity for wielding a machete. kid's fucking 4.

-

four

ever seen a knife in flight? ever seen it land in the middle of a
target...
a stout piece of wood... pierced like butter.

ever seen a dog drooling for it's fate to acquit it of a noble life.

ever lived nobly while waiting for one thing. a solid fortune for mad
skills?

harvey has.

he's drunk and coercive.
getting chicks drunk at the local bar.

today? he's watching the sports.

tomorrow? he's loaded at a friends.

and he's right here in palm desert. wait and see. he'll scare the pants
off
you.

-

five - good dreams

she walked on the side of the road that the mad scientist had carried in
council meetings. wondering... why a horticulturalist would term
themselves
a mad scientist.

-

six - the hook
title.
I always thought it'd be something like 'captain rogers'
or 'mercenary leader jimbo'
it wasn't tho.
fucking kids.
dna takes a lil bit of flesh to clone.
so I wait.
and I watch.
and every once in awhile...
a chick.
with perfect boobs...
and gorgeous eyes...
and a slim but perky butt...
would be grappling with some gorilla in the car...
and I know she'd want out of there....

so..
I'd put on my hook.
won it in a poker game.... made by tom savini...
some draft dodger friend of his had dinner with him in montreal...
they got drunk...
400 bucks passed between them...
and it was down to the amputee that they sent back to fight more (he
bailed)
to offer up his hook....
the dice were mine.... so the guy figured they were lucky...
he gave me the hook...
I had scored with this lil cocktail bunny down at the bar...

so...
the conference on cloning ended...
I went home...
and made a vat.
it works...
cloned a skunk....
a mink...
and a fat panther....
no defects.... at least not to eye... and it's been seven years....
so.

I'd keep my eyes on the couples...
they'd usually have fun...
but then some gorilla would get rough...
and I'd show up...

with my hook.
and the girl would scream cuz she knew it would get the guy off her....
and the guy would drive off all scared....
but sometimes? I'd get a swatch of flesh.... but never enough biomatter to
clone from...
so... I considered mixing genes.... but then I thought.... ok...
something's
gotta give...

some gorilla...
I swooped...
she screamed...
my hook got caught in the car door handle...
but...
the chick left me like seven hairs.
so.
a year and a half...
and britney will be my lovetoy forever!
-

7: return of the hook's evil stepchild

call me stepchild.

no more beer.
shit!

that's ok. there's two kegs outside... but they aren't fucking cold.

arghhh..
always hurts in the morning.

usually hurts all day now too.

I'm 15.
but I look 23... in dog years....

I'm pretty tore up.... mom was too....

owwwwwww.

or is that sodder voice.

dad cloned britney.
the real thing.

livin up in the hollywood hills.

actin' crazy he says...

I say.... creepo vigilante.

yup. mom was britney.

or a clone thereof...

kinda tired... not long to live... maybe 7 years if I put myself into a
life
support system...

but I awake sometimes when my 'body forgets to breathe'

it scares me.

it's not how mom died...

but it's how she got brain damage enough to put her on swansons tv
dinners.... she had a heart attack after 3 years of that shit.

dad wasn't as smart as he thought.

we degenerate.
but not until we reach maturity...

why the animals didn't?

cuz dad was lucky I guess...

just not that lucky....

skin is nasty...
3 inch spalls as needed...

I look like the after picture.

but only for a dermatolagist.... not for a vehicular accident.

the vehicular accident?
was my clone...

I needed a kidney.... but it didn't work out.

thing twitched for awhile after I shot it full of dope to put it out of
it's
misery.... it was 3 years old biologically.

it had been alive for 7 months.

I call it it cuz it had no sex organs... just urethraic elements.

I tested it.... chromosones missing.... but not at first.

weird. huh.

and now? I'm sitting here with the shotgun in my study.... wondering if
the
fundamentalists are going to show up. they got wind of my cloning....
probably gov't fools picking up vibrations off my windows. fuck if I know.

yuk.
I figure a week or so and I'll be dead. halloween's going to be fun tho.

my kidneys both quit. and I know dialysis is too much of a long road being
hooked up to tubes... I'm gunna just let my body fail.... I got some
bootleg
morphine from a sympathetic marine captain with some afghan ties.... I
officially don't exist... so fuck hospitals. Mom was a clone. Life sucks.
Happy Halloween.

oh yeh...
dad?
I killed him cuz he was going to dope me up for dead after mom died.
fucking
looney!

The Iguana Chronicles

2004-05-12T01:15:00.000-07:00

A real time odyssey into iggy's world circa 1970ish.

The Iguana Chronicles.

part 1 - I got a right.

Nothing i've ever heard matches the stupidity of iggy. His moronicism is legendary... from running around with guys in nazi suits... to fucking 12 year olds in the butt. Nothing compares. That doesn't change the fact that his music is of the highest caliber of schlock rock the world has ever known... i might not find myself thinking of iggy in a moment of high reverie after completing a world shaking endeavor that soothes the lives of millions....

but then again... i might... and when i did... i could do far worse then thinking "i got a right" is the finest piece of unreleased music that ever walked the planet.

It's like the five versions on "i got a right' (bomp bcd139) are so mind numbingly insanely beautiful pieces of the musical edge of the seventies that couldn't be encompassed by bread or neil young. Bet they cut and snorted lines of coke, meth, and dogshit off of the vinyl i just mentioned. It'd explain the booze and adrenalin' fueled music on "i got a right'. They were up to their ass to their dealers and had ta had ta had ta do it or their fingers would be cut off up to their wrists. Ugly music... but i love rolling down the road to it... i love blasting it from my cheesy pc speakers... it's about the most gritty music that i've ever heard... only siouxsie sioux is more pained. Now. let me explain my rationale here. I'm going to listen to the entire iguana chronicles over the next couple days and type whatever the fuck comes to mind... from legends to imaginations to whatever fucking dogshit i feel like poopin' out of my fingers. Right now? i'm thinking that only iggy could manage to sound affected when letting out a screech... but that's ok... it's take 3 and he's probably going... damn... the bookies will be after us next. I can't tell you why i don't quite respect iggy. I love his music... i love his voice... i love the sound that he puts together... but somehow... it's like iggy doesn't quite come up to the level of humanity that fuckers like nils lofgren do in their schlock audacity. 'lost a number'? a piece of complete garbage that nobody should love... but it has me tappin my feet.. my fingers... and wishing i had 'grin's 1+2=3' or whutever the fuck that album was. I've got iggy though... and i love his face when he realizes i was just fucking with him psychically by saying i thought nil's (slippery fingers) lofgren had more honesty then him.... it's on the cover of the 'i got a right' cd. He looks like a 10th grade girl when she gets to the marilyn spears concert and finds that the tickets are scalped and she's going to suck a dick to get into the concert. Kinda pissed off... but more put out. Did i say put out? i know you did. Now... to explain myself. I'm not buying one thing about iggy... the fact that he's a rock and roller.... he's like a lounge crooner... always has been... but he found he couldn't make money as a lounge crooner... the days of dean martin and buddy love are long gone... only rock sells... and not even slow rock... his entire genre is maxed out with doofs like bread, grin, the carpenters, and tony orlando and dawn... so what's left to do.... but rock. and buttrock it is... nobody has ever left america wondering what the fuck more then iggy... a fairly good selling pair of albums with a critically acclaimed 3rd album and iggy disappears... loaded... drunk.... all fucked up... but then what the fuck... the stones could do it.... only iggy couldn't... that's because he's a poseur... what pose he's making? rock and roll. He'd rather do some simple arrogant changes and lay back and tell a story about the truck that ran into his gramma then have to perform a stage show.... he doesn't want to climb on shit like mick... he wants to sit back... relax.... and croon.... and he does... but the kids get bored... so he jumps up and shows them his buttcrack... then goes out and struts like pre-elvis mania. Jimmie Rodgers he ain't though... his honeycomb is 12 years old so he's gotta jump around like david fuckin' bowie.... not that he doesn't love rock and roll... it's been very very good to him... just like hip-hop was to j. lo... even though she was more into streisand then lisa lisa and the cult jam. Now... iggy is gettin' kinda pissed... he's done boocoo takes of this shit and the lounge vocalists haven't come in yet... no sha-la-lahs... no beebopdoodoolie-doos and still a long ass road before he gets to the sweet strains that he always meant to capture in kill city. yes... maybe lounge isn't the right word to describe where he's aiming... more like dion... was dion lounge? dunno... but the fucker ended up doing plenty of holiday inns and singing versions of bing crosby toons. Now.... why do you think that iggy finally decided to respect bowie.... my guess? that gig bowie did on crosby's (sinatra's?) wait... andy williams... christmas special. Iggy finally saw that bowie wasn't just a space cowboy.. running around on drugs fucking all the chicks in london that keith richards hadn't pissed on. He saw that bowie was a light of wisdom to the lounge scene... and he had to recognize that nobody would ever do more to push him into the lounge limelight then bowie.... you see.. bowie used to blow the guy at the holiday inn. Iggy just would ask him for a cigarrette and make kissy faces at him. Nobody has ever claimed iggy wasn't a stud though... he was.... he was balling anything that gave him drugs.... some rich lil' bich comes up and gives him fitty bucks from her purse (not that she KNEW she was giving it to him) and all of a sudden iggy's beggin fer some skin.... what kinda skin? a fitty spot... cuz he owes his drug dealer... and he hates the fact that he's got a major label contract and doesn't have a fucking nickel to rub on his dick (DAMN YOU SCOTT ASHETON) and he's living in a hotel room for the 50th day running... he didn't realize that even as a multi-millionaire when you're spending more then 200 bucks a day... it goes mighty fast... not that he had that kinda money... he was in gravy... but didn't have led zepp's kinda money... just led zepps kinda spendthrift groupies.... were you one? many were.... nothing ever stopped him though... on the street... passing his bottle to a hobo... buying another... finding a new friend... finding a new dog to get drunk with... cruising up to the hotel... making them want to kick him out... then flashing a grand at them.... was it like that? i don't care... it paints a pretty picture... so does this.... neil armstrong.... the man on the moon... and iggy sitting there in his first apartment wishing he could buy a ticket so he could rock and roll on the moon.... was that enough? is that all he could do? spend money? nope... he was drunkass motherfuckin' philospher.... philosophizing about whether or not his drugs would run out. they did.

end rant 1. tomorrow? rant 2 I'm sick of you.

A real time odyssey into iggy's world circa 1970ish.

The Iguana Chronicles.

part 2. I'm sick of you.

slow groove... iggy sounding like a fucked up brian jones with bad breath. and so.. the night continues... williamson sucking on guitar... right from the first... i'm like... damn... isn't loud enough.... not that it isn't tasty.... but it's another piece of iggy's throwaways.... it's a good one though.... 'sick of you' and a buncha cheesy organ riffs... except they couldn't afford the fucking organ.... damn... shoulda stuck with elektra.... and so... another groove ripping through the night... sounds good on the heroin they scored though.... and so... groovin... slowly... kinda angry... kinda wanting to be my dog.... but they aren't... and they aren't and they aren't.... not that williamson really sucks on guitar.. it's just kinda 60s derivative instead of the forward looking jive grooves that the elektra albums promised.... no wonder this song got dumped.... awww.. it's alright.... but it's not awright. and so the groove picks up a bit... iggy tries to keep it from going in the dumpster... but somehow.. he knows that it won't... will he get any money from williamson from it? dunno... but something tells me williamson is a villianous little fuck.... did he give iggy money for these masters? how bout the ashetons? dunno... care.. have to speculate though... maybe mike watt will find out for me... suupersnoof... checking like poirot to find the ancient crimes of these bozos.... and the groove rocks on... he's sick of me.. he's sick of you... he's got all these hangers on.. and the only thing that keeps him going is the studio and the drugs... he doesn't want to go anywhere near the crowds again... or does he.... luded up.. talking trash.. wishing to god he hadn't taken 5 of them... but jumpin' around just the same.... does iggy have anything but id that drives him? does he have a superego? dunno.... care... but dunno... how are his drugs today. I'd say they aren't bad... but he could use some food... more hambergers... more hambergers... get me a goddamn hamberger. and then.... something breaks.... he realizes it's not about the music... the drugs... the hamburgers... the groupies... about his making bowie his bitch. and he knows how to do it. He sees a vision in his mind of bowie kissing his ass going 'great stuff igster' great stuff.. slobber slobber. So he tightens shit up a little... starts dropping some rockin' riffs that only a brit could love into it he starts playing these back and forth call and response vocals where he's the only vocalist... he knows bowie is a whore for playing the kinks in one headphone and the who in the other.... and the groove begins to pick up... i'm thinking that maybe the drugs got to him.... but they didn't... the guitars got to him... he realized they lethal instruments in more ways then one... and that the cia wasn't chasing him... it was the fbi... and that jim morrison wasn't really dead... he was bruce lee... and that your mom was really a beast of mordor... and not a beast of harad as he'd always thought.... and then... he crakced... his brain spilling out on the pavement in the studio... that they used to hose down after the animals pissed all over it.... and the music kept playing... and playing... and he couldn't leave.. he couldn't take a whizz... he had to piss on the drums... and he did... and he got shit all over asheton's face... and he got the shit beat out of him.... only he was faster.. and it's off to the looney toon races again.... and so what... the music... who cares... it's about the scream.. and vile noises that are coming out of his butt and the pants that are showing his buttcrack... and the drugs that are finally taking hold... oh... wait.... that's the ulcer from the booze last night.... i'm finally sick enough that i'm getting hallucinations.... i don't need the drugs anymore.... wooooo woooooooo woooooooo! woooooo! and the dog howling and barking on the back of the soundtrack.... and then.... oh no.... off to the can.... the hottie i was checkin' out..... has left.... and all the shit... and all the shit... and finally... he puts his mind back on the prize... bowie as his bitch.... shake appeal.... the grooves... shlurping the microphone.... just like he wants bowie to... and so many groupies... and all of them smearing make-up all over their face like the 'swamp women' and all the money that i spend on the crackheaded bimbos that are in the ward right now.... oh... wait... that was the eighties... and i'm not there yet.... but they are... and they're thinking back hells at me... and all i can do is spew butt juice all over the bass... and rant on... rant on... all i've ever seen is the money... and all i've ever seen is the donutwhores... and all i've ever seen is the drool running down the mic and bowie going... ooooh... i wuv this album matey and passing it back and forth to his homey friends and their love pigeons.... bowie... love pigeons.... iggy.. his dog... i can't see nothing comin' i can't see the beer spilling in my eyes... i can't see the drugs stopping me from ranting more... and then i realize... it ain't the drugs... it's the religion... i'm caught up in the furor of my love for the world.... only it's in words... and music... and iggy pretending to be timothy leary and jim morrison rolled up into one stomping dervish of a moaning man."winners and losers" and something has to let me know who is who... what is what... i don't care.. i don't want you to know that it's the eighties now and they've got a gay midi box... and they don't have the sense that those retarded kids with guitars blazing had... but then... iggy would crrrry..... and go back to kate pierson.... and then... the grooves pick up again... and the midibox starts playing some flock of seagulls crap.... and all the stinging guitars in the world can't get them out of my head.....

now..... if i told you the ending to this story... you'd be unhappy... but basically... i'm saying that iggy burned everyone... including me.... he knew i was getting the hell off on his seventies groove... so he psychicallly planted a cheezy 80s riff on this great triple ep crapathing that i'm listening to bomp(bcd113).... and all i can hear.. is the cheezy organthinger with arena rock beats... but iggy hasn't made an arena appearance lately.. he's stuck following the beats of nina hagen sniffing up her trail/tail (take your pick) and there's one thing that he's hunting right now.... the music... but he knows it isn't all the music... it isn't all the drugs... it isn't all the insert stardom catchicon here.... it's that he's hunting bowie.... for taking his anal verginity... and soon... he'll kick him in the glass spider.. and it'll be on like donkey kong.... you see... he made bowie his bitch... but one night... late... while bowie was in his cups and ig was sleeping off the whores... bowie and mick jagger snuck into his room and forcibly made him eat dick and take it in the ass... you see... they had his buttsnuggly pajamas and they were going to set them on fire.... and he couldn't have that... he couldn't... he couldn't..... and for three days they buttsodomized him and made his drugs taste bad.... and he had to get back to his ancient grooves again... so now... he hunts.... and searches.... and tries to find that little weasel bowie in one of his haunts so that he can kill him dead dead dead and have it blamed on his sissyboy.

that's the ending... but we aren't there yet.... right now... igg's still hunting some bastard in 1993... remembering his old lyrics from the drug days.... he's found his groove again... he's not using some faggot duran duran arrangement and he's kicking mad ass as a musician.. an entertainer... and the only thing missing.... is the thrill of seeing bowie the next day after he smeared poop on his jowls and flushed his speed down the toilet.... boy was bowie pissed... it led to the breakup.... no... not of the rolling stones... of bowie and iggy... starstruck lovers... stupid binge and purge junkies trying to see who could remain thinnest and have more skinflaps.... it was ig... and bowie was all broke up about it too... he had to hide his face in tina turner's ass and gobble... for like three years.... soul music... more like a lovesong to tina.... but wait... this isn't about bowie... or is it... it's about ig... and his groupies... and his stageshow... and his duckwalk... and his fat anal love troll.. the one he stole from lou reed.

and now.... there's nothing like an old sound.... and they're back in the 80s.... grinding and grinding shake appeal... knowing that bowie is beaten and done for... he's laying back in some chinese brothel and iggy has taken all his fans and iggy has taken all his drugs... and all that matters anymore is the recording... cuz he knows someday he'll be dead and his book petered out after the first 1100 pages.... and then nothing could go wrong.. until the dog ate it... and the braindrool started and the crafty bastards had taken his dreams... and here he was whoring himself on stage again... except he didn't have a contract and he didn't have a deal... and he didn't have a groupie... except for that girl out in the audience who was wearing a siouxsie sioux t-shirt and looked like she might shoot him... and the tight pants on her put her his old song into his head.... it's the choppiness of cd's that i hate.... it's skipping on me... like iggy... he's skipping around like a little girl on stage and i don't care nuffin at all. except i remember the beer i spilled on it last summer.. when i was ready to kill creem for being a white power joint... and suzy for taking it out on me emotionally even though i was living according to my belief system (to not be a whore for a white power bunch of asstwats. themselves whores for israel.. riled up any time israel needs distraction from their crime sprees) and all i've managed to do is dig deeper into the iggy paradigm... was it them holding hands and walking in the park? nope.. it was them hiding each other's drugs pissing on each other and pretending to be mick jagger (the male) one at a time.... and then... something happened... they realized that mick sucked...(thus the lips) and that they had to do something about it... they did... they hooked keef on heroin and started running him around town.... calling out the names of ancient vagabonds to him who used to sell him junk.... nothing was new... one long sentence... one evil grin.... one hated rant (i hate this rant) so the fuck what it's real... so am i... and i'm coming to town... when i get there? self-aggrandizement city.... you'll think corey haim was goddamn pat morita for all my self-aggrandizement..... and here comes a vintage 1980s drool... jeez.. why didn't bomp put this crap on a 80s droolfest release instead of the classic 1972 studio outtakes.... BECAUSE THEY KNEW NOBODY WOULD BUY IT! Is this whole thing worth the 6.fitty or whutever? probably... this is a classic documentation of whatever the fuck iggy was drooling before raw power.... and some of the stuff he drooled in the eighties. Not that i mind iggy's drooling... it beats the fuck outta listenin to joe walsh.... it beats the fuck outta listening to most of the bastard 70s rockers.... the only thing that it doesn't beat? is listening to iggy in his perfect form... ranting... screaming... on stage.... but.... we'll get to that.

end rant 2. part 3? a big ole fuck you called.... rough power.

A real time odyssey into iggy's world circa 1970ish.

The Iguana Chronicles.

part 3. Rough Power

Crack... drag... beer opens in the background... bowie hears it and his face screws up like michael jackson listening to a whispers record.... they shouldn't do that... he thinks... and his healthy bat ears root out all the pain of iggy's existence... he wants to whitewash it... unbeknownst to him... he's become iggy's bitch. The record company thinks bowie is an auteur.... a madonna like figure of the seventies... there to make iggy's rancid smoove enough for a mitch miller listening audience of record execs. I don't buy it however.... iggy cut this great set of demos... bowie cleaned them up.... bowie had something else in mind... you see... bowie wanted iggy in europe.... and europe was listening to kraftwerk... not stealer's wheel and all the grungy 70s rock that was playing in 1972.... so.. he needed a crystal clear audio document to get the iguana to a rockier beach... europe... where the gays play... where the guys like bowie run around kissing buttocks all day and making money for it.... gimme danger? gimme dogshit... cuz that's all this album was once bowie got through with it.... crystally washed dogshit using a european smoothing process that makes it go down smooth for international retards. Iggy meanwhile... is putting out the feelers... feeling warm and fuzzy for bowie... wanting to talk to him about kraftwerk and ducks deluxe... when deep down in his soul... he's nurturing a need to play slade records at bowie til' bowie pukes. you see... iggy is sending out a i'm soft and fuzzy in clean eurocrapspeak to bowie.... bowie buys it... and when the cbs record whores come to town to ask him about this new kid iggy... bowie says... lemme play with it.... and he does... he jacks off all over it... keeping the raw vocal track.... dropping the rest a bit... but mainly lowering his sex rival james williamson's (iggy's other bitch) guitar down to a healthy little growl... instead of the raw fire it has become after realizing that the 60's sucked. Now... in iggy's band... nobody has provenance... there is no badass boss bitch.... not in bowie's band... you see bowie was a big ole fag (this comes as no surprise to you) and had to have everything his way... my way.. or the highway (a phrase he picked up from mitch "hendrix's dick carrier" mitchell or something...) so the raw balanced simple noise that was designed to bust from the am radio that ig' grew up on... became a big quadraphonic pink floyd-y tour deforce that wouldn't upset bowie's hangerons and the record execs... who were looking at each other going... hey... can we get laura nyro to record another album? Now. Nothing up my sleeve.. presto! i'm going to change the subject. This whole set of reviews isn't about Raw Power... it's about the love affair of bowie and iggy.... two starstruck lovers who were broken up by mick jagger.

Once upon a time... there was widdle boy named david bowie... and he had a lot of money and respect... but he didn't have one thing.... internal honesty... he was playing the music industry for whatever sound they wanted to hear that week.... what they wanted to hear at the time bowie was listening to iggy's demos... was another 'ziggy stardust'... only he couldn't find the riffs in his head... he couldn't find the songs to sing... he had the same old mumbledy-junk... but not quite the moped he was looking for. Iggy came along... just then.... and he knew he had a daddy.... money didn't impress bowie.... music did... and iggy had the music soaking out his pores.... bowie put away his aretha franklin and tina turner records... and started poring over iggy's catalog. He heard 'the stooges' and thought... what a piece of work... wish i'd done it... then he picked up 'funhouse' and said to himself... i've found ziggy. He dropped iggy into the entire psychic framework he had made unbeknownst to himself.... bowie had found his daddy. Now... bowie had listened to those albums once or twice along the way... but he was trying to get albums by the beatles (those gorgeous blokes) into his head... and didn't really have time for the madman from detroit. Iggy... meanwhile.... was drunker then a skunk... going... goddamn i don't know how the fuck i can get the record guys to buy this shit.... they'll ask me to tone it down.... they'll ask me to sling it on 'andy williams'... they'll ask me to do my tennessee ernie ford act for them.... and i doanfugginwanna.... so... i'm going to go burn down cbs records.... and he got a gallon of gasoline.... a gram of methamphetamine... and went to their l.a. whorehouse..... when he got there.... some zootsuited crazy in dayglo colors who didn't realize carnaby was dead said... oooh... igster.... we've got a producer for you.... and iggy stopped... and went... who... joni mitchell? bob krause? mick fleetwood? i don't care.. just get my record out there.... and they said.... it's bowie.... and ig went.... bowie sucks.... and a healthy glint came into his eye... and he said... i'll make him my bitch.

of course the record industry geek figured that this was some rockstar slang for producer and didn't realize that iggy had just turned the corner into the most storied romance of his career... not that it started as a romance for ig... just a domination of another groupie... he knew that bowie was hooked and looking for the raw primal street sound that he could only find by listening to stones records and going to 'sweet' shows... iggy went back to his motel room... and called james on the phone... and said... hey... bring me some pizza.... and james knew that the love had gone out of their relationship.... iggy twinkled.... and some fucking anchovies... i'm going to lick them off your back... and williamson smiled because he knew that iggy wasn't going to just dump him.

Now... at this point in time... you're going 'it wasn't anything like that.... it was a formal antiseptic corridor where mitch miller told iggy.... ok... we like your record... but we're going to have to have a producer on it... we're going to ask around....

that doesn't suit iggy's mad power persona though... can you see the igster nodding happily and going... sounds great... let's get right on it... buttkiss buttkiss? neither can i. I can see iggy going FUCK YOU MITCH MILLER! I CAN'T READ... MUCH LESS FOLLOW THE GODDAMN BOUNCING BALL IN FRONT OF YOUR CROWD OF RAINCOATED URBAN SLIME. only he'd say it... like... "RARRRGH MITCH... YOU kNOW I Don'T lIKe BoB EZrin"... mitch stank at him gleefully from behind his hai karate... and iggy went.... i need a beer.

now.... at this point in time... i've listened to the entire set of raw demos.... you haven't... you should buy them.... they aren't my favorite of the iguana collection... but they still are pretty good... they were kind of a letdown though... i expected different rhythms.... more cussing... something.... instead of bowie twiddling switches and tossing filters on them. that's all he fucking did... added his name.... twiddled some switches... and history was made.

iggy smiled.... and once the record was cut... sed... we should go on tour.... and they did.... that's what's coming up...

at the moment though..... the fags at wabx are saying that iggy doesn't sound like mott the hoople.... NO SHIT! iggy created mott the hoople.... they were just some ex-hippie band until they heard 'the stooges'... and then decided to toss a dylanesque spin on it.

what? you want poetry? you want pavoratti? i'm listening to an album that represents a personal amount of pain to me... i spent several dozen hours trying to whip creem into a publishable conceptual thing... then realized that it was a whitepower joint.... putting non-whites into subsidiary roles... dropping any reference to non-whitepower-based rockers... and tossing in some salt by referring to fleetwood mac or whutever crap they used to listen to between slade albums in the 70s... was it always whitepower? nope... but whitepower fags are attracted to names like 'creem' or anything white... and the guy that ran it kicked the bucket... and all of a sudden.... they're doing whiter then white bands like 'talking heads' and 'that fag band that i can't remember' and any other non-rock (too many jews in rock) that they can get their hands on... people that got beat up by the anti-nazi contingents in punk rock. FUCK JONATHAN RICHMAN.

Now... while creem was busy ignoring anything that had any non-white performers put into the forefront of music... I was working my ass off fighting a battle for the underdog... the palestinian peoples.... meanwhile... every couple weeks or so... i'd get into a rock and roll writing jag... trying to turn the poop that creem under Bitch Matheu had become into the old rag that made music critics cry... but it wasn't to happen.... Matheu had his stable of retards and wanted me to try and play lester bangs... erudite maniac... only i wasn't playing that... i had too many chops in 'black' music.... you can almost see 'black' music on the few reviews that Bitch Matheu tossed into the mix so he wouldn't have to hear it about racism... just like you could almost see 'black' musician on some of the musicians that are buried in the background on his website. NO FREE PLUGS BITCH!

So I balked... wrote public enemy and a number of music professionals (in journalism and other) and said... watch out for creem... they're white power. Guess what happened next.... Someone loosely affiliated with the chuck d/p.dudey megamix released a classic rock toon... 'hey ya' on the speakerboxx album... almost daring Bitch Matheu to review it. They didn't.. until it won a messa grammies... then grudgingly... they put it on their website... until they could bury it again.... one of the tastiest rock/hybrid albums of the decade... and they treat it like a sidenote.... while they hype 'burning monkeys' or some other whitepower garbage.

Suzy at BOMP takes off on me when i tell her that I just said FUCK CREEM.... the whores at creem "brian bowe" pretend they never heard of me... even though i was writing back and forth with them and had just been given a whole webpick section on their private group links board. I don't blame her for being p.o.'d... she'd just sent me 10 albums in the iguana collection.... for me to review for creem.... something that sounded hunky dory to Bitch Matheu when i wrote him about it.... I wrote him a bunch... figured they needed a little conditioning... you see... not only am i an NSA agent... I'm also CIA... FBI... DEA... and any goddamn other government agency you could imagine.... I WHUPPED THE NAZIS ASS... we sold radioactive materials to hitler's fagboys and then strapped some geiger counters into the radio systems of the british and american planes.... so we had a clear stereo 'static' warning in the gunner and pilots headsets
whenever nazi steel was around. This psychic endeavor (as well as hipping churchill to the nazis as early as 1928) won me mad respect in international intelligence communities.... but they had to wait for me to be born.... I was born in 1970... out of my mind... but it wasn't a saturday night.... it was a hell night.... adopted by some crazy bitch because my birthmother was being oppressed psychically and financially.... and here i am.... listening to raw power... and going.... NSA, DEA, CIA, FBI, as well as brass positions in ALL FOUR MILITARY BRANCHES OF THE U.S. ARMY. My whim becomes law.... the patriot act was made to protect me from israeli spies... and Ms. Suzy Bomp (who i respect tremendously cuz she wrote back to a punk rocker who just wanted to tell her how much he dug the gravedigger v) is barking up my ass cuz i have promo that i can't put into a magazine format because whitepower isn't my bag.

Well Ms. Suzy? i understand.... i've had my work go free to a number of buttmunches over the years... I hope that this series of diatribes makes you feel better. I love you... and would lick your ass if you weren't so damn old!

The rock show from wabx is still playing in the background.... it's retarded fm chatter... drivetime or morning jocks... it doesn't matter... the music is great... buy this album.... it's even got a tinny recording of 'not right' (is this licensed? fuck if i know... It would explain some karma if it wasn't)... just to save suzy's ass if it isn't licensed... the static on it could qualify it as 'pop art' or collage-modification of art for copyright purposes.

Now.... you wanted a review... you got one... and i'm not talking to bomp... i'm talking to ig. I know you read this.... I know you heard it at a psychic level... I know you're itching to avoid my show and say 'it sucks'. Well... i've got some news for you!
Bowie was your bitch and still is... He cries himself to sleep every night thinking of how he ruined his relationship with iggy because of the art.... you see... bowie wanted to go to the museum... iggy wanted to find some drugs and get a party going on... bowie had been doing that for years and was sick of it... i know.. you're thinking... bowie? jaded? really? how unexpected.... Only you're saying it like this... I'm glad he's fucking done with this review.

end rant 3. part 4? a shitty album called 'open up and bleed'

A real time odyssey into iggy's world circa 1970ish.

The Iguana Chronicles.

part 4 - Open Up and Bleed!

I wouldn't buy this album. Now let me tell you why it's an indispensible part of your record collection. Iggy was gettin' sick of rockin. I know... Iggy? not rock.... well... I guarantee you he was fucking sicking of it... BLeeeYaahaaa... all night... every night... to dozens of adoring fans.... to loud blazing guitars..... but now he had something he needed.... a fool to play organ for him, and a cheezy fartfisa it was.... electric piano from hammond or some awful crap.... but who cares.... it' made him what he always wanted to be..... a lounge singer.

For what is a lounge singer... without a cheezy pianner. He finally was halfway there....

Iggy was born James Osterberg... stuck in detroit.... admittedly a musical hub thanks to folks like Berry Gordy. Mow-town! he used to call it.... doin' the neighbor's lawns so he had an extra hunnerd pennies to buy a joint with. And there it was... him out there... mowing the lawn of some freak who was working at a power plant or something.... a doob tonight.... he's thinking.... vrooom.... vrooom...... the lawnmower of iggy's music is undeniable.... running through leaves.... seeing them fly all the fuck up all over the place... smoke choking him from the diesel engine that the neighbor bought at sears.... and him.... sweating... wanting to get back home to smote out and sing along with a dean martin album....

i been pushed... i been shoved too long... even tried to buy my song.... bleeaaaaarrrrrrghhhhhhh...... iggy has it made.... singing his first true lounge song.... a drunken lounge song ala tom waits only with a cheesier organ..... out of money again.... even though he's slaving on a tour and has just stopped in rehearsal studio in new york.... he's already made kissy-faces with bowie... but he knows that he needs some money to party with him in europe.... so he's cruising through the nation.... makin' a lil' cash here... a lil cash there... and considering a new album... cuz those always made him more money then shlepping around the u.s. getting wasted on tour. Open up and bleed.... the lounge lizard... mr. iguana himself.... the man is singing a great tune.... his background musicians (they stopped being his band around bowie... when he realized the cult of personality was stronger the then the cult of society) are playing along.... doin' some great riffs... but for the first time... it's iggy out there alone.... doin' his thing just like he always was... but not with his brothers.... alone.... strong.... and slower then usual..... still sounding like he'd swallowed asphalt..... but obviously thinking about his future as a lounge musician.......

he doesn't trust his bandmates not to give away his secret though.... he wants to be doin' como songs. tina tina tina marie.... Hip, I didn't know lips could kiss, ( Hip hip ) Hup I didn't know wives could flirt, ( Hup hup ) Hoop, I didn't know girls could be like "Tina Marie"..... except he sings it like... Johannnna.... johaannnnna.... i wanna blow... wanna blow right back to you..... soft organ riffs ala 'the trip'... iggy moanin' low into the microphone... gettin ready to smooth his hair back ala buddy love.... check out my rings asheton.... check out my cigarrette.... i'm cool to drool..... it's ig... and he's still havin' to rock a little bit.... but he's almost there..... to where he's not a 100% motorpsycho nightmare... but someone to whom falling up the wagon could mean something
.... cuz... isn't that what lounge singers do? fall off the wagon... into their cups... smackin' their woman around like perry como, dean martin, and of course... the inevitable... jerry lewis.......

gotta cover... gotta cover..... more rock... gotta cock in my pocket... gotta cruisa-a down that old highway... or whutever the lyric is.... it never really matters with ig... sexual suggestion.... leeer...... bleaaarrghhh.... it's just another song... it's just another tune... and another martooni at the end of the line..... this one's a rocker though.... so he's gotta open his shirt up a little bit..... tug again at the cigarrette... and let the smoke drift up while he headbangs.....

nobody has ever spotted ig's lounge tendencies... he wears the rock and roll suit like it was tailor made for him.... and it probably was... tailor made by the finest groupies hollywood has ever seen.... make-up done for him right down to the beauty mark.... a junkies manicure.... and waiting for him when he gets home... a robe and ascot.... only it's more like more bruises and vomit.

now.... why would a guy do that to himself... bet iggy hears that all the time at this point... he's not in comfortable l.a. where drag queens and hippies hang out seamlessly at the whisky.... he's in new york... detroit... pittsburgh... baltimore.... home of class struggle and urban renewal.... he's not very happy about having to flex his muscles and act like a detroit metal rockstar... and to retaliate... he's got a buttmoidal electric pianner instead of the hammond organ that most of his compatriots use to make the dancefloor rumble....

drunker then usual.... he's wishing the set were over so he could sit back and get oral sex from some empty-headed bimbette that he could fill with his member...

it's 1973... he's been on tour... he's been to all the seedy watering holes this side of devil's junction... and now... he's back in a studio... thinking new album... but he's not feeling good.... he's not strutting... he's drowning... drowning in rock and roll.... wanting to snap his fingers... do his changes.... 'i'm a street walkin' cheetah with a heart full of napalm ' but instead.. he's gotta keep up with the band... they want him to rule the stage like jim morrison.... but instead... he wants to fade into the club.... become part of the background to a martini glass and a dame....

and finally... he figures it out.... that the blues is what rock and lounge music have in common.... one went into a vegas room... the other went into a garage... and he's been in both.... hangin' out.... lickin' his eyebrows.... groovin like it's tuesday on a summer moon.....

so he trots out an old janis joplin tune 'cry for me' and rules the room for a minute.... cuz that dame and the martooni ain't everything... came here to see a show... di'n't yah...

i listen to the music for a minute... letting my readers fade.. letting my thoughts of iggy fade... and realizing... that all my feelings about this record upon casual listening around the bong have faded away.... this could have been the greatest stooges of all time.... except it wasn't.... iggy didn't want to drive another album home and become the new mick jagger.... there already was a mick jagger... and he was in rehab with keef.... pukin' out 'it's only rock and roll but i like it' and iggy din't... he liked the blues... he liked dean martin.... he liked a martini.... and here was another window of opportunity to show it off for the world.... only his band members weren't having it... they're all straining to play l.a. blues again.... fading back to a setting for iggy is beyond them at the moment.... me me me and my guitar is rock and roll.... me me me and my band is lounge. And iggy was comfortable in both forms..... but hell if he didn't slide into lounge at any given moment... when the drums quieted down... and the guitarist got tired... you see.... they weren't used to being all tired all the time like the jazz musicians... when the adrenaline ran out they got tired.... and started to nod off.....

rich bitch. iggy has taken control of the band.... made it clear that they were his.... and now his ultimate love song.... the lovesong to bowie that he wanted to sing on 'raw power' the lovesong that never materialized on an album because it was so personal to him.... it was one of those songs that couldn't be put on vinyl because then he'd be asked to interpret it.... instead of letting it sing through him. Sometimes iggy just lays back and lets the band play as he cries... knowing that he's going to serenade bowie through the tapers in the audience... and that eventually... he'll lay his rich bitch... you see.... ig was the p. dudey and bowie was the j. lo of his generation
... they were a lovestruck couple who even when they weren't together were always whispered in the same breath.... it was luvvv ferever...

bass and pianner and lounge and all the things that made memphis great.... iggy's soul roots are showin' again... the time he snuck into a baptist congregation.... the time that he stayed up late looking into an after hours joint... the time that he took a hundred hits of acid and watched the nutty professor....

the music slows down... the blazing guitars fade away... and the pianner plays on.... and iggy blasts bowie and his money thing and his cryin' shame you don't have any talent there igster attitude... bowie hides behind his rock and roll persona... iggy lives it.... even though it isn't him.... the band keeps playing.... iggy isn't part of it anymore... even though they are all his friends...... and sometimes... he fades into the music with them.... he's moved beyond... he's been adulated.. he's been vilified and lauded by the press... and they've just been the band... or scott and ron and james on guitar bass and drums.... nobody's tried to get inside their head... nobody has tried to imagine what they do after hours... nobody has given a fuck whether they cut themselves with glass or climb out on the crowd or not.... just as long as they keep playing.

Had scott thrown down the sticks.... had ron smashed his guitar into a fan... had they done anything to keep iggy from singing.... it'd have made them infamous in the eyes of the fans.... instead.. they're the troopers.... performing til' their fingers bleed.... tired up to their eyesockets from the party that iggy threw next door... banging their shoes against the wall to shut him and the groupies the fuck up.. they weren't even about the drugs... they were about the next days gig.... the next song... and then walter cronkite to see the lists of the dead.

I had to take a break from my writing here... it calls to me like rock and roll called to iggy.... it's a part of me.... i'm recognized for my skill at it... but my nature? is a musician.... all forms.... from country to jazz to blues to reggae to trance to all that the music is.... i don't distinguish... scat in the punk song.... rock steady versions of elvis... music is mutable and formless... but in iggy's time... it wasn't.... you had to be a rocker.... or you had to be a ___________ or you played country music or you were something unwanted in music.... the eagles... the 13th floor elevators... the count five.... the stooges... and no jumpin' to the lounge side of the fence once you've made it as a rocker.... country was ok if you were folk like those dogfuckers the byrds... but to leap into lounge? unheard of.... so... everything so often.. iggy slips a oooooooh.... or a beebopadooliedoo into the tune.... every so often he struts around like a fascist lounge singer doin' his i me mine routine.... but then.... he pulls the covers back over his eyes... and starts doin' a mick thang.... i got nothin'.... nothin' to sing... nothin' to feel.... nothin' to do.... i got nothin.... cept fer this here pianner.... and the joy of stage and radio and performance that began in the music of bob wills comes to a screeching halt in iggy.... cuz iggy's about the limelight.... and wants to be adulated.... but nobody gets him... because he hasn't taken the time to discover who he is.... he will... he spends the 70s... 80s... and part of the nineties rediscovering his personality.... but... i'm getting a little ahead of myself there..... he's not pouring his self into the music... he is the music... cuz it's all he knows except for skool... and he din't do too well in skool.

more later. i'm going to cry for iggy... the evita of rock music... even though he's bowie's badass muthafuckin' daddy. This album doesn't suck... but it doesn't own... it has moment's of utter joy and abandon... it has moments of complete unadulterated goofiness.... it's a good album... it was a good surfboard... it's tough to find a surfboard you like...

if you're reading this... you probably know how tough it is to find a surfboard you like... guarantee you if this album got stolen... i'd replace it. new orleans soundin' like a drunkass hammered chorus of phil spector drag queens... only more and more evil then anything you've ever heard.

there are two more songs to listen to again... on this album that i couldn't catch the groove in for my entertaining some goddamn loadie that was smokin' all my dope.... i still don't quite catch the groove on it... but i wouldn't trade it for anything... and i'd kill anyone who took it.

the she creatures of the hollywood hills... and a big ass smile on my face... and the first coke i've drunk in a month... and my unemployed existance with some neat toys await me........

end rant 4. rant 5 California Bleeding comin' up next....

A real time odyssey into iggy's world circa 1970ish.

The Iguana Chronicles.

part 5 - California Bleeding

nothing new.... and then... iggy talkin' like dean martin. and then.... the noise.... the drums.... the blare.... the guitars... the sounds of your soul tearing through the mainstream music that you always wish you had. Iggy wishes he had a band... and he did... iggy wishes he were a lounge singer... and he soon realizes he can't have everything.... but soon... he does... and he puts together a lounge band... that's what this story is about... three great albums... where the greatest rock and roll band in the world... becomes the suckiest lounge band in the world.

That's just the way iggy wants it you see... he wants to have a sucky ass lounge band to throw him into sharp relief.... so that all the people who went... wow... that's some pretty rockin' music... but the singer sucks... can see just how fucking awesome the stoogenator is....

i'm typing a little slower this review... i've hammered my way through the last few... this one... i'm just typing as fast as i can talk.... now... i can talk pretty fast... but that's not how i'm typing this one... i'm typing it... about the speed that iggy talks at the beginning of this record.... i said record... i know... it's a cd... but it's more... it's a recorded document of iggy's soul going to become what he always wanted to be. Perry Como.

Can you see iggy with his own tv show? cruising out with a cigareete and a bourbon and seven waiting for him back in his dressing room? i can... that's why all the appearances on miami vice.... jeopardy.... and every goddamn third rate movie the eighties produced...

the full moon shines in my window... and i feel myself changing.... i'm a werewolf... have always been... found out two years ago.... and there's nothin' i can do to stop it.... my jaw elongating... my snout craning outwards... my claws lengthening... and the hair on my ass... well... let's not get into that.

All i can tell you is it started a long time ago.... I found out that i was the only child of a crashed spaceman.... a big ole goddamn werewolf from planet xeuxes.... chased by intergalactic vampires who had destroyed his civilization... but not before he collapsed their galaxy... yes.... a giant collapsed galaxy of vampires.... or iggy... well.. i've been talking a lot about iggy lately... so... i think i'll tell you about the hunters.... they bred... and i was passed from womb to womb by psychic transporteleportationism.... they tried to chase me throughout the world... but here i am.... my father died... he was destroyed in the crash... but not before his massive love pheremones called a woman from the 15th century after us.... yes... time travel woman... and she came cuz she smelled his love... and then.. he impregnated her... and sent her embryo through the greatest wombs of history... from ten billion years in the past... to two hundred thousand million years in the future... and all their blood runs through my veins.... from womb to womb to womb.... and my blood runs through their veins... the werewolf strain of mankind... from me... courtesy of dad.... yup... big ugly hairy thing... and eventually i was dropped in the womb of a velvets fan (just to get even with iggy for not being true to his werewolf soul.. the werewolf soul of rock and roll... instead of the vampire soul of lounge.) and when i popped out... i was promptly seized by the vampire nurses and put into the arms of a loving sociopathic mother... who cares about me so much she saves me from the hells she puts me in.

my current hell? i'm single... 34... and stuck at my mom's house after kicking israel's ass silly for 4 years. want proof of that? search the web and the newsgroups for doc martian... it's there.

now... igster... he's crooning.... his werewolf soul is being called to my changed form... my silent eyes looking to hunt... but knowing the game i seek is not around.... lovely women in the coachella valley... some of the loveliest... but i seek a woman on the moors... a bogwitch... yes... i'm after siouxsie sioux... and all her legions of fans.... i love them... they make me twitch... just like i make israel twitch.... only not cuz i have my axe buried in their head.... but because it makes them laff to see me smile when i fart.

Ig's singing his heart out... higher then fuck.... the heroin is just scored... all you gotta do.. is say you're playing at the whisky and the balloons come out of thin air... and you can choose your grade... tonight... iggy chose the scaggy shit... cuz he likes the edge it gave him... even with some perfectly clean china white... he's got some cutdown indian bitch heroin that has like red shit in it.

The harmonica wails... i don't care who's playing it... never did... they either can play it.. or they can't.... Scott Thurston can.... and he is... he's the newest member of the band... and the guys have had him running out for sandwiches... pizza... and drugs all fucking day... and he's got the blues about it... that's ok.... he hocked a bloody loogie in the shit iggy shot into his arm... and he's smiling at iggy over the harp.... through the harp... his eyes glowing... cuz he's about to change... i have... my mom cages me in my room on the full moon nights... there've been too many times i come home drunk with some hot girl scared fucking shitless of my evil grin and crying to her... make him go away... he smells like sweat.... and i do... i can bathe all day and the sweat still doesn't go away... the pain that stinks through my pores.. the howling through endless nights... the wandering everywhere but the forest.... the desert... the oceanside.... the city... and i know she's around... the bogwitch... my heart and soul... my woman.... my love.... my angel... and she's reading this right now? is it you? come on over... i'm in indio... you know where it is.... it's where all the bands in the world come to pay homage to me.... cuz i kicked israel's ass....

ok... enough about me....

ig's singing open up and bleed.... and it's sounding like a million bucks... cheezy electric piano.... trainwreck on the keyboards.... john cage kinda crapola... only better... cuz ig is playing the toon he always wanted to play... he's already jumped forward to johanna in his head.. . he's already singing the greatest fucking lounge song that ever was.... and i still fucking love it... my rock and roll soul is goin'... bad lounge... bad.. bad... but his is still rock'nrollin.... and i can't stop... my fingers hurt... my soul bleeds for iggy... cuz i know what's coming next... the glass... and he cuts himself.... and he pretends it doesn't even happen... probably can't even feel it with all the morphine/heroin crapdoodle floating in his veins....

johanna.... said the magic word... the ultimate of sweet songs... the name of an ancient aunt of mine whose funeral i missed cuz i wanted to get loaded... even though she was the sweetest old lady in the world.... and iggy's singing... her name... but it touches my core within... and i remember all the family members i left behind in my quest for a rock n' roll lifestyle... i remember the pain i went through while trying to get back home only to have my family (mainly moms) screaming in my face.... and iggy starts in....

johanna... johanna.... i've been a fool but i'm comin' back to you.....

never can tell what it means... he's talkin' about his father... and what he learned from him... and the band plays on....

now... ig... or as i like to call him... the howling duhbeast.... something i know he's truly not.... people who are intelligent are very good at playing dumb.... keeps the kids in school from copying our homework.... iggy is confident in his soul.... so am i... confident to tell you that this is not about iggy... this whole rant is about my search for the bogwitch... the crazy lady who ruled my life forever... the woman who meant everything to me... but didn't want to see me.... cuz she thought i was like the guy that stalked her.... i wouldn't get up off my fat ass for her... much less stalk her.... but she didn't see that... and so... my wind and love continue to dance... dance in the cool night air.... kim... i still love you... it will never stop.... even if you act like a bitch to me....

now.... let me tell you all something.... my love for kim... is echoed in bowie's love for iggy.... he'll never be able to consumate it... he'll never be able to fulfill it... but it still burns within him... in spite of his other loves... in spite of his other mates... in spite of everything.... maybe someday i'll find myself with a woman... at home... and loving every second of peaceful country club living... but something in me had me cruising through the night in a third rate rural farm town... singing my heart out to kim... wishing like hell she were with me... in the daffodils... on the mountain.... climbing up the side of a hill so that when she or her friends went climbing in hemet after hiking every trail in joshua tree or palm springs... she'd not have oleander slapping at her... is that how i saw it.... nope... that's how i see it now....

and bowie? he smoothed the way for iggy by putting him into a kinder musical form... not the knifefighting angeldust ridden world of rock'n'roll circa 1973... but the sweet and simple lounge scene... the scene at which bowie excelled.... bowie on stage? bowie serenading people on drugs.... iggy in beer... nope... iggy shooting up to the bowie album... nodding off to starman.... saying he was ziggy iggy to friends... saying he was iggyziggy to lovers... and david bowie knowing it was all going on... psychically hooked to his groove cuz he loved him more then anything even though he knew he was basically just a rock'n'roll kid who was doin' the lawns... in blue jeans... and waiting to get home and get stoned.... bowie made iggy his daddy.... the daddy he always wanted... the loungesuited martini swilling artless but humane when in his cups daddy that iggy was to bowie....

now.... about kim... cuz her husband (yes... she's probably married with 2.4 kids and a kia) is all stressing at a psychic level.... i can't ever forget her... but i had to let her go a decade ago... i knew... she knew.... she couldn't contain my emotions... she couldn't contain my pain... my talking about the death of my brother... her thinking about going hiking.... at least she wasn't thinking about her nails... but i still loved her... and still do.... in spite of it all.

and now? i'm listening to 'head on' and the rhythm is nothing compared to the hard grinding wall that opened it... they aren't worried about sounding like anything anymore... just noise and then feedback... and then blues... and then love... and then the music again... and then... iggy in a goddamn set of panties falling down flopping on stage.... i care igster... you were a modern bluejeaned digger to me... the guy who managed to come back from hell to a sober mind.. then come to terms with his personal hells.... me? i don't sweat nothin... a little bit of this... a little bit of that... and my soul is clean.

I've finally vomited up the last of my love for a woman who nearly broke me until i realized she was in the pay of the enemy. Yup. A whore. A woman sent to make me crazy about her but then give up nothin' more then an innocent sweet kiss that meant nothin' to me cuz i wanted to mack on her for like a year.

I'm done... my heart has sold out the only woman i ever really loved... my cia buddies will bash her a bit... but mainly... they'll let her alone... cuz she missed out on the coolest guy that ever lived. namely? me.

end rant 5. tomorrow? rant 6 michigan palace.

A real time odyssey into iggy's world circa 1970ish.

The Iguana Chronicles

Part 6 - Michigan Palace

This one is worth the price of admission.

end rant 6. part 7? Double Danger. and how iggy stooge became a legend in KISS annals.

A real time odyssey into iggy's world circa 1970ish.

The Iguana Chronicles

Part 7.1 - Double Danger
- Latin Casino, Baltimore 11/73

Ok.... i put the headphones on for this one.... just ran around all day watching the ladies.... now here i am... typing more crap atcha..... is this crap? nope... the whole goddamn set of essays is the most brilliant piece of work that ever was.... Double Danger is one of those grungy background for a breakdown cd's that everyone wishes they had on hand..... you see... you've paid your admission.... you've heard the hype.... and now.... here you are at a stooges concert... and iggy's a drunken sot up on stage doin' his thing..... hammered with every drug known to man and god..... and the only thing in his head is... why isn't the music fast enough.... you see.... ig was tooled for the punk generation.... blazing fast guitars.... and the only way he could keep up with the sounds in his head was to have hammerin' pianos... blazing hippie guitars and a set of drums pounding..... he didn't know what was comin'... his idea of a hard band was KISS.... not that kiss isn't a wall of thunder in itself... but compare kiss to x and you've got it.... blitzkrieg fast music to get loaded to... versus music for loadies.

Now... ig's all broken up that his thang with bowie didn't take off right off the bat.... he got to meet the bloke... but he didn't get to meat him... if yah know what i'm saying... but... some bitches like to play hard to get.... bowie did..... iggy was going to have to go to fuckin' germany to get with the bowienator.... and to do so... he had to earn a little bit of cash along the way.... so here he was.... not wasted.... not loaded with groupies.... just fuckin' kinda buzzed and in a mean mood.... cuz he was gettin' ready to fuck david bowie in the butt for like 10 years.... head on? filled with the grudgefuckiness (is that a word? it'd make a great t-shirt word for japanese schoolgirls) and the piano and drums and everything are hammering away... pretending it's the good old days when iggy didn't have an ego and was just a big ole fuckin' idmonster pallin' with his buds.... now? he's more like if jim morrison was into a heavy metal thing and didn't know how to keep his dick in his pants. That paints a pretty ugly picture..... so let me give you a confidential cia debriefing..... Iggy stopped being a racist about 1973..... it was costing him boot...... and he knew that the indian and black and mexican and hebrew girls he'd get for NOT being racist would blow the tweaked out wp pussy away..... so... he still spewed some shit... but he got deep up the ass of some racist wp bastards and his fbi/cia/nsa/dea/batf tails (of which he'd had millions since detroit when he singlehandedly monopolized his neighborhood's drug deals with marijuana he bought with lawnmowing money) sure... i can sell you a joint fer a buck... led to ok... you want an ounce... that'll be twenny bucks.... and the feds showed up.... and so iggy had to hide out in rock and roll.... it was like a narcotic witness protection program... where the druglords of detroit kept iggy running from town to town so he wouldn't get bored and narc them off.... but the feds kept following him... from town to town... hoping that in the middle of one of his sexual marathons he'd give away the name of Bigguns D. Rambozo... the drug kingpin of the southside who was dealin' drugs from his mommy's stroller.... yup... the baby crimelord of corktown. he used to cut the shit with his formula.... nobody knew that the shit he was swillin' from the bottle was one hundred and fifty percent uncut china white mixed with a little bit of milk so he wouldn't get colicky.

Now... back to ig.... he's all singin' gimme danger..... his love song to BD Rambozo.... little stranger... gimme danger.... he didn't need to be protected... he didn't need groupies surrounding him every minute to make sure he didn't squeal... he needed bowie's ass... to sink his manmeat into and go... i'm ziggyiggy... iggyziggy
... ziggyiggy... iggyziggy.... ziggyiggy... iggyziggy... oooh yeah... ooh yeah.....

now onto led zeppelin.... those buttfuckers were running all over the u.s. givin' iggy's girls the clap. he'd had more shots of penicillin then the average korean war vet.... he was all ready to swell up like a mushroom from all the fungal byproducts injected into him.... and iggy was hot for them.... but with the laid back guys in his band (pussies...) he needed some muscle or bonham would tie him down and robert plant would spend a weekend slapping his dick in ig's face....

that's where kiss comes in.... iggy had to get away from his lounge act for a minute... he had his chops.... and knew where
while up the line (timecorp lingo) he'd be doin' a lounge album or two.... he had to put his detroit metal head back on so that when he met kiss they'd pal around with him for a weekend for some zepp stompin.... that's where iggy was at on 11/?/1973. Ready to stomp the shit out of led zeppelin for giving him syphillis.

end rant 7.1. part 7.2? Double Danger - NYC Academy of Music 12/31/1973... and the KISS thang.

A real time odyssey into iggy's world circa 1970ish.

The Iguana Chronicles

part 7.2 - Double Danger - NYC Academy of Music 12/31/1973

Light up some incense ya'll.... cuz this is the hippie review you've all been waiting for.... can you say.... double album? i knew you could.

IGGY AND KISS ARE GOING TO BEAT UP LED ZEPPELIN!
IGGY AND KISS ARE GOING TO BEAT UP LED ZEPPELIN! That's what should be going through your head right now.... that's my neener neener neener to the rock critics of the world... cuz nobody! and i mean NOBODY! Not lester 'romilar' bangs, not lenny 'meff' kaye, not patty 'i wuv the trees' smith, not
that stinking asshole bob 'white power's half indian bitch' matheu, not dogshit eatin' christgau.... and especially not fucking jann 'pussy yuppie' wenner, could ever put KISS and iggy beatin' up led zeppelin into a single sentence. They are more concerned with this album has a series of tunes by the igster that in critical parlance are actually the spinoffs of bob wills sucking john lee hooker's dick.

So.... iggy is rockin' hard.... cuz he has just cut a deal with the boys from KISS... all he has to do... is slip them a couple groupies for the trip... and after this new year's eve show.... they'll all fly across the atlantic to BEAT THE LIVING SNOT OUTTA LED ZEPPELIN. Iggy has been gettin' syph from jimmy page's groupie pool..... and HE'S PISSED OFF AS ALL FUCK! Here's what happened to save your asses a bunch of worry and wonder and listening to me blabber while the drugs take effect. They do it... they fly across the channel.... BAP! robert plant get's knocked out with one shot from gene simmon's tongue.... peter criss and paul stanley take on bonham.... he puts up a fight.... but they got INTERSTELLAR FUCKIN' POWERS.... and he's had a few too many boilermakers..... one shot to the chest and then they sit on him and fart for like FIFTEEN FUCKING MINUTES.... john paul jones and ace frehley square off.... screaming bitch epithets at each other until ace gets pissed off and sticks his sparkler up jp's butt.... then he cops a tude and walks out on the whole deal ... sparkler flaring... jp thinking... man... they said they were bringin' some coke-caine... and the main event.

Iggy and Jimmy Page.... Jimmy's all quakin' in his snakeskin boots.... goin.... i promise igster... i'll use a condom next time.... i promise.... pleazzze don't beat me up..... iggy smiles.... straps the tubing around his arm.... shoots up the blue velvet laced Nixon and with the tubing still strapped about his arm loosely... starts swinging on page's head..... page ducks... bobs, weaves... and hides behind the fart reekin' bonham and kiss's version of the muscle shoals rhythm session giggling and passing a joint back and forth as they continue to flatulate all over the unconscious bonham. Iggy sees him hidin' (I SAW YA) and pulls his panties uptight.... cruises for a bruisin... only not his.... and while jimmy page tries to load his bow into the double string guitar to shoot at iggy.... iggy kicks a high flyin' field goal kick to his face smashing his pretty face (until the nights plastic surgery at londonderry hospital) to all hell.

Now.... i bet you want to know about the album.... I'm not going to tell you.... I'm just going to give you the list of songs they played... they... being the stooges. 1. Raw Power, 2. Rich Bitch, 3. Wet My Bed, 4. I Got Nothing, 5. Cock in my pocket, 6. Search & Destroy, 7. Gimme Danger, 8. Heavy Liquid.

The two cd's in this album (here starts my rant about cd's and lp's not being synonymous with album but merely the medium upon which albums are recorded) Ok.... now if someone told you... they just got led zeppelin's new album on 8 track....
would they be using imprecise language? i'd say not.... If they'd said I just got their new RECORD on 8-track... that would be a grammatical error.... but album is a term that goes back to the 78-rpm days... when a series of 78-rpm records would be in a package called an album... like a photo album.... the entire musical piece including liner notes and enclosed booklets was an album.... In the seventies... the album rock format took over... and the stupid fucking dj's (can you say guys named chuck that nobody could shut up in class ended up becoming djs so the psychic manipulating teachers could get them to drop out halfway through school) started thinking album's were lp's. I have a number of albums on cd... i also have albums on cassette... albums on lp... and even a couple of albums in mp3 format (plug for mike watt's fantastic 'corndogs.org' site of minutemen and mike watt stuff)...

ok... that said... this double-cd album (guys like mitch miller and dj's loaded up on coke started calling double-lp albums double-albums cuz they couldn't manage 3 term linguistic elements) is one of the best pieces that i ever listened to while huffing incense.

BEAT THAT YOU GODDAMN PUSSY ASS FUTURE ROCK CRITICS.

setting the standard in literature AND rock criticism for 5 years running!

Kevin Anderson

end rant 7.2. part 8? Kill City and how iggy's dreams were fulfilled and he went back to load up on scopolamine at the feeb factory.

A real time odyssey into iggy's world circa 1970ish.

The Iguana Chronicles

part 8 Kill City

This album is the greatest. It stands up there with ANY stooges album.

Now, Iggy has spent 2 years dredging bottom.... whose bottom? Bowie's of course. He's kickin' it with a couple beers in him after playing hooky from rehab.... smiling.... lookin' at some chick from the Count Dracula Society.... wondering if those legs go all the way up. And his gals at the UCLA NEUROTOXIN WARD are going to be going apeshit..... Kill City rocks away.... scott thurston of the stooges and james williamson are pounding and flailing away at the keyboard and guitar respectively.... The music is gentler... less desperate... less drug fueled... like some crazed ass surf musicians sittin' back at the record store in their fifties doin' pipeline and chantay. The lyrics? profound.... about the wasted years.... about all the water under the bridge.... like lou reed's late seventies stuff.... not as into nihilism... more into a return to the craft of songwriting. It's infectious.... folks like jackson browne.... supertramp... and the black lips (cuz they're retarded retro-fools plugplugplugplugplugplug). Btw.... after all my rants about how much whitepower/racism suck.... It seems kind of odd for me to drop the black lips into a review... all i can say.... is they're more brainwashed then hatefilled.... like if a black guy walked up to them and started interacting with them at their level... i bet they'd react humanly.... Of course... you gotta realize... a lot of their family/friends are going to do everything (including psychic situational stuff) in their power to make sure that doesn't happen.... but that's beside the point... this is a stooges review.

Iggy's been listening to his leif garrett records.... he's got his tough stance down... he's been kickin' it with bowie.... and bowie did something to him that nobody has ever done before.... he put the igster down so it hurt. Catty little bitch. And now... ig's going through the most challenging days of his life.... dealing with real grown adults instead of his usual adolescent buddies. It's challenging.... his music has grown because of it.... he's thinking about things like social responsibility... the pain that he's been through.... how the drugs used to wipe him out..... that hasn't stopped his fans though.... the first side of this album is like play til' you nod out city.... kill city... sell your love... beyond the law... johanna (my personal favorite of maybe all stooges/ig tunes.) and then the second side.... that just doesn't measure up... but still has moments. My thought? all his fans.... nod off halfway through the album... and then the leif garrett record drops on it from the album changer. A little sidenote.... hunt and tony sales (sons of soupy) are playing bass on some of the tracks of this album. Now... this opens up a chapter of music that i've never even explored before.... friends of bowie. Here's what tony has to say about bowie....

"They found me basically dead, not breathing, with the gearshift through my chest, and of all the people I'd known and played with, David [Bowie] was the only one who came to the hospital during all that time." --Tony Sales

this happened AFTER this album was recorded.... tony and hunt spent a few years playing with a group called tony and the tigers... a semi soupy-spinoff band... but it taught them their chops.... and ig probably saw them while stoned and watching the tube back in detroit.... impressed by their musicianship... he brought them in.

Notice something.... I'm not ranting my fool head off on this one.... a couple of sly asides... but hardly the over the top lambast and footshufflin insanity that followed before.... that's because i'm not being driven insane by iggy's out of his mind drug state. He's calm.... I'm calmer.... a reflective pool of mercy.... thinking about how iggy can keep hisself from going full-on bonkers again (like that worked...). I also figure... how can you beat..... awww.. fuck... i'm not going to say it again.... IGGY AND KISS BEATING THE SHIT OUTTA LED ZEPPELIN!

Bowie.... has brought an element of calmness to iggy.... it lasts with him even today.... he's seen someone who has a natural stillness in their life (probably a psychic reaction to bowie's alcoholic mother) am i right about that? i've forgotten so much rock and roll literature i've read... had it blasted out of my mind by 5 years of hardcore political activism/work for the u.s. government.

It seems appropriate though.... after years of an alcoholic family member... usually the result is a measure of calm or a measure of escapism... and bowie has a healthy dose of both. This album isn't about bowie though.... It's about ig having interpersonal relationships that aren't vampiric.... and aren't about his fame or his money... just about his need as a human to relate.... the band seems kinda non-plussed.... expecting the wildman... and finding the shaman. Was ig always that inside? dunno... it'd explain a lot.... the shamanic trick of dragging his buds into the darkest place they've ever been... then bonking them on the head a couple of times with some magic tricks.... then showing them the way out.

Songs about sociopathy.... songs about humanity.... songs about being finished with the horrific drunken splendor of his woohoo younger days. And now? i'm going to lay back and listen to the man who's grown out of his pain.... and into his sanity.

end rant 8. part 9? Jesus Loves the Stooges... I love the 3D glasses.

A real time odyssey into iggy's world circa 1970ish.

The Iguana Chronicles

part 9 Jesus Loves the Stooges

This is the first review of a rock album to be typed wearing 3d glasses. they came with the album.... some miniature 3d glasses that i have parked behind my specs. Iggy has done it.... made his lounge album.... and here he is doin' an after hours set.... consolation prizes... jesus loves the stooges... and johanna.... a late night groove to get everyone horny so they take home the trolls left at the bar who have been drinkin' their fiftieth bourbon.

I'd buy this album... it's one of the best mini singles of all time.... better then marky mark and the funky bunch... better then madonna's erotica.... better then 'have you seen your mother baby.... standin' in the shadows' better then anything by lesley west and mountain... better then your mom dressed up in the pumpkin suit again.... this album is a winner... and the three-d glasses rock... and iggy makin' david cassidy faces on the back cover rules... and the dead goat in 3d is the most gratuitous use of 3d in any album ever. jesus loves the stooges is playin' right now.... and it sounds like total dogshit.... iggy's voice in low croon... the piano playing a whorehouse grind.... no gitars in evidence. What more can you ask for in an album.... 3d glasses.... iggy doin' teen pinup shit.... and a great whorehouse lounge song.... for after everyone but the whores have gone home..... and he's sittin' there at the barstool singin' johanna.... figurin' he'll go see his girlfriend... for once not a junior high school prom queen.... but a hottie nurse back at the UCLA Medical Center Training Ground for Young Rehab Stars..... James has brought out a couple groupie trolls.... but his hottie back at the lockdown sounds sweet right now.... her roaming in with a pair of restraints and a couple of sedatives.... removing the nurses cap from her tightly clipped blonde locks.... and spreading her legs over iggy's restrained face.....

end rant 9. part 10? Year of the Iguana. and how i learned to love the bimbo.

A real time odyssey into iggy's world circa 1970ish.

The Iguana Chronicles

part 10 Year of the Iguana

This album is a must-have for any stooges fan. I'd also recommend it for anyone interested in learning about the stooges.

Iggy is in fine form on all 11 tracks on this album.... not one of them sucks....

all i'm going to tell you about what went into making this album is one thing..... a year of mad drugs.

There is no part of this album that doesn't bear the stench of iggy.... rockin' hard as hell in i've got a right.... the edgiest single in a lifetime of edgy singles... the sweetest groove that the stooges have to offer in my book.... grind... loud.... deafeningly cool.... this buzztoned tune is one of those songs that leaves you quaking drenched in adrenalin sweat afterwards....

head on? a fantastic piece of crap... by a true master of schlock rock.... it's got strong moments... but it's not going to destroy your mind.... it's ok.... your mind has already been destroyed and this is just the goosh draining out your ears afterwards......

now.... i'm not going to go through every fuckin' song on this record and tell you what it means to me..... but those two and johanna deserve some special mention..... they are iggy at the height of his powers.... lowercase sex god for all the folks who thought david cassidy was prefab.... he was marketed as such.... created as such... and dumped in the dumpster as such when david's career ended in 1975 after his brother shaun turned out to be more marketable..... they are the same kind of pop fag tagteam that limp bizkit and korn were.... one for the culture... one for the counterculture.... keep your mind empty and your brain wasted and listen to our music... drink beer over here... smoke dope over here.... and then.... something happens... and they realize they were prefab.... so they start putting out music that defies explaining..... david cassidy doing kris kristofferson tunes.... iggy doing lounge music.... korn doing adidas commercials... limp bizkit on mtv acting like spuds mckenzie. They learn to revel in their relative emptiness but full on gonzo love for the medium that brought them into the limelight.... namely... music.

Ig is chanting monotonically into a microphone.... the sixties long behind him... the seventies splayed out in front of him like a train wreck.... is that the kind of stuff you want to hear? it's the kind of stuff the kids want to hear...... am i playing to my audience? you betcha.... you see... i'm the dark side of britney.... for the kids who just can't get into her poppy princess persona... i'm the dark psychic god that ate the world's soul and regurgitated back up a ton of meaningless garbage and hardcore political ranting. here... let me show you..... http://groups.google.com/groups?q=docmartian+israel+dogshit&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8&hl=en&btnG=Google+Search see... i'm evil... i'm bad... i'm here to keep the israelis from slaughtering palestinian kids and dressing up in headscarves and killing israelis. What does that mean? dunno dude... just rock out... turn up the music till yer brains leak out your ears....

for the rest of you... realize.... i am the anti-pop... i am satan.... she is satin... and i love her forever... but i still think yer dumb!

end rant 10. part 11? Wild Love.... and how britney and iggy had the same psychic handler.

A real time odyssey into iggy's world circa 1970ish.

The Iguana Chronicles

part 11. Wild Love

Nothin' new. Just goin' crazy listenin' to another stooges album. That's what i'd tell my girlfriend if i had one... but i don't.... so i'm writing you morons. Now.... what do you think this whole passle means.... means 'grow up'. Maybe i'm telling myself that.... cept i'm feelin' pretty mature these days... taking an accounting class.... sober as fuck... except for an occasional pop of coca-cola or a bunch of hops..... i pound three pabst n/a or an o'douls... or something else to sate my hopsjunkie mind. Yup... you got it... I'm a hops junkie.... i get all twitchy if i don't have some tasty mind destroying non-alcoholic hops beverage to soothe my soul.... put me into a slow trance... and keep my mind flyin' cool with a sweet summer afternoon in a can. Grow up. it's what bowie told iggy.... and he pretty much did.... stopped running around all stupid trying to make people 'his bitch' and made people become a lot more mature in his circle.... workin' at the music... and playin' a great whorehouse boogie... Pin Point eyes.... another sound of the ancient stones forgot. they were concerned with the barrelhouse.... poundin' down a ton of rocky brews and thinkin' about how they can get some more money.... ig's trip? drinkin' weren't nothin.... the girls needed some... and he needed more girls.... and here comes the blues rant.... nothing is new in my world.... nothing is new in his world.... nothing is new in my soul.... nothing is new in his soul.... but somehow... iggy understands that i respect him now.... cuz he's got this fucking groove going on that just makes my soul swell with pride to be musically literate...... rock and roll was never like this... even though the instrumentation is vintage carl perkins..... the rest of it is fucking louis jourdan pissing on sidney bechet's head as they roll around in the dirt fighting over the last whore.

Pin Point Eyes. Listen to it... then shut the album off.... you'll never hear better.

The rest of this album? not bad... not great... but Pin Point Eyes. Worth every goddamn penny i didn't spend on it. Well i woke up this morning... and i was flat on my ass...... she looked into my pin point eyes.... she looked into my pin point eyes.... and all of jim morrison's desperation... jacking off in the bathroom of the roadhouse.... and mick jagger's peakin' through the window of the churchhouse with his electric guitar up his butt.... and lee michaels at the malt shop and bob wills at the minstrel show... and elvis checkin' out some chick gettin' boned to a charley patton record... and johnny cash watchin' his brother die after bein' tore up by a ripsaw... and me watching my brother die after being poisoned by israel with cancer drugs... and none of us knowing the blues the way iggy does... the workhorse of hard work... the mindless drudgery of 15 hours in front of an amplifier.... the torture of having his earplugs drain sweat onto his neckhole where he's been shooting some rotten shit that doesn't even deserve the name of scag.... and i have to smile.... because all of us... are steeped in the blues..... i am the legs of the blues... walking bandylegged for 15 miles stretches..... fleeing from my heart.... the heart that aches every time i see a dead palestinian kid... the heart that aches when i see israel funding some bitch militant puppet group to attack their kids so they have an excuse to keep leeching money off the u.s. the sadness eludes me... the pain is real..... a friend just told me she was loaded as fuck and had shot her boyfriend.... did she? i don't know... it was a psychic message.... i haven't a clue whether she could or not... but the sadness is beyond me.... it must be something like the rage and sadness of war.... but without the release.... i see the people die... but i can't fight back except one way.... with a giant fucking hammerblow to their economy.... ig did it differently.... he started running around with fuckers in nazi suits.... just to protest israel's 1967 and 1973 landgrabs..... and jessy? she does one thing i don't understand.... she puts a drug into her arm.... and then turns the world into a soulvibe..... i'll never understand.... i don't even lust for it.... but i know it's a weird hellmystery that i will never partake in.... it's just as strong and vital to her sanity as kicking israel's ass is to me... and probably just as likely to kill her.... i love her.... she's sane.... so am i... just different.... ig' is too.... his madness was in trying to play rock and roller instead of musician..... i think we all go through a schizophrenic state at some point in our lives where we try and live like someone else.... i tried to live like this crazy ass kid who was determined to prove his manhood by working as a mechanic instead of getting his rocks off with lasers (cuz he thought it made him wuss or something) but i don't understand him either.... i don't understand my moms.... burdened with a dead son and another son that few people even try to approach after his years of wild. Not that i'm a burden so much as finding my way.... it isn't work.... i've worked my ass to the bone.... come home with nuthin' it may be getting a degree..... it may be selling my work.... it may be pickin' up a guitar on the right day of the week.... but i guarantee you it isn't hanging my ass from a rope like i thought a few years ago.... yes.... i was dead a long time ago.... but now... i'm alive again.... jesus christ.

now.
ig.
is the groove that we all faced.
when we thought that it was ok to jack off at anything that moved and call her a dynobot with a megabutt....
he's 12 years old inside....
i'm 15 years old inside...
jess? is eternally 7... cuz that's about how old she was when she got raped.
age doesn't matter... but our hearts do.... and mine is failing.... i don't know why.... just that there are levels of pain and compassion that are beyond us all that sometimes approach us..... i've had two such deep pain (deep rollers?) people approach me lately..... terri schiavo and jessy drastic jessy hides her pain better... terri's is on the outside... and what am i going to do? explore it? nope. you can. I'm through with it... i love them... i can't help them... i can't help anyone.... i can't help britney getting ogled by her father naked at 9 years old... i can't help iggy getting fucked in the head by a whole bunch of goddamn crazies including me.... i can't help jessy... saner then anyone i've ever met on one hand.... but hammered out of her fucking mind with drugs till her heart stops or something deep in the heroin world..... and meanwhile.... to you... i just have this to say.... buy this album. it's a great document of the deep stillness and pain inside of us all.... even if it doesn't click right away.

b.d. rambozo.... the drunken sage that he is today... had one thing to say.... 'every man in his witness is witless' and i'd have to agree.

end rant.