the cowbell is NEVER a good option, people
the careful art of picking out an appropriate listening experience for a particular time is a tricky and arduous task, my friend.
choose correctly, and expect boatloads of rewards, wild boar, and definite and/or defiant gifts of many shapes and dimensions.
choose incorrectly and watch your family disintegrate one by one over a period of 8-10 months by large piles of molten lava from the very banks of the viscious (and viscous) sea of damascus, home of paul, writer of acts, the one book in the bible.
see how it all comes together like the pillar of salt that you are (and fuck the morton fisherman and his bullshit salt - fuck him).
see how it all comes together like cheese, brie and david copperfield?
it is really one love, mon, just like ragga mon says, yona.
i was talking about my pamprin addiction.
before that though, i was looking at my amazingly wonderful and frankly, goshdarn dynamite cd selecting skills.
the appropriate mood of this evening is "background writing music that's not too obtrusive, stimulates the mind a bit and gives me the educational musical experience i still crave as a backup"
mission accomplished, solider of lesser known fortunes of mass destruction.
fuck billy mcguire.
herein, now, beforethewit about tit.
lies my magic.:
1. dabrye - instrmntl - this was on earlier in a mix of five cds and my head missed it. how, i do not know. this is the next lp from tadd mullinexx, from ann arbor, mich. home of the wolverines and brave vessels. something. i just read a review of this somewhere too, so it reminded me to relisten. it's mediocre. doesn't thrill me. not as good as "one/three," which, was better. sometimes, dead is better. that's what fred gwynne said.
and thank the creator for that.
this is mellow...lowkey. yeah.
ease into this shit.
2. monolake - cinemascope - eeerie, extra eeeerie. yeah. sounds like what you should listen to while in your rocket ship drifting through space, the cosmos, or some other similar universe related reference with cool floaty astronauts wandering around, drinking tea from a tube.
or maybe not.
concrete architecture...nah, you know what..this seems more like spacetravel music to me.
for when you're in the between stage of about to be suspended animated for months time...or when you're coming out of the suspended animation scene.
each way, a good heady ride. smooth. yeah. shit.
3.underworld a hundred days off - i'm interviewing them tomorrow lik e i said in the last election and so i need to prepare my head for this trip man. it's alright. i don't really know what to make of it.
but fuck linda ronstadt and her "how do i make you."
that bitch don't know shit about elvis costello.
it's not that good of an album. it's kind of boring. i wish it were better. i'm trying really hard to like it more.
they must not like spaghetti anymore.
4. Wood Choice Cuts - compilation - damn straight i've had this for awhile, recommended it to some people yet never wrote a goddamn review of the damn fucker. what the fuck is fucking wrong with fucking me. fuck.
anal. nevertheless, once i get this fucking mother assfucking swearing and gratuitous goddamn cuntbag profanity and cum-ridden vulgarity cunt juice out of the way, i'll be able to tell you about the rest of the pussy lips laden album.
yeah. that felt almost as good as climbing a brick wall in the summer sun. coincidentally, not my maid of honor this year. wood choice cuts is a fine selection of jazzy, wobbly breakbeats, perfect for people who are really high and enjoy a good head trip while writing freeform fucked up shit.....preferably for pot, but also good for E comedowns, K-holes and H-bomb shitstorms. don't forget to wear your Depends, smack heads.
nobody wants a repeat layne staley performance now do we?
damn the rooster indeed.
5. spring heel jack - amassed - i usually have to throw in one cd that may or may not be tortuous. plus i just wanted to spell that word "tortuous" you know. anam.
super out there freeeeeeeeee form ultra odd jazz for people like that obsessive mother fucker at the mp3 focus group in berkeley, in which he obsessed about reachable buttons on his goddamn player that would fit comfortably on his beltloop thing.
please fuck off.
and remember, no more talking to heather at the san jose starbucks.
she earned her stripes in heaven.
i do feel bad about dissing that chick at the bagel store. but she was just an indirect anger spurt standing in the way of freedom from the terrorists.
this underworld is just so-so.
love my way, psychedelic furs.
why do i suddenly recall the time i was in Grand Marais, Mich., in the Upper Peninsula, in like 1992 or 93. one of those years. wow. damn. long time. damn. i remember being in that cabin in the middle of nowhere. jess' friend maggie's place. i believe. no electricity. just before cell phones became big. damn.
i must work for awhile or die with my boots on.
paul d'ianno would be proud if he knew you were reading this and not dead.
fuck that america, i'm going punk.
long live randy rhoads
clean my shaft