2006 has just about run its course, and all the cool bloggers are posting retrospectives and predictions. I could try and follow suit, but seeing as how:

1. this is a music blog
2. much of my attention is focused on the past rather than the present

…a “Best of 2006” post would be rather absurd. Unlike 2005, where several favorite bands released albums – some great (Ladytron’s Witching Hour, The Epoxies’ Stop the Future), some disappointing (Franz Ferdinand’s and Fischerspooner’s sophomore efforts) – musically, 2006 really didn’t unleash much that caught my attention. I won’t rule out that five years from now I’ll give the Scissor Sisters’ Ta-Dah another spin and hail it as a modern classic, but at this moment I’m content with my playlist of things culled from decades past.

The year wasn’t totally bereft of musical bright spots. Two of my favorite bands, The Clash and The Byrds, got excellent box sets of their material released in time for the holidays. I was also able to locate and cross off several much-wanted albums on my want list, mostly punk, cowpunk, and synthpop from the early 1980’s. There were even a couple of contemporary releases I found myself enjoying…with certain degrees of hesitation. Here’s the short list:

The Grates – Lies Are Much More Fun (from Gravity Won’t Get You High, 2006) – A swell bit of quirky indie pop out of Australia. I wish the rest of the album sounded like this track, instead of settling into a derivative mid-90’s Veruca Salt/Letters to Cleo vibe.

Nouvelle Vague – Dance With Me (from Bande a Part, 2006) - I’m not sure the world needed a second Nouvelle Vague album. The central conceit – new wave and punk classics redone as old school Euro pop – was genius the first time around, but it’s dodgy business trying to make an ongoing concern out of a single gimmick. (The same applies to fellow re-imagineers Richard Cheese and Me First and the Gimme Gimmes.) At least they were clever enough to cast their nets a little wider for the source material on their second album, and not merely rely on the familiar standards. A Lords of the New Church cover? Ok, count me in.

The Checkers – The Invitation (from Running With Scissors, 2006) – The Checkers’ won’t win any awards for originality, but there will be a place in my heart for tightly executed, catchy punk pop.

Speaking of killer punk pop, swing on by the Deranged Records website and check out the two sample tracks they’ve posted from Vancouver’s The Tranzmitors. In these days where “punk pop” has become synonymous with whiny, corporate play-by-numbers product, it’s gratifying to know that someone out there has a bit of fire in their belly.

Who is Time Magazine’s “Person of the Year” for 2006?

You are, my fellow peers of the “new internet,” majordomos of a realm where user-created content is king and proportionality and restraint have gone the way of the passenger pigeon.

I understand where Time is coming from with this selection, even though it seems like the beleaguered Old Media establishment is trying to kiss the ass of the new wave. (On a related note, I can’t tell you how bizarre it was to see a quote from my James Brown tribute used in the print edition of yesterday’s Boston Globe.)

Neanderthal: “Mr. Cro-Magnon, I just want to let you know I have always respected the direction you’ve taken the species.”

Cro-Magnon: “LOL! PWNED! u r teh suxxor!”

Yes, the amount of user-created content has mushroomed in the past couple of years, but the noise-to-signal ratio is staggering. For every item of real value, there are countless examples of trollery, half-assed ranting, and other forms of ugliness. There is a difference between being entitled to one’s opinion and being entitled, period, and that point seems to elude the comprehension of far too many people online. One starts to get the impression that the lunatics (i.e. that one guy who writes long rambling letters about fluoridation and Vatican II to the local paper) have taken over the asylum. Just read the comments section of any given YouTube video, and you’ll get the point. (Nods to Kevin for the link.)

It is very difficult to gauge revolutions in progress. That’s why I prefer to stay one step behind the curve where “Big Things” are concerned. They always start off with a horde of wildcatters staking their claims under the wide open sky, and end with a handful of powerful concerns controlling the field. MySpace was bought up by Rupert Murdoch's News Corporation in 2005, and Google acquired YouTube in earlier this year. Neither company is likely to piss away their investors' money running a non-profit public service.

The above musings were just an excuse to post today’s featured tracks, three songs sharing the same title, recorded by three female/female-fronted postpunk groups between 1979 and 1980.

Delta 5 – You (from a 1980 single, collected on Singles & Sessions: 1979-81, 2006) – A little relationship advice from Uncle Andrew: It’s always best to keep petty spats localized. If it’s about how you don’t unroll your socks before putting them in the hamper, don’t bring up how you hate the way your partner chews his or her food as a defense. Otherwise you could trigger something like the lyrics to this song, and that is not a place you want to be. Trust me.

Au Pairs – You (from a 1979 single, collected on Stepping Out of Line: The Anthology, 2006) – I wrote about the Au Pairs at length a while back. This track comes from their first single and has a rawer, punkier sound than their more ambitious later material.

Kleenex – You (Happy Side) (from a 1979 single, collected on Liliput/Kleenex, 1993) – From Switzerland, home of the Cabaret Voltaire (no, not the guys behind “Sensoria,” but rather the early 20th century Dadaist hotspot), comes this little gem. I especially love the way they squeal-shout “YOU” at the end of every other line.

One of the difficulties in writing about postpunk stuff is that is atypical song structures don’t lend themselves to standard terminology that well. One could take the Greil Marcus route, and do a free association piece linking the song to an obscure medieval sect of Cathar heretics and a 1930’s circle of Ugandan poets, or just fall back on the tried and true “sounds like Joy Division/Gang of Four”. Kleenex (later “Liliput”, after Kimberly-Clark put its corporate foot down) sounds nothing like either band.

Great talent and moral rectitude do not necessarily run hand in hand. Peter Schaffer’s 1979 play, Amadeus, used a fictionalized version of the life of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart to illustrate that fairly obvious point, but there are still folks out there who want their entertainers to do more than entertain. They need to support the right causes, whether it’s a well-intentioned, but quixotic quest to “save” Africa or advocate on behalf of hybrid cars, hemp, or homeless wallabies.

I’m pretty strident in my political beliefs. If some rich celebrity wants to shower money and or attention on a worthy cause, that’s more than fine with me. It doesn’t make them better at their craft, however, and it can be downright ludicrous when someone like K-Fed feels obligated to mention he really wants to do something “for Africa” (the current cause du jour, which only reveals to me that most celebrity advocates lack even the most rudimentary sense of historical and geopolitical awareness). From a pragmatic standpoint, it’s great, although it brings to the fore a whole other set of issues about the state of public discourse when celebrity status becomes equated with moral authority. From an aesthetic standpoint, it means jack shit.

Reprehensible conduct by a performer can impact how one views his or her work, of course. Evaluating work solely on artistic merits, and not on the personal credentials of the author, is something every critic should strive for, but it can be exceedingly difficult to accomplish. Artists whose work is capable of totally rising above the less savory aspects of their personal lives are rare indeed, especially in these times of total information awareness where a celebrity can't spit on the sidewalk without TMZ.com uploading a video of the act within fifteen minutes.

James Brown, “the hardest working man in showbiz,” has moved on to that all-star venue in the sky. While his personal “eccentricities” have long been fodder for the tabloid media and jokes of varying quality, there is no denying that few equaled his skills as a musical visionary and consummate showman.

“He made an impact on so many people,” my father said today, trying to explain the man’s greatness to some of my unhip relatives. “Some quite physically,” I deadpanned.

Even though I favored the Stax roster of “Memphis Soul” musicians during my stint as a soul boy in the mid-1980’s, I still maintained a large affection for Brown’s music. This was partially because the DJ’s hired for our junior high dances couldn’t be bothered to make room amongst their assortments of bland, big 80’s pop 45’s for something by Otis Redding or Wilson Pickett, but could be counted upon to have a copy of “Living in America” or “I Feel Good” handy, due to the songs being featured in Rocky IV and Good Morning Vietnam, respectively.

My fondest memory (my only fond memory, come to think of it) of junior high is of the time I got to bust out some of my nerdy, sixties-inspired dance moves in front of an adoring crowd while “Living in America” blared in the background. At the end of the song, I leapt off a cafeteria table and into the hands of my cheering classmates. For a brief moment, all the petty bullshit of junior high life faded away, and I felt invincible.

Because of that, I’ll always feel indebted to the Godfather of Soul. May he funk the hell out of the great beyond.

The Dead Milkmen – RC’s Mom (from Beelzebubba, 1988) – Irreverent? Certainly, but being a self-professed James Brown fan in a crowd of hipper-than-thou art students circa 1988 meant having to hear bits from this track quoted ad nauseum.

L.A. Style – James Brown Is Dead (Original Mix) (from a 1992 single) – True, but he outlived L.A. Style by more than a decade.

James Brown – Living in America (from the Rocky IV OST, 1985) – Rocky IV is the film where Stallone fights an ideological straw man for the Jingoistic Arrogance Heavyweight title of the world. It also suggests that decadently soft Americans need to toughen up in order to face down Communism. Yeah, the country went a little batshit during the Reagan era.

Christmas Eve is upon us, and so I’ll close my holiday theme week with Carter USM’s rendition of “Lonely This Christmas” from a 1994 promo single. Mud’s version of this Chinn and Chapman (the Boyce and Hart of 70’s bubbleglam) number went to the top of the UK charts back in 1975, and has become something of a holiday standard on that side of the Atlantic.

This version drops the faux Presleyisms and verses of the original, and instead delivers a brief quasi-acoustic rendition of the chorus that sums up the feeling that many of us have experienced at some point during this time of the year. (But not this holiday season, I hope.)

What’s this? Two posts in a single day? Yeah, because I felt the anniversary of Joe Strummer's death deserved more than a couple of lines appended to a hastily written clarification of intent.

I don’t gush about much of what I post here. For one, I’m a WASP, and as Mystery Science Theater so eloquently put it, “emotions are for ethnic people.” Another reason is that I am painfully self-conscious that distinctions between good and bad, great and awful ultimately rest in the eyes and ears of the beholder. I don’t care much for Morrissey or The Smiths, but their music means the world to some people. Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” evokes strong feelings of wistful nostalgia in me whenever I hear it, while others only hear the epitome of bland corporate 70’s rock.

It’s not a conscious rational process, for the most part. I can give reasons why I think White Heat’s “Nervous Breakdown” is one of the best songs I’ve ever heard, but none could ever fully explain the chills I get down my spine when the chorus starts. It’s what makes music mean so much to us, that visceral connection between the work and the listener. The best I can hope to achieve is to trace the outlines of the Platonic shadows the songs cast….

…and make fun of songs and performers I can’t stand with gleeful abandon.

When folks ask me, “What’s you’re favorite band?” I usually respond with “Right now I’m listening to…” and leave it at that. Being a novelty junkie means that my tastes are in a perpetual state of flux. There is one constant though, and that is The Clash.

It was my punk rock mentor, the cook at the hospital I worked at in high school, who convinced me to pick up the band’s first album instead of another LP of the standard hardcore dreck I was listening to at the time. It was the best music purchase I’ve ever made. From the opening chords to “Clash City Rockers” (lifted, I later discovered, from The Who’s “Can’t Explain” to the abrupt cutout at the end of “Garageland,” I was completely blown away by the mix of killer hooks and indignant sense of conviction delivered by the band. It was the music I had been waiting to hear, but didn’t realize existed. It seemed so perfect…

…until I purchased a copy of London Calling and got schooled all over again.

While he shares credit with Mick Jones, Paul Simonon, and the various drummers who cycled through the band for making The Clash “the only band that mattered” (for a short time, at least), Joe Strummer will always be, in my mind, the soul of the band. You can see it in the live performance footage. The conviction he radiated was tempered by a trace of uncertainty in his facial expressions, as if he was considering the meaning of each line as he sung them, or wondering if the message was being obscured by the medium.

He lost the thread for a good while, and paid the price for his arrogance, trying to rekindle past glories while Jones (through Big Audio Dynamite) kept up with the now. Others copped onto Strummer’s rebel rocker formula and rode it to massive success, while he was left on the sidelines to mutter and rant to an audience that long since moved on.

In the years just prior to his death, Strummer seemed reenergized. He was more humble, willing to acknowledge his past mistakes, and prepared to go forward with his new band. It was a welcome return to form, cut short by his tragic passing on this day in 2002.

The Clash – Safe European Home (from Give ‘em Enough Rope, 1978) – Fuck “Planet of Sound.” My anti-Pixies bias aside, this track outrocks that noisy excuse for a song by a good dozen orders of magnitude. The opening alone, which swoops down on the listener like a Spitfire on a strafing run, is proof positive of my claim. Any piker can throw a cat on a fretboard and call it art, but I’ll take airtight precision and killer hooks over that nonsense any day of the week.

Here’s The Clash performing the song at the 1983 US Festival:

…and we slide back into the holiday groove with a super-saccharine historical footnote, Lene Lovich’s version of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus,” from a 1976 single. This was Lovich’s first solo effort, from when she was transitioning from the soul-funk act The Distractions to her role as an idiosyncratic new wave pop diva.

Fans of Lovich’s post-punk Marlene Dietrich vocal stylings won’t find any of that happening here. Taking her cue from Wayne Newton’s version of the song, she adopts an ultra-cutesy tone, reminiscent of Shirley Temple…..if Shirley Temple fronted a Holiday Inn guest lounge house band where the musicians couldn’t decide between a reggae, country, or mellow pop style and agreed to split the difference.

Ah, crap.

I was all set to switch off the lights and lock this place up for good, but no sooner did I post my goodbye and clear the files off the server than two wise friends of mine made me reconsider my decision. I wish they spoke to me before I started breaking shit down.

Speaking to my friends and explaining my reasons for wanting to call it quits made me realize how fond I’ve gotten of this place. It’s a hassle at times. It burns up too much of my free time. I hate having to expend the effort to block assholes who hotlink to my files.

But I didn’t realize how much I’d miss doing this.

I’ll restore the music files for December later, but for now here’s something to tide you over. It’s a mission statement and tribute to Joe Strummer, dead four years tomorrow, all in one.

The Clash – Capital Radio Two (from 1979’s The Cost of Living EP, collected on Super Black Market Clash, 1994) - That new box set of The Clash's singles looks fantastic, although the one single per CD gimmick is a little impractical for casual listening. I'd pick it up for the "Justice Tonight/Kick It Over" 12" dub mixes of "Armagideon Time" alone.

Today’s holiday selection features the all-Cymric duo of powerhouse crooner Tom Jones and Catatonia’s Cerys Matthews performing “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” Or as I affectionately call it, “Am I Going to Get Laid Tonight, or What?”

Pretty harsh, I admit, but it’s one of those songs where the creepiness of the concept gets a pass because it’s considered a “classic.” I understand that different eras had different mores, but, seriously, “no means no,” buster. Mr. Wolf’s (the man in the song is called “The Wolf” and the woman is called “The Mouse” -- make what you will of those choices of nomenclature) reluctance to break out the roofies is duly noted, but that just means he’s being a manipulative asshole rather than a criminal.

I think too much about this stuff, don’t I? Still, Jones is in his native element (old school pop, not creepy sexism) here, and while I found Matthew's raspy-cutesy voice off-putting in the material she recorded with Catatonia, It works perfectly within the context of this track. I still think she ought to just phone a cab and call it a night, though.

Tom Jones and Cerys Matthews – Baby, It’s Cold Outside (from Reload, 1999)

Today’s featured holiday track comes from the Greedies, a short-lived punk-slash-rock outfit assembled by Thin Lizzy frontman Phil Lynott. The group’s roster was extremely fluid, and consisted of Lynott, some of his Thin Lizzy bandmates, and an ever-changing roster of musicians including Rat Scabies of the Damned, Chris Spedding, Bob Geldof, and Ex Pistols Steve Jones and Paul Cook.

More of a diversion than a serious attempt at creating a hybrid supergroup, the Greedies only played a handful of live shows and their recorded output was limited to a 1979 holiday single, a stomping rock medley of “Jingle Bells” and “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” titled “A Merry Jingle”. Lyrically, it’s a bit on the slight side, but Steve Jones milks that wonderful descending guitar riff (familiar to anyone who has bothered to listen to the post-Lydon Sex Pistols material) for everything it’s worth. You won’t get that on Enya’s new holiday album.

The Greedies – A Merry Jingle (from a 1979 single, collected on Punk Rock Christmas, 1995)

Here's a video of the group "performing" the song on Top of the Pops:

Halloween got a full month of posts. Christmas is getting a week and change, mainly because I’m sick to death of seasonal overkill. The entertainment and retail combines don’t even wait for the candy corn and cobwebs to get cold before rolling out the balsam-scented, red and green juggernaut, whipping the public into a state of consumer debt-fueled hysteria.

Peace on earth? Good will toward men? Fuck that shit, there’s an open parking space right by Target’s entrance, and if I have to run down a family of four with my Escalade to get it, then so be it. No one stands in between me and a sale-priced portable DVD player.

(In all seriousness, I nearly got hit three times today while crossing the Target parking lot. In each case, the vehicle in question was a minivan driven by a suburban soccer mom, eyes blazing and face contorted with the terminal stages of Yuletide consumer madness. All I wanted was a bag of potato chips and some toilet paper.)

Bad News – Cashing in on Christmas (from Bad News, 1987) – A z-grade heavy metal act whose members’ ambitions far outstrip their talents, Bad News were the subject of two mockumentaries aired on The Comic Strip Presents… British TV series in 1983 and 1988. Their lineup consisted of Vim Feugo (Adrian Edmondson), Den Dennis (Nigel Planer), Colin Grigson (Rik Mayall), and ‘Spider’ Webb (Peter Richardson). Yep, that's three cast members of The Young Ones in the band, so you pretty much know what to expect.

Queen fans take note: The above track (and album it appeared on) was produced by Brian May.

'Twas the nochy ‘fore Kringleraz, when all thru the domy
not a creature was skriking, not even a kot.
The toofles were hung by the chimney with care,
in hopes that Ded Kringle soon would be there.

The malchicks were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of sakar plums plesked in their heads.
And Em in her tashtook, and I in my shlapa,
had just settled our mozgs for a long winter's zaznoot.

When out on the roof arose a zammechat clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the okno I flew like a flash,
razrezed the shutter, and threw up the sash.

The luna on the groody of the new-fallen snow
gave the lustre of midday to veshches below,
when, what to my wondering glazzies should appear,
but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.

With a malenky ded driver, so lively and skorry,
I knew in a moment it must be Lord Kring.
More rapid than eagles, his gruppa they came,
and he carked and creeched and called them by eemya:

"Now Dasher! Now Dancer!
Now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid!
On, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch!
To the top of the shest!
Now ookadeet! Ookadeet!
Ookadeet all!"

We best leave it there, my droogies, before the ultraviolence begins. Kringle’s brooko may shake like a bowl full of jammiwam, but he’s still a master at delivering a noga to the yarbles.

(When I was in college, a friend made me a copy of his VHS tape of A Clockwork Orange, originally taped off HBO sometime in the early 80’s. He included the lead-in bumper, which featured a Muzak rendition of “Jingle Bells” and Malcolm McDowell’s face superimposed over a Christmas tree while the announcer delivered – with no trace of irony – “Stay tuned for our special holiday presentation, Stanley Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange.”)

From The Moog Machine - Christmas Becomes Electric (1969):

Carol of the Bells
O Come All Ye Faithful
We Three Kings

If you kopat what you sloosh here, itty by Ernie (Not Bert) and sobriat the full album.

Did anyone else catch NBC’s live-action remake of the Rankin-Bass stop-motion animation classic, The Year Without a Santa Claus, last Monday night? Wow, was it lousy. It took me back to the days when Fred Silverman, desperate to placate Gary Coleman and keep him on Diff’rent Strokes, greenlit several mind-numbingly trite TV movies featuring the sassy, cherubic child star, abetting the network’s cash-hemorrhaging nosedive during that era. Can Supertrain 2K7 be far behind?

Based on the talent involved, and the utterly batshit promo that popped up on YouTube, I was holding out hope that if the remake wasn’t going to be good, at least it would be delightfully terrible in a campy sort of way.

It couldn’t even manage that level of inspired incompetence, and ended up being merely boring and stupid. Carol Kane and Harvey Fierstein, two actors who can usually be counted upon to deliver the goods, were utterly wasted in their roles as Mother Nature and Heat Miser. I’m not sure what was going on with Fierstein, who spent his time onscreen trapped in a limbo between total scenery-chewing madness and simply phoning in his lines. The guy has won several Tony awards and seemed like a great choice for the part (although I would have went with Tom Bosley), making me suspect a degree of directorial or network interference at work. Or maybe he realized how ludicrous the project was and went into thespian cruise control.

The final product turned out to be a sappy, yet generic Hallmark Channel “family” movie with non-matching tissue grafts taken from the original, stunt casting (as the 90’s Batman movies have shown, never a good sign), and a sickening amount of product placements. Seriously, a bound volume of the special’s product placement agreements would be thicker than a complete five borough set of the New York City white pages.

The scheduling of the special also baffled me. 9:00 PM on a Monday night? Not 7:00 PM on the Sunday before Christmas, which would have made more sense for a remake of a children’s holiday special? The strange time slot makes me wonder if NBC’s target demographic for The Year Without a Santa Claus wasn’t children, but instead grownups around my age who have fond memories of the original. If so, it was a move boldly poached from superhero comic book publishing’s realm of diminishing returns, which limps by through pandering to a graying fanbase. I’m not going to start bitching about NBC “raping” my childhood, like many obsessive comic fans accuse DC and Marvel of doing. It’s not a matter of “how dare you!” More like, “why’d you even bother?”

Now that I’ve gotten my token rant out of the way, here are today’s musical selections: The original Heat Miser and Snow Miser themes from 1974 and Big Bad Voodoo Daddy’s medley version from 2004. Nothing says “Merry Christmas” quite like high camp lyrics and music lifted from a Gypsy Rose Lee performance.

George S. Irving – Heat Miser (from Nick at Nite: A Classic Cartoon Christmas, Too, 1977)

Dick Shawn – Snow Miser (from Nick at Nite: A Classic Cartoon Christmas, Too, 1977)

Big Bad Voodoo Daddy – Mr. Heatmiser (from Everything You Want For Christmas, 2004)

Go, Rock-a-Billy Batson, go! The raw vocal power of Zeus and hip-shaking speed of Mercury drive the ladies wild with adoration and the menfolk crazy with envy. It’s just one more reason that Captain Marvel will always be superior to that strictly squaresville Superman, no matter what some killjoy Kryptonian sympathizers might say.

I’m still coming off my Big Red Cheese buzz from last night’s journal post. Instead of fighting this feeling, I’m going to see it through to the bitter end, no matter how many visions of godlike rabbit beings or talking tigers I encounter along the way. It’s the Rock of Eternity or bust for this hepcat, daddy-o!

Fred – Reactor Lightning (from the All Rights Reserved 7” single, 1982) – More lost and forgotten minimalist synthpop. I love the song title. It’s so perfect.

Toyah Wilcox – Thunder in the Mountains (from Anthem, 1981) – Ms. Wilcox’s (or is that Mrs. Robert Fripp’s) idiosyncratic punk rock diva routine felt rather pretentious and lacked the spark of mad genius possessed by Lene Lovich and Nina Hagen, although she did shine through on occasion with some good, bombastic new wave pop like this number.

Duane Eddy – Shazam! (from Twang Thang: Anthology, 1993) – I personally don’t associate Captain Marvel with wild twanging guitar instrumentals with Benny Hill-ian saxophone riffs, but there’s no denying that Eddy was a master at his craft, and one of the most influential rock guitarists of all time.

Damn, it’s cold outside. Not as cold as last night, when I intended to write this post but instead passed out watching Battlestar Galactica, but still cold enough. Just three days ago, the temperature in Boston brushed close to the 60 degree mark. Very strange, but it 2006 has been a strange year weather-wise from the start. Cold and wet, then hot and wet, with an on-again off-again Indian summer that extended into the first week of December, it’s just not right. Whether one chalks it up to global warming or a statistical anomaly, having three “hundred year” storms in a decade is a tad disconcerting.

The funky weather played havoc with my wife’s ambitious gardening plans for 2006. At least half of what she planted rotted in the ground, due to the heavy rains. The vegetable garden, especially the tomato plants suffered something fierce, and what was shaping up to be a huge raspberry yield slipped away and went to seed. Next year will be different, though. I’m going to invest in a ice cream maker and a box of Mason jars, and put the berries to good use, even if it involves going out and picking in the middle of a hurricane.

A Blaze Colour – Cold As Ever (from A Blaze Colour EP, 1982) – Obscure minimalist synthpop from Belgium. If you’re the kind of person who would enjoy this track, that’s all you need to know.

King Missile – Frightened and Freezing (from Mystical Shit, 1990) – Most folks associate King Missile with John S. Hall’s surreal deadpan monologues on tracks like “Detachable Penis” or “Jesus Was Way Cool,” but the band did record a number of bona fide songs, like this no wave-y bipolar spaz attack. It's not as good as "Margaret's Eyes," a sweet love song about S&M, or "Mr. Johnson," a piss take on 60's love-in nonsense, but it does fit with today's theme.

Magazine – Permafrost (from Secondhand Daylight, 1979) – Punk, synth, and post-punk collide in this creepy, downbeat track. Sample lyric: I will drug you and fuck you/on the permafrost. I wouldn’t be surprised if it showed up on the soundtrack to CSI: Juneau (coming this fall to a CBS affiliate near you).

I do a lot of autobiographical and personal anniversary posts on Armagideon Time. For one thing, they’re a convenient frame to cobble some relevant tracks together when I’m feeling lazy. Plus, it has become clear to me that this site has turned out to be more Laurence Sterne than Greil Marcus in tone -- an unending stream of digressions and observations set to music. Based on the traffic logs and user feedback, I guess it works well enough.

Fifteen years ago, on December 7, 1991, Maura (my lovely wife and co-conspirator) and I went on our first date. We saw Beauty and the Beast at the Copley Plaza cinema, and ate greasy pizza at Quincy Market afterwards. (I remember Maura telling a Margaret Dumont-like matron at the next table over that her fur coat looked like a dead dog carcass.)

We parted ways at the Orange Line entrance across from North Station. She gave me a goodnight peck on the cheek, and I crossed Causeway Street to wait for the commuter train back to Woburn. I spent the next half hour on a cold wooden bench trying to concentrate on reading the King Solomon’s Mines paperback I had brought with me, but my mind wouldn’t stop replaying the night events and analyzing them in minute detail.

The Partisans – White Flag (from The Time Was Right, 1984) – The tracks on the studio side of this exceptional LP deal with themes of betrayal, compromise, futility, and frustration. Fitting, considering the album was released while the once vibrant 80’s Britpunk scene began to collapse in on itself. “White Flag” is the sole exception, a love song couched entirely in military terminology.

Ultravox – Hymn (from Quartet, 1982) – One of Maura’s favorites, this track has a strong anime feel to it, evoking images of azure-haired, big-eyed mecha jockeys scrambling to face down the planet-killing dreadnoughts of a sinister alien empire. The song shares its melody with the Zones’ 1979 powerpop song, “Mourning Star.” The Zones evolved out of Silk, a Scottish 70’s teen pop outfit that Ultravox frontman Midge Ure had been also been a member of before joining the Rich Kids and, later, Ultravox.

Today’s post features music from the forgotten 1986 film, Modern Girls. My wife, who tends to be more in tune with the times than I am, has no recollection of seeing or hearing of this film when it was released. It has been heavily repeated on the lesser cable movie channels, which is where we first encountered it. Modern Girls is not a great film by any stretch of the imagination, but we’ve adopted into our “if there’s nothing else on, we’ll watch it” category of movies.

The film covers the night in the lives of three clubhopping roommates: the tough-yet-goodhearted Margo (Daphne Zuniga), impulsive sprite Cece (Cynthia Gibb, who has no upper lip, according to my wife), and the judgement-impaired Kelly (Virginia Madsen). The women are reluctantly accompanied by male viewer identification figure Clifford (Clayton Rohner, who also plays the part of Bruno X, a pouty Billy Idol-inspired rock star), a poor schmoe who Kelly has been stringing along.

The tone of the movie is what you’d expect -- insubstantial romantic comedy with some big 80’s art direction and costuming to match-- but it occasionally veers off in weird directions. There’s one scene where Kelly, off on her own and tripping out on ecstacy, passes out on a pool table in a dive bar. A crowd of skuzzy looking male patrons closes in around her, making the viewer wonder if the film’s editor hadn’t accidentally switched reels with The Accused.

That’s only one of the two times that Kelly faces sexual assault in the film. She also nearly gets raped and murdered by a clean-cut stalker dude who resembles an off-brand Billy Baldwin. This provides the agon for which the other characters must put aside their differences and reaffirm their loyalties to each other. (That’s my pretentious way of saying that things work out in the end, with all the requisite melodrama and lame comedic bits we’ve been conditioned to expect.)

One thing that struck me about Modern Girls, and thus inspired this post, is the sense of historical dislocation it radiates. The overall feel is unquestionably 80’s, but in an abstract sense. The fashions, the music, and the forced manufactured slang (“Lounge out!” should have entered common usage.) don’t mesh, and it’s impossible to fix a specific moment in time to what’s shown on the screen like one could with, say, Fast Times at Ridgemont High or any given John Hughes film. It’s a fairly common occurrence in modern films that look back on a given era, but unusual to see happen in an actual period movie.

The soundtrack for the film reinforces this sense of dissonance. The club scene, circa 1986, would seem to suggest material by Madonna, Janet Jackson, and the many and varied HiNRG acts that dominated the dance charts at the time. Instead, the film’s soundtrack is a sampler of Sire Records’ then-current roster of college rock/alternative bands. Sire’s influence (see the “But Not Tonight” blurb below) aside, my wife suspects this might be due to a lag time between when the screenplay was written and when it was filmed, leading to an early 80’s script getting a cursory mid 80’s facelift.

Depeche Mode – But Not Tonight (from Black Celebration, 1986) – This song was specifically commissioned by DM’s label, Sire, for use in Modern Girls. The result, coming on the heels of their very dark Black Celebration recording sessions, is one of the most devastating songs about being happy I’ve ever heard. The song was appended to the US release of Black Celebration, and Sire went so far as to re-label the “Stripped” single to make the track the a-side, even though the band didn't care much for the song and considered it a throwaway effort. The promo video features footage from the movie, which makes me wonder who in the chain of command had that much faith in Modern Girls' success….



The Jesus and Mary Chain – Some Candy Talking (from Psychocandy, 1985) – I’ve listened to Psychocandy several times. I can unerringly ID the band’s material when it plays on the digital music channel. Yet every song of theirs sounds like college rock muzak to my ears.

The Belle Stars – Iko Iko (from The Belle Stars, 1982) – This cover of an old Dixie Cups classic started off as a single that was later included on the Belle Stars’ first and only LP. It was used in Modern Girls for a limbo dancing scene at a Coconut Grove-style night club (minus the horrible fiery death), and ended up cracking the US pop charts in 1989 after being used on the Rain Man soundtrack. Ah, the life of a catchy pop song.

Kommunity FK – Something Inside Me Has Died (from Close One Sad Eye, 1985) – This is what people who have never listened to gothic music think that it sounds like -- gloomy, theatrical, and so over the top, it parodies itself. The song title doesn't help by laying it on a bit too thick, but, hey, that’s what the target audience expects.

The pressure tank on our water heater sprung a leak last night. My wife called her very handy father. Her father called a plumber friend. The plumber capped off the feed until we could pick up a replacement tank, which was installed this morning. Our cats had a blast playing in the artificial warm water pond created by the leak.

I sat on the cellar stairs watching all these events unfold, and came up with today’s theme in the process.

The Frogmen – Underwater (from Rock Instrumental Classics, Volume 5: Surf, 1994) – Crow T. Robot was right – surf music makes everything better. This track bridges the gap between early rock’n’roll instrumentals like Dave “Baby” Cortez’s “The Happy Organ” and the guitar-driven surf rock of Dick Dale and his imitators.

Split Enz – Six Months in a Leaky Boat (from Time and Tide, 1982) – A dizzying new wave sea shanty that reminds me of Sparks’ “Angst in My Pants,” minus the neurotic tongue-in-cheek humor.

Chumbawamba – Drip, Drip, Drip (from Tubthumper, 1997) – Danceable anarchism, as opposed to Crass’s “caustic enough to strip paint off steel” variety of anarchist expression. If the system has to be smashed, there’s no reason it can’t be done with a degree of pop sensibility.

I tried to come up with something ambitious for today’s post, but I ended up drawing a complete blank. It’s better than shooting blanks, I suppose. Or stealing an experimental forcefield belt, becoming The Blank, and drowning while fighting the West Coast Avengers.

I am such a freakin’ nerd.

The Dils – You’re Not Blank (from the b-side of a 1977 single, collected on Class War, 2000) – The Dils tried to be the American equivalent of The Clash, but were held back by muddy production and excessively earnest politics straight out of Vulgar Marxist Sloganeering 101. If you can get past those two hurdles, this track is a great piece of melodic punk bristling with hippie hate. Some of the members of The Dils later tried their hands at roots rock/cowpunk with Rank and File. The results were…soporific.

ADULT. – Blank Eyed, Nose Bleed (from Anxiety Always, 2003) – I never get nosebleeds. I also hardly ever vomit. This has been your Too Much Information About Andrew moment of the week.

Voodoo Glow Skulls – Blank Expression (from Spare Shells: A Tribute to the Specials, 2001) – I admire bands who pull out all the stops when it comes to doing cover songs. On this track the Voodoo Glow Skulls crash through one of the slower numbers from The Specials’ debut LP with manic abandon.

Richard Hell and The Voidoids – Blank Generation (from Blank Generation, 1977) – One of my fondest wishes is for Richard Hell and Screaming Jay Hawkins to team up and record a cover of “Do Wah Diddy”. It would blow Nick Cave and Shane MacGowan’s “What a Wonderful World” clear out of the water as the best duet performance ever.

(I wrote the following piece last year on this date. The number of years has been updated to reflect the passage of time, but the rest of the sentiments still stand.)

Today is the eighteenth anniversary of my mother's death. I knew I was going to make note of that here, but until a few moments ago I wasn't sure how.

I debated typing out the full events of that day, since even the smallest details been permanently etched into my gray matter, but that seemed pointless. Yet replaying those small details in my head (I wore a Yankees t-shirt. I ate a sandwich made from homemade bread for lunch. My art teacher gave me a lame lecture about joining the Army.) made me realize one important thing:

That day, probably the worst day I've ever lived through, began like any other day, but by midnight, my entire life had been upended and permanently changed.

It's probably the most miserable object lesson ever, but it's one that has stuck with me through the years. Live in the now. Appreciate what you have while you can, because a shitstorm can strike at any moment and take it all away. My mother just wanted to go back to bed and sleep off a port wine binge, and ended up lying on the attic landing with her head cracked open.

Belly – Stay (from Star, 1993)

The Monkees – The Porpoise Song (from a 1968 single, collected on Greatest Hits, 1995)

Roger McGuinn – It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding) (from the Easy Rider OST, 1969)

If the UPS website is to be believed, my shiny new PC should be arriving on my doorstep sometime tomorrow. It hasn’t been that long since my last upgrade, but my present box, a current gen Dell Dimension desktop, turned out to be a severe disappointment totally unsuited to a house with a high pet population. (The huge recessed cooling grill on the front may look cool in the ads, but only serves as a powerful cat fur magnet in practice.)

I was debating whether or not to scratch build a new machine, but I’m a lazy sort who vents his tech frustrations through violence toward inanimate objects. It’s very difficult to return an incompatible motherboard to CompUSA when it has been snapped in half and covered in bootprints. In the end, I compromised and went with a custom built machine, cutting corners by leaving out the parts I already have while optimizing the core components.

When all the swapping and tinkering is done, the new rig will be a Systemax box with a 3.4 GHz P4 processor, 2 GB RAM, a 256MB GeForce 7600 GS videocard, an Audigy sound card, a Memorex dual layer DVD burner, and three stacked HD with around 400 GBs of storage total. It may be a bit behind the curve, but it was very reasonably priced and will enable me to properly play Neverwinter Nights 2 and Oblivion without massively compromising on the gameplay and graphics.

Of course, this upgrade doesn’t effect Armagideon Time at all, except as the inspiration for today’s musical celebration of the new.

7 Seconds – New Wind (from New Wind, 1986) – Yeah, it’s a bit wussy, but it’s a positive, MassPIRG kind of wussiness with better music than the emo scene’s “nobody wuvs me” identi-drone nonsense.

Blitz – New Age (from the New Age EP, 1983, collected on Best of Blitz, 1994) – An interestingly odd bid for pop success from a punk/Oi! band’s whose earlier work included the violent terrace chants of “Someone’s Gonna Die” and “Razors in the Night.”

Boyskout – New Black (from School of Etiquette, 2004) – I came across a compilation of San Francisco “garage revival” bands not too long ago, and was a little puzzled to see a track from Boyskout on the disc. I’m assuming it had to have been a shared label or venue thing, because their sound has more in common with 4AD than fuzztones and farsifas.

INXS – Old World New World (from Shabooh Shoobah, 1982) – Poor Michael Hutchence…

Polysics – New Wave Jacket (from a 2001 Japanese single, collected on Polysics or Die!!!! 2005) – Black or black and white checks, no lapels, superthin collar with band buttons pinned to it. Or spasmodic Japanese noise pop. Either one will do.

The stretch of time between Thanksgiving and the first week of December has traditionally been when Providence sees fit to make with the life-changing events. My mother’s death, my grandfather’s death, the worst break up I’ve gone through, my first date with the woman who would become my wife – that two week period is apparently my rollout date for heavy personal developments. Although the past few years have been blissfully uneventful, it’s hard to shake the feeling that something’s going to happen…

Ribzy – Why Did It Happen? (from The Valley Within compilation, 1983) – It’s always nice to discover a piece of hardcore punk that tries to reach past the louder-faster-harder assembly line template.

The Undertones – It’s Going to Happen (from Positive Touch, 1981) – Northern Ireland’s The Undertones crafted some really fine punk pop material in the late 70’s and early 80’s. That said, I really don’t understand the extreme reverence and awe that music critics hold for the band.

Oingo Boingo – Nothing Bad Ever Happens (from Good for Your Soul, 1983) – This is from my wife’s collection. She likes this track for it’s eighties apocalypticism; I think it’s a bit hollow, the pop equivalent to vacuformed plastic.

Salvation Army – Happen Happened (from the Mind Gardens EP, 1981) – LA punk pop with leanings toward the Paisley Underground 60’s revival movement. It reminds me a bit of Hüsker Dü, circa Candy Apple Grey, but I can’t put my finger on why.

No real update for today, just a linkback to an appropriate song from my 100th post anniversary and the bitchin' example of my mad MS Paint skills featured above.

Sam and Dave - I Thank You - I'd like to dedicate this one to my wife. Not a day passes that I'm not thankful she's part of my life.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

On this day in 1963, President John F. Kennedy had his date with destiny (and a rifle bullet) in Dallas, Texas.

I have mixed feelings about the man and his legacy. My parents revered the man, whose election presidency symbolized the unbridled promise of a new decade and a new generation of leaders. My father especially took JFK’s vigorous brand of Cold War liberalism to heart, and to this day will not tolerate any criticism of the man.

As I grew older, and my political awareness developed, the notion of JFK as a saintlike figure I inherited from my parents was gradually eroded away, not from the right, but from the left. I held onto my parents’ progressive idealism, but moved toward a more radical antinomian perspective. The nuclear sabre-waving over a fictitious “missile gap,” the Bay of Pigs fiasco, and the shenanigans that set the stage for America’s futile and protracted engagement in Vietnam -- not to mention the sleazy alliances with corrupt party machines and mob-front labor organizations – paint a much darker picture of a president I had been taught to believe was the Ideal Democrat.

Such is the danger of idolatry; it’s far better to acknowledge the “warts and all” from the get go, rather than deal with the shocking disappointment over clay feet down the road. I had professor in college who tried to reconcile his Chomskean politics with affection for JFK by insisting that had Kennedy lived, he would have turned on the CIA and military-industrial complex. That’s why he was assassinated, according to my professor. His argument struck me as an attempt to buttress a collapsing façade with Popsicle sticks, but it also demonstrated the manner in which JFK captured (and retains a hold on) the imagination of that generation.

The Misfits – Bullet (from Static Age, 1978/1997) – “Texas is the reason that the president’s dead.” It makes better sense than either Oliver Stone’s or James Ellroy’s explanation.

Human Sexual Response – Jackie Onassis (from Fig. 15, 1980) – Yet another band tainted by mental association with a former girlfriend of mine. It’s a shame because they’re really good and they were from Boston (which is always a plus with me, unless the band in question is Morphine or Extreme).

The Pogues - Thousands Are Sailing (from If I Should Fall From Grace With God, 1988) – JFK is only mentioned in passing, but I remembered it’s been almost seventeen years to the day since I first saw the band live at the Opera House in Boston, and felt like commemorating that event.

This ain’t no Chatty Cathy art film, folks. AT:TM is an overbudgeted cinematic juggernaut jampacked with gratuitously implausible CGI effects and plot holes wide enough to accommodate a fleet of tricked out Hummers.

This film has it all:

Action!

Naz Nomad and The Nightmares – Action Woman (from Give Daddy the Knife, Cindy, 1984) – This is The Damned, posing as a forgotten sixties garage rock act for a one off album of period cover songs. The Litter, a Minneapolis garage band, first recorded this track in 1967, and Vanian, Scabies and company manage to pull off their own authentic sounding version that doesn’t simply clone the original.

Danger!

Rough Cut – Danger Boy (from a 1981 single) – Pretty good femvox punk out of Detroit. Have I mentioned that I'm a pushover for this kind of stuff?

Excitement!

Le Tigre – I’m So Excited (from This Island, 2004) – I’d lump This Island in with Fischerspooner’s Odyssey as examples of how certain bands can be too slickly produced for their own good. Both albums are entirely listenable and even enjoyable to a certain degree, but the sparks of genius that originally drew me to the acts’ earlier works have been blanched out in the mix. The end results are agreeable but fairly generic. This excellent Pointer Sisters’ cover was a welcome exception.

A killer movie deserves a killer theme song, and nothing beats “Bravely Folk Song,” the Cervantes Stage BGM from the 1996 fighting game, Soul Edge (Soul Blade in the States). This track, from Namco Sound Team’s Super Battle Attack Soul Edge, would be my choice of anthem should my dreams of world domination ever come to fruition. (This would be after my global purge of any and all snarky fanboys bold enough to point out where I lifted the theme from. Absolute power has its rewards.)

Edit: I almost forgot -- every blockbuster flick needs plenty of explosions....

(This is one of those creepy autobiographical posts. You have been warned.)

I’ve been recently spending my free time playing the excellent Bully for the PS2, and the experience has induced some not entirely welcome flashbacks to my high school days. Not that I attended some posh boarding school; Woburn Senior High was (and still is) a typical, unremarkable example of a northeastern suburban high school. The Social Darwinist shark tank elements were still in force, but full on feeding frenzies were rare. I was fortunate enough to avoid them. The bite I delivered to an upperclassman’s arm on the first day of my sophomore year served as an ugly message that I would not be assuming the role of the weak pigeon for the next three years.

I spent the early part of my high school career being ignored by my peers for the most part, aside from the occasional taunts. I fell in with a crowd of other marginalized souls - role-players, comic book geeks, and videogamers – and was content passing the time discussing various aspects of nerdity with them, counting the days until graduation.

In the November of my junior year, my mother passed away suddenly and unexpectedly, and in the shitstorm that followed I went to live with my maternal grandmother. As horrible as it was to lose my mother, it was even worse that my previous home life, a Bukowski-like downward spiral where both my parents had lost all control, became public knowledge. As a consequence, the same folks who had taunted or ignored me started to approach me and make the effort to invite me into their little cliques. “Oh, he’s not a freak. He’s had a freakish home life.” It was a mistake for all involved, like trying to domesticate a rabid raccoon.

My social skills, long turned inward due to a natural shyness and situational guardedness, weren’t up to dealing with “normal” folks. It also didn’t help that my primary male role model was a master of emotional cruelty and manipulation. But where he wielded his talents like a surgeon’s scalpel, I flailed around like Leatherface at the end of Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The threads that bound these poor kids together were easy to discern, and even easier to twist, tug, and knot. The imp of the perverse called the tune and I played the notes to chaotic perfection, causing fights and killing friendships simply because I could.

These tendencies were only gotten under control in the early 1990’s, after I started dating my future wife. She figuratively beat them out of me, and I owe her much for doing so. “I want someone who is an asshole to everyone but me,” she said, and so I settled into my comfortable present role as a low key, sardonic smartass.

Musically, my tastes underwent a massive change during the 1988-1989 period. Prior to my mother’s death, I had been a quasi-mod with an ash blond mop of hair and an extreme devotion to The Best of Sam and Dave and Roger McGuinn-heavy Easy Rider soundtrack. After her death, my tastes shifted toward speed and thrash metal, due to working with a group of metalheads at the local hospital kitchen. Eventually, I fell under the tutelage of the hospital chef, a thirty-something ex-punk rocker who took me along on his lunchbreak record-buying expeditions and would pull classic punk and hardcore discs out of the bins and convince me to give them a try. His relentless evangelism paid off. By the summer of 1989, my long blonde mop had been buzzed out of existence and replaced with Vaseline-slicked orange spikes. Not long after, “Andy” would also go by the wayside in favor of the much more acceptable “Otto Erotic” (which still haunts me to this day, years after I began introducing myself as “Andrew” again.)

Cream – Sunshine of My Love (from Disraeli Gears, 1967) – I can’t estimate how many hours I spent in my bedroom listening to the local classic rock station (before it switched to the execrable “songs by classic artists” format) and reading stacks of books I brought home from the local library. This song must have been on heavy rotation when I read Barbara Tuchman’s A Distant Mirror and Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Mists of Avalon, because my association between them and the song is unshakeable to this day.

Anthrax – Among the Living (from Among the Living, 1987) – During my brief thrash metal phase, Anthrax were my band of choice, probably because their interests meshes well with my nerdist heritage. They wrote songs about Judge Dredd and Stephen King stories, and avoided the beer buzz suicide ballad ghetto entirely.

The Circle Jerks – Coup D’Etat (from the Repo Man OST, 1984) – The Repo Man soundtrack was the first punk album I ever bought, and I was blown away by what I heard on it: all the anger and aggression of metal, but with a better sense of humor and far less pretentiousness.

I've been meaning to do a post like this for some time now, so it's probably best to get it out of the way before YouTube mutates into something corporate and sinister.

The Byrds - I'll Feel a Whole Lot Better


The Soviettes - Multiply and Divide


Robert Hazard - Escalator of Life


bis - Eurodisco

So the nanny-staters turned out to be right. Videogames can cause real-world violence, just not in the way the professional killjoys had always claimed.

Contrived scarcity as a marketing tool -- it’s a surefire method of convincing wild-eyed early adopters and aspiring eBay price-gougers to line up outside the nearest Best Buy for the privilege of being fleeced out of six hundred bucks. But, hey, have you seen the Playstation 3 version of Call of Duty 3? It’s like the previous two installments, but with (cue drumroll) better graphics!

My days in the Gotta-Have-It Brothers’ Circus are long over. My deep pocketed clown pants have been packed away in the attic somewhere. My bucket for tossing disposable income at faceless corporations is now used to store bird food. I still dabble in some Situationist commedia dell'arte now and again, though. Down with the spectacle-commodity society!

Gang of Four – Return the Gift (from Entertainment! 1979) – Entertainment! is one of those rare albums for which my affection grows, rather than fades, over the years. There is so much going on – musically, lyrically, politically – that each listen brings forth new things to ponder and appreciate.

Action Pact – Consumer Madness (from The Punk Singles Collection, 1997) – While it’s a little long at three minutes and forty-two seconds, this 1984 b-side is still a pretty decent effort from a time when most other Britpunk acts were either in the process of imploding or turning into Discharge clones. I can’t decide which fate is worse.

Robert Hazard – Escalator of Life (from a 1982 EP, collected on New Wave Hits of the 80’s: Volume 8, 1994) – An excellent summation of Reagan Era attitudes by the Philly-based Hazard. He was also the man responsible for writing Cyndi Lauper’s überhit “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”.

Lene Lovich – New Toy (from the 1981 New Toy EP, collected on Flex…Plus, 1991) – Thomas Dolby penned this song for Lovich during his brief stint with her band. In one of those delightful cases of ironic licensing, this satirically anti-consumerist track ended up being used in Target’s 2005 Christmas ad campaign.

A certain beagle/boxer/chow mix by the name of Adeline Random went for her annual physical today. Apart from some minor dental issues, she passed with flying colors. She’s a bit spazzy (having spent six weeks of her puppyhood living on the shoulder of Interstate 93), eats all the cats’ food if not watched like a hawk, playfully torments Oscar the pughuahua mercilessly, and thinks it’s great fun to whack her people with her big clomp paws, but she’s an extremely loving and devoted creature. My wife calls her “the Original Child,” as she was the first pet we brought into the house as a married couple.

Marvin Gaye – I’ll Be Doggone (from Anthology, 1974) – “Every woman should be/what her man wants her to be” – Damn you, Marvin, for making blatant sexism sound so sweet and smooth.

The Hoax – Sick as a Dog (from the Blind Panic EP, 1981) – The forgotten “Manchester Sound” that has fuck all to do with either Fall or Factory.

Christian Death – Dogs (from Hell Comes to Your House: Volume 1, 1981) - I didn’t realize Christian Death’s frontman, Rozz Williams, had hung himself until a couple years ago. I was flipping through a copy of Hollywood Death Scenes I bought as a gift for the wife when I came across his entry, complete with a photo of the closet door his roommate found him dangling from.

Belly – Slow Dog (from Star, 1993) – A guy I used to hang out with once asked me to explain Belly’s lyrics and I tried my hardest to do so but his idea of musical greatness was “Carribean Queen” and only wanted to know enough to flirt with scenester women from Boston University and remembering this makes my head hurt…

Lobo – Me and You and a Dog Named Boo (from The Best of Lobo, 1993) – The first person who makes a snide comment about this track gets kneecapped.

Before I got on the mp3 blogging kick, there was a brief period of time where I contemplated joining the ranks of the comics blogosphere. Inspired by some of the cool folks I met while posting lame quips in response to Fanboy Rampage posts, I got the entirely misguided impression that I, too, could set up and maintain a comics-themed blog. That idea died a quiet death after I realized that comics and I are destined to be fuckbuddies, at best. The occasional four-color booty call and some fond memories are about as good as our relationship will ever be.

Besides, the comics blog scene is already well-served. I didn’t see the point of half-assedly covering the same ground that folks like Kevin Church, Ragnell, Dave Campbell, Dorian, and Mike Sterling (to just name a few) do so wonderfully and eloquently on a daily or near daily basis. Of all the comics blogs I frequent, though, none have consistently and successfully anticipated my vague, aborted notions of what I might have done as Chris Sims’s Invincible Super-Blog. Legion of Superheroes craziness? An in-depth exploration of the Fury of Firestorm? He has a knack for independently bringing up concepts and ideas that had been bouncing around my head, then adding racing stripes, chrome fins, and a horn that plays “La Cucaracha”.

Case in point, yesterday’s ISB post dealing with Brave and the Bold #115, where Batman dies and the Atom reanimates the Darknight Detective’s corpse by shinking down, crawling inside his cowled head, and jumping around on Batman’s brain. It’s necromancy via bemani, and the comic was one of the first I ever read as a kid. When the whole Identity Crisis flap -- with its darker, more sinister micronized brainstomping -- was happening a few years ago, I kept thinking about Bob Haney’s goofy 70’s version. Nothing came of it, however, and just as well, because such topics are best left to folks with PhDs in Headkickology.

The preceding overwritten and fulsome passage was my special way of setting up the theme for today, brains, without actually having to discuss the subject directly. So, yeah, brains. Enjoy.

MC 900 Ft. Jesus – If I Only Had a Brain (from One Step Ahead of the Spider, 1994) – Who knew Scarecrow had such mad skillz? Rumor has it that Mark Griffin is now a pilot. Too bad, because I’d take this over Beck’s similar white boy hip-hop experimentation any day.

Roky Erickson and The Aliens – Creature with the Atom Brain (from The Evil One, 1981) – Erickson is one of those wonderful characters that populate the fringes of the music world, the sort of fellow Marilyn Manson or Rob Zombie aspires to be, but minus the calculated-for-MTV nonsense. This track is an excellent bit of acid casualty garage rock run through a 50’s horror movie filter.

The Art Attacks – Take Your Brain Out for a Walk (from Outrage and Horror: 1977-1979, 2003) – The original line up of this band included Robert Gotobed. While he departed before this track was recorded, one can still pick out similarities between it and Wire’s brand of seminal art punk.

The Observers – When I Held Your Brain in My Arms (from Clowns in the Sky II, 1998) – Superior beings who keep their brains in pans, and seem to have a fondness for the Ink Spots. It’s the work of the Mystery Science Theater 3000 crew, from the later Sci-Fi Channel seasons of the much missed series.