Dune

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Click here for a salted rim

This guy sounds like a whimsical French musical instrument after a couple of shots of unicorn tears in a bar that sits just outside of the powder blue kingdom of happiness.

(don't front. you know you wanna go there)

I'm strangely attracted to this music.

That said, Herman Dune is not an easy pill to swallow for some. His delivery and song structures are bizarre.

I would put him on a mixtape alongside The Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players and The Moldy Peaches. Maybe I'd add some Ween... They Might Be Giants too. Yeah.

See that? I just got so nerdy on you. You're lucky I didn't mention Paul Barman.

Tina and the leathered buffoon: Part one.

He was a thick, leathered buffoon slumped over the jukebox when Tina found him slumped over the jukebox. There weren't any sorry assholes left at the bar besides the guy who lived above the place. He wasn't an asshole. He saved a kid once. The part where it all went wrong was when he went out to celebrate his good deed with some friends. They all went home, but he kept celebrating. And celebrating.

She approached her lummox with a calmly executed hint of hesitation. One that signaled she knew that if she didn't save him he'd be shaken awake and dragged onto the sidewalk by the bar back, but also knew the love was fading. They never even dated. She mostly just felt sorry for him.

With a measured tug she pulled him by the back pocket and said "What's going on, hon?" Of course there wasn't a response, but she knew he was blacked out. The bartender watched her as she wrapped her arms around his chest and gave him a lift. The leathered buffoon stood in a display of barely controlled slurs and near disastrous loss of balance. Thin Lizzy played through the piss scented air.

Exiting the bar was an awakening. The leathered buffoon, with his half opened eyes seemed to regain his equilibrium. "The Boys are back in town, huh?" he said with an embarrassed laugh. She was there again, but why? The cool night air swept his face and shocked its way through his denim jacket. It failed. The buffoon was always warm. Uncomfortably warm at times. Tonight however, the temperature was perfect.

"You know? It's not cool that the bartender calls my phone to get you off of his jukebox." she said with a tired grunt.

"It was only one other time... and it was the pool table that I passed out on. Do you think they should've kept serving me?" the buffoon feigned indifference after that.

"Oh, don't even try it. Walk!"

Des Roar at Silverlake Lounge.

Last night me and the crew decided to go down and catch Des Roar at the Silverlake Lounge. We were not disappointed. First off, it was good to see the gang again and it was plain to see that life on the road hasn't affected their mood. They were all just as drunk and ferocious as I recalled them to be. And much more.

In about 40 minutes they tore through a nice mixture of surf, garage, and the maniacal Rock N' Roll they've grown to perfect. Beginning with "The watcher" and ending the set with upcoming single "Watch your step" the crowd instantly knew that these NYC fuckers weren't just stopping by for a beer and polite conversation.

Enter the dueling guitars of wild Irishman Alan O' Keeffe and frontman Ben Wolcott, who has seriously upped his snarling intensity. Maybe being on the road has made them angry after all? They played with the brashness of a band that not only wanted to rock the house, but as a band that wanted to make sure that the sheer force of their music was going to crack a few ribs.

By the way, are you kids lifting weights? All of your arms looked like they were powerful enough to smash a beer cooler. As if that wasn't enough, their diminutive drummer Lyla ain't afraid to kick something after it's dead. For real.

During the last song, the aforementioned 'Watch your step', plenty of boys and girls in the crowd rushed to the dance floor and started doing the graveyard twist. (I have no idea what these kids call dancing today)

It was exactly what a Rock N' Roll show should be: Loud, fast, snotty, and raw. Can somebody please pick these guys up already!!?? Do yourselves a favor by grabbing a copy of Mad Things. You won't be sorry...

And Ryan, I still need a t shirt. You are my only hope.

*Thanks to Red Melanie for the photo.

You'll have to forgive me for not including pictures of the show. Honestly? I left the house pretty drunk to begin with and ended up forgetting my camera.

The Horrors - Vent

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Click here or the hostage gets it!

Not to be confused with Faris Tombstone or whatever those English Horror lads call themselves, these Horrors are from Iowa. What else comes from there?

Besides the state being a major force in the soybean industry, I couldn't find a lot. I'll have to visit. The only problem with that is that I take terrible notes when I'm drunk. Usually they start out informative, but they soon develop into crude drawings of naked women with pumpkins for hands and things of that nature. One time I was following someone who I thought was a local rapist. When I handed the notes to the cops they were excited that a citizen took such an acute attention to detail, but that all all changed when they realized the suspect was Caucasian, six foot tall, and was wearing the "strenuous costume of a shy zebra/ long pony hybrid"

Apparently I had begun writing a poem.

This album, produced by Memphis Garage legend Greg Cartwright, is not something that I'll keep on repeat, but I can promise you that no dirty old bar should be without a copy of this in their jukebox.

Rolling Stones and Satanic Requests

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Click here to get the smelly hand

"Hey Mick, I've got an idea."

"Yeah? What is it Keith?"

"Well, those mop topped buggers are getting all psychedelic and..."

"... and what, Keith? Are we supposed to compete with that?"

"Hell fuckin' yeah you big lipped bastard!"

And thus Their Satanic Majesties Request was born.

2000 Light Years from Home is the perfect song. Not kidding.

On first reaction I saw ________

A Mike McGill board.

Personally? I was a Lance Mountain guy.

By the way, is Axl Rose even a real person?

Jay Reatard R.I.P.

From Wikipedia:

"Lindsey was found dead in bed at his home in Midtown, Memphis around 3:30 a.m. on January 13, 2010. A death investigation has been opened by Memphis police. A statement was posted on the website of Goner Records, that Reatard had died in his sleep. Friends of Lindsey stated that he had recently complained of flu-like symptoms."

Read a great interview with Jay by Rich Tupica at Turn It Down here

Covers time!

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Click here for used ambergris.

Good day folks, I'm sitting around cleaning up my computer and weeding out the tunes that really have no business being there such as the Fungi Girls and the Screaming Females records. I tried, but that doesn't mean I won't keep a look out for future stuff from those guys.

Anyway, while unearthing some stuff I inadvertently came across a few gems that I hadn't heard in a while. Among them was this little song folder with Ben from Des Roar covering two Strokes songs and one booze soaked original with a bit of that old country twang.

Speaking of Des Roar, they're playing the West Coast now and will be in LA on the 17th.

Enjoy!

*When downloading from Sharebee don't click the giant download button. Click the smaller, green filehost names instead (Rapidshit, Badwrongo; etc)

Videos I like today!

The Gories want you Outta here!

http://www.mediafire.com/?hyzh40nzmmj

Click here for labia soufflé.

I'm sure that I am going to be tarred and feathered for saying that I'm not really a fan of the Dirtbombs, but rest assured, the Gories have a special place in my heart. Nuff said.

Hey, here's an idea: Record yourself covering my favorite song on this record (Telepathic) and send it to me. I'll post them all as a limited edition download and whichever version I think is the best will inspire me to send something cool to the maker of it. Maybe the runner up will get something too.

Don't write to me asking what I'll send the winner because that would be lame. You don't want to be lame do you? Of course not... because no one will want to have sex with you. See?

Pinche Gringo

http://www.mediafire.com/?yubj3qhujgz

Click here for lady cop frisking.

I'll start off this post by saying the Amphetamine Train is the best song on this album. No, fuck that... it's the best song I've heard in a while. It so far has been responsible for the breaking of two drinking glasses, a pair of sunglasses, a guitar string, and a watercolor of Ernest Borgnine. All of this is too long a story for me to tell right now.

What can I say? Rock N' Roll just makes me crazy. Especially this kind of King Khan/ BBQ/ Mummies/ Demon's Claws kind of way. Pinche does it.

Mostly a one man band, Pinche Gringo does contain two other members. One of them, a very nice lady named Liza Jane that runs the Tiny Toy Guitar site. She's pretty much awesome in every way. The other guy is Jimmy Brad of Jimmy and the Teasers fame. Together they form a ramshackle, rock n' roll Voltron.

This was released as a cassette only pressing of 100 on the Zap label. Coincidentally, this album goes great when paired with a half nekkid lady, a strip club in a bad neighborhood, and a whole lot of whiskey. Just what the doctor ordered.

Maybe I'll sober up for ten minutes and see if I can interview these guys soon.

The first post of 2010: The douche report.

Tonight was a special night. At the bottom most tier it was a Saturday night and the fact that I ventured out was amazing in itself. Normally I wouldn't do such a thing because I'm not generally a "weekend crowd" type of guy, but tonight was requested by someone that I respect very highly. I had a blast, but that's not to say that the night didn't have its share of pitfalls...

There were so many things that I encountered this evening that continuously solidifies my distaste for weekend fun involving packed bars and amateur drinkers.

This list won't be in order of occurrence:

The Over-drunk recently turned twenty one kid:

Ooh... a special breed if I've ever seen one. The just recently turned twenty one kid will enter the bar and consume as much alcohol as his wittle tummy can take. This practice usually involves a late night comatose state where the contacting of parents is usually considered or at the very least a rad story they can tell their friends about how they got "so fucked up" that they woke up on a doorstep and "people were, like... going to work and shit."

Sometimes this recently legalized douche bag will somehow convince himself that through alcohol he has become the most powerful titan the world has ever known and proceed to puff his almost always scrawny chest whenever his underdeveloped, booze soaked brain assumes it it being threatened in any way. Be advised... this particular scum bag will appear bigger that he actually is due to the oversized attire he wears. It should be noted that this oversized clothing will almost certainly bear the logo of a sports team. It should also be noted that this particular team may or may not be in the town where you encounter this particular dick head.

The bitter Mexican fat girl who inadvertently dresses like a hipster, but claims to hate hipsters:

In my circles I don't run into this one often, but once encountered, this subject will immediately make you want to slit her throat. She will sit there on a bar stool, usually conversing with another bitter girl about some guy that did something so "gangsta" that it basically makes the accomplishments of Ghandi seem pale and unimportant by comparison. The story will almost always end with "... he's locked up now."

Careful... this subject will take a chance at being "gangsta" herself by making fun of you even though it's obvious she's just depressed that she looks the way she does. Also, it will be obvious that she has taken in too much alcohol because of her propensity to pass out at the end of any night. Thus, making her a bad choice of drinking partner. Really though... who would want a bad drinking partner?

Tonight, as I was at the bar, there was someone of the aforementioned variety sitting across from me. She decided to inform me that I was a "hipster" with a disgusted sneer on her face. Naturally, my first reaction was to agree, but knowing the negative connotations of the word, I decided to let her continue after I asked what she meant by her remark and why she felt it appropriate to "call me out?"

Her response? Typical, although correct. (Nobody could accuse her of not being observant) She told me that I wore tight jeans, had tattoos, rode a bicycle, and listened to stupid bands. Well, she wasn't wrong because I do all of the above. Why that is supposedly hip I'm not sure. Anyway, she sat there so smugly she could've killed a houseplant just by sitting next to it. I did what any man would do when being somewhat challenged by a behemoth: I rattled something off about her being a Cosmo Girl and this months ten sexy lovemaking tips. What the heck? You may ask... just trust me. It was like pouring salt on a slug. The beauty here was that she was so un-girlish in her ways, that to imply anything about her that did not involve black eyeliner, joker tattoos or low rider vehicles was a sure insult. The last thing she said was " I ain't white and what makes you think I'd read Cosmo? Shit."

Screw that trick ass ho. I like reading Cosmo.

The bathroom super talker:

This guy is in every bathroom in every part of the world. I'm not sure about any of you, but when I'm facing a urinal I prefer those 30 seconds or so to be quiet and introspective. Also, I'm a big fan of that little robot in my pants and I enjoy the quiet time with it. Anyway, this guy will come into the bathroom quietly, but as soon as he pulls out to spray his foul piss, he'll say something either amazingly stupid or incredibly creepy. Plus, in all his excitement he forgets to wash his hands afterward, therefore putting his little pee pee hand all over the goddamned bar, the jukebox, the darts, and most likely your back as he tries to squeeze by you later that night because the place is so crowded. Here are examples:

• "Hey man, this place is cool right?"
• "Yo, there's a lot of bitches here, bro!"
• "Hey, do I know you?"
• "Yeah, I'm gonna bang all these chicks tonight."
• "The DJ is pretty good, huh?"

Alright Mr. Bathroom super talker... it's time to stop. You're causing me to want to turn toward you and pee on your sneakers and if you try to fight back I will pee on you some more. Punk.

And for absolutely no reason at all...

Hey John Mayer, do you even like rock n' roll? I ask because millions of girls like you and although I can safely state that you are a talented musician, I just haven't seen anything that rocks like a dirty Cantonese hooker with a trash can tattoo and the ass to match. You had a funny TV show though and I think you're a pretty funny guy. So keep on, man. I don't even have a band right now.