Music and drugs have a long and intertwining history. Certain artists have their poisons and certain poisons have their artists. Fans too, poisons don’t miss them either. (Managers, promoters, bookers, and label reps, let’s not forget they do drugs too.) We as music makers and fans snort, smoke, shoot, chug, and inject, for many reasons.

Enhancement of the senses to intensify creative process? Check. Enhancement of the senses to intensify audible and visual experience? Check. R. Kelly says, “I believe I can fly” and we do too. Or if you’re from the South, you want drugs because you like how it feels going fast.

Eddy Grant rocks down to Electric Avenue then does what? He takes it highya. Sadly, ginseng and guarana don’t stack up. I mean, there you are on Electric Avenue, somehow a cup of ginseng tea doesn’t work.

Drugs get ugly real quick. Some of the nastiest and dumbest:

The Speedball: intravenous use of heroin or morphine and cocaine.
Crank: cheap form of meth that is usually snorted.
Lith: lithium taken from batteries, comes in a paste, usually smoked.
LSD/Mushroom/Ecstasy combo: college students in Georgia call it “The Larry”.
Freon: the shit in refrigerators and air conditioners.
Yard of Beer: three feet of liquid beer.

Which gets you the highest?

King Khan & The Shrines played a crazy fun show Sunday. Whole-lee frick. I don't think I've EVER seen people dance so hard at the Tractor Tavern.

The best part of the show was super-drunk-middle-finger-man in the front row. He was flailing around like he was having a seizure, and repeatedly giving the band the bird flip. When Khan told him, "Hey guy, you are a terrible dancer!" Tractor security jumped in and escorted him out. Khan then demanded he was let back in the club, bought him a beer, and kept pointing at him with his big snake stick for the rest of the show.

Bands from South Georgian Sandwich Islands sure are nice.

More photos after the jump.

Continue reading "King Khan is Keee'razy" »

Dear Sub Pop, Happy Birthday! I almost sh*t my pants climbing to the top of the Space Needle with you, but now I love you even more. Yours, Kelly O

Photos after the jump...

Continue reading "Space Needle Captured!" »

Wait, back up.

All the way to the year 2006.

There was a 20 year-old English boy from Wimbledon called Jamie T. Jamie T put out a single called "Sheila." The song was very good.

Jamie T, in case he's unfamiliar, is the one, along with Plan B, Day One, Just Jack, and Audio Bullys, who is part of the small, Mike Skinner-inspired movement of male British hip-hop musicians that've been born not from miming the American mainstream, but from eddying in and out of the black dance music scenes of U.K. garage, drum 'n' bass, and grime.

"Sheila" was his first song.

Essentially three different and connected stories, "Sheila" is 1.] about a girl who drinks herself into the Thames, 2.] a boy with an out-of-control gang, and 3.] a daughter addicted to her brutal father. The music is a wall of rapid-fire, slurred speech, chopped-up acoustic guitars, these bent hip-hop beats, and one lone shimmering and somehow playful acid house keyboard bit that contradicts everything.

I love the way the chorus starts it all. Which almost never works.

I love the samples. Which hurt like wounds. "It's over, man, it's over." Or, "Good heavens, you boys -- blue-blooded murder of the English tongue."

I love the details, the recurring "London!" scream, or, right before the second verse, the segue of Jamie's "Bluh!" Or the way the words spit out like piss.

I love how the video has Bob Hoskins singing the whole thing.

I love the language. "Sheila goes out with her mate Stella / It gets poured all over her fella." Or, "Behave young scallywag! / A fine young Gal I Had." Or, "Her lingo went from the Cockney to the Gringo / Anytime she sing a song the other girls sing along / And tell all the fellas that the lady is single." Or, "She been buckle-belt, beaten from the back like a brat / Dunno where she's going, but she know where she at / So, Georgie, it's time to chain react," and then, "But the truth is, you know, she'll probably fall back."

While a couple of the other singles -- such as the drunken, swaying, sped-up, classic ska of "If You Got The Money," and the soft and warm-breeze-from-a-fire of "Calm Down Dearest" -- show there's more to Jamie T than a single idea, Panic Prevention, the 2007 debut album, failed to come together and only brings out his worst flailing and can't-be-bothered, pub-damaged habits. It needed more time.

"Sheila," though, yes. One of the starkest and most addictive songs of the last twenty-four months -- gorgeous, harrowing, and extraordinarily well-written. Music for a lost Mike Leigh film.

And unlike most music of the time, it remains vital and full of color two years later, despite the hype.

One day, he might be able to pull it off again.

From the Mail:

Ronnie Wood has left his wife of 23 years for an 18-year-old Russian cocktail waitress, it was claimed today.

The Rolling Stone, 61, is said to have taken Ekaterina Ivanova to his home
in Ireland, leaving his wife Jo behind at the family home in Kingston upon
Thames.

Wood, an alcoholic who is said to have 'fallen off the wagon', met her three months ago after the Leicester Square premiere of Martin Scorsese’s documentary about the Rolling Stones, Shine A Light.

Totally dude, party like a rock star.

Okay, so that's not entirely true. It's very possible that if Jawbreaker stayed together, they would've continued to release really, really great records. But it's also possible that if they stayed together, they would've started to suck and it would've tainted my image of them and instead of praising Jawbreaker and getting stoked for a (possible) reunion, I'd be sighing and wondering why they're still making music at all (cough cough, Weezer, cough cough).

That would be so awful.

So this morning I was thinking about the bands that I wish would've gone the way of Jawbkreaker--bands that were great, showed a lot of promise, and then started to suck. Jimmy Eat World came to mind. Bleed American (AKA their self-titled record) was a really solid pop record, but it didn't have the same anthemic, magnetic quality that Clarity still has. And Futures was just bad. And their latest? Forgiveable but unmemorable songs about dancing alone in your bedroom. So sad. If they had quit after Bleed American, taken a few years off, and then toured again, then I'd be stoked for their upcoming show at the Showbox SoDo (July 15th). But they didn't, and I'm not.

Weezer the other obvious example. Obviously.

I polled a few friends to see what they had to say. On the "should've called it quits" list: Alkaline Trio, Metallica, Weezer, Public Enemy, Hella, Saves the Day, Belle & Sebastian, Cave In, Metallica again, Green Day, and NIN.

So maybe, instead of cursing the Jawbreaker break-up for years, I should've been thanking them. I got to keep their great records, they got to keep their great reputation--everyone wins.

Wish I could say the same for Jimmy Eat World.

Now here's the Alkaline Trio video for "Goodbye Forever." Look at Skiba! He looks like a lil' baby! Awe!

Jawbreaker, Hot Water Music, Shudder to Think, Superchunk... It's very possible, with some luck (and possibly a couple plane tickets), I'll be seeing all of these bands in 2008.

But where's Army of Ponch? I want Army of Ponch!

^{Army of Ponch - "Those Old Hurts"}

C'mon, guys. Play more shows. All the cool kids are doing it.

All the cool kids really ARE doing it! According to No Idea, Army of Ponch is playing in Gainsville August 2nd. So there's hope.

Oh Summer '08, you are so great.

Let the mighty eagle soar.

“Because Wu-Tang is that good, son. When you are ten, we will get you one.”

The RZA show this past Tuesday was all ages. Herb openly hung in thick low clouds. By 1 AM, the kids had had it:

When I say the name Joan Armatrading do you have any idea who the hell I'm talking about?

Short history: Armatrading is a West Indies-born/UK-bred singer/songwriter who's been putting out records since the '70s. Her best-loved stuff comes from the late-'70s/early '80s—1976's Joan Armatrading, 1977's Show Some Emotion, 1980's Me Myself I—and her "greatest hits," as they were, were an integral part of my sensitive high school and collegiate years. (Also falling during my college years: Tracy Chapman, whose status as a black woman with an acoustic guitar drew immediate comparisons to Armatrading and scorn from Armatrading fans, who viewed Chapman as a simplistic knock-off. To use an alterna-rock analogy: if Joan Armatrading was Sonic Youth, Tracy Chapman was Green Day.)

Despite several handfuls of unimpeachably great songs, Armatrading never really made one album that summed her up and secured her place in the singer/songwriter canon—none of her studio albums achieve the completeness of Blue or Tapesty or After the Gold Rush, though Armatrading's place alongside Joni Mitchell, Carole King, and Neil Young is indisputable.

Still, with no one record to latch onto, I left Armatrading back in the world of "college music" that I remembered fondly but listened to rarely. Then last year I came across her early-career-summarizing collection Love & Affection, and fell in love all over again, harder than ever. (Eternal favorites: "Friends," "The Weakness in Me," "The Laurel and the Rose," "Down to Zero.")

And then, right in the midst of this personal Joan Armatrading renaissance, I noticed that Joan Armatrading is coming to town, as part of the Cyndi Lauper/B-52s True Colors tour, which lands at Seattle's WaMu Theatre next Tuesday, July 1.

I am swooning in anticipation.

For now, please enjoy a rich dose of Joan from 1979.

God I love her.

I know (you know), not another Entertainment Weekly list, right? But this Michel Gondry cutated list of 25 classic music videos is actually worth checking out (Stereogum collects them all on one handy page here) if for no other reason than it includes this fantastic clip for New Order's even more fantastic "Perfect Kiss," which flips the conventions of the studio/performance video to create something more like uncomfortable verité (also: frog noises!), and which I'd somehow never seen before today:

So, yes, the new Vampire Weekend video for "Oxford Comma" bites Wes Anderson (and perhaps by extension French New Wave/Rive Gauche) about hard as the band supposedly does Paul Simon (harder, in fact). But, really, who gives a fuck? The album is catchy as hell, and this song is smart and funny and sweet, turning Lil John-isms into worry about deceit and sexual anxiety, making the phrase "your diction dripping with disdain" sound vaguely dirty. Why would you lie about how much you obviously love it?

Vampire Weekend play the Capitol Hill Block Party, Friday July 25th

I recently reacquired a digital copy of Jets to Brazil's stellar first album, Orange Rhyming Dictionary (to go with my orange vinyl double LP, natch), and damn if it doesn't hold up pretty well for those times when you wish Blake Schwarzenbach had recorded just one more Jawbreaker record. Especially heavy in my rotation lately is "I Typed For Miles." Back when the record came out, my friends would rag on this song because the opening guitar part sounds so much like the opening to "Heart Shaped Box." In the context of the song, though, it seems obviously intentional.

From the titular/lyrical references to Truman Capote's famous dis of Jack Kerouac ("That's not writing, that's typing") to the song's fixation on "love songs on the radio tonight," the song is as much about loneliness as it is about writer's block (both share a strain of self-doubt). For the (song-)writer, the song on the radio is not only a reminder of absent/lost love but also a source of creative/professional anxiety. (It's not hard to imagine Schwarzenbach, who once opened for Nirvana, feeling such weight attached to "Heart Shaped Box.") The best part, though: The song's accusatory coda, screamed in hoarse refrain, seems to fly in every direction, its meaning shifting fluidly from one utterance to the next, hitting every target—Kerouac, the song on the radio, the absent lover, finally the writer/singer himself: "You keep fucking up my life."

If that isn't writing, then it is some damn fine typing.

On Saturday evening, around 6 pm, 200 lucky Weezer fans brought instruments to the Vera Project and recorded a record with the band.

True story.

^{Photo by Curt Doughty}

For the past week, the band has been hosting their first annual "Hootenanny" tour in a few cities on the West Coast, and Saturday was Seattle's turn. To get in, you had to win passes via 107.7 the End or be invited through the Vera Project. Once everyone was there, instruments in hand, we were sorted into sections and lead into the room accordingly--guitars in the front, horns to the side, strings to the other side, woodwinds in the middle, percussion in the back, etc. There were mics all over the room, and Weezer and their people kept reminding us that it was an actual recording session (the best cuts from every city are going to eventually end up on a CD). Among the usual suspects (lots and lots of guitars and shakers) we also had an accordion, a bassoon, an oboe, a didgeridoo, some tomtoms, even a gong.

The members of Weezer were spread throughout the room. Rivers (weirdly in head-to-toe Weezer swag) stood in front by the guitars. Brian Bell (who looks like a sexier Marc Jacobs in person) was to his left with the string section. And Scott Shriner (who was the most animated Weezerite of the night) stood to his right by the horns and kazoo players (that's where I was, I play a mean kazoo). Those who didn't have an instrument clapped, stomped, and sang along.

^{Photo by Curt Doughty}

Surprisingly, once we started playing, it wasn't a complete disaster. The room was full of a talent, a who's who of local bands with members of the Lashes, Schoolyard Heroes, Speaker Speaker, Tennis Pro, Kay Kay and His Weathered Underground, Wild Orchid Children.

Eric Howk (the Lashes, Palmer, AK) took one of the guitar solos, while his bandmate Note Mooter was a star during "Creep" with his weepy accordion. Danny Oleson (Speaker Speaker) impressed Rivers and Brian with his secret violin skills, so he had a couple solos himself. The kazoo section (with Jonah Bergman and Ryann Donnelly of Schoolyard Heroes) even got a few minutes in the spotlight, taking the solo in Beverly Hills.

^{Photo by Curt Doughty}

We played "Pork and Beans," "Island in the Sun," "Say it Ain't So," "El Scorcho," "Beverly Hills," and Radiohead's "Creep" (which was actually one of the most epic parts of the night--our version was string and accordion heavy with very little percussion and everyone singing the chorus as loud as they could).

The End's website has photos, video, and recordings from the session posted here. And the band promised there'd be some videos on their YouTube channel too.

^{Photo by Curt Doughty}

It was awesome--really, really awesome. I was singing "El Scorcho" at the top of my lungs and Rivers was singing it with me. Right there. Just feet away.

Daedelus - "Fair Weather Friends"

Let the summer begin.

As Line Out readers may have noticed, I've been on a bit of a Superchunk kick lately. Which got me thinking: Wouldn't it be great if Superchunk were coming to Seattle this summer? Maybe to play some big music festival? Yeah, that would be pretty rad.

Part two in a series, this one's from the band's recent concert for Obama in their home state of North Carolina:

What ever happened to Rik Rude?
What happened to his album Diamond Pistol Rap? Was it ever released? So sad for Seattle to lose such a talented rapper. His mixed tape Cigar Rock Star was packed with future greatness.

Apropos of nothing beyond it being stuck in my head for days—stuck as in filling up every pause in conversation, every silent moment, even internally drowning out audible real-world music—and also because it's a great video (see also: "Sugarcube"), Superchunk's "Watery Hands":

Oh how I wish there was more than just ten seconds of this song. Thank you, internet.

Rhymefest and Ol' Dirty Bastard singing one of the best songs of all time? Was this song number one on the charts when it came out? Why wasn't this used in There's Something About Mary? This is making me feel insane! Can you say summer soundtrack 2008?

These days I am only interested in Nouns.

Talking with another late-30-something about No Age's latest and greatest, we both marveled at and puzzled over the band's amazing ability to make us care all over again about sounds I've literally been listening to my entire life.

I refuse to overthink it, though the band's tracks-as-art-pieces certainly invite such rumination. Right now I'm too busy being in love with every one of Nouns' thirty and a half minutes.

Thank you, No Age (and congrats Sub Pop.)

A singer has written in. He thinks his girlfriend has a thing for his bass player. He asked to remain anonymous:

I’m pretty sure they have hooked up, or they want to hook up. They look at each other all the time while we’re playing. I know something is up. It totally messes with my headspace and my singing. I’ve been dating the girl for eight months. The band got the bass player through an audition about two months ago. I guess we’ve become friends (the bass player and I). But this is a deal breaker.

The bass player is a Ned's Atomic Dustbin fan. Before he was in the band, I remember my girlfriend saying she hated Ned’s Atomic Dustbin. The other day, she got a “Best of” Ned’s Atomic Dustbin CD from Amazon and has been listening to it all the time. I’m so sick of this. It stinks because I really like the girl. What should I do?

This singer should:

I couldn't quite roll with Low Motion Disco at first listen. Sure, I liked the Still Going remix of "Love Love Love," but the first time I put on the duo's upcoming full length, Keep It Slow, I found myself listening to the first 30 or 45 seconds of each track, then skipping ahead to find one with a discernible groove (the most immediately winning was late in the album epic "People Come in Slowly"). Of course, I rather missed the point completely.

In their press materials, Low Motion Disco explain themselves thusly:

...we have developed a way to dance while not moving. We do it standing at a bar, or sitting on a sofa, in a car, wherever. While doing this, we groove and shake like hell, it just doesn't show on the outside. This technique is the basis of all we do. We call it "low motion disco."

Obviously, anyone with that awesome of an artist's statement gets another few listens, and on repeat spins—at home, on my headphones over pho, wherever—the album has totally grown on me. It is, essentially, a chill-out record—only a couple songs have dance floor ready beats by even the most cosmic standards of disco—but it's the good kind of chill out record, groovy and minimal and playful without being cheesy (even an interpolation of the 5 Stairsteps' "Ooh Child" works). And there are grooves here, they're just, you know, slow moving enough as to be imperceptible at first. There are little disco signifiers, too—congas, wet wah-wah guitars, loose bass—but they're dubbed out and drenched in reverb until they become only the ghost image of disco. Elsewhere, field recordings of nature or odd vocal samples further distance the record from disco, setting moods more pastoral or abstract, respectively.

Low Motion Disco keep a blog at lowmotiondisco.wordpress.com, they have two 12"s for "Love Love Love" out on Eskimo Recordings, who will release Keep It Slow on June 24th. In the meantime, you can find a few of their tracks via Hype Machine.

From Russian literature:

Margarita flung [the window] open and a sweeping broom, bristles up, flew dancing into the bedroom. It drummed on the floor with its end, kicking and straining towards the window. Margarita squealed with delight and jumped astride the broom. Only now did the thought flash in
the rider that amidst all this fracas she had forgotten to get dressed. She galloped over to the bed and grabbed the first thing she found, some light blue shift. Waving it like a banner, she flew out the window.

This is from Chapter 20, "Azazello's Cream," of Mikhail Bulgakov's novel The Master and Margarita. The beginning of the next chapter, "Flight," marvelously describes Margarita's naked flight to the gathering of witches on Brocken Mountain.

From continental philosophy:

It was on Spinoza that I worked the most seriously according to the norms of the history of philosophy—but he more than any other gave me the feeling of a gust of air from behind each time you read him, of a witch’s broom which he makes you mount.

No other passage in philosophy describes more perfectly the experience of reading Spinoza than this one in Deleuze's Spinoza: Practical Philosophy. What it captures is the weird wind of Spinoza's imagination. It's a wind that seems supernatural. The most rational of pre-enlightenment philosophers is also the most magical. The broom is his book; the wind is his thought.

From minimal techno: Loscil's "Resurgam," which is on the producer's third CD, Submers, is the musical equivalent of the experience of reading Spinoza's philosophy. In this particular track, the techno beat is the broom and dub distortions and drones are the weird wind. With "Resurgam," we are on a witch's trip to Brocken mountain.

There are lots of reasons to love the Peter Bjorn & John song "Up Against the Wall" great—the easy backbeat; that endless, perfect guitar line; the foggy harbor ambience; Peter Moren's always adorable accent; the way its seven minutes pass like half the time. But what I love about it most right now is the double meaning in its chorus. Lyrically, it's anxious and conflicted—up against the wall in the sense of being backed into a corner and forced to act. But melodically, sentimentally, the songs is blissful—"almost that I wish you had me up against the wall"—pinned up against a wall as in an embrace, weighed down as in "the love poetry of every age." I've been warned that there's no way to reference Milan Kundera while describing a Peter Bjorn & John song without sounding like a total d-bag, but there it is. It's currently my favorite song on Writer's Block, an album comprised almost entirely of favorite songs.

A Q-Tron effect pedal kidnapped me at knifepoint today. It knocked on my door and said, “Get in your car now, bitch. You’re taking me to Aurora. I need scotch and poker.”

I said, “But you’re a Q-Tron Electro-Harmonix Envelope Filter, you have scotch-tape holding that knife. You provide all the wah sounds of the famous Mu-Tron III heard on so many funk and rock recordings, but with increased frequency response and improved signal-to-noise ratio. You can’t kidnap anyone.”

Then the Q-Tron cut me. A little sliver out of my forearm. So I got in my car and started the engine. “Take me to gamble, now. Or I cut you again.”

The Q-Tron lost big. “Get me away from here, now. I need scotch,” it said.

“Now I need Sugar’s. I need a waitress contest.”

I said, “But it’s Thursday, the sign says the waitress contests are on Tuesday.”

“There will be a waitress contest BECAUSE I SAY THERE WILL BE A WAITRESS CONTEST," the Q-Tron replied. "Don’t make me cut you again.”

The Q-Tron emerged from Sugar’s with Brenda. There was some small talk and then her envelope controlled his filter. – the end

The Sonics with Special Guests
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 31, 2008
8:00 p.m. | Reserved Seating | All Ages
THE PARAMOUNT THEATRE

Who is next? Little Richard? Chuck Berry...or the better question might be...who is left?

I'm seriously heartbroken. As a kid I'd dance and sing endlessly to and with Bo... "Bring To Jerome" was my fave Bo song, my fave of Bo's albums is Gunslinger, for "Drive On Josephine"... I'd replace my mom's name for Joespehine and sing it to her! Then later when I began getting earfuls of the Rolling Stones, the Yardbirds, there he was again... and even later when I heard the Gories... um, wait, I dunno where I'm even going with this. This SUCKS, I can't believe he's gone... it's like one of my uncle's died.

Hercules and Love Affair's May 17th US debut at Brooklyn's Studio B (via Pitchfork):

Somebody please bring this disco ball to Seattle!

The fingers of Pete Rock are strange and enigmatic.

Those fingers put a spell on you and in the music.

This has been around a while, and despite spending 18 hours a day online, I didn't see it till yesterday, when it filled me with joy: The SomethingAwful forum Compare Your Genitals to Musicians!, wherein a cavalcade of web denizens do just that, and renew my faith in humanity.

My penis is like Television- no matter how hard I try to shove it down's people's throats, it is never appreciated.

My penis is like Jimi Hendrix. Almost all of its attention comes from solos.

My vagina is like Bjork. Sometimes it's just completely inaccessible.

My dick is like Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band. Almost no one gets it, and those who do are faking.

My dick is like Fergie. It wets itself halfway through a performance.

My cock is like AC/DC. Yeah, it's old and it did its best work in the past, but it's still fun to pull out at a party later in the evening after everyone's been drinking for a bit.

My dick is like Ricky Martin. It had some limited crossover success in the past, but the only lasting success has been with Latinas. Ask most non-Latin women about it these days and they'll either deny having liked it or chalk it up to being young and stupid.

My boobs are like the White Stripes-There's two of them and most would say they could use a tan.

My junk is like Men Without Hats: Pretty much only known from that video with a midget.

My dick is like Ray Charles; it's never seen a vagina.

My vagina is like Blink 182- immature frat boys really liked it in the nineties, but it's basically a pop culture footnote now.

My penis is like a Leonard Cohen song: everyone likes it better when it's covered.

Read them all here. Thank you, SomethingAwful!

It's a day old, but Stranger columnist Michaelangelo Matos' most recent installment of "Project X" on Idolator is worth a belated look. In the post, Matos gathers his family, following a Mother's Day feast at Red Lobster, to evaluate the Billboard Hot 100 Top 10—it's like the Wire's jukebox jury, only you might know what the hell they're talking about, or Arthur's "Bull Tongue" column, only with no Thurston Moore. In any case, the Matos family's banter makes me think that, if they were so inclined, they could just start their own music criticism concern (The Matos Weekly? Matosfork?) and they'd probably do pretty well (maybe Miguel could handle ad sales, I don't know). A sample:

3. Lil Wayne ft. Static Major, "Lollipop" (Cash Money)
Alex: Oh god.
Lorie: [The Supremes'] "Reflections"—that's what [the beginning] reminds me of.
Alex: "Apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur": I know this song. I don't like this, though. Oh! It's the wrong song. I'm thinking of "Low" [by Flo Rida ft. T-Pain].
Brittany: Is this Lil Wayne?! "Cash Money Records reppin' for the nine-nine and the 2000!" I like Mannie Fresh better. He was a lot funnier to listen to. What's that song, "Get Your Roll On"? Lil Wayne was like 12 years old when Cash Money Records came out—that's what I always think about when I hear him. He was like 12 years old with a kid, and his lonely teardrop.
Lorie: A kid? Wow! I've been outdone!
Brittany: Yeah—nobody thought it was biologically possible, but it's been done, Mom.
Lorie: You know what this reminds me of? Rap.
Alex, Brittany, Michael: It is rap.
Brittany: It's more like a distant relative of rap. What kind of rap did you listen to, Mom, the Sugarhill Gang?
Lorie: No, I listened to that Superman song.
Michael: You mean "Rapper's Delight"?
Lorie: Yes!
Brittany: That's the Sugarhill Gang.
Lorie: Oh.
Michael: Wait—do you mean the song about Superman and Lois Lane, or the one about Supermanning that ho?
Lorie: [confused look]
Michael: OK, never mind.

I just got a promo copy of Vagrant's upcoming collection of the Anniversary's rarities and b-sides, The Devil on Our Side, due out June 24th. Hell yes! Back before file-sharing was totally ubiquitous and mp3s killed the mixtapes etc, when I was still mostly getting my b-sides on the literal back sides of 7"s, I put at least a couple of these Anniversary tracks on damn near every mixtape I made for a couple years there. "Alright For Now," "Alone in Debtford," "Vasil & Bluey," and "To Never Die Young" were particular favorites. It was a shame when the band got all hippie and then broke up. But hey! Mixtapes! Also, there's some unheard/unreleased songs on here that I haven't yet listened to thoroughly enough to review, although so far it seems like some late period Of Montreal indie funk, only less fanciful and more laconic.

Herb Alpert is playing two sold out shows at Jazz Alley tonight and tomorrow. It was a beautiful sunny day like today, probably 7 years ago, when I acquired my first Herb Alpert record. I was at a 2pm Saturday show at the old Paradox on University seeing Zao and a then unknown 3 Inches of Blood. The singer from one of the bands (I can't remember which) excitedly informed the audience, "There's a whole dumpster full of vinyl down the street behind the Safeway!" After the show several of us went to check it out, and sure enough, there was a dumpster, chained shut, filled top to bottom with thousands of records. The chains were loose on one corner, enough to grab a couple hundred old records and throw them in the back of my buddy's car. Most of them were garbage, but among our stash I found this gem:

Those smooth horns, wafting Latin rhythms... it was, and still is the perfect soundtrack to a lazy summer afternoon. Other than my son, Clarence, it remains the best thing I have ever found in a dumpster.

Two great, hopelessly romantic records you should listen to on the next sunny day:

That's all.

Other than the vociferous rock Cicadas bestowed upon me at their last show on Thursday, they also introduced me to the band Sparks. This was one of those, "How had I never heard of these guys?" moments; despite my love for 70s prog Sparks had slipped under my radar. This introduction was followed strangely enough (or not) by an Idolator post yesterday about the band and how they will be performing their 21 albums over the course of 21 nights at Shepherds Bush Empire, starting last night. The final night will showcase a new release from the band Exotic Creatures of the Deep. 1974's Kimono My House was their breakthrough, with the single "This Town Ain't Big Enough For Both of Us" reaching #2 on the charts. Though their sound in this era fits somewhere between Queen and Yes this live performance is from a disco program, so, not surprisingly, no on in the audience seems to give a fuck about what they are doing. This song slays.

For what it's worth, I've had the melody of Fleet Foxes' "White Winter Hymnal" stuck in my head most of the afternoon. It is a fine melody.

But with work to do, I can't go outside to play kickball, so I'll have to be happy staying inside listening to Kickball.

"Underground Husbands"

"Fight"

"Pocketknife"

"Invisible Cities"