Happy Independence Day!!!!

Happy 4th Of July!

In honor of our great nation, there will be no playlist for July. Thank YOU, America!

A fresh new playlist will return for August!

June Playlist!

I look great from the back.

The whole month of May I was planning on doing the June Playlist early. I kept emailing myself suggestions, so that when it came time to put together the list, it would be a breeze. And here we are on June 2nd and I'm just finalizing it. As I was putting the list together I listened to the new one from The Darkness... it's kind of a turd. 

At any rate, here's June! Same as always, one new album and one "classic" album a day. This month finds the youngest album I'm passing off as a classic, Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds released in 2011. 

There are also a lot of broads this month, Florence And The Machine, Heart, Blondie, Janis Joplin, Melody Gardot, and Imogen Heap... it just kind of worked out that way. 

New stuff is mainly freshly released albums, with a few records from last year that I wanna "catch up" on. (Broken Bells, Hold Steady, Imogen Heap, Mac DeMarco)

Oh! Since doing the Year Of Music in 2013 and this year, I have listened to over 700 albums! And not one of them was from Joy Division! What a crime! So, I threw Unknown Pleasures at the end of the month. 

Enjoy!

June 1

The Police Zenyatta Mondatta

The Vaccines English Graffiti

June 2

The Darkness Permission To Land

The Darkness Last Of Our Kind

June 3

Heart Dreamboat Annie

Florence And The Machine How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful

June 4

Willie Nelson The Troublemaker

Merle Haggard/Willie Nelson Django And Jimmie

June 5

The Jam Sound Affects

Paul Weller Saturn’s Pattern

June 8

The Rolling Stones Exile On Main St.

Dawes All Your Favorite Bands

June 9

Muse Showbiz

Muse Drones

June 10

Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds

Algiers Algiers

June 11

Blondie Eat To The Beat

DuBlonde Welcome Back To Milk

June 12

Sloan One Chord To Another (Released on 6.12.1996)

The Oh Sees Mutilator Defeated At Last

June 15

The Cars Candy-O (Released 6.13.1979)

Of Monsters And Men Beneath The Skin

June 16

Third Eye Blind Third Eye Blind

Third Eye Blind Dopamine

June 17

Janis Joplin I Got Dem Ol’ Kozmic Blues Again Mama!

Melody Gardot Currency Of Man

June 18

Graham Parker And The Rumor Howlin’ Wind

Graham Parker And The Rumor Mystery Glue

June 19

Lou Reed Transformer

Mac DeMarco Salad Days

June 22

The Mighty Mighty Bosstones More Noise And Other Disturbances (Dicky Barrett born 6.22.1964)

Walk Off The Earth Sing It All Away

June 23

Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers Hard Promises

Broken Bells After The Disco

June 24

Bruce Springsteen The Wild, The Innocent & The E Street Shuffle

Slaves Are You Satisfied?

June 25

The Trash Can Sinatras Cake (Released on 6.25.1990)

Chris Connelly Decibels From Heart

June 26

Imogen Heap Speak For Yourself

Imogen Heap Sparks

June 29

Men At Work Business As Usual (Colin Hay born 6.29.1953)

The Hold Steady Teeth Dreams

June 30

Joy Division Unknown Pleasures

Refused Freedom

05.01.15

On May 1st I listened to The Tragically Hip Fully Completely and Everclear Has-Been Is The New Has-Been.

Canada has a lot of pride. They’re proud of their country. They’re proud of Wayne Gretzky. They’re proud of being nice. They’re proud of their health care. They’re proud of poutine. They’re proud of the way they tolerate the French. They’re proud of Rush and The Tragically Hip. And why not? I’d be screaming from the rooftops if my country gave the world French fries & gravy and “The Spirit Of Radio.”

The Tragically Hip have a long and storied history, but let me try and give you the CliffNotes. Cool guys only call them The Hip. In the early 90’s when everything was Grunge and Alt Rock, they were simply a blue collar Rock band. They produced albums filled with “grace” and haunting thoughtful narratives. They achieved legendary status in the land of Canucks and nobody gave a shit about them here in the States. (Unless you lived in a border town.) Then Canada pooped out Nickelback. Chad Kroeger and the boys sold millions of records in the U.S. with half the talent, none of the song writing ability and the moment The Hip should have enjoyed... passed. The world is a cruel and unfair bitch.

Back in the 90’s I hated when The Tragically Hip were referred to as the R.E.M. of Canada. It’s a lazy comparison and came about mostly because of their frontmen. Gord Downie and Michael Stipe are definitely cut from the same cloth, but dipped in completely different dyes and sewn into very different shirts. Where R.E.M. looked out at a modern world from old southern eyes, The Tragically Hip saw a continent and claimed it in the name of Rock ‘n’ Roll! “At The Hundredth Meridian” literally divides America down the middle.

Fully Completely is, to me, a love letter to North America. Not like Florida and R.E.M.’s south, but also not just Canada. This is an album for people who have lived through a few brutal winters. It’s the smell of spring on the first warm day in March and the promise of a short beautiful summer. This album should have been The Hip’s coming out party to the world – A gritty and sometimes fucked-up romp through the hidden recesses of a forgotten frontier away from the garbage bag trees… and yes, there’s a song about Hockey too.

I can barely find the words to describe what this album does in forty-six minutes. It is in complete communion with the entire country of Canada, I assume, and a huge chunk of the U.S. I guess what I’m trying to say is that Fully Completely is a Folk album, but I don’t want to say that.

First of all.. Black Is The New Black? UGH! Douche chills! It's like asking the number for 911 or making a joke about how men don't ask for directions. C'mon Art! Get your head out of you ass! Second, every song on this album could just be an album track from old Everclear records and nobody would notice.

Let me try and find the silver lining in the chunks of this puked up record. If you’re going to stroll down memory lane and see Everclear on tour this summer, and I would never fault you for that because I love a lot of their heyday songs, this album will serve two purposes. Obviously, anytime they play something from Hairy Balls Is The New Hairy Balls during a show, you can grab a beer and take a piss. If you're teetotaling you’ll be able to play a fun game; what song did they rip off from their back catalog to produce this new forgettable jam?

"I'll take a picture with you only if you don't bad mouth my music in a blog post ten years from now!" said Art Alexakis. 

I don’t want to sound like a fickle bitch because I've given bands that have done the “comeback” record shit for not sounding anything like the band used to, and now I’m giving shit to a band that’s just tried too hard to do that. It’s like Alexakis dug up the ol’ handwritten Everclear songwriting recipe and fired up the stove. This record definitely sounds like Everclear. Douche Is the New Douche is in the same ballpark, but it's like they wheeled out an old-timer who is too old to throw out the first pitch so he just cruises around the bases in a golf cart waving. I dunno, maybe? 

Having said all that... I do love Everclear. I always thought this song should have been a hit!

Tomorrow I listen to Unwritten Law Elva and Metz II. 

May Playlist!

I'm everywhere.

Finally! The May playlist is done! Here's what we'll be listening to this month. Same format as before; two albums a day with the weekends off. I use the weekends to give a second listen to some stuff from that week. 

I keep forgetting to mention that I'm on that royalty raping music streaming service all the musicians I love hate... Spotify. I'm making all the playlists there, so there's that. (That link should take you right to my thing, but probably wont, cause nothing works for me.)

May 1

The Tragically Hip Fully Completely

Everclear Black Is The New Black

May 4

Unwritten Law Elva

Metz II

May 5

Led Zeppelin In Through The Out Door

Mumford & Sons I Can’t Imagine

May 6

(Chris Shiflett was born on 5.6.1971)

Me First And The Gimme Gimmes Have A Ball 

Foo Fighters Sonic Highways

May 7

Talking Heads Fear Of Music (Chris Frantz was born on 5.8.1951)

They Might Be Giants Glean

May 8

Depeche Mode Some Great Reward (Dave Gahan born on 5.9.1962)

Best Coast California Nights 

May 11

Bob Marley Soul Revolution

Tyler, The Creator Cherry Bomb

May 12

Matthew Sweet 100% Fun

Surfer Blood 1000 Palms

May 13

Steely Dan Can’t Buy A Thrill

My Morning Jacket The Waterfall

May 14

Neds Atomic Dustbin God Fodder

Django Django Born Under Saturn

May 15

Wire 154

Wire Wire

May 18

Elvis Costello This Year’s Model

Elvis Costello When I Was Cruel

May 19

Faith No More Introduce Yourself

Faith No More Sol Invictus

May 20

Hüsker Dü New Day Rising

Hot Chip Why Makes Sense?

May 21

Iron Maiden Piece Of Mind

The Helio Sequence The Helio Sequence

May 22

Dead Milkmen Eat Your Paisley!

Rancid Honor Is All We Know

May 25

Metallica Ride The Lightning

Perfume Genius Too Bright

May 26

Sloan Navy Blues

Cloud Nothings Here And Nowhere Else

May 27

Dead Kennedys Fresh Fruit For Rotting Vegetables

Anti-Flag American Spring

May 28

Pearl Jam No Code

The Fireworks Switch Me On

May 29

Jane’s Addiction Strays

Unknown Mortal Orchestra Multi-Love

April Playlist!

Holy Crap! Do you know how many albums come out in a week? It's 

maddening! Forget catching up with everything I didn't bother to listen to that came out last year! I'll never get caught up with what came out in the first week of March. 

The April Playlist is all over the place! We start with two days remembering the genius of Mr. Marvin Gaye and then it's everything from Cypress Hill To Peter, Paul And Mary for the "Classic" album selections. New albums are mostly March and April releases from this year. Enjoy!

April 1

Marvin Gaye What’s Going On (Marvin was shot and killed on 4.1.1984)

Modest Mouse Strangers To Ourselves

April 2

Marvin Gaye Midnight Love (Marvin was born on 4.2.1939)

Kendrick Lamar To Pimp A Butterfly

April 3

Nirvana Incesticide (Kurt Cobain most likely killed himself on 4.5.1994)

Scott Weiland Blaster

April 6

Social Distortion Social Distortion (Released on 3.27.1990)

Courtney Barnett Sometimes I Sit And Think, And Sometimes I Just Sit

April 7

Daryl Hall And John Oates Abandoned Luncheonette 

(Oates born on 4.7.1949)

Tobias Jesso Jr. Goon

April 8

The Eagles The Long Run

Death Cab For Cutie Kintsugi

April 9

The Muffs Blonder And Blonder

The Muffs Whoop Dee Doo

April 10

Television Marquee Moon

Jesse Malin New York Before The War

April 13

Red Hot Chili Peppers The Uplift Mofo Party Plan 

(Hillel Slovak was born on 4.13.1962)

Jeff The Brotherhood Wasted On The Dream

April 14

Jefferson Airplane Surrealistic Pillow

Steve Wilson Hand. Cannot. Erase.

April 15

The Mighty Lemon Drops Laughter (Plus “Inside Out”)

The Cribs For All My Sisters

April 16

Public Image Ltd. Public Image: First Issue

The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion Freedom Tower – No Wave Dance Party 2015

April 17

Van Halen Diver Down

Swervedriver I Wasn’t Born To Lose You

April 20

Cypress Hill Black Sunday (In honor of 4.20)

Cheech & Chong Cheech & Chong's Greatest Hit (In honor of 4.20)

April 21

Roger Daltrey Daltrey (Released on 4.20.1973)

Alabama Shakes Sound & Color

April 22

Peter, Paul And Mary Peter, Paul And Mary

Inside Llewyn Davis Original Soundtrack

April 23

Bob Dylan Highway 61 Revisited

Sufijan Stevens Carrie & Lowell

April 24

Electric Light Orchestra Out Of The Blue

Built To Spill Untethered Moon

April 27

Joe Jackson Look Sharp

The Go! Team The Scene Between

April 28

New Order Power, Corruption & Lies

Blur The Magic Whip

April 29

Willie Nelson Stardust (Willie was born on 4.29.1933)

Ringo Starr Postcards From Paradise

April 30

Freddie Mercury Mr. Bad Guy (Released on 4.29.1985)

Passion Pit Kindred

03.10.15

On March 10th I listened to Buzzcocks Another Music In A Different Kitchen and Björk Vulnicura.

Did you know Buzzcocks’ seminal single “Orgasm Addict” never really appeared on a proper album? Yeah, it’s true. So, when you listen to a reissue of Another Music In A Different Kitchen, it’s thrown on there.

Buzzcocks are one of those pioneering UK punk bands that sound so fucking English if you didn't know what they looked like you might imagine an order of fish n’ chips wrapped in a newspaper and a bottle of malt vinegar performing the songs. It being lent and all, that sounds really good right now… I digress, they sound very English.

I’m pretty familiar with Operator’s Manual: Buzzcocks Best, but I don’t think I can say I've ever hit play on one of their albums. If you’re going to shoot a movie set in the early 80s and you have to do a scene in an indie record shop where the clerks are total twats, then Another Music In A Different Kitchen should be playing. I thought the name of the album was derived from the revolutionary sound of the band at the time of its release in 1978, but apparently it’s a play on a name of a picture some visual artist did back in the day. “Visual artist?” Reminds me of this scene from The Big Lebowski.

I like Buzzcocks. They’re a lot of fun to me, and I have a funny story how I came to be a casual fan. (More on that in a minute.)

I knew most of Another Music In A Different Kitchen going into this listen, even though I've never heard the album. Only five of the album’s eleven tracks aren't included on Operator’s Manual. So, I was hoping to find a gem of an album track or two. The uncharacteristically long “Moving Away From The Pulsebeat” was pretty much the only standout in that capacity and it mainly stood out mostly cause of its length.

“I Don’t Mind” is the superstar here and sticks out like an onion ring in your chips right in the middle of this debut album. It’s really the first time on this endeavor that the band sounds like more than the sum of their parts. The problem with a band like Buzzcocks is ultimately their “sound.” However interesting it might be, it’s just the same shit over and over again. The first five minutes is heaven, and each additional five minutes gets a little less exciting. Thirty minutes is about all you’ll need of Buzzcocks and then you can go listen to something else.

It was easy to just get acquainted with their greatest hits offering because of that fact. Throw a single Buzzcocks song onto any mixtape, pardon me… playlist, and it peppers it with flash of brilliance, throw a whole Buzzcocks album on and pretty soon it all starts to sound like the pieces to one long song. Too much of a good thing, I guess. Having said that, there are other bands guilty of that that I love, so it’s not like I don’t have the patience for a great outfit with a repetitive nature. (Repetitive nature is just a polite way of saying one-trick pony.)

I saw Buzzcocks play a 45-minute set at a big outdoor Festival in 1996 and it was absolutely perfect. Tight and quick! The band sounded great. The hits didn't stop coming and then it was all over. Done and done.

I suspect that if I listen to the band’s next two albums, they’ll be met with the same reaction from me. The songs that didn’t make their greatest hits collection, didn’t make it for a reason.

So, here’s a funny story that revolves around Buzzcocks.

In Buffalo, New York in 1992 we didn’t have a summer. July and August came on the calendar but the season of sun never bothered to show up. It rained and/or was chilly almost every day. By the end of July, people weren't happy and bored college students on summer vacation got restless.

That's the almanac from July 1992! Look at all those rain clouds.

I spent most of that summer crashing at my friend Joe Bagodonuts’ three bedroom apartment on Elmwood Avenue; it was the whole second floor of an old house. He had just rented the place with Frankenstein and The Hippy; both of whom were spending the summer at their mommies’ houses on Wrong Island and in Rochester, respectively. Because Bagodonuts was the primary resident that inaugural summer, the place was nicknamed The Donut Shop. I became the resident freeloader and slept in the Hippy’s room. Mostly because Frankenstein’s room was empty and there was a bed with a burlap sack for a blanket in the Hippy’s. (That September, while lying on that bed, wrapped in that burlap sack and tripping on acid I will see sound for the second time in my life. You can read about the first time I saw sound here.)

In January of 1990 I started working at 91.3 WBNY/Buffalo, the radio station at Buffalo State College. A one hundred and ten watt FM mono powerhouse! As “Buffalo’s Only Alternative,” WBNY didn't really have any competition. There wasn't anything like it in town. Classic Rock, Dirtbag Rock, Top 40 and Country were the big formats and everybody listened to those radio stations. If we were lucky down at 91.3 a couple hundred people listened to us. The average hot chick on Instagram or Twitter today has more followers than WBNY had listeners. My whole college life pretty much revolved around working at that radio station. It was my fraternity and I dedicated a lot of time to it.

Then one day, a couple of pirate radio clowns showed up and fucked up our apple cart.

Captain Coldsore and Toothpick took the Buffalo underground by storm. Amassing tens of listeners in just a few weeks with an unpredictable broadcast schedule and ever changing frequency. Their underground buzz was astounding, if you didn't factor in that nobody actually ever heard them. A lot of people just kinda heard of them.

Staffers at WBNY were not amused by their antics, mainly because they usually always broadcast close to or on our frequency of 91.3 megahertz. (I don’t even know if megahertz is the right word. It just sounded good.) Basically, sometimes when they signed on their signal bled all over us.

I simply didn't like them because they sucked! They’d set up a mic on a coffee table and would play quarters* for half an hour and then have lengthy discussions about how “important” the music they barely played was and blah blah blah… puke! They sounded exactly like 99% of every podcast that nobody listened to ever!

I like to think I was a world-class drunk in College. But, compared to my friend Joe Fisher (sic) I was barely semi-pro. He was/is your typical Irish drunk. He’d have a drink with Hitler himself, if it was after closing time and Adolph knew an afterhours spot. He really dedicated himself to drinking alcohol and it was that quality that led him to some out of the way places, drinking with a wide array of people… like Hitler. So, it wasn’t shocking that one night Fisher walked into the Essex Street Pub, at last call, with Captain Coldsore.

Our story takes place at this palatial shithole. 

Details of this evening are spotty at best, but after we got booted from the Pub, we headed to The Donut Shop in the wee hours of that damp summer's night. The guest list consisted of: me, Bagodonuts, Fisher, Coldsore and the downstairs neighbor, who may or may not have been named Kate. Luckily, the other downstairs neighbor was Maurice, a very elderly and deaf gentlemen.

The five of us clomped up the stairs, opened beers and plopped down in the living room. I threw on the new Ministry album Psalm 69: The Way To Succeed And The Way To Suck Eggs and mostly everyone was happy with the selection.

“I’m not a fan of Industrial music,” Coldsore said to nobody in particular. “It’s just cheap Metal.” His comment bounced around the room for a second before anybody else spoke… I soaked it in without acknowledging it.

After the initial merriment of the new venue and the new Ministry album wore off we all settled around the coffee table in the living room and began discussing whatever the bullshit topic of the day might have been. Maybe we talked about the 1992 Summer Olympics being held in Barcelona and the inclusion of NBA players on the “Dream Team,” which went on to win the gold. I dunno, maybe?

What I do remember very distinctly was as the late night powwow burned on, every time Joe or I got up to switch CDs, Captain Coldsore looked visibly moved to speak, but said nothing. Imagine Woody Allen lifting up his hand and opening his mouth about to say “excuse me,” but not a peep came out. It didn't matter anyway because Fisher was actively making requests that were being ignored. If I got on a tear, it was my way or the highway. I kept a strictly Industrial theme going: KMFDM, My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult, Front 242, et al. It was while I was throwing on “Supernaut” by 1000 Homo DJs that I finally looked over to Captain Coldsore. “What, dude? You wanna hear something?”

SNL's Kyle Mooney stole Captain Coldsore's whole shtick.

Coldsore was what I’d call a petite fellow. Dressed smartly in a white t-shirt, thrift store pullover sweater vest, tight black jeans and doofus brown shoes. He had dark curly hair, dark eyes and looked like he got punched a lot for flinching. His voice was as annoying as he looked.

“Do you have any Buzzcocks?” he asked as he noticeably perked up in his seat at the end of the couch. For most of the bullshitting that had happened in the last hour or so, he wasn't what I’d call a very vocal participant.

Nothing annoys people more than when you quickly and decisively dismiss something they’re passionate about.

“No. Buzzcocks suck” I nonchalantly said as I hit play on 1000 Homo DJs. Joe and Kate got up to go to the kitchen or bathroom and I stole the ratty armchair Kate had been sitting in. “Grab me a beer,” Fisher and I said in unison. Coldsore added a paltry “me too.”  

Completely unsolicited the good Captain began to talk about the history of the Buzzcocks and how some of their earlier works were highly influential recordings. He was lit up with a new passion that I hadn't seen all night. He was downright animated! It also explained that it's not The Buzzcocks. It is just simply Buzzcocks. 

I started feigning interest and asked a few dumb questions. “Where are they from? Do they sound anything like Frankie Goes To Hollywood? Was that Bob Geldof's first band? Is Buzzcocks English slang for dildo?"

Coldsore was busy explaining how Johnny Marr had changed his name to avoid confusion with the Buzzcocks’ drummer when Joe, entering the room with an armful of beers, followed up with “didn't Johnny Marr play harmonica on their last album?”

When Joe and I fucked with somebody, a lot of the time they just thought we were a couple of idiots. A known accomplice of ours, Fisher was fully aware of what we were up to.

“I’d love to hear these guys!”

“It’s too bad that we don’t have one of their records here!”

As luck would have it, the Captain had a copy of Singles Going Steady in his bag, which he was very happy to produce.

Kate let out a moan of dismay. She had been asking for Tom Cochrane’s “Life Is A Highway,” for a long time and under normal circumstances would never have heard it, but she ran downstairs for her copy and we let her have her moment. Joe, Kate, and I danced and sang along, quite loudly, to Mr. Cochrane… twice. Immediately afterwards, Joe remembered Johnny Marr wasn't on a Buzzcocks record!

“He played on The The Mindbomb! Oh, we should listen to that!” And we did!

That led to a mini-marathon of The Smiths with multiple CD changes. Every time we pulled out the disc and loaded up another one, Coldsore would shift in his seat and look down at his lonely Buzzcocks disc sitting on the coffee table. He eventually picked it up and cradled it in his loving arms. There wasn't much this kid could do that wouldn't annoy me. 

Fisher intervened, grabbing the disc from Captain Coldsore and suggesting we “throw on some Buzzcocks! I wanna hear “What Do I Get?” He started singing the song and thrust the CD out for me or Joe to grab.

We reluctantly agreed to play it. As Joe was loading it up in the player, Coldsore started preaching again. “Singles Going Steady, like its name implies isn't really a proper album, but a compilation of singles released by the band.”

“Like a greatest hits album?” I asked. Joe shouted “greatest hits albums are for housewives and little girls!” We then spend the next twenty minutes searching a six hour VHS tape (Recorded on the EP setting.) full of episodes of The Kids In The Hall looking for a sketch entitled “Into The Doors.”

Immediately after the sketch, we ask Coldsore who plays bass for The Buzzcocks and he named like four or five guys. Then in the spirit of the sketch admit that “we don’t feel right listening to a greatest hits album” and maybe should wait to get one of their earlier albums first.

Coldsore then explained that Another Music In A Different Kitchen was currently out of print. The evening hit its tipping point with that tidbit of information. 

“Out of print?! You know what that means?!” I surmised. “I was right. They do suck. They suck so bad literally nobody ever wants to hear them.”

“No, Brad! That’s not true. It just means they sold out. They’re sold out? Right, Coldsore?” Joe offered sarcastically, yet with a hint of diplomacy.

“How can that be? To sell out don’t they need to be commercial successful first?”

“No,” Joe offered to explain. “They sold out.”

“Oh, so everybody that wanted one of their shitty records got one and then they were all out of them?”

“Yes!”

“You know what should be out of print? Girl, You Know It’s True by Milli Vanilli.”

“You can’t buy that album anymore,” Joe scuffed.

“Nah, I just saw it in the 99 cent bin at the grocery store,” I said. “That’s fucked up, Coldsore. I can buy a Milli Vanilli CD for a dollar and you can’t get your hands on The Buzzcocks first album cause it's out of print! What a world!”

I repeated “what a world” several times as I got up and walked to the bathroom.

The early morning light of a solidly overcast gray day was now illuminating the apartment as I walked to the bathroom. No sooner than I started pissing I heard a bit of a kerfuffle coming from the living room; some raised voices and rapid feet shuffling. I had a very heavy beer stream going, so I couldn't discern anything specific over my whiz. I knew I had started a shitstorm and couldn't wait to finish pissing to see the damage.

When I was zipping up, I heard somebody calling somebody else “a fucking asshole” and that was followed up with the hollow thud of what I figured to be somebody getting pushed up against a wall. When I finally got back out there, the party had moved into what would be considered the dining room and Joe had indeed pushed Coldsore up against the wall. He was holding him in place with his left hand and trying to open a nearby window with his right. Fisher and Kate were just standing there. Kate attempted to defuse the whole situation with a very stern “c’mon guys!”

“You’re little dick, you know that?” Joe muttered in a forced manner that would suggest he was having a bit of a struggle.

“You know what we do with little dicks around here? That’s right… out the fucking window.”

I stood there for a few seconds, soaking up the scene and watching Joe labor to get that window open. He had the window up, but was now struggling with the screen. He finally just pushed it out and it sailed down to the walkway below.

Fisher was no help. He had upped the ante on Kate’s “c’mon guys” to “knock it off, guys!” It didn't matter, he was way more curious to see somebody get thrown out of a second floor window and I have to admit I was right there with him. This story would definitely have a better ending.

Captain Coldsore bounced off the wooden fence separating the restaurant parking lot from the side walkway of the house and crashed onto the asphalt in a bloody heap of broken bones and bruised flesh. Joe Bagodonuts was charged with felonious assault and is currently serving six to ten at Chino. The End.

It quickly became apparent that Coldsore was way too squirrelly for Joe to actually get out of the window and they were both losing steam fast. Kate used the opportunity to say, “I guess I’ll see you guys later,” and left. The whole episode went from white-knuckle anticipation to fairly hilarious slapstick to a pathetic heavy breathing pushing match in about a minute.

It was time to call it a night. I grabbed the Singles Going Steady CD and went over to where Joe and Coldsore were playing grab-ass by the window.

“Hey! Asshole! Here you go!” I said as I threw the CD case out the window like a Frisbee. It landed flatly in the parking lot next door and slid under a car. “GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Coldsore wrestled himself away from Joe and grabbed his purse.

“I’m totally knocking ‘BNY off the air tonight. You’ll see!” the good Captain screamed as he marched out the door and slammed it as hard as his one hundred and fifty pound frame could muster.

Joe and I just stood there staring at Fisher.

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah,” he said before pounding the last of his beer. “He’s my ride.”

He was just out the door as a loud “fuck you” echoed through the window from the parking lot below.

“Well, I’m going to bed. Nighty night,” Joe said and vanished into his bedroom. It was somewhere around seven a.m.

When I got up the next afternoon. Joe was sitting on the front porch, drinking a coffee and listening to music. I emerged outside and asked him what he was listening to. He pointed the CD player remote into the window and started the disc from the beginning. “Orgasm Addict” began to pour out of the speakers.

“Buzzcocks?”

“Yeah! They’re really fucking good!”

The CD was in the player and I never checked the case before I threw it out the window.

*Quarters is a drinking game where you bounced a quarter into a shot glass so as not to drink more alcohol.

If you’re looking for something dark and boring to listen to while you read a shitty book about vampires or BDSM this is your album!

What happened to this wild woman?

Tomorrow I listen to Radiohead Amnesiac and Thom Yorke Tomorrow's Modern Boxes. 

03.05.15

On March 5th I listened to Red Hot Chili Peppers Mother’s Milk and Coldplay Ghost Stories. It was Red Hot’s current-former guitarist and mastermind John Frusciante’s birthday.

Released in the summer of 1989, the year I graduated high school, Mother’s Milk was the funkiest, most illest, fuck-shit-up record of the year! That is saying a lot because it came out just a few weeks after Paul’s Boutique!

The weird thing about my Alternative music leanings that were formed in the mid-80s by discovering the Repo Man soundtrack is that they quickly drifted across the pond. I moved from a fertile American underground scene to a mostly English fascination. Public Image Ltd., Depeche Mode, New Order, The Cure and my beloved The Smiths. I spent the latter half of the 80’s hitting play on all my English gloom and doomers. There was definitely a bigger mix of shit, but that time was the height of my Anglophile phase.

I rarely admit this but I spent the last half of the 80s listening to too many Smiths albums and ignoring some great music made right here in the good ol’ U.S. of A. Pixies, Replacements, Jane’s Addiction, Fishbone and oddly enough The Clash weren’t my priority back in those days. Although, a new day was dawning and my musical palate was about to explode. I was starting college.

It was tough to be into everything eons before the internet. It took time, dedication and some cash. You really had to live a lifestyle. I went to shows, I bought some cassettes, and I read some of the right shit, but my crew was mainly mainstream guys – content with Classic Rock. Even as a kid with nothing but time, there were only so many hours in the day to discover music and a lot of times you physically had to leave the house to go out and discover it! Or you had to sit through too much crap on the college radio station, or you stayed up late on Sunday nights and watched 120 Minutes. I watched 120 Minutes religiously!

I have no idea why we're holding CDs. Winter 1990?

You can imagine my surprise when Mark Bickerstaff (not pictured) pulled out Mother’s Milk. We were driving to the gym and it was completely out of left field… from him. I was friends with Mark for a couple years at this point and if you asked me what his favorite band was, I would have said, “I dunno… M.C. Hammer?” Mark liked playing hockey and being the funniest guy in the room, music wasn’t his thing.

“Ever hear of the Red Hot Chili Peppers?” he asked so proudly. I barely had heard of them. I vaguely remembered seeing a video, but they weren’t on my radar at all. I don’t know how or why Mark had the album, but on the drive to the gym it changed my life. He was all like, “they’re these guys from California who love Jimi Hendrix and the L.A. Lakers.” He then played “Higher Ground.” I guess I just assumed that it was a Jimi Hendrix song. “Who’s Stevie?” I asked. “He must be one of the guys in the band.” Right. I was a well-rounded 18-year-old, but I certainly didn’t know everything.

Regardless, I feel like we stopped on the way home from the gym and I bought the album on CD and I listened to Mother’s Milk once a day for the next two years… until they dropped their masterpiece.

This record is a fucking stunner and sadly mostly only remembered for “Higher Ground.” From the opening “Good Time Boys” through the freak-flag-flying “Nobody Weird Like Me,” to the tender “Knock Me Down,” and what should have been the Chili Peppers’ first bona fide hit “Taste The Pain,” Mother’s Milk is rarely at a loss. “Stone Cold Bush” is even a party buried in your pubes or it’s a song about a junkie prostitute or a statue prostitute in a fountain in San Francisco… I dunno, maybe?

I really hate to pee anywhere on this album, but “Magic Johnson” sucks. It’s not even fun as a novelty song. And at the time I was still really into basketball and LOVED Magic and the Lakers! I even bought multiple pairs of the Lakers’ colors Converse Weapons sneakers! I always skipped by this track.

SIDEBAR

This is just a weird thing I noticed. People who listened to Alt Rock early and then watched everyone in the world become an expert on the genre will appreciate this. Mother’s Milk came out in 1989 and there were songs from this record that were considered singles. Most of the radio stations across the country didn’t play those singles. College stations played the Red Hots and the handful of commercial Alternative Rock stations that existed played them too. (I was very lucky because in 1988 or 1989 I discovered a radio station out of Toronto called CFNY 102.1. A truly Modern Rock radio station that helped shape my musical tastes. Rush wrote a song about them.)

In 1991 there were less than ten commercial Alternative radio stations in the U.S.A and CFNY (A Canuck station) was considered one of them. In 1993 there were 179. I think that’s right, but I might be wrong by a year or two or a station or two. In other words, Modern Rock or Alternative Rock had broken through and were now getting their due. It was very generational and urgent.

So, let’s say a new Alt Rock station signs on in 1992 in Your Town, U.S.A. They came out of the gate with all the NEW stuff from all the heavy hitters of the time... RHCP, Pearl Jam, Nirvana, STP, Radiohead, Tool and whatever else. But, they needed a library. They needed to play songs that were “hits” in the genre…

UGH! I just realized this is a total radio geek thing... I'm almost done.

So, if a new Alt Rock Station signed on in your town in the middle of the 90’s they would play songs like “How Soon Is Now,” “Blue Monday,” “Jane Says,” and “Higher Ground” as if to say, “well, if this Alternative Rock radio station was around when these songs came out we would have played them.” All of a sudden all my stuff that got voted down on car trips with friends, was now getting played on the radio!

It’s tough to explain how important Radio once was to somebody that doesn’t remember its power. If the radio played a song it became validated, if radio didn’t play a great song… it became very special.  

Does that make sense? It’s like when somebody you know starts watching Breaking Bad on Netflix, while you sweated it out for years waiting impatiently for every new episode. And now this doofus is just getting it handed to him.

The absolute worst was when one of your buddies, who was listening to Queensryche while you were discovering Jane’s Addiction, would now be spouting off factoids like, “Did you know Perry Ferrell started Lollapalooza?”

John Frusciante

I mentioned that March 2nd is John Frusciante’s birthday and Mother’s Milk was his first recorded effort with the band. Shit happens for a reason and Frusciante was close to getting a gig with Frank “Mother Fucking” Zappa but wanted to be in the Red Hots. I know everybody knows who Frank is, but, in 1988, turning down a gig with Frank “Mother Fucking” Zappa for RHCP was like saying no to piloting the space shuttle and taking a gig as a bus driver. The Peppers could have easily become just a footnote in the Rock history books. Frusciante was a classically trained musician who loved pussy and chasing a buzz. Zappa wanted the musician, but none of the baggage. The Red Hots needed a guy who looked good with a sock on his cock. Thank God for pussy!

Throw metalhead Chad Smith behind the drum kit and in a short time the Red Hot Chili Peppers became the band that lit the fuse on the Alternative explosion of the early 90’s! Oh yeah, and those Anthony Kiedis and Flea guys helped too!

Coincidentally, Blood Sugar Sex Magic and Nirvana’s Nevermind were released on the same day – September 24, 1991. It was the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ popularity that helped launch the careers of Nirvana, Pearl Jam and The Smashing Pumpkins. They had the goods to back it up, but RHCP gave them all a hand up.

Taking a look at the Red Hot’s discography, Mother’s Milk is the album that I went all in for with this band. (I dug up their older stuff afterwards but this was my entry point into them.) Subsequently, it was 2002’s By The Way that made me pull up from their table.

I tried to some this all up in a tweet, “Happy Birthday John Frusciante! I'm old enough to remember when liking the Red Hots meant something. Now it's like listening to Aerosmith.”

That’s kind of unfair to say especially when I'm listening to their older stuff and being reminded of how important they were to me... way back when.

This is a classic example of a band phoning it in. Listen to Parachutes or A Rush Of Blood To The Head and then listen to Ghost Stories. This record definitely sounds like Coldplay. They didn’t switch up the sound, they just forgot their inspiration. By far their weakest effort.

I feel like Gwyneth Paltrow could site this album as one of the reasons for her conscious uncoupling from Chris Marin. And this picture.... WTF?

Look, ma! I'm phoning it in!

Tomorrow I listen to The Who and The Decemberists.