Coffee No Coffee

The difference in writing blogs when high on coffee versus being dead sober, tired and dreary, is absolutely staggering. I just spent about 5 minutes thinking of the next sentence to write (i.e. this current sentence. By no means is my disclosure of my lack of originality, brilliant in any way). On coffee it’s a whole different beast, shit just flows out; both metaphorically and often literally. So, I’m gonna keep it lean today, as I simply do not have the brain power to write much, and I need to time my coffee consumption so that I can work after work today without being a smelly, tweaky, weirdo. I am unable to make that sacrifice for the sake of the blog.

I’m putting up a relatively rare single from Dr. Dre’s pre-NWA electro group, The World Class Wreckin Cru. Some wino at a swap meet in Hawthorne once told me some story about how Dr. Dre used to buy records off him at some other swap meet in Inglewood or El Segundo, and he kept mentioning that it was so hot at the swap meet in the summer that the soles of his sneakers started to melt and some of the records,which were in the sun started to warp. That really had nothing at all to do with Dr. Dre, and I’m pretty sure that its one of those stories that has no basis in reality. It’s just used in order to get to something possibly factual but completely useless and irrelevant. I don’t even know why I mentioned it; I guess I’m in the wino’s story-telling league.

The Sister Sledge track is from the soundtrack to the movie Action Jackson, staring Carl Weathers. It also co-stars Vanity as a strung out hoochie that Weathers is trying to protect from "the life". Based on my reading of the book The Dirt written by various members of Motley Crue (which I suggest you all read. You might scoff, but Mick Mars is actually quite eloquent, and more importantly, Tommy Lee writes likes a drunk teenage hessian, who says "dude" and swears every other line, is only concerned with porn, sex and drugs, yet understands how to use a thesaurus every now and again to avoid repetition [or his editor does]. Here is an excerpt, where Tommy is explaining his wedding to Heather Lochlear: "...the only problem that afternoon was Nikki. I asked him to be my best man, and he showed up a mess. He was emaciated; he sweated constantly; and his skin was pure yellow, dude...as a best man, he was so fucked up on heroin he was useless. I couldn't believe he was shooting up at my fucking wedding."), I know that she was actively involved in "the life", as this was the time that she was dating Nikki Sixx, and they were both consumed with paranoia and freebasing coke. Also in the movie Carl Weathers does a flip over a moving car, in one of those great cinematic shots that shows him barely jump, then he's up in the air (shot from below) upside down, and then lastly, he's standing there square on his feet. Love that shit and this robotic Sister Sledge jam.

I'm proud to say I accomplished this bullshit post sans caffeine. Ups to James for today's pic (taken at a shady hotel in SF).

World Class Wreckin Cru – Juice
Sister Sledge - Keeping Good Loving
Roger - It's In the Mix

The Heartland

So I just returned from my brief jaunt to Indiana, and big ups to my buddy Ben for making that happen. Being from Los Angeles, and living currently in San Francisco (and never living outside of California for longer than a summer) has obviously left me with a very jaded perspective on the majority of the country. I mean there are only like 20 cool states and the rest blow, right. What really makes a state cool? Is it some type of ratio of cool urban spots, nature /resources, and political leanings? Obviously it’s different for each person and personality. For example, I would consider Florida cool, because I went to WMC twice during spring break, and went to some fun parties, good skate spots, hung out at the beach and ate some good Cuban food. I’ve never been outside of Miami, except when I went to Epcot Center (when I was 5), and yet I still feel enough authority to deem it couth. I don’t care about the swamps, hurricanes, humidity, poverty, elderly, hicks, etc… since I’ve never personally experienced them. In my mind, Florida is alright because all I know about the place is two highly irregular weeks in Miami. Similarly Texas is un-cool because my Uncle lives there, his wife breeds boxers (super ugly dogs), and their backyard is basically a trash can with a half-full pool of sludge and fire ants everywhere else. However, the cool thing about really un-cool states (i.e. corn-belt, heartland, WHITE PEOPLE), is that a lot of cool things that would be expensive in cool places, are un-cool there (or at least irrelevant) and therefore inexpensive. I’m talking specifically about disco records and vintage clothes. The big record store in the town I recently visited in Indiana was practically giving away their disco and boogie records, and since I bought so many (there were some serious gems people), the clerk added an extra discount on top of the already minimal prices, while chuckling to himself that nobody ever looks through “those”. I’ve had similar experiences in other white towns. I’ll be uploading some of what I’ve found during this week, but I haven’t recorded any of those records yet, so you’ll have to stay tuned. Yes, I’m using the cliffhanger tactic again.

The Indianapolis airport sucks, because they have those faulty toilets that “sense” when a person is finished dropping off the kids at the pool. Except the sensors are always fucked up, or at least they are super sensitive, so every single time I’ve taken a shit there (three times in life thus far) the thing prematurely flushes (and these are violent flushes) splashing up my poop-water all over my butt, while I try to pull up super quick in fear (I never succeed). The Indianapolis airport is not the only place that this has happened to me; these robo-sensors have been around for quite a while, and are increasing in number. These are not the cool robots that allow me to be part of the staff at the grocery store (I actually like them, as they let me discreetly omit the price of some of the items that I intend to purchase). Some of these sensor toilets actually work, and I do see the advantages; some people do not care to flush and it sucks to see the processed relics of a stranger’s food before you go to relieve yourself. It’s not like a janitor is fired every time a robot automatically flushes your waste; people can still pee and shit all over the seat, the wall and the floor, and there is nothing that a simple flush can do about it. Unless management companies want to develop and invest in a sanitary Scooba or similar product, which someone would still have to clean and maintain (unless they build a robot to do that), then the janitor still stands to work another day. I don’t think humans are quite ready for Wall-E to wipe our butts just yet.

One track here is by the Crusaders. Spiral can be considered smooth jazz, and if I heard this in an elevator, I’d probably still get off at my intended floor. I wouldn’t ride it for 6 minutes as people got on and off, while playing the air sax. I’d like to think that the track is that moving (at least enough to extend your elevator ride), but realistically it’s just not. It’s still a hot jam, so check it out. Its not my intention to post total crap up here, unless it is to prove a point or attempt humor, and I don't consider this crap in anyway. Smooth Jazz rules to a certain extent, and many unlikely candidates have been sampled all over the place to create your favorite hip-hop or electro jam. Take heed.
Crusaders - Spiral
Central Line - I Need Your Love
Merge - Take It To The Top

Pumpin' Ass Party

I feel dumb and void right now. Woke up drunk, gotta catch a flight in a few, can't think too well, etc... Figured I'd put something up, so I could make the 5 for 5 post ratio for the weekdays; hit my own personal goal, and show these other blogging pussys whats up. This will be a content light post and sans coffee ranting. Its always weird when you are spinning at a club, and one second there are people there getting down, and then its like 1:15 and everyone just heads out and you are still there spinning for two people playing pool and probably doing lines. You are playing dance music (music that when you were compiling shit at home before you came out to the club, you imagined people wall to wall freaking out, pouring booze all over each other, screaming your name and such) and yet no one is dancing. Always a weird feeling.

Rinder & Lewis - Willie and the Hand Jive
Imagination - Flashback

Hotthobo's Online Presence

I hate it when I'm looking for information on google about some record, and everyone else is using the same name as their moniker, ultimately making it tough to weed through the crap and find the real juice. I wanted to figure out a little info about one of the tracks that I'm gonna post today by Captain Dax, but apparently there are a bunch of Captian Daxes. One of them is into DnD and posts up generic dice roller programs (i'm not kidding), another was a character in Starship Troopers. Which got me to thinking about any potiental imitators that I might have once my blog goes platinum. I googled my dj name and basically found things on the first page that relate directly to me, which is good I guess (there aren't really any other Hotthobos), but when I saw the crap that did make page one, it was a total reflection of how boring my online persona is and how little I've accomplished. Then I saw Ben The Hott Hobo of Clarence Center, who is on myspace. Wow, two Ts, just like me; we must be brothers from different mothers. So I checked out his page and what do you know he's in my extended network, but he only has two friends (loser!) and one of them is Chelsea Two, who I don't know. The other is Myspace Tom, so I guess we do have that in common. Also his last login was 6/10/2006, so the fact that he appears on the second page of googling my own handle is kinda pathetic, definately a poor reflection on my PR skills. Also, fucking One Man's Problem doesn't even come up till the third page. If people are looking for Hotthobo, I want them to find the fucking source, and quickly. Nobodys gonna go all the way to the third page to find out about the true anguish of Hotthobo (or even gonna google my shit anyway) . They'll realize by the 2nd page that I don't really have shit going on worth googling.

In the google process I did come across a lot of hobo related bits which I did find sort of interesting. Some of them were pretty lame, like "Johnny Depp is so cute in Pirates of the Carribbean, what a hott hobo! Lol :)", but some were relatively interesting, like this hobo code from the Annual Convention Congress of the Hoboes of America from 1894 (this is still happening annually. Apparently the convention is now held the second weekend of August in Britt, Iowa at the Hobo Museum, where they sell these great sweatpants - see pic above).

Hobo Code
As inscribed in the Annual Convention Congress of the Hoboes of America held on August 8, 1894 at the Hotel Alden, 917 Market St., Chicago Illinois;

1.-Decide your own life, don't let another person run or rule you.
2.-When in town, always respect the local law and officials, and try to be a gentleman at all times.

3.-Don't take advantage of someone who is in a vulnerable situation, locals or other hobos.
4.-Always try to find work, even if temporary, and always seek out jobs nobody wants. By doing so you not only help a business along, but insure employment should you return to that town again.
5.-When no employment is available, make your own work by using your added talents at crafts.

6.-Do not allow yourself to become a stupid drunk and set a bad example for locals treatment of other hobos.
7.-When jungling in town, respect handouts, do not wear them out, another hobo will be coming along who will need them as bad, if not worse than you.
8.-Always respect nature, do not leave garbage where you are jungling.
9.-If in a community jungle, always pitch in and help.
10.-Try to stay clean, and boil up wherever possible.
11.-When traveling, ride your train respectfully, take no personal chances, cause no problems with the operating crew or host railroad, act like an extra crew member.
12.-Do not cause problems in a train yard, Another hobo will be coming along who will need passage thru that yard.
13.-Do not allow other hobos to molest children, expose to authorities all molesters, they are the worst garbage to infest any society.
14.-Help all runaway children, and try to induce them to return home.
15.-Help your fellow hobos whenever and wherever needed, you may need their help someday.
16.-If present at a hobo court and you have testimony, give it, whether for or against the accused, your voice counts!

Captian Dax - Dr. Beezar (7-inch version)
Cloud One - Dust to Dust

Biggest Loser

ME! And don’t forget it, bitches. Who runs this blog? That’s right, my (imaginary) readers should feel privileged that they even know about it (there are approximately 11 of you by the way). There are other better blogs (see the section of the blog of the same title), but they don’t rant the same, don’t bathe in self-loathing and self-pity the same, and don’t freak it the same. I am actually impressed with how over the top pathetic my shit consistently reads. My analysis of my own depression has actually lifted me back to egocentric, proud, and pithy. I’m the best of the worst! I always liked the play on words of the NBC show, The Biggest Loser, where people would compete to shed the most weight in weekly competitions. But, I’d prefer, if it were literally a battle of who was the biggest loser in life. Instead of competing (because then the participants could try to out-loser each other, which would be fraudulent loserdom) it would just be weekly documentaries on each loser’s life: their trials, tribulations, and daily routines. The contestants would never actually meet, so they’d have no idea of each other’s situations and stipulations (and a real loser would not be able to adjust to his adversary anyway). Each week America would text message who they thought the biggest loser was to the network, like they do on all those reality shows, and one person would be eliminated for sort of having their life together. Eventually a winner would be selected from the pack, after it being whittled down to a final four or something. Maybe for the final episode, they could all meet, and await America’s hammer of judgment, while reflecting on the experience. Then a true “Biggest Loser” would be selected, and awarded a large sum of money that would likely not improve their situation in any way. Or maybe that should be the trick, the person selected biggest loser, is not actually the biggest loser, as they have “sort of” won something; so the runner up is the true “biggest loser, and he/she gets nothing except pity.

More tracks with no description below. I'm pretty sure that Streetplayer was originally a Chaka Khan track, cuz I got into an argument once saying it was originally Chicago, but then iPhone settled the arguement and I lost. He is a good referee.

Crystal Disco Band - Nuclear Night
Chicago - Streetplayer
Syreeta - Can't Shake Your Love
Frontline Orchestra - Don't Turn Your Back

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Magnum Force - Cool Out
Newcleus - Destination Earth
Mclane Orchestra - Magic Fly
Gino Soccio - There's A Woman

Working Hard/Hardly Working

Oh crap, serious coffee jolt going on here (my legs are bouncing up and ddddddown). How else would I accomplish a double post in the same day. That is on some serious shit, my blog is growing into a virus that is slowly pulsating and devouring my time and my life. Double posting was a major break through in the battle of free will vs. blog, and now blog is clearly gaining more control. He knows it too, he is smiling at me right now, and that smirk is so ominous. I'm fucking lucky that I don't have internet at home right now, so at least a portion of my day is safe from his influence. Soon blog will probably fix some setting on my computer or hack into the AT&T mainframe, and solve a problem that even the supervisor of AT&T tech support (whose job is devoted entirely to supervising people who advise in these matters) couldn't even help with. Maybe blog will consult with a buddy blog devoted to solving these type of tech issues (routerouter.blogspot.com). Maybe I shouldn't think of it as a battle and just accept it - go skydiving with it like Keanu in Point Break. Bodhi comes and picks him up at his place after he clearly blew it at the bank, and ultimately revealed that he's a Fed. He had a direct shot at Bodhi and he didn't take it; Bodhi took him to the edge (maybe even past it) and they were bonded because of that. But now the whole crew is there in the morning to take him out (but where?): he knows they know; they know he knows, and yet with some type of weird spiritual criminal logic they are able to share the experience of skydiving and rebond. Blog knows that I am wary of his influence on me, and I know that blog is an adrenalin junkie bank robber. But blog also knows that I'm keen to the high-energy yahoo thing myself, and coffee is my gateway. Coffee allows blog to grow, so coffee and blog are best buddies; coffee and I are more like brothers (we do bicker and fight - sometimes coffee sends me to the toliet when I'd prefer not to go. But there is also love and support). Now that I think of it, I guess that blog and I are buddies too, but blog is more of a secret friend (at least at work, where he is not supposed to exist, and yet, there he is hiding minimized on my desktop). To use another book/movie reference, blog is Tyler Durden in Fight Club... At this point I'm just gonna stop myself.

I recently wasted a bunch of money on records, so I have a lot of brand new material to work with at the moment, which is why I'm so giddy to get stuff up. Also blog wants you to hear these tracks too, he told me earlier.

Bohannon - She's A Boogie Woogie Freak
Bohannon - The Party Train (Parts I, II, and III)
Starpoint - Keep On It

Mariachi Battles

When I go to a Mexican Restaurant, I do not assume that there will be a 10 piece mariachi band playing directly at my table for practically the entire meal. We were completely surrounded by them, and although they were playing for the table next to us, it was completely impossible for us to leave the table to piss, get served or get the waitresses’ attention. I'd like to pretend that I can just be cool and roll with it like Fonzie, but space issues (especially when you are not on a crowded bus or in a situation where it is totally reasonable for people to be clumped together) do tend to aggravate me. It is weird having the violinist’s ass pressed up against your arm while you try to eat crab and shrimp nachos. Also, a trumpet is really loud when it is pointed directly at your face: especially when the trumpet player is trying to play as loud and punchy as possible. Plus they played the same song twice in a twenty minute period. Totally fucking unacceptable. This isn’t drum and bass: you can’t just rewind the track. Do mariachi bands work like drinks at the bar? You can always buy a round at the bar and have the bartender send it over to some girl or guy that you don’t know (in fact, if you do wanna hit on a girl at the bar, its best to buy 5 drinks at once and have the bartender send them all over simultaneously, and point right back at you). Do those rules apply at the restaurant? Can you send the band over to the republican tourist white couple that clearly doesn’t belong there, and have them play the same song 3x in a row as loud and out of tune as possible? It doesn’t seem that people have taken advantage of the options available with Mariachi bands. They are basically drunken mobile taqueria jukeboxes. Maybe you could pay two Mariachi bands to play for each other at the same time, or duel each other in the street. Is that messed up? Also, I want to make it clear that I am not featured in the above picture, although that guys face kinda sums up my reaction to the whole ordeal (I guess it would be called annoyed excitement).

I’m gonna post up a couple Arpadys tracks today. They were French and present in the late 70s and early 80s and have got that funky cosmic disco thing down. They just recently put out a two part comp of their shit which I high recommend checking out, since tracking down all of these original singles is very tough and very expensive. I think you might have to look for it at some UK based websites; I found my copy on Juno. Check their page since my description is super vague http://www.myspace.com/arpadys.

Arpadys - Black Cars
Arpadys - Cold Coke
Arpadys - Baby's Band

Many Me's

Dare I drink another coffee, so I can force out another meaningless post? Maybe I should just give up on all the jokes, the agony, the sarcasm, the poignant observations, the acronyms, the metaphors, the venting, the lists, the lies, and the lunacy of my content, and go straight on to the music. Maybe 4 posts back to back, has drained me of any creative flow, and I’m just left a piss-stained, withering, red-faced, acne-ridden heap with a bottle of Thunderbird, cringing in the fetal position in the bushes behind the record store (with a laptop, so I can fucking blog about it too). I’m super bitter today, which equals rash decisions, pacing, getting nothing accomplished, and muttering under my breath so that people can actually hear it. I may be a mess at the moment, but the night approaches and its Friday, and that’s when things start to get really weird. I’ve had these nights before too. I’ll probably not eat dinner, start drinking the moment I get home, order every type of alcohol at the bar (having scotch, tequila, and jager in a 45 min period makes for great hangovers), continue muttering but slur my mutters, not talk to anyone and then get really mad at someone I don’t know for no reason at all, smoke a joint when I’m at my absolute drunkest, and ghost the scene without saying goodbye. I’m sure I’m not the only one with this particular problem, as I consistently run into other “me’s” on nights when I’m not pissed and on full tilt, and its occasionally funny, but mostly just tragic. I think that acceptance is the first step toward changing your behavior (at least, I’ve heard other people say it on intervention shows). My problem is that I don’t think I’ll ever hit rock bottom, so I’ll probably just carry on in the same fashion for the rest of my life. PMA!

I'm putting up a very random selection of tracks today, which was not my original intention. When I first started writing this post, I was very particular in referencing a specific member of a band that I will be discussing over the next few lines, and I felt that this was kind of an unnecessary way to write some targeted bullshit for my blog (which no one reads, but still, stardom will come and I need to at least be weary of the ramifications of my words; part of becoming a superstar is to just fucking be one from the beginning anyway, and that means being my own PR manager). In order to not directly give away the group, I was gonna put up a tracks from a very random selection of current bands, and one of them was gonna be the mystery band in question, and then the reader wouldn't know which one they were. Naturally they'd be forced to guess, and my ghost reader either has excellent intuition, or will incorrectly assume the wrong path, and then vicious slander is released into the world; not my intention. Then a wave of total self-doubt and shame (regarding my exploitative nature kicked in) and I considered just shelving it, but I still do like the content, so I'm just gonna leave it and not even post up the band or the song, even though I like the band and the song. I'll probably post it up in the future, so I'll leave you with a cliffhanger, and now your hooked. Right? Shit, I need to start a gossip blog (and unfortunately I'm not gonna post up any newer bands in this post, so don't think its a trick; no member of The Moments knows me). Anyways, I went to college with one of the guys from the mystery band in question, and I always had a problem with him despite the fact that he was really nice, really talented and genuinely really into music for what I consider to be the right reasons. And, he may want the blow job, but I think that most of us do to a certain extent. Its the way we go about the blow job (or the way that we deal with not being able to get the blow job) that makes us good or bad people, and it's who we block, destroy, and humiliate (ourselves included) on our way there that truly equals where we stand in this world. So, if he is alright by the blow job theory, and he somehow passes my super subjective musician's authenticity guide, then what is my fucking problem? It seriously took me a moment to realize where my unease came from, and then someone said it, and it all made sense. He is a close talker, even in a normal public place with tons of space. That shit just violates me sometimes: I can feel their essence inside me, all the smells and the deep pulsating compressions of air emanating from their mouth. The close talking thing is acceptable in a club, or somewhere where the dB levels are excessive. I learned basic sign language in the 3rd Grade, and I sure as shit do not remember it. Outside of the club, I think the rule is 18 inches, so please people (especially coffee drinkers), do take notice.
Lenny Williams - You Got Me Running (Breakdown Edit)
The Moments - Sexy Mama
Intrigue - I Like It

I Don't Know About This One

It always sucks to go see a dance-specific band, DJ, or artist of some sort play a relatively empty club. It may be cool at some point in the future, (like if the band later becomes the hippest, coolest, most sold out shit around, and then you can tell your kids that you saw them at some abandoned roller-skating rink in front of six sleeping hobos), but at the actual moment when they are playing, it totally sucks, even if they are killing it. This really awkward crowd sentiment applies more for dance music than for a stoner rock band. I’d be totally comfortable seeing Mammatus kill it in front of 5 people in a 200+ venue, than seeing Danny Krivit kill it in front of the same crowd in the same environment. I think it has to do with this obligation to dance that I have for something that I like, and how I want to properly represent where I live (The San Francisco dance music scene isn’t the best, but it’s definitely not the worst. It definitely pales in comparison to somewhere like New York or London, where some of the more underground acts and labels actually stand to pull a decent crowd even with subpar promotion, just because some of people there get a little more juiced on the exclusives, and have a bit more passion, which is ultimately why they live there and deal with all the other negatives, like it being fucking expensive, the weather sucking, and having to be surrounded by a bunch of backstage blowjob givers/seekers – SF has all those negatives too, just a lower ratio of those positives mentioned). So if I happen to be at a club (and I’m drunk; sadly this is kind of a prerequisite) and I’m there to check some specific group/dj out, and they are actually good, but either no one is there, or everyone there is sitting down and staring at them, I have to at least try to dance to it. Even though I’m tired and wanna go home, and I really hate dancing on empty dance floors, I often will strictly out of pity, to convey with my dancing feet “Hey, we are good people here. San Francisco likes you, it’s just that it’s Wednesday, well, people here are kinda lame, but not all of them. Look at me though, I’m dancing, I’m dancing.” The whole time I’m totally self conscious, so drunkenly I’ll try to up my dance moves from retarded gyrating to something a bit more advanced and choreographed, usually well out of the range of dance moves that I can actually perform. This may result in me falling, or attempting an ill fated break-dance move that I could do on the playground when I was 8, but definitely can’t pull anymore. So it’s probably worse for the artist that I’m attempting to soothe with my pity dancing. They’ve leave thinking San Francisco clubs are only lightly attended by wallflower lurkers and dancing retards.

I’ve noticed with a lot of the boogie LPs that I’ve been picking up, that the first two tracks on the first side tend to be the winners. I don’t know if this is some agreed upon convention by the labels and artists, I mean I’m sure if you asked them, they’d reply that every track on there is great, or maybe they’d go the opposite route and declare that the whole album is shit, and the music business ruined their life, ba-humbug! I guess labels realized that all music consumers are a bunch of 8 year olds with ADD who can’t get past the first 4 bars of a track if it doesn’t hook them immediately. My observation of this is not really too tried and tested, as it’s generally based on the few LPs I went to record the other night. It could be completely coincidental. I mean if I really wanted to back my shit up before I put my theory out to the inter-world, I could have at least spent 15 minutes looking through my own record collection, to see if there is even a slight majority of the very few LPs from ’80 – ’85 that I personally have in my possession with the same pattern (which in no way represents the thousands of Boogie LPs released during that time period). But, I had to go to the club last night and do my retard-pity dance, so I was unable. I could have held out on the post, done some research, but I have nothing to do at work at the moment, and this topic is on the mind, yadda yadda yadda.

One of the tracks that I’m gonna post up is called Indiscreet Sweet, which is by Con Funk Shun. It’s a van driving pedophile’s love song about freaking, where the singer alludes to the law being after him, because the girl he’s getting with is only 15. It sadly makes the long list of pop songs, about makin’ it with the underage. Here’s a few other obvious ones for the list (this is not a definitive list, and unsurprisingly this subject was rather ubiquitous with in 50s/60s rock culture – thank you Jerry Lee Lewis. FYI, I’m not down with pederasts, I just find these tangents, and sometimes you have to explore them. And also, I don’t happen to have random pedophile music knowledge at my beck and call; I looked them up on Google like any normal person would ):
1. Stray Cat Blues by the Rolling Stones - "I can see that your just 13 years old, but I don't want your id."
2. Aqualung by Jethrotull - "Sitting on a park bench, eyeing little girls with bad intent".
3. Jailbait by Motorhead (god this one is awful) –
“Hey baby you're a sweet young thing,
Still tied to Mommy's apron strings,
I don't even dare to ask your age,
It's enough to know you're here backstage”
4. Father Figure by George Michael (I’m on the fence with this one, as it’s possible that George Michael literally wants to be a father figure, but the lyrics, and their arrangement are so suggestive).
"I will be your father figure. Put your tiny hand in mine. I will be your preacher teacher (be your daddy), anything you have in mind."
5. Tonight’s The Night by Rod Stewart – "Don't say a word, my virgin child. Just let your inhibitions run wild. The secret is about to unfold. Upstairs, before the night's too old."

Con Funk Shun - Indiscreet Sweet
Skyy - This Groove Is Bad

Obsessing

Damn I'm getting into this bloggin thing. It seems I always need something completely pointless to devote my time to (I'll spare you the details of some of my other conquests, but lets just say that I own a lot of really useless things that other losers might consider rare. Its especially funny how all of these rare things completely lose their "value" in a shit economy, and suddenly all of your bullshit is especially meaningless). At least the blog is free. I don't currently have internet at home (or much of a social life apparently, and the whole purpose of this was to do something with the useless time I spend at work) so I can't just sit down and put up a post when I get a stupid idea, or hear a cool track. So I am literally scribbling down little tidbits to put up on the back of envelopes of bills that I should probably pay, and taking them to work, so I don't forget my two sentence idea. At least at work I look like I'm writing something vigorously (people probably see me writing this shit in my cubicle, and think I'm preparing contracts or maybe devising a way to rework the budget and reverse the salary cut that they imposed on everyone last month. Sorry people). My idea's are really bad too: really forced, not well developed or thought through...usually the product of coffee and boredom, or the watered down replica of someone else's marginal idea. At least I know I'm not the only one with a crappy blog, as I've read some of the others in this sphere. The best blogs are the ones that just post super high quality tracks with no pretense or overwhelming description. Just the bare bones: artist, album, year, label. So simple, so pure. Unfortunately my fictitious reader has to deal with my bi-polar train-wreck solipsistic writing (having to re-read each sentence because I improperly use parenthesis in every sentence) before they can even get to the track, and I often don't list the label or the year. Boooooooo!

Moving on, I found this amazing Mandre album the other day called M3000, which is on fucking Motown records. Now I'm not disputing that Motown is an amazing label; their roster of artists is pretty fucking epic, but this is some serious space-boogie funk. I would expect this to be on a slightly more underground label I guess, not the next LP released after Smokey Robinson. I mean in '79 when this album was put out, Motown also put out the Commodores, Stevie Wonder, Billy Preston, Teena Marie, etc... Lets not forget that just a few years later Bruce Willis released an album on Motown (I think he released two or three LPs with them). Actually the fact that Bruce Willis put out albums on Motown may be an good argument that Mandre does belong there. Here is the whole album.
Mandre - M3000 (Opus VI)
Mandre - L'Oasis
Mandre - Final Funk
Mandre - Spirit Groove
Mandre - Freakin's Fine
Mandre - Do Watcha Gotta Do
Mandre - Swang

Covers Baby, Covers

First Off R.I.P. Swayze

Too crashed and dumb to write anything meaningful right now (like that brilliant sweatpants rant I concocted yesterday, what a real winner that one was). Additionally not feeling the dance music scene today (any of it, all decades included), so I'm rocking out at work, with my cock in my pants. Finally picked up the new Galactic Zoo Dossier Zine/CD that Drag City puts out every so often, and it is well worth every penny. Basically a bunch of rock'n'roll obsessives creaming their jeans about their favorite relics, or letting you know about the group that you thought sucked because of later lameness/big-time stardom or success, "but man you just don't know, cuz in '68 they were for real." The mag is also littered with really cool illustrations, and I just photocopied a full pager of Suicide and put it up in my cubicle which is a bit more raw than the smiley pumpkin faces the lady from the Japan program has on the opposite (and rival) wall. The song There Isn't Time by Petrus is one of the relics that they put on the accompanied CD that comes along with the mag. If you've already heard it, you are soooooooo awesome, so go tell all your friends how lame and dated my blog is, and you can rag on the Drag City folks while you are at it too.
Petrus - There Isn't Time (feat. Ruthann Friedman)

I'm also gonna throw up a cool cover of the song Dropout Boogie by Captain Beefheart. The cover is by local San Francisco dude Ty Segal, whose album Lemons is newish and pretty good. It always sucks when the best track on the album is a cover of someone else (and I think this is definitely the best track on Lemons), but I guess its also pretty hard to compare to the genius of someone like Captain Beefheart, especially when he was still recording with the Magic Band (he generally sucked for most of his later career anyway, with a few exceptions). I understand the desire to record a song that you really like and admire, and you should be able to put it on your album. I mean its better to cover the song and own up to it, than to blatantly rip it off and change like three things, and then pretend it's your magnum opus. So, there should be some rules to covering people. Like if you are gonna release the first single on your new album, ESPECIALLY if it's your band's debut single, you are not allowed to release a cover as that would be fucking sacrilegious. Maybe your second or third single (if you are Madonna, U2, or Coldplay who get to have three singles on an album) can be a cover, and you have to start the song with a open narrative to the universe stating the name of the orignal writer and band that actually came up with it. I'm sure the original songwriter would disagree with me, because if they negotiated their deals correctly, they would stand to get a writer's royalty from all sales of the single, and possibly a percentage of the album sales. But even then that shit is wack, cuz now Jim-Bob American, who may not have even been alive or coherent when the original dropped, think that Blue Monday is written by Orgy. And we know that Orgy deserves no credit for that song. Fuck Orgy. So here is Ty Segal's cover of Dropout Boogie. I doubt they have any "singles" on the Lemons album, so its alright by me.
Ty Segal - Dropout Boogie (by Captian Beefheart)

For shits and giggles and to stay true to all the bullshit I just wrote, here is the original Dropout Boogie by Captain Beefheart.
Captain Beefheart - Dropout Boogie

Sweatpants

I feel pathetic after seeing that I now have one follower. You can look up the name of your follower(s) through blogger and its clearly one of my friends who said he'd read my blog to help with my writing (cuz apparently I needs the help, duh). Now he's probably gonna read this and be embarrassed that he is the only loser willing to follow another loser's self indulgent pointless blog. Whereas I was primed for big bucks and international jet setting about two months ago when I started the blog (I already planned all of my fantasy speaking/live blogging tour stops for 2010 on Priceline and Kayak), the crushing blows of reality have now caught up; my downward spiral has begun.

Unfortunately being depressed can be rather spendy, as you have to both look, act, and feel the part, so I've spent some of my day attempting to stock up on some fresh depression gear in the thriftiest manner possible. The T.E.T.s (Tough Economic Times btw, and I suggest you start using that acronym to save some time, as you will likely have a reason to say it every single day for the next few years) have hit hard and no longer do I have the means to outfit my depression in Piere Cardin. Instead I must go straight to Ebay, Froogle and Overstock, for my twelve pack of sweatpants, and I have the rest of the day to debate whether I want Gildan, Russell, or Lands End brand. It'll likely come down to who has the cheapest shipping options. Once I get off work, I'll be headed on foot to Food 4 Less, straight to the frozen section, to stock up on loser food for the month. I might as well sell the fridge on Craigslist as I no longer need it anymore: it's strictly frozen from here on out.

The track for today is Flashback (Yurinomix) by Cyndi Seui, a producer from Bangkok, Thailand that runs the super cool label, Kitsch Cat. The sound and art direction is leagues ahead of all these other electro bitches who are getting multiple blow jobs for just trying really hard and looking semi neon. Cyndi Seui will soon be running/revitalizing your dying electro club scene, which all of you killed by being really homogeneous and obvious. Loose Shus, just did a great interview with Cindy at http://www.looseshus.com/ which is well worth checking out, and provides way more insight into Cyndi Seui and Kitsch Cat than I (which seems to be a reoccurring theme on this blog: my inability to provide adequate/premiere information on anything; I guess I'm more of a middle man). Make sure to check out Kitsch Cat's site at http://www.kitschcat.com/; they have a bunch of free tracks you can download, and also check Cyndi Seui's myspace page here, http://www.myspace.com/cyndiseui.
Cindy Seui - Flashback (Yurinomix)

Internal Emotional Pain

It doesn't happen too often in life, but it is extremely sad to watch people completely fail with tales of personal triumph. I'm talking about when their hubristic yarn is immediately denied, and their discomfort then becomes so overwhelming that it ultimately extends to you, and you get this hideous feeling in your sternum. To explain, I'll have to recount my morning's incident. I usually go get coffee at the chain across the street, as nobody there says a fucking word to me, they take my order, they generally get it right, and the process is streamlined and quick (plus they have cinnimon and soy milk). There is also a seemingly more mom and pop type coffee shop in the same area thats a little cheaper, but whomever the fuck is working always has to chat with me about something; these conversations are always forced and pathetic and so I generally avoid the place. Today, for basically no reason , I decided to go over to the mom and pop coffee shop, save 50 cents, and just deal with the convo that would undoubtably ensue. I work in a touristy area, so if you work/live locally, most of the businesses will give you a 10-20% discount on your order. So, when the old man that owns the coffee shop charged me full price, I reminded him that I work across the street, to which he replied, "I know, of course I remember you, I have a PERFECT memory for names and faces". He then went on to tell me a story of how he recognized a girlfriend that he'd had some 30 years earlier, who had physically changed a great deal, and how he knew it was her because of her eyes, and that she was soooooo embarassed that she didn't recognize/remember him (no shit). He claimed that was his "greatest talent". 5 seconds later, some new guy walks in and he says "Hey Greg". To which "Greg" replies, "Uhhhm, I'm Phil". At that moment, dude literally died inside, and started to retort, "oh yeah, I knew that, I knew that", and then he paused and looked at me and said, "I knew his name was Greg...I mean uhhh Phil". After that he just stared at me with a frightened yet confident look, like he had fucked up on purpose. God, so awkward, and so immediate, and hours later it still haunts me. I didn't get the fucking discount either.

Moving on from that egocentric garbage, today's track is I'll Be The One by Marcia Pharr. I know nothing about it/her (are you surprised?) other than that it came out in 1980 on PJP Records, and it has a very funky breakdown in the middle of the track that lasts about two minutes. Check it.
Marcia Pharr - I'll Be The One

Flashback!

Today is business as usual, or at least I am at work, and I am bored, so its blogging time. I don't know if my mind is prepared yet to write anything that is actually interesting so I guess we shall see what comes. Here is something that I pondered today. Whats up with staring at people? I do that shit all the time, like when I walk by them and I wanna look at them, I just kinda do it. If they look back and I know them pretty well, I'll be like "Hey" or I'll give the headnod, implying "whats up". Or sometimes I'll just keep looking, and think, "thats right I'm looking at you, what of it?". But then sometimes I look at people that I don't know, or kinda know and when they look back, I look away really quick, like I wasn't looking at them. I think I need to change that. So what, I AM LOOKING AT YOU and I'm gonna keep looking at you because you are pretty, or ugly, or weird-looking or whatever. My realm of sight belongs to me: I am its master, and your gaze has no effect. But sometimes people stare at me too, and I don't know how to read it, or I do read it, but likely incorrectly. If a girl is staring, then either my fly is undone, I have a stain on my shirt, or she is in love with me. In my mind, those are the only options. From this I've learned that I need to focus on my starring more, and really control my conviction and determination. Similarly, when being stared upon, hold strong, and not internalize it. Accept the stare as a generous gesture.

Another thing I thought about today (while watching a blind man shit), is how much it must suck to take shits in public restrooms when you are blind. First off, you have supersonic hearing and smell, which means you can really smell how bad the bathroom/feces smells, and you can really hear people grunting to force it out, as well as farting, peeing, and any other sound that arises in restrooms. Plus, you can't see whats in front of you, so stepping in puddles and putting your hand onto some rather unsantitary surfaces is likely to happen. For the record, he was taking a shit with the stall door open too, so for a second I literally did watch.

For today, I'm putting up a track by Nightlife Unlimited. Screw it I'll put up two tracks to spoil my imaginary audience. Both of these are from Nightlife Unlimited's later year (in disco terms, thats usually when you start to suck, or at least die from doing too much blow or getting AIDS). But they go against the trend in this case, and put out some of their best material on the album. Peaches and Prunes is an all-time disco classic, and although the Ron Hardy Edit that everyone always jizzes about is easy to mix, the original takes a serious crap on it. It is just waaaay better. I also put Just Be Yourself on here, which is just one of the other awesome tracks on this record.
Nightlife Unlimited - Peaches and Prunes
Nightlife Unlimited - Just Be Yourself

The pic above, is of Big Sur, California. Probably my favorite place in the world, definately my favorite destination in my birth state. I was just there for a music fest, put on by the Folkyeah! people, with a bunch of bands, which was really fun. In honor of my trip to paradise, I'll post a track by Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti, who was easily the crowd's least favorite of all the bands that played. I thought they ruled though (I literally laughed the whole time); I loved the diva behavior, the fact that every single song they played was a completed left (aka sinister) turn from the last, and that they had one super fan who danced his ass of to every song, knew all the lyrics, and sort of stalked them from the side of the stage. Here's Flashback, my favorite from their set.
Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti - Flashback