Tuesday, July 31, 2007
In which our HP pals pit their just-released Empty Quarter platter against the celebrated Scot folkie's 1970 sophomore effort Do You See the Lights?
Happily, all concerned bleed copiously...
(Four tracks, 11.5 MB, ripped @ 320 kpbs...)
Aqui, por favor.
The New York Times' obit may be accessed here.
(Above, Monica Vitti, alienated, as usual, in Antonioni's splendid Il Deserto Rosso. Click for a larger image.)
You will be missed, Maestro.
Monday, July 30, 2007
I only saw four of Bergman's films during their American first-run engagements - Cries and Whispers, Scenes from a Marriage, The Serpent's Egg, and Autumn Sonata. Each seemed inexorable, pitiless. Brilliant... His is an almost insurmountable oeuvre.
(Above, Harriet Andersson as the title character in Bergman's 1953 reverie Summer with Monika, initially marketed in the States as an exploitation film. It made the rounds of the hamhock drive-in circuit for years.)
(Click the photo for a larger image.)
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Test Tube Fantasy runs aground on the bulbous shoals of The 5000 Spirits or the Layers of the Onion... Always slice mashups under running water.
(Four tracks, 20.5 MB, ripped @ 320 kbps.)
Roll one for the acid punk grammarians amongst ye,
Wherein Heep's soph hex defends its 'eavy 'onour against the oft-relenting onslaught of Low's breakthrough wisp...
(Four tracks, 17.1 MB, ripped @ 320 kbps; can you please either turn that down or speak a little louder?)
Happy to assist,
Friday, July 27, 2007
(Four tracks, 18.9 MB, ripped @ 320 kbps, many unresolved issues, still in recovery...)
Get it here.
Mr. O'R, my erstwhile Miss High Heel compatriot, takes his Insignificance platter to Mr. A's potluck bash for Measure of a Man... May the best poultice concuss!
(Four tracks, 14 MB, ripped @ 320, etc.)
Many thanks as ever,
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
(Four tracks, 14.9 MB, ripped @ 320 kbps, principals strangely uncomfortable around women...)
Nuture (or pretend-murder) your fears,
(Four tracks, 13.4 MB, ripped @ 320 kbps; I'm so in love, girl.)
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Monday, July 23, 2007
(Four tracks, 15.8 MB, ripped @ 320 kbps, disassembly optional.)
Sunday, July 22, 2007
I Did Have Sexual Relations With That Woman
IT’S not just the resurgence of Al Qaeda that is taking us back full circle to the fateful first summer of the Bush presidency. It’s the hot sweat emanating from Washington. Once again the capital is titillated by a scandal featuring a member of Congress, a woman who is not his wife and a rumor of crime. Gary Condit, the former Democratic congressman from California, has passed the torch of below-the-Beltway sleaziness to David Vitter, an incumbent (as of Friday) Republican senator from Louisiana.
Mr. Vitter briefly faced the press to explain his “very serious sin,” accompanied by a wife who might double for the former Mrs. Jim McGreevey. He had no choice once snoops hired by the avenging pornographer Larry Flynt unearthed his number in the voluminous phone records of the so-called D.C. Madam, now the subject of a still-young criminal investigation. Newspapers back home also linked the senator to a defunct New Orleans brothel, a charge Mr. Vitter denies. That brothel’s former madam, while insisting he had been a client, was one of his few defenders last week. “Just because people visit a whorehouse doesn’t make them a bad person,” she helpfully told the Baton Rouge paper, The Advocate.
Mr. Vitter is not known for being so forgiving a soul when it comes to others’ transgressions. Even more than Mr. Condit, who once co-sponsored a bill calling for the display of the Ten Commandments in public buildings, Mr. Vitter is a holier-than-thou family-values panderer. He recruited his preteen children for speaking roles in his campaign ads and, terrorism notwithstanding, declared that there is no “more important” issue facing America than altering the Constitution to defend marriage.
But hypocrisy is a hardy bipartisan perennial on Capitol Hill, and hardly news. This scandal may leave a more enduring imprint. It comes with a momentous pedigree. Mr. Vitter first went to Washington as a young congressman in 1999, to replace Robert Livingston, the Republican leader who had been anointed to succeed Newt Gingrich as speaker of the House. Mr. Livingston’s seat had abruptly become vacant after none other than Mr. Flynt outed him for committing adultery. Since we now know that Mr. Gingrich was also practicing infidelity back then — while leading the Clinton impeachment crusade, no less — the Vitter scandal can be seen as the culmination of an inexorable sea change in his party.
And it is President Bush who will be left holding the bag in history. As the new National Intelligence Estimate confirms the failure of the war against Al Qaeda and each day of quagmire signals the failure of the war in Iraq, so the case of the fallen senator from the Big Easy can stand as an epitaph for a third lost war in our 43rd president’s legacy: the war against sex.
During the 2000 campaign, Mr. Bush and his running mate made a point of promising to “set an example for our children” and to “uphold the honor and the dignity of the office.” They didn’t just mean that there would be no more extramarital sex in the White House. As a matter of public policy, abstinence was in; abortion rights, family planning and homosexuality were out. Mr. Bush’s Federal Communications Commission stood ready to punish the networks for four-letter words and wardrobe malfunctions. The surgeon general was forbidden to mention condoms or the morning-after pill.
To say that this ambitious program has fared no better than the creation of an Iraqi unity government is an understatement. The sole lasting benchmark to be met in the Bush White House’s antisex agenda was the elevation of anti-Roe judges to the federal bench. Otherwise, Sodom and Gomorrah are thrashing the Family Research Council and the Traditional Values Coalition day and night.
The one federal official caught on the D.C. Madam’s phone logs ahead of Mr. Vitter, Randall Tobias, was a Bush State Department official whose tasks had included enforcing a prostitution ban on countries receiving AIDS aid. Last month Rupert Murdoch’s Fox network succeeded in getting a federal court to throw out the F.C.C.’s “indecency” fines. Polls show unchanging majority support for abortion rights and growing support for legal recognition of same-sex unions exemplified by Mary Cheney’s.
Most amazing is the cultural makeover of Mr. Bush’s own party. The G.O.P. that began the century in the thrall of Rick Santorum, Bill Frist and George Allen has become the brand of Mark Foley and Mr. Vitter. Not a single Republican heavyweight showed up at Jerry Falwell’s funeral. Younger evangelical Christians, who may care more about protecting the environment than policing gay people, are up for political grabs.
Nowhere is this cultural revolution more visible — or more fun to watch — than in the G.O.P. campaign for the White House. Forty years late, the party establishment is finally having its own middle-aged version of the summer of love, and it’s a trip. The co-chairman of John McCain’s campaign in Florida has been charged with trying to solicit gay sex from a plainclothes police officer. Over at YouTube, viewers are flocking to a popular new mock-music video in which “Obama Girl” taunts her rival: “Giuliani Girl, you stop your fussin’/ At least Obama didn’t marry his cousin.”
As Margery Eagan, a columnist at The Boston Herald, has observed, even the front-runners’ wives are getting into the act, trying to one-up one another with displays of what she described as their “ample and aging” cleavage. The décolletage primary was kicked off early this year by the irrepressible Judith Giuliani, who posed for Harper’s Bazaar giving her husband a passionate kiss. “I’ve always liked strong, macho men,” she said. This was before we learned she had married two such men, not one, before catching the eye of America’s Mayor at Club Macanudo, an Upper East Side cigar bar, while he was still married to someone else.
Whatever the ultimate fate of Rudy Giuliani’s campaign, it is the straw that stirs the bubbling brew that is the post-Bush Republican Party. The idea that a thrice-married, pro-abortion rights, pro-gay rights candidate is holding on as front-runner is understandably driving the G.O.P.’s increasingly marginalized cultural warriors insane. Not without reason do they fear that he is in the vanguard of a new Republican age of Addams-family values and moral relativism. Once a truculent law-and-order absolutist, Mr. Giuliani has even shrugged off the cocaine charges leveled against his departed South Carolina campaign chairman, the state treasurer Thomas Ravenel, as a “highly personal” matter.
The religious right’s own favorite sons, Sam Brownback and Mike Huckabee, are no more likely to get the nomination than Ron Paul or, for that matter, RuPaul. The party’s faith-based oligarchs are getting frantic. Disregarding a warning from James Dobson of Focus on the Family, who said in March that he didn’t consider Fred Thompson a Christian, they desperately started fixating on the former Tennessee senator as their savior. When it was reported this month that Mr. Thompson had worked as a lobbyist for an abortion rights organization in the 1990s, they credulously bought his denials and his spokesman’s reassurance that “there’s no documents to prove it, no billing records.” Last week The New York Times found the billing records.
No one is stepping more boldly into this values vacuum than Mitt Romney. In contrast to Mr. Giuliani, the former Massachusetts governor has not only disowned his past as a social liberal but is also running as a paragon of moral rectitude. He is even embracing one of the more costly failed Bush sex initiatives, abstinence education, just as states are abandoning it for being ineffective. He never stops reminding voters that he is the only top-tier candidate still married to his first wife.
In a Web video strikingly reminiscent of the Vitter campaign ads, the entire multigenerational Romney brood gathers round to enact their wholesome Christmas festivities. Last week Mr. Romney unveiled a new commercial decrying American culture as “a cesspool of violence, and sex, and drugs, and indolence, and perversions.” Unlike Mr. Giuliani, you see, he gets along with his children, and unlike Mr. Thompson, he has never been in bed with the perverted Hollywood responsible for the likes of “Law & Order.”
There are those who argue Mr. Romney’s campaign is doomed because he is a Mormon, a religion some voters regard almost as suspiciously as Scientology, but two other problems may prove more threatening to his candidacy. The first is that in American public life piety always goeth before a fall. There had better not be any skeletons in his closet. Already Senator Brownback has accused Mr. Romney of pushing hard-core pornography because of his close association with (and large campaign contributions from) the Marriott family, whose hotel chain has prospered mightily from its X-rated video menu.
The other problem is more profound: Mr. Romney is swimming against a swift tide of history in both culture and politics. Just as the neocons had their moment in power in the Bush era and squandered it in Iraq, so the values crowd was handed its moment of ascendancy and imploded in debacles ranging from Terri Schiavo to Ted Haggard to David Vitter. By this point it’s safe to say that even some Republican primary voters are sick enough of their party’s preacher politicians that they’d consider hitting a cigar bar or two with Judith Giuliani.
Only two tracks were necessary. Find them here.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Evan: i have video of the ied
Tom: DAMN! Is it posted anywhere?
Evan: the way my camera was zoomed it look far away but i was only like 100 meters from it. in the video you can hear me say "sweet! i got it!" lol
Tom: your depends are tougher than mine. i'd be leaving a train of poop for 50 meters in every direction.
Evan: its funny the shit that does not bother you when the mortar rounds started coming in. i was in my ASV. well, the ac went out in it, so the only way we could ride in it without burning up and suffocating from the heat was to have all the hatches open. i was in the turret of the asv, standing in the open, when BOOM i saw the mortar hit at the back of the convoy. then they started coming in closer on by one - BOOM BOOM BOOM one after another and our convoy was stopped because of the aforementioned ied...
Think you're having a bad day?
Friday, July 20, 2007
I'm presently immersed in the writing of the next To Live and Shave album... Oy. With recording scheduled to begin in NYC on August 24, the pressure is starting to build. Themes have been cresting, overflowing for months. If you're a semi-constant reader, you'll have an inkling...
(We want to pull out several stops this time, while violently suppressing the others.)
If the recent tour was any indication, tracking should go (relatively) (un-)smoothly.
(Cue shotguns. Cue squibs. More blood!)
Assembling mashup mikro-platten serves to ameliorate much of the (self-administered) stress. Guess I'm feeling the heat, 'cuz I've devised yet another EP for your delectation:
TLASILA: Judee vs. GG
Ms. Sill, the deceased, previously born again smack Ophelia, goes candle-to-spoon with Mr. Allin (equally non-sentient as of this post), here ably assisted by Michael Nyman protégés and five-time MacArthur Fellows grant recipients Antiseen.
Antipodes? We think not. Listen to the texts - similarities abound.
(Four tracks, 17.8 MB, ripped at 320 kbps.)
Get it here.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
M.P. Lockwood (with co-host Christine Urrutia) has just posted another in his series of No-Core Mixtape podcasts. He's been either kind enough or sufficiently addled to include a track from To Live and Shave in L.A.'s May 4th radio session at KFJC in his most recent (July 18) long-form mix, the eighth he's thus far assembled. Lots of cool groups and performers are featured throughout...
Cheers to M.P. and Christine*!
Visit the No-Core web here.
(*And apologies to Kristin Calvarese, previously mis-identified here as the co-host of the podcast.)
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
I've been mixing non-stop since returning from North Carolina, and while juices are coagulating, what better time to rub out another mashup? Herein we send a squadron of Nashville's mid-50s finest against Alec Empire's arguably weakest (and most unintentionally comic) collection, 2005's Futurist.
We trust we've done everyone a favor.
01 AE v Faron Young
02 AE v Eddy Arnold
03 AE v Carl Smith
04 AE v The Louvin Brothers
05 AE v EP
06 AE v Hank Snow
07 AE v Webb Pierce
08 AE v George Jones
09 AE v Tennessee Ernie Ford
(32.1 MB, ripped at 320 kbps.)
Grab it here.
Odetta vs. Derek Bailey
Wherein we pit the titanic songstress' 1956 Sings Ballads and Blues collection against the peerless improv stalwart's 2002 Ballads compendium. Seven tracks of smoldering, inexpressible desire, wholly wrested from intent.
It's up to you to determine the context. Triangulation begins here.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
I've been scampering about in the wilds of North Carolina with a Floridian succubus and her various accompanying demons - a good time was pummeled by all.
Updates to the Bjork and Whitehouse mashup collections will be forthcoming, as well as the usual blather.
Hellishness recedes, but not without a parting eye gouge...
(Click on the above image for a larger version.)
Monday, July 16, 2007
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Friday, July 13, 2007
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Chipmunks vs. Whitehouse
Mr. Seville and his sciurid charges throw their '64 Beatles playbook against the recent Racket.
I recant - five additional tracks have been completed, and will soon be posted. Such is the lot of the overachiever with a mountain trip looming and bags to pack.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
(Thanks to Maggie, by the way.)
I'm sad to report that it's more money than I've ever made on any previous recording, and awfully close to toppling the cumulative haul on the 100-plus albums to which my befouled moniker has thus far been attached... Fuck.
I'm in need of a serious career re-think... Reckon it's too late for all that, of course. Once a dreamer, always a goddamned sleep junkie.
Doom-laden, I remain,
Below, the last batch of screengrabs from To Live and Shave in L.A.'s April-May trek through the continental USA. These were extracted from the video footage shot (under the usual miserable lighting conditions) at Club Midway on Avenue B in Manhattan.
One half will be posted this evening; the remainder will follow tomorrow.
(L to R: Don Fleming, Mark Shellhaas - obscured by shadow, as befits his rigorous demeanor - and Kelly Jamison.)
(Andrew W.K., Ben Wolcott, and TS' elbow.)
(Graham Moore and toggle controller...)
(Don, Andrew, Ben, and Tom's torso...)
(Rat Bastard. Along with Cher, cockroaches, and cut-out bin copies of An Interview with the Mitchell Brothers, a human cultural evergreen.)
(Kelly does a lightning double-take as Rat slides past...)
(With the focus on Mr. Falestra, left to right we find Mr. Wilkes-Krier, a smudged Mr. Wolcott, a hidden Monsieur Smith and Mr. Moore, his head in his work.)
(Chris Grier, Graham's mug, and Rat's right ham.)
(TS, BW, and CG.)
(Tom and Rattus...)
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