Saturday, March 27, 2004

up from the throat

Lynch and Lemonade:

Give it a second. Listen for long enough for the droning layers under the beatboxing to really move you around. You'll move, you will. At some point, if you're like me (which, really, I hope you aren't,) you'll start wishing you could do this many cool things with yer voice. Especially that throatsinging thing, that's amazing. His website's called dredzelblab, and the song I'm referring to is rababih, and you'll know why it's called that if you keep on a' listenin'. And I don't know how you couldn't.

You'll then immediately want more, and so you can try wa-u-wa-u and try not to pay attention to the fact that you can't stop rocking around in your chair.

For more throatsinging (including instructions) and voicevoicevoice antics, don't forget about MC Loonee Dan, MCLD. You can hear samples here, from his release Mouthpeaks, as well as others. Dan's been a favorite since back in the mp3.com radio station days, and this page has a lot of examples of the reason. (Examples of the reason? Pardon, I've got to twist my twister around, it seems to be on bassackwards.) While you're over there you could also have a look around; he's got a lot of helpful info. about building some crazy instruments, links to other music projects he's involved in, little interesting writings (right up our hop-along, that,) and other equally entertaining stuff. Dan's also planning some sort of online miasma of oddmusic, a radio broadcast online sorta thing, and I'm looking forward to it.

Thursday, March 25, 2004

holy pornography, batdog

I hate to be so fucking pushy today, but DROP YOUR GODDAMN PANCAKE RIGHT FUCKING NOW and go listen to pornographic priestess; listen to celebrity prison (has got to be the shit) RIGHT FUCKING NOW. Thanks. You should then listen to whatever else they have there, cuz they all kick ass.

a great fall

Fanch (the returned and unbuttered gormph-child) :

This strangtecular stuff you mentioned is fucking nuts, besides being hard to spell. Got them goofball vocals like some Fuchsia Death fuckers we used to know. And listen to that squirmering sound on Fancy Love Songs. Whadyaknow. Now how'm I gonna buy a CD with my wallet out in the picnic truck?

So here's the gongtree: I took those CDs we were supposed to do something with and hit 'em on the corner of the desk and they cracked like a motherfucking egg. What the hell? I thought you told me they were indetestructible. Err, indeterminate? Uncorrupted? I dunno. Anyway, we might have to wait a while longer for stuff to come to fruition. Just a minor, err, well, I don't know how minor, there's pieces of CDs all over. Just like when we threw those stacks of My Steez all over the studio. Look at those shards of shiny busted Steez!

Okay, so today I inadentally came across Mr. Doofyhead. There are two tracks there right now, Going to Catch a Catfish and Soft Lillies. I'll leave it up to you rascals to go see if they're still there and listen to 'em. We've certainly gotta admit to a certain amount of resemblement to one Mr. Bungle in this material, but it's energetic enough, and nuts enough, to stand upon its own leotards and hoodle to the toodles. It makes me very hamper.

Toodles.

the strangtecular and a lemon bar

fanch awakes from his nap. rubs eyes it's been a bit, but here i sit. the strangtecular are a now defunct group sort of in the vein of us. crazy songs, crazy vocals, odd noises, lo-fi whatnots. cookin' a moose over fire. listen to some clips. buy some albums. i mean, well, cdbaby is a pretty cool thing, lots of unknown bands, lots of cheap cds. that part about the lemon bar was a lie. fanch crawls back under rock.

Tuesday, March 23, 2004

Farmer's got a Brand New Bag

Hey Eleanor Throckmorton:

How's it rubbing? I remember striking a pose on the edge of some soft-bodied clam, or maybe it was a crawfish, up in the building pattern office. Remember? They had blueprints strapped to all the walls except that they were orange. Fuckin' weird, is what you said, before that dude with the too-tight bowtie came charging through the door and tackled you, trying to knock you out the window.

That was a close one, no?

I was thinking about that for the past few days as I was subsumed beneath this dmusic thing. It's too bad you hit your head so hard on the glass, you'd probably enjoy this place if you still had a grip on your faculties. So while struggling with this I decided it's time I point you to some of the real heroes over there. Those would be the ones who actually light up when you plug them in.

Blubat, for instance. The first thing you'll trip over when you wander into their hemisphere is an oblong Farmer's Bag. I think you're supposed to refrigerate that, or at least keep it out of the reach of childrens. You might recall one of the times when we used some external source material in liu of lyrics. I, of course, don't remember that. But you might. If you had a faculty. At any rate, this particular song, about the Bag, is like that. Sort of.

Later you can find a different twist on the monkeysphere. A tune called Lovic, a mellowness wrapped in ethereal, erm, candypaperbobbleheads. Or something. (Granted, for whatever reason I can't stream that fucker now, but what the hey. I remember it, that's the cool thing about heads and ears.) This thing moves the trance from the back of your memory, where you left it back around the time we were doing that Slinkyhead stuff, and right into your foreground, your frontal field, your comfort position. Just hear those percussive percussives, and that blowing bottle (if that ain't a blowing bottle I don't know what is, except I'm fer sure we used one on that Slinkyhead thing,) and then there's that thing what sounds like a single-note chord organ. Aaaah.

Don't forget to steer yourself back into the territory of the absurd, with Dicin' up the Rug. There's a Jaw Harp! And a thing that sounds a lot like one of the stringed instruments YOU'D pretend to be playing. Eleanor, you drippy bitch.

I'd love for you to listen to every one of the songs there, okay? Just, okay? Is that? C'mon, stupid, it's not that hard. Anyway, at the very least check out A Song for the Sickness, which is a very sparse and zoned-for-packaging instrumental with some creepy, way-back-in-the-back sounding rumbly stuff going on in my right ear. Of course I usually have shit plugged in backwards so it might come out above you. How the fuck should I know? There's also a remix of that thing by some other guys over there, but personally I have it in for the original. It's got something that helps my cramps.


Give those guys plenty of your aural behoofment, but then also, at some point, find Twinkiebots, okay? Be sure you stick Cracks in the Fairytale into your pipe and lick it. It's a twisted piece of something, though clean and well-paced. You'll think you've just inundated the fluxus, Eleanor. Really.

Some other goodies (though listen to 'em all!): Something Beautiful, I Held Her All Night. (These guys have some serious post-beatles/beatlesque/whatchymutchit stuff goin' on.)

Alrighty now. You'd better get your ball on the act, there, spendows. I've found some other stuff there, too, but you need to get on the ball and do some homework before I fill ya in.

Sunday, March 21, 2004

Sometimes God Poops Out a Small Childrens

Ebenezer Poo:

You know what? Fuck you. Fuck you all, fuck you. I don't. I just. Fuck. I mean. I mean, to say fuck. Is what. I.

Anyway, if you're here reading me say "fuck you," you aren't who I'm talking to, cuz the guys I'm talking to are supposed to put stuff here but never, ever have. Or do. So fuck you, and your horse's left nut. Fuckers.

While you're reading about fuck you, you should go over to another dmusic artist. These guys are midget golf. They want to know "What the hell is Kwanzaa," (Kwanzaa), and, most importantly, they have advice in Luke's Advice to Kids. My advice, of course, is fuck you. But you could just listen to these guys and fuck them, or something. They're good, this is what it's not about but never was, but when you're fucking you, who cares? Fuck?

DID I SAID FUCK ANYTIMES? FUCK. Oh.

Oh, and I didn't notice about Stop, Drop and Roll, wherein the fucking absolute CLASSIC line is uttered: "stop, drop and roll when you're on fire." Fuck yeah. I mean fuck you.

Saturday, March 20, 2004

nostalgialism

Remember the days when I could dig up weird, off-the-cuff, fuck-it stuff from mp3.com easily? I've been missing that. Am still missing that. But I have just stumbled onto something on DMusic.com that reminds me of them good old... good uhm. Good. Whatever. Anywah.

etheracide, mostly seems like two voices and an acoustic guitar. There's mellow, undercooked stuff that I'm digging, and then there's I'm Gonna Kill Osama, which is raw and stupid and kicks ass for it. listen at least until the two voices start trading back and forth... that "oohlah boolah" part. Mmmm.

Friday, March 19, 2004

What You See

Hey penholders, got something not in the same vein. Again. Denny has a couple of cool tracks at DMusic. Especially the first 'un, The Heart on My Sleeve. Experimental but pop, trip-hoppy and great. The other one's not nearly as much my bag, but I can't find my bag anyway.

Tuesday, March 16, 2004

Little Men

Crisco Shortbread:

The Littlest Man Band says about themselfs, "If Ben Folds, Harry Nillson, Stevie Wonder, Tom Waits, and Frank Zappa had an orgy, The resulting love-child would be The Littlest Man Band." On Drunk Again (which I want to call Scared of Myself), I can seriously hear the Ben Folds thing up and down, in a good way. (Try streaming it, or downloading it, but those probably won't work so go find it yerdamnself.) This guy's voice is a lotta powerful and a lotta singy, and a lotta good. If you like this sort of thing. In other tracks, like Always Sayin'(download, stream (maybe)) there are horns and guitars and keys and drummers and more of the guy's voice doing good things. Even better things, in fact.

Then there's Better Man(demo), which is not any of the other songs called that, but a really excellent mellow acoustic thing with some solo trumpet.

It would behoof all of the whatevers of you to go get some tracks heard from these littlest men. They make one's head become less burdensome. (I'm just realizing that these guys remind me of a band from somewhat ago called Dayroom. Anyone remember them?)

Wednesday, March 10, 2004

bubbling a little close to that non-edge

Endive or Cloven Hoof:

Liberation Jumpsuit play music(s) that is/are a little close to the center. Vs. what we usually talk about. That is. Something like Incubus, maybe. Right now they've got three tracks up from their new album, Superpower of Choice. Since I can't link to their entries, I'll link to those tracks here; but go check out the site maybe. Or maybe not. Or whatever. I'm linking because I like the stuff, regardless of your haggard faces and misinterpretive dancing. You're all hiding beneath the something anywhat, and so here's what you've driven me to, this edgewaterblunkfork of something lessthanexperimentative. superpower of choice, barren, a love song for chiquita.

And Remember: Do Not Trap Your Fender.