*at heart I am a mystic/driven by the Spirit*

Bliss taunts me
From the other side of the mirror
Where I've seen those heavenly shores
Imagination clothes brilliance
It is enough
More than enough
It is everything and all things
Nothing and anything
To inhabit as a world of my own
Satisfied in the simple observance
Yes I've basked in the glow of ethereal Oneness
The memory keeps me running
On the promise of reconciliation
And this I believe:
From One I came
To One I shall return
Let all that stands between
Remain as it is, what it is
That I may give it all away when the time comes
And I have Someone to give it to

from Bipolar Confessional

Maternal Geneology

This is about all I could glean from a free trial subscription to Ancestry.com.

Maternal grandparents:
Arthur Gibson Vanzant 1893-1967
Birth 2 November 1893 in Arkansas
Death April 1967 in Paden, Okfuskee County, Oklahoma
Helen Vanzant

Great-grandparents:
William Lewis Harrison Vanzant 1852-1908
Birth 2 June 1852 in Alabama
Death 2 March 1908 in Paden, Okfuskee County, Oklahoma
Martha L. Kilgore 1944-1917

Great-Great-grandparents:
William G. Vanzant 1817-1891
Birth 1817 in Tennessee
Death 20 January 1891 in Booneville, Prentiss County, Mississippi
Catherine Baker 1825-1894

Great-Great-Great grandparents:
James VanZandt 1784-1852
Birth 13 July 1784 in Rutherford County, North Carolina
Death 1852 in Tennessee
Sally Upgrove

Great-Great-Great-Great grandparents:
Garrett VanZandt Jr. 1745-1830
Birth 17 August 1745 in North Carolina
Death 27 August 1830 in Barren County, Kentucky
Margaret Smith 1760-1851

Great-Great-Great-Great-Great grandparents:
Garret VanZandt 1709-1787
Birth 1709 in Bensalam, Bucks County, Pennsylvania
Death 23 March 1787 in Rutherford County, North Carolina
Mary Ann Groome 1708-1796

That's right...I couldn't find anything from my dad's side...

Compilation Playlist - Garage A-Go-Go Redux

I lost the original Garage A-Go-Go playlist in which I basically compiled every 60s garage rock and psychedelic band I could find on Spotify. It was a massive undertaking but fun. The results were gratifying too and it wasn't too hard to decide whether or not I should go through the toil and trouble of trying to replicate it, knowing that I probably would miss a few things. What I came up with may well be missing but I think I got the best stuff and may have even come upon some gems I missed the first time around. There is the notable edition of British "Mod" music that I decided to include with the rest because it has a similar enthusiastic amateurish quality to it that I find endearing. 

Phong's Absolution

Phong hit the ground
Within a second of the sound
Of the gunshot that laid him down
Loosened the grip on his own weapon
At the moment of impact
It fell with a thud
Next to his body in the mud
When his head hit the hard earth
He heard thunder and saw light

The bullet in the North Vietnames man's skull was made in America
Loaded by The Poet earlier that afternoon
Along with the rest of his ammo
In the second after Phong died
Poet lowered his sight
And came to an abrupt and awkward halt
There was no denying the man was hit
Even less to prove the man was dead
The hole in the back of the metal helmet
Was the same size as the hole in the back of the dead man's head

Instinct bred caution even so
As The Poet slowly tread the fifteen yards
Between where he stood and where Phong lay
He crouched down
Rolled him over slowly
Placed his fingers on the corpse's eyelids
(I know you can see me)
Shut them gently
(May the darkness be your savior)

The Poet took the bayonet knife bolstered at his side
Pressing down on Phong's shoulder
He cut an incision between the man's chest muscles
With a gentle sawing he cut through tendons and bone
Until a trough had formed
A six inch baptismal filled with blood
Still almost warm as life
The Poet plunged his left hand deep into the pool
Grabbed hold of Phong's heart and tugged
He caught the resistance of the arteries
And severed them
With the knife in his right hand

Raising the dripping organ to his nose
The poet inhaled deeply the strange odor
Inspiration teased
Quickly The Poet brought Phong's heart to his mouth
With a huge bite his mouth was full
His brain felt as it would explode
The drama and the dreams of the whole world
He chewed and savored the flavor
He had come to appreciate it during his time in the jungle
As well the firm gelatinous texture
The saltiness of the blood
This was The Poet's reward

With the last swallow he wiped his hands on Phong's shirt
He felt a piece of paper folded in the right pocket
A letter, written in Vietnamese
And though he didn't know the language
Somehow a few sentences made sense

"Confessor
My soul is tormented
I am a liar
My wicked heart has made me do despicable things
Words and actions without regard
Of consequences
Things that would hurt people, if they only knew
If they knew what I have done
They would rise against me and do murder
I would deserve whatever punishment they saw fit
For I am a renegade poet
And I have lost all respect for the art"

As he finished reading the page
The Poet felt nausea in his gut
He dropped the paper
Bent over and vomited
He heaved several times until his stomach was empty
Then he just stood there, hands on knees
Staring at the mess
(I have a message for all mankind)
He forced himself to look at it
Until inspiration left him

He reached for his gun
Stood up and walked to Phong's rifle
Bent to pick it up as well
Strapping it to his side
The Poet walked away
As a gentle breeze blew the confession
Far from Phong's lonesome body

- from Bipolar Confessional

John Denver - Golden: JAC's Best of John Denver

Long ago I overcame any problems I might have had with John Denver being somehow "uncool". My girlfriend at the time liked him so if he was good enough for her he was good enough for me. And I'm so glad I initially approached his music in that way. Truth be told anyone who thinks he's not (or wasn't) "hip" or whatever is really missing a lot. John Denver is one of the most under-rated singer songwriters of all time. He had luck with a couple of country hits and so many people pegged him as a country singer. As such perhaps he doesn't rank as a great country star. But most people who have taken him seriously hear him as more of a folk singer with bits of country and pop (adult contemporary) mixed in. I've put together this playlist that I believe proves what a substantial artist he was. I recommend that you listen to it in shuffle mode.

Prophet

He didn't live in darkness
It was the light he couldn't bear
Illuminating the futility
Exposing the reality
A world full of selfish people
A trait of the species
Darkness would have been his friend
To hide the truth he could not deny
Obfuscate lust, greed and pride
Survival of the fittest, hey that's alright
Instead he proclaimed humanity's state
Without the hope of even temporary escape
Grim as the Reaper knocking at your door

A car crash aftermath
You can't help but slow down
Turn to see what's there to see
But not for long
The guy in front of you slowed down too
(We've all the same hard wired brain)
Lest you find more than you thought
Not turn back in time
And rear end the other guy

He found ways to sing of loneliness
Despair given a melody
Between the look in his eyes and
The tremble in his voice
He could sell it to a poor man
He was no faker
As real as the sun
That will burn out the eyes of the one
Who gazes too long
At it's blazing light
From light years away
Giving decieving darkness
For the moments you bask in it's glow

The burden was too much for his skinny back
More than the weight of many worlds
He fell beneath his own weight
To him the logical response
But not to me
And not to you
Regardless the empathy and solidarity
How he seemed to have read our mind
Known our story, all our years to now
But he never knew the ending
How I wish it would have been his too
ESCAPE
From the blinding darkness and the piercing light
My third eye has been blind
Open it, Lord
Show me the reason
And I will sing your song

Suspicion

Creeps up to me like a serpent
Exaggerating, hissing white lies
Subtle black magic weaving
Uncertainty
Makes me read between the lines
For accusations from straight out of nowhere

I'll get over it soon enough
Cut the snake's head off
Find a way to make it right
With only my thoughts for company
If I can keep them in line
If I can stay sane
If I can overcome
Suspicion

This is the part of the film

In which the glass is filled with sand
Minutes into hours, as full as is allowed
Waiting for someone to come along
And turn it over again
Or break it with a hammer
Grains pouring out with shattered glass
The smashing blow of destiny

Impermanence
Life's greatest lesson
Is the most difficult to learn
Almost impossible to embrace
Until one realizes the value of freedom
That nothing lasts forever
Is good news indeed

- from Bipolar Confessional

Relapse & Restoration

You get hungry for the way it was
           Even though the way it was
Killed you slowly
                    slowly broke you down
             Killed the part of you
Kept apart from everyone else
           part of the past you won't let die
When the best you can do is help it die
                                         do it
  Drown the voices, I'd do it for you if I could
                                                            and I can
You only have to know the difference I can show you if you let me
You take all your selfishness and fascination with evil
You take all your anger and anxieties
You take all your fears and misconceptions
You take all your judgment and hypocrisy
                               you see it's all hypocrisy at the core
     That's keeping you away from doing something about it
                  We're all this way
           When we all recognize it we can move to the meat of the murder
                Stuff it all inside a golem, chant a few prayers
Even your dead god listens to that chant
          Small case god just isn't the One that can hold it under the water
            Not strong enough, not long enough to keep it under
                                                                It's got to be held under forever
                   Before it loosens the grip it's got on you
              But the right hand, the right chant, can you tell me what's next?
Struggles and bubbles, muffled screams, it was you but no more
                          Murdered that illness, left it on the ocean floor
     Only an illness, no demon or serpent crawling on the floor
  We're killing it with chemicals, ripping theses from the door
  We're tearing them up
  We're throwing them out
  We're never going to hunger again for the
                                                                            way
                                                                                    it
                                                                                       was

from Bipolar Confessional

Florida Georgia Line - Anything Goes

Have you heard of "Plan 9 From Outer Space"? It's the last movie Bela Lugosi ever made. He died during production but instead of shelving the project the director made the decision to use stock footage of the actor to flesh out scenes he was in. It is widely considered to be one of if not THE worst movie ever made. But there is a certain strange charm in watching things fall apart and "Plan 9" developed a huge cult following who were able to appreciate it for it's wretchedness...

Which brings us to Florida Georgia Line and, in particular, their most recent album "Anything Goes". Is it the worst "modern country" record ever made? That's a distinct possibility. It's filled with cliches and some songs are little more than laundry lists of hip hop cowboy stereotypes. Musically it's as sterile as a newly bought bottle of saline solution. These two guys are about as likable as...well, those two guys you used to know in high school who always hung around together stinking like stale tobacco and trying to hit on your girlfriend with lines from Playboy party jokes. Their voices are so processed that sometimes you have to do a double take just to make sure you're not listening to a machine. They've got hooks aplenty...TOO MANY DAMN HOOKS, they sort of lose their novelty all scrunched up together like they do 'em. They name check country stars and rock stars in the same breath, which seems to be a sort of rite of passage for the Luke Bryan school of country tough. Here they've managed to rhyme Haggard with Jagger and yes, you will walk away from that one like you've just had your eye spit in. To hear these guys tell it Randy Owens' legendary band Alabama are the best music in the world to listen to when you're high on marijuana. And there's a LOT of marijuana on this album, you have to wonder if they're giving it away for free down there on the border of Florida and Georgia.

All of which is to say that yeah, this is a bad album. It's a crap album. It's pure fluff without an ounce of substance. It's slogans and catchphrases. It has all the lyrical impact of a Wal Mart grocery list. The party does not stop, not even when you want it to, it just keeps on raving because that's what Florida Georgia Line are all about, getting high, getting drunk, getting lucky and the only thing stronger than their libidos is the THC content of the weed. An album that doesn't give a damn about what kind of music it is, and I'm not saying that's a bad thing but these guys come off like hicks with a fascination for Yeezy, they can't get rid of the twang but they can't throw down very well either.

You know what that means? That's right! "Anything Goes" is a classic, not to be missed! You'll find yourself stuck between cringing and laughter as you hear such masterful lyrics as "Victoria's Secret ain't a secret no more" and "Baby you ain't nothin' but a masterpiece/Swayin' and sippin' those Dos Equis". And check this: "All I wanna do is wear my favorite shades and get stoned/And all I wanna do is lace my Jays and lace some Jack in my Coke". Doesn't that make you want to run out and buy the record? And some whiskey? And Coke? And pot? Yes, folks, this album is laugh-out-loud bad and it doesn't let up with the party hardyin'. The closest you get to a ballad is "Dirt" which is, like, a tribute to...you guessed it. Dirt. Mud. It's a farmer thing, you wouldn't understand.

So I'm gonna recommend this stinker of an album because sometimes it's just fun to listen to a stinker of an album, it helps you appreciate the ones that don't stink all the more. But beware. The very sound waves emitted from your speakers when you play Florida Georgia Line will probably reek of weed and whiskey. It's too bad I don't do that stuff or this might sound like "Sgt. Pepper" to me.

Pushing the Wall

We're pushing up against a wall
Rain thrown like bullets in a storm
Pelting
Stinging
Burning for something just out of reach
A patient moonbeam
The sound of unfamiliar animals, wild
Huddled beneath the pouring water
Sheltered by alien trees
Push, push, though it never gives
We are here to push

They are gathering again
I can hear them through the whispered breeze
Speaking in tongues, rattling swords
Waiting for the clarion call
Here she comes, baby, here she comes
Hear their marching feet
The war songs so beautifully deceiving
A company of angels
Armed for an onslaught
Unfamiliar animals

How did we wind up here in the first place?
That's all I'd really like to know
Airplanes and cannonballs
Relative oxygen
Hark, I can hear the battle horns
A mournful bellowing
Signifying
Victory
Cracks in the wall

Dances for victory, dance with the enemy
Yes, they see our fear
Empty and they soon fall and run
Busted by confusion
Just lay down, be still, they may not see you
Try not to breathe
It's not that hard
It's not so hard

Maybe we'll get lucky this time
The wall surely will relent
Sing like a bird, woo-hoo
Kill two with one stone
Get lucky, this is the time
This is the place
Throwing sevens to the wind

And I'll never be so easy to read
And I'll never be your tough nut to crack
And I'll never be a grounded lightning rod
And I'll never be caught in a loop
And I'll never be anything but me
Me is all I'll ever be

Funeral procession crawls down the sidewalk
Carrying bodies tied to chains
Dragging them to the cemetery
Mumbling prayers, saying them backwards
That's the language the devil understands

How long and how far?
How are you forever?
Back and forth, my love
Feel your love forever

Breathe in, breathe out
Listen to the rasp
Start counting

Of course I don't know what it means
Do I look that smart to you?

Some push with their backs against the wall

from Bipolar Confessional

For the Muse

Another day to drown in sound
Arms open, legs still, no struggle
I just drink it in then
I breathe it in then
I sink to the source
Where vibrations toll new tones

And I was Quasimodo, rope in hand
Ringing bells louder than the life I live
Sound pushing waves of air into me
Knocking me over, shaking my guts
I couldn't hear the sound of my own laughter
Or the screams of my ears bleeding

And I was lost in space, doomed to die alone
In silence
I did not realize silence could be deafening
A vacuum pops the only thing breaks is
I stopped talking to myself yesterday
I was driving myself insane

And I believed all music was from God
As He said
He would comfort me with songs of deliverance
And I may have been fooling myself
But I believed God was in all music
I still believe that

Open the gates of heaven, the first song I hear
Will be the best song I ever heard in my life
Peter will ask me what I think and I'll tell him
Then he'll tell me it's the weakest track on the record
"Wait until you get to the middle"
That's how I'll know I'm in heaven

from Bipolar Confessional

This will come in handy, I'm sure.

Linda Blair & Steven Tyler early 70s

They were BOTH so cute back then. 

For the Doubter

Thomas
Behold My side
Stick your hand in deep
Explore the spear's wound
Feel it
Touch it
Squeeze it like slick, glistening labia
Reach in further
Grab hold of whatever you can
And
QUICK!
Pull it out
You can have it
I don't need it

Enough of generic songs about simple things easily understood. Let someone else bring the good vibes. I wanted to ask the eternal questions. I wanted to float some possible answers by you.

from Bipolar Confessional

Written 28July99

Y'know, I'll probably regret saying this, but my job's not so bad (cashier at Love's convenience store). I meet a lot of different people everyday and have gotten to know a few regulars (to the meager extent that I WANT to know them).

I mean there's the old guy who works at the mill and buys a quart of beer every day. He's one at of at least a couple who if I don't see them once a day I think something is wrong in the world.

And Officer Keogh, who is the best cop they've got, I think. He's from New Jersey and for awhile I was saving all the New Hersey quarters I got for hem and he'd buy them from me. Being from Jersey it's only natural that he's a Springsteen fan. He was in the  military before he became a  policeman. He buys between 7 and 10 packages of Rain-Blo bubble gum every few days. You know that's the gum that's real good for blowing bubble but the flavor doesn't last for very long.

And Bradley, a Catholic guy probably a few years younger than me,. He usually comes in the store at least twice a day and he always buys 2 or 3 quarts of Busch beer. He drinks it on ice because, he says, his heroes, the Kennedys, drank their beer "on the rocks". He keeps saying he'll come hear my band play bur he never does and probably never will. I've a strong suspicion he's a casual stoner, but not sure. If he ever shows up to a gig I'll find out.

And of course there are those I cringe to see coming through the doors. Like the bizarre mentally ill (schizophrenic, I believe) fellow who buys a shitload of sweet cakes, chips and junk food, then goes outside and EATS THE WHOLE DAMN LOT. And I'm talking a couple of bags full! One time he paid wish $16 in quarters. God Damn that was a pain in the ass. He hasn't been in the store in awhile and part of me wants to believe he's wound up in Ward 53.

There's this motley crew of 4 Indian teenagers that I can't stand. They never buy anything and I'm sure they're stealing candy (no hard task that). They know I'm suspicious of them, that I watch them closely. One day the ringleader got pissed when he saw I was working. I'd just bet they have a real robber's holiday when Latisha or Tammy's working.

But enough! I don't even want to think about those morons. I wanted to write about something that happened today.

This lady had just put fuel in her car and she came, bellied up to the counter and said, "I'd like a sausage biscuit and I've got gas".

Man, I wanted to say "That sausage biscuit won't be good for that, will it?"

Hardy har har.

On Water

The man who walks on water
Understands gravity's pull
The murky liquid ripples and hangs
On the feet of the bravest of sailors
His courage falls him
The lightness of being
Takes on the weight of the world
If not for the outstretched hand of example
He would sink to Leviathan

from Bipolar Confessional

Incident in the Pixie Band

A pixie marching band took their show on the road. 17 tiny horn players and a drummer with a button for a snare. Across the water they walked, regimented in three lines, playing "Has The Day So Quickly Ended" to the rhythm of water splashing on their finely cobbled pixie shoes. Tireless they moved forward across an entire ocean seeking the comfort and solitude of Icelandic shores. Unnoticed by the many captains of the many ships they slipped by, their music nothing more than crickets chirping or the ringing in their ears.

It was a long journey and they never stopped playing once. Seven hundred and seventy-six songs they had in their repertoire and they played each one at least twice as days turned to night and the cycle would need to be repeated for several days until they reached their destination. Every pixie musician in the band had every one of those songs memorized and you could call the tune at any time day or night and he or she would pick up his pixie instrument and play it note perfect. Not a single mistake.

Legendary songs of pixie lore, like "Call The Wild Dogs to Anglicize", "Too Many Curtains" and "Fill Your Cup With Salty Seltzer". Popular pixie songs all pixies knew, like "Bertha You're a Hard Act to Follow", "Dropped My Horn in the Bay of Pigs", "Livestock", "Ain't No One Answerin' the Phone" and "Drop Yer Pillow, Samuel". Sacred pixie songs celebrated their common faith in the one true God, like "God, There Ain't No Other God", "Our God Sails the Seven Seas" and "God Help the Fool Who Fools His God". Pixie drinking songs, "Bottoms Up", "Can You Hear the Weeping Warm Beer?", "1-2-3 Let's All Get Drunk", "Pixie Drinking Song" and "Hustle That Swill".

A lot of songs. A lot of moods. A lot of reasons to go home to Iceland, as if they needed any besides the food.

The pixie band was pushing three-quarters of the marching journey across the ocean when Big Jim Pixie turned around and scolded Billy Joe the trombone player.

"Bill, you clumsy bastard!" barked Big Jim. "You just about hit me in the back of the head with that goddamn trombone slide! Do I have to tell you what I'm going to do to you if you actually graze me with that spit-drippin' thang?"

Billy Joe, typically soft spoken, was not having any of this.

"It was a flying fish that whisked up 'gainst the side of yer noggin, not my slide. If I was of a mind to bean you with this here slide you'd be rubbing the back of your head right now and you'd be so shook up you wouldn't even know it was me that done it."

"You sure do talk tough now, don't ye?" asked Big Jim, reluctantly realizing that it could well have been a flying fish but not yet willing to let the trombone player off the hook. "Don't make me turn around cuz if I do you are going to be in the market for a new trombone."

"That's a well may be, Jim-Jim, but the hand that holds the pen that signs the check that pays for it is going to be yours. Let that stand as a natural fact."

If there's one thing in the world Big Jim didn't like being called it was Jim-Jim. Billy Joe was always calling him Jim-Jim because he knew it bugged him. The pixies in the company had all used variations on his name when referring to him in the past - Jimbo Johnson, Johnny Jimson, Little Jim Big Jim, Jimmy Jolson, George Jimson, Son James the Ham Chef, Carl Jim Has Been, King James Version Abridged, James Wainright Teller, Jim the Traitor, Jim the Christ Killer, Jim the Destroyer of the World, Jim the Enemy of the Known Universe - each one of these appellations rankled him but none so thoroughly as the simple Jim Jim that Billy Joe would call him.

"I ain't payin' a goddamn cent, trombone player."

"Then you ain't breakin' my trombone, Jimmy Jack Jehosaphath."

"Don't test me, you may have to arrest me."

"I'll bring you a file so you can get out of jail, Jim Jim".

"Well that's mighty white of you, pixie. Now what are you gonna do if that spit valve was leakin' and you got some of your nasty ebola saliva on the back of m'neck? You gonna come visit me in the hospital?"

"I might. But then again I might just wait and come visit your grave when they put you down."

"Joe, if we weren't still marchin' I swear to almighty God I would turn around and beat you so bad they'll be countin' a man short when we finally get home."

"Jim Jim, them's fightin' words but you ain't never fought nothing no tougher than the urge to fart in public. You ain't gonna do no permanent damage to me nor my trombone here. So why don't you put your money where your mouth is or keep that mouth shut?"

Big Jim turned around and hit Little Joe hard square between the eyes. He heard and felt bone crack. Joe looked stunned. He'd never call that mean son-of-a-bitch Jim Jim again. No, never again because he hit the water hard and sank down as the band marched right over him, most not even noticing.

Jim looked for as long as he could then turned around and proceeded to march the rest of the way to Iceland.

"Don't call me Jim Jim," he said, speaking only to himself.

Then he heard a voice in the back of his head. It was loud enough to be heard over the music and the waves and the ocean breeze. It was HIS voice, but he had no control over it whatsoever.

"Jim Jim."

"Jim Jim."

"Jim Jim."

...and so it was Big Jim, whose trumpet playing had practically defined the style of this particular pixie band, lost his mind, eventually taking up residence in a Reykjavik sanitarium screaming every night, keeping up the attendants and making things worse.

"Little Joe Jangly Hops! Come here you bastard I got a lollipop for ya."

"Joe Joe Deathgrip Toenail! I'm gonna light your mama on fire!"

"Little Joe Clamfry, somebody took a shit in your bed!"

On and on he went until the people in the kitchen stopped giving him bananas. Then he stopped for awhile.

But only for awhile.

Impasse

Forgiveness
Is the only thing
Keeping me from you
And
You from me
I know I hurt you
You know you hurt me too
Forgotten transgressions resurrect
And breathe like Lazarus
On a bad day
Angry at being awakened
From dreams and visions
Of nothing at all

Will the healing words
Of Him who commanded the dead man rise
Have the same effect on us
When we hear Him call us by name
And tell us to leave behind
Enemies of love
To defeat them
Without mercy
With
Forgiveness

from Bipolar Confessional

nails and wood

gotta go and get a gun
put a bullet in it's head
squeeze that fucking trigger till I'm sure
it's good and dead
should have been done a long time ago
should have been done a long time

push a little button send it
back where it belongs
i ain't coming back until i
know it's good and gone
should have never been done, my friend
should have never been done

gotta put it down before it
blows up in my face
now i know there ain't no use
in trying to run away
don't know what I was thinking, girl
don't know what I was thinking

nothing left but trouble if I
don't act pretty fast
nothing is forever, mister
nothing ever lasts
gotta find a way to move on now
gotta find a way to move on

looked for it in the mirror but
all i see is me
and that ain't even who I am
what should i believe
gonna hang it on a tree tonight, son
gonna hang it on a tree tonight

euthanize then eulogize
won't be much love lost
do the crime and do the time
it's how we count the cost
nails and wood, that's all
nails and wood

from Bipolar Cofessional

"The Burning Hell"

The film succeeds. On many levels. I'm scared.

Love's Easy Demanding

Love demands the strong embrace
The firm pressing of flesh
To explore the contours and subtle lines
With eyes, heart and hands
Forests and constellations to map out
Legends to calculate

Evaporates without the words
Or eardrums to beat them down
To play ring-around-the-rosy
In the fertile field of the brain
That seeks their comfort in every sense
Deaf, dumb and blind spirit

For love's a blinding supernova
Incinerating all who approach
Hungry for physicality
A moon to measure it's movements
Though that satellite be
Lifeless cratered rock

from Bipolar Confessional

Reckoning at Days End

I deserve this
Don't I?
It was my battle to win
In a war far from won
Who will take my reward from my arms?
Who would squelch the music in my ears
Or explain it's virtues with cold theory?
I have seized the moment
The day I have called my own
Will the morning sunrise expect me to be content
With victorious yesterday
Will the calendar's relentless trajectory
Put me back in my place
A paradigm of depression where I've convinced myself
I belong
Doomed to breathe borrowed oxygen
Or will chemicals and sleep
Ease me into another easy day?
Who among you would take that away?

from Bipolar Confessional

Monument

Now lay back and forget
All the days that brought you here
Or make a mental monument
Of hours painting empty skies
Of moments lost in wondering why
The colors bleed without the rain
To wash the canvas dry
Still they run, these memories
Together make a life
Flesh and blood for ghosts and stone
To wear out for a time
'Til entropy's harsh design
Leaves nothing left behind
That wasn't there before
The beginning of time

Good intentions buy nothing
In the formless space of this machine
Not even the soon forgotten happy dream
Comes without a sinister scheme
Dead weight of nothing, heavier than air
To the fish caught on the hook unawares
This monument would grow so large
There wouldn't be room anymore
To notice the moment before it passes
To find your way through to the door
That opens unto forgetfulness
Cursed but just as often blessed
So let it go, lay down, forget
You haven't really even started yet

from Bipolar Confessional

Denial of Mirrors, Twelfth Stage, Second Attempt

Wipe the slate clean
Abandon preconceptions
I will prove your reflection a lie
As you turn to face the other way
As you turn to face another day
Don't you regret not being able to forget
When the harvest of your ego
Piles worthless memories at your door
More and more, how could there be more
Dismiss the reaper, send him home
With his razor sharp sickle so finely honed
Tell him "Leave me alone! Leave me be and go on!"
No longer scared of his skeleton bones
11:11, this must be the time
There must be something you need to be reminded
But what, that's the rub, where can you find it
Can't feel it or hear it or smell it or see it
And it travels the speed of light
Close your eyes and catch that flight
Dream your world and see the sights
Magical tygers burning bright
But no souvenirs, travel light

(from bipolar confessional)

Complete

Eric Clapton/The Who Shreds

Sigur Ros Assorted Videos

Pomeranian versus Ridgeback Mix

The Cramps Live at Napa State Mental Hospital

Street Fighter II "Best of Church Edition" starring Benny Hinn

Jaye Mitchell - Big Pimpin'

The Other Side of the Pool

The angel stood on bowed knee

Waist deep in the shallows

His right hand cast miracles into waves of water

Threw ripples imbued with magis

Stirred and splashed until healing came upon it

Until the entire pool of Bethesda shimmered like glitter on the wet heat waves of the sun

That's when they all began to jump in

But could not linger long

The moment healing settled in

It's out of the pool, to the Temple song

But you stood still for so long

Watching the wretched washed

Cleansed of their sins

Whole of body, whole of mind

You never knew what that was like

You didn't know what that could be like

You would have stood there until the bubbling waters stilled

Cheated out of your mindful abundance

Had I not an incantation of my own

So I chanted "Pura Deva Honey Madme Plath "

Words of pure nonsense I knew

You'd take them as a cryptic challenge

Meaningless but they sounded right

The sheer repetition hypnotized you

And back, back, walking back slowly

Walking backwards towards the pull that still seemed affluent & fecund

You walked

In silence

Until your foot touched the water and you had to stop to absorb what felt like several hundred volts of lightning streaming up from your Achilles Heel to your Freud-ball skull and immediately you realized

Something big was happening

Lowering your waist the pain was transmuted

As clarity wiped the fog from the window of your perception

The songs that came unbidden

Overflowed your stained glass imagination

Forcing out demons and dumb ideas

Death and delusions and bad desires

Running like demons to the sow

Having asked permission

Your music-stuffed head went underwater

A practical baptism, a lesson in breathing liquid

When you were pulled out you had no use for what lay on the other side of the pool

The grassy meadow where I still stood

When the cancer was removed

I came to find what I always suspected

I'm a huge part of the tumor

Dug in on the other side of the pool

While your fool legs take you fast as you may run

To make an offering to the chief priest

Singing songs of praise and gratefulness

I find my own song to sing

The Angel says my burden

Must stick tight and bleed like leeches

Bad seed buried deep in the abyss of my being

An ugly man, face drawn from grimaces and frowns

Unloveable and beat to the bone

Without a single song of my own

I classici dell’arte si animano con la magia digitale

dinner, late 1986

It's in the third person, but it's about me, late 1986, I believe. Pretty dismal but such was my life.

HARD TIMES

You step out the door into the early evening cool, hungry. You haven't eaten in twenty-three hours. There may have been a time when such a situation as this would cause extreme discomfort but you've grown accustomed to the feeling.

Every night it's the same as it has been for the last month, give or take a few days. You point your nose to the west and follow it, walking. A nice, steady, even pace because you're not in a big hurry. You've timed the excursion beforehand, you've got plenty of time.

You don't look up. Nothing to look for. Only watch your feet, one in front of the other, it would be a chore to count the steps so you've never tried. You check the litter on the side of the road on the off chance that someone may have lost a dollar bill and today is your lucky day. You can't forget the day you found a twenty just outside of the house you grew up in. What luck that was. It's been a long, long time since you've found any cash in the ditch but the fact that you HAVE found a dollar here, a dollar there since then encourages you to continue. Besides, what else have you got to look at?

You find an empty can...Dr. Pepper or Budweiser beer it seems are the main kinds you've happened upon...and you kick it so that it travels a decent distance but remains on the hard asphalt, doesn't fly off the side of the road. You lose the game if that happens. And you lose the game if the can gets crushed too much to roll. How do you win the game? You don't know because you've never won it.

A mile and a half makes up three quarters of the trip and that's where you'll stop at the grocery store. You know the place has no security cameras so you don't worry about getting caught. You saunter back to the meat section and grab a pound of sausage or a pepperoni stick, tucking it into the inner pocket of the coat you wear and readjusting the lapels so that the weight doesn't give away what you've done. A quick walk to the soda aisle and you pick a fruit flavored soda, the store brand, something like twenty cents a can, and take it to the check-out counter.

The lady at the counter is always very nice although your paranoia has prevented any kind of normal rapport with her. You wonder if she thinks it's suspicious to come into the store every day and buy nothing but a can of soda. In actuality she thinks you're just that funny turned guy who comes into the store and buys a can of pop every night. No big deal. An endearing ritual, even. All the while the guy who does the meat department's inventory is scratching his head at all the shrinkage.

Walking out of the store you pop the top on the soda can and down the twelve ounces of grape soda in a few greedy, thirsty gulps. A free can to kick, you drop it to the ground and begin the game. It doesn't last very long because the el cheapo aluminum cans the store brand uses are chincy and thin, you've practically smashed it before the third kick. You walk on, leaving it where it stopped rolling, someone would eventually come along and whisk it away to the recycling station. Money in the bank.

The final one third of the walk is downhill all the way and the thought of something to eat when you get where you're going makes it even easier.

Where you're going is your parents house. The house you grew up in. The one where you found the twenty dollar bill on the side of the road just outside the yard. Only one of your parents still lives here, accompanied by his third wife who you are convinced is evil incarnate. She's the reason you had to make this long walk. She's the reason you only get to eat once a day and even that you have to steal. It's a wonder you can still talk to her, let alone be civil. But she's in charge of this show now and it's her cook stove and skillet you're needing.

You cut and cook up the sausage in one big pan full of sizzling meat and it smells like breakfast at a diner in heaven. If there is bread on hand you'll make up a few sandwiches slathered in mustard and seasoned with entirely too much salt. The witch who lives with your father may likely be miffed at you using her bread but you don't even think about that. She's never said anything about it if she does. As for the mustard, you think even less about using as much of that as you want.

They are delicious. You never realized you liked pork sausage so much until you started bringing it home from the store. Why pork sausage? It fit so well in the coat pocket, mainly. It was easy to slip in and didn't bulge. Your father asked you once why you ate so much pork sausage. "You must really like that stuff", he said. He was right. It never seemed to get old and it filled you up to stuffed.

You deign the sea hag a kind word and a "thank you", the effort being difficult but deemed necessary to stay on her good side (as far into her "good side" as you were ever able to be, that is), and with a fond farewell to your father you step out their back door and head east. The journey back is a bit more trying than the one that led to your destination because there's not break, no stop off at the grocery store. But it's all okay because you've got a belly full of grub, you're good to go for another twenty three hours.

No cans this time, seeing as how you've crushed them all on the way up and no one has been inconsiderate enough to toss one out between then and now. Instead you occupy your mind by recalling words and music to the songs that have been stuck there for the last couple of days. You have a talent of hearing them note-for-note pitch perfect in your imagination, no need for a music player which is just as well because you don't have one. If you did you might have brought it along, but on the other hand probably not because the only place you could have kept it was in that inner coat pocket and you needed that space for the pork.

It takes less than two hours you make it back to the house you're staying in. It's a nice place the Methodist minister arranged for you to stay at with the youth minister. You're pretty sure he doesn't like you and for what it's worth you don't think too awful highly of him, either. But it doesn't really matter because the interaction is kept to a minimum.

You're not much of a social person. All this house is to you is a room for your bed and that's where you stay almost all of the time, waking and waiting to go to bed. Listening to NPR on a Sony Dream Machine clock radio which is, face it, all you've got to keep you entertained.

Hard times for sausage thieves.

Backmasked Evil Heebee Jeebees

I'm really ashamed to admit that I bought into this when I was younger. To the point where I actually destroyed a complete collection of Black Sabbath and Ozzy solo vinyl LPs. I'm pretty sure I did that more to impress people in an interfaith youth group than anything else but there you go. Naive. I do remember it being very spooky. Especially hearing Jim Dandy Mangrum of Black Oak Arkansas chant Satan's name backward on a live recording. Of course it wasn't long before I replaced all those albums because a person tends to grow...

originally to be posted on facebook

I was tagged to post 20 "little known things" about myself on facebook  and I wrote up ten but now that I read them back I've had second thoughts about posting them in that forum. So I'll dump 'em here.

1. As a young child I would compose rock songs in my head while riding my bike up and down the street in front of our house. I'd average four or five a day and though I've forgotten them all I have a feeling there were at least a couple of hits in the bunch.
2. Despite being one of the tallest in my school's P.E. class I was almost inevitably chosen close to last for basketball teams. I simply could not dribble and that was only one of my handicaps on the court. I found it very demeaning.
3. I once responsible for the football team losing a game. Let's just say I had no business being suited up on the sidelines, let alone on the field. It was an 'away' game and that bus ride home was a discouraging, humbling experience.
4. I wore white face make-up and a casual suit to a Talking Heads concert at the OKC Zoo amphitheater. Stood out like a real freak but it was a blast. The guitarist in one of my bands was at that show and says he saw me there, this being years before we met.
5. I once had occasion to congregate with the homeless on the porch of the Jesus House Rescue Mission. Conversational banter was interesting but what I'll always remember is the huge rat that walked right past us with a large dinner roll hanging out of him mouth by the teeth.
6. I always liked the Rolling Stones better than the Beatles when I was a kid but they both kind of got pushed to the side when I discovered Alice Cooper and Genesis.
7. The last year I went to Falls Creek Baptist camp I invited my girlfriend and we paid attention to practically nothing else but each other. We were almost caught, in a secluded spot on the trail leading to the Devil's Bathtub, engaging in an act that would have surely seen us immediately sent home for our respective parents to discipline.
8. Though I was definitely not a fan of KISS I nevertheless played some of their songs in the first band I was ever a member of (The Delinquents, 1979). I did this because they were so easy and because they were basically all our guitar player had learned how to play by then.
9. My favorite part of the week when I was a kid was Friday and Saturday night staying up watching "ABC In Concert", "The Midnight Special" and "Don Kieshner's Rock Concert". Later I would add "The Uncanny Film Festival (and Camp Meeting", "Monty Python's Flying Circus" and the first few subversive seasons of "Saturday Night Live".
10. When I saw U2 in 1983 I conspired a likely illegal way of obtaining front row seats. I was so close that at one point Bono reached down his hand and i grabbed it. I was dangling a crucifix my mother had recently given me in my fingers, holding it up for him to see and to this day I don't know why. I would almost bet he remembers. You don't see that kind of thing often, I'm sure it stood out in a bizarre, unforgettable way.

Photos August 19, 2014

Might as well post some pictures from phone app.

A Visit to the Bookery

A forest of trees
Sacrificed willingly
For the greater good
A medium of memories
Watch your step
The management is not responsible for personal injury
Refer to the Self-Help section
Second room to the right

The ghosts who congregate here
Holy and profane
Lament the passing of their generation
Guard against fire
For one little spark will bring the whole house down
With enough kindling to keep
It burning for days

I remember my first visit to the Bookery
The improbable tales of countless manuscripts
A sea of words, an ocean of ideas
Stories and poems to wear like clothes
A world on yellowing paper
Easier on the eye
A hundred miles I did drive
To find this treasure of treasures
When I got there I couldn't find a damn thing
But it was fine because I wanted everything

No out of the way bookstore or well organized library
The Bookery was a beast in it's own category
The disheveled nature of the books on the shelves
Made it a puzzle to solve
A maze you forget where center is
Distracted by the scenery on the way

Gallery of Souls

This gallery of shape-shifting souls
Has become a theater of the obvious

Token observations presented as
Extraordinary divine revelation

A parade of window-shopping prophets
Pointing, praying, "oooh, I want THAT one"

Stuck in a mold, how many don't know any better?
Confined to their emotions

It's All they've ever known

But that's all it takes to get your foot in the door
Of this funhouse mirror maze

Listen now to the laughter echoing against the glass
Lon Chaney guffaws at all who got lost

Hopelessly walking in circles
Hungry snakes chasing their tails

Sound Warehouse, circa late 70s

I spent a lot more time than money at this Oklahoma City record store. Chet, Steve and I would drive up there, look at album covers for a couple of hours and leave with nothing more than a free copy of the Oklahoma Gazette. This is where I bought my copy of REM's "Fables of the Reconstruction" when I first got back from the Navy. I don't remember the Van Halen In-Store appearance but I didn't like them anyway so no big deal. Great place.

Avoidance

It's a dangerous game I play
Kicking against the dead weight
A sullen ghost laughing behind backs
Daring heads to turn
Victorious when they don't
A treacherous game that kills me
Keeping the dream alive
Well past it's shelf life suspended
Fanning the sparks of cruelty
Battling the guilt
An ominous game of hide and seek
Hunting for treasures that aren't lost
They're right where they're supposed to be
But you don't know that, do you?
And so the fun begins

RALPHY - New Queen

Oh my...

DIARRHEA PLANET - Skeleton Head

Naming your band Diarrhea Planet must surely be the most in-your-face punk rock statement anyone could ever make. Because it basically says "I don't care if you take me seriously or not." And why SHOULD you take a band called Diarrhea Planet serious anyway? Why SHOULD you take ANY band seriously, if you wanna look at it that way. As punk as it may have been I think the guy behind Diarrhea Planet undersold his project. I think there are a lot of people out there who will stay far away from anything called Diarrhea Planet but who might very well really like this music. It's certainly not what I expected. I quite liked what I heard.

File under: Diarrhea Planet

About the Author

He stared at blank pages
His heart ached to fill
With nothing inside him
He'd sadly turn away
Leave till tomorrow
What he could not do today

His dream far behind him
Too short and too sweet
The ones who shared it with him
Lost in miles and years
The sounds of their voices cherished
A simple song, a picture in his mind

He felt like he was falling
Away from all that's real
Every day more disconnected
The sudden dawning realization
That some things weren't anything at all as he believed them to be
And so they became new

He thought perhaps it was a period of transition
From Egypt to Canaan
It should have been exciting
But it only confused him
A distraction
Wouldn't go there alone

The last time his pen touched fresh paper
He almost told the world he was through
The future held but one glittering prize
He wanted the race to be done
He searched for words, forget the rhymes
To share these dismal depths

The last time his pen touched fresh paper
It lifted without a stroke
Left behind a dark period that stained through to the back
He stared into it's center, as it were an abyss
He recognized himself in it's void
Falling, he'll write no more

MIKHAIL TANK - Expired Love

Well, I'd certainly be predisposed to think of Mikhail Tank's "Endless Love" as an unsuccessful stab at comedy except for one thing: the rest of the man's work. Not exactly a laugh riot. In fact there is a pretentiousness that threads it's way through his repertoire that can only be forgiven by taking into account his Russian heritage. He considers himself a performance artist. That explains it. Right? He's the creator of the world renowned (except in my part of the world apparantly) Darksoul Theatre and, as if that weren't enough, the entire "genre" of "Darksoul" performance art. Russia's a long long way away, that can be the only reason I'm clueless to all this. He even has his own page at IMDb, although I suspect that has much more to do with a shrewd sense of self-promotion than anything else. Anyway, here's a little something from Mikhail Tank. Maybe it's right up your alley.

File under: Mikhail Tank

'82 CROWD OF PEOPLE - '82 Crowd of People

Listening to the first track from "'82 Crowd of People" you might get the idea the album is going to be a nice, bizarre hodgepodge of found sounds. Alas a more orthodox style of music making ensues after those promising 2 & 1/2 minutes. Orthodox, yea, but certainly not conventional. Lot's of unrecognizable sounds placed strategically within the songs. Sometimes it sounds brilliant...but on the other hand it just as often sounds amateurish. Nothing wrong with that, mind you, but sometimes I can't help but say "let's get on with it then". Case in point, the meandering "Fuck Off" is a tedious 2 &1/2 minutes. But more often than than not '82 Crowd of People throw in just enough weird stuff to keep things interesting. Personally I think this material would benefit 100 fold by losing the pre-programmed drums and what sounds like pawn shop cheap keyboards (Casios, maybe?). I could almost imagine a group like The Fall doing something exciting with these tracks. As it stands you've got a record that sounds like it was recorded by some really bored people without plan or purpose, perhaps trying to kill some time during Spring Break. Promising at times. Curiously strange at others. And the rest of the time it gets pretty boring.

File under: '82 Crowd of People

Condition Critical

Just yer typical run o' the mill thrash/death metal, I confess it's only here in the Dime Bin because I think the cover is awesome. And it is.

STEBACH - 2012 Ride After Burnin

Stebach is a municipality in the district of Neuwied, in Rhineland-Palatinate, Germany. That one piece of information is all that is offered on Wickipedia, and I've found even less about the enigmatic singer/songwriter who goes by the name. Though I don't know his nationality I'm pretty certain English is not his native tongue. A lovely track named "Back to Sweden" would suggest that Stebach is a Swede, and indeed there does seem to be a Danish lilt to his voice. Most of his songs are simple pieces that revolve around his subtle guitar work and catchy vocal style. He plays a lot of blues type stuff, too. Probably an acquired taste for most, I'm beginning to quite enjoy it. Then he also uses a drum machine and what sounds like an 8-track (or maybe even a 4-track) recorder. On these songs he really cuts loose.

The enigmatic Stebach

  File under: Stebach

YAHOWA 13 - "Fire in the Sky'

Unlike much of the Father Yod stuff, "Savage Sons of Ya Ho Wah" has at least two or three songs that I might put on the same level as "classic rock". It's sloppy and ragged...in "Man the Messiah" the singer can be heard shouting out chord progressions. This one and "Fire in the Sky" are my favorite Yahowa 13 tracks. I find more bizarre absurdity in the long form Yod-led services but these are more like actual songs and as such they ain't half bad.

also: MAN THE MESSIAH

"Son of God" - to go or not to go

You know, I don't know why but I seem to be a little put off by the prospect of watching the new movie "Son of God". And I'm not sure I know the exact reason why. Sure, there was no way I was going to catch it during the initial release when I knew the parking lot would be filled with church busses transporting who-knows-how-many devoted followers eager to hear/see the story told yet again through the lens of a different director/producer/et. al. Not that I have a problem with most devotees so much as I hate a crowded theater. Even if I were the only one there, the fact of the matter is that it IS a theater.

Theaters are where I go to be entertained. Of course there are numerous moral lessons to be gleaned from practically any movie. It's the nature of the "story" to have moral to it. But the gospel isn't something you go to for entertainment. In the grand sense it IS a "story", but should it be presented as that and nothing more? And if it IS presented as "something more", is the theater the place to do it?

I remember when "The Passion of the Christ" was in theaters. Even the most god-hating atheist would have to admit that it's an incredibly powerful film. It's too visceral and evokes sympathy, you cannot remain unmoved. In my work at the time I had occasion to see it not once, but twice. The second time I had a completely different reaction. It was like watching a collaboration between George Romero, Quentin Tarrantino and Ron Howard. All I could think was "what am I doing watching this level of violence in a theater? What am I getting from it? Is it packing a more brutal punch than it would had I only read about it?" And the biggest question of all, "what's the point?" Indeed, what's the point.

Evangelism? Okay, fine. It's certainly not the medium I would use, but I'm not out there waving bibles so I don't know. It would, however, explain why there are so many Christians in the USA who think Jesus looks like Jim Cavaziel. (that's a joke). If someone had come up to me after I'd seen "The Passion" and tried to use the movie as a springboard for whatever message they were selling I would brush them off with contempt. Who are you to exploit my emotions and assume you have all the answers to any questions I might have had about what I've just seen in the film? Surely a Cinema Center conversion must be difficult to maintain.

Viewing "The Passion" twice made me consider the reasons I wanted to watch it in the first place. "It's so historically accurate", they say, "the actors even speak in Arabic!". That's nice and intersting, but I don't think it would make me want to buy a ticket. "Oh, but the acting is first rate, and the cinematography so realistic!" Ah, yes, but that should be the state of any good movie. "It sticks pretty close to the actual biblical account!" I guess that seperates it from "Jesus Christ Superstar", but I'll bet there are no rock songs... "But..." and? "But"...and? "But.............

"But it has the most REALISTIC DEPICTION OF JESUS' SUFFERINGS AND CRUCIFIXION"........okay, now I'm intrigued. Now I'm in line at the box office. No, I'm not a sucker for gratuitous violence. I've seen my share of blood in the movies. Somehow it's different when the subject matter is so controversial. As much as I want to deny it, I sat in that theater because I wanted to cringe when the whip tore the flesh. I wanted to jump when the first nail was driven into his hand. I wanted to cover my eyes when the Roman soldier thrust the spear into his side. But most of all I wanted to walk out of those theater doors and be able to join the chorus, "Man, that was the most realistic depiction of the crucifixion I've ever seen!" And I KNOW I'm not the only one. I may be one of the few who will ADMIT it, but I would bet there are many, many, many whose primary reason for watching it was to see a man get flogged, beaten and nailed to a cross...not unlike the people who lined the road to Calvary back when it was all going down.

Then again I expect the sadistic element in "Son of God" will be played down if for no other reason than because of time restrictions. Not saying it will be less powerful or gruesome. But the effect of maybe a ten or twenty minutes given to the Stations of the Cross will surely be less of a blow to the senses than Mel Gibson's two hour marathon.

I don't need to see the crucifixion. I don't want to see it. There's nothing they could present, with all their CGI and method acting degrees that could make it appear any more graphic and upsetting as it already does in my mind. I don't want to see Jesus walking on the water because it will look like a really unconvincing magic trick next to the incredible vision that's in my mind. Speaking of magic tricks, how are you going to make the feeding of the 5,000 look like anything more than a parlour stunt on film? And yet for me it is one of the most amazing miracles. In my imagination I can almost see Jesus gathering those fishes and loaves as they seem to manifest from another dimension.

Any movie about God...any movie about Jesus...is going to be a letdown. It's going to be a waste of money. Like watching Justin Bieber in the lead role of a John Lennon biopic. Like One Direction headlining a Joy Division tribute show. Like Honey BooBoo on the Board of Education. It's not going to tell you anything you didn't already know. It's not going to provide any context with which you can formulate your own understanding of the material.

So I have to face it. As far as I'm concerned it's a fact. "Son of God" is entertainment. Plain and simple. As such it cheapens the original, which I think we can all agree was not written for such meager purpose. I think that's the core of why I'm not so psyched to watch it. I'm not saying I WON'T eventually go. Who knows, I might go see it tomorrow night in lieu of church services. Which is a funny joke, at least I think so, until you realize that there are probably thousands of people who actually did just that last week.

By now the crowds have dwindled down, who knows but I might get bored between now and "Son of God" closes.

SUGAR RAT - Rats Have Rights

I've scoured the engines of the Internet looking for something about Sugar Rat but all I can find are links to download services where their album can be bought. There is, however, a pretty cool site for another entity also bearing the same moniker. This would be for "the number one lesbbian-singer/songwriter-britpop-punk-bhangra band of the year". "Lesbian rock that pops. Lesbian pop that rocks". Tall order, there. I don't know, they could be one and the same. Listening to the sample of the most recent "website" Sugar Rat song, "It's a Heteronormative World, No!" I'm just not sure. All I know for sure is that this person/band are hardcore early R.E.M. fans. Listen to the vocal mannerisms on "Thanksgiving Day" or the introductory section of "Working for the Jihad", which bears more than a passing resemblance to "Pretty Persuasion". So I don't know, maybe the lesbian pop rock bhangra band is the same as the Sigur Rat I've come to know and love from their single on Spotify.

File under: Sugar Rat

HASIL ADKINS - Best of the Haze

I was surprised after hearing Hasil Adkins' LP of chicken-related songs that he's actually a legend in certain circles. After doing a little research I understood exactly why. I read that he was a major influence on The Cramps and it all fell into place. A documentary about his life and contributions to modern music, "My Blue Star", was released a few years ago. There's another documentary on YouTube called "The Wild World of Haskil Adkins" but the audio-video synchronization is so bad it's hard to sit through. So here's the "My Blue Star" trailer, which pretty much covers all the bases anyway.



File under: Adkins, Hasil

FATHER YOD - Contraction + Kahoutek Pt. 1

Much has been written and even more could be said about Father Yod and the Source Family community. A little research will yield some fascinating information about this new age cult and their devotion to Yo Ho Wah, who comes about as close to a "God" as they probably ever did. Yod's teachings were typical esoteric fare, scrambled up and made more palatable for a modern audience. He considered music to be an extension of their beliefs, and hoped to use it in bringing new converts into the fold. He assembled several different ensembles, each maintaining it's own particular "style". Father Yod & the Spirit of 76, Yodship, Fire Water & Air were a few but the one that stood the test of time was Yo Ho Wah 13. I'm not positive but I think Yo Ho Wah 13 was the incarnation which featured Sky Saxon, formerly of the Seeds, a late 60s psychedelic rock band who scored a huge hit with "Pushin' Too Hard". Apparently Saxon had taken up with the Source group and as would be expected he was utilized in their music ministry. A natural extension, perhaps, seeing as how Father Yod's performances took on a similar, if not much stranger, psychedelic vibe. The album I'm posting, "Kahoutek", is representative of the band's long form pieces (such as "Expansion", "Contraction" and "Penetration"). Well worth sitting through, even though Yod is lacking in the vocal department.

File under: Father Yod

KING DUDE - Love

Despite how it might seem at times, I didn't create this blog to showcase artists of questionable talent exalting them with some sort of musical relativism to the level of the more professional, perhaps slightly more "talented" acts. I do enjoy everything I post here, for one reason or another, and I do think that one man's trash is another man's treasure. When I was a kid the only music I could afford were records in the budget/clearance bin so I developed a, how to say, "taste" for this sort of fare. It wasn't that everything in those bins was slightly amateuristic, a lot, if not most, were there because "normal" people wouldn't buy them. What is normal? Unfortunately it usually means "people who like what someone else tells them it's OK to like". An album like "A Cassette Tape Culture (Phase 1)" would not stand a chance in all but the most hip records stores. Sure, an initial limited pressing sold out immediately, but I suspect that had more to do with Sasha Gray's association than anything else. That said, aTelecine is fascinating. It's an engaging listen that puts me in mind of the best sound collages. So that's the deal. If it's in the dime bin it's going to straddle the line between laughable and genius.

All of this to say that King Dude baffles me. He describes his music as "gothic folk". His facebook page says "He brandishes many varied influences in his songwriting. Everything from British Folk, Americana, Country and Blues can be heard in his songs. Even the heavier sounds of Heavy Metal tend to sneak and slither it's way into the King Dude canon. The resulting songs are much more of a modern day hymn then your average pop song." To which I say, MODERN DAY HYMN??? There is a strong religious element to much of his music, but I can't tell from where it's coming from. In one performance video he introduces as song as "Christian" while in another he can be seen throwing darts at a painting of Jesus. He has songs named "Lucifer's the Light of the World", "Satan's Ghost", and "Sorrow and It's Companions", so I can't figure it out. On the other hand his profile goes on to say "King Dude's music beg's the soul to lift itself up from the darkness of ignorance, towards the ever shining glorious "Light" that exists outside of all of us yet that which we are eternally connected to and at once connects everyone on Earth" and lists it's genre as "Luciferian", which is all fine and good, I guess, but that video where he says "This is a Christian song" confuses me. Unless he's just pullin' our leg.

At any rate I think his stuff is intriguing. Definitely worthy of investigation and even discussion amongst philosophical friends. His voice sometimes resembles a less tuneful Leonard Cohen and even Nick Cave at times. I don't think his singing is the paramount consideration, though. Those lyrics are what really get you. Bleak as they come. It's interesting fare.

By the way, King Dude is the pseudonym of TJ Cowgill. It would be TOO good if his real name was King Dude.

File Under: King Dude

VIPER - Bad B*tches Stayin' On Me

I've been listening to Viper all morning and I've decided that out of his 100+ releases my favorite song is "Do U No How Sick I'll Have U in a Hoop Game?" from Break Bad...and I'll Have You Sick in a Full Court Hoop Game" from Bad B*tches All On Me...and "2 Have Ur Click Sick in a Whole-Court Game" from I'm the Greater 1...and "Dis Young Killa Will Have U Sick in a Hoop Game" from Str8 Stuntin' Stupid...and "Holdin' Top-Choice Cash" from Rapcore...and "U'll Be so Sick in a Hoop Game" from "Dead Man Walkin'...and "I'll Have U and Ur Man Sick in a Hoop Game" from Got a Wicked Pistol Game...and "An All Day Stacka" from Just Put up or Shet Up...and "To Have You Totally Sick in a Hoop" from Neva Eva a Foul-Calla...and "I'll Have U Cryin' 2 Ur Mama in a Hoop" from Murder Me...and "U Will Be Dead in a Hoop Game" from I Am Superior...and "Have U Passed Ot (sp) in a Hoop Game" from I'm So Much Smarter Than U...and "U'll Be Throwin' Up in a Whole-Court Hoop Game" from I'm Greater Than U...and "U Will Throw Up Sweat in a Hoop Game" from F#ck U Bastards...and "Viper Will Have You Sick in a Hoop Game" from U Ugly Big Nose Dude...and "I Know Why U Men Lookin' Towards My Death" from Everyday Vacation...and "U Takin' Ur Life as a Joke?" from Will U Ever Know My Name?...and "Yo Record Label Is Hopeless" from U Are Beneath Me... Wait, didn't I say "favorite SONG", singular? Here lies the genius of Viper. He has literally over 100 releases on Spotify but there is a lot of repetition with the songs. Which would not be so odd, except that he gives them different names almost every time he does it. I don't know if it's a result of genius or incompetence but a good deal of his material, ostensibly in the rap genre, sounds very little like rap and more closely resembles interesting studio experimentation. The album titles are a hoot and the song titles are even more hilarious. Hell, even the cover art is charming, tough as Vipe wants to make himself out to be. All in all an artist worth keeping an eye on. His musical universe is ominous, like a never ending sickening hoop game, but don't let that intimidate you. I have a feeling Viper's bark is bigger than his bite. Still, I don't want to find that out myself.

File Under: Viper

GLADEZEMEN - Big Ol' Monster (in the Badluck Woods)

Gladezmen are, according to their website, "the originators of the "Swamp-a-billy" sound...A south Florida based band of hellraisin', story-tellin, life-livin', rockin-rollin', knuckle-draggin friends". Indeed that's exactly what they sound like, and that's a good thing. It didn't take too long for GatorNate and his bayou buddies to convince me that I had no business even being NEAR the swamp. Their cover art is awesome, too.

I don't think the song in this video is repesentative of the Gladezmen's style but it's sort of amusing, even if I'd just as soon not have to see those Duck Dynasty goofballs...I mean, I get enough of their dirty mugs staring at me from practically every aisle at WalMart.

File under:bGladezmen

GOLDEN BOY (FOSPASSIN) - "Let Us Crunk"

I wish I had heard of Golden Boy (Fospassin) a long time ago so I could have properly digested his prolific catalogue of no less than 16 long players and even more singles. I hate it that I don't know what particular genre Golden Boy works in. Reggaeton, maybe? It's a hybrid of hip hop, reggae and cheaply produced beats. He boasts a thick Jamaican accent that renders much of what he says indecipherable (at least to my ears, accustomed as they are to heartland English). Moreover he has that knowing, boisterous Rastafarian laugh that likely means "Ha Haaah! No worries, mate. I've got ganja! You're in on it, right? Ha haah!" He whips out that laugh so often you can't help but like the guy. One of his many albums is called "32 NFL Team Songs". It's one of my favorites and makes a strong case that Golden Boy could well be the Wesley Willis of this genre I am unable to classify. In fact, I'm left totally speechless by the entire project. Hear for yourself why I'm baffled with these three representative samples: "San Francisco 49'ers", "Buffalo Bills" & "Chicago Bears". Golden Boy (Fospassin) is worth your attention if only for football team record (he also has albums lauding soccer and NBA basketball teams), but there is so much more he has to offer that I just don't have the time to write about it all.

File under: Golden Boy (Fospassin)

aTELECINE - A Cassette Tape Culture (Phase 1)

Place this in the "I had no idea" file. aTelecine is Sasha Gray's side project. What's her main gig? Well, if you don't recognize the name you might not care to know. Not that it matters. This mash-up of field recordings, found sounds and generally weird ambiance is pretty awesome, if you're into that kind of thing. Which I am. A multifaceted young woman, to be sure.

(Update...alas, all of the aTelecine material on Spotify has been made unavailable as of September, 2014. Hopefully the albums will be back soon because the project deserves attention.)

File under: aTelecine

SM - Lick Your Wounds (and Beg For More)

Slightly menacing. Slightly tuneful. Slightly more abrasive. "I'm here to lick your wounds/your there to beg for more".
File under: SM