Saturday, March 29, 2008

The Large Hardon Collider Opens Up a Black Hole

Nytimes today.

Page A10.

they misspell "Large Hadron Collider" as "Large Hardon Collider"

aparantly some people are filing a lawsuit in Hawaii because they believe a "Large Hardon Collider" will open up a "black hole."

who knew?

here's the link to the online (with correct spelling) version. Print is the only one with the error.

Monday, March 24, 2008



Back to the face melt on rye.

For those of you in New York and Boston, this group (along with Acid Mothers Temple) will be playing tomorrow night and Wednesday night respectively (yea, I did the respectively thing). They are a questionably dressed group of Oregoners called Danava and they play loud, long and decisively.

Guitar virtuosity is rare in this, the digital music age, so when Dusty Sparkles (yea, so what?) rips shit during these 8-minute jams, we should all bow down and kiss his vintage Beatle boots. Reminiscent of Hawkwind, Stray and Magma at their best moments, Danava rips with an intensity I haven’t heard since the 70s. I mean, I wasn’t alive in the 70s, but I’ve heard some music from the 70s and sometimes it’s real good, ya know? Like real good.

Anyway, they are the jam. Not The Jam, but the jam. Jam on.

More to come.

Danava - s/t

Saturday, March 22, 2008

Twin Vixen Press

A friend from college and her friend who i am not yet friends with but in time hope to develop a friendship with after i meet her have opened a print studio in Brattleboro, VT. Helen's etchings are fucking ridiculously cool and if i had spare cash i would buy them all. Check out their new site which I'm sure will be updated frequently as these two ladies produce amazing new works from their amazing new digs.

Also. If any of you are in North Brattleboro, VT and have a hankerin' for some SERIOUS pulled pork, hit up the Vermont Country Deli where they glaze the pig in Vermont maple syrup. Some of the best my buds have ever encountered.

This serves as a fine example of my theory that New York is like a mirror for the south. Everything you might think of as southern restarts on your way north from new york city, but reversed. Hot, cold. repubs, dems. waterskiing, skiing skiing. honey glaze, and now maple glaze.

I think i'll call it, "The New York City Cultural Mirror Theory."

Go ahead. Mull it over.

Ya heard?

Monday, March 17, 2008

Pantha Du Prince

Switching gears we have some night driving music. The road is lightless and perfectly winding. You watch as the arrow of your headlights slice across the landscape in front of you like the angle of wet ice left from behind a Zamboni. Talking in a gulp of warm summer air, you drive faster until you frighten yourself enough to slow down.

Pantha Du Prince (Hendrik Weber) creates electronic music typically referred to as micro-house or sometimes minimal techno. I, for one, have no idea what the fuck all these electronic music terms mean. Why do they have to change every 15 seconds and why should I care what the label is when the music sounds as good as this. I don’t, but I thought I’d let you people know so that if you were partial to either micro-house or minimal techno (read: ass hole) your interest might be sparked. That’s why I did it and now it is done. So just deal with my labels, the shitty album title and get on with your sad life (Kidding. You’re great!)

But seriously…give it a whirl like Kevin Mcallister.

Pantha Du Prince - This Bliss

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Let's work through this one together...

"A 38-year-old Cole Avenue man reported that his home was invaded on Sept. 9. The man said he was sitting home alone masturbating and watching a pornographic movie when a man came down into the basement, holding a gun, and started to videotape him. The man said that before he left, the intruder fed his dog some mushrooms and the dog died."

So a man was down in his basement waxing his weasel. Nothing wrong there. Upstairs, some unknown intruder breaks in with a video camera and a gun, two crucial items when either filming an elk hunting expedition or committing a crime while consciously implicating oneself. The intruder heads downstairs and demands that the man continue whacking while being filmed. No time frame is listed here. Once the filming is complete (and possibly the whacking), we have the mushrooms.

Did the intruder bring mushrooms in a “pack” of some sort? Fanny or back? Or did he stop and check out the victim’s fridge prior?

“Let’s see…soda, purple stuff, sunny D, MUSHROOMS!!! Alright!!”

And were they button, portobello, psychotropic or shitake?

Did the dog choke? Was it allergic? Was the Heimlich performed?

And how did the feeding go? Did the intruder bring the dog downstairs and make the man watch as he fed the dog the death-inducing shrooms? Or, after the whole ordeal, did the man go upstairs only to find Fido’s bucket kicked next to a blue package of unwashed fungus?

Was anything burgled beside mushrooms?

Not unlike that show banished to the Court TV channel, this will most likely remain one of those “Unsolved Mysteries.”

Your thoughts on the case are encouraged.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

The Nazz

Todd Rundgren.

You know what I heard? That dude doesn't want to work. No. He just wants to sit around, smoke weed and bang on his candy ass Zildjans all day. What the crap is up with that? Look. We all have to put in our time to make this world spin. Atlas is cramping up. And I sure as shit ain't gonna sit at my desk countin' pinto beans while Todd Fucking Rundgren sits around whacking the sheep skins 8 hours a day (if not more).

I like the drums. I'd like to sit around with Neil Pert ripsticking through my musicbox. I'd learning the intricate runs, the crash/ride love. Tip tapping on that high hat, oh so quiet just before the tear streakin' coda. But no. I have to work. i got payments.

The Nazz is Rundgren's first band from late 60's Pennsylvania. They craft tight as hell, guitar-driven psych rock. God damn you, rundgren. Enjoy the drums...and the 30 other instruments you've mastered.

i love you.

link for you:
The Nazz - Nazz Nazz

Monday, March 10, 2008

The Psychic Paramount

An explosive, face-melting guillotine of spaced-out sped-up psychedelic monstrosities hell bent on making your sonic receptors wish simultaneously that they were never born and that your volume control could click up just one more beautiful click of goodness before they bled to death - otherwise known as The Psychic Paramount.

This is their first LP entitled "Gamelan Into The Mink Supernatural" and it is a scorcher. Watch out for the combustive entrance on track 2, "Para5". It's a speaker-blower.

dreams into reality

this is what this is all about.

there is nothing else.

In the beginning...

...they say there was rhythm.

I certainly didn't get any of it. They divvied that shit out unevenly. The purpose of this post is to allow myself time to fiddle with colors, fonts and smells to make sure that i can deliver quality content to you, dear reader, in the most condensed, easily consumable form available through this Blogger template. The lunchmeat of blogs if you will.

Catch you all on the flipswitch.