Saturday night at the cantina I ran into a girl that I haven't seen in about 15 years and she invited me to her house for a laid-back kinda potluck affair. Which sound wonderfully just like my kinda speed, but I'm feeling kinda cruddy at the moment. A weird stitch in my side that's making standing a little uncomfortable, and sitting's not much better either. And Joe doesn't get home from work until about 10:30pm so wherever we go it will probably strike midnight by the time me make it anywhere. So I may stay in tonight. Wish I could see this blue moon they keep harping on about but the fog is rolling in super crazy this evening. Even more a reason to chill at home. But I'll wait and see how Joe feels.
Anyway, happy new year and all. No new resolutions other than the usual. Tackle my job situation, my health insurance, my health, my inner demons, and the typical assortment in no particular order. I have a lot to change about myself this year, a lot of truths I have to face, and a lot of realities to contend with. A fresh new decade. And hopefully, I am braced for the impact.
I haven't been by Trilogy in probably a month. But I walk in today and the guys presented me with a very sweet surprise: A personally autographed copy of a sketch of Julie Martin, the protagonist to Terry Moore's comic series Echo, by Mr. Moore himself. Jerry from Trilogy was at the Baltimore comic con recently and saw Terry signing autographs, and one of the few things he knew about me coming in every week was that I used to buy all the Strangers In Paradise issues and now currently trying to keep up with Echo when I can. Funny thing is that after twenty-some years of shopping there I don't think they ever got to know my name, and Jerry called David (the other guy at the store) and asked if he could help him brainstorm my name, maybe recalling it from all the times I used my credit card there, and they somehow remembered "Melissa" and asked Terry Moore if he could sign a poster for one of their regular customers. So when I walked into the store this afternoon Jerry said, "Uh... Melissa?" and placed it in my hands as a gift. How awesome!
Thank you both, Jerry and David, my tag-team Santa Clauses. :)
Audio Junk 2009 Time Capsule- clips and stuff from the past year- including SNL/The Daily Show/Drag Me To Hell/Big Brother and more. Audio Junk is another StoopidKar Production live every Tuesday on randomradioonline.net and roundtableradio.net @ 8:45 pm EST. The World's Worst Mixing DJ -DJ JOE INC plays a variety of music-no format- just samples variety and more tonight. The Modern Mixtape.
The Man On The Moon: The End of The Day by Kid Cudi: Perhaps on the list for merely being the album I listened to the most this year only because we played the dickens out of it at my store. Cleveland rapper Kid Cudi had a hit in the UK last year with "Day N Nite" so this album was highly anticipated, filled with somber yet living ambient beats and occasional dips and dives into pop rock and 80's synth.
Wild And Inside by Eat Skull: Overuse of the term "lo-fi" still doesn't lose its definition in repetition when it comes to this band I was just introduced to recently. "Stick To The Formula" rocks like a band playing in the shower, and "Cooking A Way To Be Happy" sounds like the kind of goofy fun my friends and I would have had years ago trying to write a song on the fly in somebody's kitchen.
Troubadour by K'Naan: I picked this album up as a promo at Waterloo Records in Austin back in February and the beats still stick to my ribs even after they vanish from my iPod. The Somalian survivor's stories are harrowing and the rhythms swirl with heightened drama in all the right places. Sort of a Slumdog Millionaire hip-hopera that takes you into the mind of a man' who has been there.
In The Ruff by Diamond District: Another new introduction, yet once heard you know you've heard it once before. Or maybe twice. Because it's hip-hop that takes you back to the early to mid 1990's, before things got a tad too corporate and polished and Pepsi Free. Producer Oddisee lays the foundation for three equally present emcees rapping about street life in the DC/Virginia/Maryland triangle with all the dirty grime of three poets striding side-by-side feeling the gilded colonial decay seep into their souls.
The Eternal by Sonic Youth: So what indeed can this NYC noise band from the early 80's bring to the table that hasn't already been brought before? Despite them being one of my all time favorite bands I admit I haven't bought anything that they have done in the last several years, feeling as if I have enough of their style in my collection. But on a whim, The Eternal reminded me again why I love these guys (and gal) so much. The eternal is a term that sums them up best.
Lunch with Randy and Liz at the Route 58 Deli this afternoon, and paid a quick visit to her family, which is good because I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to them last night at the restaurant. Liz's brother Perry, a writer and filmmaker who was the executive producer for the Chronicles Of Narnia, was still there and getting ready to head back to New York, but he was so very funny and nice. Then an evening spent at the honeymoon suite at the Atrium watching hilariously bad movies before we headed home. Mike should be here any minute for wrestling. But man, am I tired. The turkey club sandwich at Rt. 58 is about all I can stuff into my gullet for one day (maybe even two) and the sleepies are starting to kick in. Dontcha hate it when that happens.
So naturally I missed Trolling Bones 2 Saturday night, but Mitch from Fantasy took some video footage, all of which appears on his youtube site. But here is the reunion show of the Left Wing Fascists (Mike formerly drummed for them for a little while back in the day) doing their Hampton Roads time capsule hit "Yugo", back when you could sing about the Virginia Beach toll road and still remember that there once was a toll road. Breakfast bunch buddy David Almeleh on the skins this time around.
Randall and Elizabeth's wedding was small, intimate, and very nice. And I admit, I cried a little, and I have never cried at a wedding in my life. I guess I just felt so happy for Randy, after all these years of knowing him, seeing him go through so much in his life, and watching him make great strides in changing and healing in the last several years -- and then to see him find happiness in such a wonderful, funny, patient, and beautiful gal in his beloved little "Lizard" it really touched me to see so many good things going his way for a change. And it sounds as if they are planning on moving back here from Austin pretty soon to be closer to their families. More Randy and Lizard for all of us!
I jammed my temporary crown back up onto my tooth this morning with some Poligrip, and after the initial pain of raw nerve contact it feels pretty durn marvelous right now. Nothing beats the feeling of being able to drink a cool glass of water or even yawn extravagantly without yelping in agony from that raw fang hanging down off the back of my throat. I can certainly get used to this.
Alvin is here, and Mike is on his way. We're going to watch the Skins vs. Cowboys game, or as Joe calls it, his "Superbowl", or probably the closest his team will ever make it this year.
Make that "Hang, Drink, Hang, Drink, Drink, Drink Drink Drink Drink Drink Drink Drink Last Call"
The drunk happy couple!
More old friends from almost twenty years ago together in one room. As you can see, we've all gotten a little blurry with age.
DJ Andrea and pals!
Jeff Brodnax, the gentleman in the dreds talking to the girl in the back, is just back from an extended live stint in Paris.
You really can't tell from this picture, but the lithe, pixie-like boy in the eye makeup and military outfit looked a lot like Gary Numan (or so Alvin kept insisting).
Finished off the night at the Donut Dinette. Oh crispy fried sugar thingys from my favorite breakfast eatery of my past... how I've missed you.
No Trolling Bones II tonight. I'm heading out to the ColleyCantina for Randy and Liz's wedding toast. And wouldn't you know it, less than twenty minutes ago my temporary crown has popped off my tooth AGAIN! ARGH! Well at least my permanent one is ready and I just need to carry my ass down to the dentist and have it installed, which I guess will have to be Monday, if I can get in. I just hate the idea of going without that tooth this weekend, with the wedding tomorrow and everything. I hope nobody serves anything crunchy at the reception.
Last night's Trolling Bones Revue documentary of the Tidewater punk scene from the late 70's and early 80's was very well done. Kelly Miltier says it's just the director's cut and not the finished product, but the footage he's obtained from last year's reunion show was very good and I particularly enjoyed the way the new footage was edited along with old photographs and fliers from the old days, and I could really get a feeling of what the scene must have felt like during that time. I was telling Mike and David that since I am ten years younger than them I wasn't around for that particular time period in the local music scene, but I had an awareness of sorts of many of these bands from local publications (not to mention The States played at my school once around 1982) and I was always intrigued with this arcane knowledge that I wish that I possessed or had been privy to if I had been old enough to get into Friar Tucks or the King's Head Inn at the time. But I just want to say great job, Mr. Miltier. Thank you for preserving this document of our city's past. Now with all of those old venues gone it really doesn't feel like that kind of scene exists around these parts anymore. Seeing the interiors to those old joints really kicked my nostalgia into overdrive last night. Not to mention the bevy of drunk old punks surrounding me in the balcony smelling like leather and sweat. Just like old times!
So I wound up sitting in the balcony between Pamela Jo and Charles, the bass player for original early Tidewater punk band Daily Planet (featured in the film), who bought me a bottled water (thank you again!) and I was surrounded by my old music scene posse, most of which I hadn't seen in ten years, some even almost twenty. There was an after-feature party at the cantina and Barco wanted me to go down there with him but I knew it would be wall-to-wall punks in there so we wound up all going down to the IHOP for foodstuffs -- we being Mike, David (who was also involved in the filmmaking process), Pamela Jo, and Barco before I headed back home around one in the morning. One more (albeit short) work day before Christmas. I think I can suck it up and endure.
Everyone have a great and safe holiday. Mama loves ya.
No new Audio Junk this week, so instead enjoy one more tune before the holiday that although not technically a Christmas song, seems sorta fitting, obviously. Plus it's Big Star, and this album brings back so many memories for me.
I'm going to try and go to the Trolling Bones Revue movie tomorrow night right after work, depending on how dead to the world I feel. Hell, if I'm up at 4am like I am now it's more than likely I should be.
I'm still slightly at a loss to describe this movie that I just watched this afternoon, the 1971 bikesploitation flick The Pink Angels, which despite the title still shocked me just as much as it did the hitchhiker picked up at the beginning of the picture to discover that the the group of young toughs on motorcycles and sidecars were actually gay. The hitchhiker, at first hesitant to ride along with potential Hell's Angels, continues to stick around as they stop for lunch at an A&W roadside stand, but bolts in horror the moment he gasps "faggots!" as if that's a potential fate worse than being shanked for his wallet. And he almost gets rammed by a train making his escape on foot, which seems almost intentional in context.
And indeed the deplorable "f" word does make an appearance often enough in this politically incorrect flick about a gang of cross-dressing bikers heading down the Pacific coast to attend a drag show in Los Angeles, besieged by enthusiastic hookers, a justice-obsessed army general, gung-ho highway patrolmen and a vengeful rival gang (featuring Dan "Grizzly Adams" Haggerty in all his ripped washboard abs glory). But the Pinks don't take no guff, and I find it admirable that in the midst of all the mincing stereotypes these fellas are also portrayed as clever, resourceful, and tough. When their roadside picnic in the rocky hillside (complete with wine and candelabras) is invaded by a rival gang who is suspicious that they don't have any "old ladies" on hand, one of the Pinks heads off to quickly procure a small band of loose women and invites their enemy into their drunken orgy, only waiting until they are good and passed out to smear make-up on their faces and tie their beards in ribbons and bows before our heroes make their wily escape back out on the road.
The movie is of course done on the serious cheap, with some of the most amazingly bad dialogue I have ever heard (and I thought that I've heard it all) and an ending that nearly threw me off the sofa for it's sheer abruptness. I think Joe had read somewhere online that they were running out of money and that the producer was basically insane and nobody had written an ending for the damn thing. Honestly, I couldn't tell you what audience this "Gay Easy Rider" road movie was intentionally meant for, but I found myself strangely charmed by it. Maybe it was meant to be taken as social commentary on the blight of homophobia in America. Or perhaps meant to be taken in the pure "Queers -- they're funny!" exploitation spirit that it was given. For me, it seems somewhere in between. But that ending is just... damn. I mean..... DAMN.....!
Randy And Liz's wedding is this Sunday and I have nothing to wear! Time like this I regret not having more female friends that can teach me how to dress.
Meanwhile, some more Lawrence Welk goodness to get you in the spirit of the season.
But it looks like I might miss this year's Trolling Bones II, because my friends Randy and Lizzie are in town from Austin and getting married this Sunday, and their wedding toast is at the ColleyCantina the Saturday before. But heck, it's not every day when my old friend Randy get hitched. What a busy week this will be already!
Watched the movie Adventurelandlast night, and I have to say that this is probably one of the first times in awhile where I saw a current film capture the feeling of the 1980's without it being some kind of Wedding Singer style hokey time capsule. And you know what I'm talking about.
The past always looks ridiculous when we look back at it. The beauty of this movie is that none of those ridiculous fashion/music/vernacular cliches were dutifully trotted out because they really wanted the era to feel like the way it felt when you were actually living it. And few movies have ever depicted the year 1987 the way it truly felt like they did in this picture.
Or maybe it just felt more like the 1987 I experienced, when I was an 18 year old college student. Musically, it was spot-on. That was the year I was blasting "I Don't Want To Know If You Are Lonely" in my car, or that Christmas cranking "Looking For A Kiss" by the New York Dolls. And the year I got into the Velvet Underground. And The Replacements. Even The Rolling Stones Tattoo You album. And I think I even dressed like Kristen Stewart every damn day of that year, in jeans and army jackets and Lou Reed T-shirts. The movie even ended with my favorite INXS song, the very first INXS song that I had ever heard, back in 1983. Holy shit, was that ME up on the screen the whole time? Nah... my hair never looked that good.
But the movie did something right when it comes to creating nostalgia with music: It's more about a feeling than historical pop culture accuracy. In the 80's, I was listening to a lot of music from the 60's. Like Stewart's character, my room was decorated in David Bowie and Buzzcocks posters. The movie set out to create an atmosphere of an almost Proustian remembrance of things past -- of sounds and smells and textures, from the drop of a needle on a scratchy Jesus And Mary Chain record to the muggy summer heat in an amusement park filled with odors of cotton candy and vomit while "Rock Me Amadeus" plays repeatedly over long-ago blown out speakers throughout the midway.
It's a scratch-n-sniff movie of tactile flashback, but particularly for myself and the way my hair stood on the back of my neck as each minute of the movie unfolded before me.
Plus, girl music geeks. Why aren't there more of them in film?
Last night's live Christmas Shorts Rifftrax event (encore presentation tonight) definitely had its moments, and not just the shorts themselves. The guys gave each other "gifts" in the form of retro toy commercials from the 1960's, all of which had the audience howling in a mixture of hilarity and horror, and a good deal of bemusement at the minds behind some of these toys as well as the advertisements for them.
Bill and Mike gave Kevin this, which I think I might have actually owned in my childhood. Or a 70's variation of the original. Kevin asked why it made them think of him (and for a moment I thought that Kevin might actually come out of the closet as they danced around the "gay" part of the name) but Mike confessed "It's because we don't think that you have a bone of your own." Ah, poor Kevin.
Mike and Kevin offered to get one of these for Bill but they said that they looked everywhere and couldn't find one. "That's because it says right there in the commercial, FOOD MARKETS ONLY!' Bill bellowed. "Right there next to the rows of canned peas, they have TONS of Jimmy Jets!"
But the one that got the most laffs was Mike's present from Bill and Kevin. A series of toy robots with the unintentionally pun-laden name of "The Ding-A-Lings", and a commercial filled with literal below-the-belt sexual innuendo, as every robot seems to have something either popping out or protruding from its groin, making humping motions, or elevators going up into other ding-a-ling's rectums. The silent scream from the boy at the 3:00 minute mark pretty much says it all!
* The Ding-A-Ling commercial doesn't start until the 0:58 second mark.
If you are able, see if your local theater is showing the encore presentation of the Christmas Rifftrax event and check it out for yourselves. It's fun to go when you're in a theater full of people.
Check out this week's new Audio Junk, featuring the music of Outkast, The Beatles, ABC, and Nathalie Nordnes as well as samples from It's Garry Shandling's Show and much more. Audio Junk is another Stoopid Kar Production live every Tuesday on randomradioonline.net and roundtableradio.net @ 8:45 pm EST. The World's Worst Mixing DJ -DJ JOE INC plays a variety of music-no format- just samples variety and more tonight. The Modern Mixtape.
I really must do more than just a cursory blog post about the influence the Hernandez Brothers have had on me throughout my adult life. Not like there aren't already millions of blog posts dedicated to their greatness, all far better written to be sure. But after having been in my life for over twenty years it's been long overdue.
I guess I feel a little bad about not going to the Birdland Christmas party tonight. I had been thinking about it for several weeks, and even took off from work today to attend. Mike really wanted me to go, and Al was just over here trying to lure me out there with him, but.... guh. I dunno. Maybe I do feel kind of bad for not being able to patronize that place as often as I used to these days.
I grew up with that store. Their family has been friends with my family for as far back as I can remember. I bought nearly all my music there in the 80's and most of the 90's, and I am all for supporting local, family-owned enterprises. But these days, as poor as I am, I've been getting my music used, whenever I do. And I haven't bought music anywhere near as much as I used to back in the day. Right now that store is jammed with local supporters, and I would feel terribly guilty for showing up just for free food and drink, even if most of my old music scene friends are probably whoopin' it up out there.
I feel so.... sedentary. Maybe I'm making excuses, I can't tell. But this has to stop. Making excuses, that is.
It keeping with the grand tradition of Joe and me giving each other's gifts early, I managed to get enough knocked down off the price of the Shout! Factory complete box set of It's Garry Shandling's Show, although it's quite worth the scratch no matter what some might say. All four seasons of the first regular programming on the then inchoate Showtime cable network in 1986, which was later picked up by the then equally not-quite-a-network-yet Fox, back when Married.. With Children and The Simpsons were still its flagship programs. I only caught it on Fox, not having Showtime back around that period, and have always loved Shandling to pieces. But there really wasn't anything that I can recall that compared to the relatively groundbreaking format for this particular brand of situation comedy. Garry's life is lived as a man who is aware that he's on a sitcom, breaking the fourth wall to address the live audience and TV viewers, voicing his inner dialogue to us as if we were the people inside his head. When Garry's best friend answers the phone in Garry's house "It's Garry Shandling's Show," it keeps us aware at all times that these are people who are not only living their lives in front of a camera but know it as well. I had never seen anything quite like it at the time, although it has been done many instances since. And there was always a special walk-on celebrity each week -- Carl Reiner, Gilda Radner, Tom Petty -- all ringing Garry's doorbell for one surreal reason or another. And of course, Garry's hair, Garry's primary concern at all times and always the star of the show.
The set contains bloopers and audio commentaries for nearly every episode, plus a lot of other cool bells and whistles. Though I think what I miss most of all was the equally self-aware theme song, featured in the clip above. Still one of my favorite theme songs of all time. And damn if I didn't sing aloud to myself it the entire day at work yesterday.
Okay, so I was as excited to get this as Joe was. I ain't gonna lie.
First 20 tracks on my iTunes this evening happy to have my fake tooth back in my head again. Little things like a glass of water or a good sneeze no longer taken for granted.
1. "Head Full Of Steam" - The Go-Betweens 2. "Moog Porn" - Machine Drum & Mochipet 3. "Freedom Of Speech" - Above The Law 4. "Tune From The Missing Channel" - Dream Warriors 5. "Kansas City Funk" - Roy Hargrove 6. "The Devil's Got My Woman" - Rising Sons 7. "I Hadn't Anyone 'Til You" - Thelonious Monk 8. "Sulphur To Sugarcane" - Elvis Costello 9. "Back In Stride" - Maze 10. "Banquet" - Bloc Party 11. "Green Green Grass Of Home" - John Otway 12. "I Can Only Be Me" - Keith John 13. "House Of The Juju Queen" - Janie Jones 14. "You Love Everyone" - The Indicators 15. "Get Down Lenny" - Vastless Smudge 16. "Almost Blue" - Elvis Costello 17. "Battlesong" - Deltron 3030 18. "Lucretia My Reflection" - The Sisters Of Mercy 19. "2 Late" - The Cure 20. "Kiss" - Age Of Chance
Waiting to go in to me dentist office to get my crown put back on. Then off to work for two hours. Oy.
So meanwhile, in the tradition of playing Christmas music on my blog up until the blessed event, here's a roundabout way of cranking "The Little Drummer Boy" without having to picture an ox and lamb keeping time in your head. In fact, it will conjure up more, ah, secular imagery then you would probably care to experience. Bu that's the way of Prince Buster, the influential reggae/rocksteady/ska artist from the 1960's that I found myself listening to a lot of for a spell in the early 90's when I was running with a predominantly rude boy herd. So get down make love, people. I'll be back later this afternoon.
What a day. First the lug nuts on the front driver's side of Joe's Pathfinder seemed to mysteriously disappear, which we didn't discover until he was actually driving the car and the tire threatened to fly off on Dam Neck Road. Then the temporary crown on my tooth popped off. Are we falling apart here or what? Should I just go to bed now, before something else shrivels up and drops off? (please let it be the breasts this time!)
I still have my cap, so I wonder if the dentist can just glue it back on? The Pathfinder, however, is another whole expensive kettle of fish altogether.
So I watched Drag Me To Hell tonight. At least Sam Raimi can still make me laugh when I need it.
This week's Audio Junk is up and ready! Audio Junk is another Stoopid Kar Production live every Tuesday on randomradioonline.net and roundtableradio.net @ 8:45 pm EST. The World's Worst Mixing DJ -DJ JOE INC plays a variety of music-no format- just samples variety and more tonight. The Modern Mixtape.Songs from the Glee, clips from Children of Men and Hardware and more
Speaking of Joe's old friend Leeann, she sent me this video from some band called Radioactive Chicken Heads. Visually sort of Gwar versus Slipknot, with a Glen Danzig-like vocalist? And apparently, they were on Tyra Banks, who is an even bigger chickenhead than all of them. Who knew!
Whenever I come across something like this, that seems so unusual, so intriguing -- some new rare "found" music with no explanation or background or forthcoming information -- I get so excited. Until further research reveals that it was all a hoax, an attempt to gain notoriety for their band or their work that they feel would never get recognized on its own, and I feel oddly let down. Oddly because I'm also no stranger to pranks or using similar tactics as a means to advertise.
Twenty years ago when my friends and I were in the underground nightclub business, we would paper the city with strange, cryptic flyers of girls peeing random numbers on street corners, with little more than an address and date to guide by. I remember one man, not knowing that I was involved in the project, frantically ran up to me at random when I worked at the Music Man and ask me if I knew anything about that mysterious flyer in his hands, and how it had been eating him alive for weeks trying to figure it out. Looking back at it now, I can imagine the guy being sorely disappointed when the date of the event arrived and discovered it was nothing more than a bunch of pretentious art-school dropouts trying to get people to come out and dance to Meat Beat Manifesto.
But I will admit to missing the days when music was more of a mystery to me than it is these days. I have listened to everything from the likes of The Residents, Fushitsusha, Les Rallizes Denudes, and something that Bleecker Bob's called "The sound of a baby being thrown into a wood chipper", and honestly, nothing really surprises me anymore. I kind of dislike that jaded feeling, and miss the innocence I once approached music when I hadn't seen it all and heard it all before. Music fans: When was the last time you picked something up and was really, genuinely curious about it? When what you heard was incongruous with everything you had ever heard before it, that took you out into space and had nothing to ground you to earth because of a lack of information about the artist themselves? Sometime in the mid 1980's, maybe a few years before I met Joe in college, he and his friend Leeann were digging through cheap vinyl in a local record store and came across the album pictured above. And what you see is pretty much all the information available, inside and out. No track listing, either on the back or on the record itself, and no liner notes or names of band members. Just the letters SPKand the wordsAuto-Da-Fé, which of course means the process of burning heretics during the Spanish Inquisition. And the music was, well.... interesting. Or at least it was at the time, several years before Joe and I would meet and later explore the world of industrial music in depth during the early 90's. But the record was only 25 cents, and he bought it, recording the songs that intrigued him onto a blank cassette (giving them their own names since none were provided), gave the record to Leeann, and kept the interesting cover for himself.
When he showed me the cover a few years later, I was just as fascinated as he must have been that first day pulling it from the bins. At a quarter, Joe jokes "They must have really wanted that out of there!" In 1987, having never heard anything much weirder than Bad Brains or the occasional reggae dub, I played those few tunes recorded off the vinyl over and over as if trying to decipher some arcane message that only those in the know would, well, know. One that I always remembered for being disturbing as well as darkly funny was a track that Joe named "Ménage à trois", though we discovered years later was originally named "A Heart That Breaks (In No Time For Place)", a song keeping in the theme of torture and despair. A common trend in industrial music, we'd come to find.
Of course over time and the general process of educating myself, reading about SPK in the famed RE/Search Publications Industrial Culture Handbook that features an interview with the band, I've uncovered so much about the mysterious band and their style of music. SPK (or SozialistischesPatientenKollektiv, Surgical Penis Klinik, System Planning Korporation, SePuKku, Selective Pornography Kontrol, Special Programming Korps or SoliPsiK, depending on what you read) is a group from Sydney, Australia that formed in 1978, and that their founding member, Graeme Revell, is currently a very successful Hollywood film composer. They even put this album out on CD, pictured below, though with more information and less cryptic artwork.
Over the years we explored the heights and depths of industrial music with a small group of equally interested friends, and we often hosted "industrial music nights" at various bars and clubs along Hampton Boulevard in Norfolk from 1990 to about 1994 or so. But sadly, once you know everything there is to know about that subject, it fails to shock or surprise you anymore. I still love industrial music. But few records of the likes of SPK in the 80's, as naive as I was, spark that kind of breathless intrigue that used to seize me when presented with such a mystery. And true mystery seems so hard to come by in this day and age. Everything is so contrived. So thought out, so post-modern, so saturated in irony. People are hip to everything these days. Or maybe it's just me that's too hip. And I don't think I like that about myself.
If anyone has a story similar, about something found, something mysterious, that sent you on the Search Of A Lifetime, I would love to heard it.
Nickel And Dimed author Barbara Ehrenreich's interesting article about the current trend in women's health activism, something that always bugged me, and I think she nails it on the head.
Last night's tremendous rainbow moon halo seen on the U.S. east coast
Brand new Audio Junk is available for download right now, kicking it old and new school with Blondie, Rush, Whodini, and bunches and bunches more. Audio Junk is LIVE every Tuesday night at 8:45pm EST at randomradioonline.net and roundtableradio.net. The World's Worst Mixing DJ -DJ JOE INC plays a variety of music-no format- just samples variety and more tonight. The Modern Mixtape!
