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For the Joy Division fan who has everything
04.26.2011
01:44 am
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Oops, I’ve lost control again.

Joy Division-inspired tee shirt from African Apparel (love the name).

 

 

Posted by Marc Campbell
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04.26.2011
01:44 am
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The Butthole Surfers: The Shah Sleeps in Lee Harvey’s Grave
04.26.2011
01:29 am
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Between 1985 and 1989, I saw the Butthole Surfers play several absolutely unforgettable gigs in New York City. They were a swirling, lysergic tornado onstage, producing a dirty, unholy wall of sound that was so utterly unhinged and deranged—and yet weirdly beautiful—that I feared for the sanity of the musicians making it. Few acts I’ve seen before or since have achieved anywhere near the sonic or psychic intensity of an 80s Butthole Surfers gig. With their demonically-possessed go-go dancer Kathleen Lynch (who I have written about here) and the violent bedlam of the music, no other group of the era came close to the brutal skull-fucking they subjected their audience to (except for maybe the Swans and Einstürzende Neubauten, although I’d still give the Surfers the edge).

Let me put it to you another way, who except the Butthole Surfers would hire GWAR as their opening act without fearing in the slightest that they would be upstaged? That’s an achievement! It’s well-known that Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love met at a Butthole Surfers concert and this makes perfect sense.

I saw the Butthole Surfers at the Pyramid Club, Danceteria, CBGBs, The Cat Club, The Ritz, The World, and the Brooklyn Academy of Music. A “typical” evening with the Butthole Surfers involved nudity, tearing stuffed animals apart, strobe lights, Gibby lighting his own hand on fire with lighter fluid (he’d stare at his flaming hand like a drooling moron before putting the fire out by sticking his hand down his pants) and then the drumkits.

The last time I saw the group live, it was at The Lyric Theater, a faded 42nd Street porno palace that was about to be torn down. It smelled of semen and bleach and the floors were sticky. The fact that this fleapit was going to soon be leveled seemed to give the band—and the audience—the license to destroy it early.

I have it on good account that the promoter of the show gave lead vocalist Gibby Haynes six hits of acid before this performance, thinking he was giving him enough for the entire band, only to see him pop them all into his mouth at once. Watching him on-stage that night, as the group played a berserk version of Gordon Lightfoot’s folky epic “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,” I wondered if he, or the audience, would ever recover.

Gibby screamed into a bullhorn, the dual drummers hit flaming cymbals and they projected 16mm films of bloody operations, people with Down’s syndrome dancing in top hats and tails and a man with a gigantic sombrero that was revealed to be much larger than a house. If Beelzebub himself would have come out to jam with the band for the encore, no one would have been the least bit surprised.

If the music they made in the 1990s is anything to go by, the bad-living caught up to them. After 1987’s Locust Abortion Technicians, they quickly became an uninspired parody of themselves, tarting up their sound to appeal to MTV’s 120 Minutes audience. I’ve had copies of all their albums since and I could seldom get past one listen.

Sadly the brain-crushing early work of the group has become somewhat obscure and I don’t think a lot of younger people know much about them. This is a real pity. Their Psychic… Powerless… Another Man’s Sac (1984) is a flat-out masterpiece. A stunner. Nothing—and I mean nothing—else sounds like it. 1986’s Rembrandt Pussyhorse and Locust Abortion Technician (1987) are also quite amazing albums. Here’s a sampling of some of their finest moments

“And son, if you see your mom this weekend, be sure and tell her….” Listen to one of the Butthole Surfer’s most infamous numbers, a tongue-in-cheek Black Sabbath tribute called “Sweat Loaf”
 

 
My favorite Butthole Surfers song, the bone-crushing “Cherub”:
 

 
Below, a moment edited from the laugh-out-loud funny “Bed In” interview from the Blind Eye Sees All live video. (See complete video below)
 

 
This video somewhat captures the infernal, chaotic insanity of a Butthole Surfers show and you can (more or less) see what Kathleen Lynch got up to onstage with them at about 30 seconds in. Shot in Bremen, Germany in 1987.
 

 
After the jump, backstage with the Butthole Surfers and live in Detroit, 1985.

READ ON
Posted by Richard Metzger
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04.26.2011
01:29 am
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Motörhead Beach Ball
04.25.2011
10:04 pm
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It’s that time of the year again for inflatable water slides, foam kickboards, Super Soakers and Motörhead beach balls. Yes, Motörhead beach balls. They’re $9.99 a pop over at Motörhead’s webstore.

(via Cherrybombed)

Posted by Tara McGinley
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04.25.2011
10:04 pm
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Trump for President
04.25.2011
09:00 pm
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This buffoon deserves whatever we can throw at him. What an asshole. I never imagined that he could actually become more unlikeable than he already was.

Posted by Marc Campbell
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04.25.2011
09:00 pm
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When Dads were cooler than their kids: The Original Hipsters
04.25.2011
06:58 pm
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Your dad didn’t give a fuck before you did. He smoked, drank, fucked, fought, and pissed into the wind of life. Then one night, while jacked on mescaline, he screwed your mom. It was just supposed to be one night. But, that tryst became bastardized when you were conceived from it. Your dad had to settle down. So hipsters, next time you’re out drinking on a Tuesday night or biking without a helmet, remember you’re the bastard love baby of your dad’s not giving a fuck attitude.”

 
“Dads: The Original Hipsters” is a compendium of photographs culled from the net that illustrates that hipsterism ain’t nothing new, in fact it’s ancient. Check out these shots of dads being cooler than you.

You can view more of these groovy artifacts at “Dads: The Original Hipsters” website. The captions are often much funnier than the pictures themselves.
 

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Your dad wore Chuck Taylors before you did. Those were his “Just do it” shoes. He could run faster, jump higher and ride your mom longer because of them. The only training you hipsters have done in those shoes are Natural Spirit chain smoking marathons and smug bike rides to dive bars. I wish time travel was real, just so your dad could kick your own ass for wearing the shoes that he made a legend.”

 
More old school hipsters after the jump…

READ ON
Posted by Marc Campbell
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04.25.2011
06:58 pm
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Does Sarah Palin have the worst publicist of all time?

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They say that there is no such thing as bad press, but when your publicist is getting called out for how inept they are, it’s hardy something that can be reclassified as a media triumph is it? A shitty publicist only has one function and that is to make the individual or company that hired them look poorly. It’s what you might call “counter intuitive” to have a bungler handle your PR. The public questions your judgment for hiring them.

I mean, hey, if making you look like a fucking idiot is what you’re paying them for, then you win, I suppose… but get a load of the preposterously self-defeating taunts tweets that Sarah Palin’s “cyber messenger” prodigy, Rebecca Mansour, came up with. This is the best media strategy money can buy? [Note to Mrs. Palin, I’ll take over your Twitter feed and Facebook FOR FREE! Email me, let’s talk!]

You’ll get more with sugar, than you will with shit, as my mother used to say, but if all Mansour has on offer for the media is the same two-day old bread, what should be expected of them? People are getting really bored with Sarah Palin. I know I am. I can barely be bothered to read about her anymore, let alone write something snarky. She burned out way faster than I thought she would. Her shtick has just gotten too damned repetitive (and predictable) lately to be able to squeeze any humor out of it. Everything there is to be said about her has already been said a hundred million times.

Via Wonkette/Slate

Posted by Richard Metzger
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04.25.2011
06:24 pm
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Legendary soul label Malaco Records decimated by tornado
04.25.2011
05:20 pm
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Wolf Stephenson stands in what is left of the legendary Malaco Records.

Severe storms and a series of tornadoes has plagued the Midwest and Southern states throughout April. One of the casualties of the violent weather is the legendary blues and soul label Malaco Records in Jackson, Mississippi. It was crushed by a tornado on April 15.

You can read about Malaco Records, “The Last Soul Company,” and its formidable history at their website.

Malaco Records’ flamingo-pink main office was one of the few buildings in the area when it opened in 1967 on the west end of Jackson’s Northside Drive.

“We were practically out in the country,” said Wolf Stephenson, vice president and chief engineer. “I can remember all of us sitting out in the parking lot in the wee hours of the morning, eating watermelon and listening full blast to the song mixes we were working on at the time. We wanted to see how they sounded away from the speakers.”

Stephenson, 67, managed to chuckle at the memory Monday afternoon, a few seconds of escape from the grim reality brought on by Friday’s tornado that ravaged parts of Clinton and northwest Jackson, injuring seven and causing major damage to numerous homes and businesses.

The twister didn’t spare Malaco, which has produced its share of music history. It destroyed the accounting building and shipping warehouse. The main building, which housed executive offices and the legendary recording studio, was pummeled.

There were some bits of good news: Approximately 20 employees who were at work when the storm struck escaped injury. Couch and Stephenson said they plan to rebuild. And Malaco’s thousands of precious master tapes weathered the storm in a vault-type building made of concrete blocks and supported by reinforced steel.

The recording studio was dark and dank Monday. A grand piano and a Hammond B3 organ were barely visible, buried in debris. The sound of music was replaced by the flapping of a blue tarp, serving as a temporary roof. Pieces of the wood tile floor were scattered about. Amplifiers and microphones looked soulless and lonely.

Hits were born in this room. Among them: Jean Knight’s 1971 No. 1 single, Mr. Big Stuff; King Floyd’s Groove Me, which went to No. 1 on the R&B chart; and Dorothy Moore’s 1976 classic, Misty Blue. Paul Simon recorded Learn How to Fall here. It appeared on his 1973 album There Goes Rhymin’ Simon, which earned two Grammy nominations.”

Here’s a link to a Malaco Records video mix courtesy of The CW Austin. Click here and scroll down the page for the mix.

The Malaco Records story aired on WAPT in Jackson, Mississippi in 1999.
 

 
Thanks, Mike Webber

Posted by Marc Campbell
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04.25.2011
05:20 pm
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The mundane beauty of blank cassette tape insert cards
04.25.2011
05:14 pm
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Admire if you will the stark, utilitarian design of these paper products from yesteryear. Bound for the dustbin by design, these were easily ignored then and total eye candy now.
 
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Many more after the jump…

 

READ ON
Posted by Brad Laner
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04.25.2011
05:14 pm
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A dog with attitude
04.25.2011
04:30 pm
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Dogfellas...?

“In a world that’s powered by violence, on the streets where the violent have power, a new generation carries on an old tradition.”

 
Via Blackadder
 

Posted by Paul Gallagher
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04.25.2011
04:30 pm
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Stop the Presses: Woman Finds Hat in Tree
04.25.2011
04:17 pm
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R.I.P., poor hat.

(via EPICponyz)

Posted by Tara McGinley
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04.25.2011
04:17 pm
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