tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69081359983147465102024-03-20T00:09:19.243-07:00Confederacy of the WrongDarcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-73645779241002002002021-06-27T18:02:00.034-07:002021-07-01T13:32:02.457-07:00That '70s Reality<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The 1970s was an incredibly strange decade. I lived in it the entire way. Whole buncha stuff happened. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Mainly starting off with that anything cool or underground about the previous decade was put through a centrifuge and rebranded as commonplace. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">The corpse of the '60s had rotted and been eaten and the remains were being propped up and sold at a hyper-consumable discount by anyone quick enough to grab hold of a chunk, and the "hedonism" of that time that was deeply frowned upon got a makeover as to be suddenly acceptable and usable for profit, ka-ching! Vans were a thing, and I mean the boxy vehicles, not the skater-shoes. There were trading cards about vans. I have some. I'll post one below. Big rig trucks and their CB radios were another thing, with several movies actually being made to celebrate the "trucker culture". Short, unisex perms were in abundance. Men were walking around in gym-shorts, and the lapels on blazers and button-ups were as wide as albatross wings and many times more elaborate in color than any parrot you've come across. Children were highly sexualized, and I mean on a Weimar Republic scale. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Cocaine was nearly a household item. In fact, McDonalds ceased production of their </span><a href="https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/642413/mcdonalds-cocaine-spoon-controversy" style="font-family: verdana;" target="_blank">plastic coffee-stirrers</a><span style="font-family: verdana;"> because everyone was using them as coke-spoons. Amphetamines and dildos were sold in ads in popular TV/movie magazines (eg. Photoplay, which had been around since the 1920's) that sat alongside People and the National Enquirer in the checkout line. "Groupies" were teenage-to-twenties girls-and-women who would follow touring music groups (HENCE the term) around in order to have, well, sexual relations with whoever. "Super-groupies" like Pamela Des Barres would pursue the bigger acts like Aerosmith, Zeppelin, The Who, Bowie, KISS etc. TV sitcoms were to become time-capsules of rigid normalcy wrapped in a drug-fueled fashion sense. The po-po became hip. Gumbyflappers went from hippie-DIY to mass production. Tight, itchy polyester shirts were nearly mandatory and as breathable in the summer as wearing a plastic bag. Aquamarine \ yellow \ ultra-frost newt-green eye-shadow combos came into everyday use. Art deco made a big comeback and was horribly abused. </span><a href="https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/743164375981255533/" style="font-family: verdana;" target="_blank">Avocado-colored toilets</a><span style="font-family: verdana;"> were surrounded by plush, deep-pile carpets in far too many people's bathrooms. ALL OF THIS WAS COMPLETELY NORMAL! Not saying <i>ALL</i> of it was </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">bad</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">, but it's what we quickly acclimated to.</span></p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpSkF8pfqz8p_2RT-LSLVMILAVRj4aqLaaDYJ-ZmAlQ1ISgvv8V1ny-714omIHHraKUmBzBdqWeLs0p9yStBXO5uvmJzkwA6irh1EDqNUMSno-QHh72oJA_l4AQgZLnoz4XJNCMP1JBVA/s474/4a213cfaa03308c7fba883bb26eb25fe--custom-vans-trading-cards.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpSkF8pfqz8p_2RT-LSLVMILAVRj4aqLaaDYJ-ZmAlQ1ISgvv8V1ny-714omIHHraKUmBzBdqWeLs0p9yStBXO5uvmJzkwA6irh1EDqNUMSno-QHh72oJA_l4AQgZLnoz4XJNCMP1JBVA/s320/4a213cfaa03308c7fba883bb26eb25fe--custom-vans-trading-cards.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">(My cards are in storage, so this is off the web. I <i>do</i> have this, tho'. It's so pretty, and a safe bet there's a waterbed in the back. Oh yeah - waterbeds were huge in the '70s too.)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">On top of this, both the New Hollywood and punk sprouted out of the few cracks in the linoleum, and the seeds of women's lib, queer-freedom and racial justice had cemented their roots and were growing!</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So that's a synopsis. That didn't even mention plaid suits.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Something else that grew from the '70s was the <b>ICBC</b> - the Insurance Corporation of British Columbia, formed by the provincial government (the province being British Columbia) in 1973. You'd think, from their title, that they handled all forms of insurance available, but it was just for automobiles. Basically, if you're a British Columbian and have a car accident, you go through ICBC for the claims and such. SO, by example, if another driver is way over the speed limit driving in reverse in the wrong lane and plows into you, they review the case, and reward the person who crashed into you. That sounds like a joke, I know.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">With more complaints than anyone can count from auto-owners over the years, the ICBC aroused the ire of drivers - whether involved in accidents or not - through their seeming willingness to give payout to the instigators of any vehicular misadventures and also by raising premiums at an apparently notorious rate.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Which brings about this month's artist/recording, B.C.-group <b>Flasher</b> with their double-sided disc of disdain, "Icky Bicky / Tricky Icky" (Icky-bicky is verbal shorthand, used mostly in disrespect) on Criminal Records, no date given, but doubtfully out after '85. </span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">This has been called proto-metal, heavy psych, and a couple other things (and has a spot on a compilation called "Brown Acid - The Fifth Trip"), but to me it's more biker-bar heavy rock with a hint of funk beat and a touch of soul (the female backing v's). But I'm stuffed with butter chicken and cheap beer right now, so my thought process is kinda sludgy and I could be thinking of like ABBA or something. The first cut has some choice derision barked out by someone you'd picture owning a home-customized Harley and a work-beaten Dodge pickup with post-diggers and shovels in the flatbed and an 8-year-old Mastiff named 'Poodle-Pounder' straining at a chain in the back yard. I like it! The flip is something unusual: it's the A-side track again, but played backwards. Layered over top of this is what's made to sound like an anti-ICBC rally, with participants jeering and mocking a corporate rep wielding a megaphone. It's what most likely awarded the single its heavy-psych label.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLeLQPq6KDkC6n-TIxP8Cjdr1bUk-Jkb8_BZ7w2T1pOftyynKQIPZtSOJpFaGfABnbmNnzLVbN1zuXch6IvRR_eQzWnXch_K6QXBZkQuNPa0C_AEKRo8NN1A7AiEzFIYswY692GL7p_Gg/s603/R-7680730-1452824293-7063.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="603" data-original-width="599" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLeLQPq6KDkC6n-TIxP8Cjdr1bUk-Jkb8_BZ7w2T1pOftyynKQIPZtSOJpFaGfABnbmNnzLVbN1zuXch6IvRR_eQzWnXch_K6QXBZkQuNPa0C_AEKRo8NN1A7AiEzFIYswY692GL7p_Gg/s320/R-7680730-1452824293-7063.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD3gziwmBWszsbblLCdQfh8HImTkLnO3-jCtxYgPjeWhVzrWgZyzzXQuFllaZ9fpeNATUYZOqgkLyykYxErs-T8x7en0zStLErOZw_ZUz4KE7GZIGagIHmDtbeg3ws7pYuxz0M6WLxUYg/s603/R-7680730-1452824295-1605.jpeg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="603" data-original-width="599" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD3gziwmBWszsbblLCdQfh8HImTkLnO3-jCtxYgPjeWhVzrWgZyzzXQuFllaZ9fpeNATUYZOqgkLyykYxErs-T8x7en0zStLErOZw_ZUz4KE7GZIGagIHmDtbeg3ws7pYuxz0M6WLxUYg/s320/R-7680730-1452824295-1605.jpeg.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As for the band itself, I can't find <i>any</i>thing online indicating release date, or any kind of reviews. I thought at least the Georgia Straight would've had something, but no luck. Anyways, take a listen, and maybe get some throwback-commiseration if you've had any grief with said corporation as of late.</span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And if you want your very own copy, I see a Discogs seller in England has one for a hefty $42 (Canadian).</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: lime;"><b>Download: </b></span></span> </p><p><a href="https://www.mediafire.com/file/lvbw25uaxb8nkwx/Icky+Bicky.mp3/file" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: medium;">Icky Bicky</span></a></p><p><a href="https://www.mediafire.com/file/h5kh1h3mw93xztn/Tricky+Icky.mp3/file" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tricky Icky</span></a><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">(And this may be the last post for a while, as I'm moving again and things are chaotic, to say the very least.)</span></p>Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-14924142122518990442021-05-12T22:38:00.096-07:002021-08-15T17:52:34.611-07:00You know my name (please don't look up my Facebook page)<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A few months ago I moved from Vancouver to Maple Ridge for money-saving reasons. </span>MR is two hours away from Van. Unfortunately what I'm now saving in dollars is what I'm losing in sanity due to this new rural lifestyle.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm used to dense throngs of pedestrians representing every race creed and culture milling about in a neighborhood filled with nearly nothing but independent stores and restaurants a block away from me, where we cross the street without looking, and if a car beeps its little horn, we stop in front of them and stare down the driver until a point is made; people first. Then yer little car.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now it's a 20-minute walk from my townhouse-cluster (like an anthill for humans) to "the city" which is 90% white and there are more lifted pickup trucks and A&W's than humans. And I mean egregiously-powerful monster trucks with no purpose other than being powerful. Some even have Confederate flags on them. Yes, they know they're in B.C., which is in Canada which wasn't (still isn't) a part of the Confederate U.S. southern state territory. So I don't know. Oh yeah I do! They're racists! Also, people here actually smile and say Hi passing by you on the sidewalk and get this: it's <i>not</i> sarcastic, and they actually get legit offended if you don't do the same in return! I feel like Kevin Bacon in <b>Flashdance</b>, only he <i>doesn't</i> blow up the Death Star. Or whatever that movie is. You get the idea, I guess? I'm basically in opposite-land! Confusion has become my default setting.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">So today on the now 90-min-plus-long bus ride home from work (it was 45 minutes before), I have no idea why, but the memory of a girl that I had an enormous crush on when I was in grade like nine or ten and maybe fifteen or whatever came over me. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">There's a lot of nothing to look at outside the window, so looking inside the self and its weird, morphing, mental photo-albums becomes a thing you get to do. Esp. if you don't have unlimited data.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now, I had it SUPER-heavy for this girl. We shared an art class and I was one year older than her. I'll skip all the details because - I mean, when you think of past moments and people like this, you're thinking of them as you did <i>at that time</i> , not as who you are now, so basically I'm a fifty-year-old thinking about how hot and beautiful a 13-to-14-year-old was. Fine for Vladimir Nabokov, but not me.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Anyways, I imagined how she must look these days, slipped into a platonic fantasy-situation where we'd meet up today and etc etc, snapped out of it and got off the bus and went home.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">...aaaand looked her up on Facebook. Yep, I did that.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was weird, and I shouldn't, I mean <i>really</i> shouldn't have done that thing. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">But it was a thing I did.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I feel like each love we have, be it crush, fling, marriage, failed romance etc is its own little animal and it gets fed and cared for differently than any of the others. And some shouldn't be fed at all. I mean, they gotta get put down. So when I - and this only came to me later the next morning when a song I had on dug some old, unrelated feels out of me - sat on that bus tripping away, I was subconsciously dusting off a set of complicated emotions that were never meant to be unpacked again, breaking some sort of safety seal like a four-year-old with a new bottle of 'candy' found in the medicine cabinet. I'd discovered a dime bag in an old drawer and it had a few crumbs left in it of some of the best shit I'd had in the 80's and like a dumbass I hadda go and dab the remains expecting to suddenly re-live the good ol' days, and now I'm freaking out, finding it kinda difficult to put everything away again where it should've stayed. Is it possible to re-crush after 30-something years!? I'M PLAYING RE-ANIMATOR WITH DEAD MEMORIES!? Keeping in line with my first allegory, I hit up the Pet Sematary and we all know how that pans out.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">For about an hour afterwards I just felt odd, misplaced, and I guess jarred into that feeling of being one step further all up in the face of mortality. Actually, it's six hours later now and I'm still a bit shook. As to why, though, I can't pin down.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Actually, yeah, I can. That's exactly it: she <i>aged</i>, and accomplished a lot so far in her life. Whereas I'm still a kid in my head, and have done <i>nothing</i>. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">What was I expecting, huh? A taller, slightly-more-mature version of That Girl with maybe a little grey in the same Jr.-high-styled hair? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">35+ years monstrously climbed outta the cellar of memories and kicked a reality-check in place of the old, fuzzy mental photograph I have of a person I had mentality-changing feelings about. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now I'm sitting here just blanketing my cold soul in some old comfort and feelings I haven't gotten cozy with in a long while, but it's mildewy and strange so away it goes. Eventually I guess. This is so weird. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">I hauled an emotional corpse out of its grave and am paying a toll for the effort. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">A small part of this is also probably because I haven't physically changed much since school. I weigh the same and my (albeit thinning) hair is only starting to sprout silver. And I still think and act like I'm 20. Hell, two years ago I got back on a skateboard after a double-decade absence and I'm ripping way harder than I ever used to. Maybe I lack a time-filter? Dude with the scythe is starting to walk faster behind me, and I'm tripping on his shadow in the lamplight while daydreaming about the past. Uh-oh. I <i>guess</i> I'll sort it all out? Someday?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">But until that miracle happens, I still love all the music that I was ever into, including punk and The Who (a band I got heavily acquainted with way back in the time-frame that the above loveawkwardness happened), two musical entities mashed up in this year's (haw) entry. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">This is <b>Dumbrock Vol.5: Tommy in Seven Minutes </b>- a tribute of a sort, I guess, to that classic Who album on one side, and the other with four versions of The Beatles' "You Know My Name (Look Up the Number)". Released in 1994 on clear vinyl (my version at least) with twelve very varied bands taking on the rock opera with jubilant abandon, all of whom you can see on the jacket-scans below;</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz0aGkIRFGTcHG8T_CB1fwZMRqx8jNjd11mJfHnFuoNhswJK8IbslHQdaoccVM9AvTyykqOjFv7mlz-riI8W7r2WaDDgAS_2MJUll37t9J_nE0pKW6dxmzhvj-mF1HKhpEtWxHyIw_gg4/s600/R-774956-1161004527.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz0aGkIRFGTcHG8T_CB1fwZMRqx8jNjd11mJfHnFuoNhswJK8IbslHQdaoccVM9AvTyykqOjFv7mlz-riI8W7r2WaDDgAS_2MJUll37t9J_nE0pKW6dxmzhvj-mF1HKhpEtWxHyIw_gg4/s320/R-774956-1161004527.jpeg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2TkSwqK_DMu7IFYVhj2OVxvR8jeWeNeU0gczpwLMnzNIIR0ljmh1jmrKc2wuHt_W3s_cdbwhoSb7wY9jpJdLPFc5MDzFgoAZV5svlZtJs4kKvuY_whVHIOexh0VmtWal8CeWO8a37ajw/s600/R-774956-1161004577.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2TkSwqK_DMu7IFYVhj2OVxvR8jeWeNeU0gczpwLMnzNIIR0ljmh1jmrKc2wuHt_W3s_cdbwhoSb7wY9jpJdLPFc5MDzFgoAZV5svlZtJs4kKvuY_whVHIOexh0VmtWal8CeWO8a37ajw/s320/R-774956-1161004577.jpeg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>The Beatles-side I can take or leave, really, but I'm all-in for the main feature. Even in '94 I only knew 5-6 of these bands, which makes sense I guess as musically this thing's all over the place. It's so much fun I kinda wish a full album could've been done, but it seems seven minutes is a perfect length. As for any other release under the Dumbrock flag, I can't find </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">anything</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> And as for That Girl, I wish you an amazing life. I'm going to forget you again and try to stop running in a worn circle. </span><p></p><p><span style="color: lime; font-size: x-large;">Download here: </span></p><p><span style="color: lime;"><a href="https://www.mediafire.com/folder/taggysx16w85d/Tommyi7m" target="_blank">TI7MYKMNLUTN</a> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">(Oh and it looks like I'm back, at least for a little while. I also have these files in .flac if anyone deems them worthy of an upgrade. And I'm still unsure about the new background pic I'm using)</span></p>Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-9248741202375142662019-10-12T22:27:00.002-07:002019-10-13T20:12:49.741-07:00Hey!Just a rough spell. I have some stuff lined up. Before 2050 at least. An LP of Ernest Hemingway talking about things? You got it. Life gets in the way sometimes. Or most of the time. Edit: After editing some posts to fix some obvious drink-addled syntax, I realize how much I miss writing this stuff. Hopefully the next apartment I rent will be stress-free and I can concentrate on everything I want to do.<br />
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Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-52119682285363474632015-12-13T18:55:00.005-08:002021-05-06T20:51:27.799-07:00Personal Angst and Re-upping Files! Also, they're all back up!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span id="goog_1116047595"></span><span id="goog_1116047596"></span>Well, I was recently alerted that some files were no longer accessible for download and came on to re-up them, but it seems that my host, "ADrive", is going all-pay as of 2016, right on Jan. 1st! I'm not the most well-paid person, or even the brightest thing when it comes to finances, so a subscription to some file-thingie-whatever site is beyond me. However, MediaFire seems to still be free, so I'll re-load everything up there, hopefully soon. I know! When something's unavailable that I totally want on some blog, I can't help but go on a rampage while screaming, "WHY CAN'T THEY JUST TAKE 20 MINUTES TO blah blah something", I forget what I scream since I pass out from all the blood raging through my head, and then I'm sad. My present woes are legitimate, though; recently evicted and having just moved into the new, much smaller place with the adventurous discovery of a few cockroaches and my cat not eating/drinking, throwing up bile and losing weight from the stress of unfamiliarity has my concerns focused regrettably elsewhere. So all I can say is, bookmark this thing (or get notices? does this do that?) and hopefully my little cat will get acclimated soon, I'll be free of all these damn boxes laying around and I can get all this forgotten strangeness to the deserving parties again. And I have a few new things I ripped months ago that got sidelined need to see the light. </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">(I guess telling us in school that - once out of school - the only times that we <i>wouldn't</i> be filled with stress would be when we were either drunk or sleeping</span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> was thought of as a bad idea) Cheers and thanks for being here. </span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">(PS - no, sorry<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">;</span> I don't have the pictured 45 available, it's merely a visual aid interpreting my melancholy) </span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">(EDIT:<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Everything has been re-upped! Enjoy!)</span></span></div>
Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-43969397299906991112014-10-31T18:40:00.004-07:002021-05-12T09:55:27.061-07:00Obviously Halloween<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, okay, it's been a while, because I had three different albums lined up to post and they all looked promising, but like ten minutes into the first sides I caught myself staring at the turntable with that sadness that puppies have when you tell them that you're actually a cat-person and they have to leave. Many, many times albums that aesthetically seem ridiculously awesome turn out to actually devour both your time AND expectations in an aural frenzy of really boring shit.</div>
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One of these was <b>Woody Woodbury</b>'s "<i>First Annual Message from the President of the Booze Is the Only Answer Club</i>" from 1960. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-WgWCEdUhqwPV0p-Q_MM82OEDNtKtjL-wno8OyfJrESoMYp3VvtqYzT4gInALrVrh9uubZVKKsZFYw20bcUIk3Ltgp_euCsGyI40gA9Gqaqa9kq6QOETYsUOjgV46Vr1zdQ1oJ5y1caA/s1600/woody+BITOA+club.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-WgWCEdUhqwPV0p-Q_MM82OEDNtKtjL-wno8OyfJrESoMYp3VvtqYzT4gInALrVrh9uubZVKKsZFYw20bcUIk3Ltgp_euCsGyI40gA9Gqaqa9kq6QOETYsUOjgV46Vr1zdQ1oJ5y1caA/s1600/woody+BITOA+club.jpg" width="318" /></a></div>
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Woody was or maybe even still is a comedian who specialized in drinking-humor - not to be confused with those comedians whose routine was playing drunk while doing their act - which is basically telling an audience of drinkers that drinking is just great, so I feel the routine is a little limited. The album here is made up of a live recording in Florida where Woodbury pretty much just wanders the crowd asking rather tame questions and hopes for the drunks to fill in for the laughs. It's failing hard on my ears but I dunno; different types of humor are for the most part only funny in the era they came from, excluding the very talented work. </div>
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A shame, as the LP comes in an amazing package; a shiny gold gatefold-box holds everything, including a small catalogue that features other albums on the label, a newsletter, and a little 130-page paperback full of jokes and "witticisms", set into a separator that sits above the vinyl. I's love to know the stat's for this - what the production cost was and how well it sold, if there was a profit made, etc. </div>
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Hmmm. Okay, just did a quick Wikipedia visit and went to WW's official website, and it's pretty fascinating! <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/129611920@N08/sets/72157649581401690/">Click here to check the gallery section out!</a> Might have to do a piece on the guy after all!</div>
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And the otheralbums I may mention in the next posts, but right now I'll do the obviousest thing and put up a goddamn Halloween sound-effects LP. (Seriously, I just ran out of Halloween-themed stuff, and while I'd <i>love</i> to post some old Misfits, it's just too done to death by others)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyhzGCuJpUVsQn7nX9g1niZ_xk-Co-JvtfmAa3LNz34-GDxjplwoc2fXllMuD8e2JYprS0xXhPCKP0apiP2BccogE0ep5q2qfnHxyXHdSTR7VGeR5_Zpa6fi5i84VfxVacX_qiXYP71pA/s1600/shiver.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyhzGCuJpUVsQn7nX9g1niZ_xk-Co-JvtfmAa3LNz34-GDxjplwoc2fXllMuD8e2JYprS0xXhPCKP0apiP2BccogE0ep5q2qfnHxyXHdSTR7VGeR5_Zpa6fi5i84VfxVacX_qiXYP71pA/s1600/shiver.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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So this is "<i>Sounds to Make You Shiver!</i>" on kid's label Pickwick. Good and weird cover-art. Cheap-ass effects. <br />
Side 1 is "A Night in a Haunted House", and you'll realize a few minutes in that the owners should really close the windows - the wind blowing through the place in insane. It's actually not a bad listen, and the mish-mash of everything is so non-linear it can really get your imagination running around wondering what the exact hell is happening.<br />
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The second side is shorter chops of separate effects, many you'll recognize from the first side. The "Cats" and "Dogs" tracks, well, they're human-made cat and dog noises. Ask your friend to meow and it'll pretty much be better than this, but nowhere near as spooky, I guess. <b>Back-cover!!:</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV9X__LScvggKtYeW2O0zmMTSLsDpQfI-IMdKHnlqGZmTjOS5DU7QU49oYI-uwgs6Vhv62AOZ9qgFfQ3ok7NAWnnLbmiB-xhT0MCjMYnpYK8tmhvu1ZwmyIJPYw5YRBZu53epAyLzs184/s1600/20141031_174126.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV9X__LScvggKtYeW2O0zmMTSLsDpQfI-IMdKHnlqGZmTjOS5DU7QU49oYI-uwgs6Vhv62AOZ9qgFfQ3ok7NAWnnLbmiB-xhT0MCjMYnpYK8tmhvu1ZwmyIJPYw5YRBZu53epAyLzs184/s1600/20141031_174126.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: lime;"><b>Download: </b></span></span>
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<a href="http://www.mediafire.com/listen/m4hlhthhq18q24x/haunted_one.mp3" target="_blank">A Night in a Haunted House</a><br />
<a href="http://www.mediafire.com/listen/gdvs18ffcdrvytr/haunted_two.mp3" target="_blank">Blood-trembling, skin-curdling effects </a>Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-60125479147224984132014-10-13T17:08:00.004-07:002021-06-01T23:51:53.607-07:00100% Undiluted<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiKYaU0NhJ-9iPJZ8oGfcwvELhffw5pLzmEP4q3bl7ldQO0cR5Dl0aOQyFBxLz4idDL82cXwiRTrmJQ3X8vmMXCav7wieEmEPIhOyhuH_d9ZBDpahlEQCP_3OCwDrHLymyEKD-8wZrjxE/s1600/lescon-LP-front+cover-625x625.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiKYaU0NhJ-9iPJZ8oGfcwvELhffw5pLzmEP4q3bl7ldQO0cR5Dl0aOQyFBxLz4idDL82cXwiRTrmJQ3X8vmMXCav7wieEmEPIhOyhuH_d9ZBDpahlEQCP_3OCwDrHLymyEKD-8wZrjxE/s1600/lescon-LP-front+cover-625x625.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Pretty much a staple on "weird album cover" sites, this simple but striking LP art catches most off-guard and produces at least a few laughs caused most likely by unclear or confused connotations; for one - "lesbian concentrate", which conjures up all sorts of impressions. Two - ...well, no, I think that finishes it. </div>
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It is, of course, a visual spin on a can of Minute Maid frozen concentrate orange juice, with some condensation rippling the bottom and oranges on the side made into the "Venus" symbol, BUT WHAT THE HELL DOES ORANGE JUICE HAVE TO DO WITH LESBIANS!? I hear you profanity-laced-screaming at your monitor (the walls are thin in this building)(hey, Greg.). After all, something you're not familiar with can be pretty damn funny.</div>
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When I was younger, my hetero-male and media-fed imagination only brought up two dissimilar forms of imagery when the L-word was ever passed through my ear canals and those of course were A) boyish creatures with shag haircuts that hated men with such hate and B) super-hot porn-action!! and as time wore on I learned that the media likes high-contrast stereotypes for whatever evil reasons and most lesbians are neither seething cauldrons of rage bent on castration-sprees nor walking XXX-DVD covers, which was a great relief as I just can't handle either of those types of people. And I'd later become good friends with several lesbian couples and have dinners and movie-nights and stuff.</div>
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Another thing I did when I was younger was listen to the <a href="https://rateyourmusic.com/artist/dead_kennedys" target="_blank"><i>Dead Kennedys</i></a>, which was awesome. And somewhere in the seemingly mountainous reams of information (translated into punkese via hardcore rhythms, scathing satire-rage lyrics and dada-esque photo-collages) contained in the DK's magazine-size inserts and booklets in the albums there was a picture of Hollywood screen-star and songstress <a href="http://mantismusic.us/images/AC/29545/IMG_3881.JPG" target="_blank">Anita Bryant</a>. <a href="http://stumptownblogger.typepad.com/.a/6a010536b86d36970c01538fd5e4be970b-800wi" target="_blank">Covered in pie.</a> </div>
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Deciding that if it was worth Jello Biafra's derision, I had to know more. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>
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During the '60s, Anita sang her way through music charts, sorta like a female Pat Boone (or vice versa) with innocuous pop tunes and some country stuff and religious things. 1969, she becomes the spokeswoman for the Florida Citrus Commission. She also gets more religiousafied, in that bad way that makes some of them filter their 'discomfort' with gayness through like two misinterpreted lines out of a 12,000,000-line book, and started to proudly denounce a good chunk of humanity as 'less-than'.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>
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So that wasn't good. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Some people have problems with other people, and that's fine. When those problems are based on misinformation and fear, then we move out of the 'fine' area, and when someone has a modicum of authority/fame and uses that to impart their imaginary moral high-ground to the masses, then someone named Tom Higgins just might smash your face with a banana-cream pie.<br />
Boycott-time, and the LGBT community hit the OJ market hard, gaining huge support through celebrities like Barbra Streisand and from the beginning of all this there came out this album from the national women's recording label (<b>Olivia) </b>with a plain white cover and a mocking can of orange juice as one more slap in Anita's face.<br />
So there you have it! I sort of get an anti-climactic feeling now after knowing the context of the cover art, though; kind of deflates the WTF-ness and wonder of it all, but makes up for it twice over in historical context.<br />
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Musically, I was wrong about this album; I owned it for years with only a smattering of chords from each track listened to when first getting it and then somewhere down the line I mentally mixed it up with one of the other lesbian LPs I have and thought it was all bad folk-music (a lot of bad folk came out in 70's DIY). Until I recently - wait, yeah - today, tried ripping it to the PC and found out it's pretty cool. Some funk, some folk, some spoken word, most of the lyrics are awesome and the first track, "Don't Pray for Me" being a scathing rebuttal/attack on Mme. Bryant ("Stop quoting scriptures out of context, to stir up feelings of bigotry!"), followed by the track "Nina" which I thought was about <a href="https://rateyourmusic.com/artist/nina_simone" target="_blank">Nina Simone</a>, who as it turns out was not exactly a supporter of all that is gay, but nope. That track is performed by Meg Christian, who I also happen to have an album by and is also the very first LP that the Olivia label put out in '74. Amazing voice. <br />
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So there ya go: a seemingly-silly album jacket with some very strong stuff underneath that was a lending hand in the LGBT equality movement. Like I said, I tried to rip my copy, but it turns out it's pretty trashed with skips & everything, so I grabbed a copy from the Internet Archive and it includes the front & back covers as well as liner notes and inserts. Check it out, very worth it! And <a href="http://queermusicheritage.com/olivia-lescon.html" target="_blank">here's a page</a> that has the covers and inserts and lyrics (included in the dl below).<br />
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<b><span style="color: orange;">Track list:</span></b><br />
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<div class="tracklist_line" itemprop="track" itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/MusicRecording" style="width: 100%;">
<span class="tracklist_num">
A1
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<span class="tracklist_title"><span itemprop="name"><a class="artist" href="https://rateyourmusic.com/artist/linda_tillery" title="[Artist50574]">Linda Tillery</a> - Don't Pray for Me</span><span class="tracklist_duration" content="PT0M00S" data-inseconds="0" itemprop="duration">
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<div class="tracklist_line" itemprop="track" itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/MusicRecording" style="width: 100%;">
<span class="tracklist_num">
A2
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<span class="tracklist_title"><span itemprop="name"><a class="artist" href="https://rateyourmusic.com/artist/meg_christian" title="[Artist43042]">Meg Christian</a> - Nina</span><span class="tracklist_duration" content="PT0M00S" data-inseconds="0" itemprop="duration">
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<div class="tracklist_line" itemprop="track" itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/MusicRecording" style="width: 100%;">
<span class="tracklist_num">
A3
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<span class="tracklist_title"><span itemprop="name"><a class="artist" href="https://rateyourmusic.com/artist/teresa_trull" title="[Artist21873]">Teresa Trull</a> - Prove It on Me Blues</span><span class="tracklist_duration" content="PT0M00S" data-inseconds="0" itemprop="duration">
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<div class="tracklist_line" itemprop="track" itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/MusicRecording" style="width: 100%;">
<span class="tracklist_num">
A4
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<span class="tracklist_title"><span itemprop="name"><a class="artist" href="https://rateyourmusic.com/artist/cris_williamson" title="[Artist17801]">Cris Williamson</a> - Sweet Woman</span><span class="tracklist_duration" content="PT0M00S" data-inseconds="0" itemprop="duration">
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<div class="tracklist_line" itemprop="track" itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/MusicRecording" style="width: 100%;">
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A5
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<span class="tracklist_title"><span itemprop="name">Judy Grahn - A History of Lesbianism</span><span class="tracklist_duration" content="PT0M00S" data-inseconds="0" itemprop="duration">
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A6
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<span class="tracklist_title"><span itemprop="name"><a class="artist" href="https://rateyourmusic.com/artist/berkeley_womens_music_collective" title="[Artist208297]">Berkeley Women's Music Collective</a> - Gay and Proud</span><span class="tracklist_duration" content="PT0M00S" data-inseconds="0" itemprop="duration">
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<div class="tracklist_line" itemprop="track" itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/MusicRecording" style="width: 100%;">
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A7
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<span class="tracklist_title"><span itemprop="name"><a class="artist" href="https://rateyourmusic.com/artist/sue_fink" title="[Artist17862]">Sue Fink</a> - Leaping Lesbians</span><span class="tracklist_duration" content="PT0M00S" data-inseconds="0" itemprop="duration">
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<div class="tracklist_line" itemprop="track" itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/MusicRecording" style="width: 100%;">
<span class="tracklist_num">
B1
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<span class="tracklist_title"><span itemprop="name"><a class="artist" href="https://rateyourmusic.com/artist/gwen_avery" title="[Artist324927]">Gwen Avery</a> - Sugar Mama</span><span class="tracklist_duration" content="PT0M00S" data-inseconds="0" itemprop="duration">
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<div class="tracklist_line" itemprop="track" itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/MusicRecording" style="width: 100%;">
<span class="tracklist_num">
B2
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<span class="tracklist_title"><span itemprop="name">BeBe K'Roche - Kahlua Mama</span><span class="tracklist_duration" content="PT0M00S" data-inseconds="0" itemprop="duration">
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B3
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<span class="tracklist_title"><span itemprop="name"><a class="artist" href="https://rateyourmusic.com/artist/mary_watkins" title="[Artist65501]">Mary Watkins</a> - No Hiding Place</span><span class="tracklist_duration" content="PT0M00S" data-inseconds="0" itemprop="duration">
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<div class="tracklist_line" itemprop="track" itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/MusicRecording" style="width: 100%;">
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B4
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<span class="tracklist_title"><span itemprop="name">Pat Parker - For Straight Folks...</span><span class="tracklist_duration" content="PT0M00S" data-inseconds="0" itemprop="duration">
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<span class="tracklist_title"><span itemprop="name"><a class="artist" href="https://rateyourmusic.com/artist/meg_christian" title="[Artist43042]">Meg Christian</a> - Ode to a Gym Teacher</span><span class="tracklist_duration" content="PT0M00S" data-inseconds="0" itemprop="duration">
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B6
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<span class="tracklist_title"><span itemprop="name"><a class="artist" href="https://rateyourmusic.com/artist/teresa_trull" title="[Artist21873]">Teresa Trull</a> - Woman-Loving Women</span><span class="tracklist_duration" content="PT0M00S" data-inseconds="0" itemprop="duration">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: lime;"><b>Download: </b></span></span><br />
<a href="https://www.mediafire.com/?ko10qaxhp98nzrx" target="_blank">Juice!</a> (contains image-files of front and back covers, liner notes and inserts)Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-11820935680999691282014-10-12T20:23:00.005-07:002021-06-02T16:33:22.421-07:00Bat Pie; The Crown City Four - Sing a Song of Sickness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I first saw the cover to this like 12-15 years ago on some "weird LP art" site and it always freaked me out a bit with it's Charles Addams-like illustration of a couple of creepy beatnik-types gazing lovingly over a giant pie as a small colony of bats erupt from the pastry into the evil-scientist-like lab settings.<br />
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Add to this the title of "Sing a Song of Sickness" and I totally needed to find this and see what the hell was up. It HAD to be disturbing; how could you look at this cover and <i>not</i> be intrigued? So many questions: what are their intentions? Why is the pie crust seemingly liquid? Why is the boy gnawing on the table? Is this some sort of visual allegory for a joke common in the early sixties? What the fuck? <br />
Well - many, many years later and I found it somewhere. I can't remember where I lucked out on this sort-of-rarity, but I probably got a vinyl-geek hard-on and had to walk away from the wherever-it-was slightly bent over. <br />
When I flipped it and looked at the back cover my expectations faltered a bit on seeing a caricature of four clean-cut smiling lads' heads caught in a swirl of musical notes, and their group name going by The Crown City Four. I was enough of a record-nerd by this point that these two signifiers would bring me to an album of barbershop-quartet music. But I had hope.<br />
<br />
Nope... hope's dashed; it's barbershop-quartet music.<br />
I don't have enough hyperbole or adjectives or adjectival hyperbole (aside: when I was a kid, I thought for years that this was pronounced "hyper-bowl", and that's the most interesting fact in the entire world) in my system to convey my pure dismissal of this form of music.<br />
BUT! with song titles like <i>Watch World War Three (on Pay TV)</i> and <i>The Annual Get-Together of the KKK and the NAACP</i>, this had to have some merit, and yeah okay it does. <br />
<br />
In case you're unfamiliar with what the hell barbershop quartet music is, it's quite obviously four guys singing. And they have a closely dynamic harmonic range, baritone to tenor, or however deep-to-high voices are done up (no castratos here), and it's usually acapella but these boys have the instruments going sometimes. And not just boys. Two tracks have a female solo vocalist, the funnier track being <i>I Saw Adolph Today</i>, the tale of a woman seeing the nefarious dictator working behind the counter of a Jewish deli after falling on hard times. Yes, it's all pretty much black humor dressed up in wholesome-sounding b-shop-q flavors, and it works for the most part, especially if you know what the hell they're singing about. <br />
<br />
Dated from the early-1960's, these guys had a previous album out on the PIP label entitled <i>Smash Flops</i> and it looks as if it had the same amount of Robert Colbert-like satire as this one does. Here's a portion of the back cover, go ahead and click the thing.<br />
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<div><br /></div><div>And as far as the title is concerned, the term "sick" had a small hold on the American vernacular for a minute - books like Jules Feiffer's "SICK SICK SICK" from '58 and Lenny Bruce's "The Sick Humor of Lenny Bruce" from '59 being examples. I'm not <i>exactly</i> sure of the context, but I don't think it's the same as today's usage where it means really, really keen.</div><br />
<span style="color: orange;"><b>Track listing:</b></span><br />
<br />
A1 Watch World War III (On Pay TV) 2:14<br />
A2 Fill Out The Policies, Mother 2:06<br />
A3 The Annual Get-Together (Of The KKK And The NAACP) 1:38<br />
A4 Guillotine Days 3:05<br />
A5 Fifty Million Commies Can't Be Wrong 1:43<br />
A6 That Big Sporting House In The Sky 2:59<br />
B1 It's Fun To Be Hazed 1:56<br />
B2 Oh What We Grow (In Old Mexico) 3:02<br />
B3 Send The Girls Over There 1:48<br />
B4 I Saw Adolph Today 1:53<br />
B5 The Richer They Are (The Slower I Cure Them) 2:21<br />
B6 Leave The Slums Alone<br />
<br />
<span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-size: large;">Download here:</span></span><br />
<a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download/b2le6bmykf04bym/CC4_SASOS.zip">SICKNESS</a><br />
<br />
(PS - Went through all previous entries and added track listings where needed. No idea why this never occurred to me before. No - I'm not OCD with typing tracks out and measuring the times; they're merely copy-pasted from music-sites. Also added nice green "download here" prompts.) Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-31246683353103129282014-10-09T19:37:00.006-07:002021-06-01T21:18:01.707-07:00Seduction Through Witchcraft (and your pet turtle)<div style="text-align: justify;">
Unrequited love is like being buried alive in a heart-shaped coffin.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
YES I'm going through this AGAIN so I'm gonna bleed here for a bit and I just hope it's not too cringe-inducing for those happy souls entwined in the blissful embrace of some form of relationship <strike>that isn't sour yet</strike> that is more awesome than anything and certainly better than this chicken & capellini in homemade sauce made from the tears of the clearly unwanted and dined on alone in an empty apartment that mocks my existence with hollow echoes of utter, utter solitude.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Haha - just kidding. I have a cat, it's not that empty (the mocking continues, however).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Months of correspondence with someone who is an 80% match with my twisted soul and I was reading her all wrong so big deal, it's my fault for wishing too much and JESUS when that oxytocin starts pumping through your system like nitro in a dragster's fuel lines (see last entry) the mind goes completely batshit with infatuation-fantasies and damn I feel stupid now. But not really, because it's all very human and we all go through it and blah blah blah and honestly I've done this so many times in my life I actually have a planned schedule on how to survive the bombed-emotions process in a complicated chart that helps immeasurably. Okay, it's actually a big photo of a bottle of Jack Daniels. Same thing.</div>
<br />
I'VE WRITTEN A POEM ABOUT IT ! READ IT NOW ! <br />
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><b><span style="background: transparent;">soliloquy
into a dead phone</span></b></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><span style="background: transparent;">I
want to experience life with you;</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><span style="background: transparent;">drink
beer with you,</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><span style="background: transparent;">walk
down terrible alleys in the rain with your hand in mine,</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><span style="background: transparent;">hear
you sneeze from another room,</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><span style="background: transparent;">miss
you when you're out,</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><span style="background: transparent;">wonder
about a look you gave me the other day,</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><span style="background: transparent;">ride
in a cab with you,</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><span style="background: transparent;">fall
asleep with you in a booth in the Ovaltine Cafe</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><span style="background: transparent;"><span> </span>only to be shaken awake by an aggravated waitress.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><span style="background: transparent;">hold
your hair back as you vomit in the toilet.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><span style="background: transparent;">place
a surprised smile of yours in the palm of eternity</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><span style="background: transparent;">and smell
cigarette smoke in your hair.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><span style="background: transparent;">I want to bring
you tea when you're sick in bed (with a spike of whiskey obviously),</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><span style="background: transparent;">see
you cry to know you're human and be shaken to the core by it,</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><span style="background: transparent;">and feel
your heartbeat with my ear to your breast.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><span style="background: transparent;">I want to taste
something you've made, seen something you've created, be a part of your
history</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><span style="background: transparent;"> and</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><span style="background: transparent;">crumble
to dust in our old age together knowing this hasn't all</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><span style="background: transparent;"> been
some sort of mistake.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span face=""tahoma" , sans-serif"><span style="background: transparent;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Now was that so bad?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I haven't given up hope, though, and thankfully before passing out hideously drunk and naked halfway through my door into the hallway of the lobby last night I dug this thing out of my collection and prepared to woo her back through falsitudes and Satan, probably. Apparently I still need a special type of beetle and a live turtle though so maybe I'll do it next week.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And, yes, of course I'm kidding; if I can't win over the Morticia to my Gomez, the Connie to my Dee Dee Ramone, the Poison Ivy to my Lux Interior, the Mallory to my Mickey purely with my wit and charm then I'll just OH GOD I'M GOING TO DIE ALONE! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So here we have something that has seen other music blogs before but so what it's awesome. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7vUygjPTp-W7D7g4hLv4nNIJdXg1_X9ddmK27w8xmYsO-TDDB2XabKzHesthRwnycIAEOQ-ISX5fpV0w42int0Zz9T9jPl00_AEEDgy8W4c-ZR3uP8RwwHnVyiqNRMDX39ZMSGwRW3p0/s1600/louise.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7vUygjPTp-W7D7g4hLv4nNIJdXg1_X9ddmK27w8xmYsO-TDDB2XabKzHesthRwnycIAEOQ-ISX5fpV0w42int0Zz9T9jPl00_AEEDgy8W4c-ZR3uP8RwwHnVyiqNRMDX39ZMSGwRW3p0/s1600/louise.JPG" width="395" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Keep in mind that the last of the sixties into the mid-seventies was rife with activities and such that you'd be arrested for (probably) today; morally, the USA was like Weimar Berlin in this 5-to-6 year period, but way tackier and culturally-benign in comparison. Butterfly-collared Sammy Davis Jr. and Jayne Mansfield partying down with Anton LaVey? C'mon.<br />
Recorded in 1969 by the world's only "Officially Appointed Official Witch" (it's true), this gem of echoey weirdness will ensure you get some form of love from somebody somewhere - perhaps in an orgy - if you do the exact steps necessary for what it is you're looking for. If that sounds vague, take a look at the tracks on the album;</div>
<br />
<br />
The Self Fascination Ritual for Increased Power<br />
The Isis Full Moon Ring for Magical Protection<br />
The Demon Spell for Energy <br />
Orgies: A Tool of Witchcraft <br />
Sun Sign Amulets for Spiritual Protection <br />
The Coleopterous Charm for Romantic Adventure <br />
The Turkish Bean Spell for Tender Love <br />
Seduction Spells From Around the World <br />
The Emotional Bondage Spell <br />
The Earthquake Spell for Unwanted Lovers <br />
Witches and Wizzards <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yeah and there's no way in hell you're not listening to this. And play on some windy half-drunk night preferably inside a pentagram (which historically is NOT 'satanic' so there) with wild animals scampering about and for christ's sake buy a cloak already. </div>
<br />
<span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-size: large;">Download here:</span></span><br />
<a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download/5f88f8e0w6aa1rj/Louise_Huebner_-_Seduction_Through_Witchcraft.zip">Seduction Through Witchcraft </a><br />
<br />
(There's click/hiss in the first few tracks, but removed thereafter)<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mentorhuebnerart.com/witchstuff/officialwitch.shtml" target="_blank">And check out her site!</a> (Looks like it hasn't been updated since '03)<br />
<br />
I'm off to sob uncontrollably and/or watch American Horror Story. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-6205672584669659052014-10-08T19:31:00.014-07:002021-07-01T17:34:17.500-07:00Burning rubber<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was just going to plop one of my poems in here in an act of obtuse laziness but since I haven't posted anything in a few days (days, year - same thing) I'd feel guilty, and I feel guilt... well, ridiculously easy. I was going to put a metaphor in there but the only two words that came to me right away were moth and butter and I couldn't negotiate the term 'guilt' with them properly without feeling inept and somewhat aroused.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Anyways, I strongly feel that the human race is 90% wrong at least half of the time, which mathematically equates to us fucking everything up anywhere from 110% to 240% of every waking moment, globally. Some people screw things around so magnificently that they double up the worldwide awkwardness for the rest of us and take up the slack for the unnaturally perfect who never do anything for the greater good.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We live in a constant state of TV-inebriation and advertisement-sanitization scrubbing our reality away (TEETH ARE SUPPOSED TO BE A LIGHT YELLOW! BREATH ISN'T NATURALLY MINTY! TOENAILS ARE... okay, cut the toenails) with no view outside of our homes untainted by some bipedal perversion of reality selling us purple Windex or Fresh-Alps-Sun-Dried-Laundry Febreze or manly steel-grey-colored razors/feminine pink-lavender-colored razors. Sure, graffiti is a crime, but that empty public space where art could be is taken up by some unattainable physique chewing Mentos because $ > society. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Photoshopped-perfection wildfire-brandishes your cityscape, blazing a spotlight on that mole on your cheek, focusing a camera on your incorrect nose, and introduces your receding hairline to everyone around you like a guest of honor at a surprise party. They don't make nice clothes for the plus-size members of our population, so go buy some sweatpants and a baggy top to highlight your ostracization, fatty. Oh, and everyone? Make sure you feel bad and anxious all the time, too.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">One bus-stop ad makes you unsure of yourself and anxiety-amped, the next one sells you an anti-depressant. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But there I go again, grabbing my highly-decorated and quite obvious rant-flag to scream down the highway like I expect to be noticed, or like I <i>don't</i> think most people already know this but put zero effort into changing it because bills/rent/food/family/time/how-the-hell-do-I-<i>do</i>-that?/etc.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So like yeah.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This isn't about us being wrong because some cock-bag (hold it, hold it, hold it... wait - why is human genitalia [and sexuality, and products-relating-to: c*nt, d*ck, dildo etc] often or always deferred to when needing an insult? <i> They're the best parts of the human body</i> - I mean, have you ever even touched some genitals? It's <i>so</i> much better than touching your eyeball or the black stuff under the fridge - so some questions about all this double-standardness arise) sits at a desk and thinks of ways to make all of us feel like shit because the new Crystal-Lite watermelon/goji-berry elixer didn't take off as expected, but about how we're so unconsciously trained by that shaved-body Adonis in Buffalo jeans shoving a bulge at us from the bus shelter at six A.M. before work to be uncomfortable in our own entities that not only our whole day is slaughtered in thinking, "that woman over there couldn't possibly think I'm attractive - I HAVE A NORMAL BODY.", but our lives are somewhat controlled to an extent as well.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
(Wait. Did I just contradict myself about how this isn't about that but then it totally is? <i>Good</i>.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Our eyeballs can't really escape "flawless" people, as they invade our vision non-stop wherever we go and it only ends when we look in a mirror in order to find natural things to unnaturally fix, and then in our friend's or co-worker's faces and think "geez, a little effort?" and it's all just horrible. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">And it's been going on for so long now that it's like some shitty "1984"-like auto-medication taken on a daily basis to ensure a populace so self-aware that entire industries from the ones pandering to depression and anxiety to Lululemon survive on it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We're all wrong in this together; we fart and get caught picking our noses, vomit when it's least appreciated by ourselves and others, have unconcealable rashes on freshly-shaved/waxed, um, areas, and have unmakeupped-faces dribbling mucous while suffering a cold in front of someone we find desirable, so you're a human and start getting re-used to that. Remember when you were a little kid and it was all about being a free human? Find that again. I'm sure you can look past that pimple on their forehead; I believe in you. Fight the system. You're already fighting it by reading this, and you've won if I've made you think. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Now here's something that has surprisingly little to do with that tower of words above, so put all that crap aside because we're heading back to 1964 to burn rubber and inhale some CO.</div>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Nowadays things like this just make no damn sense, but drag racing was big in the 1960's. Really big. Car magazines, car-humor magazines, toys, model kits and sound-effects-albums like this beautiful thing existed in abundance. Seriously. And I'm not bashing that, either. Please bring all this back, somebody.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Echoing announcers giving indecipherable play-by-play; revving engines; squealing tires; crowds cheering. And an ambulance.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Sometimes I can just <i>really</i> go for massive burnouts with the bass up and the scared neighbors, and this does the trick. I actually have two copies of this: the stereo one pictured, and a mono version. No, I don't have that ability to tell the difference between mono/stereo unless the piano or feet or whatever is 'moving' from one speaker over to the next, it's just that the mono-version record is a gatefold with color photos and extra stuff in the packaging, so I'm a geek in an aesthetic rather than aural way.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And I'm very cynical in thinking anyone can tell the difference between engine-noises, so I didn't split any tracks up, settling for giving the two sides their places. So, sorry. But here's the track list if you care to do it yourself:</div>
<br />
<table class="color_bar" style="font-size: 1px; height: 1px; padding: 0px; width: 100%; xborder: 1px #8c929e solid;"><tbody>
<tr style="height: 1px; padding: 0px;"></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul class="tracks tracklisting" id="tracks"></ul>
A1 Super Stock Eliminations (Stick Shift)<br />
A2 Super Stock Eliminations (Automatic Shift)<br />
A3 Dragster Eliminations<br />
A4 Mr. Stock Eliminator of 1964<br />
A5 AA/Street Roadster Eliminator<br />
A6 Top Fuel Eliminator<br />
A7 Top Gasoline Eliminator<br />
B1 The Sounds at the Finish Line<br />
B2 Blower Blowing Up On Dragster + Ambulance<br />
B3 A Two Engine Dragster, "The Freight Train"<br />
B4 The Sound of Shifting<br />
B5 "Troubles" at Starting Line<br />
B6 Stock Cars Lined Up Behind Ready Line<br />
B7 Dragsters Time Trials<br />
B8 Roadsters Time Trials<br />
<br />
<span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-size: large;">Download here:</span></span><br />
<a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download/kdewb86d4vzhwe6/Incredible_Sights_and_Sounds_of_the_Winternationals_1964_Championship_Drag_Races.zip">vroooooom</a><br />
<br />Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-73818636510528300302013-06-08T11:33:00.002-07:002021-05-12T09:45:34.081-07:00How many c***'s could a c***-s***er s*** if a c***-s***er could s*** c***s?<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">When you're young and innocent and unaware yet of your own unique personality, you do things, say things, live things (?) without fear of consequence because you inherently just KNOW that everyone is like you: NOT like you, to an extent. Meaning, like you in that every individual is exactly that.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">For example: in early elementary school (or all of elementary school), there was "Show & Tell". You bring something to school, like a flower, or a picture of your mom, or a Barbie doll, or your new Knight Rider lunchbox with David Hasellbach's face on the thermos-thing, or you just point at your shoes, and then tell something about the whatever.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">So in Grade 4 I brought in my working miniature <a href="http://www.zomboscloset.com/zombos_closet_of_horror_b/2011/01/monsterskids-the-guillotine.html">model of a guillotine</a>. "This is a gilloteen. The man lays down here all tied up, and then you bring the blade up [it was made out of lead, for the weight/striking action] with this string and then um, you let the string go and um..." and the little lead blade falls and the tiny man's head [red paint splashed around the neck] pops off into the little basket with a rattle.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The substitute teacher sort of looked nervous but smiled and said something like, "Hey that's really neat! Umm.... Nancy? Dear, what did <i>you</i> bring?" (pretty sure it was a Barbie doll). This was the same sub who earlier in the year turned off the lights in the portable-classroom unit and then played the track from <b>Pink Floyd</b>'s <i>"Dark Side of the Moon"</i>, the track with all the sound effects and screaming and "<i>I know that I'm mad, I've always been mad...</i>" and then asked us to write down our thoughts afterwards. <i> </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>So</i> thought that my model death machine would have impressed her into bringing to reality whatever pre-adolescent, pre-sexual fantasies I had of her. Nope. No being kidnapped and fed a diet of candy and Alpha-ghetti while watching cartoons forever and ever. (I really want to dive into that whole grey area period of life where you fantasize about whoever you're attracted to, that little window before you know about sex? And it's full of oddball undeveloped fetishes that either fade out of memory or stay with you, either repressed as a guilty "perversion" or shamelessly flaunted by walking around in a giant teddy bear outfit (I don't do that). But yeah, some other time.)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">That was most likely the first time where something that I thought was totally awesome was regarded with... oh how about 'lack of enthusiasm', by my peers. (It'd make a manifestly cooler tale to say my parents were Addams-Family-esque and bought the model kit for me with earnest encouragement to one day level up, but the blame goes towards my Mom's brother, uncle Denny, who was the resident Black Sheep of that side of the family: when I was like eight or whatever age you are in grade four he gave me a huge box of original Aurora <a href="http://www.mad-monsters.com/Models/">"Universal Movie Monster"</a> models [all 1961-1964] - all completed and masterfully painted - along with about 40lbs-worth of "Famous Monsters of Filmland" and CarToons/Hot Rod Cartoons/Drag Cartoons magazines from the early-mid-'60s. Also the first four (and only) issues of "<a href="http://i1101.photobucket.com/albums/g434/Balticprince/Comics/BigDaddyRoth1.jpg"><i>Big Daddy Roth</i></a>" magazine which was put out by Pete Millar, the dude behind early CarToons and later his own Drag Cartoons, but my A-hole brother stole those and sold them some decades back. Today the Roth mag's can go to $100 apiece. Vengeance shall be mine....) </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Sure, once the shock wore off and they were reasonably sure I wasn't going to "show" them a butcher's knife not from a model kit, they gathered around with morbid fascination. But you get that from everyday people at a highway accident or the ubiquitous American school shootings/bullet-festivals.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">Another way of going about the discovery that you're stepping outside the traditional margins (or careening back and forth drunken-insanely across five lanes) is by releasing some music that the general populace ignores, or runs screaming from while dropping all personal belongings in hopes that the flailing beast behind them becomes distracted long enough for them to hide safely.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvx3O7bJdV6DNixhwj9x_Qd1Ane7ks9MJGnoPZyHSJO3PDutBB7edqR5IQXpz-6a-SRVCjLygKg4MDISCvqjyefO6Id1Sazmx6Pzf7O2HJTDhXVR17XOhzNUZLVW8xKX1Cxy6KdkCWGeU/s1600/LetMyPeopleCome-FrontCover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvx3O7bJdV6DNixhwj9x_Qd1Ane7ks9MJGnoPZyHSJO3PDutBB7edqR5IQXpz-6a-SRVCjLygKg4MDISCvqjyefO6Id1Sazmx6Pzf7O2HJTDhXVR17XOhzNUZLVW8xKX1Cxy6KdkCWGeU/s320/LetMyPeopleCome-FrontCover.jpg" width="309" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">I think this may be one of the latter. Contrary to the mentality of the status quo, though, the latter is quite a good thing.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Tripping over the corpse of HAIR's salad days (and from that magical era before AIDS and a fear-mongering media) in a sexual frenzy of most likely unequal proportions comes (...frequently!) Phil Oesterman, Earl Wilson, and Billy Cunningham's <i>"Let My People Come"</i> from 1974, obviously a take on 'Let my people go' and a self-purposed body-liberating musical celebrating every single aspect of squishy wet human rubbin's. Just try to find another recording with a chorus of "Gurgle, slurp!", and email me when you do. I wrote something else concerning this release <a href="http://rateyourmusic.com/list/vonFrankenstein/mondo_obscuro">right here</a>, if you care to do a bit of scrolling.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I hope you do, because I go into a tad more detail there, if in a more frenetic and evidently drunken way. Suffice it to say, this ain't for the prudish, so there's the warning if everything else in this write-up didn't hint at that already.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUafkIH9ClGkmkVLsjElngICNDB8AOHLkIPrL2yc2hb3reHFFR41NgJs8YLrLMsgH1uEPGiWJeMYO2GgtF5xexvla3mR_IV6w86bKDW-CcF5gqspyztdfedgImAsftjkgOic1jZQTkD-c/s1600/IMG.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUafkIH9ClGkmkVLsjElngICNDB8AOHLkIPrL2yc2hb3reHFFR41NgJs8YLrLMsgH1uEPGiWJeMYO2GgtF5xexvla3mR_IV6w86bKDW-CcF5gqspyztdfedgImAsftjkgOic1jZQTkD-c/s320/IMG.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">Astonishingly, this thing has very recently been off-Broadway revived as of this past February. I just wonder if the music had been updated. If anyone managed to see this, please leave a note on the experience! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">Now if you don't mind, I'm off to tap me some Jack Daniels.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"></span><br />
Track Listing:<br />
<br />
Opening Number <br />
Give It To Me <br />
I'm Gay <br />
Come In My Mouth <br />
Dirty Words <br />
Linda, Georgina, Marilyn & Me <br />
I Believe My Body <br />
Take Me Home With You <br />
Choir Practice <br />
And She Loved Me <br />
The Cunnilingus Champion Of Co. C <br />
Doesn't Anybody Love Anymore <br />
Let My People Come<br />
<br />
<span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-size: large;">Download here:</span></span><br />
<a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download/5wa83j7f8m67462/Let_My_People_Come.7z"> Come!</a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">(PS - The post title is an actual line from the recording) </span>Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com1British Columbia, Canada49.224772722794825 -123.090820312548.892963722794825 -123.7362673125 49.556581722794824 -122.4453733125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-46806009698244582062013-04-20T18:58:00.005-07:002021-05-12T09:49:06.001-07:00Dedicated to Scratch Records (R.I.P.)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCAz63EhHY-QXLDVJ3w8ZxxhGaCPkcMm0gTBOt2Ced7DOftNj16LdeJ8IWn2fu7I4ifDZsYpVMXB4xq5h8skwmrAX_F2S1hN06dBqaY-meNY_KU5X1OlbXN2vvDZm-j4YILK8HK7LNKug/s1600/s+004.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCAz63EhHY-QXLDVJ3w8ZxxhGaCPkcMm0gTBOt2Ced7DOftNj16LdeJ8IWn2fu7I4ifDZsYpVMXB4xq5h8skwmrAX_F2S1hN06dBqaY-meNY_KU5X1OlbXN2vvDZm-j4YILK8HK7LNKug/s400/s+004.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">The year was 1980-something. 1988? Okay. '87 maybe. We heard about this little tiny record store in downtown Vancouver. We were from the odious 'burbs against our wills. We were used to heading out every week to Odyssey Imports, to Track Records, to Collector's RPM and A&B Sound and Sam the Record Man, all on one strip (after Odyssey moved over from Granville St), then on a short bus ride to Zulu on W.4th, in another super-cozy space that I think once housed <a href="https://rateyourmusic.com/label/quintessence_records/" target="_blank">Quintessence Records</a>. So here we had yet another record store to go to, on Cambie, near Hastings (apologies to non-locals - I know that reading about "familiar" street names is totally irritating).</span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">It wasn't on street-level, it was just off the sidewalk and down some hazardous steps into a narrow pit that also housed three other shops - as far as I know, the only place in Van where such a thing exists - and second from the end before you popped back up the opposing staircase. Of the two, I preferred that other-end-staircase, but I can't say why.</span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Creak open the door, and shit; this place is <i>small.</i> Sort of <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">t</span>riangular too. <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Nine</span> out of <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">ten</span> times heading in and to your immediate left on the sofa behind the till was Keith Parry, owner-proprietor, music-lover of any genre and all-around swell fellow (as well as member of <a href="http://rateyourmusic.com/artist/superconductor" target="_blank"><b>Superconducter</b></a>, among others), with a How-dy! and we were like, "Uh - hey.", <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">a</span>nd hit the racks. We weren't used to benevolent <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">- </span>or non-paranoid, or anxiety-free<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"> -</span> music-shop owners, but time went on and we eventually got on famously. </span><br />
<br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Tons of vinyl we'd never seen before. A small table full of used 7"'s (I refused to pay $8 for a worn copy of the <b>DK's</b> first single "<i>California Uber Alles</i>" and now kinda sorta totally wish I'd bought it, since I think brand new 7"s go for the same amount these days) and weird stuff all over the walls and ceiling, including a giant homemade <b><i>Residents</i></b> eyeball-with-top-hat made out of macrame. No, paper-mache. Whatever. And rail-thin Keith with the hair down almost to the waist, perpetual smile and infinite (okay almost) knowledge on the local scene and anything vaguely underground.</span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"> Tape cassette shelves on the walls, a small zine-display, some rarities <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">and a </span>GG Allin voodoo doll in the front-counter display, tiny video cabinet with obscure VHS tapes, and cheap dollar-boxes under the used bins filled with unexpected treasures<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">,</span> <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">l</span>ike when I found that 1982 12" version of <b>BAD RELIGION</b>'s first 7" (<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">when </span>the initial 1981 7" sold out,<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"> BR</span> repressed it the next year in a bigger size), and my buddy said, "Hey, cool - let me see that...". </span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Yeeeeeah. The next moment I look up and the fucker was at the <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">regis</span>ter buying the thing.</span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">(I eventually got it back 22 years later.)</span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Carl (<i>The New Pornographers</i>) Newman behind the cash <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">machine</span> when Keith was out, malevolently staring down potential c<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">ustom</span>ers through a ton of red hair just <i>daring</i> them to buy anything that didn't meet his approval. Small surprises, like candy added to your purchase or doodled artwork on the other side of the printed plastic store bags. I actually still have my record bag with a big Scratch logo on one side and a life-size, multi-colored va<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">-jay-jay</span> adorning the back.</span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Mr. Parry giving me an original 11x17 gig flyer for the <b>Dead Kennedys/D.O.A./Toxic Reasons</b> show at the Commodore Ballroom from 1982 after he saw me eyeing it with insane lust.</span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">It was just a warm, neat place. </span><br />
<br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Then he moved shop.</span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Like half a block away, across from the ass-side of the ancient Woodward's building and permanently shadowed by the parking garage next door. I helped move a bit of stuff along with Claudio (where's he at?), but my S.A.D. was spiking and it was a little weird. The new place was way bigger and had an awesome secret: a stairway somewhat in the middle of the floor-space led down to a series of rooms (used for storage, parties and I believe photo-shoots) that, as you traveled along, became smaller and smaller until you ended up in a tiny dank-ish concrete area with a manhole over your head that popped you up into the middle of Hastings. The rear of the place opened to a tight alley that threw you out onto the edge of Gastown. </span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Only a few years later and Keith pulled up stakes and took a smaller location on Richards, a non-descript building with only a doorway and sandwich-board to let you know where you were. Head down the long hall and there ya go. At this point I had pretty much stopped hitting the place for stuff, maybe once every three months or so: all the record shops previously mentioned had bit the dust due to both rent/lease hikes and the CD "revolution", and Granville - once a main punk-hangout - was in the first stages of personality-suicide and getting downtown was less and less of a fun pastime and more and more of <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">a</span> depressing punch of reality we only fully feel in retrospect: things move forward and change has to happen. Other reasons being that old-school punk LP's in the used bins were on the decline, and all the new music I was getting introduced to wasn't really available at the shop. </span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">It was also a weird feeling being in Scratch without Keith ever in sight anymore (he retreated to the office for the distro work and other office-y business), and 2-3 <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">new staff members</span> busy doing figures or shuffling product away and not knowing you, or that you had been buying stuff from <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">the previous</span> incarnations of the place for like ten years. </span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">The laid-back relaxed vibe we felt had gotten necessarily replaced, and there we are being moved forward. </span><br />
<br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Jump ahead to sometime last year and Scratch moves to a spot on Hastings. Like, almost literally a spot, something matching 50 square feet almost right across from Pigeon Park. Incredibly cramped but also kinda cozy, and I guess far too small to accommodate the both old and new stock needed for a venture to hold out for very long. Also, the two times I was in there, the clerk seemed to have ADHD and a nervous anxiety usually reserved for startled squirrels. </span><br />
<br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">After 25 years, the physical store is dead, fully survived, however, by their <a href="http://scratchrecords.com/" target="_blank">online services</a>, so go there instead and order away. (Edit: the site hasn't been updated since '14)</span><div><br /><div>It's something we never think about at the moment because really, why would you?: that amazing place you go to will not be there forever. Except maybe the aforementioned <a href="http://www.zulurecords.com/contact.php" target="_blank">Zulu</a> <a href="https://rateyourmusic.com/label/zulu_records/" target="_blank">Records</a> still around in their second location.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">As something of a tribute, I serve up "<b>The Sensuous Black Woman</b>", by "The Madam". <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"> </span></span></span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">The Madam</span></span> was actually <b>Lady Reed</b>, a familiar face around Rudy Ray Moore (of many a Blaxploitation flick such as <i>Dolomite</i> and <i>Petey Wheatstraw</i>). You can hear Lady Reed in outtakes - tho' not from this LP - on <b>N.W.A.</b>'s "<i>Straight Outta Compton</i>" on the track 'Gangsta Gangsta', if you're at all familiar with th<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">at</span> release (and damn, you should be). </span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">But here she lays down the simple rules for sexually attracting, seducing, and keeping your man, and keeping him interested and horny for your beautiful Black pussy. </span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">And, if you're prone to discomfort around words such as pussy and cock, please, <i>please</i> do not bring these <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">downloads</span> onto your computer, because it's pretty much nothing BUT those words and better. Or worse, I guess. As the jacket says, "Rated for Mature Adults Only". Not the immature ones who are gonna start heckling their monitor drunkenly half-way through. </span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">And the album is produced by R.R. Moore as well, put out on Kent Records which had a roster includ<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">ing</span> bluesman <i>Guitar Slim Green</i> and <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">a group</span> called<i> Snatch and the Poontangs</i>. The year? Sources say 1977, but it sounds like something from '70-'72. </span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtHKaHqB33JGT_0FuNKsqefMNaMoiNnXYsribNGuJQ4bPGx83V6OXn8ch5A8e3-kDNjyblYTiRShoGiEG2tqG0N0EOj43jvmYxEBQGDLwFSPKecUnSI7YElt6IzZdZvq_4VTKLlHbGRpo/s1600/madam~~~~~~_sensuousb_101b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtHKaHqB33JGT_0FuNKsqefMNaMoiNnXYsribNGuJQ4bPGx83V6OXn8ch5A8e3-kDNjyblYTiRShoGiEG2tqG0N0EOj43jvmYxEBQGDLwFSPKecUnSI7YElt6IzZdZvq_4VTKLlHbGRpo/s320/madam~~~~~~_sensuousb_101b.jpg" width="318" /></a></span></div>
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Side one is her monologue on the subject, while side two is her giving a smaller version with a Q&A session, and it's hilarious. The audience of a seeming few is completely awesome. </span><br />
<br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Caveat on the sound quality: my copy seems to have been played several hundred times by someone using a rusty axe as a stylus, and <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">I've run <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">it</span></span> through a 'click & hiss' eliminator, so that odd aural activity in the background is not the tides of the ocean or elevator noises, but the dubious fixings of Adobe Audition.</span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"></span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"></span>(photo credit: me)<br />
<br />
<span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-size: large;">Download here:</span></span><br />
<a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download/vix3a9zamp0us8a/The_Sensuous_Black_Woman.7z"> Sensuous Black Woman</a><br />
<h1 class="firstHeading" id="firstHeading" lang="en">
<span dir="auto"><br /></span></h1>
</div></div>Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-12866595851922591032013-04-15T19:10:00.002-07:002021-06-21T11:40:24.146-07:00Superstar From the Far East<div style="text-align: center;">
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><b>Antony Villa - Superstar From the Far East Sings a Special Tribute to Elvis</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje5vU8Kcs6Dsc4McsvEmr1ywsYRC4dzOrop48bUddCeDaJQXeAALSwy9ifOuTgb-WTUlKrspg1_Ak8MXDFwa2cN40na8uwYcXUV-TIFp6vgv0gfPvvAF-egGlCz79-_kbKhLNgYFhta6w/s1600/villa+rs.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje5vU8Kcs6Dsc4McsvEmr1ywsYRC4dzOrop48bUddCeDaJQXeAALSwy9ifOuTgb-WTUlKrspg1_Ak8MXDFwa2cN40na8uwYcXUV-TIFp6vgv0gfPvvAF-egGlCz79-_kbKhLNgYFhta6w/s1600/villa+rs.jpg" /></a></div>
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Quick recap: Bad neighbors are out, new neighbors are pretty much up there like ghosts, have a new roommate. All of which equals less stress mentally and monetarily, so maybe I'll buy another record soon<span style="font-size: xx-small;">er or later.</span> Everything's go.</span><br />
<br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">So, here's another gold hit of vinyl that has had a fair run through the "bad LP" sites and has apparently also pleased/spiritually-benumbed many an unsuspecting listener over the many years since it's unleashment into this world: "Anto..." well just look at the title above again. </span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Okay. Perhaps a year after E.Presley's ungainly death one might have had one's eye unceremoniously mugged with the 12x12" vibrant hues of blue/green jacketry offset by the familiar Bejewelry-implanted white jumpsuit now adorned by a fellow of seemingly Asian heritage while strolling past your favorite record-parlour. </span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">I really don't know how an adult human brain functioned in 1978, but would an adult who was a fan of EP grab something like this product, maybe in a fit of grief or "dear-god-Elvis-will-never-release-another-album-again-because-of-all-the-deadness-so-THIS-will-help-deal-with-the-loss"-thinking? </span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">See, I simply don't know. Why the tribute album at all? If you like music and saw the mid-90's you also saw AT LEAST nine hundred 'tribute' albums dedicated to everyone from Nirvana to that guy busking outside of your local Safeway and how many of those survived any mental replay? Tribute albums have always been a higher form of novelty item, so why do people still throw their talent at the things like crumpled foil Teen-burger wrappers at a dustbin? For many it's the only way to showcase what they have if what they have isn't uhhh, say, history-making. In that, they went and wrote their own history anyway.</span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Antony Villa AKA Antony Starluck AKA Antony Starluck Villa-Real AKA "The Singing Inventor" recorded this LP here in Vancouver </span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">in '78 at </span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Total Sounds West studios - a studio owned by Vancouver jazz player Dale Jacobs who also poked around some piano & synth on some tracks (and also had his own couple of bands, "The Dale Jacobs Group", and simply "Dale Jacobs" who a year later would release "Cobra" - something you've most likely come across in the thrifts, the cover featuring a very large snake let loose in a very fine apartment) and put it out on the ubiquitous (no, not really) "<i>Golden Constellation International Records Ltd</i>" label located at what is now Al Halal Meats up on Victoria Drive near the Dairy Queen. Tiny shop. </span><br />
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Anyways, Let's look at the back of the LP cover.</span><br />
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzjIaNoxECH9BU0S8r0IZMpDKIZo_vYmKbhog99AxaMtuXFDelNUAU7zVMZXuMBq0keDwqeM5BbCZHV_poqnTITGJyB1L6rRDtqLkP_fuiNa0SKBfquA02G4QOZL72nALlPTOavLN5pns/s1600/antvilla+back.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzjIaNoxECH9BU0S8r0IZMpDKIZo_vYmKbhog99AxaMtuXFDelNUAU7zVMZXuMBq0keDwqeM5BbCZHV_poqnTITGJyB1L6rRDtqLkP_fuiNa0SKBfquA02G4QOZL72nALlPTOavLN5pns/s320/antvilla+back.jpg" width="317" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">READ all of that and decide <i>not</i> to hear it, I dare you.</span><br />
<br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">The music is balanced out between soft rock-ish balladeering and disco, but a kind of disco that that group of older teens in the neighborhood worked for years at engineering, felt it was the high point of their lives and then later they all just went different ways and landed jobs managing lube-shop franchises in placed like Franklinville or something.</span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"> </span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">The mystery as to why this Ernie Manuel gets his own photo-box and blurb may never be resolved, since he only gets co-writing creds on one track along with back-up vocals. Other than this the internets reveal nothing on the man.</span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">As for Antony himself, the man holds several patents - <a href="http://www.ptodirect.com/Results/Patents?p=1&r=1&query=Villa-Real-Antony-Euclid-C.INNM.">mostly on medical items</a> - and still does musical work, although you can <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HwlyAFMprms">judge for yourself </a>if his talents have been honed to perfection in the years since. And then there's his own <a href="https://www.facebook.com/antonystarluck.villareal?fref=ts">Facebook</a> profile. A man of varied talents, to be sure.</span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"> </span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">You can preview what this thing will sound like <a href="https://www.box.com/s/r7tma5scfw6ey7eg7w1a">here</a>, just to see if it's worth downloading the whole album <a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download/tn9xl4acgtwpaa0/Antony_Villa_-_Superstar_from_the_Far_East_Sings_a_Special_Tribute_to_Elvis.7z">HERE</a>. <br />Then we can all do the Moon Cat Dance!</span><div><br /><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjriptQvfUJhCZWg0V1yBuHwC_eDUgzlSoDMtoNYeH7ProUpH2D85tGUCiHMuzpCFT3LirIEnI9iFoEyISUGVf_VN8xkPzRE6QwqJnBkC194Pyx-3TfDEjVaug6FPHrTpD7zbX-C8zPdUc/s622/Screenshot+%2528128%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="474" data-original-width="622" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjriptQvfUJhCZWg0V1yBuHwC_eDUgzlSoDMtoNYeH7ProUpH2D85tGUCiHMuzpCFT3LirIEnI9iFoEyISUGVf_VN8xkPzRE6QwqJnBkC194Pyx-3TfDEjVaug6FPHrTpD7zbX-C8zPdUc/s320/Screenshot+%2528128%2529.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span></div></div>Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-32719303895797975302013-03-28T19:13:00.000-07:002013-03-28T19:13:43.258-07:00Everything is back up.Woo! Thanks to Blogger Rick Shide, all old entries are once again online and downloadable. Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-45820273809410830892013-02-16T18:28:00.001-08:002013-02-17T20:02:33.873-08:00Back, sort of.<br />
<br />
Apologies everywhoever, I... wow, a YEAR!? Man, that's bad. Soooo bad.<br />
<br />
Several things why!: FACEBOOK. God Damn Facebook. I was warned, but I laughed it off. <i>I fucking laughed it off.</i><br />
<br />
Also, no $$$ for new weird vinyl since the roomie moved away. Been to thrifts like 10 times in the last year and it was all for clothes and stuff. Actually passed up a live album from that man/woman duet who do the slightly-off piano recordings in the 50's? Forget the names. Jack Davis art, too.<br />
<br />
Also, spending a lot of mental time battling the upstairs neighbors who feel the need to share their music/TV/parties with everyone else but get horrifically offended when they hear anything else from around them. However, my subwoofer is now against the ceiling and I have 47,000 music/noise files on the hard drives as well as 6,000+ vinyl/etc recordings, so vengeance is at hand.... May start off with some Justin Beiber mixed with Diamanda Galas' "wild women with steak-knives (homicidal love song for solo scream)".<br />
<br />
Also struggling with two types of S.A.D. and some other brainy-mental things which keeps a happy, productive spirit nailed to the floor much of the time;<br />
<br />
AND still searching for a free sharing site, of which I've had a couple suggestions from viewers which I will hopefully investigate soon. That last sentence sounds wrong, but you get the idea.<br />
<br />
Plus I've been spending my precious writing time doing up poetry (prose-poetry, sort of in the Bukowski vein - excellent way of exorcising some little demons, and mostly done when blindingly drunk) and gig/food reviews on the site which may have brought you to this thing.<br />
<br />
SO, there's my plight. Want to get some more up here! Very much a "Once I get my shit together..." situation. This whole 'adulthood' scenario is really disagreeing with me....<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF5UF7hpXq09Rlm_HUNI0xXOFDzTJ7ZDMcUIx5x5FS3cbTXkK2uryVgx82NsDnRsSY9YzOdBVYB-yHpNGyh1m9Lna8XU2ok-gBsa1GOc6DgBRzssENXURA3SIMU7fnCV3uw-Xg6ONOlt8/s1600/282777_323622537726728_1147525451_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF5UF7hpXq09Rlm_HUNI0xXOFDzTJ7ZDMcUIx5x5FS3cbTXkK2uryVgx82NsDnRsSY9YzOdBVYB-yHpNGyh1m9Lna8XU2ok-gBsa1GOc6DgBRzssENXURA3SIMU7fnCV3uw-Xg6ONOlt8/s320/282777_323622537726728_1147525451_n.jpg" width="251" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(tattooed backwards on my chest)</div>
<br />Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-25252299054641325402012-01-28T15:45:00.000-08:002012-01-28T15:45:27.762-08:00Let's Celebrate Freedom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzrwPPO25etaG6MbF311mX3emR9EvvuMBM5sVgxWDGVM0WdDeW1LJBj3tsiCIK4XlHuJ-S_89JQFg_IrMB1lBwsejSrPl-PtrIVe9-bg2hI0UpzIES2DbHBAzbnuU2JcMdvirow-_0wvc/s1600/banner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzrwPPO25etaG6MbF311mX3emR9EvvuMBM5sVgxWDGVM0WdDeW1LJBj3tsiCIK4XlHuJ-S_89JQFg_IrMB1lBwsejSrPl-PtrIVe9-bg2hI0UpzIES2DbHBAzbnuU2JcMdvirow-_0wvc/s320/banner.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Okay, many or most items here are now saved from mass distribution by being held securely in the loving arms of the all-knowing U.S. Government. As such, the same files will soon (heh) be available via some other file-thingie.Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-92214979500016555922011-09-15T17:34:00.001-07:002021-05-08T21:46:46.551-07:00Notice about past posts!<span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">It's been a while, but I should have some items up soon. In the meantime, I've gone back and zipped up all the music files on the blog. Well, most. Some of the 1-to-four track listings I left as is. But the rest are all one-time downloads, and boy I wish I knew about that when starting out.</span></span><br />
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<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">In lieu of any audio this time around, here's a picture of a woman made out of typewriter parts.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQgBZfeZvcXnEJ_xDWSEQr-m-VILKHbAloa_rIDxNWM4iyqVulEpP2_Aal6Mi6JMHDf7wa0S6SBefoSF1pR_wp5RInf93wYhw0NVoA_wz9q4lma2u0JyHi73DNW2JwfVEj1pwCdsrAh4c/s1600/jeremy-mayer-typewriter-sculptures-gessato-gblog-4-580x435.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQgBZfeZvcXnEJ_xDWSEQr-m-VILKHbAloa_rIDxNWM4iyqVulEpP2_Aal6Mi6JMHDf7wa0S6SBefoSF1pR_wp5RInf93wYhw0NVoA_wz9q4lma2u0JyHi73DNW2JwfVEj1pwCdsrAh4c/s320/jeremy-mayer-typewriter-sculptures-gessato-gblog-4-580x435.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
</div>(Jeremy Mayer)Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-88517968136731810332011-07-24T17:01:00.000-07:002021-05-12T09:46:27.383-07:00Vancouver Independence<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpgsvNuNo9Q47E4dd6IMueh9uxvE6pAGPTMknUDdIBEZlp1bloBxp9b0Et42TPgNsfDM61Mvec0ttOsW-PB2vvpoFisFF181QQMJJ-pRWceQ5vuWX-PQ3Bf7ZE2aP6qlTq5QrkHLvWdhg/s1600/vanindep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpgsvNuNo9Q47E4dd6IMueh9uxvE6pAGPTMknUDdIBEZlp1bloBxp9b0Et42TPgNsfDM61Mvec0ttOsW-PB2vvpoFisFF181QQMJJ-pRWceQ5vuWX-PQ3Bf7ZE2aP6qlTq5QrkHLvWdhg/s1600/vanindep.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBzFRBPSIIrNGvTMXDIGJ56Ar7zRC5pLiLrx5BhCJOYDanRuPgT_NYxqnqm_MuWWx3i2COZzHgakYzXy499Yw1j23v-MykRA4n6m6kSQgeCyVsi24v4rYZSerx5fwJHKfOJhfv-x2aEvk/s1600/vanindep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div>
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Being a middle-school punk ('84 not '76) in Vancouver, both this and the <b>Vancouver Complication</b> were something of Holee Grails of compilation albums to find at the many used record shops around town. I double-scored one Saturday afternoon at the lamentably-long-gone <b>Track Records</b> (a 7-11 now takes the space if I have the address right) by getting both this and <b>D.O.A.</b>'s "<i>Something Better Change</i>" for $11 each - which was still hefty for me at the time. I asked why so cheap and Grant replied that the vinyl was perfect, but the ring-wear on the jackets left them all but worthless, collector-wise. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ring-wear, schming-wear. Aesthetically scuffed but eminently playable, I jammed them in with my other grabs from <b>Zulu</b> (every week, nabbing on average 6-7 old punk albums at $7 apiece. I'm starting a petition to get those old days back) and got myself the hell back home...</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
...to be horribly disappointed. At least by the V.I. LP. I got four punk tracks and ten other cuts of utter shite, not worth perusing again, not worth the incalculably-small amount of wear on the cartridge needle incurred from letting it bore through those microscopic ravines of displeasure on it's circular trek to my misery.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So, 17-plus years later, yesterday, I pull the thing from the shelf for the third time (the Subs tracks were already classics in my head, but I had to memorize the No Exit's before shuffling the disc away forever, so I actually officially played it two times) and flap it on the Ion digital, and find myself like loving every damn track, or at least liking it or them more.</div>
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How does this happen? Hell, I'm not complaining.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDNvHR6ZbvjXexcxCJtdgTioxMniJ__GAImdiX5hxw4W5XFMa4B-gPJXPI_CjerJUhNxOggU42iB_TW-aIUpWIi82KoYL-t0PPo0qn0q2jlRo9o_0cj0VrJfFZ9Yol-WGjr3N1gGTY288/s1600/V7161513.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDNvHR6ZbvjXexcxCJtdgTioxMniJ__GAImdiX5hxw4W5XFMa4B-gPJXPI_CjerJUhNxOggU42iB_TW-aIUpWIi82KoYL-t0PPo0qn0q2jlRo9o_0cj0VrJfFZ9Yol-WGjr3N1gGTY288/s320/V7161513.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Everybody knows about the <b>Subhumans</b> and bassist Gerry Hannah's imprisonment as part of the "Squamish Five" and their legendary punk status both here and around and all the awesome songs so we have "<i>Behind the Smile</i>", but a slightly different version than the later recording that was included on the "<b>Terminal City Ricochet</b>" movie soundtrack, and "<i>Out of Line</i>".</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>The Metros</b> are on here with their more new-wavey "<i>Don't Like It At All</i>" and "<i>In with the Crowd</i>", and a nice bio of the band by Wolf Roxon can be read about <a href="http://www.myspace.com/wolfroxon/blog">here</a> after scrolling a bit.</div>
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The enigmatic <b>Si Monkey</b> and their electro-experimental "<i>The Conquest of Daytime</i>" and "<i>Get Rigid</i>", and very little information about this outfit is Googleable. Any Vancouverites got some history for me?</div>
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<br /></div>
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And the loveable <b>No Exit</b>, getting under the skin with "<i>No Excuse</i>" and "<i>Nothing New</i>";<br />
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Doors-y neo-psychedelia from the <b>Droogs</b>' "<i>Nuremburg '34</i>" & "<i>J.K.O.</i>";<br />
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New wave and 2nd-wave ska coming from the <b>B-Sides</b>' "<i>Spy vs Spy</i>" and "<i>Underground Radio Stars</i>";<br />
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What I can only describe as sci-fi-influenced punk out of <b>M.E.C.</b>'s "<i>What Would You Say?</i>";<br />
<br />
and I dunno what the <b>Singing Cowboys</b> are about, but "<i>Midnight Cowboy</i>" is a very cool instrumental.<br />
<br />
Now, Vancouver still has a vibrant music-scene. It has slid away from the punk stronghold that held sway for most of the 90's and early 00's and into indie-rock territory with about ten new bands forming every month where ten bands disbanded and made room in the city's casualty-ridden play-space scene, so why haven't we had more compilations put out to showcase this?<br />
<br />
I dunno.<br />
<br />
Listen up.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-size: small;">Download here:</span></span><br />
<a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download/oxtlyknaep07i0q/Vancouver_Independence.zip">Vancouver Independence</a><br />
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Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-86226548182568030782011-07-14T11:57:00.001-07:002021-04-14T20:01:17.037-07:00Alan presents the Elvis Presley Story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvIC5etAB7BLrNbUzOrBlok25lRmLHw4l9oEUWAtWnI-TWGGwt874trEBOEp_kH0-0YoiTLjDoZDYdH4KzmPvBs2Ymcq07V5bxG8IoGv4TjVpLMPgKRJPzFsESHDtyX9elaNbi3xzf-UA/s1600/alan.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvIC5etAB7BLrNbUzOrBlok25lRmLHw4l9oEUWAtWnI-TWGGwt874trEBOEp_kH0-0YoiTLjDoZDYdH4KzmPvBs2Ymcq07V5bxG8IoGv4TjVpLMPgKRJPzFsESHDtyX9elaNbi3xzf-UA/s320/alan.jpg" width="315" /> </a></div>
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Alan Meyer of Philadelphia and soon southern California lived and breathed Elvis, singing along to the albums as a kid and - according to the jacket's flip-side - ran away from home to see the Presley flick "<i>Loving You</i>". Sounds like the only theater playing it was very far away, but you get the point.</span></div>
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Around '73 or '74 Alan (as he would plainly be billing himself) took his tribute act on the road and quickly garnered much attention for not only pulling off the look and physical embodiments of the still-alive "King" (E.P. wouldn't pass to another realm til '77), but sounding nearly identical to his mentor - all without any embellishments or exaggerations that later impersonators would use as crutches to hide their lack of vocal talent or merely for comedic impact.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div>
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This got the support of Dick Clark as promoter and country-wide tours of the States and up into Canada followed, culminating in lengthy stays in Las Vegas where big crowds were being drawn, all the while the real, actual Elvis was playing across town or down the strip. The difference between your basic impersonator and Alan, is Meyer gives a time-line commentary in between performances of Presley's repertoire: he wasn't pretending to BE Elvis, but rather, as the show said, a tribute. Which of course gained even more consideration after the death. </span></div>
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However, Alan called it quits almost immediately afterwards due to respect and the sudden influx of 'Elvis Tribute Artists' flooding the scene almost before the body was put in the ground, and went to work in Silicon Valley, breaking out the gyrations once more in 2000, and even as late as '08, apparently at a party thrown for his co-workers at Philips Semiconductors.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div>
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Personally, I became over-saturated with the King's output very early on due to my dad being a fan (he was in attendance for Elvis' first performance in Vancouver in August of 1957 at Empire Stadium, unfortunately not hearing much of anything other than females screaming), but what the hell - it's worth it for the banter and the non-Elvisness of the Elvisness, if ya know what I mean. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />
</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">
14 tracks, from the obvious to the 'what's that?'.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />
<span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-size: small;">Download here:</span></span></span></div>
<a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download/rrnlimyux23o9db/Alan.7z"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Alan</span></a>Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-4373701056692794322011-07-11T18:07:00.001-07:002021-05-12T09:57:25.868-07:00Here Is the Rose... NOW DANCE!<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
Just in time, the very nick of time, for Canada Day! Okay, I'm ten days late, but we'll celebrate anyways.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">And why not celebrate the Commie way? Today we have the <b>Canadian Cultural Workers' Committee</b> LP, </span><i>"The Party Is the Most Precious Thing"</i><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">, a joyous ode to workers' struggles I guess, and why are all if not most of anything Communist weighed down with the extra-long names? It may have helped their cause(s) if they had short and pep working for them.</span></span></div>
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Anyways, where I live, there used to be a quite vibrant Communist community, which had regular meetings in a local cafe and maybe some marches and stuff. Plenty of flyers pasted up, too. Something happened, and it all went away. Maybe because the cafe closed?</span></div>
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Which is maybe good. A friend of mine went to a meeting once, and when she raised her hand during the question period and asked that, as an anarchist, if she didn't follow their Communist line when they eventually took the stronghold and replaced the current political thingie, she was answered with a nonchalant and very matter-of-fact "You would be killed.". So she left, because threats of a mortal nature never sat well with her. </span></div>
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Personally, I had (and still have) a t-shirt with Marx on it, over top of which is "WANTED", underneath being, "for crimes against humanity..." and it goes on a bit about some stuff he did or whatever. This being like 15-20 years back, and before I knew only a hint less about this communist stuff than I do now, I wore the thing with complete and utter ignorance. (I do this with a lot of things. It keeps the possibility of situations open to edginess.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">So I'm in the liquor store one day with this slap-in-the-face-to-Marxists on, and a woman says to me very loudly, "Actually, if you read early Marx, you'll find that he </span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;">said a </span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="font-size: xx-small;">buncha neato stuff...</span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">", at which point my being-surprised-in-a-public-place-with-weird-confrontation psyche sort of fuzzed over her most likely very astute point,<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="font-size: small;">and answered her</span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"> - after a few moments of gaping at her awaiting face - "Oh, this means the later </span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;">obscure fuzzy-</span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="font-size: xx-small;">muffin Marx babble...</span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"> " at which point I just let out a stream of nonsense at her, leaving a victim of my personal stupid-bomb behind looking at me like Lenin's head popped out of the back of my neck and gave her the razzberry.</span></span></div>
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So it was fun.</span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">Anyways, here we go with ten tracks of Commie-folk-agenda! If I hear this blasting, I'll know you live on the Drive.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="color: orange;"><b>Track listing:</b></span><br />
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A1 Here is the Rose - Now Dance!<br />
A2 Song of the Third Congress<br />
A3 Inevitable Struggle Has Broken Out!<br />
A4 Oh Albania, Red Star That Burns Bright<br />
A5 Workers of All Countries, Unite!<br />
B1 Salute to CYUC (M-L)<br />
B2 Arise Proletarians!<br />
B3 Death to the Traitors!<br />
B4 Levesque Doesn't Wear His Specs!<br />
B5 The Party is the Most Precious Thing<br />
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<span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Download here:</span></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download/o989ax8owe1rrdr/Communist.7z"><span style="font-family: verdana;">CCWC!</span></a></div>
Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-5635064840347764032011-06-28T18:43:00.004-07:002021-05-12T09:51:52.147-07:00Voices of the Angels - The Final Chapter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkO_TvbU9Rqc1UIF4nCRaqGkiqNiFaQ_EjXeCmF-3IeW6oqwa2vEPEw4SkM4SdoTsLmBNuF3pnoLyrNZLCK-C7IGZ6qJQmJEw9QkHijZCNW3N2JhaRFSVMnT1XSzAdbaovn4VlcpU9bxM/s1600/accidental.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkO_TvbU9Rqc1UIF4nCRaqGkiqNiFaQ_EjXeCmF-3IeW6oqwa2vEPEw4SkM4SdoTsLmBNuF3pnoLyrNZLCK-C7IGZ6qJQmJEw9QkHijZCNW3N2JhaRFSVMnT1XSzAdbaovn4VlcpU9bxM/s320/accidental.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: verdana; font-size: small;">...when I was 13 or 14, me and my best friend, Chris Sabourin (at the time - we "broke up" a few years later over - of all things - a large quantity of very old MAD Magazine back-issues) were spending a lazy summer afternoon wandering down a backwoods trail near the dyke in our old hometown; a small river with beautiful overhanging willows and the occasional sewage drain-pipe joining one side to the other (which we would always puff up our ain't-afraida-nuthin' chests to and cross, well, about three feet of before quivering back to the home-shore and saying something like "Ah, there's nothing over there anyway!" in a quick excuse), under which a small flock of Mallards might float, along with maybe a small log, which would get caught up in a stack of dumped tires or a misused shopping cart, now brown <span face=""arial" , sans-serif">from being covered with</span> decaying algae & motor-oil. <br />
As we kicked rocks along the way, we spotted something shining off to the right, buried in the tall grass. Excited by the prospect of not being bored anymore, we rushed over and found two rifles with scopes, a huge bowie knife, and about three boxes of tranquilizer-darts, spilled onto the dirt & mixed in with the grass. <br />
We completely freaked out. <br />
What luck! Guns! Ammo (sorta)! Scopes! <br />
My friend grabbed the knife (as I already had one that size), and I grabbed a rifle and started tugging at the sight-scope to get it off. We briefly imagined ourselves sauntering down the sun-scorched avenues of our 'burg with weapons almost as tall as we were and decided against it, although we made plans to hide them and get back under cover of the night to recapture the deadly items. <br />
Anyway, we heard some noise in the distance, and carefully took a peek down the path. FUCK! A truck marked with some official city-seal and about four huge lumberjack-types inside was slowly trundling towards our position. We had a quickly-negated plan to grab the guns and lam it, but they were too damn big to go unnoticed in the hands of teenagers down a dirt path. <br />
(I also imagined picking them off with the tranks, but that would have required some kind of aiming skill - a skill withered by my trading in the slingshot for sitting in front of Donkey Kong) <br />
We dropped everything and bolted. <br />
They never saw us, didn't chase us. I incorporated the brilliant plan of stopping just out of sight and sitting on the curb next to the road where the trail's exit merged: guilty kids would keep running - we just looked like a couple teens sitting in the sun. And we could see what they were doing. <br />
They loaded up the firearms without any excitement, like it was them who left the items there in the first place, and slowly drove off. <br />
We got up and started walking.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">“</span><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="font-size: small;">So, whadda ya wanna do?”... </span></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1398998976"><br /></a><span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-size: large;">Download here:</span></span><br />
<a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download/28lkp408gem9vpw/4.7z">VOTA 4</a>Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com2Port Coquitlam, BC, Canada49.2628382 -122.781070833.74461486065178 -140.3591958 64.781061539348215 -105.2029458tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-25906285321188171372011-06-06T13:36:00.001-07:002021-05-12T09:51:43.647-07:00Voices of the Angels Part 3<div style="color: #eeeeee;">
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<span data-offset-key="98cds-0-0"><span data-text="true"> <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">...remember sweltering summer days in Port Coquitlam; BMX-biking alone through heat-rippled streets with neither a moving car nor any of the thousands of kids my age, also set adrift for two months, in sight. </span></span></span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><span data-offset-key="efh8f-0-0"><span data-text="true">Eerie silence but for the combined hum of knobby tires sticking to hot asphalt and uncountable A/C units from seemingly deserted homes... where they all were I never could fathom and never found out. Inside watching TV or playing Atari? No laughter, no cheering from any of these homes. Off to Disneyland? Summer Camp? </span></span></span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><span data-offset-key="e2rj7-0-0"><span data-text="true">Oh – there's the mail-lady. </span></span></span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><span data-offset-key="f4s7v-0-0"><span data-text="true">Okay, so I'm not in some Twilight Zone episode or left behind as rapture-fodder, but the robotic affectations of her movements that the job requires doesn't comfort me at all.</span></span></span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><span data-offset-key="b8blu-0-0"><span data-text="true">Winding through the sidestreets, dead end cul-de-sacs grinding my tires in a 180-degree turn, and somehow I find the abandoned “playground” in the middle of this particular area that's only accessible through a tiny pa<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">ved <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">pass<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">age</span></span></span> between houses.</span></span></span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><span data-offset-key="bbfcb-0-0"><span data-text="true">I slowly tour the mobius-strip concrete-8 that winds through the entire area, a cracked and tree-root-warped cement path with a <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">little</span> bridge in the middle rising over the junction; a few giant tractor-tires are scattered about, </span></span></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">almost buried in weed</span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">s and </span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><span data-offset-key="bbfcb-0-0"><span data-text="true">erupting from the earth like farmland Easter-Island statues, peeling clown-paint on them nearly completely removed by the elements and years of neglect</span></span></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">. </span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">There's a three-person</span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"> swing-set with one seat wrapped tight around the top. Another is dangling from one chain, and the last is making a disturbing screeching wail from rusted chains holding a shredded canvas seat catching the dry wind.</span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><span data-offset-key="u0as-0-0"><span data-text="true">Elsewhere, what was once a sandbox <span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">leisure</span>ly swallows unrecognizable and sun-faded plastic bits of toys. A discarded tricycle rusts peacefully against the wooden fence in a forgotten corner, and a doll-torso with matted hair and eyes frozen in horror glares up at me from a clump of undeveloped dandelions. </span></span></span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><span data-offset-key="90ht1-0-0"><span data-text="true">I ride over the small bridge once, back the bike up to the highest point for an overview of the entire area, and suddenly I'm overcome with chills; I mean one moment I'm fine and next this creeping terror with ice-legs crawls over my back like a blanket of millipedes and I am gone, I am outta there, and I never ever go back.</span></span></span><br />
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: none 0% 0% repeat scroll transparent;">This side of the Voices of the Angels double-LP features author Danny Sugerman, Chris D (of the Flesheaters and Divine Horsemen to name a couple), and Doug Moody, infamous for his Mystic Records label of the 1980's.</span></span></span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: none 0% 0% repeat scroll transparent;">Standouts (for me) are the Richard Meltzer track - "Wednesday...", and Cheryl Smith's "Sure", while the Jane Bond & the Undercovermen is merely a radio spot for the Rodney on the ROQ show.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-size: large;">Download here:</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download/f2af20298hvloa9/3.7z">Side 3</a></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: none 0% 0% repeat scroll transparent;">(photo of kid in Smiths shirt on bike c.1988, found on the sidewalk some years ago) </span></span></span></div>
Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-69054397557952683362011-04-22T17:32:00.000-07:002021-05-12T09:51:33.495-07:00Voices of the Angels Pt. 2<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: justify;">
Featuring the second side of the <b>Voices of the Angels</b> double LP. As I have no further images of the album to share (the back side being nothing but a mass of tiny tiny <i>tiny</i> words), here is the team card of the California Golden Seals c.1975.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7WJ5iLADAk69EIFo8JuluK_Q73os-TY6eeOqJlsS1ji7MlWytF72JPGi7v7kq1pzMhXeTNvuJ60RpVlPBnzVA2Z1ovMKMiiPIwwu7TOdqMJKXwLprFfAZ8DWR0SHjn7PqYpXPIjGqLSw/s1600/hcodbaronsfront.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7WJ5iLADAk69EIFo8JuluK_Q73os-TY6eeOqJlsS1ji7MlWytF72JPGi7v7kq1pzMhXeTNvuJ60RpVlPBnzVA2Z1ovMKMiiPIwwu7TOdqMJKXwLprFfAZ8DWR0SHjn7PqYpXPIjGqLSw/s320/hcodbaronsfront.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Keep an ear out for side three! </span></div>
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<span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-size: large;">Download here:</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download/3eanlc2e8k4eq1s/2.7z">Voices 2</a></div>
Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-7116427805227218502011-04-14T18:54:00.002-07:002021-05-12T09:51:19.898-07:00Voices of the Angels<div style="background: none 0% 0% repeat scroll transparent; color: #f3f3f3; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: white; font-family: arial;">I just got an MP3 player. This is my first “personal audio” player I've had in about twenty years, no joke. My last thing was a Walkman-type deal from some company other than whoever put out the original “Walkman”, but it still played cassette tapes. Can't recall if it had radio-function. No idea what happened to it. I probably threw it under a bus.</span></div>
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So I completely skipped past the portable-CD-'kman period, and, lamentably, the mini-CD-'kman phase.</span></div>
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The 'batteries dying out after three plays' with the cassette version killed any momentum for me. Nothing lik</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">e a really long bus ride and halfway through it the song fades to nothing and you're stuck there, still nodding your head to the beat (Tiny Tim, I think it was) after the music died because you didn't want anyone else around you to know that your energy supply has deep-sixed. Who needs the humiliation? So you bang your skull to Burt Bacharach or whatever but in reality you're listening to the banal jaw-motoring of mall-sprites in the seats around you and it's just a chore, really.</span></div>
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So this MP3-thing is like really tiny, insanely hard to navigate even with these delicate, slender girl-fingers of mine, and after a week or so of ownership, I <i>still</i> instinctively pull it out of my pocket after six or so songs ready to flip the tape over. Very weird sensation. </div>
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It can play movies, but I refuse that function out of pure spite.</div>
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People spend thousands for a five-foot LCD/LED/Plasma/3D TV flatscreen then rush out and spend hundreds on a 3” screen to watch the same movies. Right there, that makes me want to kill society as a whole, not just certain segments.</div>
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Three weeks I give myself til this thing squirts out of my fingers and under that damn bus.</div>
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What has <i>any</i> of this got to do with people talking words on vinyl? Let me stretch my segue-fingers and I'll tell you.</div>
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The main reason I got the personal player – do people still call these a “Walkman”? In a generic sense like Band-Aids or Popsicles or martinis? Because that's two syllables, and the other option is “MP3 player”, which is a lip-tiring <i>five</i> syllables – is to block out everybody else. I finally became exhausted with the general ineffervescence of my lovely fellow humans (not to mention the cell-talkers. Not sure what the psychology is on being aggravated by one-sided conversations, but it seems prevalent) on certain segments of mass transit. The suburban stretches only, though. The discordant ramblings you get on the inner-city buses is like having three William Burroughs' reciting different crime-scene reports while fresh off shotgunned Lysol hits with Nyquil chasers. </div>
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Why, something like listening to THIS!</div>
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Released in 1982 on the Freeway Records label by Harvey Kubernik, this two-disc set was produced in order to capture the spoken-word/poetry scene of L.A. during what was I suppose a second-wave underground beat recital movement. Featuring a hell of a lot of people as well-known as Charles Bukowski, Pleasant Gehman and Geza X amongst nearly 80 other performers, and liner notes by some guy named Ray Manzarek.</div>
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Quality? You want quality?! You find another blog, right now.</div>
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The rest of you, click something below. I'll be posting one side over the next four blogs, perhaps interspersed with some music so I don't alienate, uh, everyone.<br />
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<span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-size: large;">Download here:</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download/rr9445te8dlwoa5/vota1.zip">Voices of the Angels Side 1</a><br /> </span></div>
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Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-24032438782090052432011-03-30T17:45:00.000-07:002014-10-12T20:46:56.881-07:00Dog Food Music<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<b>Dr. Ballard's Presents Variations on the Ballard Beat</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4xWTeyD9f1mLXA-t9S2dmIzb2l1DD6rPfMM_yoN6PJa4NUOkwlTbxf38W8BxxmaFIIBBR4MD1b_6pcRBSSBcu52sKYa_k1xSbwUqrmLpRAHOENVbwZufQxgssR6ZalZrpPCgfGa2-p4U/s1600/Ballard+Beat+45+c.1957+%2528Dr.Ballards+dog+food+jingle+x4%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4xWTeyD9f1mLXA-t9S2dmIzb2l1DD6rPfMM_yoN6PJa4NUOkwlTbxf38W8BxxmaFIIBBR4MD1b_6pcRBSSBcu52sKYa_k1xSbwUqrmLpRAHOENVbwZufQxgssR6ZalZrpPCgfGa2-p4U/s320/Ballard+Beat+45+c.1957+%2528Dr.Ballards+dog+food+jingle+x4%2529.jpg" height="317" width="320" /></a></div>
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There was a time when dog food companies released music. The fact that this doesn't happen anymore makes me a melancholy man. Sure, Star****s can put out CD's with famous names on them to give out or sell, but that don't count at all, and Iggy or the Ramones on a TV ad counts less. </div>
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Something like this, and many other singles and releases in the same vein, are dripping with integrity, and other stuff, because of the originality and rear-vision weirdness of it all. Does AVON hand an original composition over to, say, <b>Mindless Self Indulgence</b> so they can put out a 7" single? Have the folks behind Depends undergarments landed Justin Biebre (the <i>real</i> Canadian spelling) to put out a short wax ditty? Is semi-retired Celine Dion doing a cover of <i>Barbed-Wire Love</i> for the <a href="http://www.wiserep.com/productDetails.php?id=5769">TwoDaLoo</a>? </div>
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No! </div>
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So all we can do is sigh, and get horribly drunk while sucking on a musk-flavored Life Saver and wonder how our lives turned out so utterly wrong, or something, and listen to stuff like this.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Released in the mid-to-late 50's and featuring the Herman Apple Quintet (Bix Belair on trumpet and Moe Slutsky on drums) on the Dr. Ballard label, recorded by RCA's Montreal division, so perhaps this was a Canadian-only release? Seems Mr. Apple was a Quebecois, as the only other release I could come up with from him was a Christmas album done entirely in French. </span></div>
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Four versions done in different popular genres at the time. Somewhat disappointingly, there's no lyrics here, just the jingle-music. Ah well. Have a listen and see if you don't end up with a cupboard full of dog food by the end of the day.</div>
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<span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-size: large;">Download here:</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.box.net/shared/hngyjh4ahx">Cha-cha</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.box.net/shared/q7hrrgb4bt">Shuffle</a> </div>
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<a href="http://www.box.net/shared/n6b19lqrfn">Rock and Roll</a> </div>
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<a href="http://www.box.net/shared/p8143dt9cx">Foxtrot</a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">(and a PS: the Family Band albums have now been posted in full over on their page)</span></span>Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908135998314746510.post-76156841883779064962011-03-24T17:44:00.000-07:002021-05-12T09:52:57.664-07:00More Hockey Music<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
No! I haven't abandoned the blog.</div>
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Trust me, when I do give it up, I'll have some 'farewell' post and not leave anyone hanging like so, so many other blogs.</div>
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The past two months or whatever have been filled with a): the purchase of a new PC and b): a friend and roommate of the past 7-point-something years moving out to the Island for healthier climes. Both of which had me putting off a LOT of things before moving on.</div>
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The new 'puter moves at the speed of light compared to my previous 2003 Vaio (w/the capacity for a ridiculous RAM upgrade which will enable it to practically read my thoughts and perform functions before I even touch the mouse) and I weep with joy at it's noiseless existence. Unfortunately, my DNS server is fucked up right now and 2/3's of any sites I visit can't be reached, so that's something to be addressed really really soon.</div>
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The other thing holding me back this long while was my friend moving away, which caused no small amount of personal angst on many levels, but where she's living now is a much cleaner abode. (This place is almost literally held up by various forms of mold)</div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I think everything is settled now, so it's back to posting horrible awesomeness that common sense demands be left to obscurity.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Today, we got Phil Esposito and the Ranger Rockers and Dionne and the Puck-Tones with their double-A side tribute to hockey-love analogies released in 1979, with proceeds going towards the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation. </span><br />
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Produced by Alan Thicke (he loves his hockey), I gotta give the Stambley Cup to (Marcel) Dionne and his boys with their pop-flavored entry, and the fact they have the original Kings' jerseys with the purple-gold scheme happenin'.</div>
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Phil & the Rangers pretty much look like male-models in comparison, and the 50's-style rockin' tune they belt out is good but they ain't no Ralph Nielson & the Chancellors (or even H. Adkins stuffed with raw meat & rye). And well they shouldn't be. It's a fun disc.</div>
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I think my copy still has my 16-year-old babysitter's (neighbor's kid) drool on it from when she'd stare at Ron Duguay's face for seemingly hours on end...</div>
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<span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-size: large;">Download here:</span></span></div>
<a href="http://www.box.net/files#/files/0/f/76272508/1/f_676588648" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Hockey Sock Rock</a><br />
<a href="http://www.box.net/files#/files/0/f/76272508/1/f_676590100" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Please Forgive My Misconduct Last Night</a>Darcy Jansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11771232104341055185noreply@blogger.com0