records that didn't suck in the 0-4

i was thinking about a trendy end-of-the-year, top-ten list...but then i wasn't sure if i could get ten...or what if, like, i had more than ten, and i had to cut shit off. that would suck...cuttin' shit, i mean. like, what do you even use? to cut shit, i mean...


best of 2004

7. g love, donavon frankenreiter, jack johnson - live at the barbeque

forget it homeboys and girls...you ain't findin' this at your record store. recorded at an early morning [relatively speaking] show and brought to the public courtesy of the archive.org, this is proof positive why these three should cut a record together. the sum is more than its parts, and the parts ain't too shabby either. all three share the stage at various times during the performance...something they no doubt had plenty of practice doing during their summer tour. plus it's got the charm of a work in progress, fuck-ups, start-stops, and donavon's laugh. wow...that dude is such a stoner.


6. wilco - a ghost is born

well, they did it. or they are trying. or who am i to fucking say what they are doing, because it's obvious that these guys are like, smart or something. what i got out of it was some sort of weird bridge between rock [and by rock, i mean the replacements] and jam bands and something weird and amazing and electronic, like radiohead...only american. the ten minutes of white noise on "less than you think" is said to mirror tweedy's migraines and addiction to painkillers. whatever...it gave me a migraine even though i ate a handful of painkillers. but the rest is like the sound of a thousand angels. it sounds completely unlike and exactly the same as their other records...like the band never changed and is completely different all at the same time. oh yeah, baby, they're out there...


5. g love - the hustle

sometimes bands begin to become influenced by what they create. take exodus for example. "bonded by blood" was an excellent record, but then the one that came out after that...i don't even remember what it was called...was a total testament record. and you know what an undeniable influence exodus had on early testament. yeah...anyway...g love has been hanging out with jack johnson and that whole crowd, and some of that vibe is showing up in his songs. some of that same vibe that he helped create to begin with. but it just broadens his style, it doesn't consume it. his shit keeps getting better a dozen years down the line...from zeppelin to bob marley and back with a guitar and a harmonica. who knew?


4. ra - the rugged man - die, rugged man, die!

the original angry rapper...collabos with biggie when he was still alive...on each soundbombing record...rumored to have taken a shit on some a&r man's desk at some bigtime record company...drops lyrics like "american / lowlife / dirtbag / my team / i'm the ugliest ma-fucka you ever seen" on a record with skits that have him askin' a chick to take chunks out of his neck with a knife cuz it turns him on, and i'm pretty sure he means it. need i go on? clever lyrics [much better than what i quoted, fer sure homes], beats, and humor. much of it sick and twisted. will this hold up ten years down the line? sure it will...it's taken him ten years to get a record out and everybody and your mom has been waiting for this. it was worth it...and if you want more, and you know you do - you horny bitch, pick up "the american lowlife" bootleg.


3. nirvana - with the lights out

you smell that? that's patchouli...fuckin' witcha...FUCK PATCHOULI! let's get right to the nut of it all: the dvd in this box set opens with some home-video shit of nirvana from 1988, i think...the band is playing in someone's living room...cobain is singing to a plywood wall...and they rip into "school." fuck yeah...if you were there with me, i woulda put your fuckin' head right through the wall. the other discs focus on each of the studio albums...the bleach era, nevermind, in utero...and they hold up in their own right...that is, if you like music that doesn't suck. despite what the pistols and the clash said about the ramones, nirvana was when america got its punk rock. come smash your head on it.


2. the drive-by truckers - the dirty south

see the extended review elsewhere on this site...if you dare! yes, since i've discovered them, i have grown my hair out. i'm going for the midwestern metal, maybe the scorpion...haven't decided yet. what i am pretty sure of is that hood, cooley, and isbell just may be the three finest songwriters in rock, southern or otherwise. this band owes just as much to the replacements as they do to skynard, despite what you may have heard. they draw you in to that "southern thing," and it's all killer, no filler. stop sitting there and doing things like read or "work." go get this record already and drink alot before and after and when you are driving to buy it. i bet that seems southern to ya, don't it, you racist piece of shit.


1. citizen cope - the clarence greenwood recordings

fuck you...i saw the dude three times this year and he was golden each time in different ways. great voice, acoustic guitar, semi-literate lyrics, and the groove...goddamm...the beat is like flav's clock, homeboy...it's always on time! he's got more soul in his middle finger than you have in your whole white and talentless body, you lazy piece of crap! now get back to work...this is the record that i have spun consistently since it was leaked in the springtime and have continued to play after i bought it. i think you know what i'm saying. stripped down and more fleshed out [if that makes any sense] than his last record and so good it gets ya lookin' forward to the third. catch him now so all your friends can be like, damm...that citizen cope sucks...why did [your name here] ever like them?...after cope's next record blows up and he does a remix with beyonce.


so that's it, i guess...we'll keep it at 7. it's a lucky number, right? ask roethlisberger.

professionalism - episode #1

another meeting today…bad vibrations, impossible concentration, weird and wired under this december sky…strange rumblings in the seedy white underbelly of the american system. for research purposes, of course, i decided to take half a handful of heretofore unnamed pills that the doktor had produced in his clandestine laboratory and experience the effects in the midst of this wretchedness. i took my usual seat far, far away from the doktor, who had arrived early and was speaking into his mace can like it was some kind of bullhorn. he had one foot on his chair and the other on the oaken table…jesus fuck, i thought, it’s washington crossing the delaware.

i could feel those pills coming on, like a hyena on my back - hard and fast and mean. cut loose, bail out, fuck this job and fuck these swine! run out in the street and party [with] naked [chicks]! start the revolution!

i was sitting between bruce and some other shmoe. bruce had delivered snack bags of potato chips to everyone prior to the call to order. leftovers from halloween, he claimed.

“bullshit,” the doktor yelled. he gnashed his teeth on the foil bag, ripping it open and spraying potato chips all over the desk.

everything looked like chrome…people spoke in howls of electricity…i could feel their murderous eyes burning through my head, staring holes…they knew and the weight of their judgment was heavy…i needed impossible concentration to see this trip through…the doktor was scribbling viciously in a telephone book he had brought to the meeting…my fingers sank into the table…legs heavy…pulled downward…riding an elevator at full tilt to the top…hope there’s a strong roof up there…right to the fucking moon, alice…

the doktor hit me in the head with a balled-up wad of paper. it read, “hows this? you like it? all the rats died”

the doktor is an evil scumfucker, for sure. certainly it was within the realm of possibility for him to produce this substance and feed it to me without refining it in his lab. nevermind that he was on it as well.

from my left, i hear bruce make mention of chocolate. immediately from my right, i hear another co-worker - joe shmoe - whine about chocolate, about how he wants some. it’s at this point that the trip begins to spiral…i had no idea it would come on so hard and fast…i was convinced…convinced!...that the doktor had somehow gained control over my mind…corrupted thoughts…polluting my airwaves…

bruce comes alive like i’ve never seen before…”chocolate? chocolate? you want some chocolate? i’ll give you some chocolate!” easy there, killer…

the doktor yells, “a-ha!” and proceeds to mumble something about fraternization before he charges headlong and at full stride into the closed boardroom door, falling in a motionless sprawl.

the co-worker on my right giggles, tickled pink from the chocolate comment. bruce passes a piece of licorice across my space to the co-worker and says, “here. have my twizzler.”

for fuck’s sake…i’m caught in the middle of some kind of gay firestorm. i madly scribble notes on my legal pad…my skin is electric blue and i’m hovering above my seat…every sound is amplified and unclear…screaming through cotton…these lights hurt my eyes…the bossman is watching me sweat…thinks it’s pressure…trying to keep my face screwed on while i’m trapped between siegfried and roy…there is starring all around…i’m more alert and completely unaware…flesh is tightening…i’ve got direct lines of communication with every skin cell…

bruce pushes a candy bar onto my legal pad. “here,” he hisses, “give him a butterfinger.”

i laugh. the doktor bellows from the floor, “how about you give him the butterfinger, you gay motherfucker.”

all eyes on me now…the doktor cranes his wretched head from the floor and smiles…motion to adjourn seconded…all in favor…

professionalism - epilogue

in addition to our work as neo-revolutionaries, intellectual terrorists, and righteous defenders of the american way, the doktor and i do indeed have semi-legitimate jobs. from time to time, these jobs thrust us into the weird realities of human existence. the following is submitted for your approval…

management had called a meeting on a foul and uneventful november evening. the doktor was scheduled to be in attendance. when i stopped by his office on the way to the conference room however, i found his door locked. i picked it [the lock, i mean] and discovered he was hard at work with a mortar and pestle. surprised by my completely expected appearance, he hurled a stapler, a tape dispenser, and a wastebasket in my general vicinity.

“none of this is for you!” he stood motionless above his desk for a moment, refusing to break eye contact, then sat back down to grind, all the while training his callous animal eyes on me.

warily i approached, eyeing a half-full bottle of mini-thins and a few crushed cans of some wretched energy drink.

“there is a meeting you know…”

“of course i fucking know! what do you think i’m doing? huh? do you think i would walk into that beartrap unprepared? yes? like some doe-eyed eighteen-year old on his way to normandy? well? answer me you bastard!”

he cut out an extra-value size line of that filthy white powder and reminded me not to ask...that he had just enough to get him through the meeting and to the parking garage afterwards.

“well…let’s go.”

i try my best to avoid the doktor during any work-related functions, especially these meetings. his behavior is hostile and erratic, and while the other employees seem to write-off his behavior as some kind of inbred eccentricity that accompanies intelligence, i know that he is simply crude and bizarre.

he took his normal position across from bruce, an effeminate male co-worker...not that there's anything wrong with that. bruce is meticulous with his work area, and brings the same kind of pseudo-professionalism to the board room. he arrived early, laying out various materials and calendars, electronic devices, pens, paper. the doktor pounds both fists down on the table before dumping out a satchel of supplies. he lays out a map of the u.s., stained with a myriad of substances, dumps out a box of tacks, and places a large can of mace pointed ominously in bruce’s direction. he takes the pins, stabbing them into the map and yelling “swine!”

“bruce…location!” the doktor yells at the top of his lungs.

“wha…”

“answer me you filthy pigfucker!”

the chairman arrived and the doktor stabbed another tack into the map, looking squarely at bruce. the meeting was called to order and the doktor excused himself and crawled out onto the fire escape and down to the street below.