Tuesday, December 19, 2006

SHIT FROM A NEW YEARS NOTEBOOK -- AKA -- A FOOT WITH A MATCHING BULLET Above -- Group shot from the 200LBU Holidaze partee -- BACK ROW --(From left to right --Annonymous member of Satanic Witchery, Annonymous staff member of Dusted, Meadowlark Lemon, Devandra Banhart and annoymous 'guest' of Mr. Banhart FRONT ROW -- (From left to right -- Jimmy Pursey, 200LBU editor-in-chief Coach Smothers and 200LBU co-editor Tonya Loiterminn.

For some godforsaken reason, I’ve taken to ingesting the extract of watermelon seeds every few nights this week. While under the influence of that sweet, sweet shit, I‘ve taken notes in a ‘year end‘ fashion. It’s all a buncha hooey. A blur of Crisco and Rolex and all that kinda stuff. Take from it what you can…


Call off your dogs, I got nothing to tell you. Nothing more than what I’ve ever told you in a million other ways, being the whore that I am. New noisy punk dudes, kids in warm-up suits around South London, moldy favorites found under the bed…it’s all still news to me. Seems strange the first year I’ve actually felt bitter and bored with music is the same year I’m so blown away by most of what I hear. Let’s just say crowds give me gas and if you ever want to just come over and jam records, I’m down. It’s gotta be better than watching a thousand shlongs wag in motion, licking each other to the beat of acceptance.

I think Dolman said it a month or so back, but 2006 was certainly the return of the weird, cool idea of actually pressing up a few hundred singles of yourself and selling them. Sounds kewky , don’t it? There was the Home Blitz shit, The Jacks, Homostupids, Armas Huutamo, Velveeta Heartbreak, Sex Vid, the Religious Knives one, the list literally goes on and on. Some of them were great initially, until their veneer of intrigue was wiped away when you learned the artist posted on a message board twenty times a day and had a webcam. Mystery has been replaced with an unneeded knowledge of everything it seems. Not to sound like a blue hair with a cane underneath my armpit, but think about if The Misfits, Throbbing Gristle or Combat Stance Fanzine had the interweb in the day and time they existed. Would it have worked? Could they maintain that much of an image while telling you every time they took a crap? I’m sure brighter people than I have debated this issue, figured out the problem and then both ate and scored with Bernadette Peters and Shirley McClaine. Good for them. For now I beat on a rock and rock the seven inch jams of the year. Ain’t gonna make a list though…didn’t I already sorta do that up there? Leave that shit to the others. All I gotta say is these singles gave me a good amount of exercise running to and fro the turntable and that’ll add a year onto my life. Fucking great…


Jack off with pride in the year 2007 if you scored a copy of ‘For Sada Jane’. I’ve been watching the clock for awhile now and the arms keep moving real fast. I keep the thought of movement constantly in my mind. Stumbling is movement. Falling flat on your face is movement. Pushing the two actions together and holding them together with spit and chewing gum and keeping them intact is the job of the Markers. Anyone who has been watching for this whole time will tell you this is where the wormhole has been leading. ‘Shabbetai Tzevi/1666’ is a stoned gem that burns. Up and over, over and out…give me the time and I’ll tell you everything I heard from a twelve year old last week.

1 comment:

Thomas said...

Haha, I wrote Combat Stance!