2013: The Unluckiest Year

Just wanted to wish my three or four readers a very happy new year.

That video of Captain Kirk fighting the "Gorn" showed up when I searched "worst new year". So watch that, I guess. It's . . . festive.

Hasta luego.

Playing with Fire

Gang! Here's a movie you should watch as soon as humanly possible, Brian Trenchard-Smith's Dead End Drive-In (1986)!

Dead End Drive-In? More like Dead End . . . I thought I had a joke for that, but I don't. Whoops!

The films of Brian Trenchard-Smith (BMX Bandits, Stunt Rock) were first brought to my attention by a great documentary called Not Quite Hollywood. Said film details the history of Australian cinema with a strong emphasis on genre pictures. Among the many strange and amazing-looking movies mentioned in Not Quite Hollywood was Trenchard-Smith's Dead End Drive-In, which Quentin Tarantino hailed as his favorite Aussie flick.

Actually, wait, my first experience with Trenchard-Smith's work was Leprechaun 3, which I once watched back-to-back with both Leprechaun and Leprechaun 2. I'm a d-d-daredevil.

My point is, Dead End Drive-In is a super-duper treat. It starts off as the (well-crafted) Australian equivalent of  Escape from New York -- replace Manhattan with a post-apocalyptic drive-in movie theater pulling double duty as a prison camp for new wave hooligans -- and then morphs into a transparently allegorical parable on racial scapegoatting, police corruption, manipulative girlfriends who look sorta like Sheena Easton, social welfare, getting in fights with 7' tall freaks with danger-mullets and skin-tight silver Rod Stewart pants, oh! and fascism.

Fascism?!

Maybe. Dead End Drive-In does go deep, and it goes hard (!). The metaphor involved is probably kind of, uh, on a remedial level in the sense that even I picked up on it, and let's face it: I spent at least half of the film's 92 minutes daydreaming about Christmas leftovers and that girl from Billy Idol's "Cradle of Love" video. That's an exaggeration, but only a slight one. Oh, and (SPOILER ALERT) I don't know why our hero crashes through a neon sign that looks like a slightly-angled star of David at the film's climax. Maybe it was already there. Maybe it was Trenchard-Smith's way of saying, "Fuck you" to the Illuminati.

S'kiddin'.

But, hey, check this song out:

Cool, right?

Lisa Edwards' "Playing with Fire" rocks during the end credits, as (SPOILER ALERT) the film's hero makes his daring escape from the drudgery of ghetto existence, and speeds toward the horizon . . . and a better life. Look, I'm not saying I tied a wool sock around my head and started furiously Phil Manzanera-air-guitaring on a softball bat I had handy -- but that's exactly what happened.

I dare you not to listen to it at least four times in a row. I-FUCKIN'-DOUBLE-DOG-DARE-YOU.

According to Wikipedia, which is never wrong, Lisa Edwards was a back-up singer for Kylie Minogue in the early '90s and had an Australian Top 5 hit in 1992 with "Cry" -- a cover of a Godley and Creme song.

Godley and Creme were members of the weird-but-affable British pop-rock band 10cc, and then went on to direct music videos during the early years of MTV. And that's an amazing coincidence considering I literally JUST finished reading I Want My MTV by Craig Marks and Rob Tannenbaum, which prominently features Godley and Creme.

Please forgive my sad adult ADD outburst/stream of consciousness retard-tangent. What's that? That's the thrust of my entire blog? Oh, snap. You're right.

I'm exhausted by my own stupidity, but that shouldn't stop YOU from marching over to your TV and adding Dead End Drive-In to your Netflix queue. Or you could do it on your computer, which you're presumably using right now. See what I mean about the stupidity? I'm insufferable even to myself!

Hasta luego and stuff.

(Worth noting: That guy on the poster has almost nothing to do with anything that actually happens in Dead End Drive-In . . . just a heads up.)

I Ruined Xmas

In my Christmas mix-tape post, I forgot to include perhaps the greatest musical collaboration since . . . I dunno, ever. I'm a turd.

And it's the Greedies!

That's Phil Lynott, Scott Gorham, and Brian Downey of Thin Lizzy, along with Steve Jones and Paul Cook of the Sex Pistols. Amazing! Arguably the greatest hard rock band teamed-up with half of the most influential British punk band to wish us all a Merry Christmas in 1979. On stupid Top of the Pops, where lip-syncing was the rule. Urgh.

Anyway, note the glee on everyone's faces. Note how cool Phil Lynott was, like, at all times. Note Paul Cook swatting errant soap bubbles with his drum stick. If Israel and Palestine can't learn something from this video, then there's absolutely no hope for the human race. Whatsoever.

Have a super great holiday, Internet.

Christmas Is for Homos

S'kiddin'.

Hey, here's a movie you probably don't care about...

It's worth mentioning that if you click on that poster image you'll get to watch a trailer that doesn't make a lot sense . . . unless you've already seen the movie. I especially like it when those two demented Aryan Kidz® snicker at the lil' ragamuffin's Christmas wish for a bicycle...

Fuck you, pauper! Your Caldor-brand stocking's gonna be full of coal -- or would be if your parents hadn't spent all the coal money on food stamps! Also, you're adopted.

Anyhoo, One Magic Christmas is a Disney film from 1985. It's pretty surreal, and probably deserves its current spot in the dustbin of misbegotten and unloved '80s family entertainment. Though, it IS kind of a hoot if you pretend Harry Dean Stanton's playing a mentally-ill transient instead of, whatsit?, a "Christmas angel?"

They're all Christmas angels in the Cuckoo's Nest, baby.

So, here's a Christmassy playlist I'm not going to upload because I don't want to go to federal prison:

01. Here Comes Santa Claus (Right Down Santa Claus Lane) - The Chipmunks
- It's kitschy for sure, but it's also a lot of fun. Like fondu, or gay men. 

02. Christmas Time Is Here (Vocal Version) - The Vince Guaraldi Trio 
- I once heard this referred to as "The saddest music in the world." Yep.

03. The Man with All the Toys - The Beach Boys
- At a time when things were going right for our friend Brian. Beatlesque and beautiful.

04. Christmas Wrapping - The Waitresses
- That Patty Donahue was something else. She died of lung cancer, aged 40. Happy Holidays!

05. Twelve Days of Christmas - Bob & Doug McKenzie
- "And three other days, which I believe are the mystery days." C'mon!

06. Blue Christmas - Elvis Presley
- The greatest Christmas album of all time that I know of...

07. Merry Christmas (I Don't Want to Fight Tonight) - The Ramones
- Kind of schmaltzy but, hey, Joey Ramone was a black leather Muppet.

08. Frosty the Snowman - The Chipmunks
- Awesome. I hope the intro has been sampled.

09. Christmas in Hollis - Run-D.M.C.
- Black people were excluded from Christmas until 1987.

10. Merry Christmas, Baby - Otis Redding
- This contradicts what I just said.

11. Another Lonely Christmas - Prince
- This was a B-side from the Purple Rain era. You're welcome.

12.  Joy to the World - Sufjan Stevens
- Fresh for 2012, from Stevens' five-disc box set of Christmas music. Not kidding.

13. Hark! The Herald Angels Sing - The Vince Guaraldi Trio
- The greatest Christmas special of all time that I know of...

14. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas - The Chipmunks
- As sung by "David Seville." Utterly heartwarming, and I'm not even pulling your chain.

15. Silent Night - Elvis Presley
- There's no better way to end a Christmas mix-tape. Great music to die with!

Honorable mentions (fun, but too NEGA for inclusion):

No Presents for Christmas - King Diamond
- This exists!

Fuck Christmas - Fear
- Belushi's choice!

Now, go steal all of that music from the Internet (or just click the YouTube links) and play it loud while you get wasted on that monster egg nog your brother makes with lighter fluid.

That's how you praise Baby Jesus in style. Merry Christmas!

E.A.R. #3: Lionheart

Residing at the intersection of 1970s AM radio and progressive rock, Kate Bush's Lionheart has turned me on to an artist I once disregarded as merely "Kind of interesting."

Released in 1978, when Bush was 20, Lionheart is the singer-songwriter's second studio album and is generally looked upon as a rush job. Bush's first album (The Kick Inside) had been released earlier that same year and was a critical and commercial hit, so EMI obviously wanted to capitalize on that heat. Against Bush's wishes. Hey, who knew record companies were greedy, nefarious shadow-entities with little regard for their recording artists?

Oh, word? Everyone? Alright.

Regardless of Lionheart's mediocre reputation, I'm in love with it. My previous experience with Kate Bush had been a half-hearted attempt to get into the Hounds of Love LP -- widely regarded as her magnum opus. I didn't dislike the album; I just didn't "get" it. At least not at the time, when I was too busy trying to track down Japanese reissues of Slayer EPs to really care about an artist who sounded like she spent at least 47% of her studio time drawing pictures of Bryan Ferry riding unicorns. In colored pencil, no less. C'mon!

It's actually kind of a challenge to categorize Bush's music. Progressive pop? Art rock? "Midnight at the Oasis" hung in an ornate frame at an exclusive gallery managed by Darkness from Legend? That's only half the battle. Kate Bush's voice is bizarre. It's lovely, but it's also grating. The water's cold, son. Take the plunge slowly.

The melodies and arrangements involved in Lionheart are fucking outrageous, though. "Hammer Horror", which was released as the first single, sounds as though Bush took a rented Dracula cape into the studio and sang to an Oliver Reed pin-up photo. Alternately fragile (like candy glass) and rockin', it's kind of ridiculous. And wonderful. I imagine it's a staple of cool people's Halloween parties. But I don't know any cool people I can ask.

I was already familiar with "Wow" because it was available on one of the radio stations in Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. I'm a boorish man-child. Though, I do remember thinking, "Hey, 'Wow' is right!" JUST KIDDING. The tune is strange. Bush goes off like a horny house cat in the chorus. Which, I think, is the point even though the song is about the perils of being an obscure artist verging on stardom. Maybe? Either way, she is wearing a lion costume on the album sleeve, so I'm not totally off-base. "Wow" leaves me in an awkward position, because a part of me is grinding my teeth -- my mouth, I guess -- but the rest of me wants to hoist Kate Bush onto my shoulders and parade her around the room for a victory lap. Whether or not I'd sniff the neck of my shirt later is my business.

"Fullhouse" has nothing to do with Uncle Jessie, Joey, or how Jodie Sweetin got super hot in recent years. I'm pretty sure the song's about mental illness. But it's a pretty good showcase for Bush's range, and those layered whispers of the "voices in her head" playing against the melodramatic piano riffs? Drives me bananas. It's vocal trickery on a par with King Diamond, but you don't have to pretend to dislike it when normal people are around.

It's a good record, stupid.

Yeah, there's little doubt that the uninitiated, when first belted by Bush's voice, will be wearing an expression not unlike if Abdullah the Butcher just sat on their head and farted. But let that unique sound wash over you, and accept it within the context of the insular musical world this practically-teenaged girl put on wax 35 years ago . . . at a time when Punk barbarism was threatening to finally drop the coup de grâce on England's optimism. I mean, Kate Bush met "No Future" head on with "When You Wish Upon a Star"...

Those are giant balls, ma'am.

Temporal Bias Is a Bummer

I spent way too many years pretending Nirvana weren't a great band.

Last year, the 20th anniversary "Super Deluxe" edition of Nevermind was released. It features four CDs and a DVD worth of material. That's probably overkill, but when you consider that it's possibly the most important rock album of the 1990s -- maybe it's warranted.

Kurt Cobain is a tragic figure in that almost everyone around him continually passed the buck throughout most of his life. "Kurt's a fuck-up bent on self-destruction, but he'll probably work it out for himself. Probably." It's no wonder he's the patron saint of disaffected fat girls and scowling latchkey kids.

There's a documentary from 1998 called Kurt & Courtney. It's an appraisal of the conspiracy theories surrounding Cobain's death, and the possible involvement of Courtney Love, et al. Apparently, Kurt wanted out of the marriage and, gee, there was a vast fortune involved. Who knows, man? Personally, I think In Utero sounds a lot like a Steve Albini-produced suicide note.

Again, Kurt Cobain was a wealthy, fame-isolated heroin junkie/depressive surrounded by utter dickheads. That's a great recipe for decade-defining self-termination right there

Honestly, I was always embarrassed by the profitably cult-like following that sprang up in the wake of Kurt's suicide. I remember seeing commemorative T-shirts within days of his death, and thinking (age 13), "Holy shit, they're going to turn him into the flannel Jim Morrison!"

And they have. Kind of. Yet the music Cobain left behind is undeniably legit. "Drain You" moves mountains. "Sliver" contains some of the most guilelessly bittersweet lyrics I've ever heard. "Something in the Way" is a Beatles song for Zoloft babies. And In Utero still sounds like a goddamn suicide note.

But everything has its place, and those lonely hours of (white-bread) adolescent obsession couldn't forever belong to Connie Francis, Black Sabbath, and the Velvet Underground.

Now I want a Connie Francis T-shirt.