I’m sorry for the poor quality of this video but I only decided to film this about three seconds after I got the great idea to blast Sarah Brightman’s “I Lost My Heart To A Starship Trooper” out my window at the Orange Walk on Duke Street yesterday…
Record: The Next Day.
Artist: David Bowie.
Record: Mule Variations.
Artist: Tom Waits.
Standout Track… (And the Audio doesn’t kick in until the 50 second mark)…
Record: The Dark Side Of The Moon.
Artist: The Flaming Lips, Stardeath And The White Dwarfs. Featuring Henry Rollins & Peaches.
Record: The Invisible Way.
Record: The Doors In Concert.
Artist: The Doors.
Year: Various (Because it’s a compilation live album).
Record: The Capitol Recordings. Disc 1 (Of 6).
Artist: Louis Prima, Keely Smith & Sam Butera.
Record: The Division Bell.
Artist: Pink Floyd.
Record: Ladies Of The Canyon.
Artist: Joni Mitchell.
Record: Forever Endeavour.
Artist: Ron Sexsmith.
Record: A Hard Day’s Night.
Artist: The Beatles.
Hi folks! Here are some of the records I’ve been listening to over the past few weeks…
Record: Fashion Nugget.
Cake? What kind of a name for a band is that? I heard Cake’s ‘Frank Sinatra’ song on an episode of “The Sopranos” years ago and always liked it. I never bothered to investigate the band any further than that until last week when I got “Fashion Nugget”. They’re an okay band but I think I only like the Sinatra song…
Record: The Black Belles.
Artist: The Black Belles.
I found The Black Belles because they’re signed to Third Man Records which is home to one of my favourite bands Pokey LaFarge & The South City Three. Jack White (Of Jack White fame) is also part of Third Man and I think he even signed The Black Belles.
I like Jack White. I like to listen to him talk but his music doesn’t really do much for me. That’s okay but what’s weird is that The Black Belles do a lot for me and I know that their music sounds a lot like Jack White’s music. Strange. Maybe it’s because The Black Belles are girls. Maybe it’s because they all look great in those black hats. Maybe it’s just because they have better songs than Jack White.
I think that The Black Belles are a band to watch out for in the future!
Record: Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers & Bastards.
Artist: Tom Waits.
Year: Recorded 1985-2005. Released 2006.
My mate Sean go me into Tom Waits. I think it was maybe last year. I remember asking him which albums I should get and he said: “All of them. Get ALL of them.” So that’s exactly what I did.
“Orphans” is a big ballsy 3 record set and there’s something for everybody on there. This is my favourite track from the set and probably my favourite Tom Waits song in general…
Record: That’s Why God Made The Radio.
Artist: The Beach Boys.
Everybody loves The Beach Boys don’t they? How could a person not? It’s nice to see that they’re still capable of writing a good tune when they want to…
Record: Live At The Meadowlands.
Artist: Frank Sinatra.
Year: Recorded 1986. Released 2009.
Frank Sinatra Live At The Meadowlands is such an incredibly good recording that I can’t even find any videos to represent it on Youtube. If you’re even a casual Sinatra fan the you should buy this record.
Because I can’t find anything to do with it on Youtube, here’s a video of Frank recording the song “It Was A Very Good Year”…
Record: Old Ideas.
Artist: Leonard Cohen.
Y’know how Leonard Cohen’s early records were sort of mournful and acoustic? And then remember how his early 90′s records were more synthesizer based? Well “Old Ideas” is a sort of mixture of both.
Record: In The Jungle Groove.
Artist: James Brown.
Year: Recorded 1969-1971. Released 1986.
James Brown at his fonkiest!
Artist: Sonic Youth.
Would you believe me if I told you that I only heard this record for the first time 2 days ago? I’m 31 years old. The only thing I can think of is that this record must have been very popular at the time. If something’s popular, I avoid it like the plague and then ‘discover’ it YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRSSSSSSSS later when nobody is interested anymore. Good band that Sonic Youth!
Record: Hellbilly Deluxe II.
Artist: Rob Zombie.
Rob Zombie is never not on my MP3 player. I regularily jam this on in my ears…
Record: Flash Gordon (OST).
Is the soundtrack to “Flash Gordon” underated? Nobody ever mentions it. I love it. I love the multi-tracked guitars, the dreamy synths and the pounding drums! I love it all! Especially this track…
Record: Doom And Gloom.
Artist: The Rolling Stones.
A solid rocker from The Rolling Bones!
Record: Live At The Harlem Square Club 1963.
Artist: Sam Cooke.
Year: Recorded 1963. Released 1985.
A (excuse my French) fucking excellent live album from Sammy here! It’s so…LIVE! I know that’s not the greatest description for a live record but I’m no writer. Obviously. Look, just listen to this:
Record: Where Are We Now?
Artist: David Bowie.
I didn’t know what to think when I first heard David Bowie’s latest release. It’s always the same. Bowie releases something, I dunno how to take it and then 5 years later I eventually get it! I did happen to notice something about Bowie’s latest, “Where Are We Now” but before I tell you what it is, let’s see if you can spot it for yourself…
Did you spot it? When I heard the song for the first time it seemed familiar to me. But how could that be?
And then it dawned on me…
Does this mean that Ricky Gervais had a hand in writing “Where Are We Now?”
My friend Bob works as a bouncer on the doors of The Tempest, a great little dive bar on New York’s 8th Avenue. A few days ago, Bob had this utterly jaw dropping story to tell…
A true 8th Avenue tale. Apologies in advance for the use of profanity and one particularly offensive term, but the story wouldn’t be nearly as interesting if it wasn’t quoted verbatim and uncensored:
It was a typical Friday night at Tempest and the evening had thus far been uneventful. We were expecting a decent crowd to file out of the Knicks game and into the pub, but until the final buzzer sounded in the Garden we would have to settle for the slow but reliable business from the handful of regulars and the odd passerby that stopped into the pub. Hoping to kill some time, I stepped out front for a smoke. Within moments of me lighting the cigarette, an unusual-looking fellow approached me. His clothes were far too big for his body (although his build was anything but frail) and he had a manic look in his eyes that was unmistakably the gaze of someone who wasn’t, as they say, “all together”. Far younger and more spry than the usual derelicts who mill about on 8th Avenue, I kept at an arm’s length as he made eye contact with me.
Reaching into his pocket, he produced a Discman that had to have dated to the mid-1990s.
“But my motherfucking batteries is dead, man! I need to listen to my jams!”
“I’m very sorry, buddy,” I reiterated, “but I don’t have anything for you”.
At this point his glare went from crazed to menacing. His eyes assumed a steely clarity that was unsettling, to say the least.
“Is that how we going to play it, motherfucker?” he snapped, the inflection of his voice rising and becoming noticeably louder. “I just got out of motherfucking Rikers, asshole,” he continued. “Do you know what that means? Do you know what that makes me, motherfucker?!”
I took a step back and squared my shoulders, keeping my arms to my sides but otherwise assuming a fighter’s stance. I fully expected him to attack me at that point. Although his dress made him appear comical at first glance, he was nonetheless powerfully built. Just when I thought he was about to swing, however, he began gesticulating wildly to himself.
“It makes me a faggot!”
I looked at him with an expression of utter bewilderment.
“I got fucked in the ass every day there, and now I’m a faggot! Yeah! I’m a faggot! I’m a faggot! Whoooooo!”
He repeated the phrase over and over again, each repetition louder and more enthusiastic than the one that preceded it. As quickly as he had approached, he turned around and began walking away from me into 8th Avenue’s perpetual tangle of traffic. He raised his arms triumphantly above his head and continued to repeat his new mantra:
“I’m a faggot! I’m a faggot! I’m a faggot! Yeah!”
Halfway across the street, he approached an off-duty yellow cab that was sitting in traffic. With one abrupt motion, he grabbed the handle to the driver’s door and swung it open violently. The terrified driver cowered in fear as our hero leaned in and screamed into his ear:
“I’M A FAGGOT!”
Without another word, he calmly walked away from the cab with his arms still raised skyward, sauntering down 30th Street like the heavyweight champion of the world.