Blacktooth Records Presents: COLLECTIVE NASTY (Summer Mix)

 

A dedicated mix that is only possible due to being around people who dig deeply for tunes, in addition to incessant solo searching and cross-country transversing.

Respect the collective (un)consciousness and down with monocultures. Track listing and download/Spotify link after the jump. (Note: The track listing differs from the BT site to Spotify, so you get a little variety for your visits. Tarragon vs. cardamom.)

More to come & peace.


Den Rest lesen…

Neu! – Weissensee

 

A serious jam for an afternoon fun-runnner with your kraut kids. Be like those you respect, in some respect. Can might be oh so green but this song takes you out on the white sea indeed.

Neu! – Weissensee <click x2>

P.S. That slide guitar…

So Real in Caesar’s Palace (aka Cleveland Park)

 

Directed by Ben Trimble, shot by Schuyler Howie, edited by Drew Maynard, starring Rev. Daniel Allen Frazier Jr.

NEW CONSUMER ITEMS: The Ekberg Promise

 

Hello. We now have in stock Fly Golden Eagle’s latest tour t-shirts, entitled “The Ekberg Promise.” You can purchase them on the “Store” page and we will ship them with miscellaneous accoutrements, willy nilly.

s/m/l/xl available for now.

Hue Man Tunes

Encapsulated Man – Chris Scarborough

BLACKTOOTH RECORDS – A DJ SET

5/24/14 — fooBar — Nashville, TN — 10PM

Clear Plastic Masks – Being There

Listening to music really loud is funny. Seriously, try it. Listen to the Clear Plastic Masks’s new record loudly, however, and this funny thing begins to happen. A swirl is the only way I know how to describe it. All types of swirls: the kind the toilet bowl makes, all crisp and in tune with the moon; the swirls you experience in the grips of some substance or the more elliptical kind that comes from the funnel water ride at Holiday World in Santa Claus, Indiana.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I can only speculate as to why this happens, but it does. No…that’s not true, I’m being self-effacing. I know exactly why this happens. It happens because you as a listener are experiencing in a spacial, tangential way all the forces that made this record come into being, and seeing as it’s entitled “Being There” it seems apropos. This record – and this is my reading here – attempts to overcome the ego or the desire to be “original” as such. To have faces stand out amongst others. It’s maybe why the band choose to wear clear plastic masks as a monicker: it’ll obfuscate your view, but at least you know they’re human and not aliens. Thus, they whirled up like the Sufi Dervishes and went to work.

And similar, in a way, to the intention behind the Dervishes, this record opens up an emotional field rather than a discursive field. So much of what is happening in the world today is happening at the level of political discourse – people jockeying for rhetorical positions and trying to defend this or vilify that without really having any felt experiential, emotional understanding of the issues at play, political or otherwise. The reasons the record swirls is because of this. And I think as artists, this strange little peripatetic group are uniquely positioned by their experiences to offer meaningful contributions to society via art. Or at least a good time. And when Andrew Katz sings “there’s gonna be a shakedown” or “I’ve got some cocaine to get you back your strut” or the even more direct, “we come together/nothing could be better,” it’s true; it’s a lived experience. At least in that moment you hear him say it. Or when Matt Menold – one of the most blisteringly talented musicians you will ever meet, along with an incredible professorial knowledge of tunes – just rips into the guitar, it’s as if you’re hearing and watching the most disenchanted illegitimate child of Howlin’ Wolf overcome all his daddy issues in one session, Tokic playing analog therapist. Eddie Duquesne got so deep in his bass-mojo on this record, he augments perfectly what’s happening on each track, or – like on ‘Baby Come On’ - he leaves out or swings certain notes, turning an otherwise spurned lover ballad into a funky go-getter. And Charlie Garmendia sounds like Buddy Miles mixed with Clyde Stubblefield. You’ll get these little finger-flicked ghost notes on the drums that are so tasteful, only to have the next measure sound like he hit them with a troglodyte’s rock hammer. All deftly handled by the indefatigable Andrija Tokic, who is seriously just warming up on his production skills.

I know the Clear Plastic Masks well. I know the producer of this fine album, Andrija Tokic, as well, and count both as dear, close friends. I even know the lanky, incredibly talented Allen that wrote the track ‘Hungry Cup’ for the band he’s in, Poison Dartz. (Click that link because they are an inspiration and a very talented outfit.) I know that the band has moved beyond this record, as is evidenced by their live shows (of which I just saw 10 in a row up and down the east coast). There’s this new song, ‘Buffalo’ that is the swirl-entire. It made me want to throw up the first time I heard it. Anyway, the point of all this is that they’re releasing their album today and are playing at the High Watt and 10pm here in Nashville with Fly Golden Eagle opening at 9pm. You should come.

Stream Being There here.

Dancin’ With Mr. D

I honest-to-god think that the world is going to pot, but every so often, something takes place and tries to convince me otherwise. It never works out in the end, but it’s cute to watch it try. Not unlike a prepubescent teen trying to hit on a girl, or – as Cock Daniels would more deftly put it – him trying to get the rubber on for the first time.

Vice’s aptly-named, foodie-fondeling side, Munchies, recently made a deal with the devil and asked Cock D. to be a writer for them. It’s astounding to me that this ever found a home, however it did. And a pretty good one. Cock Daniels has been in our midst for some time now (see the mix he did for us here) but more recently has been adrift over in the European continent with only faint transmissions stateside. Rest assured, he’s learning and spreading vile pestilence all over the bitter Old World. I imagine it to be like Nabokov and Hunter S. as the biscuit, Vonnegut the sausage, covered with the cosmos’s gravy. Perfect.

Read his first (re-worked) bit of journalism here <click!>

The scourge of Yelp, indeed.

Brent Spiner – Ol’ Yellow Eyes Is Back

 

Way back in the darker days of 1991 – when Star Trek was extremely popular and a year before Patrick Stewart was named the sexiest man on television by TV Guide – Brent Spiner (aka DATA) released an album of him crooning away at “old pop standards” that accompanied every dinner he ate between the ages of 5 and 13. Why, at the age of 13, Spiner stopped listening to tunes penned by Ira and George Gershwin, Rudy Vallee and Sammy Cahn, we may never know. Perhaps his father – “a hell of a mambo dancer” – and the key to his knowledge of these tunes, left for another, newer Operating Family. Or maybe his interests changed to the more avant-garde with Coltrane breaking on to the scene, or folk music with Bob Dylan’s arrival, perhaps to feel more natural and connected with the earth and his roots and to experience real life, becoming the change he wanted to see in the world: Androids that can make a difference.

Do androids dream of electric guitars?

If this record is any indication, me thinks not. You have a tepid washing of 12 songs, backed by an orchestra, of mawkishly sentimental renditions of askance standards with Spiner’s voice sounding more like a trumpet muted by donuts. And it’s a great listen, albeit really creepy at points. There are a few fantastic suprises, like the can-can “Carolina In the Morning” followed by Randy Newman’s “Marie.” (I’m pretty sure that’s the only “contemporary” songwriter to make the cut, and damn if he didn’t choose the right one.) Patrick “Sexy” Stewart, Jonathan ‘The Voice” Frakes, Michael “Imma Vegan” Dorn, and LeVar “Game Changer” Burton all show up on the track “It’s A Sin (To Tell A Lie)” as The Sunspots (pun!) with quips and background vocals, sounding as stoned and burly as you remember the early 90′s being.

Ol’ Yellow Eyes is back? Never left as far as I’m concerned.

Click the links twice to D/L or listen:

Brent Spiner – It’s a Sin (To Tell A Lie) feat. The Sunspots
Brent Spiner – Marie (Randy Newman cover)

 

Today is the Present Future of Yesterday

Still true…

The State of Kuwait: R.I.P. Peaches Geldof

 

From Chris Murray, fronter of many fronts, experiments, and minds – and for this purpose: The Hepatitties.

What follows are his thoughts on the passing of Peaches Geldof. The words are his own candid sentiment – a modern-day rarity – servings as the first (and, god willing, the last ) look back at a period in our collective history that is venerable, honorable, and – well – peachy:

Chris Murray:

I’m not sure what qualifies me to eulogize Peaches Geldof, other than the fact that I briefly fronted a band, The Hepatitties, for which I used various online media accounts of the young woman’s experiences, as fodder to write songs from her singular, and absolutely fascinating perspective.

As author of these songs, I suppose I do have a unique perspective, at least amongst Nashvillians, of what it might have been like to walk even a few miles in her designer pumps, to feel the evening dew thru her ink-adorned skin, to love and fuck and take needle drugs as her beautiful young synapses fire and misfire inside that lonely skull, topped with silken blonde hair…

I suppose what fascinated me with Peaches all along were these dissonances that seemed to be at the very core of her person: she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but never hesitant to use it for melting down heroin with lemon juice. She could bed damn near any man, but chose for her first husband the ginger lead singer of ridiculous electropop/rap group, Chester French. Her face was soft and round, but usually covered in gaudy rouge, and her skin, so supple, alabaster smooth, but criss-crossed with hastily designed ink in her later years. She was an essentially conflicted, and therefor free person, it seemed to me, physically and emotionally untethered.

To me, Peaches represented a unique point on the celestial map of celebrity infatuation: not fully present in any specific time or geographical zone, but existing mostly in, propped up by the digital consciousness shared by Gawker.com readers, and perhaps more importantly, by her reliably tabloid-obsessed home country of England. Peaches gave us the mytheme that we so desperately need for meme. There can be no myth without a people to share it, after all. The fetish object is not a fetish at all, without a pervert.

The second Hepatitties EP, Banality Winkin’, explored Mrs. Geldof’s lately refined emotional sensibilities, her newfound introspection upon the birth of first born son, Astala Geldof-Cohen, as evidenced by her personal Twitter and Instagram feeds. Since the completion of this recording, Peaches gave birth to a second son, Phaedra Geldof-Cohen, and adopted two dogs: Bowgsley and another (whose name I forget,) and seemed to be further distancing herself from the hard-partying lifestyle of her late teenage years.

The Peaches Geldof of old had recently seemed to be dying in favor of a new, more “adult” version of herself. Perhaps she was just not ready to see her real self, her tabloid self, the drug-addled, occasionally chubby society plumb, wilt away on life’s pedestrian counter top.

Goodnight, Peaches. May God have mercy on us all.

 

04/07/2014

Find The Hepatitties albums for free and for sale here:

A Taste For Peaches <click!>

Banalaity Winkin’ <click!> (3rd down)