My Crazy Head II
Told you there would be more of my crazy head.
Update to the music post: Unfortunately, The Sticky Little Fingers Greatest Hits covers more of their career than I would really like. The early stuff is good punk and the later stuff is distinctly unenjoyable. Now really I should have used a strong word, like earbarf, instead of the vague and wishy-washy unenjoyable. I should avoid the word stuff, as well; instead, output. The early output is good punk rock and the later output is earbarf. It sounds like proto-hair metal, like a bastard child of Kansas and Sweet, like a crotch that right after you go down on, well, you don't want to be down anymore, but you kinda feel obligated to fellate just a little, cuz well, you did just work your face all the way down here... Oh Jumping Jim Hensons! Has she been storing dead Fraggles in there? Should have learned about the run-on sentences by now. The disembodies head of Bob Seger whispers in my ear, "Shit, boy, you've known that for ten years!" The Sticky Little Fingers went downhill quick.
New Pornographers never got within shouting distance of the top of the hill. I'm going to put them firmly in the middle of the indie guitar pop herd (by the way, the mental imagery is a herd of Llamas. Just thought you might like to know.) and forget about them the way I could never quite remember them in the previous post. Hopefully, they'll stretch their long necks up and give me a more Olympian yodel some other time.
The Kinks are coming out of the mix, as well. Good album. I like the Kinks. They don't fit well with the rest or I'm just not channeling my inner Davies brother at the moment.
Tonto Savalas and The Buddha All-Stars are coming out. No 'dis to the own band, don't wanna start no northside/southiside brawl. I'd hate to see Jeff come down like (holy god Mars Volta comes on strong! (with Cassandra Gemini Vii)) like Swan in the Warriors. We rock, man! Ramspeed rocks! Otis Chasing Dots blows my mind in frequent fluctuating intervals of non-consecutive and entirely incongrous intervals! Yah!
Our Endless Numbered Days makes the cut. I like Sam Beam and his downhomey goodness. I'm curious about his lyrics.
Nirvana makes the cut. Scentless Apprentice (rehearsal) is a down dirty jam. Just cd 3 this time. I know few of the song titles. For a band that I really freakin liked when I first heard them- listened to Bleach enough that I wore it out on vinyl and I still haven't upgraded to tape, so all I've got is the 8-track I listen to in my powder blue hot-rod Pinto and that's got the big clunk right in the middle of Negative (I just took a piss and, man, it smelled just like that Grape Faygo I was a'drinkin') Creep- I've owned Bleach, Nevermind and Unplugged, that's it.
Just one Fugazi album. 13 Songs. All this Fugazi and I haven't heard Waiting Room yet. Damnit, I wanted to hear Waiting Room.
Petra's off. "Don't worry, baby. I'll give you a call in a couple of days. It's not that I don't want to spend the day with you, baby, but I need some space. Maybe... I don't know... if you're up around 1 tomorrow night... I could stop by?" Ya, Petra, I'll come back for the booty call.
I'm still listening to the demo's for Scott Lozon's newest solo project, or Winston McGee, as I like to call it.
That's it.
Update to the music post: Unfortunately, The Sticky Little Fingers Greatest Hits covers more of their career than I would really like. The early stuff is good punk and the later stuff is distinctly unenjoyable. Now really I should have used a strong word, like earbarf, instead of the vague and wishy-washy unenjoyable. I should avoid the word stuff, as well; instead, output. The early output is good punk rock and the later output is earbarf. It sounds like proto-hair metal, like a bastard child of Kansas and Sweet, like a crotch that right after you go down on, well, you don't want to be down anymore, but you kinda feel obligated to fellate just a little, cuz well, you did just work your face all the way down here... Oh Jumping Jim Hensons! Has she been storing dead Fraggles in there? Should have learned about the run-on sentences by now. The disembodies head of Bob Seger whispers in my ear, "Shit, boy, you've known that for ten years!" The Sticky Little Fingers went downhill quick.
New Pornographers never got within shouting distance of the top of the hill. I'm going to put them firmly in the middle of the indie guitar pop herd (by the way, the mental imagery is a herd of Llamas. Just thought you might like to know.) and forget about them the way I could never quite remember them in the previous post. Hopefully, they'll stretch their long necks up and give me a more Olympian yodel some other time.
The Kinks are coming out of the mix, as well. Good album. I like the Kinks. They don't fit well with the rest or I'm just not channeling my inner Davies brother at the moment.
Tonto Savalas and The Buddha All-Stars are coming out. No 'dis to the own band, don't wanna start no northside/southiside brawl. I'd hate to see Jeff come down like (holy god Mars Volta comes on strong! (with Cassandra Gemini Vii)) like Swan in the Warriors. We rock, man! Ramspeed rocks! Otis Chasing Dots blows my mind in frequent fluctuating intervals of non-consecutive and entirely incongrous intervals! Yah!
Our Endless Numbered Days makes the cut. I like Sam Beam and his downhomey goodness. I'm curious about his lyrics.
Nirvana makes the cut. Scentless Apprentice (rehearsal) is a down dirty jam. Just cd 3 this time. I know few of the song titles. For a band that I really freakin liked when I first heard them- listened to Bleach enough that I wore it out on vinyl and I still haven't upgraded to tape, so all I've got is the 8-track I listen to in my powder blue hot-rod Pinto and that's got the big clunk right in the middle of Negative (I just took a piss and, man, it smelled just like that Grape Faygo I was a'drinkin') Creep- I've owned Bleach, Nevermind and Unplugged, that's it.
Just one Fugazi album. 13 Songs. All this Fugazi and I haven't heard Waiting Room yet. Damnit, I wanted to hear Waiting Room.
Petra's off. "Don't worry, baby. I'll give you a call in a couple of days. It's not that I don't want to spend the day with you, baby, but I need some space. Maybe... I don't know... if you're up around 1 tomorrow night... I could stop by?" Ya, Petra, I'll come back for the booty call.
I'm still listening to the demo's for Scott Lozon's newest solo project, or Winston McGee, as I like to call it.
That's it.
posted by TontoSavalas at 1:32 AM
1 Comments:
Why would you ever want to change the title from, "I, Crackhead" it really kinda sums it all up in a nice little ball of furry goodness, you furry like a koala bear that keeps trying to gouge your eyeballs out of your head, but their hanging onto that last tendren (i don't know if that's a real word or not but you get the point) attached to the inside of your skull, but then you feel it starting to give and you slid it into neutral and your away sailing across the horizon like some furry panda bloody eyeball tendren pinto going thru the sky, but I digress, let's all say it aloud and proud one time: I, CRACKHEAD!!!!
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