Monthly Archive for December, 2008

This Is Art

Published
by
Kevin
on December 24, 2008
in Uncategorized
. 0 Comments
Dog Getting Shot In Mouth - By Ian

Dog Getting Shot In Mouth - By Ian

The artist has written a poem about this piece in order that we can all understand his intentions.

“Dog getting shot in Mouth

is about revealing the effects abstraction can have

Were the piece done in photorealism
it would lack humor
this point really needs to be comprehendeded
This is also about the deleterious effects different levels of abstraction can have on the animal rights movement

Also, I am opposed to the violence which inheres in Tom and Jerry,
“hey kids, torturing cats is funny”
how about unloading a glock in Spots mouth?
watching the bullet come out his ass
is that funny
no
but wait
b/c it is so deep

maybe it is

this is the point
in the abstract
it is funny
so ultimately it is a critique of mainstream cartoons not taking it far enough
in the cartoonal medium
at that level of abstraction
animal cruelty must be pushed further
imagine me saying all this in a french accent
smoking a very thin self rolled cigarette
w/ a black and white striped skin tight sweater
and a black fedora
maybe tight corduroys
the little ridged ones
and a scarf
in front of that coffee spot we used to frequent. - IAN
And to all a good night.

D.J. - Artist or Bullshit Artist?

Published
by
Kevin
on December 22, 2008
in Uncategorized
. 0 Comments
Non-whack DJ, Premier

Non-whack DJ, Premier

Time was - in the mid to late 90’s - you couldn’t walk down Broadway without shoulder checking some feeble raver-kid hauling a messenger bag full of trip-hop records. Everyone, it seemed, had traded in their Japanese Stratocasters for a set of Technics. The Saturday thing to do was head over to the Salvation Army and dig through some dusty old crates looking for that rare Last Poets or Funky Headhunters L.P. Shit, man, vinyl made the ladies hornier than cocaine. It used to piss me off. Here I was, bad-ass drummer #1 (so I thought), getting no love, and I was an actual musician, not some twerp biting other people’s shit for a little dap. I hated on my friends who bought into this. Everyone except for my boy, Dave (a.k.a.Urizen), he was nice on the 1’s and 2’s. He could beat match, juggle, scratch, and he had impeccable musical taste, always dropping cuts that would make people dance. But he was a musician about it, treated those tables like an instrument, not like these other suckers. Eventually shit got played. People got real into the 80’s, started wearing trucker hats, blowing up trade centers, playing Buck Hunter, and posers started picking up their guitars again. Hell, even Dave got married and had some kids.

Thing is, I miss the D.J. Now it’s like every bartender with an iPod thinks they can be a selector. There’s nothing worse than trying to drink a vodka tonic to Van Halen’s “Dreams”. That wasn’t a good song in 1986, and it’s still crapola, no matter how much irony you pour on it. It’s getting to a point of critical mass. I’m not gonna take this rigamarole anymore. Starting New Years Eve, I am bringing back the era of the shitty D.J. with a set of my own at the first annual Poddymouth New Years Eve bash. I can’t be bothered with vinyl though, I’m going to be using a mix of iPhone, Powerbook, and Vestax mixer. I will incorporate my vast knowledge of human bio-rhythms, evil basslines, and proper equalization, to ensure that freshness is made, and you, dear old enemy, dance with a pretty girl.

Problem is I don’t have a proper D.J. moniker, and I’m not trying to be all mature and use my actual name on the flyer. What fun is that? My roommate tried to dub me Special K on the e-vite. I am still furious with him - the audacity, the gall, THE NERVE. I’m currently leaning towards either D.J. Apple Sack, or just simply, Jailbait. Tell me, what do you think? I’d like to hear your opinion, really I would. Please leave your ideas for my D.J. name, and any music selections you think I should play in the comments section. Remember, the worst thing you can do to a music blogger is ignore him.

What A Glory It Is To Be Single

Published
by
Kevin
on December 19, 2008
in Uncategorized
. 1 Comment

Actually, as many of you know, the single life ain’t nothing great. You just find you have a lot more time on your hands, maybe drink a bit more (loneliness makes me thirsty), and you get in fewer arguments about stupid, stupid, shit. It’s a fact of life right now, just happens to be where I’m at. The strange thing is I catch a lot of bad vibes from my friends who aren’t single. It’s this underlying current of resentment and rage that is constantly being shot at me like some cold war mind ray meant to make me go insane and give up power in Cuba (fucking C.I.A.). Like the terrorists before them, my relationship bound friends hate me for my freedom. I know how it is though, I’ve been in a few long termers, some of them good, some of them rotten, all of them untenable in the end. I know that the imagination of the relationship bound man is a wild and unruly thing, constantly fantasizing about what it’d do if he’d just leave that little lady in the wind. So as a service to all of you guys, you champions, you heroes, you REAL MEN in it for the long haul, I’ve created this bawdy little number. And because it’s the internet I’ve made it “interactive” (all you marketing guys just sprang wood - admit it). What I’d like you to do is write your own verses in the style written below (I don’t know what the name of that style is - limerick, rhyming couplets? Somebody help me out ova heeeya). Just leave your verses in the comments section. My compatriots and I will choose the best verses, and include them in a recording that this guy will make. It’ll probably be live, and at an open mic, so don’t expect any royalties you fucking greed-heads.

Got it? Good. Here’s how it goes (Think Stewie Griffin-3/4 time-Dr. Seussish-40’s era musical, if that helps):

Why you can join a street gang,

or dance nude in the rain

there’s no limit on fun

when there’s no ball and chain.

You can buy sex or sell

you won’t catch any hell

when no ones got dibs

on your pubic hair gel

———————————————

(CHORUS) Oh the things that you’ll do when you’re single

you’ll drink and you’ll screw and you’ll mingle

you’ll lay sullen all day - you’ll drink sweet Tanqueray

What a delight it is to be single!

———————————————-

Yes, you can do it in the can

you can do it with a man

you can protest Iraq

Or go bomb Iran

You can do it on the floor

you can do it with a whore

you can yank it so much

that you’re scabby and sore

———————————————-

(CHORUS) Oh the things that you’ll do when you’re single

you’ll drink and you’ll screw and you’ll mingle

you’ll say what you think - take a crap in the sink

What a glory it is to be single!

————————————————

Now it’s your turn. Let’s crowd-source the shit out of this beeeyotch. This will be either the lamest shit ever attempted via internet(good chance), or the stuff of open mic legend. Just close your eyes and think - where would I go, who would I bone, what would I do - ’twas it true - I were single.

I Didn’t Dig What You Did

Published
by
Kevin
on December 18, 2008
in Uncategorized
. 0 Comments
Open Mic Artist By Ian and Kevin

Open Mic Artist By Ian and Kevin

Memo To File -
From: Music
To: The Male Model Jerkoff at Sunday’s Open Mic
Re: Fake Plastic Trees

Everybody likes Radiohead. They’re our generations Beatles. That’s why I was so deeply disturbed when you busted out that cover of Fake Plastic Trees at Pete’s Candy Store’s Open Mic this Sunday past. If I were to give you a rating on that performance, it would surely be 0 out of 10 Chocolate Starfish (the lowest I’ve ever gone), but I won’t because you’re young, and I’m about teaching not discouraging. I much preferred the first song you played, sure you were out of tune and the song had no discernible structure, but at least you didn’t kill something beautiful. That’s right, you murdered F.P.T. dead. Now when it pops up randomly on my iPod, I push right past it like an ex-girl who blew my best friend. I don’t want to have anything to do with her, it, or you. Way to build up the fan-base, Camacho.

Also, you’re uniform, the bell-bottoms, the cowboy boots, the conspicuous muscles, healthy vibe and male jewelry. This is Brooklyn, not L.A. I want to see skinny jeans, a sullen demeanor, a pallid glow, and maybe some eye make-up next time.

I hope this was instructive

Time To Get Your Shit Together?

Published
by
Kevin
on December 16, 2008
in Uncategorized
. 3 Comments

Then I suggest you do that shit, jackass. Life is SHORT. Seems like only yesterday I was a little dude lighting G.I. Joe action figures on fire,  walking down the waterline to the Delaware Plaza to shoplift Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups from Woolworths. Next thing you know I’m dead ending my way through corporate America without any destination and no direction home (apologies to Bobby Z).  Yeah, I had dreams of being a superstar drummer, and yeah I failed at that shit. Truth be told, I didn’t have that much talent to begin with. But at least I put my balls on the table and pushed that shit as far as it would go.

Listen to me, Goddamnit, I don’t say this stuff just to hear myself speak (well, maybe a little). The artists path is a hardcore and crooked one, indeed, it’s lined with the bloody detritus of those who have gone before and failed, epically. The journey of a thousand miles, you peasants, begins with one power chord.

You know why you can’t get your shit together? Of course you don’t, you’re completely self-unaware. It’s because you’re smoking too much weed. You’re spending far too much time on the couch, buddy, mouth wrapped around that devil’s cock you call a bong, watching  Adult Swim (what kind of man watches cartoons?), and not enough time in the basement working on your  chops,  arranging  practice schedules, and  booking studio time. You know why else you can’t get your shit together, yup, your girlfriend. She’s holding you back, man. Your friends are all talking about it, but they don’t have the guts to tell you to your face. Listen to your old uncle Kev  - meet, cheat, dump, repeat - that’s the rokkers creed.

Okay, so now that we have you clear of mind and heart, the next thing we gotta do is get you to focus on your craft. You’re going to need material to bring to the band my friend. That means creativity. Here’s my fail-proof song writing technique. Follow your non-sense to it’s most illogical ends, then work yourself into a creative fervor (you should be speaking in tongues), spin around in a circle 50 times, stop everything, sit on a hard surface and punch yourself in the balls with such force that you puke, then hit record on your tape deck, and play whatever the hell comes out of your axe. You’re playing for Jesus now, Christ-light will shine the way. Now, whatever it is coming out of your axe, you really gotta commit to it, no half-stepping or noodling about looking for something. This ain’t a Phish show, this is THE PATH. Once you’re done, and you’ve smoothed out all the changes with the guy in your band who has the talent (but you’ve got the focus, remember that), record and upload that shit onto poddymouth, and watch the money, poon-tang, and glory roll in.

That’s it you cretins. You’re welcome.