embrace the randumb ii

If you don't like Iron Maiden's version, you can always sing
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner to the tune of Yankee Doodle.

five maxims to live by

Everyone is entitled to an opinion--all opinions are not created equal.

You can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drown.

It's better to be pissed off than to be pissed on.

I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy.

Never trust someone who prefers Van Hagar.

refrigerator rembrandts

Artwork from a co-worker's young daughter--much better than anything I could do at that age, or even my age now.

send in the drones

Drone Forest

Free full-length MP3s of ambient, droning soundscapes.
Hours of sublime noise.
Enjoy.

theater of the mind revisited

Andrew Listfield on WFMU

I stumbled across this archived radio show while searching for info on composer William Basinski (more on him next time). Listfield's weekly show is a cornucopia of ambient, exotic, trance-inducing music. However, the real treasure is his inclusion of old-time radio dramas from the 40s and 50s.

The particular show I've linked above features an episode of Pat Novak, For Hire, a noirish detective series narrated by Jack Webb of Dragnet fame. Dry humor, sharp dialogue, oddball metaphors galore: this one's got it all.

On many a drunken night, the usual decaying city would serve us up a slab of such vintage radio from his vast vinyl collection. Inevitably, I would fall asleep five minutes in, having had far too many beers to keep my eyes and ears open any longer. Mea culpa, my friend--you were right all along. This is great stuff.

not out of the woods yet

kraut on the tiles

celebrating the season of lint

A dry towel is not necessarily a clean towel.

embrace the random iii

My favorite strip of paper I've ever plucked from a fortune cookie:

Because of your melodic nature,
the moonlight never misses an appointment.

they came, they played, they pummelled

Devastator and I were aurally assaulted last night by the infamous British noise group Whitehouse. How to describe Whitehouse? Imagine a freight train steaming through a factory. Imagine the hiss of one thousand radiators and the howl of two thousand air raid sirens. Imagine the anger and disgust of a nation screamed through a megaphone three miles wide. Now multiply all that by five. You're getting closer.

Droning, screeching blasts of white noise pounded us until I was convinced my ears no longer worked and all sound was now being absorbed through my sternum. Various internal organs vibrated and churned to hammering pulses of subsonic bass. And throughout this audio barrage, I smiled ear-to-ear at the surreal sight of such mayhem being created by two men who looked like visiting professors from Oxford. Wolves in sheeps' clothing, indeed.

Extreme times require extreme music. Thank you, Whitehouse, and thank you, Devastator, for one sledgehammer of a birthday gift.

embrace the randumb

The gray film of dust on my Jesus bobblehead makes him look like Michael McDonald. Hmmmmmm.....Jesus is just alright with me.