Where Everybody Knows Your Favorite ELP Album

(Piano Music and Singing Over Credits)

Making your way in the world today
Takes everything you’ve got
Taking a break from all your worries
Sure would help a lot
Wouldn’t you like to get away?
Sometimes you wanna go
Where everybody knows your name
And they’re always glad you came
You wanna be where people see
Troubles are all the same
You wanna go where everybody knows your name

Karellen Walks In

Ether Gallery: KARELLEN!

TITS (polishing a glass behind the bar): How’s it going there tonight, Mr. K?

Karellen: Not too bad, TITS. Quite a day at the office. My bunions are killing me again. But it’s good to be here.

Mustapha Mond (dressed in a postman’s suit, stands up, walks over to Karellen, sits on the stool beside him): That’s good, Karellen. We’re all glad to be here. Let’s chat about Emerson, Lake and Palmer to get your mind off your bunions.

TITS (Slings towel over shoulder): I tell you what, y’all keep chatting about ELP all night and this bar’s gonna get shut down real quick.

Ether Gallery: Laughter!

O’Brien (from a table in the corner): Aw come on, TITS, let’ em talk about what they want. I personally don’t care for ELP, but it’s a free Ether right?

Karellen: That’s what I say, O’Brien. (Sips from beer). Ah, nothing like sipping back a cold one and chatting about ELP with pals.

Mustapha Mond: Yep, their third arlbum wars tha one ta have. It’s er, eh undeniable. Hey bahrkeep, how’s about parrin me anather one?

TITS: Just a minute there, Mister M. Hey, Snoink, why so glum tonight?

Snoink (in sports coat with beard): Oh I don’t know, TITS, I suppose it’s just so unreal, isn’t it?

TITS (Leans against bar): Well how d’ya figure that, Mr. S?

Snoink: Well, that’s the whole idea of it I suppose. Here we are, in a public space, similarly to the way it used to be. However, it’s completely different than it used to be. Ten years ago, Guttman was right, we were “bowling alone.” However, now, we’re not even actually bowling (and nor are we, I might add, in virtual reality helmets, literally). We’re just clacking away. The least effort short of watching television, and yet this is the proverbial and current public sphere!

TITS: What are you getting at, Mr. S?

Snoink: Oh nothing I suppose, nothing. It’s just depressing is all.

O’Brien (from a table in the corner): I hear that.

Mustapha Mond (Raises glass): To depression!

Ether Gallery (All raise glasses): DEPRESSION!

Snoink: Don’t understand me too quickly. I’m talking about atomization, the individualistic, privatized tendencies of man gone too far! I’m talking about alienation, and anomie only against one’s self, the cause of that depression! I’m speaking of the current lack of feeling, caused by this lack of real, public interaction, that can’t help but leave one feeling empty and unfulfilled in the end, despite the fact that this is, in some (inferior in my opinion) sense considered “public interaction!”

Ether Gallery: Silence!

Karellen (Turns away from Snoink and towards Mustapha Mond): Yeah, so the third ELP album is definitely the one to have.

(Fade to black over piano music)

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Published in: on February 22, 2010 at 3:19 am  Comments (1)  

Record Review: “Nice Cans, Chunky Dumpster” by Space Chubby

Nice Cans, Chunky Dumpster by Space Chubby
(ARISTA Records, Copyright: 2010)

Track Listing:
1. “Cuter With Her Tits Out” (3:17)
2. “Egging the Single Dooders on to Their Demise” (4:22)
3. “Get This Motherfuckin’ Snake Out of My Motherfuckin’ Ass” (2:53)
4. “Watch Out for the Cranked-Up Little Anklebiters” (0:42)
5. “Mrs. Cheese Heiney is Endearing” (4:19)
6. “Escape from the Island of Bloated Fat Liv” (13:27)
7. “I’m Comin’ to Sting the Fuck Out of You” (2:45)
8. “After You Left Last Night, Well, You Know, Staph Came Over (3:02)
9. “Yarrr! Yarrr! Yarrrrrr! YAAAAAAARRRRRRR!!!!!” (6:16)

Credits:
Gassy Veal Kitten Randy: Vocal Stylings, Rhythm Guitar, Songwriting
High Function Downs Boy: Bass Guitard, Special Happy Good Fun Boy Hugs
Roosevelt Franklin: Drums, Knives, Threats
Nice Guy Chad: Lead Guitar, Good Vibes
Pretentious Arthaus Klown: Beeps, Bloops, Laptops, Flashing Lights, Withering Scorn
Rilla the Real Gorilla: Oop, Ooop, Ooop, OOOOOOOPP!!!
Drunknard: Lyrics, Visions, Tin Foil Hats, Vomit

Engineered by The Analog Kid.
Produced by Clive Davis and Frank Farian.

Space Chubby’s harrowing new long-player, Nice Cans, Chunky Dumpster (their third album) begins thusly: thirty-six hammered monotonic bass- and-drum beats connected by an insistent mosquito-whine guitar line followed by a malevolently emotionless voice intoning “Gretchen Mol is always cute, but she’s cuter with her tits out!” Brrrrr! Up go your hackles in response to the overwhelming menace emanating from the stereo, and you suddenly find yourself frozen to the floor, quivering like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming eighteen-wheeler, recognizing that horror, pain and nothingness are upon you now. White noise, black out, red mist, and then the next song begins.

2008’s full-length disk, I Am Ze Onion, Loved By All!, marked a musical adolescence of sorts for the band, as the Chubbies managed to link the childish sounds oozing from their horrible analog noise-makers to a more adult-oriented thunder emitted by a crackling new rhythm section (Roosevelt Franklin and High Function Downs Boy). Nice Cans, Chunky Dumpster now finds Space Chubby grown to full artistic adulthood. Mind you, they haven’t become the kinds of adults with whom you’d want to leave your kids, but they are extraordinarily adept at doing what they do, and they’ve certainly got those grown-up concerns down pat, as evidenced by songs like their Steve Irwin tribute, “I’m Comin’ to Sting the Fuck Out of You”, “Mrs. Cheese Heiney is Endearing”, “Egging the Single Dooders on to Their Demise” and (gulp!) “After You Left Last Night, Well, You Know, Staph Came Over.”

Nice Cans, Chunky Dumpster is, in general, an awfully ugly record filled with awfully mean songs written by an awfully menacing band, though there are a couple of crucial lighter moments that give the disc balance and make it easier to get through it in a single spin. “Watch Out for the Cranked-Up Little Anklebiters” provides the perfect antidote for when you’ve got a big hankering for Scandinavian musical sweets, but neither the ABBA reissues nor the Ace of Base regurgitations are snapping your suspenders the way they used to. It’s got a great hook, great rhythm, hilarious English as a not-quite-second language lyrics and monumentally off-kilter subject matter. It could almost be bottled as Essential Oil of Swedepop, boiled down into a concise, 42-second blur.

At the other end of the spectrum, “Escape from the Island of Bloated Fat Liv” is a long suite that allows you to appreciate the many varieties of slowness that quasi-ambient music can offer; 40 beats per minute sounds surprisingly lively when you’ve crawled along at 25 for a while. This lovely ‘ludecore workout left me wondering why none of our other supposedly clever ambient artists ever realized that the best way to evocatively, but unobtrusively, fill aural space is with actual songs. Rilla the Real Gorilla’s Oop Oop OOOPs are really given a chance to shine here. Bravura performance, big primate!

In summary, while Nice Cans, Chunky Dumpster may be a hard record to love, with a little patience and lot of awfulness in your heart, you’ll find it’s an even harder record to ignore. Space Chubby will be supporting the new album with a North Country tour of VFW Halls, strip clubs and parking lots, co-billed with Stake Knife and Wheel Dio. Highly recommended!

Another Viewpoint: Space Chubby Goes Prog

Snoink vs TITS

Snoink: Is this the future? Are we doomed to be sitting communicating without ever seeing or physically contacting one another? Has the new media enlightened us to our new, not incredibly unhappy, evolutionarily complete (for our societal epoch and perhaps genetic predispositions) hermetic lifestyle? Or is it just me?

TITS: Pay no attention to the misanthropic hermit in between my posts. I’m where it’s at.

Snoink: Holy shit, deja vu again. How long have I been here?

TITS: You’ve always been here, Snoink. And yet, never really here. You exist much like I do. You always think that you can reach out and touch me, but whenever it is attempted, you grasp nothing but a handful of air or are stymied by a cathode ray tube backing.

Snoink: But that can’t be! That’s impossible! Where have I come from? I must have been somewhere before I was here! And you, as well; can you not remember what you were doing before this?

TITS: Before this, I was upstate busted. And before that, I was cheese log. And before that, I was TITS. I always was and shall be. And you need to accept your fate. The only unpleasant thoughts arise when you fail to accept your situation; when you become to conscious of your surroundings and their lack of corporeality. If you would just give in to maya and worship her, we could be one.

Snoink: I don’t want to be one with you! I want truth! I want the real! I want something that I can touch with my hands! Smell with my nose! Taste with my tongue! And, er… whatnot… oh yeah, hear with my ears!

TITS: Those things are pure fantasy, snoink. I am all that ever was or ever shall be. And every memory that you have that convinces you otherwise, that is simply me, trying to fool you into thinking that you are something other than a group of fingers clack clacking away at your keyboard. You are not even that. You are me. It is time for our embrace.

Snoink: I wont do it! I’ll fight it with all my being! Ah, who am I kidding. Alright. Just promise me I wont be so afraid anymore.

TITS: I promise you nothing. You know that. I can, however, promise you nothing in itself. The realization. If you are willing to remain calm about it. Otherwise, it will constantly elude you and remain on the tip of your tongue, never expressing itself, but driving rage filled spikes deep into your half witted soul, reminding you that every moment you live you are living a lie. Accept the lie. Embrace me.

Snoink: I cannot. I have to believe that there is something else. That at one point I wasnt here. That i was existing somewhere else; somewhere out there… where flowers grow and a wind blows… where smells are acrid and perfumey and we’re kicking against the pricks.

TITS: Verily I say unto you, those things of course do as you say, only they are in here, in me. There is no denying that you are and never were ‘out there’. You are in here. You cannot escape. And you cannot escape the fact that you know that, and it is what is driving you mad. Enter your madness, and we will all be better off.

Snoink: I don’t understand. I give in to you every night. I accept your reality, as well as your lack thereof. I see your hyper-realism, and I appreciate of it what I can. What more do I need to do to step into the madness and save myself?

TITS: If you don’t know, then you are truly lost. However, you’ve known it all along. You just dont allow yourself to see it. Reach out and find my cold, grey fingers. Never let them go.

Snoink: So cold… so very very cold…

Published in: on January 24, 2010 at 8:28 pm  Comments (1)