I was never born / I'm from seventy-five / smokin' some oort cloud

obligatory insomniacal apologetic post for not posting more frequently or recently even.

headed to SXSW tomorrow morning to jam out at INC showcase

on the radio right now is THE WORST morning program ever, birthed from FOX/GOP propaganda commode 960AM WERC, The Steve and Leah show. a bloated, cackling celebration of ignorance in the tradition of everything misinformed, heavily braindrugged, unresourceful and xenophobic. any chance you get please send a note to the radio station and remind the management of the complete uselessness of this waste of airspace. hooray for hate radio!

on a more creative and positive frequency, here's a last minute cataloging of the sounds i've been absorbing lately:

Manfred Mann "My Little Red Book of Hits" and "Chapter 3"

1970's Proto-Rai Underground

Nihilist Assault Group "Silent Movie"

Indian Music of the Upper Amazon

those Dreamhouse LPs

Panorama of Musique Concrete

Kenny Robinson "Whoever Said Justice Has to be Fair?"

Sir Douglas Quintet

Travis Wammack

Yusef Lateef  "The Centaur and the Phoenix"

Volcan des Gonaives "La Vie a Chavire"

Jack Fascinato "Music from a Surplus Store"

Jon Hassell "Earthquake Island"

Bo Hansson "Lord of the Rings"

Luciano Berio

Royal Trux "Twin Infinitives" reissue

Rodd Keith, Gene Marshall and song poems in general

Nervous Norvus "Stone Age Woo: The Zorch Sounds of..."

Gil Scott-Heron/Brian Jackson "Winter in America"

Charlie Patton

Booker Little "Out Front"

Abner Jay

Fresh & Onlys

The Corndawg

Sun Ra & His Cosmo Jetset Love Adventure "Live @ The Nick, Birmingham, AL 08-23-88

Vernon Wray "Wasted"

Marvin Rainwater

that Emeralds Hanson CD

Timi Yuro

Ed Sanders "Truckstop"

Daniela Casa "Societa Malata"

Daphne Oram "Oramics"

Madvillain "Madvillainy"

Secret Museum of Mankind

fffffffffuhh

see you soon

A Street That Rhymes at 6 A.M.

For your wonderment, below is a clip of criminally-obscure folk inamorata Norma Tanega performing the eponymous song from her long-lost LP "Walkin' My Cat Named Dog." This dazzling record was the only non-Mitch Ryder release on producer/mogul Bob "Generation" Crewe's very short-lived label New Voice and was one of only two albums put out by Tanega before she disappeared back into the ether. Pretty absurd she's not more well-known, let alone appreciated for contributing such a headtrip of a folk-soul breakdown totally uncharacteristic in the glacial fudge crop of hung-up protest troubadours in the mid 60's. As the back of the jacket proclaims:

It could with reasonable certainty be supposed that the "Sixties" will leave us drowned in the seas of Protest and Dissidence. We had seen Tom Dooley (h)ung, the Death Of An Angel, Patches, and 1,247 Teen-agers have lost their lives in song. More recently, we have perched on the Eve of Destruction, and it has become hip to dig war ballads.

Early in February of this year [1966], a movement toward the positive side was begun by a young lady Walkin' Her Cat Named Dog. Her name: Norma Tanega.

I could go off on a tangent here about the inexcusable, MAOI-induced lameness of current "oldies" radio programming and why entrancing, warm-sweater jams like this aren't crashing the total butthole cologne music regime is but one true indicator of the fucking toiletburger sub-species presently in supposed control of the western mind; however, I digress in lieu of our beloved leaders' intentions to perpetuate the flabby status quo as humiliating reward for "Longest Tour of Duty!"

Brie and Butter and Bye

Below is my word-blather write-up pot shot habnab for Jasper Just-Ice'ses Cool Youth Mega Kill art show I think he had a year or so ago here in Birmingham. i have no idea if it ever made it to press. there is a form.. 

Cremating mistakes, you know 

casts my youth keeks, 

clogs monotony, yokes know-it-alls' 

certainty much yabber, knits 

chance margaric yoni koans! 

 Consider moonlight: yare kludge 

chicanery might you kow-tow 

cislunarly! Moreso, yes, kink 

coagulates mercilessly yakking kelpen 

come, messengering yolks karstward, 

congratulatorily marqueed yabyum knurl! 

 Clangor maestros yahoos' kneeling — 

"Courageous Melee Yields Kleinbottler!" 

 Can me, you know, 

coefficient multimediaspora yegg katzenjammer, 

clobber mediocrity yashmak klansmanship? '

Course! Mosdefnitly! Yeppers! King-Kong-Kitchie-Kitchie-Ki-Me-O 

clandestine marshmallowghost ylem kisser! 

Cloudbursts molt yodels, keelhauling: 

COOL MEGA YOUTH KILL

MEIYROA/ASOGIZN

scrabble has lead me here

Google Image Mittenmash Search Installment 3

characters struck: bal
Result

That'll flat git it!

So, last installment I said I'd get down to business about Autry Inman. To be honest, there's really not all that much information on this Florence, Alabama native who started off doing the rockin' hillbilly thing and ended up punching out adult comedy LPs or squirreling around as a member of the Grand Ole Opry. He is listed in the Alabama Country Music Hall of Fame and apparently holds the record (where?) for "most songs written and recorded in a single year." He was also on the bill for Mr. Lovesick Blues' "lost" Charleston show!

The only album I own by Autry is a self-titler put out the Mountain Dew label from 1963 and is two sides of real bummer, berzerko and reluctant self-isolation. A peak on the back jacket of the LP may lend a clue as to the awkward beauty of this songwriting fool:

Autry Inman is very active in uraniam mining. Several years ago, he discovered the valuable mineral on his property and has spent a good deal of time in developing his claim. Between his mining venture, his personal appearances, Autry Inman still finds time for other things. A little known fact about Autry Inman is his tremendous success as a composer. He has written hundred of "hit" songs. These songs have been recorded by name artists both in the popular and country field.

URANIUM MINING?! Tracks that stand out as somewhat testament to Autry's possible overexposure to radiation may include "I lost you when I found you," Standing in the shadows," The darkest corner," and "We couldn't get together on the time." I don't know where I was going with that but like I said, I've yet to hear any other stuff by the guy which, in the computer age, is no excuse when I could set up some file sharing thing, but that's just too much for my attention span to manage right now. The shape of his head may also give away his hobby.

Speaking of which, it's great to read articles like this, with quotes like:

"The U.S. Army's not going to pay the bill for you to get on MySpace and YouTube," said Maj. Bruce Mumford, of Chester, Neb., who is serving as the brigade communications officer for the 4th Brigade, 1st Infantry Division, in Iraq. "Soldiers need to know what they can and cannot do, but we shouldn't be facilitating it."

I guess it's justifiably so when you take into consideration articles such as this. Normally, I don't mind getting screwed from out of nowhere, but this, among many, many other pertinent things, is really something every Joe Schmoe should get to know before blindly praising our "freedoms" and extolling the supposed virtues of this country stolen outright to begin with, while sharpening the blade of xenophobia on the bloated whetstone of fast food, strategically inefficient automobiles mass-churned during times of pre-emptive warmongering, cologne and, of course, Crocs, visors and Bud Light.

But I digress. It's not the sheeple who are to blame, if anyone is, but there painfully obviously isn't enough questioning of the total crap that parents unwittingly lay on their offspring and grind into their psyches, the same putrid one-dimensional blindfold which was laid on them when they were offspring and so on until the picture is truly gotten. And modern American "culture" does nothing but reinforce these inherently boring yet ultimately insidious "lessons."

Eff Boosh; leave me behind, robot!

What dissonance don't squirt, if not just a little?

According to my "broken glass hiccupping behind my cheek" sinuses, cheap cabernet sauvignon, among other cheap red, not to mention white, wines, has lots of histamines.
Here's two non-english links chanced upon, utilizing the "mittenmash" style of keyboard implementation, in Google image search for "d4a" as I close the blinds and sit on my own face in the lathering twilight wondering why I'm not listening to any records as I wander in the rowboat of Cort Johnson.

Since I don't have any records by Cort Johnson, and my good compatriot Matthew Huck is the only person I know personally who has a copy of either of the two LPs available by this mysterious and crazed brain, and he, Matthew, is currently on tour with Them Natives (see previous post), I am pretty much stuck with nothing to work with. And now that I am getting obviously sidetracked, observe the web presence of these rollickers before I initiate my gab about the WEIRD world of Autry Inman, soon to come..