The Sainte Catherines, arguably Quebec’s finest punk-rock sextet, released only 220 copies on yellow vinyl of this, their fourth LP, Dancing for Decadence. Their first (and only) release on Fat Wreck Chords, Dancing for Decadence dropped back in aught six, and is one of maybe a handful (a giant’s handful) of records that I’ve yet to listen to… but she sure is a beaut!
Bought for $1.99, this undoubted little 12” features all the best that radio-pop 1987 had to offer, and for only a cool $4.99 ($10.47 today), Only in My Dreams AKA HAIR, was only a little over an hour’s work away (back in 1987, minimum wage $3.35 an hour).
From 1956 (left) to 1977 (right), he was king, and we were his kingdom. Coming up on 37 years from the day in which his highness fell (August 16), he is no less commanding now than he was 58 years ago. He was never a favorite of mine, but that didn’t stop me from giving him all the respect he deserves.
RIP Elvis Aaron Presley
So the clock keeps tickin’
And the kat keeps lickin’
Who’s the Groove you love the most?
Take a laugh at yourself
It’s good for your health
OH SH!T it’s time to post
So… that happened.
#iblamewhiskey also #facepalmmaniaccentral and, let’s not forget #someonehasvacationontheirmind
To my dismay, I received a discogs ordered Mike Watt Ball-Hog or Tugboat? double LP with a chopped corner. The seller didn’t list said missing chunk in the item description, and now I don’t even want to look at the thing, let alone listen to it. I’m torn between reselling it (as returning it, I’m finding, is not an option), or begrudgingly keeping it, only to scowl at it every chance it’s in eyesight. I’ve been contemplating this decision all week as it haunts the waiting room of my collection. Oh well, Watt ‘er ya gonna’ do?
So, what do you do when you’re halfway into work and the piercing notion strikes that, once again, you forgot to snap a few pics for the day’s post?! Some would veer their car off the next overpass, while others would make up some vague excuse, double back, and snatch the visual interpretation of one’s daily obsession. So… what did I do? I cursed myself, countless times, and left it up to “oh, well, we’ll figure it out” as a viable, and ONLY option.
So, here’s a photo of a mid-seventies MCA Records logo. Swallowed up by the mighty Universal Music Group, MCA Records gasped its last, fleeting breath back in 2003.
In 1988, I know jack about Delicious Vinyl records… but like any radio-worshiping Midwesterner, I knew every syllable to the song Wild Thing by Tone–Lōc. Produced by the legendary Matt Dike and Michael Ross (Michael Ross is the genie he’s giving us our wishes), and, not surprisingly, engineered by b-boy Mario C., this little 12” time warp is a who’s-who of Beastie Boys crossovers.
Including the aforementioned Matt Dike and Mario C. (you can’t front on that!), the illustrious credits continue with EZ Mike and King Gizmo (AKA the Dust Brothers, producers of the Beasties’ Paul’s Boutique), and none other than Wild Thing video director, and lady b-boy (Mike D’s wife), Tamra Davis.
I knew that when I discovered this album, being labeled as DV 1002, for only $4 at a small and dusty Long Beach record shop that a bit of my childhood would be reinstated. What I didn’t know, was how much of my young adult-era obsession was intimately intertwined.
Please, baby-baby, please!
Saw this in the kitchen at work yesterday and had to yoink it. An esteemed apology to my coworkers for a missing Arts section in Tuesday’s edition of the Times. (I’ll be more than happy to return it now that this has been posted.)
I’ve yet to fully read the article, but it looks as though Mr. Claas Brieler and his 25k collection made it into the new book, Dust & Grooves. Congrats to him and to record collectors everywhere. The bar has been set, if only momentarily.
The gift of Bis (apparently) comes from seemingly every avenue of social media. The story goes like this… I’d acquired a sealed LP of Bis’ 1997 debut, The New Transistor Heroes, from the now defunct Grand Royal Records, and for reasons I’m not at liberty to discuss, I never opened it. Fast forward to a few days ago when I’m trolling Instagram and someone whom I follow posts a recent record purchase of a used copy of said Bis album, and expressed how happy they were about the bonus 7” within.
Cut to me dropping my phone onto the floor and rushing to the “B” section of the library, where I carefully knife open the 17-year-old virgin record and discover the sly 7”.
A good day for discovering a record I’d already owned.
I’m thinking black… cream and sugar are for half-witted-ninny-poops. No disrespect to the half-witted-ninny-poops. Coffee, like most music, is best served dark. Diluting the base w/ cream makes for chocolate milk, and what self-respecting-half-assed-adult wants chocolate milk? Drink your coffee like a terrorist, established in 1979.
A hearty thanks to JWick1 for this amazing double LP (proper post forthcoming). Arthur (or the Decline and Fall of the British Empire) is a personal fav, and this graduated version is, simply put, the bee’s knees. A collector and avid Kinks fan cannot go wrong with both mono and stereo versions of this outstanding album. Thanks again, senior choch!
Might I suggest a little heavy, summer reading? The Story of Crass by George Berger is a fascinating explosion of intricate and fundamental knowledge of perhaps the only true punk band the world has ever known. The art collective formally known as Crass has always been somewhat of an illusive mystery to me, save for the rough, crude, and politically charged music. Whether you’re a fan of social equality, anti-war sentiments, or just plain into rock music history, The Story of Crass is nothing short of essential reading material, and comes highly recommended by the Prudent Groove.
So, Room 237 was something… and so was its soundtrack. Composed and created by Jonathan Snipes & William Hutson, this ominous and eerie soundscape is perfect, no… PERFECT blanket noise for that special evening when the boring normality of the everyday meets the heightened expectations of the ethereally abnormal. Essentially, a bullshit way of saying that this soundtrack is meant to unease your tensions, while drawing you in for the big score, like a discounted (free toppings) soft serve. Is this something you could rock every Tuesday on your way to the telecine studio, well, no, but it’s certainly something worth having at the ready if and when the peculiar strikes.
Squeeze’s first album is a fantastic, British firework of pop explosion. Here, it’s presented in fire-red vinyl, with the sticker promoting the classic, Take Me, I’m Yours. I can offer nothing more than this printed, advertisement, and an early morning photo of said fire-red record. If you don’t know Squeeze, you don’t know.
As the long-told, infrequently-forgotten story goes, the sunshine-happy-give-us-your-money band featured on the back cover of Dead Kennedy’s debut, Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables was used without the band’s consent, and resulted in a threatened lawsuit causing variations of the Bay area’s backside cover art. LA-based Sounds of Sunshine (aforementioned sunshine-happy-give-us-your-money band), wasn’t quite satisfied with their work-around beheading, and the Dead Kennedy’s were forced to come up with a new back cover concept altogether (replaced the sunshine-happy-give-us-your-money band sans heads with four vintage living room-dwellers sitting under a framed Alternative Tentacles logo… subsequent lawsuit forthcoming).
If any morals are to be learned from this tug-and-pull fiasco, they are forever silenced by the timeless music contained within.
The magnificent beast of violent vulgarity sat crying on a damp, dusty slab. Under the weight of 78 tears, the Devil weighed his options, and settled on inevitable defeat. Not even Harry James and his Orchestra could coerce the Devil from his lamenting hysteria, and the Devil knew it. His number had been called, and he knew it was his turn.
He had been licked, this sultry workhorse, and the new champion was ushered in atop a crowd of hope, and a flock of aspiration. He knew he was no longer feared, and with that, he knew there was nothing left. The world stood by with gaping mouths, as The Devil Sat Down and Cried.
I broke the mold of tradition yesterday and removed the shrink wrap that bound my copy of Double Nickels on the Dime, the Minutemen’s timeless magnum opus. It has become habit for me to neatly slice the plastic along the sleeve opening, preserving the virgin cover, back, and in this case, gatefold center.
I’d never owned Double Nickels in any format until I found this reissue, so I was more than amazed when I released the fruits of this gatefold for the very first time. Aside from the usual credits and a collage of action band shots are seven drawing by Raymond Pettibon I’d never seen before. Famous first throughout the Southern California early punk scene, then the world over, Mr. Pettibon’s art ranges from morally exposing to minimalist shock, which, after reading this again, does absolutely no justice to either the style of his characters, or the weight of his foreboding, and ominous messages. His often humorous take on the vulgar details of moral principles (many struggle their whole lives to ignore) raise a sense of loaded guilt that makes you want to go out and punch an elected official in the face, but you know… in a good way.
And why is it so difficult to find in LA? Oh well… the search continues…
So often do priceless nuggets of cultural significance go overlooked. Featured, as far as I can tell, ONLY on the back of 1981’s The Punch Line LP (15 mins for 18 songs…), this industrial landscape not only shows promise of conviction, it also showcases the many, astute talents of an already gifted musician, George Hurley (drummer for Minutemen).
Like so many onion-like layers of creative mystique the Minutemen continue to provide, this alternate, artistic expression by one of the world’s best drummers, Mr. George Hurley, was / is good enough for cover art, but for a prolific band such as this, takes sidecar, and settles for a prominent, yet secondary place on the back cover.
No filler did plague the Minutemen. History has converted this opinion into fact.