Here To Win The Game.

If, as they say, we are all God's Children, then I have a very, very disappointed Parent way up there, way up high in the sky. What He must think, sitting there on high, watching His shit-faced hybrid jackal/human/junebug/village idiot creation unfurl and lunge and fall and generally malfunction right in the face of His Divine Wisdom. I'm sure he's seen worse, but man, believe it, it's still gotta hurt. It ain't easy being the Father. I suspect so, anyway.

It seems that I am destined to meet up with you guys under these circumstances.

Staying in the pocket this time. Even, deliberate pacing and descriptions are gonna rue the day. No more of this maniac hacking and unfiltered mental onrush. Content. Discipine! Well, one can dream, eh? My muse is not of that nature, evidently. And my Muse is not pretty: Sharp teeth. Vicious Stench. Steel claws. She is 100% vile, very obnoxious and will one day lord of my Dead Body. What a chronic, violent beast! But, you know, we gotta take what we are given. Thus it is said, and ever thus shall it be.

And if you think The Muse is weird, just imagine The Choir. What a grotesque gallery of Knuckleheads there!

Righto! I am back in New York after heading down to Texas to bring in the Holidays. Characteristic of my style, it was celebratory. I was in the strongest company. It is always cool to Dentonize. Dallas depresses the dog-shit out of me, but there was good people to see in that place too. But here I am. Again. This metropolis.

But nobody here is a stranger to The Metropolis, eh? Tokyo. Seoul. LA. We tend to opt for the fast lane, us Hardworlders. A sophisticated bunch dedicated to High Culture. There's probably a french phrase that would sound and look way cool for that.

Hack, wail, wheeze, moan. Hurray!

And man oh man. Why is it that I approach this business everytime with a heart chock-full of regret? A night bourne of poor choices and marred and maimed by my shit instincts? An awful mourning? It is a sad state of affairs when you are your worst enemy. But lo, Hardworlders, 'tis all mine. So might as well embrace it. All this toppling, all this instability. I had cooler shit in my head for all this, by the way. Then, whammo! Arizona congresswoman down! Then breakfast. The world is moving fast. And I am all drunk in the mix.

And there's the rub: it is a very, very twisted feeling. This wake in the Fierce quest for Absolution. The deep Wellspring, the terrible quilt of guilt and shame. Evidently, they are, both of 'em, intertangled in the ol' noggin. Who would've thought? But Man. There is a hideous purity in this wake Of The Storm. The beach is swept away. You can hear the birds, the lizards, and the apes. Nature is back, motherfucker! And though the shame and sense of self is sulking and the ego is lying all maimed and raped in the hospital ward, the Awareness of everything Eternal is elevated. It's as if you are privy to a preview of the world without you.

Or, it's like, what else can I do to myself? I did that? And I'm still here? Somehow?

But let us not tempt fate, Hardworlders! Never a good idea, that. On a sunny day many moons past, Joel and I did just that, and I found myself sleeping on a roll of toilet paper in a very, very cold cell in Grandbury, Texas. But, in all candor, I do not regret that day. There is something to be said for driving at top speed down I-35, windows down, the stereo cranked to a very appropriate volume, good laughs, good company, and an open beer between your legs. In hindsight, it all gets justified. Enough distance and the screaming...just...fades away.

Yes, I manufactured as much comfort as could be mustered. The drunk tank is never a fun place, but I tried to settle in and make a home out of it. Nonetheless. I really, really, do not like the idea of incarceration. So I gotta ride this line. Once again. It's like my favorite soul animal. the Buffalo. Buffalo meets a ballerina. The elegant Ballerafallo! The Blind Charge segueing into a brutal pirouette. Right there on the precipice. All of it in a dreadful lateral plunge soaked in maniacal alcoholism. A delicious marinade for The Fool Endeavor. Hoofs kicking up a billowing cloud. In this case, a bloody, bilious cloud of Eloquence.

Jesus. This is all getting too cerebral, eh? Maybe even boring. This is also something that I do not want. Not for you guys, anyway. I give myself free license to lame out on the rest of IT, but never ever ever on the shining stars in the Hard Firmanent. Alright. Easing down. Time for drinks. Jacob, welcome to our fine forum. What are you thirsty for? I have no soju, are you cool with whiskey? Maybe a beer. Hell, got 'em both coming your way. Heeeeeeeeeeere you go. Enjoy. Daug, I have prepared you something that I'm sure will do the trick. An Irish Car-Bomb. Chug-a-lug good buddy! Graybill, well, you've probably had your fill of saki, so I opted for something pure and brutal. Here, drink this entire bottle of Everclear. That's it. Don't give me that look. Finish it. Great! What? Yeah I know, they were a really terrible band. Just let me just snort this and I'm going to get down and serious here with this 151. This is, after-all, a serious night. We are deep into the Business. What shall we settle first? North Korea? Is that all empty rhetoric and public posturing or is there real validity in the threat? What about this Arizona congress-lady? Jesus. We live in divided times. I guess they all are, but still...

Alright, on to lighter fare. Have any of you seen Black Swan? My good Disappointed Deity, you gotta. It is fucking incredible. It's like hanging onto an electric fence for two hours. Except it's kind of exquisite, the pain. True Grit was great, but Black Swan will still be around in ten years. Aronofsky. Goddamn. Portman. Good double backflip in slow motion goddamn. What was that? No, I have not seen Tron. I was going to, but now...kind of scared. I may just cruise around on the idea I have of Tron. I think it may be better that way.

Alright. Where was I? One pretty girl winks at you in the street, and The Universe just melts down into dust and rust. Everything just goes fuck-all entropic. The brain instantly goes French, submits to the menace of the Ego and His Genitals. Bones in the ol' clockwork. Anyway. Not your concern. Gotta make an effort here. This a Hardworlders entry, goddammit! Nothing less than the finest locutions will do. How do you live, Joel? This is the regular state of affairs for you. How do you manage to get anything done?

There are other reasons behind this perpetual state. This self-inflicted scorching. I guess that's what this whole shebang is all about. Getting into the mind. Dark rumblings. A very delicate process. Not about the comings and goings of the day, etc. What is there really to say about that? Wake. Masturbate. Eat. Walk around. Discombobulation. Events. Routine. Physical waste. Applied effort, to something. Eat. Strong drink. Deluded optimism. Dissolution. Lights out. Repeat. Over and over. Phoenix from the ashes. This shit happens everywhere. Until it doesn't anymore.

And that's when the real shit goes down. Or not. Who knows? If they yank that mystery out of our lives then man, oh man, are we Fucked.

Categorically.

So, until then, might as well dip into all this murk and all this mire that is the briars and the Great Thicket of the consciousness. It is a painful saga, absolutely, but the only real post-modern choice. When you're situated at the top of the Grand Pyramid, the weirdo masonic Cosmic Eye comes to rest squarely on You. Hm. Hold on. Wait a second- I don't own a Lexus, I sleep on a couch and I am definitively unemployed...perhaps I'm being a bit hasty on the pyramid bit. Maybe I've got a few stairs to stagger up still.

And that's what we call Living the Dream here in this Hardworld.

Struggle. Grapple. Burp. Excrete. Repeat.

Happy New Year!

Thanks for the invite.

So now I'm a hardworlder. I'm honored. Thank you. I'm not in Korea though, but I did make it into Koreatown in LA today for some Galbitang, given account of how cold it has been recently, I never felt a stronger urge to eat some galbitang. Then I went to a Korean Sauna. Now here in Ktown LA, there is an abundance of Korean Saunas. I must have chosen the right one because when I went in, and I got the familiar "Oshosayo!" I instantly replied with "Anyonghaseyo." Then to stir up some shits and giggles, I whipped out my Korean drivers license from when I lived in Korea (I was supposed to return it to immigration upon departure from Korea) she actually scratched her head. So it's not that funny, but she did get some Korean out of me and for humoring her, I got 10 free guest passes. She called up someone on the phone and was like "yada yada weigukin chingu" something something. Then she gave me some "chingu cards," (e.g. guest passes). So I'll be sure to Kspa again in the near future. Thanks for adding me, uh, I don't have anything else of interest to say. If you want to watch some videos I made, feel free.

I like to make movies.

Be brutal.

Welcome to the new member

As the so far silent administrator of the Hardworld I'd like to take one of my few vocal moments to give a hearty welcome to the newest member of this carnal exploration of death, humanity and the outright satanistic practice of listening to metal music. Mr. Jacob!! Come on down sir and welcome to the pack. We're a bunch of lone wolves scattered about the dark woods of the real world, ripping at the flesh and fabric of time and existence, spilling the blood of the guilty and innocent alike, howling and eating the soft flesh of the forgiven. From your unique vantage point in the vast network of the universe we invite you to rip and tear through the minds of our limited numbers, snapping bones, drinking whisky and eating the children of your enemies. Along with the rest of the hardworlders I feel honored to have such a ruthless and fearful individual as yourself in our midst.

Year End Lists 2010

Here's a list of my favorite year end best music lists. I like lists, and that's why I compiled a list of those lists, HARDWorlders. In order of loves:

Haunting the Chapel (on Stereogum. Stereogum is a decent site, and similar to pitchfork, but better. They also have this metal blog by Brandon Stosuy. He also writes about non metal music on there too. Good stuff.)

Fenriz (of Darkthrone. His blog and his picks of the year.)

Aquarius Records (my favorite record store, and their lists are usually metal mixed with indie rock, world music, experimental, etc....)

Boomkat (another great record store, but one I have never been to. Just online ordering style. Keeps my ears tuned to the electronic side of things. They also get reggae, sometimes metal, and classical/experimental)

MetalSucks (just got turned onto this site recently. A good one.)

Two other sites I am waiting for year end lists from:

Peacedogman (tons of super nerd lists like, best albums of 1972, and the Buyer's Guide section for their favorite bands. Definitely on the punk and metal side of things - old, but also new stuff as well.)

Teeth of the Divine (writing is probably the worst out of all of these sites, but I still check it once a week for metal happenings and reviews).

Misguided But Gilded All The Same

Hardworlders! Jesus. The Bender. The High logic is upon me and it is perched upon its Unmovable Rock, staring me down one mere inch in front of my swollen face and yes, goddamn, there's its creaking clenched teeth and I am right now taking in a deep inhalation of it's characteristic stench which is.. just... deliriously desirable and one just has no time, no time AT ALL to ask the kind of sensible questions a wise man must ask. Such as: Should one spend money for these things? Perhaps you'd be more alluring to all those females with your wits and your looks unmarred? And, most profound of all, Wirtala, why don't you avoid potentially dying? Drowning in these little whirlpools in what, ostensibly anyway, is the toast of the civilized World?

But the impulse is, well, pulsating and the drive to the Light On High is on. No time for any doubt. Stimulus, response: This is the wise way of the June Bug. And June Bugs may be the purest life form The World has ever Known. As in: There's the goal, I know where it's at, however, I don't know exactly how to work this sweet gilded chariot God gave me. So it's all vigor and faith and impulse and into the sky I go! Lot's of competing stimuli. Man. Look at all them lights! I want them all. Alright. Let us not dither here, Christ, no dallying, let's get into all these dazzling claims. And....YOUCH! DAMN! Alright. Settle down. Shake it out. Ouch. No matter, though. Still going for it. No real harm done. Nothing damaged. Just a bit shocked. A bad decision, running that route. Plenty of alternatives, plenty of other things to blindly charge into. I got this. Please do not worry. Your hero is still barreling through time and space, mind welded to it's eventuality. It's all eventual. Right? This shit will pan out. Just gotta systematically eliminate the alternatives through my special idiot, deductive process. Honor thy process! Rest assured, though, I will arrive at my destination. No idea what to do upon said arrival, but I will concern myself with these trivialities when the time is right. Please, let us not frazzle the mind of this noble bug. This trajectory was laid out smooth and tall by The Architect. Though the lumps do hurt. Man. Seriously.

An adage that should be common wisdom. The process bit.

Will it make it? The Wisdom?

And hey, Hardworlders, we are all noble beasts, yes? Jesus. Look at me. I feel ridiculous. Here I am, blathering non-stop and I have turned a blind eye to your needs. What a goddamn awful host. Sorry about that. Joel, take that coat off. Daug, I am getting your drink ready as we speak. Don't worry buddy, pouring 'em stroooong tonight. Why so tense? Yes, I know. It is indeed frosty out there. How about a nice, hot mulled wine to unravel with? Joel, yes, of course I am. I have total confidence that your written word will burn the very iron of our surroundings. Your recitatations never leave a dry eye in the house. Hot heat. But...perhaps you should belt this out to me in a free fall. A dive in the sky. No constraints there, brother. A thought. But a lot of preperation. Fuck it. No Sweat. We will tear down the Universe with Your Verse. The Triumph of Beauty. Graybillian Electric Eloquence! I've always considered that your nickname anyway. Privately, of course. Anyway. Let it all come down. Let me hand this beverage to Daug. Ok. Is that ok? The beverage? To your refined sensibilities? Sophisticated man in an international town. That's how I describe you to all my new acquaintances. What? Yeah, they're ok. Ain't no legends, though. But they'll do. Only one Daug on this rock. Wait. Really? Why Jeff, you never expressed the sentiment that you've been an opera aficionado. It's all making so much sense now. I totally get it. Well, since you offered, Joel well, YES, I'll do a line. Why not? We are friends. Friends in the best of times, no less. Let's get appropriate. Yes, Jeff. Of course, please procure a pipe. Oh wait- I gotta an apple right here. Cool! We can do just fine with this little guy. Yeah, I was gonna eat it but, you know, I'll get another...

Oh sure. Why not? I am enjoying the good times. Yes, and with the most elegant company at that. So alright. Say. Guys. I'm gonna youtube some Zeppelin. It's what I'm into these days. Everybody's got there predilections, right? Daug, you can attest. AC/DC . Man. God. Dialectics. Hither and Thither. These poles. Let's occupy the strange zone in the middle. Our Anyway. But hey. Once more. Devolving. Getting tangenty.

Best to stay on task.

These New York City Benders. They have a way. A different process that operates with an ease that just catapults you effortlessly one day into the next. A vile magic carpet ride. Vile! Though also quite charming. You just...slide onto a different wavelength. Justification is easily obtained. No problem on that front. One second, you're ordering your first shot and first thing you know, then you're waking up in a pool of chicken blood and sweat and your throat's all raw and the ravages of the night are just staring at you in the mirror. Nick Nolte comes to mind. All in all, a pretty good time. Except for Thanksgiving. That one got treacherous. I did away with any wisdom I happened to have on me. Seemed smart at the time? Downward Death Spiral? Anyway, I strangled that deaf, dumb and blind underground animal. My Conscience. A very particular brand of instant violence and yes, as it happens, ah contrare bonjour, one can destroy matter. Soul matter. You can eliminate it with the Great Hammer. My Lord, how I wielded That Hammer of the Gods. I rode my ship to new lands. I am my Overlord. Sitting right on Myself. Yikes! I've been through some weird one's, believe it, but I was very sore after that one.

Like a little band I follow called Led Zeppelin, I come from a long line of no-quitters, Hardworlders. I ascended that bucking bronco the next night. Wild fury in the streets, I. Unlike Zeppelin I lack a personalized airplane. Or a limo, with a driver.And, to my great shame, I have never inserted a mudshark into a beautiful woman. But hopefully, with a little time and great compassion from the two of you I will rectify all these shortcomings. Ultimately, all I ask, Sweet Lord: Just keep me out of the slammer.

But hey, the task?

It is, however, at this moment, very difficult to acsertain said task. The modern predicament. What a weird one. What is, indeed, Our Task? What is the goal after all those glorious hurdles? Happiness? Signifigance? As in: Legacy? The great cumulative result of all our idiot futile endeavours? No. Try as we might, and, Lord, we so goddamn go for all that, we are anchored. One whimpery perspective, scraping our thoroughly debased teeth and brain matter against the Whole. How can we win? Where is it all gonna go?

Where indeed?

All we got, just like everybody else, is the next day.

But I'm starting to understand that, yes, I might have to start scrawling pentagrams and slitting suitable animal throats and orgasming at a desirable and strategic time to truly engage with the the dark and totally mystical Universe. A lot of hoops to soar through, a hell of a lotta occult connections to make. Very detailed oriented, all this. Dark logistics, yo. But evidently kinda necessary for the Big Stage.

One has to to what one has to do, right?

So there it is. I am ascending into the Forbidding Above via the Gilded Chariot of booze and blind hope. The Gifts from God. Right into the beautiful blue sky. Lumps, dumps and chumps in my wake.

Man. I should get some real substance into all this. New York life, etc. But, then again, I left everybody way back in time on the ferry in Whittier. I have to catch both of you up on that shit. But evidently, that story is gotta wait. Fuck. Sorry about that. Tales to be told. The mental machine is pumping out jams that can, at the very best, be termed uneven. Can't quite rule this orchestra. Unruly. Undisciplined. Chock full of heart, though. How do you make it to Carnegie Hall? I have this rock and roll to deal with. And this manic alcoholism. My Grand Style. Bejeweled, bewildered and totally bonkers. King of the Elegant Pageant. In this asylum.

Christ. This entry is full of holes. No central narrative. Barely any point. But when you're in in the midst of The Bender these kind of concerns just get tossed out the window. They get defenestrated. Concern in general, chucked out with nary a backward glance of the mind's eye. But hey, here it is, nonetheless, Hardworlders.

And thus and thus. And a little more thus.

Rod

And I ain't talkin' about Rodd Lunt (you know who you are). I'm talkin' Rod, as in Rod Stewart. Or The King. I really like....no, love Rod Stewart (and Rod Lunt for that matter). There are many reasons why Rod Stewart should not be dismissed. Number 1: he's a great singer. And with the right material, you will hear his golden pipes in the proper light. Number 2: he is a great song interpreter. Lots of artists get hammered over from people that think song interpretation isn't talented because "they didn't write the song". I call bullshit on that. A great song interpreter can make the song his or her own. Elvis was great at that. So was Johnny Cash. Most country singers don't write their own songs, and that's okay by me. They don't have to as long as they pick the right ones. You here shit all the time from artists pass their prime picking terrible songs to interpret. Willie is definitely guilty of this, and Rod? Fuck yes. And he's also guilty for writing some of the worst music in pop music history. But don't hold that against him, and I say this because of his first 4 solo albums (and maybe The Faces, but I still have never delved into them much despite my Rod love).

First up is "An Old Raincoat Won't let you down" (1969) or self titled in the states. This is the blueprint for the next 3 records. Rod is backed up by most of the Faces during this time, and they make a ragged and loose country blues racket. In some ways they pull it off better than the Stones. This could be because of their working class background (the Stones were art school kids). Anyway, the lead off is a cover of the Stones "Street Fighting Man" which sounds, pretty dang different until they launch into the chorus towards the end of the song. Almost a complete makeover. I have to admit, though, I don't go back to this album as much as the others. "Street Fighting Man" is definitely worth a listen, though.

Next, from '70, is Gasoline Alley which might be my favorite Rod album. This is pretty solid throughout with favorites "Gasoline Alley", "Only a Hobo", "Country Comforts"....damn. It's all good. Ragged and rich blues country folk stompin' music. And it makes you feel great. Maybe that's reason number 3 to like Rod: his music makes you feel good. When he has the right back up that is.

Then there's the classic: "Every Picture Tells a Story" (1971). Yes, it is a classic, and I really like it, but I'd pick Gasoline Alley or Never A Dull Moment over this one. It's pretty much the same format, musically, as the last two, but it doesn't feel as solid. I guess just preference, really. And it's got its classics for sure: "Maggie May" which is just a fantastic song, "Seems like a Long time", "Tomorrow is a Long Time", etc. etc....blah blah.

Last: "Never a Dull Moment"(1972). Which is true. It's really not dull, but you wouldn't know it from the ironic album cover. Probably one of my favorite album covers. I can't decide if I like this one or Gasoline Alley better. Look: all 4 are worth buying. Just get it over with already. But, Never a Dull Moment is the first I ever bought. So, maybe it's my favorite. Anyway, opener "True Blue"- great rocker with a singalong chorus (like many of his songs), "Mama You been on My Mind", Maggie May part 2 which is called "You wear it well" and it's almost as good as "Maggie...". Great one, and I guess the end of an era, really. Next was "Smiler" which is universally panned despite having The Faces on board again. Maybe everyone was losing their "id" or whatever. Anyway Faces broke up not long after it, and Rod went on a solo tear and a move to America. Some of that stuff I really like. Even "Do ya think I'm Sexy" and some of his early eighties new wave-ish stuff ("Young Turks") ain't bad, but he has reached so many nadirs that it's hard to believe sometimes that this is the same man that did some truly great rock n roll.

I'm not gonna post his albums for download. You know where to get 'em if you want 'em. But I will put up some video clips:

This first one showcases his voice.

The Faces pretend playing n having fun on Top of the Pops. The soccer ball at the end was a part of their stage act, and reminded folks of their working class roots.

GHOST!!!!!!!!

And not the Japanese psychedelic band. But some crazy devil worshipping Swedes. However, this is NOT black metal. More like Blue Oyster Cult and Judas Priest and maybe....Boston? I don't know, but it's catchy as shit. I heard about this from the great Haunting the Chapel blog on Stereogum, and there's a song on that blog too, so I'm not gonna post the whole album like I have for some stuff. Just listen to that song on the blog, and I guarantee that it will be stuck in your head for years to come. The album cover rules, too. And here's a video clip I found, but, strangely not a whole video. Not sure why.