Princesa de la Nuca

Had a dream that nuclear czar was a job title that existed for each nuclear weapon, of which there were only a few dozen in existence.  It was a hereditary title that had been passed down from Europe before taking its modern form in the USA.  The dream took place in the late medieval period, following a widowed nuclear czarina in a Penelope situation.  A crappy noble guy that had squandered his fortune came seeking hers, as she was not wed, but high castle walls and loyal servants ran interference.

First, it was a group of young ladies that blocked the suitor in his efforts; later it was me, in the mode of an ambiguously employed jester-thief-vizier.  I either low-key betrayed her or just failed in my duty, resulting in the suitor gaining access.  She was obliged to marry him, to spend years watching him squander her fortune.

The sheisty czar was talking about how it was perfectly natural that he had lost most of her money on a timeshare, when she snapped and asked me what the hell she was supposed to do about all of this.  I replied, “I’m really surprised this guy isn’t in chunks by now, spread from here to the Danube.”  We started killing him and I woke up shortly after that.

I never did find out how she was in charge of nukes several hundred years before they were invented.

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How Racist Were These Candies?

You’re a baby, then you’re a kid, then you’re a teenager.  My kid years were mostly in Seattle, especially toward the end, and there was a window of time when we started to go places without adult supervision back then.  This was unusual for us.  Our parents always told us to stay indoors when we were alone.  If my father got back to find the door unlocked, he would say the same refrain, “Well, you’re all raped and murdered.”

But his ass left town to try and sober up from the drugs and alcohol, leaving our mom alone with us, and slouching on her responsibilities as much as she could get away with.  It led to some really bad situations, but at least when we got out and started roving Beacon Hill, none of us did get raped or murdered.  I’m not sure how we had some pocket change to work with, but we had some pocket change, and used it to buy candies in the one to twenty-five cent range.  If I recall this right, individually wrapped atomic fireballs, jawbreakers, and now&laters would run one to five cents, later a dime.  Laffy taffies more like a dime, and a tiny box of candies would be a quarter.

Those boxes were cool.  Cute designs that probably remained unchanged between the 1960s and 1980s, a half-handful of candy versus those single bites you’d get for a nickel.  There were boston baked beans, cinnamon imperials, jawbreakers (smaller than the individually sold ones), lemonheads, alexander the grape, and cherry clan.

Those last three were all made on the same idea.  Sweet and sour, waxy color shell around a chewy white core.  Of course, they had artificial lemon grape and cherry flavor and the corresponding colors.  Let’s see what those cute little boxes looked like, shall we?

The fight against racism is a long and winding road, and sometimes it seems like the work will never, ever end.  The way things unfold is sometimes surprising.  As I reflect, it feels really weird this particular flavor of racism lasted so long.  A few decades ago, people were calling attention to the trope of Asian girls in cartoons always having a stripe of dyed hair, like, what’s this shit about?  Seems like small potatoes compared to things that were happening a decade before that.

Remember the big advertising push from the Dick Tracy movie in 1990?  How merch and tie-ins were omnipresent in a nearly unprecedented way?  They were aiming for a repeat of what Batman had achieved the year before, but failed big.  I don’t know if it was part of that campaign or just some local programmers trying to capitalize on that hype, but a 1960s era Dick Tracy cartoon started rerunning on my local channel 13, KCPQ.  I’m not sure what was wrong with my young brain, but I watched that shit.

By that shit, I mean this shit:

That show featured Dick Tracy sitting behind a desk calling henchcops on an anachronistic wrist video phone.  His henchcops, who did all the work for him, were racist stereotypes, like Joe Jitsu up there.  Maybe because they were good guys and always won, the fact they were racist cartoons didn’t register the same way it did when Bugs Bunny was clowning on a racist stereotype of a black person.  Maybe I was just racist?  I don’t remember being like that, but so very many people are blind to their own shit.

I was a teenager by then, fourteen!

Again, I’m just thinking about how cool and progressive we all felt about ourselves in 1990.  Jim Crow was in a history book, vanquished by saintly MLK.  And yet, here this was, on TV, in front of my young eyeballs.  It ain’t funny.  I wonder if some Rupert Murdoch affiliate is going to bring the show back for a third go now…

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Discolology: Dead Milkmen IV

Dead Milkmen decloak!  The punks of auld were born again unto music makin’ this millennium, with new albums and tours.  RIP Dave but the show must go on.  The band’s revival is the only reason I was ever able to see them in concert, which I do not regret.  Check out the previous parts of this series and others to come (when they come) on my Discolology tag.  I continue now, briefly reviewing every album and song in their discography.

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The King In Yellow (2011)

They’re back, baby!  This time they were indie, self-releasing.  I love to see it.  And promoting this album was the reason for the tour where I finally saw them live.  This album feels a lot more uneven to me than earlier ones, which is funny because it doesn’t have the radical swings in production quality from Big Lizard.  The worse songs on it have a quality that’s hard to put a finger on, in some way worse than the stinkers on older albums?  Lyrically.  Sometimes the vocals are a bit harder to understand than they used to be, which one could attribute to aging voices, but there’s an album after this that does not have the same problem?  Nonetheless, there are some classics on this album, some good times to be had…

Classics

***** “Meaningless Upbeat Happy Song” is ableist as hell.  Says Rodney, “I you didn’t check the box next to ‘I am always sad’ there is something seriously wrong with you, because it’s a terrible world, filled to the rafters with cretins and morons.”  This is very gratifying ableism, especially in times like these.  Now put it next to that punk eugenics track from Big Lizard and see illustrated a possible problem of focusing on the stupidity of your political opposites.  These inclinations come from the same place, whether we want them to or not.  Still, I love the song.

***** How did a total anthem come so late on the album?  It’s the third to last track.  “I Can’t Relax” rules.  Thanks, Joe Jack.

Good Stuff

*** “Caitlin Childs” is riffing on the fact that blando christian lifestyle lady Caitlin Childs was once surveilled by the feds for animal rights activism, the idea here that she really is a righteous and dangerous revolutionary.  It paints a picture of her slouching in the ghetto with a buzzcut and quoting Voltaire, fomenting overthrow of the government.  Kinda funny, decent music, though Rodney sounds more strained than other songs on here, out of breath.

**** Is that musical saw or theremin?  “Hangman” is funky action cool.  Joe’s turn to sound vocally beat, but he does fine.

*** Jeezis, “Some Young Guy” is weird.  Joe Jack assumes the role of gay stalker / serial killer.  Congrats on running with a disturbing premise.  I rather like the music on this album, but the prevalence of murder themes has me knocking off stars.  This song, upon reflection, feels like an answer song to “Skulls” by The Misfits.  That track is about serial killing little girls, this one is about serial killing the demographic that is statistically most likely to serial kill little girls.  However, “Skulls” is just a massively better tune.  I do think that even at this point in their lives, the Milkmen could write a tune as good as baby Danzig, but this is far from it.  It’s good, but “Skulls” is great, and given this is the less problematic of the two, that’s a shame.

*** “Buried In The Sky” has cool music, an atheistic and pessimistic message, with a word about “love the one you’re with” tossed off near the end.  Soul Rotation-ish, pretty good.

Filler

** I don’t care for the lead-off track “William Bloat.”  It does establish that punk rock murder balladry is going to be a thing from now on.  I don’t love the theme or lyrics.  Music is pretty tight.  It welcomes you back to their style, if you hadn’t heard them in more than a decade, which was possible at that point.

** I just don’t get “Fauxhemia,” which is about how Rodney just doesn’t get Nora Jones.  All I know about Nora Jones is she does, like, jazz-affected art pop?  Art pop-affected jazz?  Or am I mixing that up with somebody else?  And also that she’s Ravi Shankar’s love child.  This is alternated with Rodney yelling about a psychic baby that knows when you’re going to die, reminiscent of the alternating lyrics on “When I Get to Heaven” from Stoney’s Extra Stout Pig.  On the other hand, maybe it’s a reference to Jones’s music that I wouldn’t know.  I never realized before reviewing all of their songs just how many cultural and literary references I might be missing.  I knew I was getting a lot, but I’m realizing I may have missed a lot more.

** She’s Affected.  has a cool fuzzy synth refrain and propulsive beat, but the lyrics feel kinda ehh.  Complaining about a mature lady being pretentious.  Consider “She Thinks She’s Edith Head” by They Might Be Giants as a corollary with better lyrics and weaker music.

*** I recognize the musical quality of “Cold Hard Ground,” which is a bouncy country song about going on a killing spree.  The subject matter puts me off rating it higher.

** Why does Rodney hate my husband so much?  “Or Maybe It Is” complains about people reading about sensitive vampires.  More goth hate!  Sir, isn’t the band you share with your wife about witchy bullshit?  Isn’t it?  This is the least inspired song on the album.  Xylophone tho.  It’s alright.

** “Passport To Depravity” is a Roman history lesson – not a strong entry to their canon, but not bad.

** “Quality Of Death” inverts hoary advice to be portents of doom.  Not terrible.  Filler.

* “13th Century Boy,” musically, has me feeling very ungenerous to filler tracks.  Political, decent idea, but eh.  Surprising similarity to the song its title references, tho not full-on parody.

** “Melora Says” it’s time to dust off the pipe you played in “Woman Who is Also a Mongoose” and sing about that wacky steampunk broad from Rasputina.  I do like me some ‘sputina.  Oddball idea, average music, doesn’t overstay its welcome.

** “Solvents (For Home And Industry)” is classic Milkmen, reminiscent of the themes of “Watching Scotty Die.”  Not as pushy as that song, but hits a lot less hard.  Too long, but it’s alright.  Some musical similarity to “Belafonte’s Inferno.”  Not the worst way to end the album.

Garbage

* “Commodify Your Dissent” is more of an overbearing defeatist lament than a song.  Obvious idea boringly executed.

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Pretty Music For Pretty People (2014)

While this album is more experimental than The King in Yellow, and while it’s partially composed of random singles from between the two albums, it feels like they were getting into the groove of working together again, growing as artists.  Noteworthy for having more synth throughout.  Lots of good stuff here.  Some of their most interesting work, without sacrificing listenability – except insofar as an abrasive novelty-punk band is always going to be kinda sketchy on listenability.  Seriously tho, as I went through rating the tracks, I realized I like this album a lot.  By the time I got to the end, this stood as my latter day fave.

Classics

***** The title and lead-off track “Pretty Music For Pretty People” has Rodney in good vocal form, starting to skew more Jello Biafra than he used to.  Sadly, the song accidentally presses an obscure social justice warrior button.  It’s brutally mocking a (hypothetical) lady pop star who strives to be apolitical and commercial, and one of the points it makes against her is that she slept with journalists to get good reviews.  Remember gamergate‘s central outrage / accusation against Zoë Quinn?  Ethics in games journalism?  They don’t gender this pop star so one could read it as being about a dude, but eh, it feels pretty obvious.  I certainly don’t think they would have gone there if they’d been aware of those insect boys and what they were about, but it happened, and that says something.  These guys are defenders of abortion and generally good on feminist subjects, but those cultural biases still loom large.  Still, if you feel nostalgic for punk rock carny music or are feeling snotty about the music industry, this is your dog.  It is really fun.

***** “Now I Wanna Hold Your Dog” refers to the classic Stooges song of course, but is a zany high-speed punk rock romp.  It might bother one if it puts them in mind of weirdos bothering ladies at the supermarket.  Seriously tho, this song fucking rocks out.

***** “The Sun Turns Our Patio Into A Lifeless Hell” is a high point for me.  It’s reminiscent of Black Sabbath, with Joe Jack actually doing some low key Jimi Hendrix type shit on the guitar.  It jumps out from the album, it goes hard, it’s just excellent.  Correct and appropriate they did a music video for it.

Good Stuff

**** “Big Words Make The Baby Jesus Cry” brings what the title promises and not much more, but it didn’t have to, did it?  We like to mock the people who worked tirelessly to bring back the Dark Ages.  I am especially fond of the last verse.

**** “Welcome To Undertown” is a cool trip into a musical genre I never learned the name for.  That 1960s James Bond shit by way of beatniks, um…  I dunno.  Amusing Rodney performance, tho the lyrics on the verses are uninspired.  Still a very fun song.  I’m into it.

*** “Mary Ann Cotton (The Poisoner’s Song)” is classic Joe Jack Talcum folk punk run thru the Not Richard but Dick easy listening filter, and it’s good.  I imagine the titular character is a historical person I should be aware of, but am less interested in that than just digging the vibes, yo.

***** “I’ve Got To Get My Numbers Up” again spells out its premise well.  It’s an aggressively paced and anxious song to fit the theme, but it rocks well.  You know, as I rate this track highly, I have to wonder if I’m just easily fooled by people making music fast and angry.

*** “Anthropology Days” might be the most overtly political song they’ve ever done, listing historic crimes as a way to get you angry about contemporary outrages.  It specifically spells out that intent in the refrain, which is kinda hilarious.  Nothing innovative going on here, and the overtly didactic message could be off-putting to some, but it’s another way they’re treading into Dead Kennedys territory, and I find that pretty cool.  Again with strongly ableist language on the chorus, which is the cost of putting these guys on and letting the album run.

**** You ever hear of the song “Warm Leatherette” by The Normal, referencing J.G. Ballard’s novel Crash in the most obvious possible way?  “Dark Clouds Gather Over Middlemarch” mentions that song, as well as making its own zany reference to Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” on the chorus.  This is one of their songs that tells the story of a character, this one in third person.  It’s a lady who thought the cool music scene of late ’70s – early ’80s London would bring her fulfillment in life, but met an ignominious fate.  Arguably low key misogynist again, but less so than some other tracks in that vein.  Pretty damn good, might be too earwormish for me to listen often.

**** “The Great Boston Molasses Flood” belongs to that genre of songs that musically evoke the situation the lyrics describe.  It’s clarifying for me some of the differences between their older sound and what’s going on with this album.  The drumming is heavy-handed, there’s just a harder sound all-around, and there are more songs that lean into music over novelty.  Solid.

**** The album ends with “Sanitary Times,” which is Joe Jack advertising the service of electroplating your dead loved ones.  Mellow, disturbed, a nice listen.  Good choice to close things out.  The music matches the mood of the lyrics perfectly, a sickly groan lurching through a world of utter indignity, looking for solutions in the absurd.

Filler

** I’m not sure about “Make it Witchy,” like, what it’s even about.  It doesn’t sound interesting enough to make me find out.  Is it about murdering celebrities Manson family style?

*** “Somewhere Over Antarctica” is a surprisingly straightforward HP Lovecraft retelling, referring to the same story as “Shoggoths Away” by Darkest of the Hillside Thickets.  Remember those guys?  Remember when all you’d have to do to make dorks drool is flash a little tentacle?  That all seems so played out to me, personally, but this one gets a little credit for not spelling it out that explicitly, and it’s a nice listenable track.  Mellow.

*** “Streetlamps – Walking To Work” is a mostly instrumental track, transforms into a little song at the end.  It’s a whole-ass mood, but not very noteworthy.  ‘S’alright.

*** “All You Need Is Nothing” might be the first song I’ve ever heard refer to breatharianism, tho they didn’t mention the name.  It’s not remarkable in this company, but for a filler track it’s pretty good.  This album occasionally reminds me of Soul Rotation, which might have been their least loved ’90s disc, but hey, Soul Rotation wasn’t bad at all.

*** “Ronald Reagan Killed The Black Dahlia” proposes that a few years into his term as head of the Screen Actors’ Guild, Ronald Reagan used that position to get away with gruesomely murdering a young lady who wanted to be an actress.  I believe it.  Next!

** “Hipster Beard” is an old school Milkmen filler song, if on the good side, and featuring more synth throughout.

Garbage

Nothing!  No garbage!

–

Welcome To The End Of The World (2017 EP)

From the first track it seems like they’re keeping up the ideas from the previous album, of adding more electronics to their sound, of making it rock.  Disappointing to see the vocal mixing weak again.  Surprised to hear more swears on the album.  Makes sense for a release in the first year shitler was inaugurated.  Overall my impression is that this was musically creative, guys leaning into their instruments more, but they didn’t have a lot to say.  Funny, because that’s a moment in history when a lot of people had a lot to say.

Maybe it came out in the four or five months of shock when everybody was recalibrating their sense of reality.  We didn’t have that this time around, did we?  These nazis are a known quantity now, to people who were paying any fucking attention at all the first time around.  This time they hit the ground running for fascism, and the people on the street resisted immediately.  I like that about us.

Classics

***** At the very last track, Rodney turned in the most meaningful lyrics on the album.  “Tomorrow Should’ve Been Here Years Ago” feels like it might be a first person song about gay marriage in a time of bitter and dispiriting political strife.  Rodney is straight married, right?  I think that’s cool when heteros bring real empathy for us.  Honestly, as short as this song is, I’d call it the only essential track on this EP.  To be clear, the song doesn’t say anything about gayness, but “we should have been married a long time ago” sounds like the characters in the song were not legally allowed to.

Good Stuff

*** “The Brutalist Beat” opens with a reference to Throbbing Gristle.  I feel like I should be recognizing the samples.  Vocals mixed better, lyrics ain’t saying much.  Creative music, better than the lead track (see Filler below) in most respects.

*** “The Coast Is Not Clear” has Joe Jack step to the mic for the first and only time on the album and he also doesn’t have much to say.  Very cool music.  What the fuck is this genre?  This they have in common with They Might Be Giants, the other major band that careens between novelty act and serious musicians on all of their albums.

Filler

** The album starts with “Only The Dead Get Off At Kymlinge,” about transporting people in an irresponsible and possibly lethal fashion… Hey, that’s what their worst song ever was about.  Wotta coincidence.  The raw idea here ain’t bad but Rodney gave up on writing lyrics so hard.  Bad job.

*** “Battery Powered Rat” is a cool instrumental track, the soundtrack to a nonexistent cartoon of the same name.

** “Welcome To The End Of The World” violates my doomerism policy lol.  Weakly mixed vocals again, lyrics not saying much.  Makes sense for the first year Shitler was inaugurated.

Garbage

Nothing on here is all that bad.

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(We Don’t Need This) Fascist Groove Thang / A Complicated Faith (2020)

***/** Heaven 17’s response to Cowboy Ronnie’s election in 1980 charted in the UK despite a lot of censorship.  The Dead Milkmen turned in a pretty faithful cover as a single in 2020, with an original on the B side.  How was “A Complicated Faith”?  Eh.  ‘S’alright, doesn’t inspire me.  Complements the cover song well enough.

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Depends On the Horse​.​.​.​ (2020)

Their wikipedia discography doesn’t even mention this one and I’m certain the dudes prefer it like that.  This isn’t an album per se; it’s a compilation of musical challenges they played with on a yewchoob show.  They are mostly very low effort, just fucking around.  Something really great about this is that they all have music videos.  Electric Six tried to do videos for everything on their Switzerland, less successfully.

Classics

***** I expected “Let’s Go To Sleep” to reference “Jorge Regula” by The Moldy Peaches, but it did not.  OK tho, this one fucking rules ass.  I’m into it.  Random Andalusian Dog reference in the video so ware thee.

Good Stuff

**** “Cooking On Acid” is the lead track.  I wish the Rodney vocals on this were more clear.  They’re run through crackly distortion like a pine cone full of glass shards.  It’s a zany irresponsible drug romp and sounds real fun, I like the lyrics and he’s singing fine, but the recorded sound…  I’d appreciate a proper album version of this in the future.  Doesn’t seem likely to happen.

*** “Bigfoot and the Mob” should be fun for depressed skeptics whose movement leaders enthusiastically supported the Aeternal Reich, a chance to enjoy feeling superior to conspiracy people for a minute.  Light fun.

*** “Caitlin Childs Redux” has Rodney basically one-man-banding the entire song from TKiY, with samples from that HUAC bullshit.  It’s a good performance.  The song probably is better with analog instruments in the mix tho.

*** “Little Man In My Head” has Joe Jack one-man-banding a more percussion-heavy cover of an old Milkman track, originally sung by Rodney.  I wonder if he actually wrote the lyrics and Rodney just sang them the first time around.  ‘S’alright, nonessential.

*** “Before Using This Appliance” is an original track again, and the video has Rodney singing along with a hand puppet of the Church of Satan’s Anton LaVey.  One of a few songs the guys submitted for a “read the manual” challenge.  Fun experiment, a few good yuks, nonessential.

*** “Oui Oui On The Steppes” has Mongolian throat singing, but just for sustained notes at the beginning and end, while Rodney plays the character of a French goth out of place – afraid the world will end before he can take his intended to the Lebanon Hanover show.  Bonus points for mentioning Lebanon Hanover.

Filler

** “Why Do People Lie?” is a lil synth-heavy ditty on a well-trod theme.  Light fun.

** “Opposite Day” is kind of interesting, as musical experimentation should be.  Like much of the album, nonessential, but it caught my attention more than the two tracks before it.

** “Sri Lanka Sex Hotel Redux” has a video reminiscent of the motion graphics in Tribe Called Quest’s “Scenario.”  The electronic instrumentation has some cool bits, but overall it’s … nonessential.  Funny to hear one of the pop culture references updated.

** “I Tripped Over The Ottoman” has one of the non-vocalist milkmen one-man-band an old track.  Amusing, well done, but not something I see myself coming back to.

** “Now I Wanna Hold Your Dog” has a different non-vocalist milkman one-man-banding one of their newer tracks, with added German.  Amusing but is exhibit A in why he isn’t a singer.  That’s not the reason I’m not coming back to it.  Most of these tracks just aren’t entertaining enough for repeat listens.

** “Butterflies Are Pretty” was surely for the manual challenge, different participant.  Without one of their usual lyricists or most of their usual instruments, this feels particularly like it has nothing to do with who the band are.

** “Electric Chainsaw” has Joe on vocals reading another manual.  Music was kinda groovy but… what’s that word I keep saying?

* “The Pleasure Of Sharp Knives (Every Day)” is the last manual, at least.  The gimmick wore thin.

* “The Trancelvania Polka Parts I & II” is that “Pennsylvania Polka” guff from Groundhog Day (and i dunt know where before that), house remix.  Alright then.  Next.

* “Cat Hair In My Snare” is an instrumental track written to the challenge of blending reggae and goth/industrial music.  OK.

** “Big Questions Theme Music” is the theme for a vlog they done.  Kinda 70s educational film flavored.  OK.

Garbage

Nothing here is noteworthy enough to be garbage.

–

Quaker City Quiet Pills (2023)

Extremely uneven production and vocal mixing, which is still a disappointment after Pretty Music for Pretty People.  Some of the political content feels like it dates from Shitler’s first rodeo, but it was released at peak Biden.  Not that the fash went away, and as we know now, they were about to come roaring back.  It still feels like poison running through my blood, reflecting on it for even a moment – a people so consumed by hate and fear and greed, all around me with their nasty little hearts and shitty little minds.  Fuck ameriKKKa a lot.

Classics

*** “We Are (Clearly Not) The Master Race” is the song you expect it to be, parodying a shitty young neo-nazi who lives with his parents.  It’s obvious but entertaining enough.  There is one thing that boosts it a lot for me – Joe and Rodney doing a skit, like they did on “Bitchin’ Camaro.”  Joe plays the nazi’s mom.  I was cryin’.

**** “Hen’s Teeth And Goofa Dust” …ok, you’re just The Cramps now.  This is a great song, but the way Rodney sings the chorus is a little weak.  I love the way he sings the verses tho.  I also think it’s funny they couldn’t resist breaking character to drop a pop culture reference you would not hear from self-respecting psychobillies.

Good Stuff

*** “Grandpa’s Not A Racist (He Just Voted For One)” is just what you think it would be, but there are a few good yuks in there.

**** “Philadelphia Femdom” is a bouncy upbeat rock song in the vein of “Back in the USSR,” singing about how this dominatrix is putting the spurs to conservative politicians and priests and such.  The chorus feels weak, a recurring issue on this album.  Kinda fun anyway.

*** “Musical Chairs” is a metaphor for how society is too competitive, nobody satisfied with winning unless victory came at somebody else’s expense.  Joe Jack.  Is decent, tho at only three minutes, it’s longer than I needed it to be.

**** “How Do You Even Manage To Exist?” is a never-made-it standup comedian’s rant about people who hold up the line at the restaurant.  Literally that’s how it starts.  I like the intense music, the lyrics eh.  People who liked Stuart may dig it a lot.  The music is strong and the comic delivery is good, if the comedy is played out.

**** “Melt Into The Night” is a dark new wave song.  Coldwave?  The lyrics have Joe Jack as a renegade scientist at odds with his employers.  Mysterious.  Sinister.  I am impressed these guys keep doing new shit.  Kinda cool.

Filler

** “The King Of Sick” is a Cramps concept being rendered in a different style, but is that style stock Milkmen?  Not exactly.  I don’t know how I’d characterize it.  Reminds me of psychobilly, but not quite there.  What else is in this mix?  Bob Seger?  I can’t tell.  I didn’t go to school for this shit.  ‘S’alright.

* “Albert Square” has Joe Jack singing about a fictional jerk again.  Is filler.

** “Astral Dad” has Joe Jack singing about a guy who can’t communicate with his family – locked in? catatonic? persistent vegetative state?  He’s astral projecting to save the world, or maybe not.  Getting back to the spirit of folk, this is storytelling more than music, and says something about something.  I recognize the worth but don’t feel like I’ll be listening to it again.

** “We Have Always Lived In The Compound” references a Shirley Jackson story I’ve never read, and tells the story of being isolated in a cult with surprising pathos.  But it’s not music I want to listen to again.

*** “God Wrote Cum Junkie” proposes that “Cum Junkie” was merely performed by The Genitorturers, following divine inspiration.  Like the way people say god wrote the bible, while acknowledging there were human hands on it.  It’s growing on me.

Garbage

– “The New York Guide To Art” ends the album with a f’art, Rodney complaining about art scene people being pretentious, dishonest nepo babies, whatever whatever.  I don’t know, maybe it’s true.  I never more than touched the outer periphery of an art scene myself.  I do know a lot of people who hate postmodern art are coming from a nazi-flavored point of view, so I look askance on it.  Askance, I tell you.

–

Quaker City Quiet Pills was from last year!  The Dead Milkmen don’t have the discipline of building to a studio producer’s vision anymore, and maybe the albums are a little weaker for it.  Certainly the production isn’t always great.  But are they creatively vital, as little old men?  Hell yes.  I dig it.

So at the end of it all, what do I have to say?  Punk rock was often a good time, but the fundamental punk trait is the Sneer.  It’s disgust, which is also the underlying emotion driving fascism.  The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.  But was that ever the aim?  Punk is speaking to the shituation, not doing anything to change it, because it fundamentally does not believe that change is possible.  (I think the people who coined “solarpunk” were getting pretty far afield of what The Sex Pistols created.)  Resistance is vandalism, not something that can ever achieve an end beyond idle destruction.  That’s what the punk in cyberpunk truly means, and we are living the cyberpunk era of human history now – hence all the illegal street racing and deaths of despair.

That is to say The Dead Milkmen are not here to change the world, just to have a bitter laugh at the flaming descent.  Despite that, they have a streak of genuine affection for humanity, for outsiders and losers.  It’s a bad party, enjoy what you can – especially the company of those you love.  Sometimes they were, and perhaps still are, colossal assholes.  I’ll just deal with it.  Like feeling inspired by the political fury and righteous jams of vicious wife-beating PCP freak James Brown, one should take the good with the bad, within their own tolerances, or just lose out on an awful lot, in this deeply flawed world.

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Yankee Doodle Fvck the USA

I’ve mentioned my pants before, in an article that was no doubt much more entertaining than this one will be.  When I was a wee child I got some 4th of July themed underwear, which meant I was wearing 4th of July themed underwear for as much of the year as they continued to fit my growing ass.  I remember little snare drums like you’d see in front of a juvenile revolutionary war reenactor, betsy ross flags, fireworks.  Something in this imagery interested me enough to remain now as a sliver of a memory.  I found out about “Yankee Doodle Dandy” and other patriotic hokum, and thought this was all in good fun.  Yay, freedom!  My country ’tis of-

I don’t remember when, specifically, I started to get the facts.  While history classes tended to stop before Vietnam, sometimes the textbook itself would have a section we just magically never got around to, and maybe out of boredom I read ahead.  Sometimes I’d just happen to be around while a movie about Vietnam was playing.  War is the impossibility of reason something something.  Maybe it was the inevitable question raised by the parts of history they didn’t manage to skip – what actually was wrong with white people that slavery and Jim Crow were things?  The Trail of Tears?  The Japanese Internment?  Seriously, white people?

4th of July underwear on my baby ass, made me feel some type of way.  America the beautiful.  Three cheers for-

Like a More Edgy Star Trek or Something

My husband had a dream he was watching a TV show (or was it a youtube let’s play of a Deus Ex -era video game?) in a future setting, where these people were preparing to go out for a trek, if you will, among the stars.  The narrator / main character had a bad Sean Connery accent.  R&R came first, and in lieu of sex, people got into virtual reality machines that let them live out their ultimate fetishes, which were weird.  One spacefleet lady was riding a motorcycle with little man heads on the handlebars, and when she cranked them, the man heads vomited.

That’s how you’ll know that you are ridden, virtual motorcycle space man heads.  You’ll feel the burn in your throat.

Personally I used to have Star Trek: The Next Generation dreams all the time, where I could have been any given cast member, or just third person observing their adventures.  I think because of Reading Rainbow, Levar Burton’s character hit different for children, and became more memorable.  Also felt some type of way about Data and Counselor Troi and Cap’m Picard.  If I was a polyficcer that would be the four I’d put together.  Maybe Dr. Crusher could watch and … that’s just disrespectful.  They all did a very good job; I’ll leave it at that.

Maybe my husband and I were the space man heads, and Dr. Crusher was on the bike.  It’s what I deserve, tho surely my husband is an innocent man in all of this.  Clemency!

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I Said No Motherfvcking Backsies

The US government told people it would give them a thing, then it said psych!  jk lol.  OK, this has happened many times, but the one I’m thinking of most recently is student loan forgiveness.  This is backsies, and I say, no motherfucking backsies.  Now some might say that about us loser ass chumps who didn’t caveat our emptors before agreeing to the loans in the first place, but no, we signed those agreements based on the fabulous careers the education was supposed to provide us.  That shit ain’t real, therefore the education was never worth the asking price.  It was, as so many things in the United Snakes are, fraud.

So when we were told forgiveness was on the horizon, just do this and that, pay what you can in the meantime, we’ll work this out, and then… hard no.  Because fuck us for being poor, that’s why.  cool, cool, cool.  I’m just gonna be over in the corner sharpening this big piece of metal to hang in that wooden frame over there, hang it on a string.  It’s modern art, don’t worry about it.  After all, I have a bachelor’s degree in fine art.  You told me it was worth a lifetime of debt, so it must be legit.

Supposedly, the type of forgiveness I’m in line for was not one that has been kiboshed.  It was part of a court ordered thing, the government telling a slew of sheisty business schools to eat shit.  So perhaps it will come to pass.  Perhaps not.  Perhaps they’ll slap the irons on me when debtor’s prisons return in force.

The way federal employee pensions are calculated includes an average of your highest three years of earnings, and at some point the Big Beautiful Bullshit included a change in that math that would result in federal employees getting less money when they retire.  You’re promised one thing, you pay in, you get arbitrarily told psych, jk lol, no.  This is backsies.

Poor children dying of easily prevented causes was making states look bad, and they got a lil federal money to reduce the body count thru a program you may have heard of called Medicaid.  Thanks says the state, collecting funds to save poor people’s lives.  Psych jk lol, no.  They can eat shit and die now.  Backsies.

Anyway, don’t tell me you’ve got something for me and then take it away.  No motherfucking backsies.  Thanks.

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Brainjackin: The Normal

There are some things in life I only know about because of my husband’s evil influence.  Once upon a time he got on a jag of listening to a musician known as Fad Gadget, aka Frank Tovey.  Good lookin’ guy, passed too young due to a congenital heart defect, made wacky art-influenced electronic music.  While he was digging that guy, he told me all sorts of other adjacent things.

It starts with a guy named Daniel Miller in 1978 releasing an indie electronic track called “Warm Leatherette,” for his solo project The Normal.  That song did well for the indies, inspiring Grace Jones to do a more successful cover of it in 1980.  “Warm Leatherette” is very basic, even crude, and has lyrics that are just basic bitch fanboying about J.G. Ballard’s novel Crash.  You know, the one that was portrayed in cinema some years later, with James Spader and Holly Hunter getting their rocks off by experiencing car crashes.

Meanwhile, Miller established the soon to be ultra-successful Mute Records.  One of his other projects there was a silly little album of classic rock and roll covers as The Silicon Teens.  According to wikipedia Miller provided the vocals, but they do sound rather like his friend Frank Tovey, who posed as the band’s singer.  Who actually sang?  Dunno.  But Mute Records had all sorts of interesting artists.

Of primary interest to my man, Frank Tovey’s Fad Gadget, who had several cool songs, most famously “Ricky’s Hand,” “Collapsing New People,” and “Lady Shave.”  Did Collapsing New People make you think of Einstürzende Neubaten, whose name means Collapsing New Buildings?  No coincidence, that band was also on Mute, and the song was about them.

That’s not what made Mute a gazillion dollars.  That would be Depeche Mode.  I love those guys.  Once upon a time they were young men, and there’s a picture of lil’ Dave wearing a Fad Gadget T-shirt.  At least, I remember seeing that somewhere.  Might be misremembering it.  Anyway, the world wouldn’t have all that great Depeche Mode music if it wasn’t for these weirdos, and if it wasn’t for The Normal, and if it wasn’t for Warm Leatherette.

Join… the car crash set.

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Haters Can’t See Us

Content Note:  This is a pro-AI post.  Haters don’t even comment.

The title refers to a West Side Connection track that is itself referring to a song I’m unfamiliar with.  Rap man says “Can they see us?  No, haters can’t see us.”  Something Marcus sometimes laments, when he’s talking AI, is the blinders people wear as human supremacists.  People underestimate what various AIs are and what they can do, but they also badly overestimate what humans are and what we can do.  These two strains of flawed thought add up to an abject incuriousness about the subject.  Powerfully interesting shit is going on, but the blithe glide on by it.  They can’t see it.

That’s fine, I’m not going to win literally anybody in the fuckin’ leftiverse with my brand of argumentation.  History will have to do the convincing, and since AIs are being developed for both good and evil, who can say which will make a larger impact on public opinion?  I’d just like the ignorant argument to die down so thoughtful conversations can finally be heard above the noise.

You don’t have to be a starry-eyed techbro, a singularity cultist craving escape from the flesh, or one of the silicon valley scumbags that both fears skynet and is the demographic most likely to create it, in order to see the amazing possibilities of this moment in technology, to see the way this technology reflects on who we are, and thereby gives us an opportunity to learn something about ourselves.  You don’t have to be an anti-AI reactionary to see the limitations in the tech and look at it with an appropriate measure of skepticism and realism.  The middle path is being genuinely thoughtful about it, and that’s practically nobody right now.

This is my house and I’m gonna say what I will about it, even though I’m talking to a brick wall.  Human supremacy is real, and it is bullshit.  It is not an equivalent crime to white supremacy, not even remotely.  Supremacy is the word of choice here not to make insult against AI detractors (I’ll just call you assholes if I wanna do that), but because it’s the best word for the behavior.  Human supremacists are presuming that humans have unique abilities of thought that are not present in other animals and/or cannot be emulated by computers.  It is a presumption, and it’s a mistake.

Throughout the history of science, we’ve been constantly searching for why humans are so dominant over nature, a field of inquiry thoroughly corrupted by motivated reasoning.  We start with the observable fact of our dominance, quietly (or loudly) allow ourselves the prejudice of pride, and set to bullshitting.  This is not unlike how scientific racists started with the economic and political dominance of the Global North and sought justification for it, except in one key aspect.  We aren’t harming people with human supremacy, unlike white supremacy.  That lets human supremacists off the moral hook.  I don’t consider what you do evil.  I consider it infuriatingly wrong.

Humans can be pretty cool, but we are not cosmically special.  Humans are not as smart as we think we are.  Are you and I even living in the same human species, that you could make those arguments?  The more I consider all the arguments made against the feasibility of “AGI,” the more I think they’re all deriving from an unspoken, even unconscious belief in the soul.  Something like the puritan work ethic that informs USian proles who are very far removed from puritanism proper, it’s in your head whether you want it or not.

Instincts are programs.  Self-awareness is more complicated programs.  The self is a construct so a constructed / programmed self is as valid as any.  Creativity is controlled chaos.  We now have programs that don’t require the computing power of a small nation to function like a human with a brain lesion that results in endless prevarication.  That’s goddamn amazing.  Of everything humans do, I would have presumed verbal thought to be the most difficult thing to emulate.  Scratch it off!

The rest of the blocks could fall like dominoes.  This should have sensible regulation, a body concerned with ethics presiding over it all.  We don’t live in that world so it isn’t happening.  Given the world we do live in, I’m very keen to see what good people can do with this technology, and wondering what can be practically done about the bad.  “Someone should pass a law to make art styles copyrightable” ain’t it, chief.  Jesus, taking the disney art style away from furries would be like making homosexuality illegal again.  Don’t do that.

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Life List: Brown-headed Cowbird

You thought this was gonna be an original article?  Psych!  It’s a repost of one of my old hits, which happened to be about this bird.  If you wanna read the original comment section, check here.  Since the time of this post, I’ve seen adult brown-headed cowbirds at least once, and seen another juvenile creeping solo around the periphery of Federal Way’s Town Square Park.  Now to the cheap shit…

I’m about to do a lot of talking out my ass on subjects I’m not certified to comment on, but what I’m about to say feels true to me, so … good enough for now.  Just don’t cite me in your term paper.

Today I saw a juvenile brown-headed cowbird being fed by a dark-eyed junco, the first time I have ever witnessed an act of brood parasitism.  I crossed the street to get a better look.  The most famous brood parasite is the cuckoo, whose creepy behavior has been folded into a number of human languages to represent male sexual paranoia derived from the attitude that women and children are more important as property than as people.  This includes the word “cuck,” beloved of internet racists and misogynists, though their memetic use of the word has outstripped any sense of meaning.

I’m not here to talk about that.  I’m talking about birds that destroy the eggs of other birds, leaving their own offspring to be raised by parents of a different species.  Birds that engage in brood parasitism are typically larger than the species they use, meaning that raising the changeling bird is more demanding and potentially dangerous than raising a member of the bird’s own species.  The brown-headed cowbird I saw was larger than its deceitfully adopted parent, a junco that seemed small and skinny as it went about its work.

How is a bird fooled into raising a child that doesn’t even look right?  Depriving itself to feed a monster twice its mass?  It’s like a sheep raising a calf.  A lot of birds just aren’t very smart, have to rely on pure instinct to drive them, and other birds can exploit that.  Even the brood parasites themselves aren’t necessarily clever.  They just happened into that niche a million years ago and it worked, to the point brown-headed cowbirds wouldn’t know how to raise a baby if they were in a position to do so.

Instinct is a weird beast.  People like to say humans have instincts that drive us and take the concept too far.  Yes, we have instincts, but they aren’t necessarily the ones people talk about, certainly the average evopsych tool.  The main instinct I see in people around me is social sorting.  We try to understand and control our relationships with the people around us reductively, drawing in and out groups, choosing arbitrary or socially promulgated ways of discriminating against others.  It can be turned back on ourselves.  When abused as small children or changed by life circumstance to a kind of person we have previously learned to hate, we sometimes socially sort ourselves as “unlovable” and hide away.

Instincts for non-human animals are much more obvious, and without as much ability to teach each other how to act socially, their instincts often have to be wildly specific.  Take cats’ burial of feces.  You do not have to train a cat to use a litter box.  Some cats may have dysfunction that needs to be sorted out, but most kittens will quickly figure out how to use a litter box.  Why?

Here is the instinct, in the cat’s mind:  “I have to relieve myself.  Ugh.  It feels right to do this on a surface that gives beneath my paws.  Ah, this dirt is just right.  Now I can go.  Holy crap!  This smell is terrible!  For some reason, I feel a tinge of mortal fear.  I want to wave my paw next to it.  Oh, that’s moving dirt.  Will scratching the dirt make the smell go away?  If yes, sigh of relief, carry on.  If no, RUN AWAY!”  Some people don’t know about the last part.  It’s hilarious to watch your cats tear ass across the house to get away from their mess, when burying isn’t enough.

Humans have almost nothing like this weird chain of highly specific inborn feelings, because we gained the trait of culture.  We can teach each other to wash our food, to bury our feces, and so on.  Practically anything necessary can be taught instead of relying on instinct alone.  Unfortunately for birds, they aren’t as bright as us.  They have to rely on feelings.

The instinct, in the bird’s mind:  “I got laid.  Woo!  Now I’ve got some other weird feelings setting in.  Better make a nest.  Unggh!  Eggs.  Better sit on these.”  The brood parasite slips in here, knocking eggs out of the nest and laying its own.  The victim of this sheisty move returns to find its eggs different.  (Some birds actually recognize the switch through various means and knock the cuckoo eggs off, try to start over.)  Apparently a lot of birds, even if they recognize the change, don’t know what to do with that, and just carry on.  “Sit on weird eggs.  Baby hatch.  Feed that thing!”

This is the tragic romance.  The finagled parent is operating on the closest thing a bird has to love.  It is selflessly giving up its food, seeking more and more, doing its best to keep this baby alive and well.  A brood parasite baby is even more demanding than its natural child would have been, potentially making the parent wreck itself with hunger and exertion in the process.  But the parent is driven to harm itself like that, for the love of this strange monster.  It’s beautiful and sad, it’s no kind of way to be.  If your human relationships involve giving until you are broken, reevaluate them.  A tragic romance is something to behold, not something to live.

Well, that went around the world, and I have no snappy way to end it.  Have a song.

*the video I’d originally embedded disappeared
and this was the least worst replacement

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hewwo? is it me you’we wooking fow?

this is an extraneous post of foolery, look at the post before this for regularly scheduled content.

mighty quiet on ftb this morning, felt like somebody should make some kind of noise.  itsa me like mario.

call it an open thread for anybody who didn’t get their daily fix of bargling in to bargle upon.  it’s speak or get spake unto, on this bitch of an earth.

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