Jay Debauchery's Top Ten Records of 2012

Another year, another slew of awesome music to dig into. Not gonna fuck around here just remember, folks, there is always rad music out there if you only have the desire to seek it out.

10. Masked Intruder - Masked Intruder (Red Scare/Fat Wreck Chords)

I'm a sucker for a good pop-punk record and I haven't fallen this head over heels in love with a band in the genre since the Unlovables or Teenage Bottlerocket. So, Masked Intruder has a gimmick of being four dudes in balaclavas (wonder how they feel about Pussy Riot publicizing and copping that look or maybe their next album will see them stalking the two members who remain in prison?) who dedicated an album to stalking, breaking in and...well, everything just short of raping the ladies they are psychotically in love with. Doesn't sound so cheery and poppy does it? Well, what works in the bands favor with their creeptastic schtick is that a. it is the logical conclusion of the "oh woe is me, can't the girl see I love her so intensely so she'll come running back into my savior like arms of trust and warmth because I couldn't possibly have ever been such a schizoid asshole to drive her away because she came to realize that she's dating a self-deprecating version of Marky Mark from the movie Fear" high school misunderstanding of love bullshit propagated by dudes in their mid-20's for most of the early 90's pop-punk scene (at least the songs dedicated to girls...I'm looking at you Chixdiggit!) and b. this album is like putting an amalgam of the Queers and the aforementioned Canadian Ramones-enthusiasts in the form of an earworm into your earhole. Imagine if Nerf Herder had written all their albums in the key of "Sorry" but waaaaaaaay poppier and you've got the right idea. This is a seriously infectious album that is almost impossible to get out of your head. I'm looking forward to what they come up with next but, y'know, at some point they're going to mine the whole gimmick into the ground and have to figure something else out. Unless, they wanna snag my aforementioned idea for an album about stalking and being in love with the ladies of Pussy Riot. I'd be into that.




I wanted to include a song that was more indicative of the album than my favorite from the record, which is this one.



9. Future of the Left - The Plot Against Common Sense (Extra Mile Recordings)

Yup, the band that supplied my favorite album of 2009, the amazing Travels with Myself and Another, is back on the list again with their follow up to that modern classic. I realize the band might very well never top that record but that certainly doesn't mean they've run out of gas. The Plot Against Common Sense contains all the acerbic wit, middle finger raising and righteous shit-talking you would expect from a band featuring Andy "Falco" Falkous of the legendary Mclusky. It isn't nearly as musically abrasive as the last album but is way more vitriolic lyrically and I think that combination work brilliantly for the bed. The most ear-splitting aggressive song on the album ("Robocop 4 - Fuck Off Robocop") cannot compare to the pure disgust and hatred poured into the lyrics of something like "Sorry Dad, I was Late for the Riots." Oh, and let's not forget that Falco totally FUCKING NUKED the assholes at Pitchfork over their shitty review of the album which includes this Pulitzer-worthy line, "As for the cover, well, there's a penguin on it you stupid cunt."

8. Dan Sartain - Too Tough to Live (One Little Indian)

Dan Sartain usually works in in rockabilly (albeit in the same weird, sketchy schism also populated by the Reverend Beat Man and for some reason has described himself as the "poor man's Chris Isaak) but for his latest, and by far my favorite of his, record he has gone into full-blown Ramones overdose mode and it's glorious. Still lo-fi and still ripping off the album names of classic punk records when he feels the need, the scrawniest, strongest jawed motherfucker to probably ever come out of Alabama totally blew me away the first time I put this record on. He is the man who wrote one of my favorite songs of the previous decade, after all but I didn't expect anything this straight-forward, floor stomping and so woefully short. Sometimes, the "Keep It Simple Stupid" axiom for rock 'n' roll is best followed and this album is a perfect fucking example of it.



7. Cudzoo and the Faggettes - Daddy Issues (DrugFrontRecords)
Total late in the year listen/dark horse that hasn't left my stereo since I first heard the title track on Bubblefum Fuzz. Just gonna re-post what I put up on the first edition of The Friday Five:

Let's move onto the complete opposite side of the spectrum. Cudzoo and Faggettes have released two albums of gleefully offensive, utterly tactless and absolutely fanfuckingtastic barrages of punked up, glammed out, girl group styled comedic sleaze. That's a compliment.  Think Shannon and the Clams with better production values and a meaner sense of humor. These ladies better be featured in the next Jon Water's movie or else that man has really lost his taste for trash culture. I get a lot of personal feelings that come up when I listen to this album (well, mainly the track "You Taste Like Intervention" which could've been the soundtrack to my entire 20's and especially the most fucked up, abusive, self-destructive and soul crushing relationship I've ever been in that almost closed those years out and if a song can make me laugh about that horror it's got to be great) but mainly what sticks with me most is the type of self-deprecating feminist humor that would make the readership of Jezebel lose their collective hive-minds. "Daddy Issues" aside, there is a fucking song on here called "Roofies" which treats that malady as a positive! Here's how the song ends, with a nice soliloquy, post roofie rape: "I love you soooo much, I'm gonna get your dried up umbilical chord nub, stick it in my vagina, incubate it for nine loooong months, birth it, raise it for 18 years, then fuck the SHIT out of you again!" Heartwarming.



6. Ty Segall - Twins (Drag City)

Dude released three KICK-ASS albums this year and doesn't show any signs of letting up. Before I begin my rhapsody over his motherfucking stellar 2012 output watch this guy SLAY on his first late night TV performance.



First there was the collaboration with White Fence (aka Tim Presley) called Hair, that was like a cohesive Thee Oh Sees record but made more commercially appreciable and appealing. It's a great collaboration that I got to witness live when I caught Ty and Tim at Walter's a few months ago. Then came Slaughterhouse, released under the new name the Ty Segall Band that was just a monster of noise and distortion. It's fantastic. I got to fully dive into the album when I was taken from my old job in inventory and required to schlep heavy ass carts of pissed sheets and other various forms of dirty linen to and fro which gave me plenty of time to hit the repeat button on my iPhone. And if something can really smack me in the face more than the foul stench of a dying cancer patients rancid feces left to fester by a shift of nurses who don't think it's their burden to deal with, then that's something impressive. But his real triumph this year, and the last record he released, was called Twins and easily features the absolute best song Segall has written in his prolific career (placed below). It might be the main reason I rank it over Slaughterhouse. This came in second to my eventual pick for "Song of the Year." (Court picked it as her Numero Uno, if that says anything about my wife). Ty Segall and his cult of fans are growing larger by the day. That's a good thing. Awesome music shouldn't be reserved for the Cool Kids Club but instead shared by everyone and if Ty Segall and his success is any indication then hopefully mainstream media and music writers will be forced to throw more praise on this unique and incredibly gifted garage punk master and his peers.



Part two will be up hopefully by the weekend, folks. Now back to making sure my wife gets over the cold she caught in New Orleans. Top five is next along with 7", live show, local record and more!

The Friday Five Volume 1: Girls Get Busy

Welcome to the first edition of the Friday Five. Here, I'll give you five songs every week that have been stuck in my noggin', for the most part, centered around a theme. Sometimes I might just pull five tunes outta my ass that I think rock. Or something that triggered on my iPod or iTunes or that I pulled out of my vinyl collection that really took a hold of my nards and didn't let go. I haven't really decided yet, though, I do have the first few mapped out. So, here we go.

I love my new job. I'm still working at the hospital but instead of having to deal with bitchy nurses nagging me for things they (rightfully, though not of my fault) should've already gotten I now work in receiving and after two weeks training at the main building I got moved to a cushy new offsite that affords me plentiful time to listen to music podcasts almost non-stop. I still dig on my favorite newscasts to start my morning (Democracy Now!, Best of the Left, etc.) but once my triple shot of espresso kicks in I'm in full on rock 'n' roll mode.

My favorites are everything that is broadcast on the Garage Punk Pirate Radio Network, Rev. Norb's AMAZING Bubblegum Fuzz and the Razorcake Podcast and it's because they remind me of just how much music that is out there, whether new or vintage, that I haven't even discovered yet. I'm a 32 punk rock kid who has swallowed oceans of music thanks to many friends and an insatiable curiosity and love for my beloved subculture and all of it's offshoots and even though I'm long in the tooth (in punk years at least) I still love being turned onto glorious new music like when I was a kid and my sisters older friends and my waaay older friends made me mixtapes.

We live in an awesome new world for music lovers where anyone with a computer can rip their vinyl, CD or cassette collection and turn a whole new generation into rabid fanatics of some band that only released one 7" in the 70's that didn't even make it onto a Killed by Death comp or remind them of groups who were waaaaay beyond what their pop star sheen made them out to be (Rev. Norb hipped me to a particularly skeezy Davy Jones track that makes me question just how wholesome some of those Monkees records are).  Punk rock, rock 'n' roll...all that jazz is built on tradition just like folk music. And part of maintaining that is the ability to share gems from past eras other's might not think to glance at. So that's where this column is coming from. I love sharing music with my friends (and whoever the fuck else might read this blog) and rather than bomb your Facebook walls with shit I'm currently digging I figured I'd force myself to pick five stellar tracks that have been in my head all week to hopefully groove into your senses. This week's theme is focusing on girl groups or girl fronted groups because...well, out of everything my brain gorged on this week all of the standout tunes featured female singers.

The God Damn Doo Wop Band - "I'll Always Be Your Girl" (from the same named 7" I couldn't find the name of the label it was released on so hit me up and I'll amend this)

First off, ANYTHING and I mean ANYTHING involving a member of the Soviettes warrants at least like, three consecutive spins. That member in this case would be Annie (who is also in the great, fuzzed out bass/drum duo Awesome Snakes) and sweet titty fucking christ does this single fucking slay! Quick background on me: I was raised on AM radio by my parents and fortunately that was a time when the programmers weren't just pumping out Beatles song after Beatles song but would play pre-Pet Sounds era Beach Boys (nothing against Pet Sounds, just saying) and LOOOOAAADS of Phil Spector produced girl groups. I worship the Ronettes, Shangri-Las, et. all so when I get presented with a song with such low key, minimalist production (as opposed to the Pippettes', whom I still enjoy, faux-wall of computer bullshit) that just let's the vocals speak for themselves I know the people behind it knew what the fuck they were doing. I mean, the lyrical punch behind all of those great songs ("When I Saw You" "He Hit Me and it Felt like a Kiss" "Dressed in Black") and therefore, the emotional efficacy of the tune, doesn't get driven home if it isn't the singer that is doing the heavy lifting. That said, I was FLOORED when this first creeped through my headphones on the loading dock. I stopped what I was doing and went back a few times to repeat the track. Then I went home and played it a shitload more. THIS is fucking fantastic pop music that is exhilarating and heartbreaking at the same time. Isn't that what we all really want from our favorite musical lamentations on love?




Cudzoo and the Faggettes - "Daddy Issues" (Daddy Issues, Drug Front Records)

Let's move onto the complete opposite side of the spectrum. Cudzoo and Faggettes have released two albums of gleefully offensive, utterly tactless and absolutely fanfuckingtastic barrages of punked up, glammed out, girl group styled comedic sleaze. That's a compliment.  Think Shannon and the Clams with better production values and a meaner sense of humor. These ladies better be featured in the next Jon Water's movie or else that man has really lost his taste for trash culture. I get a lot of personal feelings that come up when I listen to this album (well, mainly the track "You Taste Like Intervention" which could've been the soundtrack to my entire 20's and especially the most fucked up, abusive, self-destructive and soul crushing relationship I've ever been in that almost closed those years out and if a song can make me laugh about that horror it's got to be great) but mainly what sticks with me most is the type of self-deprecating feminist humor that would make the readership of Jezebel lose their collective hive-minds. "Daddy Issues" aside, there is a fucking song on here called "Roofies" which treats that malady as a positive! Here's how the song ends, with a nice soliloquy, post roofie rape: "I love you soooo much, I'm gonna get your dried up umbilical chord nub, stick it in my vagina, incubate it for nine loooong months, birth it, raise it for 18 years, then fuck the SHIT out of you again!" Heartwarming.




Porcharitas - Get Wasted (Get Wasted with the Porcharitas 7" Vertical House Records)

I have long ragged on Alabama as being the shittiest fucking state in this quickly fading republic known as these United States of America (Florida, for all it's warts at least produces good punk bands). And for good reason! When I was 17 I went on a road trip with my debate team (dork, I know) to compete in some prestigious tournament and when we rolled into the state looking for a place to eat, all us kids piled out the vans. Including two black ones. We were met outside by the, I guess, proprietors...protectors...assholes of the establishment and told, curtly, to the fuck back off in our van and keep driving. I'm a Texan by the way so you know it takes something epic and awful like to make me feel like I have the right to shit on your state (Vidor, where?). Anyhoo, these are 3 ladies and one gent from that state who have churned out one kick ass garage punk rager. I'm eagerly waiting on getting my copy of this 7" in the mail (Mrs. Debauchery said she ordered it and if not I will be scouring all of New Orleans for it, along with Normals records come Thursday) because there are only so many times I can repeat this record on bandcamp. I love the scuzzed out vocals, guitars that sound like they were recorded in a trashcan, non-existent bass and waaaaay low on the sound scale Casio keyboards. A prime example of modern, snarky garage punk done absolutely perfect. It makes me wanna take out everything bad I've ever said about the state of Alabama.




The Sugar Stems - "Greatest Pretender" (Greatest Pretender 7" Certified PR Records)

Just the other day I was wondering just what in the mother FUCK happened to the Leg Hounds. You remember them right? Those Devil Dogs lovin' Midwestern righteous motherfuckers? Well it turns out that Drew Fredrichsen, after churning out some killer music with the Jetty Boys  has moved onto to some great bubblegum pop with the Sugar Stems. Just the other day I was wondering just what in the fucking hell happened to the Leg Hounds. Their first album was totally killer but this single blew the official Cancer Hospital baseball cap that I am forced to wear to work everyday off my head. If this  is what the modern incantation of power-pop is going to sound like then I will have a full on priapism ready to balance all of of the (hopefully) forthcoming masterpieces that will be rolling out from these cats any minute now (they do have a new album coming out next year). A fucking exquisite pop song no matter what genre you or I feel the need to put it in. 



The Okmoniks - I'm Done (Party Fever! Slovenly Recordings)

So, here comes the oldie (or at least in the parlance of this current generation because this record was released in, I think 2006-7? It was in the heyday of PKY being print is all I remember) and it should count as a modern garage punk classic. For those not in the know, Justin Champlin (aka Nobunny) came to prominence with this band along with the Sneaky Pinks and by golly, if I'm not a total sucker for 60's style garage rock that's sped up and complete with a solid use of organs and female vox. Just listen to the bridge! It's frantic, desperate and underlays the songs epic angst. Homegirl wants to bail and forget this guy as soon as she can. There's a great band from Denver called the Manxx my friend Justin knows that seems to be carrying on the torch for these cats and once I cop some physical music I will let you know just how enraptured I am with them. Still, as much as I dug that song I can't even remember the name of it's going to be hard to top the pop wizardry the Okmoniks were able to create during their oh so brief and oh too short career. At least Nobunny still performs "Not That Good" and my wife will still be able to shake her amazing Irish ass all over the dance floor when that occurs. 



And since I ended on a Nobunny note, once again, and one of the greatest memories of my life, here is the first show my wife and I attended together and here first REAL exposure to punk rock. 


Til next week brothers and sisters, 
Jihad for Rock 'N' Roll Motherfuckers
Jay Debauchery.

Jay Debauchery's Top 10 Records of 2011, Part Deux

5. Tom Waits - Bad as Me (Anti)

"Listen to the general! Every goddamn word," Waits growls on his first studio album in seven years and one that just might outshine his previous, 2004's cult classic Real Gone (well, aren't they all cult classics? Sure, Waits is in the the R 'N' R Hall of Fame but do you really see people giving this man as much credit or love as Bono? Glad we can all agree on that. FUCK BONO!). Tom Waits said his wife told him to crank out the tunes fast and furious and to be short and concise and it is a glorious collection of from one of the most interesting and continually innovative American artists of all time. Weaved within the howlers like the title track, "Hell Broke Luce" and "Get Lost" are quieter tracks, like "Back in the Crowd" that showcase just how powerful Wait's voice can be when he isn't hammering your brain with his carnival barker rasp (note: this is not complaint nor criticism). Plus, Keith Richards plays guitar on this. How the fuck can you go wrong with Keef if someone like Waits is cracking the whip? Everett True quoted a friend on Facebook describing this album as, "the best kind of 'more of the same.' Spot on. Oh and I arbitrarily ranked it this high because the lone official video released has no emu's in it.Anti gets Tom some emu's, like they did before, and in 2012 I switch all this shit up. Got it?

4. Thee Oh Sees - Carrion Crawler/The Dream (In the Red)

Not content to release one awe inspiring psychedelic skull-fuck this year, John Dwyer and co. pumped this record out (originally conceived as two E.P.'s) about six months after the sunshine-pop filled, deliriously trippy, Castlemania and I struggled about which record would retain this spot for a bit. In fact, all I did on my Xmas shift at the hospital was bounce back and forth between the two, nodding my head uncontrollably, receiving concerned glares from my co-workers who are most certainly not accustomed to acid-flashback inspiring garage rock excellence. In the end, Carrion Crawler/The Dream wins out because the band drifts off into unexpected realms, leaving the music totally unpredictable. Plus, it's the noisier of the two. It's a fantastic record and it might be their masterpiece.

3. P.J. Harvey - Let England Shake (Vagrant)

Holy fuck, people, this record is unbelievably brilliant and incredibly difficult for me to write about without hyperbole. Bottom line, Polly Jean is still on the minimalist kick and along with Mick Harvey and John Parish she has crafted a wicked political album that is probably the most haunting and acerbic (well, lyrically at least) of her career. You just can't shake some of the images she splashes across your brain. Let England Shake is the most pleasurable musical punch to the balls you'd ever like to receive. She truly is the Patti Smith of her generation.

2. Mind Spiders - S/T (Dirtnap)

This is another record I was shocked (to almost violent rage) that didn't make it on almost ANY top 10 list. Are you fucking kidding me? Mark Ryan (of the amazing, criminally underrated, Marked Men) pumps out an amazing garage-pop album and just because it's released in January and not blown by the blogosphere like Bon Iver or whatever other horseshit was stylistically calculated to appease lazy music writers searching for a quick write up, this rad piece of wax gets relegated to the metaphorical dustbin? Fuck that noise. The Marked Men were, from the get go, one of the best bands on the planet and Ryan has carried that tradition on while managing to get weird at times while maintaining their obsession for 60's pop. If you don't see hope for the future of pop music in this band then Van Gogh yourself...twice!

1. Fucked Up - David Comes to Life (Matador)

If this is the end of Fucked Up, then they've gone out on an incredibly high note. Few bands can successfully do the concept album and when you throw in hardcore punk bands to the mix the odds get exponentially lower. However, these cats managed to magnificently pull it off, plotting the beats of their "rock opera" in a Toronto food court while retooling the music to coincide with it. Alongside the album, they released singles coloring the fictional town the story takes place in that run the gamut from the could have been on a KBD comp, "My Old Man's a Ginger" to the dreamy 90's alt-rock on, "Light Rain" or even the garage-pop on, "It's Hard to Be a Dad".

But, what is first and foremost here is the music on the album itself. I've been a total fanboy for Fucked Up ever since I heard Epics in Minutes. I've been thrilled to see the band progress beyond the second coming of Black Flag label that was thrust upon them, deservedly so, earlier in their career. Mike Haliecheck, the architect of this group's brilliant brand of sonic assault, deserves much of the credit for the records' success but it's frontman Damien Abraham's ripped-throat snarl that ferociously delivers the many emotional gut punches perfectly placed throughout the record. And despite the incredibly high bar this records sets for Fucked Up, I'm sure whatever it is they unleash upon us next will be at the very least, on par with David Comes to Life.

EP of the Year - Tie

Future of the Left - Polymers are Forever (Xtra Mile)

So, they dropped the bassist that has been with Andy Falkous since mclusky and added a second guitarist and yet, the proper question is, how fucking more awesome could this band get? Waaaaay more rad, folks.

Trash Talk - Awake (True Panther)

If Cerebral Ballzy weren't so drunk (not a complaint) and more into metal.

Jay Debauchery's Top 10 Records of 2011, Part Une

Alright, here we go. Some of these have popped up (deservedly so) in every possible corner of the internet and print media. Some have not. I stand by my list until next year when I look it over, go back through all the records I neglected to mention and end up hammering my asshole with a meat tenderizer.

10. Police Teeth - Awesomer Than the Devil (Latest Flame)

I copped this off of Shiny Grey Montone (I have a physical copy now, thank you) at the suggestion of Soulless Brother #1 (aka Black Nathan) and it fucking blew me away. Imagine if Superchunk went full on balls out with the volume cranked, hints of Future of the Left, Seaweed and Fugazi and you've got this kick ass bit of wax. "Summertime Bruise" hasn't left my head since I heard it.

9. Smith Westerns - Dye it Blonde (Fat Possum)

These kids are just so goddamned good. Much more polished this time around, the Smith Westerns are still obsessed with Marc Bolan, Teenage Fanclub and I Should Coco era Supergrass (just listen to "Weekend" or "Imagine, Pt. 3" and tell me I'm wrong) and seem to effortlessly craft sublime pop songs. I was surprised to see these guys land on so few year end lists but I guess that's what happens when you can't hype a band beyond their first record and the follow up comes out at the beginning of the year. Go back and listen to this along with their self-titled and tell me your not stoked about what they'll lay on us next.

8. Lords of Altamont - Midnight to 666 (Fargo) The Lords don't reinvent themselves or their scuzzed up 60's inspired (duh) psych/biker punk but unlike their previous release, The Altamont Sin, the band cranks the fuzz and Farfisa up to 11 with a nice thick sound to muddy your ears. Maybe it's the addition of members of the Fuzztones and Cramps that brought the band back to their former glory (Lords Have Mercy). Bonus points are awarded for their cover of the Dead Boys' "Ain't it Fun."

7. Davila 666 - Tan Bajo (In the Red)

Let's put off the critical discussion for a moment and go into total fanboy territory. First, you need to listen to this. And then this track from the Pepper Pots. If they hook up we are assured some bad ass pop music in the future. Anyhoo, the finest group of garage enthusiasts out of Puerto Rico have returned with a lo-fi compilation of punked up Richie Valens tunes that will provide the perfect soundtrack to your summer bar-b-cue. In between the hepped up rockers ("Patitas") there are some straight Phil Spector ballads ("Eso Que Me Haces"). I love this record so much I included one of the songs on my ill fated wedding playlist which you can dig below.

6. The Gaye Blades - S/T (Norton)

This spot should've been reserved for the Night Beats LP (and hey, I can still change my mind but I wanna at least get half of this list up tonight) but this was a last minute listen that really hit me hard. Pretty much what you get is the Black Lips meets Gentleman Jesse and that's because it's Jared Swilley and Jesse Smith (who also slays in the Carbonas) and it results in the only band that can be mentioned alongside greats like Shoes, the Action and the Exploding Hearts. No, this won't shake your world like Guitar Romantic but it will remind you to have faith that power-pop ,in America, will eventually burst through to the mainstream once again. Sure, the production and vocals are (intentionally) raw but it just makes the album more endearing and highlights the strengths of the songwriting. So what if they don't harmonize perfect and the guitar is slightly out of tune? This is going to be stuck in your head for eons. Essentially, it's a long lost Bomp! record released in 2011. We should all be happy as a pig in shit for that.

Jay Debauchery Vs. KISS @ the Rodeo

When it was announced that KISS would be playing the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo this year, I knew I had to go. Not because it’s fantastic seeing KISS or anything but because that band is so goddamned ridiculous that combining their gaudy live show with the atmosphere of yuppies and shitkickers at the rodeo was sure to yield entertaining results. When we first arrived I was excited to partake in one of my favorite rodeo pastimes (I bartend at a booth during the cook-off and these are often the only way to make the experience bearable beyond chugging whiskey): the mullet count. Sadly and shockingly, there was a severe lack of white trash aesthetic on the grounds. I expected wispy moustaches, loads of “Hot in the Shade” tour shirts with the sleeves ripped off, dressed up by a ratty denim vest littered with W.A.S.P. and Dokken patches whose wearers would be two fisting cans of Red Dog, the party-ends of their tragicomic coif’s flowing majestically in the gentle breeze. Honestly, I can’t remember when I’ve been to the rodeo and haven’t seen a vast array of ape drapes. Instead, it was aging rocker dads with their (mostly) male progeny in tow eager to experience “the hottest band in the world” together in a completely absurd setting. Who really would’ve expected to watch bull riding, barrel races and 6 year olds in full hockey gear strapped to mutton as a lead-in to two geriatric rock stars and their hired goons in face paint singing about their cocks? The crowd was really apathetic leading up to the lights going down. Everyone was downing $6 beers and liquor but no one seemed excited about the band. It was just like they were staying to watch KISS as a time killer before hitting the carnival. KISS has a ravenous fan base (how else can you explain their endurance or the fact that Chaim Witz has had a reality show running for over 5 fucking years) and they’re often loud and rowdy but once the lights finally dimmed there was only a dull roar of applause from the over 72,000 in attendance. The jumbotrons, hung high above the revolving stage, lit up with the visages of the “four ugliest Jewish women in the world” as they were loaded into their golf carts (Eric Singer and Paul Stanley had to share one) before being shuttled out to the stage. Manager Doc McGee mugged for the cameras as he shook every member’s hand before a roadie made the traditional proclamation, “YOU WANTED THE BEST? YOU GOT THE BEST: THE HOTTEST BAND IN THE WORLD…KISSSSSSSS!” Explosions ensued around the stage and people were jazzed but I sat puzzled as to why I didn’t hear the intro to “Detroit Rock City” instead of something off the group’s 2009 album, Sonic Boom (I had to look that one up as I’m sure anyone else who’s not a KISS die-hard did). When the group walked out I was fucking certain Paul Stanley was wearing a spanx. His hairy bitch tits juggled beneath his super tight leather vest as he swaggered around the stage with his guitar between his legs when the cameras focused on him. Gene Simmons did his usual tongue wagging, strutting with the menacing glare that is his “Demon” persona, but it felt odd considering that these are tactics they use to engage and excite the crowd. Unfortunately, the majority of the crowd was 2,000 fucking feet away. There was a small contingent of fans who had seating on the grounds (still 1,999 thousand feet away from the stage), roped off with lawn chairs in tow. The funniest thing about this wasn’t imagining how much these people paid for their “privileged” seats but when an over-eager couple knocked others out of the way and ended up eating shit, face down in the dirt. Plus, if you can’t see the jumbotrons then you can’t see the band unless you’ve invested in C.I.A. grade binoculars or can crane you’re neck to a position only comparable to being in the front row at a laser Floyd show. Once the band segued into “Shout It Out Loud,” people started getting on their feet and my companions pointed out a guy one section over with seething, bulging neck veins freaking out like it was the second coming of Jeebus. This was the spectacle I had expected to see. Drunken fools slavishly lapping up whatever auI have to admit I enjoyed “Deuce” but once that was over Paul started in with the crowd fellating and it has never seemed more comical. With his strained, howling shriek that is somewhere between Dr. Rockso and that cuntrag from the Darkness and William Shatner he’d shout gems like, “HEEEEW-STUNNNN! YOU GOT SOME FINE LOOKUN’ WUMUN HEYARE! WE KNOW WHERE WE’RE AYAT. WHEN WE GET OFF THE PLAYANE!” Once again, another dull roar from the crowd. Stanley would further go on to embarrass himself (and insult his fans if you think about it) by asking if they remembered “THEEEYAS ONE!” before humming the choruses of their lamentable disco hit “I Was Made for Loving You” and “Lick it Up” amongst other tunes. Of course, “Calling Dr. Love” popped up on the set list (hey, they’ve got a contract with Dr. Pepper and that new cherry flavor ain’t selling itself), not-Peter Criss sang “Beth” to some boos from the KISS Army and for the latter part of their set Simmons and Stanley seemed to be engaging in a mugging contest for the roving cameras with Stanley’s flirtatious kisses and guitar pick spitting (into a crowd of no one) ultimately winning out. This all culminated in the height of absurdity when Stanley paraded two military veterans onto the stage, announcing they would be donating money from the show to the Wounded Warrior project and then demanding that the crowd, well, I’ll write it in Starchild speak: “PUT YO-AH RIGHT HAYAND OVAH YO-AH HART. AND REPEEEEEAT AFTA ME!” before launching into the Pledge of Allegiance. I shit you not, this happened. The crowd went fucking insane for this cheap stunt (has KISS ever delved into politics with heart and passion?) and leapt to their feet to join in, almost drowning out Stanley. I can’t remember a crowd at the HLSR this excited since the year they dropped Lee “I’m Proud to be an American” Greenwood down from the rafters every night. I’m not ragging on the crowd for being patriotic but from other concertgoers I spoke to (who traveled from out of the country) they felt that the band was pandering to the rodeo crowd and I have to agree. Still, it was the most excitement I would see from the crowd before they closed out with “Rock and Roll All Nite,” and the aging rockers would gloriously relive their senior year party at the Moon Tower. Yes, this wasn’t a typical KISS show. There was little fire-breathing, Gene didn’t spit blood and Fake Ace’s guitar didn’t spew smoke from its pick-ups when they eventually played “Detroit Rock City,” but it sure proved to be an amusing clusterfuck of rock ‘n’ roll excess in the worst possible way. Some bands just need to die and with this latest stunt KISS has moved ahead of the Rolling Stones to top that list.

And Here is My Introduction to the World of Podcasts

A couple of weeks ago I met up with Black Nathan and Tyson to record a podcast that I'm told has something to do 1560 the Game. A few highlights to entice you to listen:
* I deconstruct the bullshit Glee usage of songs. You know, their total disregard for the ACTUAL meaning of the songs in favor of dramatic bullshit?
* Nathan rags on my previous journalism.
* I, once more, lament about how much it sucks to work in a bookstore.
* Tim Tebow's appearance at the ESPY's leads us all into a rant about religion in sports.
* Mel Gibson.

And so much more!
Hopefully, Tyson will bring me back for more cursing and chaos so until then, enjoy!

http://p1podcastpalooza.podbean.com/2010/07/25/please-kill-yourselfafter-you-listen/

Jay Debauchery's Top 10 Albums of 2008

There could have been a lot more shoegazer pop on this list (Magnetic Fields, Blood on the Wallz) as well as some discs I got in '07 that didn't come out til this year. I encourage you to at least LISTEN to all of these and maybe you'll find some new kind of kick. For everyone that said this was an off year in music I say, fuck off. There were a slew of great records that didn't make this list (it was so god damned hard not to put Gentlemen Jesse in this collection). And if you put Girl Talk in your list you need to slit your throat.
10. Wavves - S/T CS I just heard this band (actually one man named Nathan Williams) a few weeks ago and it seriously rocked my va-jay-jay. This dude probably kicked in his amp with a pair of steel toed boots before recording some of the most luscious California beach pop I've heard in a long time. The layers of noise washed over the hooks and melodies are absolutely essential to the beauty of the tunes. Plus, Mr. Williams has a righteous 80's era skater cut right out of Thrasher. And not in an ironic manner.
There is no YouTube video I can put here so just check out the tracks here.
9. The Night Marchers - See You in Magic John Reis can do no wrong. Except for breaking up the Hot Snakes and Sultans in the same year. And just after he put the only rock 'n' roll band EVER allowed to use horns (Rocket from the Crypt) to bed. He soothed my wounds with the Night Marchers which was a little more caustic ("I Wanna Deadbeat You", "Open Your Legs") than I was expecting. They kill live, also. It's not RFTC, but I'll take a John Reis band over 75% of music any day.
8. Lords of Altamont - The Altamont Sin So, they pick up the bassist from the MC5, sound more stoned than usual and take their sweet fucking time to deliver one hell of a record. I should punish them for that but how can I when they consistently kick out the jams this fierce? 1%er, fuzzed out, Farfisa drenched, down and dirty rock 'n' roll. I love everything Jake Calvaliere has ever been involved with but the Lords of Altamont easily take the cake. Sorry, Bomboras.
Lords of Altamont

7. Harlem - Free Drugs I despise 99% of bands from Austin for a multitude of reasons but these cats are brilliant. They pilfer from the Pixies, 13th Floor Elevators and Nuggets era garage rock for a truly excellent album that is impossible to resist putting on repeat. Just check out "South of France" and tell me you're not hooked. They got moved up on the list simply for titling a song "Psychedellic Titties."

6. MGMT - Oracular Spectacular The way I described it to a co-worker when it first got thrown into the rotation at work was what the Happy Mondays second album would've been if they binged on acid instead of crack. I stand by that. A great psychedellic electro-pop album that is in no way pretentious or hipster fodder. It's far to busy waving middle fingers to the subculture and stealing Madonna beats (seriously, "Electic Feel" owes its life to "Lucky Star") to be considering a brooding work of contemplative overload. These kids are just having a blast with infectious dance music.
MGMT-TimeToPretend

5. The Raveonettes - Lust, Lust, Lust Take the shoegazer cannon of the Jesus and Mary Chain and My Bloody Valentine, strip out all of the distortion and swap out the Brian Wilson worship for Phil Spector girl groups and what you get is one of the more crucial European bands in recent memory. They just keep getting better.

4. The Baseball Project - Vol. 1: Frozen Ropes and Dying Quails Scratching your head at that title aren't ya? Well, you're not a baseball nerd then! I love baseball with all my heart, believe it to be a parable for life and this album more than evokes my passion for the game. It is literally dripping with unabashed love and devotion to America's passtime. Steve Wynn (the mastermind behind the criminally ignored Dream Syndicate) along with friends including Peter Buck (of R.E.M. fame) deliver a sixties style pop album that ranks this high simply for the song "Ted Fucking Williams." Here is the backstory for the song's title:
In the bullpen tonight Jim Pagliaroni was telling us how Ted Williams, when he was still playing, would psyche himself up for a game during batting practice, usually early practice before the fans or reporters got there.
He'd go into the cage, wave his bat at the pitcher and start screaming at the top of his voice, "My name is Ted fucking Williams and I'm the greatest hitter in baseball."
He'd swing and hit a line drive.
"Jesus H. Christ Himself couldn't get me out."
And he'd hit another.
Then he'd say, "Here comes Jim Bunning. Jim fucking Bunning and that little shit slider of his."
Wham!
"He doesn't really think he's gonna get me out with that shit."
Blam!
"I'm Ted fucking Williams."
Sock!

3. Flogging Molly - Float This doesn't have the barroom rousers that Swagger and Drunken Lullabies had but Dave King's lamentations on returning to Ireland amidst peace for the first time in his life have served his songwriting greatly. Not that he needed any help. There are a few writers that liked their more raw, punk stylings and punish the band for scaling back for the sake of...well, better songwriting. Bollocks to them. This is by far their finest album to date. They have now earned the crown as the new Pogues.

2. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Dig! Lazarus! Dig! I'm on record (in print!) as saying that I would gladly grab ankles for Nick Cave. The man is a genius and this year the Bad Seeds new offering was easily my most anticipated record. They did not fail me in the least. In fact, this is the best record they've released since Murder Ballads and is just as snarky, fun and insane. Come on, the title track is a hillarious diatribe reimagining Lazarus' alternate experience on Earth as a bored, pissed off, resentfull junkie. Dig comes so close to topping the noisy, Stooges inspired and absolutely filthy Grinderman offshoot Cave and Ellis released last year. That really says a ton about the strength of this record.

1. Fucked Up - The Chemistry of Common Life Holy shit, I cannot believe the evolution of this band. For their first LP release (which was a collection of EP's and singles) they sounded like the second coming of Black Flag. Then Hidden World dropped and was incredibly challenging as the band grew to compose 5 minute hardcore epics layered with experimental instrumentation and layers and layers of guitar tracks. I never thought I would be so in love with a band this raw that lovingly embraced Pro Tools, with up to 70 tracks of instruments at a time!!!! but here we are. On The Chemistry of Common Life, Pink Eyes and crew (which includes Rachel Lee Cook's little brother) continue their fuck you to religion ("So what's the point of ever being born again?") and deconstruction of the state of modern man. Yes, a band named Fucked Up is that deep, that intelligent and still able to make you want to go off. I cannot believe how they have crossed over from hardcore heroes to indie snob delights. I understand it but it stills bugs me out. Shit, the mainstream music rags are fellating them at every chance and you know what...they deserve every bit of acclaim and praise they recieve. Fucked Up will go down as the greatest punk rock band of their generation. Mark my words.
Honorable Mentions: Henry Fiat's Open Sore - Mondo Blotto, Blood on the Wallz - Liferz, Okmoniks, Magnetic Fields - Distortion, Yuppie Pricks - Balls, Blacklisted - Heavier than Heaven, Lonlier than God, Gentlemen Jesse
THE BEST BAND I HEARD IN 2007 BUT DIDN'T FREAK OUT OVER TIL THIS YEAR GOES TO...
Clockcleaner. Babylon Rules is fucking phenomenal and they are the best thing out of Philadelphia right now. Totaly caustic and uncaring sounds of the Birthday Party meeting Big Black for drunken brawl.

8Bit's Night of Glory at the Rodeo

What follows is simply my account of what happened one night during the BBQ cookoff out the rodeo. 8Bit Chris may have a different account but I doubt he remembers anything.
The second (I believe) night of the BBQ Cookoff at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo was going along smoothly and once it got dark my sis and her husband, whom you all know as the 8Bit Chris, arrived and then things slowly got interesting.
8Bit hits the bar and asks for a beer, I say something like, "Don't be a pussy. Drink some whiskey with me." This was after we had a done a shot of the tasty brown devil. He acquiesced and kept on truckin' until my sis came up to the bar and said, "8Bit is talking really close to people, so maybe you should lighten the pour or just don't serve him. Get him to drink some water." I did as told but by this point, after a slew of wicked strong jello shots, more whiskey and some food, my boy was three sheets to the wind.
The bar was super fucking busy so I didn't pay much attention to what my beloved family members were up until one of the other bartenders pointed to a corner and said, "Dude, I don't think your brother in law is looking so hot."
I turned my head and see 8Bit slouched in a chair, looking like he was taking a power nap. Someone gets the bright idea to make him drink some water seeing as how he was fucking tanked and passing out. I said, "No. You give him water and he drinks it up, it's going to overload his stomach and push all of the food back up and that ain't gonna be pretty." I am ignored, and as cook team members and other patrons look on my sis begins having him sip some Dasani. It was actually kinda sweet and cute to behold. However, as I had feared, he started convulsing a little and I dashed to grab a trashcan. 8Bit unloads his fajitas, ribs and sausage which looked like some demonic black sludge. Really, it was a shade shy of bubblin' crude.
Being the professional alcoholic I am, I grab my bag and take out some ginger pills (these things ease digestion and settle your stomach. For me, these are lifesavers. After drinking myself into the hospital which resulted with unpleasant gallbladder problems, ginger seems to be the difference between living a happy life or puking up neon yellow bile for extended periods of time) and a couple of asprin and force the fuckers down his throat.
He's starting to fade at this point and it really wouldn't be good to have somebody shitfaced in the tent in case a cop came by so I decided we needed to get 8Bit and my sis to their car as quickly as possible. He's pretty much dead weight and with my knee being fucked (which I'd dislocated by doing a David Johansen impression at Griff's to "Looking for a Kiss"), I knew I couldn't move him on my own.
I head over to the pit and grab one of the super cool meatcutters we bring in named Ed to help me out since he is a huge motherfucker. Ed and I each grab and arm and realise this ain't gonna happen. Then, genius strikes.
"How 'bout we just throw him on the dolly and wheel him out," is Ed's suggestion. And, sadly, it was the only option.
8Bit is schlepped onto the dolly, his body flailing in whatever position we prop him to ala Weekend at Bernie's, and we head out to the parking lot.
If you've never been to the cookoff it's important to know how this thing is set up. There is a HUGE parking lot at Reliant that is used for the fairgrounds and tent space. To reach it, you must park a good 10 minutes away, and trek across a bridge that overlooks the street below and then pass through another parking lot to get to your car. It sucks. Especially, with a drunk person in tow.
I light a smoke and we head out. Immediately, there are lines of good ol' boys and their skanks pointing and laughing at our cargo. Camera phones break out. Then the digital cameras. Then, even a couple of low tech video ones. We tread on, trying to ignore the bullshit until some guy comes up with a beer and tries to force 8Bit to drink it. My sis snaps. Pushes the cat and screams, "Leave him the FUCK alone!"
I figure it's time to get into brother mode and walk over and tell the guy to fuck off.
We march on. It's not so bad until right around the exit gate (where there are always about five pigs) I start to get nervous, thinking they won't let us clear out and my boy will have a ticket slapped on him. Of course, some dipshit trying to rub his head came up first and this posed a different problem.
I shoved the guy off and told him to beat it. He got agro and noticing there where cops just a few feet ahead, I baited the motherfucker into a fight. We cross the exit and before the guy can even clench a fist, HPD has violently thrown him into a trailer, nightstick against the back of his neck, telling him to cool it. Ed asks, "How come you didn't hit him?"
"Well, how come you didn't, man?"
"Cause I saw the cops."
"Same reason as me, bro."
We march on. Over the bridge and to the queue line for rickshaws (think of it as a carriage but with bikes instead of horses. Come to think of it, that is ironic for Texas, especially at a rodeo).
It is fucking epic in length. Think Beowulf but instead of words, people. Everyone there is sympathetic to the cause and after 5 people I don't even have to ask to jump queue. The fine folks are just giving us the hand signal to move on up. Until we get to about 10 people from the front.
Two yuppies shove me back, I ask them politely if we can skip ahead and point to my inebrieated brother in law, dead to the world on a dirty, metal, green dolly. They promptly tell me to get to the back. I explain that everyone else was cool with it and even offered to pay for their fare. The popped collar bro's cunt girlfriend starts in on me and shoves me back again. I calmly tell her that if she doesn't cool it and touches me again, I'm gonna fucking deck her man. Then a cop steps in.
Well, actually, he didn't step in so much as began jamming me in my ribs (just so ya know, I'm a scrawny cat. No padding there) as hard as he can with his nightstick yelling, "You're not gonna hit now woman!"
I jump back and say, "NO! I SAID I WAS GONNA HIT HIM!" and point to the popped collar bro. The cop cools it off my ribs and ask what the fuck is going on. I relay the details and he giggles, shows sympathy and grabs the next free rickshaw for us. Ed and I dump 8Bit onto the backside and the driver nervously asks, "He isn't gonna puke is he?"
I rip a twenty from my roll (the night before had been very beneficial, tip wise) and said, "Don't worry about it. He's done. And if he does, this should cover it." He looks hesitant so I grab a tenner and then they went off into the humid Houston night.
I talked to my ma about this before I had report back at the tent in the morning (yeah, about 14 hour shifts for 3 straight days) and we agree it is best to not let my father know about what happened. Of course, when I waltz in, the cook team is making jokes about it and my dad begins grilling me for info. He's giddy and laughing his ass off as I recount the details. I'm relived, until I realise something, turn and say, "Dad, if that had been me you'd be beating my ass right about now. Probably, disowning me!"
He just shrugged. Welcome to the family, 8Bit.