More sPazAmping from days of yore, to fill the aching void between one Superbean calendar instalment and the next. Enjoy, landlubbers.
I did a sPazTune last week. The internets etted it. I've been in mourning for a week, but now I'm BACK, bitch!
Yes, I'm back, and I'm back in a beret, courtesy of JamieC. I'm wearing it now. So far in the last five minutes I've pretended to be Frank Spencer, Ben Volpeliere-Pierrot (off of Curiosity Killed the Cat), a mediaevel bishop sort of thing, a man wearing a massive flat cap (possibly one of the Goodies during the black pudding thingy show), a Royal Marine, Wolfy/Citizen Smith and a generic French stereotype person. Possibly an onion seller. So very versatile, the beret. How I love my beret.
Don't believe that I'm wilfully sPazTuning whilst wearing a beret? What do you want, blood? Huh? HUH? What? Oh, proof? Oh, yeah, proof, that I can do. Here's me enjoying my beret in a variety of ways (two). Except they aren't here, they'll be at the end of the post, won't they. So look down there, and gaze in awe, wonder, appreciation and possibly mild disgust.
In the mean time ...
1. Bruce Springsteen - Independence Day
In which Bruce grunts, groans, strains and poos out from his previously constipated musical anus a grittily wrought fraught ballad about Will Smith saving the earth from alien menace with the help of a the president. Played by someone or other. Who cares, it was a stupid cocklicking film anyway. Unlike this song which isn't a) a film or b) in anyway cocklicking. Unless, of course, you happen to believe that "cocklicking" in this sense means really pretty fucking good. In that case, it IS cocklicking, and mightily thus. So cocklicking in fact that it is Bill Clinton's favourite [s]intern[/s] song. Or at least it was before he went all haggard, grey faced, thin and eighty-years-old looking. He's gone off it since then. He's gone off the song, too. Ha and, to a lesser extent, ha.
2. Daniel Johnston - Love Enchanted
In which Daniel starts out as if he is intent on impersonating Alex Harvey, of The Sensational Alex Harvey Band fame. It really is quite uncanny, for about twelve seconds. To anyone else, this would be bare and stripped back and other annoyingly cuntish terms employed by cuntish people writing about cuntish music. For Daniel, it's limb-severingly over-produced and cram-packed with sweeping and lush orchestrations. Twice then I mistyped "lush" as "lusch" which is both the German outlet of seaweed and poo masquerading as bath products and an affectionate French term for drunken German soldiers, as everyone knows. Obviously.
3. Boogie Down Productions - 9mm Goes Bang (Instrumental)
In which KRS-1 waxes lyrical about his tiny exploding cock. Curiously, it's an instrumental on which there is a lot of singing. In Christopher-1's world, "instrumental" means "with all the words except quite a lot of them, the chorus in particular, taken out".
4. Elvis Presley - It's Only Love
In which Elvis opines that "she had no recipe for love". No, but she had the recipe for a deep fried tiramisu, nutella, lard and aubergine pie sandwich with barbiturate sprinkles. Which is why you died lardily on the shitter, Elve me old chum. He died as he lived - mystified that something so inordinately huge had emerged from something so small. And also on the toilet.
5. Tom Jones - Weeping Annaleah
In which Tom makes up names for girls he wants to sing to. It's quite good, as is a lot of the stuff that doesn't ever make it onto the three hundred and four bazillion best ofs released each and every month of every year. Unfortunately, the arse-melting majority of public awareness of Tom is limited to a) the same twenty or so songs cycled through on the three hundred and four bazillion best ofs released each and every month of every year, b) the fact he is Welsh and c) made of orange leather. It really isn't fair.
6. Run DMC - They Call Us Run DMC
In which Run, DMC and (in a non vocal way) Jam Master Jay babble on for three wonderful minutes that "they" call "us" "Run" "DMC". Yes. Because it's your name. The name YOU chose for your band. That's why they call it you. What did you expect? That they were going to call you Stetsasonic? That's someone else's name, fools. You've made your Run DMC Name bed, you should be prepared to lie in it and pull up your Run DMC Name sheets up under your chins and sleep a peaceful snuggling sleep. Probably best not to include Jam Master Jay though, not since he got deaded. Ruin your sheets, that would.
7. Hal Blaine - Vibrations (August)
In which Hal Blaine (he's doing the drums, I think) makes up titles that bear no relation to the instrumental song that they are attached to and then tries to pass the hokey nonsense off as a concept album by putting a different month in brackets after each of them. He thinks it's psychedelic. He's wrong. It's twaddle, simple twaddle (although sporadically entertaining twaddle).
8. The Cramps - New Kind of Kick
In which Lux Interior makes the wild boast that he has found a new method of imbuing momentum in an object through the medium of his lower limbs. He also (with the aid of the rest of them) covers and improves someone else's song, as was his wont. And his will. And Nick Knox is still the best name for a drummer ever invented, and always will be. Until Sticky McHitter joins a band, of course.
9. Ministry - Burning Inside
In which Alien Jourgensen (you're fooling no one, Alain. You're from earth and we all know it) generously applauds the meritorious effects of the liberal imbibement of Gaviscon. Or possibly Preparation H. Or some mad anti-cystitis thing, perhaps. Although it's probably best not to imbibe the latter two. Topical application would be perhaps the order of the day. And he does it all in a live fashion, which is so much better than the studio version that it makes my feet ache just to mentally compare them. In Case You Didn't Feel Like Showing Up (Live) has been scientifically proven to be one of the best albums ever recorded to drive to. If you want to end up driving at 100mph+ with wild staring eyes, a demented rictus of loathing plastered across your chops and angrily hunched over your steering wheel exuding waves of contempt and disdain for your risible fellow motorists, that is. What a great album it is. I'm going to listen to it all after this sPazTuning episode.
10. Man ... or Astro Man? - The Man from F.U.C.K.Y.O.U.
In which Man ... or Astro Man? (it's Man, not
11. The Pretty Things -
In which The Pretty Things babble on some verbal turdage about some tiny rat-infested hamlet down south over some thoroughly average semi-folky, three-quarter jangly, entirely plodding "music". Not their high point, all things considered.
12. Phantom Surfers - Besame Mucho
In which the Phantom Surfers say they have a lot of Besames. In a twangly surfoid stroke mariachi orgy of guitar fondling instrumental ecstasy. Whatever the fuck that means. Who cares when the shit is this good. Whatever the fuck that means.
13. The Jailbirds - Snakeskin Suit
In which eighties Garageists (the proper kind of garage that is, not the other, new kind. Let's not have that whole thing again) The Jailbirds bang on about how great their new snakeskin suit is. Yeah, great. If you're very long, thin and have no limbs.
14. The Move - When
In which The Move laugh at Roy Wood's facial hair and contemplate an impending rural bestial orgy. In stereo.
15. Southern Culture on the Skids - Galley Slave
In which SCotS lament (in a jaunty, entertaining and above all mostly instrumental fashion) the plight of a poor soul condemned to trail around room after room of paintings and explain them to disinterested tourists. And, to top it all off, to really rub big grains of spiky, poisonous salt into the poor chap's festering metaphorical wound, they miss an "r" out.
16. Boris - Dyno-Soar
In which Boris dedicate a slice of their soul-improving, brain-pickling, toe-polishing, massively-rocking and vastly-wonderfulling heavy rock side to their favourite prehistoric beast, the pterodactyl. Possibly. I haven't got a clue, really.
17. The Who - Mary Anne with the Shakey Hand (Alternate Version)
In which The Who assert that someone called Mary Anne does better wanks because she has Parkinson's. Earth to The Who - there's a reason why this is the alternate version. IT'S BECAUSE IT'S NOT AS GOOD AS THE OTHER ONE. If it was, it would've have probably been the actual version. Wankers. And how!
18. Offspring - Self Esteem
In which the Offspring reveal another of my closely guarded guilty pleasures to a world filled with spite and ridicule. To which I say "fuck off!" and shake an angry fist, angrily and with much anger. It also quite wonderfully skewers the very people who latched onto to it as some sort of anthem for their own oh-so-dreadful and pain-filled cossetted, pampered and generally over-privileged excuse for lives. You haven't felt real pain until your wealthy, professional parents have ripped your soul in two and removed all reason for your presence on the planet by not getting you the Saab convertible with the heated leather seats for your 17th birthday. Go an write something pseudo-meaningful about it on your schoolbag in tipp-ex. Then fuck off and get run over by a big massive truck with spikey wheels. Then get together with your friends and form Radiohead. I feel I have wandered off the subject somewhat. I've spanned the genres. They call me the genre-spanner [/boosh]. Anyway, I like it and I like it a lot. So there.
19. Isaac Hayes - Never Can Say Goodbye
In which Ike proves himself to be a massive liar in the very first line of the song. Stupid big scientologist.
20. Led Zeppelin - Immigrant Song
In which Robert Plant proves that wailing like a complete tart about some nonsensical vikings, ice, snow, hot springs and valhalla need not stand in the way of recording your second best song ever and one of the finest songs in the history of nonsensical tart-like valhalla wailing.
So there you have it. A lot of songs and me in a beret. I hope this one doesn't get etted by the internets. If it does, I may eschew sPazTuning forever more.
T'ra.
Yeah, so no pictures. Like the title says, I'm like Arnie in that film. I LIED.
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