Mood programming

Best 5 fire-it-up songs:

  1. Indestructible, Disturbed
  2. Shoot to Thrill, AC/DC
  3. Jesus Built My Hot Rod, Ministry
  4. New World Order, Ministry
  5. Galvanize, Chemical Brothers

Best 5 philosophy songs

  1. Orpheus, David Sylvian
  2. Overburdened, Disturbed
  3. Everyday is Halloween, Ministry
  4. Down with the Sickness, Disturbed
  5. September, David Sylvian

Best 5 get-off-the-canvas songs

  1. In the Meantime, Spacehog 
  2. Tubthumping, Chumbawumba
  3. Glory to Glory, Fred Hammond
  4. Keep on Movin, Five
  5. A Long Way to the Top, AC/DC

Best 5 romance songs

  1. Sadeness, Enigma
  2. A Girl Doesn’t Get Killed By Her Make-Believe Lover, My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult
  3. Lullaby, The Cure
  4. Earth (Gaia), The Orb
  5. More Human Than Human, White Zombie


The first album you ever bought

Just got the discount codes out, which I did while cranking the first album I ever bought, AC|DC Back in Black. Man, there is still nothing like that first guitar kicking in on the title track.

I actually think Shoot to Thrill is my favorite track on the album, but it’s hard to decide whether Back in Black or Hells Bells gets off to a better start. And You Shook Me All Night Long is a respectable third in that regard. Which reminds me of  one of the things I love about Rock Sugar’s mix of Like a Prayer and Shook Me All Night Long, how they slip in the riff from Hells Bells into it towards the end.

Anyhow, the code are good for a week, so don’t leave redeeming to the last minute. By the way, in case anyone is interested, the preferences were as follows:

34.5 percent JANISSARIES
27.6 percent SCI PHI JOURNAL #1
19.5 percent QUANTUM MORTIS A Man Disrupted
12.6 percent THE EMPEROR’S CORPS
5.6 percent FIRST ON THE MOON

I was also annoying Markku by sending him the line after line from Bloodhound Gang’s Screwing You on the Beach at Night, which is the greatest Gamma-mocking song ever recorded. I think I listened to it 10 times in a row and laughed every single time. In case you can’t tell, we haven’t been turning in before 4 AM in about a week.

I know my haikus are freaking intense
And even the words I made up to sound French
Don’t express my feelings for your toilet parts

That is some QUALITY lyric writing.


The Secret History of Psykosonik, part 0

I got an email from an old friend I hadn’t heard from in a long time last night. It turned out that he’d saved the tapes from our old band and converted them to MP3 about ten years ago. After Big Chilly’s younger brother bought an Ensoniq keyboard, the four of us spent summer evenings in 1987 and 1988 in the basement of Big Chilly’s house learning how to use our instruments.

Mostly because they were so simple and all four of us could more or less sing, we started out by learning early Depeche Mode songs such as Just Can’t Get Enough and Dreaming of Me. We didn’t have a four-track recorder, so everything was recorded live with the programmed drum machines; our microphones were cheap Radio Shack mike sans effects, except for the echo from the basement walls, unless we ran one through one of Big Chilly’s two guitar effects. We covered everything from Depeche Mode and New Order to Shriekback and Camouflage.

It’s all cheesy as hell, but the two times we played live, once at a graduation party and once at a nightclub in downtown Minneapolis, we went over exceedingly well, I think because at the time people didn’t expect to see live electronic music from local bands. They would look intrigued with the first two songs, then New Order would win them over and get things hopping. It’s funny, but even listening to these songs for the first time in 20 years, I can still remember my harmonies. And remember that Horn always set his bloody mike too high.

The second summer, our youngest member decided that we should take the leap into writing our own music. Sharp had a rather unusual perspective on life, so the first song he wrote was Dance on the Waters, about a grouper in love with a little girl it sees on the beach from underneath the waves. It’s far too long, it’s musically naive and incoherent, rhythmically crude, and lyrically absurd, but in retrospect, it has just enough indications of genuine talent buried underneath the nonsense that it’s unsurprising he went on to enjoy the most musical success of the four.

Most of the songs we played, and most of those we wrote, are better lost to the sands of time. But a few of them do show how we were learning how to compose proper songs. One that I’d completely forgotten about, Seasons Pass, is interesting for the way it shows how we’d gone from covering Depeche Mode songs to creating our own Depeche Mode-like melodies.  Sure, it’s terrible, (that line about the streets of St. Paul, ye cats!) but the four of us were between 18 and 19 at the time and everybody has to learn somehow. In You’re So Graceful, which was written towards the end of that second summer, the musical themes have started to become a little more complex and you can hear that we were beginning to grow out of the Depeche Mode influence.

We ended up going in musically opposite directions, as I founded Psykosonik with Paul Sebastien while Big Chilly joined the Bison Chips and Sharp went on to form the great “microphone band” Face (whose interpretation of techno is considerably different), but I thought perhaps some of you might find it interesting to go back to the very beginning and hear how it all started.


Mailvox: DISCO SUCKS and the Evil League of Evil

I was less interested in the analogy drawn here than the important conclusion drawn by the emailer:

I mentioned that we were now in the “riot grrl” phase of SFF. Today, after reading the following link, I came to more conclusions:  1) The Evil League of Evil is the “Disco Sucks” of SFF, and 2) NEVER let your opponent have the opportunity to speak on your own behalf and not answer in kind:

“So how did racism and homophobia get attached to Disco Demolition?

In 1996, VH1 was attempting to expand from the music video template of MTV by creating documentaries and original programming. One of their first was “The Seventies,” a look at the decade in popular culture. A producer asked me to contribute a commentary about Disco Demolition. I saw the event as a romp, not of major cultural significance. I had no interest in claiming responsibility for killing disco. My target was Disco DAI, which was smothered in spring of 1980. The interview coincided with my quitting WMVP (a story for another day). I missed it.

Blowing off that interview was a mistake. The producers reframed the event through the lens of 1996 sensibilities. For the first time, the event was labeled racist and homophobic. It was a cheap shot, made without exploration, and it served as a pivot point for their documentary. It has lived on, thanks to Google….We were a bunch of disenfranchised 20-something rockers having some laughs at the expense of older brothers who had the capital and the clothing to hang with the trendy social elite. We were letting off a little steam. Any statement to the contrary is just plain wrong.”

I remember the VH1 documentary he’s writing about, and I remember the saddened, wistful, “knowing” looks of the disco artists bemoaning the “Disco Demolition” and the “Disco sucks” movement in general, and yes, I specifically remember the charges of racism and homosexual backlash they labeled it with, completely unchallenged.  I even remember a cutscene of Tom Petty smashing the shit out of a drum machine around 1979 or so.  Funny how no one ever accuses HIM of being racist or homophobic.

My parents both grew up in Philadelphia in the ’50s, ’60s, and ’70s.  That means American Band Stand when it was still broadcast in Philly, there were such things as “regional sounds” regional hits and scenes, records you might NEVER hear again if you ventured 2 or 3 hours away.  In the ’70s, they were into disco (they married in ’75, I came along in ’77).  Everybody was into disco, for the simple reason, it was fun and it was a party scene, especially for guidos growing up in Northeastern cities.

My parent’s reaction to the “Disco Sucks” thing?  Well, they thought it was a little mean spirited, at worst, and maybe, maybe, there was an element of anti-black or anti-gay bias in it, but they were the first to admit that by 1979 it was pretty much over.  They didn’t attach too much cultural significance to disco itself, It was a fad, and like all fads, it was time to move on to the next one.  Incidentally 1979 is about the time they both jumped off the pop culture wagon – they didn’t care for punk or New Wave, and I think, other than oldies collections, the last NEW record my Dad bought was Michael Jackson’s “Off the Wall.”  As time went on, they went further back into soul, R&B, doo wop, and classic rock. 

They were more Philly Soul and Motown fans than anything else, so they also readily admitting to realizing just how limiting a musical form disco was.  Sure there are some tremendous records, but if you wanted something that was actually PLAYED by musicians, you were looking for Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes, and Chic, NOT the very first names that come to mind when someone says “Disco.”  I mean, Kiss went disco, Blondie went disco, Star Wars went disco.  It was simply,  played,  out.  It did NOT speak to rock fans.  There was only so much you could do with “four on the floor” and “burn baby burn.”

Funny though, the VH1 “rockumentary” made ZERO mention about the 9 million pound asteroid in the room:  did disco, in fact, SUCK?  No one of course would actually go near the idea that maybe, just maybe the music wasn’t really all that good – now it’s looked at as kitsch, nostalgia fodder.

The interviewees they had, that I remember, included Donna Summer and Nile Rodgers of Chic – that’s bringing in the ringers – that is a convenient way of saying “you can’t say it sucked!!!”  They sure as hell didn’t interview the Bee Gees, or Abba, or Tavares.  No one actually did much criticizing of the obvious, the central point, the music, other than to say a little “yeah maybe it was a bit manufactured and faddish, I mean, c’mon, Kiss” but YOU’RE ALL REYCISSS!!!!!  It’s like how you simply CANNOT criticize Pink SFf for its actuall literary merits or lack thereof – the SKILL of the writer – all that’s important is the feels and  the politics, it doesn’t matter if it’s actually good or not.  It’s art as participation trophy for the oppressed, and this documentary, I think, KICKSTARTED that idea into the stratosphere.

But, here’s the point, the original instigator, Steve Dahl, passed on a chance to have his say in court.  Would it have made a difference? I don’t know.  And I also don’t know why he waited until now to make his point, but the fact is this, this rock-hard meme that’s it going to be damn near impossible to ever refute is stuck in the popular consciousness, just about the time when PC bullshit and the war on language really took off, the 1990s.

So, why say that ELoE is the “disco sucks” movement of SFF?  Because you’re the only ones calling out Pink SFF on its overuse of drum machines, recycled beats, empty lyrics, and celebration of shallow excess – Pink SFF happens to be the current ever-declining sales posting radio friendly unit shifters of the moment, but you’re basically saying that what came along with “New Wave” sci-fi in the ’60s and ’70s, which was pretty damn disco sci-fi if you ask me (Jerry Cornelius anyone?), also begat cynical punk rock (cyberpunk), industrial (gray goo), and other fads that have had their time, and are fading. You could call some of Pink SFF “hip hop” but unlike real-life hip hop, it also doesn’t sell, and I think that’s more apparent in comics and graphic novels and movies than books. 

He’s correct. The pinkshirts are DESPERATE to avoid the discussion that the Evil League of Evil has collectively initiated about science fiction and fantasy, and they are constantly trying to summarize and explain and interpret and spin what we are saying rather than simply quoting us. In many cases, they don’t even refer directly to us by name, but instead provide in-group indicators so that their fellow pinkshirts will know to whom they are referring and bark on request while moderates and neutrals more capable of being swayed will be left in the dark.

They are attempting to control the narrative rather than engage in discourse, for the obvious reason that they know as well as we do that we are absolutely correct. They claim we are bad writers while readily admitting to never having read our books. We claim they are inept storytellers pushing left-wing propaganda on the basis of being intimately familiar with the very best they have to offer. Hence we can identify them, quote them at length, and directly engage because we have nothing to hide and nothing to fear. They, on the contrary, are correctly fearful of being exposed, at having their whole Potemkin Village of publishers and editors and writers and reviews and “bestseller” lists and awards blown away in the harsh, judgmental winds of reality.

So, they will attempt to continue controlling the narrative by speaking on our behalf and erecting the sort of strawmen they are capable of defeating. But, thanks to the Internet and our own determination to speak for ourselves, they will not succeed.


New Fighter Verse CD

Jamsco and company have a new Fighter Verse CD out. The video below is not exactly what I would call my style of music, but then, I am given to understand that not everyone listens primarily to techno-industrial these days. The CD includes music from six song writers and thirty-seven musicians in various styles including capella, bluegrass, folk, reggae, jazz, Brazilian and one cowboy song.

Strangely enough, neither Psykosonik nor My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult were invited to contribute. A little hurt, I am.


Voice rock

One of my childhood friends and fellow NOBOY is a member of this a capella group. They’re very good musicians, and I find it vastly amusing to see my old friend is still every bit as much the freak he was when he was writing songs about groupers in the sea of ineffable reality. And I still like his voice.

Of course, if one considers the differences between Psykosonik and Face, it would appear the only musical influence I can claim to have had on him is to cause him to flee in precisely the opposite direction. Although the two of us did once perform “The Road to Great Cthulhu” at Christmas together, to general mystification.


Breaking the rules

The Eagles demonstrated a considerable degree of confidence when they refused to cut the length of “Hotel California” to suit the demands of their label to accomodate corporate radio. At six minutes and 10 seconds, the song is precisely three minutes longer than radio generally expects, so only a seriously compelling tune will force the DJs and producers to play one song in the place of two. And, as history shows, the Eagles were exactly right to stand fast. What on Earth would you cut? Even at over six minutes, the song contains no musical fat.

I find their stubborness intriguing, because it shows how some bands clearly know when they’ve written something that is, if not necessarily great, at least destined to be very popular.

Of even more interest to me in this regard is “Don’t Stop Believing” by Journey. I find it impossible to believe that it is merely an accident that the chorus, and the words that make up the title of the song, don’t appear until three minutes and 21 seconds into it, 11 seconds after the widely known “radio limit”. This displays a degree of confidence in the strength of the chorus, as the band utilizes a “missing chorus” technique after the second verse to build to what results in a powerful and aurally satisfying musical climax that doesn’t appear until AFTER the guitar solo.

Given that timing, I suspect that the band knew perfectly well they were breaking the rules of radio by doing so, even in the album-oriented era. It’s fascinating that what some have described as “the perfect rock song” so completely violates what are understood to be the rules of pop music.  Of course, they also broke the rules of urban geography as well, for as Steve Perry admitted, he loved the way “south Detroit” sounded, “only to find out later it’s actually Canada.”

So, that’s your random thought for the day. This is the sort of thing that happens when I don’t switch to my playlist in the car. Aren’t you glad you don’t live with me?


Three landmark moments in pop

Several people have asked me to share my thoughts on the recent performances at the MTV music awards.  I have seven of them.

  1. Neither liked nor cared about Billy Ray Cyrus.
  2. Neither like nor care about his daughter.
  3. Michael Jackson’s televised moonwalk marked the beginning of the overt negrification of American pop culture.
  4. Madonna’s rolling around on stage in a wedding dress marked the beginning of the overt sexualization of American pop culture.
  5. Whatever it was that Miss Cyrus was doing the other night marks the moment at which those two forces, negrification and sexualization, combined to complete the enwiggification of American pop culture.
  6. Umberto Eco was correct in Apocalypse Postponed when he pointed out that “pop culture” is an oxymoron.  There is nothing cultural or civilized about pop; it is intrinsically anti-culture.
  7. Demographics is destiny. Don’t expect the plumbing to long outlive the melodies.

“When modes of music change, the fundamental laws of the state always change with them.”
– Plato, Republic 


Women love the strong horse

In the absence
of Christians and others of the traditional civilized West willing to stand up against modern trash culture and the
third world invasion, women will naturally be drawn to the masculine strength they perceive in
Muslims, even skinny, pot-smoking Muslims armed with pressure cookers.
After reading “a poem for dzhokhar“,
it is apparent that Amanda Palmer wants nothing more than to run her
hands through the surviving bomber’s dark, curly hair, bury his face in
her breasts, and give her all to ease his noble suffering.

you don’t know where your friends went.
you don’t know how to dance but you give it a shot anyway.
you don’t know how your life managed to move twenty six miles forward and twenty eight miles back.
you don’t know how to pay your debts.
you don’t know how to separate from this partnership to escape and finally breathe.
you don’t know how come people run their goddamn knees into the ground anyway.
you don’t know how to measure the value of the twenty dollar bill clutched in your hurting hand.
you don’t know how you walked into this trap so obliviously.
you don’t know how to adjust the rearview mirror.
you don’t know how to mourn your dead brother.
you don’t know how to drive this car.
you don’t know the way to new york.
you don’t know the way to new york.
you don’t know the way to new york.
you don’t know the way to new york.

If the Muslim doesn’t know his way to New York, then obviously Amanda must go to the Muslim.

She will look beautiful in hijab.

As one author comments:  “This is our
culture, this is our field, this is what’s permissible and expected. May God have mercy on our souls.”

I look forward to reading Ms Palmer’s other poems, including “A Hummer for McVeigh” and “Say What You Like About the Tenets of National Socialism, Girl, Those Uniforms Were Hot”.

UPDATE: Sarah Hoyt adds her two cents on the matter, not so much on the Vogon-like “poetry”, (which frankly, in my opinion, is glorious in its unabashed self-satisfied myopia), but on the contrast between the reaction of the SF/F community to this versus Orson Scott Card’s insufficient enthusiasm for abnormal sexual relations.

Orson Scott Card was near-crucified for expressing an opinion one would EXPECT from someone with his religious beliefs.  (I disagree with his opinion but while religious I’m very odd.  Also, my religion is not his.) HOWEVER it is not only permissible, it is ENCOURAGED to publish a poem empathizing with a mass murderer, who murdered in the name of a religion that HANGS gay people, mutilates women, and aims at world-wide dominance.

Wait, what?

But see, the second religion a) has been identified as “of little brown people” which is why we keep getting told being anti-Islam is “racist” – even though most of them look about as dark as I am.  b) it aims to destroy America, and so it must be good, right?

(And before you tell me the repulsive terrorist-glorifying poem was written by one of my colleague’s wife, not himself.  Yes.  Indeed.  However, DO rest assured that in this field we have to watch what our spouses do too – or we had to.  I frankly can go indie and my give-a-d*mn is broken. – Imagine as a thought experiment that my husband wrote a poem about the Koch brothers, sweet Libertarian bachelors who have not in fact ever killed anyone.  How long do you imagine it would take before ANYONE refused to talk to me at conventions?)

So this is the way things are.  Why would they upset me, if I’ve always known they’re that way?

Because I suddenly realized, with a swimming sense of nausea and shame that this is as much our fault as theirs.

She is right. It is our fault. It is our fault for not mocking these lunatics, idiots, and shysters. It is our fault for enabling them. It is our fault for buying their books, watching their movies, and generally supporting them as they shit ceaselessly on our society, our culture, and our civilization. It is our fault for permitting them to have it both ways. It is our fault for not calling them out when they call good evil and evil good. It is our fault for permitting them to blithely pass off talentless hacks as artistic geniuses. It is our fault for letting them first infest, then pollute, then degrade, and finally kill off our literary traditions just as they have attempted to kill off our societal and civilizational traditions.

We have failed to stand up for the Orson Scott Cards and failed to spit on the Amanda Fucking Palmers.

The choice is stark. Western civilization or idiot women writing Vogon mash poems to Islamic killers. I would say the choice is simple, but then, as we have learned, MPAI.

UPDATE 2: Gawker piles on:

This weekend, as law-enforcement officers across the country devoted their resources to the manhunt and capture of the dangerous criminal Reese Witherspoon, an actual crime against humanity was being ignored: Musician Amanda Palmer was writing the worst poem ever composed in the English language, “A Poem for Dzhokhar.”

I don’t know that we really needed a litmus test for “are you willing to crawl up Neil Gaiman’s intestinal tract in the faint hope that some of his glamor might rub off on you”, but we appear to have found ourselves one anyhow.