wake up

Orbital - Choice (from the US version of Orbital, a.k.a. the "Green Album", 1991) - The lines have been drawn. The soul of the nation hangs in the balance. Get off the fence and join the election year rave. The party won't stop until the last ballot drops.

Halloween Countdown: October 26 - it really happened

A Resurrection Plant, eh?

That reminds me of something that happened to a friend of a friend of mine a while back. This guy worked the late shift at a warehouse in North Reading, and used to drive home along Route 62 during the wee hours. Well, this one time he was making his way down the dark and lonely state highway when he spotted something really weird along the side of the road. It was a potted plant -- some kind of fern, he said -- just sitting there on the shoulder of 62 westbound in the middle of the sticks with no sign how it ended up there.

It was late October, when the first killer frosts come to the northwestern suburbs. This guy figured that the plant would die if he didn't do something, pulled to the side of the road, and retrieved it. He wasn't the gardening type, but thought that maybe his mom or his girlfriend at the time could do something with it. Anyhow, he put it on the passenger seat of his '86 Monte Carlo and hopped back behind the wheel.

While the plant, being a plant, didn't move or say anything, the guy said he could sense a "really creepy vibe" from the potted fern. He said the interior of his car felt colder, even though he had the heater cranked to the max. (That's not uncommon for a GM car, though.) He also claimed to sense an "aura of sadness" coming from the plant and it got stronger as he got closer to the Wilmington town line.

The sensation abruptly stopped when he pulled up to the lights at the intersection next to one of the many giant luxury condo complexes recently plunked down in the northwestern suburbs. When he looked over at the passenger seat, the plant was no longer there.

He sped the rest of the way back to his apartment in Bedford. His roommate was still up when he got there and asked the guy why he seemed so jittery. The guy told about the mysterious fern, even though he knew how crazy the story sounded. The roommate didn't laugh, for he had worked part-time with landscaping firm near the area where the guy found the plant.

He told the guy about how a couple of years previous, a local nursery had gone up in flames when the greenhouse heater exploded. The force of the blast sent the contents of the nursery flying in all directions. The owner of the business decided not to rebuild, and instead sold off the property to an out-of-state residential development firm which cleared the land for a luxury condo development -- the very same development where the plant mysteriously disappeared from the guy's passenger seat.

So if you happen to be driving along Route 62 on some chill autumn night and see a solitary potted plant by the shoulder of the road, don't worry. It's just the Resurrection Plant making another sad, doomed effort to get back home....

(A little context, maestro!)

de tian - Beyond the Autumn - (from a 1980 EP) - This piece of DIY postpunk makes pefect music to haunt arthouses by.

Halloween Countdown: October 21 - Kirk versus the spiders

Hey, Dr. Robert "Rack" Hansen, you might want to be careful. Reliable sources tell me that the place is full of spiders.

You can't say I didn't warn you, pal.

1977's Kingdom of the Spiders is just one of the many "animal attack" films that graced screens both big and small during my childhood, but the towering presence of William Tiberius Shatner sets this otherwise by-the-numbers affair head, shoulders, and polyester slacks above the rest of the genre pack. I daresay it's the best project involving small, hairy nightmares that The Shat has ever starred in...unless you count his time spent on T.J. Hooker opposite Adrian Zmed.

Plus, the film's ending is still pretty creepy in a really obvious and cheap-looking kind of way. (If you're going to pass off acrylic landscape paintings as aerial shots, it helps if the painter understands the concept of two-point perspective.)

you should want to hide

These are interesting times we live in, capable of turning the most sedate of souls into a honorary urban guerilla. Even if one has no intention of striking a blow against global capitalism by tossing a trashcan through the widow of a Starbucks or by pounding away on one's Authentic Anarchist Tribal Drum^TM at a protest march, there are many instances where concealing one's identity is absolutely vital.

We like to think that the courage of our convictions and righteousness of our actions are strong enough to bear close public scrutiny. However, even the staunchest soul will quail when the cashier at Trendo Records arches a pierced eyebrow in response to one's query about the release date of the new Danity Kane album.

There is no shame in using subterfuge when circumstances demand it. The guerilla is the fish that swims in the sea of the people, and it is crucial to realize that ideological purity must occasionally take a backseat to simple pragmatism.

Yes, you could deliver a stirring lecture on why your longstanding affection for Diane Lane is written in the heavens above, but odds are that your eloquence will be lost entirely on the smirking, pimply-faced goon at the ticket counter, and you run the risk of missing the first twenty minutes of Nights in Rodanthe, to boot.

It is far better to slip in under the cover of an adopted persona, something can allow to glide undetected amongst the masses. Something like a grizzled old prospector, or perhaps even Sir Walter Raleigh. This might seem like daunting undertaking for a newly awakened agent of change, but thankfully the countercultural gurus at 3M have issued this easy-to-follow manifesto on the art of disguise:



Simple, elegant, and most importantly, effective. Trust me on this, I speak from experience.

Ernie Smith - You Won't See Me (from Trojan Box Set: Beatles Tribute, 2005) - It's impossible to top pop perfection, but this reggae rendition of my favorite Fab Four track does a pretty admirable job with the source material...despite scraping up against the pilings during the chorus.

Groove Armada - If Everybody Looked the Same (from Vertigo, 2000) - Try making different tracks yourself -- It's fun figuring out all kinds of samples, fills, loops, and effects. And "Scotch" Cellophane tape holds the sound collage together like magic!

the autumn of my killer robot

He came to us on a brisk October afternoon in 1951. His arrival was heralded by the hum of servo motors and the intoxicating scents of ozone and machine oil.

His name was Timmy Tinkle, he was a robot, and he needed a job.

He was created in the laboratory of Professor Derook, but wanted to leave his surrogate father's shadow and blaze his own path.

Mr. Morris found Timmy a position in the WHIZ-TV warehouse, and he soon proved himself to be a motivated and tireless worker. Many were the days we labored shoulder to mechanical shoulder in the cramped, dusty space, and a bond developed between boy reporter and mechanical man.

Such was the strength of our mutual affection that I failed to see the obvious warning signs -- the failure to properly sign off on shipping manifests, the vicious beating and hospitalization of the night watchman, the way in which the office safe was torn out of the wall and its contents emptied.

I didn't want to believe it. I worked with Timmy. He was my friend. We were closer than brothers. How could such a sweet, gentle construct be a brutal robo-criminal?

In my grief and confusion, I confronted him, wishing more than anything that it was just a silly misunderstanding.

His reaction was terrifying to behold.

I was forced to defend myself, and perhaps the shock of betrayal made me strike back with more force than necessary.

Afterwards, I kneeled over Timmy's inert body and gazed down in disbelief at the shattered remains of my once-close friend.

I prepared to squash his cybernetic corpse into a ball for easy transport to the scrapyard, but my blearly eyes noticed something unusual embedded in Timmy's inner workings.

It was a remote control device planted by Derook. Having managed to create a fully functioning humanoid robot and a complex artificial intelligence unit with vacuum tube era technology, Derook had decided the best way to monetize his discoveries was to use Timmy as a Trojan Robot in order to steal the petty cash box from a minor market broadcast studio.

With Derook in police custody, the refurbished Timmy returned to his job at WHIZ-TV, and put his killer robot ways behind him.

Well, for the most part...

Moloko - Are 'Friends' Electric? (from Random: A Tribute to Gary Numan, 1997) - The sleazy side of future shock.

The Gymslips - Robot Man (from a 1983 single; collected on Rockin' with the Renees: The Punk Collection, 2000) - Not to be confused with the Scorpions track (covered by The Expoxies on Stop the Future) with the same name, this is an infectious piece of punky retro-pop by a quartet of hard-partying British lasses.

(panels taken from Captain Marvel Adventures #125 and #136.)

even though we ain't got protoculture

Setting the mood, the Mekton II way...

...and if they don't, then they really need to.

Or if that's too unorthodox a concept to countenance, perhaps you could stretch the boundaries laterally, and gird your loins for dice-and-tables mecha combat with the stirring sounds of "Danny's Song" or the theme to Footloose. Michael McDonald's discography also makes excellent music to swing double photon sabers to.

Me First & The Gimme Gimmes - Danny's Song (from Have a Ball, 1997) - Cutting the soft rock toxicity to non-fatal, yet still uncomfortable levels.

As for me, however, there is only one track worthy enough to accompany my desperate fight against the sinister forces of the Comet Empire...

Mongo Santamaria - Watermelon Man (from Watermelon Man, 1962) - Jazz standard cartridge -- LOADED! Conga capacitors -- CHARGED TO MAX! On my mark, prepare to unleash the power of the LATIN BOOGALOO CANNON!

strange encounter

In a world where Super-Dads can't understand their Super-Sons....

"Don't blame me, son. Blame Trojan."
...and Super-Sons can't understand their Super-Dads...

Tennessee Williams presents Bat on a Hot Tin Roof!
...there is a place committed to bridging the Super-Generation Gap; a place called...

ENOYREVE
Pronounce it however you like; Enoyreve is a judgement-free zone. (But please spell the name correctly on the check for the non-refundable admission fee. Our accountant is a real hard-ass.)

You will be placed under the singular guidance of resident guru Dr. Timothy Zamm...

Fashions by Desaad, hairstyle by Oliver Queen
...a disciple of Master Bob Haney who has earned non-degree certificates from some of finest community colleges and correspondence schools in the Tri-State area.

Zamm's unique approach to family therapy includes such visionary techniques such as meditative beard-stroking, full immersion bikini sessions of "light as a feather, stiff as a board," as well as the Connery method of backhand faceslapping...

...and later, "White Night" drills and free Kool-Aid for everybody!
...all designed to challenge one's preconceptions in the most uncomfortable manner imaginable.

Subtext, what...ah, you know the drill...
If the Funky Robot group dance sessions or the Joe Besser-inspired pinching encounters...

Therapy or fetish? Only Dr. Zamm knows, and he's keeping it under his dashiki.
...fail to achieve the necessary breakthrough, our radical "killer-android-armed-with-nerve-gas" therapy...

"I respect that it's your thing, brother, but your toxic death cloud is decidedly unmellow."
...is available to those who wish to take things to a higher level. Nothing inspires a little father-son bonding like some rogue WMDs. (They don't even have to be real ones, either. Just ask the Bushes.)

ENOYREVE -- committed to bringing Super-Families together since 1974. Don't take out word for it; listen to the testimonial by these satisfied seekers of Super-Enlightenment...

...and then the acid kicked in.
Sponsored by World's Finest Comics #224 (July-August 1974), purchased by a young Andrew for 35 cents at a local flea market. Some childhood traumas will never heal, no matter how much masculine dance or pinch therapy one undergoes.

The Wipers - No Generation Gap (from Over the Edge, 1983) - In a fair world, The Wipers would be more than a source of esoteric namedropping by music geeks or a reliable source of cover song material. It's not that the Portland indie rockers are particularly unappreciated as they're underappreciated, mentioned with reverence but never reaching the same levels of fan devotion as many other less-worthy objects of college radio worship.

The Ramones - Psycho Therapy (from Subterranean Jungle, 1983) - I got a chance to see The Ramones when they played at (the now long-gone) Citi in the December of 1990. I spent most of the evening in the company of the most annoying twerp ever to crack open a Dungeon Master's Guide. The club was packed with jocks from Boston University who wanted to check out "that mosh pit shit" and my spectacles were smashed during the course of the festivities.

Afterwards, I had to walk a mile in the snow from Mishuam Station to my home. A shitty experience all around, but I did get to see The Ramones play live and up close, which made the plague of hassles entirely worthwhile.

multiversal bandstand

The Batusi may be the most (in)famous of novelty dances inspired by comic book characters, but there were scores of others that never managed to register on the masscult consciousness. Here's a brief rundown of some of the more notable ones:

The Element Man - A visually exciting set of moves set this dance apart from the rest of the pack, but the fact that only those who had been exposed to the Orb of Ra could properly perform the steps kept it from achieving widespread appeal.

The Funky Robot - Easy to perform, with low rhythmic requirements, the Funky Robot's strengths turned out to be its greatest weakness. So easy that even one's super-dad could do it, the dance quickly became associated with polyester-addicted squares and new age family therapy sessions.

The Tula-Hula - A huge hit at Dr. Dorsal's Deep Sea Discoteque (sic), this five-fathom fad bit the dust when astronomical litigation fees (stemming from an unexpected migration of tiger sharks onto the dancefloor) forced Dorsal to shutter his doors.

The Kirby Shuffle - He's just one man! But he busts moves like a whirlwind! There ain't no stoppin' him! He's like a one man rave!

The Hypno Hustle - This interesting attempt to mix disco and subliminal indoctrination might have made a bigger impact if the required modifications to the club's PA system weren't as prohibitively expensive. Blame the Latverian glitter ball embargo of 1977.

The Roly Poultry - Hyped as the successor to the Macarena and The Ketchup Song dance, the Roly Poultry fad died a quiet well-deserved death within hours of its debut. This has not, however, stopped lesser DJs or drunken great-uncles from occasionally trying to resuscitate the abomination on the wedding circuit.

The Jeffetty John - A sad reminder of the scene's creative bankruptcy, in which the moves of past crazes are awkwardly linked together and given a veneer of "shocking" edginess. Arguments regarding its popularity on the dance floor rarely take into the downward spiral of insularity that has gripped the subculture over the past two decades.

Wilson Pickett - Land of 1000 Dances (from The Exciting Wilson Pickett, 1966) - The Hokey Pokey is Dance #231. The Taffy Pull is Dance #879. The Cabbage Patch is Dance #666.

Trans X - Safety Dance (from On My Own, 1988) - Changing hands from one Canadian synthpop act to another.

visual synergy: sham on you

Sam the Sham (and the Pharaohs)!

Shampoo!

The Shamen!

Sham 69!

ShamWow!
Sham 69 - Borstal Breakout (from a 1978 single; collected on the re-issue of Tell Us the Truth, 1978) - Sure, it's dumb as hell, but this driving blast of street punk never fails to grab me by the short hairs and set my blood a'pumping...and that's what really matters.

in a boss salad bowl

They were the much lauded pioneers of the of the bubble-psych-folk scene, playing to packed houses from coast to coast, and inspiring scores of other bands. They were the one, the only...


The members of the legendary quartet met in San Francisco, where they attended the same junior college, during the Summer of Love. Shortly afterward, they departed Haight-Ashbury for swingin' Toledo, Ohio, claiming that the Glass City was more in tune with their creative vibes.


Sources disagree on whether the band took its name from one of lead singer Zelda's improvised dessert recipes (the official story) or if it referred to a potent form of LSD in vogue with the counterculture crowd at the time. Proponents of the latter theory cite the band's unusual and eclectic lyrics (which featured lines like "We're so hungry we could eat a mountain or a city") as proof of a hallucinogenic influences, though it should also be pointed out that Nelson, who wrote the lion's share of the Mirage's material, had the reading comprehension skills of a ten year old.

In any case, the band quickly made a name for themselves in the local scene, earning them a residency at the Kaleidoscopic Zoo alongside heavy funksters The Soular System and giving birth to a host of similarly-themed acts. For a short time it seemed that Toledo was poised to displace both London and Los Angeles as center of the pop music universe. As big as The Marmalade Mirage was in the Great Lakes region, the release of the the band's debut single in 1969 rocketed them to nationwide fame within days of the record hitting the stands.

"The Marmalade Is Made," written by Nelson and crisply produced by Phil Spector, perfectly captured the band's unique style and electrified a nation with its deeply insighful examination of the social, cultural, and political upheavals of the time.


"It's the song I've always wanted to write, but never could," said Bob Dylan at the time, and John Lennon stated that it inspired him to write "Imagine."

Unfortunately, the runaway success of the single exacerbated the simmering resentments that had arisen between the band members. It also didn't help that they found themselves rushed into recording a full length album by their label, which sought to capitalize on their newfound fame, despite the fact that they had only four songs in their repertoire. The other three members of the Mirage saw this as an opportunity to secure some publishing revenue, which angered Nelson and led to material such as this...


Suffice to say, the album tanked. The bad news that the Mirage had been dropped by their label arrived during the middle of their "Spread the Marmalade" tour, and caused a full-on brawl between the bandmates. Morris had to be stopped from braining Zelda with a microphone stand by Valerie Brown, the bass guitarist of opening act The Pussycats, who broke the guitarist's arm in four places, ending the tour and putting the band on permanent hiatus.

So ended The Marmalade Mirage's brief moment in the sun, reduced from legends to footnotes in the space of a few short months. Zelda moved to an artists' colony in Taos, New Mexico, changed her name to "Galadriel Starshine," and supplements what she earns teaching at a local Montessori school by making high-end dreamcatchers and selling them to celebrity clients such as Dennis Hopper. (She even made an uncredited appearance in Hopper's self-indulgent 1971 flop, The Last Movie.)

Nelson left the music business and entered politics. A protege of Bob Dornan, his effectiveness as representative for California's 46th Congressional District has been slightly diminished after he was videotaped in a motel room with two horses, a donkey, $500,000 in unmarked bills and an empty case for transporting weapons-grade plutonium from Scandia Labs. Calling the allegations and evidence a "left-wing smear job," Nelson has vowed to fight the vote of censure and $50 fine levied on him by the House Ethics Committee.

After Morris's solo career as a singer-songwriter failed to take off, he cycled through a number of engagements with various bands, including a three day stint with Red Rider and a gig filling in for Rick Parfitt for the last few shows of Status Quo's Japanese tour in 2000. His efforts to take a new line-up of The Marmalade Mirage onto the summer reunion concert circuit have been held up by litigation from the band's other original members.

Charlie took the small sum he made from the band and opened an auto repair business in Lorain, Ohio. He never bothered telling his wife or kids about his brief life as a rock star, saying to friends in the scene "that's all behind me now." He served as a proud member of the Rotarians and played a vital role in organizing their annual charity pancake breakfasts. He died in his sleep of a massive heart attack in the winter of 1997.

As I was unable to locate copies of The Marmalade Mirage's actual recordings (which go for nearly a grand on eBay), I've decided to go with a couple of spiritually similar tracks by some of the Mirage's fellow travellers. Diabetics be warned; things are going to get rather syrupy sweet 'round here in a moment...

The Pop Corn Generation - Kitchy Kitchy Koo (from a 1968 single)

The Tingling Mother's Circus - Positively Negative (from The Tingling Mother's Circus, 1968)

(Blame it all on Harvey Pop Comics #2; November 1969)

more than occasionally foolish

Bless me, St. Marlo, in my hour of need.
As reality has repeatedly ignored my demands that it conform to my myopic personal vision, I have have been left with no choice but to respond in a manner befitting a mature adult. Since the bugs have not yet been worked out of the holdmybreathuntiliturnblue HTML tags, I will have to resort to the power of HIATUS!

Yes, a honest-to-gosh suspension of effort, because there is no means of protest as powerful as choosing to do nothing at all. Do you think I'm joking? Do you think this is just a bluff masking my desperate need for attention?

I'll show you. I'll show you all. Bear witness to the power of....THE HIATUS!

Cue the theme music!

Jeff & Jane Hudson - The Girl from Ipanema (from 1982's World Trade EP)

......

......

......

......

......

......

......

......

There. I hope you've all learned a valuable lesson.

So, what did I miss while I was away?

get outta my way

Having cemented my status as a somewhat well-regarded niche blogger with a daily readership in the upper three digit range, I have decided it is time for me to further expand my media micronation by branching out into the lucrative world of webcomics.

One of the strategic advantages of working in that particular medium is that a lack of talent or an actual knack for humor poses no obstacle to success. Sure, one could take the thought and effort to create something that soars above the sea of mediocrity, but why bother when advertising revenues and a legion of zealous readers can be had by following a simple formula for success?

With that in mind, I present to you, my dear readers, an advance sneak preview of Webcomic^TM:

Gags about Jar Jar Binks, Ben Grimm's penis, and arcane Dungeons & Dragons rules never get tired, honest!

As a member of a codified and commercialized subculture, you owe it to the world to share your self-satisfied "edgy" observations with those who only dream of such glory. (Goth characters are an especially favored vector.)

Enlightened attitudes about respect and tolerance are fine and all, but fag jokes are an evergreen crowd pleaser for the prized 15-45 year old petit conservative manchild demographic. If done correctly, any criticism regarding the patent offensiveness of such "humor" can be passed off under the rubric of being politically incorrect or shouted down by a fan chorus of accusations that the critic "can't take a joke."

In real life, people who willfully engage in a pattern of dickish behavior are rightfully shunned. In the world of webcomics, characters prone to cracking jokes about tossing kittens in woodchippers or poisoning cans of baby formula become the stuff the vicarious nerd-dreams are made of, as they offer frustrated individuals with megalomanical tendencies someone to identify with even as they kowtow to their real-life bosses, parents, or significant others.

Finally, there is one all-important element that no standard template webcomic should be without...

The sassy and sexy -- yet nerd-accessible -- brunette.

Svelte of figure and sharp of tongue, she is more often than not prone to outbursts of comedic violence and acts as the delivery system for cynical wit. For those wishing to change things up a bit, the stock archetype can be expanded to include Asian (alone or in pairs), goth, or redhead variants, or perhaps any and all of the above. That such a character is a creature of fantasy on par with unicorns and jabberwocks matters less than the fact that she is a creature of a particularly marketable fantasy, the "the ideal imaginary girlfriend."

By cosmetically tinkering with the above five panels, I will be able to generate enough material to cover the first three years of a daily published strip. (Or five years, should I decide to run an extended story arc in which a supporting character suffers a horrible tragedy that will allow the lead characters to indulge in consequence free angst-by-proxy while tricking my readers into thinking I'm the next Leo Tolstoy.)

Easy Street, here I come!

The Byrds - So You Want To Be A Rock 'n' Roll Star (from Younger Than Yesterday, 1967) - It sounds like a really great time...until you choke on your own vomit in a Des Moines motel room after playing a twenty year reunion show at the state fair.

The Invaders - Best Thing I Ever Did (from a 1979 single) - And who am I to argue with these West Yorkshire power poppers?

und wenn ich heute

B-Side Sunday is back, and featuring 100% more Falcotropic goodness than ever!

Falco - Maschine Brennt (12" Remix) (the b-side of 1983's "On the Run" 12-inch single)

Don't look for an explanation, because there is none -- just some plastic new wave disco from the finest rapper ever to emerge from Austria.

There was a German woman in my extended circle of college acquaintances, and I once asked her if she'd was familiar with the late Johann "Falco" Hölzel's body of work.

"He's Austrian," she answered in voice thick with Teutonic disdain. "I'm German." Before I could apologize for the affront to her heritage, she quietly followed up with "It was the worst concert I ever attended."

who's the fool

I hate that sock. I hate it because it has a hole in it, which means that it will inevitably lead to calluses, blisters or other discomfort for my soft, pink foot-flesh should I make the mistake of wearing it under my boots.

And though there are valid reasons behind my hatred, the vehemence of my loathing imbues the stocking with a totemic aura. What was a minor irritation becomes elevated to personal white whale. Internet fatwas must be issued. Followers must be rallied to the banner. Evangelists must be inspired to carry the message of holy sock hatred to the virtual streets and marketplaces.

Should the substance of the message be lost amidst the parroted pedantic din of the delivery, should the converts to the cause indulge in knee jerk obnoxiousness, should there be a great sound and fury signifying nothing much at all, it matters not so long as the site's hitcount keeps growing and the Cafe Press mechandise continues selling at a brisk pace.

I suppose I could quit wearing the offending garment and adopt a new pair of knit white tube socks that better serve my needs, but that would be beside the ultimate point of my crusade...


The Aquanettas - That Ain't Right (from Love With the Proper Stranger, 1990) - Femvox power pop with 60's retro leanings and a band name inspired by both the ozone-killing, high-hair friendly shellac in a can and the Venezuelan b-movie legend.

Blancmange - Wasted (from Happy Families, 1982) - Have you ever listened to an early 1980's synthpop song and thought to yourself, "This would have so much better if there was whistling involved"? Well, here you go.

architects of fear

For today's post, I'd like to pose a simple question to you, the reader:

Which of these two panels seems more likely to induce lasting psychological damage?

1. a standard "injury to the eye" number taken from a Jack Cole crime story

OR
2. this representative image of Peachy Pet, Johnny Thunder's precocious ward

I know which of the two images is going to cause me many a sleepless night in the weeks and months to come...

Frederic Wertham was right. His only mistake was focusing on the wrong targets.

Curve - Horror Head (from Doppelgänger, 1992) - Mining the same vein as Garbage, only earlier and, most importantly, better.