like someone shit under a pine tree

"Yes, I detect the distinct aroma of a chemical engineer's approximation of wildflowers...or a burning whitewall tire."
Celebrate the natural while embracing the artificial -- just one of the litany of paradoxes collectively known as "the 1970s." From the simulated wood-grain paneling used to convey an informal "rustic" touch in a split-level ranch home, to the earth-toned (or Mardras and other "old-timey" and nativesque print) polyester fashions, to the plethora of dubiously "natural" aromas hatched in labs and unleashed by a host of household vectors -- there is no shortage of examples illustrating that era's conflicting impulses.

Without discounting how much of this phenomenon was driven from the top down ("Ladies Home Journal says avacado and floral prints are in this year!"), underlying the co-optive marketing trend was a certain degree of ecological awareness filtered through the era's omnipresent accent of self-actualization. Both were holdovers from sixties counterculture ideology that managed to embed themselves in the public consciousness where radical politics and other militant alternatives to the satus quo had failed.

Though the naturalist impulse survived and thrived well into the Me Decade, it mutated into a less virulent strain, as an itch upon the conscience, rather than a pain. As such, it was something that could be easily be salved without resorting to solar powered bunkers made from soda bottles or drastically changing one's habits. Satisfaction of conscience without sacrifices in consumption or comfort was attainable, and even if the means contradicted the ends or the net impact ran into the loss column, it was good enough for most folks. (For a modern example, look at how liberally the terms "green" and "organic" are tossed around by marketers...or just take a quick stroll through any Whole Foods store.)

If I had to choose one aroma that symbolizes the 1970s for me, I'd have to go with the strawberry-scented tree-shaped air fresheners. "Strawberry" is a bit misleading, actually, as the actual scent and flavor of fresh strawberries, like cold fusion, is something that science has yet to sucessfully create under laboratory conditions. They can create a reasonable facsimile of lemon, a passable banana, but when it comes to strawberry, the best they've been able to accomplish is a random guess based on incomplete third-hand accounts.

(Disturbingly enough, when someone describes something as smelling or tasting of strawberries, in nearly every case they mean the artificial version and not the real thing....which applies to a lot of other aromas and flavors as well. Over time, the baseline has been shifted so that the imperfect facsimile has become the definitive standard.)

Cloying, sickly sweet, and as obnoxious as what it proposes to mask, those ubiquitous dashboard fixtures perfectly symbolize the era for me, right down to the iconic evergreen shape that, like the scented oils embedded within, evokes a sense of naturalism fundamentally at odds with its actual origins.

Young Fresh Fellows - Fruitbasket Blues (from Beans and Tolerance, 1989) - No artificial colors, no artificial flavors -- just some hard-to-find, 100% organic Seattle-grown indie rock.

The Buggles - Living in the Plastic Age (from Age of Plastic, 1980) - Everything fake is real again.

what's a tortoise

To those of you wondering what was up with yesterday's post, there's a very simple explanation...

(I bet you didn't realize how good I look in a form-fitting black jumpsuit.)
Yep, Skrulls. It may sound a little far-fetched, but the conspiracy stretches far wider than you could possibly imagine.

Dave Campbell? Skrull. Kevin Church? The hardest-drinking Skrull in the comics blogging biz. In fact the only comics bloggers who don't pledge allegiance to the Skrull Empire are Mike Sterling (who is actually a Space Phantom), Chris Sims (secretly a Life Model Decoy with wonky logic circuits), and Dorian (who is, appropriately enough, a Manhunter).

It's been the reality for some time now. In fact, every mistake -- grammatical, factual, or typographical -- that has appeared in Armagideon Time was actually the result of Skrullian intervention. Every post, joke, or musical selection that has been less than inspired? Same deal.

The moments of pure genius are entirely my handiwork, however.

Tubeway Army - Are You Real? (from Tubeway Army, 1978) - Ideal mood music for those long Voight-Kampff sessions.

natural’s not in it

“Names would be as useless to them as their non-existent tongues.”

Thank you, Roy Thomas, you rascally one. That line never fails to bring a smile to my face, and I’m not big on smiling, either.

Way back in my undergrad days, a professor of mine called me out on my unusual style of writing – the heavy use of ellipses and dashes, the twisted and recursive use of qualifying phrases and clauses, the strange juxtaposition of highbrow terminology and vernacular slang – and asked me how such a thing came to be. “Oh, that’s easy,” I told him. “I read a lot of comic books in my formative years.”

I’m still not certain if the furrowed brow and slow deliberate shake of the head he gave in response was rooted in disgust or pity. Perhaps a little of both, now that I think back on it.

Our trash-talking, colorblind android friend in the above picture is Adam 1 (no relation to Martin Milner), whose plan for androidal domination of the world hinged on replacing then-congressional candidate John F. Kennedy with an robot duplicate, with the very prescient notion that Kennedy would go on to become president of the United States. (Let’s see, Kennedy was elected to the House in 1946, and was sworn in as president in 1961. You don’t find that kind of long range planning in today’s evil masterminds. It’s all about instant megalomanical gratification for this new generation with their evil iPods, evil sports shakes, and evil microwave burritos. Bah, I say.)

Adam’s plans were thwarted, but at the cost of Captain America’s life, not the Captain America who spent decades frozen in a block of ice, but his replacement, who previously fought crime as The Spirit of '76. The Spirit of '76 was an amalgam of two other characters. His minuteman costume was a stylistic nod to the 1940’s superhero Fighting Yank, but he was introduced as a member of the Crusaders super-team, who were a direct reference to DC’s Freedom Fighters, and he stood as the Crusaders’ analogue to the Freedom Fighters’ Uncle Sam. (Yes, that Uncle Sam.)

After the Spirit of '76’s demise, the role of stand-in Captain America was taken up by the Patriot, a character who wore hot pants while fighting Nazis in the 40’s, but has since been retconned into a pair of tights that cover his previously bare thighs. (A lateral improvement, but he seemed happy enough about it.)

I know what you’re thinking at this point, but don’t you dare say a word. I’ll have you know that comics are an art form that dates back to the cave paintings made by our Neolithic ancestors. Today’s dour adolescent power fantasies involving dudes in tights sac-punching each other are the pinnacle of a cultural legacy as important and storied as the mastery of fire and the invention of the wheel.

The above musings are only tangentially related to today’s musical theme, which can be summed up as “songs with one-word titles suggesting artificiality or fakeness.” Because of the androids, see? Ah, forget it. Let’s just get to the songs.

X-Ray Spex – Art-I-Ficial (from Germfree Adolescents, 1978) – Such an clever and insightful teenager, that Poly Styrene. She had a ferocious set of pipes, too.

Curve – Doppelganger (from Doppelganger, 1992) – Kind of shoegaze, kind of gothy, kind of forgotten these days, which is unfortunate.

Ibiza Babes – Fabricated (Skimpy Fade-Out Mix) (from Chillout in Ibiza 4, 2004) – Oh, to be rich and European and dosed to the gills with a genetically damaging designer drug while raving the night away at some private party staged by the spoiled child of a German industrial magnate. There would be no need for Hamlet-esque existential dilemmas, only one obvious course of action to take: put the barrel of a Glock in my mouth and pull the trigger.

The Who – Substitute (from Meaty Beaty Big and Bouncy, 1971) – Yeah, yeah, I should have went with the Sex Pistols’ cover version, but man cannot live on punk rock alone.

The Epoxies – Synthesized (from Stop the Future, 2005) – The best example of the wonderful micro-genre that is synthpunk. One of my wife’s favorite songs, the single version was played at our wedding reception.

Kid Creole & The Coconuts – Imitation (from Tropical Gangsters, 1982) – Kid Creole was in The Forbidden Dance. That bit of trivia has nothing to do with this particular track, but I felt compelled to mention it. Expect a massive lambada revival to commence any day now.