Neutralboy – Dick to Cry On

Dude, I’d been having so much fun with This Is My Jam, but it’s shutting down, so I’m trying to comfort myself with the idea of posting stuff This Is My Jam didn’t have the rights to (which was everything.)

Such as,

NEUTRALBOY’S “DICK TO CRY ON”

I was torn between that and “Boys in Bad Hair” but chose this based on uniqueness of message, which is about rebound sex. Not alot of songs about that.

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Bloodhound Gang – “I’m the Least You Could Do”

Street legal whore, hauling so much stunning ass
Sell yourself short, like Bridget at the Bunny Ranch
Do it all fours, the satisfaction of getting fouled

I’m the least you could do
If only life were as easy as you
I’m the least you could do
If only life were as easy as you
I would still get screwed

The Most Disturbing Song of All Time: Clint Holmes’ “Playground In My Mind” (1972)

You know how these theoretical questions always come up at parties, like “what song would you kill yourself to?” or “if you could replace the soundtrack to Fern Gully with one album from the 1978-1985 Factory Records catalogue what would you choose?” I never have an answer for those. I have lots of ideas, but as soon as the question is posed I enter a temporary coma.

Well right now, while I’m of sound mind, I want to submit Clint Holmes’ 1972 ode to Satan, “Playground In My Mind” as the most disturbing song of all time.

My Dad once owned, and probably still owns, a Sounds of the ’70s compilation from one of those mail order CD clearinghouses of the 1990s. This compilation was filled with many gems, including one of my genuine, un-ironic, favorite songs of all time, Looking Glass’ “Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl).” I was willing to suffer through the endlessly depressing “Wildfire,” but “Playground in My Mind” crossed the goddamn line. It haunted my childhood. I have no idea why someone would commit this song to record in either analog or digital format. It is the sound of a horrific repressed memory.

Shits & Pieces: April 2015

George Ezra

I saw George Ezra’s appearance on Saturday Night Live a couple weeks ago, and now I am fucking smitten. 50% musically and 50% romantically. Dear God, he seems a little dangerous, that Gretsch-playing, blues-y, scamp. And that voice, such a deep whiskey-soaked voice oddly juxtaposed on a little baby angel face. I feel like a fifteen-year-old girl watching Elvis. I want to run away on a boxcar with him because our parents don’t understand us.

Sara Barron’s The Harm in Asking

This is the second of Sara Barron’s memoirs that I have read, and I thank God she apparently hasn’t learned from any of her past decisions. Her first book, People Are Unappealing, Even Me focuses on a broader scope of her life and more on her family and their relationships, while The Harm in Asking focuses mainly on Sara and her college and post-college years in New York as a struggling theatre major/Lillith Faire obsessive/wannabe lesbian (seriously.) These times are exactly as cringeworthy, awkward, and uncool as you imagine, verging on an Amy Schumer sketch level of oh-my-God-this-should-not-be-real-but-it-probably-is. Her experiences seem improbable, but never impossible. There is that last tiny thread of recognition, that every memory you wanted to forget was cranked up to eleven and lived through by Sara Barron, with even less grace than you managed to muster up. I LOVE embarrassing coming of age stories, probably because I am in beast mode denial about my own, so this book is an incredibly comforting presence in my life.

Here Comes Greatness (Matt Luem, Greg Fiering, 2002ish)

I’m on a serious hardcore wrestling binge, and this gem was the only useful suggestion YouTube has ever given me. It’s a short (~20 minutes) home video-y documentary about the hardcore backyard wrestling feds of California in the late ’90s and early 2000s. Interviews with wrestlers theoretically shed some light on why they choose to self-injure for no money and almost no audience, but the answer is either elusive or deceptively simple, entertainment combined with a drive to find the line between life and death and poke it with a stick. There is plenty of footage of these guys taking barbed wire and panes of glass in suburban backyards and a sand pit “arena” on the side of a hill, which sits so firmly at the intersection of glorious and bootleg, even the set designers of Mad Max couldn’t have dreamed it up.

Silver Linings Playbook

I read the book because I saw the trailer, then loved the book so much I’ve been holding off watching the movie for around 18 months. I was left with the overwhelming feeling I had no idea what had happened to two hours of my life. I think, had I had no prior knowledge of the book, I would have thought this was a great romantic-comedy. But I read the book and a romantic comedy seems against everything it stood for. I thought the book was a completely heartbreaking story of what happens when life gets in the way of your plans for it, and the illogical, flailing, desperate attempts we make in before the acceptance that everything you had planned for is irretrievably lost. I guess, in the nature of romantic comedies, the film went for the quick, happy, fix everything ending. No one is sad but no one really learns anything. It took something that was beautiful in it’s brutality and rounded all the corners and made it safe, and I kind of hate it for that. I hate that whoever optioned this was served a perfect story on a silver platter, and didn’t use it. It gave me the ultimate ‘I could have done that better’ fan response, that is constantly mocked/rejected by filmmakers. But now I’m thinking if you consciously choose to alter a story and it does not live up to the original, not only is that a legitimate complaint, but you’re kind of self-aggrandizing.

Phoebe Bridgers & Charlie Hickey – “Teenage Dirtbag” (Wheatus cover)

Yeah, so I’ve kind of been music-stalking (is that just being a fan?) this girl ever since hearing her cover of Pixies’s “Gigantic” in an iPhone commercial. Her voice has such an incredible tone. She seems to do a lot of indie rock kind of stuff, to be totally generic about it, but her voice has kind of a country-tinge. Anyway I love her. Plus, who the fuck doesn’t like Wheatus. You put “Teenage Dirtbag” on and people that you never would have thought knew that song know all the words.