Teen Brains Turned Into Phosphorescent Frangipane By "Psychedelic" Music! Dept.

Actual Foam-O-Graph© shews teen brains turning to
phosphorescent frangipane by "psychedelic" music!

The threat is real. In suburban living rooms across this great nation teen brains are being turned into phosphorescent frangipane by "psychedelic" music! And Mr. and Mrs. John Q. Public of Normalville U.S.A. remain oblivious! Perhaps Mom heats up meatloaf in the kitchen and Pop polishes his pipe in the den while the children of our brains are being turned into phosphorescent frangipane by psychedelic-type music! 

Those long-playing record albums are sold to our unsuspecting, wholesome teens by dope fiends, child molesters and communists intent on destroying the very fabric of this nation! Records such as Head Shop, and Trip Thru Hell are the heroin of the recorded music industry! The "far out" sounds, coarsely electrified guitars and hypnotic jig-a-boo beats are turning frangibrains into psychoteen phosphopane right here in our living rooms!

"Hello America? Get me the Youth of Today!"
J. Edgar Hoover, yesterday

What can be done to stem the poisonous tide that's turning the teens of our brains into frangidelic psychopane? We axed Top Cop and cross-dressing enthusiast J. "Edgar" Hoover!

"All parents must learn to recognize psychedelic-type music! I urge them to download these two albums so helpfully contributed free of charge by Farquhar Throckmorton III. Listen to them in the privacy of your homes while little Johnny and Judy are at school. It won't be easy, and many parents find holding hands and praying to Our Lord Baby Jesus helps. Then, when you have learned to cope with the strange experience, invite your children to a record party! Turn out the lights and place these albums on the autochange of the family consolette to show them you dig today's new sounds! Perhaps pass a spliff around to aid the mood! I myself like to put kids at ease by squeezing into a filmy negligée and Carole Lombard wig! Then, when they-"

 

[Audio lost at this point due to DNS attack - Ed.]

Brian Blessed's Manly Shenanigans Dept.

Old School Foam-O-Graph© - can you tell it from real AI?

You'll know TV's Brian Blessed from his manly shenanigans, such as freediving the Mariana Trench on one lungful of air, and eating the entire Auk population of Fernando Po for breakfast! But did you know he's also an enthusiastic collector of collectors' sixties-type psychedelia?

We chatted poolside whilst [grammar - Ed.] Kreemé served her signature Mexican tap water and gas station boner pill smoothies.

FT3 Good to have you here, Sir Blessed!

BB WOOOAAAARRRGGGH I FLOSS WITH BARBED WIRE!

FT3 That's swell, Bri! You brung an album wit' yez?

BB GGGGGRRRRRRRRROWF!

FT3 Is it the Autosalvage album?

BB ARRRROOOOGAH!!! BRROWFFF!

[Audio ends at this point - Ed.] 

Sir Blessed's choice of album is both informed and timely. Autosalvage was recorded 1968 in New York, as was the recently FoamFeatured™ Chrysalis, another self-titled debut that would be the band's only release. And there's a shared Zappa connection - Zappa was a fan, and named the band. Both albums occupy a kind of literate/art/semi-prog rock zone, and if you dig one you'll dig the other.

This post sponsored by Rusty's Barbed Wire Dental Floss©, Montana.

 

Under The Radar Dept. - Blondie Chaplin

 

Recentish photo for unrecent album, because it's great.

Leave us face it, Blondie Chaplin's weather-beaten pan ain't the type to make a dame swoon. Flinch, maybe. But inside that much-traveled luggage beats the heart of a gentleman musician. He's the type guy what gets along with everybody, and is possessed of [grammar - Ed.] a voice that fit right in with the Beach Boys. Which is worth thinking about - that's some set of pipes. After the Beach Boys gig ended - because reasons - he paid his bar tab by sitting in with anybody who'd have him. Obscure local combos like, uh, The Band. And The Rolling Stones. Fifteen years with the Stones. I mean gee whiz.

He also found time to cut some swell solo albums. The self-titled debut [left- Ed.] from 1977 is straight ahead rock n' roll (as the cover subtly hints) with all the stellar support Asylum could bus into the studio.

The Fragile Thread [above- Ed.] is a stone (SWIDT) delight, with Ronnie Wood, Keith Richards and Chuck Leavell providing the backing. Recorded in 2001, it was shelved for "business reasons" that obviously upset the poor guy, because he avoids the subject. You'd be upset too, if you'd poured your soul into your music and the legal department couldn't get its shit together. Here it is anyway.

 

Between Us, from 2006,  has a leaner, airier sound. That's enough music criticism. He writes, he sings, he plays some dexterous gee-tar. You should be so blessed.

Thirty Minutes Dept. - Songs That Nobody Should Have To Listen To Again - Important Update!!

Nuanced, elegant design courtesy FMF™ Art Department Of Art Dept. - Mister Businessman! Ask to see our portfolio!

That's Elvis Costello's dad leading things off in fine style, followed by the very wonderful Celtic Woman, possibly the most vacuous music act since GWAR. The Chipmunks break the mood nicely and lead us seamlessly into "Dame" Judi Dench's bowel-clenching version of Send In The Clowns. James Last's version of Mack The Knife is saturated with his signature cluelessness, and then there's some gay Scotsmen in skirts for one time only playing something not heard at funerals. Who better than Wayne Newton, barely able to stand, to husk his way through the evergreen My Way? It's the definitive performance. The Templeton Twins' epic Beatles Medley will leave not a dry eye in the house, and the Sons Of The Pioneers warble plaintively over the end credits and the Dolby® logo.

IS JUST IN THIS JUST IN THIS JUST IN THIS JUST IN TH

Berendina "Bernie" Hoefizger [left - Ed.], Curator of 20C Contemporary Music at swanky Smithsonian Museum (Wash, DC) has accepted Thirty Minutes Of Songs That Nobody Should Have To Listen To Again into the permanent collection! This is an honor that does credit not only to the lively online community here at th' IoF©, but also to other stuff I can't think of right now.

In her statement to the press, Bernie had this to say:

"Thirty Minutes Of Songs That Nobody Should Have To Listen To Again is testament to the courage and yes, the frailty, of human endeavor. Here is sadness, here is joy, here is the inexpressible yearning of the spirit of humanity given voice. Plus also, it's only like half an hour long, which is a boon for folks such as like I suffering from incurable disease such as like the ebolas I got, and only days left to live. Bless you, Farq, and th' Four Or Five Guys© for making my last days mo- *thud*"

Thank you, Bernie!

 

This post made possible thru the co-operation of th' Four Or Five Bums©

Spooky Synchronicity Dept. - Ted Templeman Predicts Future!

For the first time ever, again - the swellest album ever made! Now in bite-size chewy chunks!

Th' Four Or Five Guys© what can cast their frayed minds back to the last post, which looked like it was about Susanna Hoffs [below left - Ed.] but was really about Elephant Stone but was really really about choosing songs nobody should ever have to listen to again - will find today's post of shocking significance!

The intense selection process, wherein the finest minds on the planet - and Snorky - cast their votes for songs they'd rather pepper spray their own eyeballs than listen to again, threw up three Beatles songs. Yesterday, Hey Jude, and Something. Just those three.

As I started to curate the album, I remembered hearing a camp twenties version of Hey Jude, which I wished to audition for inclusion. Accessing th' IoF© data banks, I found The Templeton Twins' overlooked classic, Trill It Like It Was, antecedently FoamFeatured©. Scanning the sleeve notes, I was astonished to see three Beatles songs given the Trill Treatment. Can you guess which songs? No? Okay, I'll tell you. Yesterday, Hey Jude, and Something. 

This is conclusive proof that Ted Templeman, boy genius behind the Twins, could see into the future, rendering all existing models of time and attendant theories pertaining thereto redundant, and also slightly stupid-looking. I decided there and then to combine the tracks into a swell medley that would be the high point of the album, sort of like the second side of Abbey Road. Only shorter. And, it has to be said, funnier. Here's where the story leaves the realm of the supernatural and gets boring, so you can skip to the comments right now. If you've read this far. Which I doubt.

I'd originally uploaded a continuous play version of the album. Nobody likes these, and I doubt it got many plays. Looking at the waveform, I understood why I'd taken the easy way out. The gaps between the tracks are about one pixel [audio engineering term - Ed.] wide. It was cut as continuous play. But I wanted separated tracks, so I snapped on my Mad Doctor Eyeball and had Kreemé [left, 18 my ass - Ed.], fetchingly attired in nurse's uniform, pass me my sharpest scalpel. Long I labored and assiduously, into the watches of the night, refreshed only by Kreemé's delicate attentions.

As the first rays of the sun filtered through the high cobwebbed window of my laboratory, I gazed in awe at the result of my labors and, I confess, I cried in exultation! There before me, very probably for the first time ever in the universe, lay a version of this swell album digitally presented as eleven separate tracks. Do you care? Do I care if you care? Do you care if I care if I care? Hoo hah?

This post sponsored by Pat n' Matt's Beer Mat Hats©, out of Butt Butte, IA.