Mission Statement: to do very little, for very few, for not very long. Disappointing the easily pleased since 1819. Not as good as it used to be from Day One. History is Bunk - PT Barnum. Artificially Intelligent before it was fashionable. Fat camp for the mind! Nothing lasts, but nothing is lost. The Shock of the Old! Often bettered, never imitated. "Wenn du lange in einen Abgrund blickst, blickt der Abgrund auch in dich hinein" - Pauly Shore.
Original screed here.
And here's what Sony Japan did:
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| My closest bestie Alex with her own vinyl Foragers album, yestiddy |
FT3 Gee whiz, AOC-
AOC Please! Call me Alex, Farq? All my most intimate friends call me Alex. And I feel we've bonded somehow ...
FT3 (running finger around collar) Woooof! Well *cough* Alex, gee whiz ... this group is so new to me I ain't even a'heered of 'em, so new which they is ...
AOC Come sit next to me, Big Guy!
FT3 *kaffkaffkaff* Well, okay then. Ha ha! Just let me .... roll up my Yo-Yo string here ...
AOC I'm lovin' me a man who can handle a Yo-Yo! You're so masterful ...
FT3 Ha ha! Sure sounds like a swell album! Yessiree Bob! Or would do if I could stop this rush of blood in my ears ...
AOC (breathing in FT3's ear) Is that the only rush you're feeling? Let's take a look ...
FT3 (unnaturally high voice) YIKES!
AOC Why, Mister Throckmorton! You're ... mmm ... !!!
[Tape runs out at this point, as does all self restraint - Ed.]
This here album is the best debut I ever heard, or might as well be. These guys are going to be (excuse my French) énorme!
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| Gahd, I love this woman ... |
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| Bernie "sits in" with Turtles of Invention! |
Here's th' Bern waxing loquacious anent The MoFo's seminal first long-playing elpee album:
"Hi, pop teens! Not many folks know that Freak Out! was actually the second iteration of the famed album! The original mix became available a while ago, rather misleadingly entitled The Alternate Freak Out! - if anything, the album as issued is the alternate version. And even worse, it had a cover that made you throw hot chunks! So my good friend Farq has crafted an Art Design that fits the music like a pair of hand-knitted mittens! The deliverable is my own rip @320. Remember to register to vote!"
Thanks, Bern! And if you see AOC, could you ax her to swing by th' IoF© for an intryview? And, uh, a neck rub? Big fan!
In the interests of transparency, I should point out that there seems to be an agreement that this is essentially the same mix as the first album, with a couple, maybe three, snippets that got snipped out for the official release, and the tracks in a different order - but (and it's a big one) this simply sounds better. Clearer. It really is like hearing it for the first time. So how this can be accomplished without it being a different mix is a mystery to me. I got it from thepoodlebites @upvhq blog, where you can grab it at flac quality, if that butters your parsnip, with the original crap bootleg sleeve.
The Biggest WTF? Album Of All Time
Freak Out! was recorded in April, 1966, at exactly the same time as Revolver, and a few weeks after Blonde On Blonde and Pet Sounds. Let that sink in. What was in the actual air back then? Each of these albums, in its own characteristic way, represents some kind of pinnacle of zeitgeist art. Yet Freak Out! is rarely grouped with its peers because ... well ...
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| Jeannie Vassoir, the Voice of Cheese |
Pet Sounds, Revolver, Blonde On Blonde have consistency and a readily-understood integrity. Nobody scratches their heads when listening to them, each has a recognisably distinct character. Freak Out! is all over the place, like a coked-up squirrel with ADD in Nutz-'R-Us© on Black Friday. Zappa thought of it as a satirical concept album, which it may be, but even those pop fans who knew what satire was (there must have been a couple) didn't give much of a fuck about it. Satire in any form is not that potent a weapon, or that big a laugh, and when it's unfocussed ("everybody sucks, including you") it's reduced almost to meaninglessness. And if the satirical edge is blunted by an affection for its target (as doo-wop is here), everybody gets confused.
Zappa thought it was going to be a big hit, and so did Verve, encouraged by the swivel-eyed enthusiasm of producer Tom Wilson, who was on acid in the studio. They were strange times. That Zappa got to make another album is a miracle, after the big-budget Freak Out! crawled briefly to the coveted 130 spot on the Billboard chart, and was one of the first albums to be thrown in the dumpster when Verve hit the skids.
Like most Zappa albums, Freak Out! is just as relevant, enjoyable, and confusing as it was back then. Nothing was changed by his satire, but then that's satire's failing, or yours, not his. Seen in a certain light, it becomes a perfect condensation, synthesis, and palimpsest (if you will) of his life in music. Everything he did later is here in embryonic form, a tiny zircon-encrusted Fabergè chocolate egg, perfect in every sticky protruberance, a Sistine Chapel ceiling on velvet, a 3D Mona Lisa with her tits out. File under: geniusness.
This post funded by Larry's Used Lube™ - "The lube Larry used!"
Executive producer David Heyman could have made me rich and famous by filming Helium, but chose instead to make the Harry Potter movies, and himself a billionaire. His loss, right?
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Still and all, if you're in the mood for some very sophisticated light and cool combo jazz, which this surely is, you'll dig this. There's an added-value bonus in the download!
Can't think of anything to type here - maybe later.
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| Jeremy Clarkson and Richard Hammond, yesterday |
This week the dapper duo will be playing all volumes of Electric Psychedelic Sitar Headswirlers in an epic all-nite freakout! And you're invited! Far out, huh, kids?! Here's husky bath-house posterboy Jerry to open proceedings!
JP Hey kids! Tonite we gots-
FT3 Sorry, Jer, but that's all we have time for, so it's back to the studio and Marvinia Geeky [left - Ed.] with the Nude Traffic Roundup! [APPLAUSE, BURLESQUE STRIPPER MUSIC]
This post brought to you by Jiminy, George, and Crikey
The clearest analysis of Trump's insane war is here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xcXfcXJvMXg
Robert Pape knows what he's talking about. Listen to the man. It's a long-play information dump that we need right now.
No diesel in my little town today, and a cap on petrol/gas. The sheer scale of Trump's ineptitude and his trailer-park hillbilly administration is staggering. He's killing everybody.
This post made possible by Ignorance and Greed, two reassuring constants in a world of change.
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| My man Billham, smackin' th' traps! |
The first drummer I heard who had an immediately recognisable signature sound wasn't Ringo Starr - he was the first I knew by name - but Keith Moon. I didn't know if he was technically any good or not (still don't), but his full-on style was his alone, like he loved the drums but also wanted to beat the shit out of them. Scary guy. But the one I came to worship was Billy Cobham, first heard on the first Mahavishnu Orchestra album. He was busy, but never unnecessary, every faster-than-thought beat in exactly the right place at exactly the right time, and he sounded like nobody else, that tash-tash-tash cymbal. He drove the beat but never rushed it, and he was all over the kit, which is what I like to hear. Not for me the *cough* motorik minimalist metronome, I want value from my album investment. I paid for those drums, and I want to hear them.
He's also a first-rate composer, and his solo albums have always had melody at the heart of them. It's like he's playing chords on his kit. Spectrum and Crosswinds are both pinnacles of musical excellence, no matter how you label them, and I listen to his solo works far more than I listen to McLaughlin's. Today's deliverable is a sweet pair of albums he recorded in rsrch date pse ed [pse fuck yourself - Ed.], featuring luxe arrangements of older tunes and a few new ones. His Panamanian roots are showing in the steel pans and the Caribbean lilt, and there's nothing too brow-furrowing here, which is a good thing. Pure enjoyment.
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| I'm guessing this was designed by Stevie Wonder |
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| If you know what this is about, Billham may have to kill you |
This post made possible by funding from the Old Guy Underwear Xchange, Pork Bend, Alaska
If you have the interest and attention span to read this screed, you might click on through to the comments, where you can download the book, if you're the quiet, bookish type.
The Back Story
I wrote the first version of this book soon after I moved to Paris, back in the Last Century. I moved in a ragged circle of arty types (featured in the book, some pretty much directly from life), drank a lot, talked a lot, the whole boho thing. I wrote it in a fever, convinced of my genius, and it was unworthy of both the idea and me. Got nowhere, and deservedly so. Since then it's passed through four versions, each quite different from the previous, with a new title but the same idea (or concept, if you like). They followed the first down the Boulevard of Broken Dreams. This is the final one - I really don't think I could write it better.
The Literary Agent Is Not That Passionate About Books
The people I knew in the book trade back when Helium was published (the little book that changed my life) are all either dead or retired. I need an agent to get this on a publisher's desk. To get an agent you first have to research those who claim to be interested in the type of book you're submitting. Then you make a submission by email, following specific guidelines. They may trash a submission if it doesn't conform to these guidelines. Generally you write a covering letter (what kind of book it is, what it's about etc.), add a synopsis, a short bio, and attach the a sample of the book. Some especially irritating agents ask for an "elevator pitch". This was a thing waaayyy back in the Last Century, and I made a few myself in Hollywood. You have to sell the book in the briefest way possible, which is impossible. But some agents think it shows them to be dynamic and finger-snappy.
Agents aren't that interested in books. That's the first thing to remember (they can't write, they're not authors, they're in Sales and Networking). Their first and overriding consideration is their career. They don't want to appear to fail by backing the wrong horse, so they place as few bets as possible, and then only on favourites. Risk management is everything. I have so much working against me - everything except quality - that no agent is going to go out on a career limb just because I can write. Are you crazy?
I made individually-formatted submissions to over twenty agents (in the UK and the US), who said they were interested in exactly the type of book I'd written.
I haven't heard from any of them. Not so much as one single boiler-plate rejection. My submission was trashed. For whatever reasons, I don't tick their boxes. Fine, times change, and an ugly old white guy isn't at the top of anybody's Christmas list. But the book should be, regardless of who wrote it.
Self Publishing Is A Bust
"Hey!" you say, suddenly inspired, "pretend to be the author they're looking for!" Yeah, no. This has been tried and the ruse never lasts, and only backfires on you. "Self publish!" you cry enthusiastically. "It's the publishing model of the future, today!" And again, yeah, no. Do you know how many books are self-published on the Am*z*n platform? Millions. Literally, millions. Thousands of new titles every day - some of them not even AI-generated. You'll only get traction if you already have a social media presence. Then you can shill your book to your followers. I have no social media presence, and I don't want one.
So what, then?
You can get the results of thirty years of literary endeavour free, gratis, and for nothing, right here. I'm not submitting it for your consideration, and to be honest, if you don't like it you can stick it up your ass. I wrote it for me. At least this way it will get read by three or four guys. And if you enjoy reading it half as much as I enjoyed writing it, then, as I'm fond of saying, I'll have enjoyed it twice as much as you. Which seems about right.
Oh - and Stephen King? Knock yourself out.
The cover: I did this in about ten minutes. Could be better, but the mood is right. No, agents aren't interested in seeing your cover design idea. Go away.
John Peel, inevitably, gets the credit. I heard Two Sevens Clash on his show, my first roots album, and after that Bob Marley sounded, well, a little thin. Chris Blackwell deserves all credit for introducing Jamaican music to the UK, but he left something behind - he couldn't pull out the roots, and they were hard to find. And I'd kind of moved on by the eighties, filing roots and dub as a geo-historical [is this a word? - Ed.] phenom. New reggae seemed to be burping with synthesisers, and even worse, drum machines.
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Today's deliverable is Ghetto Dub and Across The Red Sea ['82 - Ed.], both pretty fucking amazing. If you're unfamiliar with Bim, this is as good a place to start as any. Speaker-rattling, bowel-churning bass, space as deep as the Mariana Trench, heavenly vox, mind-warping FX, this is the real deal. Nice tunes, too!
(This post has generated the lowest page hits and least interest in IoF© history)
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| Wilf at the top of his game, yesterday! Copyright Foam-O-Graph© |
So leave us let th' Brimster get this multicolored ball o' wax rolling!"Howdy, Foameteers®! It's sweet Sunday here on th' 'I Love Home' and here's some swell music to file alongside all them other downloads you never got around to listenin' to! Back in the day, grabbin' these elpees was trickier than pullin' eels from a mudhole, but what with this new-fangled electric radio technology you can be diggin' the sounds in the twitch of a possum's whisker! So throw back a tab of backwoods acid and join in the fun while it's still here to be joined in with!"
Today, Wilf Brimley's Psychedelic Psunday Pstash is a whole mess o' first-class second-tier psych on the ever-optimistic Mainstream label; twelve albums I haven't the energy to paint the covers for. Here's FoamFavorite™ Kreemé [eighteen my ass - Ed.] to introduce those albums in full:
✌🏻December's Children
✌🏻Freeport
✌🏻Lacewing
✌🏻Superfine Dandelion
✌🏻Tangerine Zoo (x2)
✌🏻Tiffany Shade
✌🏻Jellybean Bandits
✌🏻Art Of Lovin'
✌🏻Growing Concern
✌🏻A Pot Of Flowers (bonus)
✌🏻Bohemian Vendetta(bonus)
No serious collection of second-tier psych is complete without these swell recordings! Everything upgraded to @193, incorporating audio frequencies beyond the human ear's capacity to hear! (Last two albums are late additions with a separate link, in comments).
This post pre-sprayed with Auntie Em's Antipossum Antidote™
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| Schnitzengruben auditions star of tomorrow at prestigious Flick-Disc™ HQ, yesterday! Foam-O-Graph© |
Hi, teens! Flick-Disc© prexy Dick Schnitzengruben here, with his finger on the throbbing pulse of the nation's youth! And man oh man, have we ever got some swingin' platters comin' your way!
Sadly, Schnitzengruben was busted for human trafficking, violating the Mann Act, and felony removal of mattress labels. These three discs were to be the label's only product, and everybody died tragically, including Schnitzengruben's youthful ward and personal assistant, Twinky Hunkcheese, who painted the covers for these albums all by himself. But you can relive the heady atmosphere of that Golden Era of second-tier psych by simply clicking the link in the comments!
This post funded in part by Morty's Munchy Meat Mart, Pomona, CA. "Try our world famous Hen Knuckles!"
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| Indescribably handsome, yes. Funny, no. |
The thing about Sting, see, is that he seems to be completely, utterly, totally, lacking a sense of humor. Can you picture him laughing at a beau jeste? I can't. ROFLING or LOLING, let alone LHFAO, is not the Sting style. He called himself Sting, remember. I could take the preening vanity - he has a lot to preen about. I could take the pretension, more often expressed in interviews than music. Pretension has an important part to play in artistic creation. But I couldn't take his grinding, monolithic self-seriousness. His lack of play.
Be that as it may, and it certainly is, the man has made some pretty sublime music, and the pretty sublimest is probably on Ten Summoner's Tales. So ultimately, I win. I don't have to listen to him hold forth and declaim in the drawing-room. All I have to do is "sit back, relax, and enjoy" this fantastic album.
The deliverable is the download-only extended version. It's not better than the original, but only a fool would deny it's longer. Play it in the backgound as you and your lowlife pals pass the Sterno. I done did a new cover [above - Ed.] so you can tell it apart from the original when you sober up.
This post made possible by the splendid folks at DrMacBook [Bangkok - Ed.], who performed miracles with my iMac.
Yemen in '68 was the last place you'd expect to find a thriving psychedelic scene, yet the night clubs of Sanaa were a boiling cauldron of lysergic experiment. Teens gathered at the infamous Club Fatwa to freak out to the grooviest new bands on the acid-rock scene, and the grooviest was Atom Juice, led by enigmatic Abdul Alhazred, ex-child movie star (that's him in A Yemeni Christmas). Their first album [self-titled, above - Ed.] was a national hit in '68, but global stardom eluded them when the great camel milk drought of '69 crashed the nation's economy overnight.
I got nuthin'.
But you get this unfeasibly bodacious album, which if you dig Floyd circa 68-70, because of course you do, you will clasp to your withered bosom with weak cries of joy and thankfulness.
Deliverable meets all relevant OSHA standards.
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| Van Morrison [left - Ed.] enjoys self, yesterday |
Every Van Morrison piece ever written contains the word grumpy. Not this one. Grumpy though he be, I'm not going to fall into the trap of writing him off as grumpy. Nor am I going to repeat the old saying there are two types of people in the world, those who like Van Morrison and those who have met him. I'm above that kind of lazy journalism.
Never his own best friend (he can start a fight in an empty room), Van "Grumpytrousers" Morrison has almost zero capacity for quality control, resulting in decades of eye-roll albums that might have one or two cuts that vaguely remind you of how great, how truly fantastic, he used to be. Not that he gives a fuck what we think. Live, he can still deliver, but as a recording artist he's about as exciting as a roll of damp roofing felt in an abandoned warehouse.
Very occasionally an album slips out, unnoticed in the all-engulfing Zorn-like landslide of product, that's actually pretty damn great. 'Frinstance, the Live At Orangefield album. Original cover was well up to his usual standard of zero-budget butt-ugly, so I done a new one:
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| Note lens flare reference |
That wasn't so very hard, was it? This super-swellegant album, superbly recorded at Van's old school in Belfast in 2014, eventually limped out in 2024 to universally good, and well-deserved, reviews. It's an uplifting, joyous, soulful performance from beginning to end, with maybe the best backing vocals the man's ever had. He's in fine voice and great good spirits, performing a set representing his entire post-Them career without relying on "the old stuff", and it all flows like a river.
And there's last year's Remembering Now, which again had an insultingly cheap cover. The idea was fine, so here's a different treatment of it:
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This post funded in part by The Madame George Corsetry Company. "Discreet service and attentive fittings for the fuller figure - TV and Stage our speciality. Ask to see our range of plus-sized high heels!"
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| Global spunk-bucket takes selfie at flagship facility, Almas Perdidas, Mexico |
You'll know art-jazzer John Zorn [below - Ed.] for releasing more recordings than the rest of the music industry put together. "I try to issue a new CD every ten minutes or so," says Zorn from his basement duplex in leafy Hackensack, "but occasionally they can take up to a couple of hours to write and perform."
But what you won't know is that his prodigious output has now filled the purpose-built Amazon warehouse at Almas Perdidas, Mexico. Zorn again: "Jeff is, like, a huge fan of my work, so I was flattered when he literally razed like an entire town to store and distribute my music, but apparently it's at capacity already! You can't even slide in a single disc without its jewel case."
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| John Zorn, yesterday |
Zorn [left - Ed.] blames the economy for the stockpile of billions of unsold recordings. "Jeff tells me sales of his signature anal beads and weighted cat blankets, once the mainstay of the business, are at an all-time low. When people can't afford the essentials, luxuries like food and healthcare take a hammering."
The
solution? Online crapfest cockroach Jeff Bezos now pays his workers in John Zorn
CDs! "It's a win-win situation," smiles Bezos at the olympic-grade ski run on
his diamond-studded mile-long ocean liner. "Everyone benefits, from me down to
the shareholders!"
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| Intergalactic dump-humper on motivational tour of workers' lodgings, Almas Perdidas |
Jesus Iglesias, Executive Logistics Officer at Almas Perdidas [left- Ed.], concurs. "Mister Bezos, he is the great man! I build the new home for my family with the John Zorn box sets! And my wife Conchita, she make the tortillas from the inserts and from the booklets! We are so happy! Please, Mister Zorn, make many new wonderful CDs! Five stars!"
This is the second of our Pulitzer Prize-nom investigative journalism op-eds covering Modern Life. Read the first here.
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| Oh come on! We've all been there! |
Last year, Goose's Everything Must Go was unanimously voted [by you - Ed.] Album O' Th' Year! Since then it's been a real and rare pleasure to work back through their catalog. If you "dig" the now sounds of uptempo rock, pop, and roll, these swingin' long-playing elpee records will get yer arthritic old toes a-tappin'!
Those oh-so-musical qualities that put them ahead of everyday, lackluster beat combos? Why, here they are in full!
Likeable vocals from folks who can actually carry a tune. So important.
Tunes. Goose is often likened to Humphrey McGee And His Phishes, but these guys hang their chops on actual songs. Songs you can remember. Even you. Chord changes that don't leave a chalky aftertaste!
Did I hear you say technical proficiency? No, on account which you don't use that-type langwidge. But, oboy, do these chaps got chops! Out th' ass!
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| Cover art by Family Man Dave© at Kingstown Kinko |
Soon after their ahead-of-its-time Gangsta Sistahs album got canned by the neckbeards at Topic, Shirley & Dolly Collins took a much-needed vacation in sunny Jamaica! Let's let the sisters take up the story:
Shirl: The first thing we noticed was how attentive the dark-skinned native gentlemen were!
Doll: Courteous to a fault! They never really left our side. Found us free accommodation!
Shirl: Charming little beach hut miles from anywhere! Irie!
Doll: And they introduced us to their fascinating religious ceremonies.
Shirl: A lot of herbal remedies, an' t'ing! My goodness!
Doll: We reveled in or new-found freedom!
Shirl: (laughs) Not too many clothes required, as I remember!
Doll: It was too hot! Anyway, we couldn't find them.
Shirl: Musically, it was a life-changing experience. We soon adopted their riddims, and recorded some dub-wise plates in honour of Hailie Selassie's return.
Doll: Irie!
Shirl: Chris Blackwell found us and called the police, the big spoilsport. And no, he didn't even release the album.
(The sisters gather at the harmonium)
O as I was going to Kingston Town
Irie-down, natty-down, pass the dutchie to the left hand side
'Twas heavy manners going down
Irie-down, natty-down, pass the dutchie to the left hand side
My love he was the fairest of the fair
Irie-down, dilly-down, pass the dutchie to the left hand side
With his ebony skin and dreadlock hair
Irie-down, natty-down, pass the dutchie to the left hand side
He promised I would be his bride
Irie-down, natty-down, pass the dutchie to the left hand side
On the Black Star Liner we would ride
Irie-down, natty-down, pass the dutchie to the left hand side
But the ticket came at such a cost
Irie-down, natty-down, pass the dutchie to the left hand side
My maidenhood I willingly lost
Irie-down, natty-down, pass the dutchie to the left hand side
This post funded by Black Star Eyeliner™ from Maybelline®
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| One a year, 72-75. Business as usual back then, unbelievable now. |
(I just wanted to see something great at the top of the blog, as I'll be stepping back a little, again, again!)
