Pope Blesses Jock Ewing's "Miracle" Jockstrap Dept.

Sanctified Foam-O-Graph© on loan from Vatican Gift Shop

You'll know grizzled, crusty patriarch Jock Ewing for hosting annual <wtf>Owl Barns Bowl</wtf> at prestigious Dallas Four Seasons Landscaping car park - but did you know he also curates IoF©'s own Turin Shroud?

Hauntingly lifelike 3D image of REDACTED transubstantiated mystically into humble athletic support, drawing thousands to IoF©'s luxurious Pilgrim Motel N' Massage Resort™. " REDACTED will lead us true faithful Keepers Of The Holy Jockstrap to GODWORLD®!" averred Enis Thousands (61) yesterday. "In a limo!" added wife LaBrea (14), "wit' like, cup holders an' shit."

In rare visit to our shores, His Popeness Frankie Goestohollywood I blesses Holy Relic, held aloft by grizzled, crusty Jock Ewing, during awe-inspiring surfside ceremony. That benediction in full:

"Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing ballbag. Aenean commodo lingula eget smegmatis. Anus massa. Cum sociis fuckity-fuckface penetratibus et magnis dis prurientis mingeamus, nascetur ridiculus shitpost. Donec quam felis, ultricies asswipæ, pellentesque eu, pretium masturbatius, sementia. Nulla consequat pudendamis squirtus magnificat. Trailerparcet jailbaitius justo, frottageus transporto publicus, goatse nec, voluputate tumescentia, bueno. In nomine padre, Alfredus E. Neumanet, complaintus venerealis, rimjob ad astra. L.O.L."

Recognise popular recording star manifesting liturgically on Jock's grizzled, crusty strap, leave clew, allusion or hint as to identity in comment, win seat in limo to GODWORLD®! Name artiste directly, go straight to hell, rag-head!

(Garner xtry FoamPoint™ for mansplaining "Owl Barns Bowl"!)

Spirit Of Sunday Dept.

Son Of Spirit is in some sense a little album - modest, unpretentious, and short. Thirty-three minutes at a formulaic ten tracks, and not a second wasted. It's also overlooked. Spirit Of '76 seems to be the favorite of the Cass n' Cali years, followed by the left-field Future Games. On paper, it don't look so hot. Some leftovers from '76, and some pimped-up Randy demos.But gee, is it ever swell! If you're unfamiliar with its gentle charm and melodic grace, gather it to your meager bosom now. Pop heaven, and a lighter, more positive tone sets it apart from '76.

There are those - wretched bluenoses - who opine loftily that the Cass n' Cali duo had no right to the name Spirit, and that their albums are inferior to that imperial 'sixties run through to Sardonicus. Fie! I say, and a pox on them. This incarnation of the spirit is different; one doesn't cancel out the other. Over the decades I've enjoyed the duo/trio recordings as much as the classiconic full band albums.

Son Of Spirit is one of those albums saturated with personal associations for me, all of them good. My first wife and I (when we wus fab) in a Welsh cottage, wood fire burning in the grate, and the cream-and-red Dansette playing the first IABD album, the first ISB album, and this - a great little album, and perfect for a sunny Sunday, which I hope yours is.

Marina Restaurant Menu O' Randomness Dept.

 

Sayyy - ain't that pitcher vaguely familiar? Well spotted, subscribers! It's the iconic cover to The Lead Zeppelin's hit platter Presents! But did you know the original photo was snapped at th' IoF©'s famous Marina Restaurant, where menu choices are made for you by Al Gorithm, the Maître De Randomness? Of course you didn't, because I'm literally making this shit up as I go along! Haw!

But hey! It's the weekend, and what better thing do you have to do than to list the first five random choices made by your device of choice? I got nuthin', so I'll be getting this whole ball of wax rolling in the comments!

When They Go Lowell, We Get High Dept.

In swell cross-blog hysteresis. Jonder teams with PJ [albumsiwishexisted - Ed.] to bring us an expanded set of Lowell's session work. Only the cover [above - Ed.] is mine, Frankensteined from various sources, mainly a Robert Williams painting.

Farq (Jonder screeds) has described the days when music obsessives communicated through classified ads, fan clubs and snail mail to assemble versions of the Beach Boys' unreleased opus, Smile.  The tools of tape traders and fanzine publishers (xerox, x-acto, letraset, liquid paper, and rubber cement) have been replaced by sophisticated software.  Almost anything you'd possibly want to read, hear or watch is now immediately available in digital form; and if you don't like the way it looks or sounds, you can edit it to suit yourself.

A number of music blogs feature "albums what oughta exist," and Smile is one of their specialties.  PJ at albumsiwishexisted2.blogspot.com recently created a trilogy of albums to chronicle the adventures of Lowell George as a musician, songwriter, and producer when he was off the clock with Little Feat.  These albums are shared here with PJ's permission.  His blog includes a series called "...and on guitar" which spotlights those moonlighters who have fingered fretboards and lavished licks upon recordings that don't always bear their name.  PJ has featured some great players, and one reader suggested Lowell George.

Lowell was (among other things) a studio rat who lent his talents as a musician, songwriter, and producer to many other artists.  Sometimes one or more members of Little Feat accompanied Lowell on these sessions. Farq has shared Kathy Dalton's 1973 album Amazing (which featured the entire sextet), and Chico Hamilton's 1973 album The Master (with 5/6 of the Feat: Richie Hayward sat out).

PJ's collection is chronological, beginning with a song from 1969's Permanent Damage by The GTOs.  I added a dozen tracks, and the trilogy now ends with the title track from Long Time Gone, a 1980 album by John Starling (from The Seldom Scene). There's rock, funk, jazz, blues, bluegrass, folk, and country; much of it laced with the sweet sting of Lowell's slide guitar.

Thanks to PJ for his collaboration!

My Nite Of Taboo Lust With Carly Simon Dept.

 

(Author just out of shot)

Showbiz lenser Norman Seeff was one of my "groupies" (as I affectionately called them!) back in the 'seventies. He invited me to shoots because he valued my advice - although I never got my hands dirty handling a camera (I'm not a mechanic), my genius with composition and lighting gave his work its signature look. That blurred, slightly out-of-focus thing? Nose oil on the lens. Had to be my nose oil - a particularly refined and unctuously pure nectar I bottled for him. So he was particularly keen for me to attend Carly Simon's shoot for her upcoming Playing Possum album. "Privately, Farq," he whispered over a bowl of borscht at Tinseltown's famed Brown Derby Five Star Restaurant, "she has a girl boner for you I could hang a swing from." I chuckled, waving back at Jack Nicholson. "She'll have to take a ticket, Normie. Right now I'm squiring toothsome Debbie Harry, which she is taking my advice to form a New Wave band." But the Seeffster was insistent, saying my presence at the shoot would "make things happen". I relented, because his need was transparent, and touching. I had the gift - or skill - to put his subjects at ease, distracting them from the little man fussing with the camera.

But the effect I had on Carly was nothing short of explosive. She rushed across the studio, arms outstretched to embrace me. "Farq! Oh, Farq!" she moaned, pressing her lithe, taut body to mine. I felt her nipple harden through my shirt pocket protector. "I've waited all my life for this moment!" I firmly reminded her we were professionals, snapping my fingers at Normie, fumbling a cassette into his Instamatic, and it was only my direct order that prevented her from stripping naked, so lost was she in my pheromonal tsunami. "I'll keep my boots on," she pouted. "Later, baby," I growled.

Modesty requires me to draw a discreet veil over what occurred later in her private suite at H'wood's exclusive The Chateau Marmont Five Star Hotel & Restaurant. But I can tell you that Carly opened Love's Secret Portals (3) for the proud entrance of my throbbing manhood! That she surged on wave upon wave of ecstasy all through that long, hot night, our juices mixing in a divine Cocktail of Love! And when at last she passed out (again) as dawn broke, I quietly wiped my dick on the drapes and tiptoed away. And I can tell you that "Jimmy" Taylor phoned me later that week - ever the gentleman! - to thank me for fulfilling his wife's womanly potential. "She's taught me some of your moves, Farq, and you know? When she cries out your name, my friend, I'm flattered." It's a story that does us all credit, I think, and perhaps sharing it here will add to your listening pleasure of this swell album, a personal favorite!

And remember, pals - when you're looking at the cover photograph you are literally looking at Carly through my Nose Nectar. Fun fact!