"Liz Phair=cool. uhhhh...that last note....hmmmm..."

don't stop believin that anyone still cares.



apologies and shit for falling of and/or busting out.

there is a new job. a Big Move to the big time. mixed Tapes and Broken dates. but i'm putting that all in the past.

now in my borrowed time, my efforts are to be litotic. i will counter-act your daily exaggeration, the mercurial flim and flam, and believe me when i say that if anyone here is not believing the hype, its your friendly neighborhood Dear Leader.

i had pre-prepared some mental notes on physical impact of sound before that merzbow show. fortunately for you, they have been erased.

all i got:

later that week, i had a dream that half of my jawbone, teeth intact, accidentally came out of my mouth when picking at my gums.

empty bottle. 10.12.05. humingbiird and old time relijun. i be there.


cats and dogs living together

there is romance in hyperspace. lovey dovey in the big empty void. and for that, there are also some warnings:

i.) no names, please, but some have been talking jive noise on noise. some points are well taken. others may be trying to add some creedence to the academic clearwater by throwing darts. simon reynolds doesnt think you can academicize noise, because that's exactly what it is hurtling towards escape velocity from. i think he's right. and not right in the way that until Marcus and Hebdige, no one dared shake the ruler at pre/punk/post, and they marxized the fuck-all out of the thing. regardless, with the romantic pleasure comes visceral pain. therefore:

empty bottle
sept. 7

LJJ has a ball gag and i need a whipping.

ii. im almost 8000% sure that my apartment has the geists of first-generations from the Bloc, and that the haunting has at least something to do with: Gentrification. evidently, others are concerned enough to sponsor a Fight Club showdown over the subject. jump out of your loft window-wall and limp there.

iii. that romance was real. i will be performing my own one man dj-show Cunnilingus in North Korea: A Magical Evening featuring KimJong-Illmatic at a wedding next weekend. if you send me suggestions of choice tux burners and dress droppers, i will reward you with a sneak in through the fire exit and a flask.


we dine on cold eels and think distant thoughts

previously, ive been trying to clean up a piece that in its current state could give you illiteracy. however, i resign. it has been thrown out.

it had originally to do with multimedia theory. (big M & T, who cares) and then, cashing in my intellectual credits, about Public Enemy (PE, and I care). I'ma wait for this upcoming Flava-less PE release before I rehistoricize poetic over some pretty serious legacy. so in the meantime, here comes the science:

sunday night, empty bottle - rob mazurek does the art and does the music. some people, according to the organizers of the artist/musician series at the bottle, are victorians. as such they socially devalue dark skin (weird!), and they dont believe in unified theory of multimedia. whatever.

mazurek (also in mandarin movie, sweating huge already for AIMM) does the damn thing complete with creepier+older AV repair looking dude and of course, a vibraphonist. on top of AbsExp paintings, video wall chopped up some urban tableaus/color patches in no time with the music. i dug.

VJ's, now there's the idea whose time has arrived (again). file 13 showcase @ bottle last night had TRS-80 headlining. (p.s. i'm still spiritually healing from need new body a month ago). fuck anyone who sees this band and ever, ever again says "electronic music ain't got no soooouuuuulllll" because they need it. by no means the most singularly impressive show in any respect, but one of the better performances of highly rehearsed and meticulously organized Sound i've ever seen. a true Techno band, but the list of almost-subtle influences is enormous and broad. these guys find a way to quit that shit and they're made.

PLUS: THEIR video went with the music. it's almost like they meant to integrate my thoughts on the previous night's theoretical already been said's in a serious attempt at multimedia archetypes. IT ALSO PLEASES MY EYES! GET IT? ITS SO VISCCCCEERRRAALLLL. which to you might seem base. for me, well, this shit is the post-future. and for that, you need to learn about the Pioneer DVJ. and you need to meet Ecletic Method. DVD out soon. Too bad you can't scratch the itch because you're not "the vanguard of next-era clubbing."

Eclectic Method - "Bwood" (mpg)

which is where the PE comes in. told you.


M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E vs. erect nipple wet dreams of Mary Jane Rottencrotch (everyone wins)

took the solitary route, kissed the missus good evening and made my lonesome way to the gene siskel film center last night. some of you may know that i am currently being considered for employment there. others of you couldn't care less, and that's good. i'm here for your entertainment, not companionship. like you need any more friends, right!!!!11

i decided this would be a good time for some more "war as entertainment" + interview location reconnaissance (complete with "duality of man/jungian thing"). so i saw full metal jacket. im in no mood/tenured position to discuss the film, but i can tell you about the audience: Vets. Tattooed love things. Interacial couples (personal favorite). Me. the experience reminded me of the cover story from last month's Wire, about the brutal juxtaposition of humour with Art in otherwise staid arenas like, for instance, the kind of music the Wire spellchecks furiously over. doubtful that many contemporaries (both in chr0n0l0gy and aesthetic vision, natch) have had the chance to see this one on the big screen, but PEOPLE LAUGH. OUT LOUD. AT UNFUNNY THINGS. i laughed at the army recruiters offering iPods in return for enlisting at wicker park fest this weekend. that's also not funny, i guess. after the film i wished i had laughed earlier. no time then.

here's hoping that tomorrow is another day. and that said day contains lemon-red nelson's august mix. for those of you who missed previous installments, radioclit's is still up there. /rupture's exists only in the ears of the truly devout (read: obsessed) w/ msr. clayton's every bomb-drop.

i may/may not have heard the leakiest of leaks, procured by subterfuge.

no judgement passed yet. too busy napping mah roots. and pretending i'm not listening to gary numan.

p.s. anyone interested in seeing the immaculately titled "Stranger: Bernie Worrell on Earth" docu with me 8/10 at the siskel film center, get at me. bong rips and post-screening synth noodling at my place totally included. (4tran, my gazer beam should be drilling your face as we speak)


starfuckers of the worst, worst, worst variety

new xlr8r has feature on 25 "hottest underground labels". which usually means alot of fairytale-ing about sub pop/matador/rawkus/capt. zeitgeist. but: not only are some seriously bloody-edge labels profiled, THEY HAVE PHOTOS OF LABEL FOLK. talk about the saddest celebrity journalism you can imagine. the pastiest of pasties - the office bound labelers.

key point: the audience member who told one in our midst at the Books show back in May that she'd like to listen to the songs "and not your fucking mouth."...that one...she owns Thrill Jockey.

verily, the third degree.

a hiccup in the ticker tape of GOD.

now that my experimentito in hyperspatial anonymity is through, some results:

134 hits
2 comments (including ol' Groundhog Bob, bless Him)
8 MySpace account cancellations (to my knowledge)

thank you to whomever knew this plot to cancel myspace accounts had origins with yours truly. and for not laughing in my face at any hopes that there would have been any real action. i sleep a little worse, but that was bound to happen sooner or later. today the tribune headline "war as entertainment" delivers on none of the desperately hoped-for Moral Condemnation, but casts a weighty shadow over the future of war re-enactment.

since last week saw the announcement of the first plans for a major motion 9-11 picture, starring whothefuckcares with Stalin directing, it seems the war's shelf life is under more duress than even our very own Spectacle of Spectacles. tape-delay breathes new life after all. now, i sleep worse. like i said. sooner or later.

music news is sparse. bought first dalek lp + ornette coleman live at town hall. watched the buzz come and go on a handful of local bands that no one will care about in a few years. missing sonotheque first year anniversary for a trip to the b-lo.

but the lineup for the wire's Adventures in Modern Music. now them's some delicious sounds. i'll be blogging it live. video blogging. podcasting. posting hourly analysis of my BAC according to the color and scent of my urine (comparisons will be made against a standard-issue Gatorade sponsored chart of color/hydration stats). fluffing Jim O'Rourke. via teledildonics. in my mind.


america is waiting

re: culture studies (or "adorno as beach reading")
cc: no one i know
date: after intonation (by a few days, so no claims of prolonged dehydration)

some pranksters make light of the sincerity/irony iron maiden that several niche groups have found themselves in immediately post-ironic terror times. as far as i know, all of my friends that were up from texas for the show shun our prescribed "condition" (heretofore, the PoMo w. capitals) natch. i don't mess w. TX, but dudes sure brought up a serious mistrust in serious aesthetic theory. i even found a copy of above anti-semite's collected aesthetic essays on some hippie's blanket. not theirs. but i was reminded of yours truly. so i vow to never read again. more on that later.

highlight: assclown from outhud challenges intonation MC for train wreck of the weekend. it was like watching something die. big ups to 'hud for leaving their shit out for the trash and abandoning the guy in the "hotter than hot" crowd.

lowlight: high school prom soundsystems. seeing diplo telepahtically audiown his equipment was dominant. but still. festival sound always fumbles, but this was too much.

just about what i expected: smoked a number of joints produced from an old NAS cassette tape case.

unexpected subordinate clause: paulie, no shit! haven't seen your ass since gil mantera. im pretty sure you were rolling, but man you haven't changed since college! yell at a college brother and meet me for some blow and hookers at the Mercantile Exchange. sleeezy.

futuremusic: deerhoof.


this new nation

big. things.

this move is busted