Allow me to wax your earlobes...

Girl Talk – Night Ripper (Illegal Art)

Don’t you love it when someone comes along with a red hot poker and shoves it straight up the record industry’s pale, wrinkled old keister? Kinda touches a nerve, and as we all know, the nerves are a bit sensitive down there. (C’mon. You know.)

Gregg Gillis comes from Pittsburgh, which means he somehow found time to create this masterpiece between hammering steel and drinking cases upon cases of Iron City Beer. The press release says that there are a few hundred thousand different samples on this record, which is a bombastic 42 minute mash up consisting of tracks as varied as Boston, Biggie, Elton John, George Benson, Jermaine Dupri, Paul McCartney, Spandau Ballet, M.I.A., Naughty By Nature, Billy Squier, Steve Winwood, Smokey Robinson, Gwen, Pharrell and others. You say that mash ups are over, but ‘tis not the case. While most are simply an opportunity for some hack in the UK to put an a cappella over a beat using $5 software, when done with skill and creativity it can be genius. Greggie’s mixing is seamless, the beats are chopped like suey and the result is a party mix that will shake the mole off of Aaron Neville’s forehead. Although limited with his choices of a cappellas (most of these are available on a site called Limewire, which I’m told has some sort of sharing technology), he still manages to rattle the poker with reckless abandon as A&R people scream in excruciating pain.

So is this what music has come to? Is this type of record (along with Dangermouse’s Grey Album) a viable format-without-formats, or is it simply a knee-jerk reaction to the record industry’s penchant for sucking every last drop of creativity out of music? Is a man that conducts his frenetic DJ sets in sweaty tighty-whities the embodiment of a pop-culture renaissance? I don’t really know because I forgot what I was talking about while watching these idiots jump around on treadmills on YouTube. That bald guy is funny!!!!! Touché, Greggie. Now you get to keep the attic and Marcia can stick a poker in Charlie’s keister.

Wax it if you like: watching middle aged men get flogged with pokers
Wax these: wax them all, swine!

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That's My DJ



Brazilian Girls – Talk To La Bomb (Verve Forecast)

The Brazilian Girls are not Brazilian. But I LOVE Brazilian Girls. They adhere to a clothing-optional policy and have some sort of law that you are not allowed to by shy about your nether regions, which are usually...you guessed it…WAXED!!!! Any country that has a style of Waxing named after it gets Goulet’s vote and is a permanent member of the Goulet Nation. OK – so now I will grace you with my thoughts on this record. First of all, I don’t want to talk to ANY bombs. The title is truly un-American and will only inspire terrorists. Titles with the word “bomb” in it should be banned, let alone one that condones speaking with one. Truly evil. But, given the Brazilian connection, I will forgive. But maybe they want to talk to the Bomb and convince it to stay at home? The song says “it’s never been easy,” and while I’ve never spoken with one, I would imagine that it is quite difficult. Is this band a political movement? Hmmm. This record is deep and I haven’t even talked about the music yet. I’m simply trying to wrap my head around the whole Waxing vs. Bomb thing right now while the record dances around in the background.

And I must admit that it does dance quite nicely. Much less Hotel Costes-y than the first record, and so many languages! The instrumentation is refreshingly organic, but the production takes it into a lunar jaunt that makes Pharrell look like a hot dog vendor. A bit dirty, a bit twisted and pretty damn sexy. But I think one of the titles is wrong. Sexy Asshole should be Sensitive Asshole. Refer to Girl Talk’s review for explanation.

Wax it if you like: multi-lingual habberdashy
Wax these: Jique, Sexy A**hole, Le Territore

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Never Met A German



Fratellis – Costello Music (Import)

For the past year, I’ve been haplessly teased by a deluge of titillating adverts for the Fratellis “forthcoming” record. A different Vargas-esque vixen would grace a quarter page of my weekly Koran (NME), which only served to stoke the flames of days long gone. (And believe me, it’s hard enough getting past the story on the color of Alex Turner’s poo.) Her name was Trixy, and she was a Vegas showgirl who subscribed to the Vargas school of pin-up. The nape of an angel and a hands-free kung fu grip that maimed many a weak man. But not Goulet. Goulet managed to tame her shrew like…enough about me, no? After a number of singles, the record has been released and I am no longer a slave to the whims of the US Postal Service. And I’ve got all of the adverts meticulously placed above my headboard. I must admit that I listen to this record with an underlying bias, but if I were able to remove myself from my loins, I would still manage to sing its praises. The Fratellis write songs. Check. They can play. Check. They like women. Check. Women like them. Check. These Scots are somewhere between T. Rex, The Libertines and Arctic Monkeys, however they’re not trying to be like any of these chaps. The first singles “Chelsea Dagger” and “Henrietta” are clearly standouts, but this is not a collection of singles; it’s a well-tailored collection of driving songs that will surely have hooligans smashing windows in pubs across Scotland while Goulet shags all of the women that they leave behind. Thank you lads.

Wax it if you like: T. Monkatines
Wax these: Chelsea Dagger, Henrietta, Vince The Loveable Stoner

Check out "Creepin Up The Backstairs"

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Creepin Up The Backstairs



Scissor Sisters – Ta-Dah! (Polydor UK)

I love a guilty pleasure. Kiki Dee. Golden Girls. Melrose Place. Glory holes. Ah, guilt is so damn sexy, ‘init?!?! So in the spirit of harmless fun (except the glory holes – they’re a tad risqué) I bring you the new record by the kings (or is it queens?) of camp, the Scissor Sisters. Picking up exactly where they left off with their debut album, they once again channel Honky-Cat-esque Elton John, the Bee Gees, Rickie Lee Jones and Kenny Loggins into a scrumptious cheese-filled gumball draped in gold lamé. The Sisters make no mistake about their intentions. They want people to come to their shows, leave their problems at the door and have a good time. Goulet likes a good time, so what’s not to love? By managing to not take themselves too seriously (which isn’t difficult when you’re draped in gold lamé), they’ve sold 100,000,000,000,000 records in Europe despite an American market continues to elude them. Must be the name. A “Scissor” can be used as a weapon, which will only inspire terrorists to carry out random attacks of violence on the American people. Whew…I’m relieved. Middle America is saved! So where will these almost-breeders be in 10 years? Will the AM Radio kitsch wear off or will it sweep the world like a monkey with the clap? I’m not sure, but it’s really only a small, frilly, lacey detail on the dashboard of a pink armored car that continues to deliver bags of Euros to the Sisters’ front door. Touché, you gender-smashing bon vivants.

Wax it if you like: Elton John-flavored dental dams
Wax these: actually, just pick up that Melissa Manchester/Kenny Loggins joint...

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She's My Man



Kelis – Kelis Was Here (La Face)

Kelis seems to be a one-trick pony, and quite frankly, ponies are boring unless you like little kids, which makes you a screaming pedophile that should be locked up and treated with a testicular voltage cocktail. But let’s pretend, for arguments sake, that we lived in Austria where pedophiles are welcome with open arms. OK…this isn’t funny anymore and you are sick for bringing up this sensitive matter. You pig.

Kelis came out of the gate in 1999 as a welcome reprieve from the flavorless R&B shite that plagued the airwaves. With the Neptunes, she turned the genre on its coochie, offering a cosmic blend of hip-hop, rock and electro that shook muffins worldwide. The formula worked. Fast forward to 2006. Pharrell is busy losing the plot, Kelis’s vocal range is the size of my attention span, yet she tries to dress up the pony one more time. Only the pony is now a horse and would rather be sent off to the glue factory. Simply put, “Kelis Was Here” is what happens when you throw 18 tracks against the wall and try to make them stick. But they don't, so you pull out your handy can of fresh glue and apply accordingly. So there you are, looking at a wall covered with randomly-placed shite tracks, which are barely visible under the thick coat of fresh horse glue. And it sticks to high hell. So in walks your mom, who says, "What in God's name are you doing with a fresh can of glue AND all of these stinky-ass, shite songs? And by the way, where's Mr. Ed?" But you don't know what to say, because you just saw a burly Polish man dump Mr. Ed into a tree shredder. I digress.... While there are some standouts (“Bossy”, “Blindfold Me,” “Talkin That Shit,”) the record falls flat while losing itself in a fat tub of mediocrity. Will I Am’s pop-production kitsch is the antithesis to Kelis’s nastiness and manages to suck any hint of sexy out of Kelis’s repertoire, while tracks like “Awww Shit” and “Goodbyes” are impersonations of days gone by that barely fill up space.

This is not to say that you won’t enjoy the record. I mean, being a one-trick pony isn’t bad if you look at it the right way. Remember Mean Gene the Dancing Machine? Love him, but wouldn’t want more than one lap dance from him. OK maybe two cuz he’s pushy…

Wax it if you like: the key of C
Wax these: Bossy, Blindfold Me, Like You

Check out "Like You"

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Like You


AND FOR THOSE OF YOU WITH A-D-D…

Favourite Sons – Down Beside Your Beauty
I reluctantly get past the blaring New Order riff from the first track, only to hear this chap start talking about horses. And since he’s already thrown me back in time, I’m now pressing stop and putting on Echo and the Bunnymen. Because I prefer it when they dance. Thanks.

Kasabian – Empire
A solid sophomore effort. When will everyone realize that strings are a good thing?

Golem – Fresh Off Boat
Thanks to Borat, Eugene Hutz, Ukranian Abba cover bands and Beruit, someone actually thought that the whole Eastern Kitsch thing deserved a big, fat hipster hug. What took so long? I suggest you check out the Klezmer All-Stars, cuz they’ve been here forever, Moishe…

James Figuirine – Mistake Mistake Mistake
You said it, schmeckel-boy. Now make it stop. Please.