M.I.A. sneaks in thru da back door...

"I can tell jokes. I can talk to the audience. I can relax. I can change my songs whenever I want. I can change the tempos. I can change the mood, because I'm in charge."

-the late Robert Goulet

This one's for you, big papa...

M.I.A. - Paper Planes (Rene Goulet's Golden Girl Conspiracy)

RENEGOULET.COM is here!

Yes....I've been away for quite some time (last post was March?) but you'll have to forgive me. I've spent the last 6 months drowning my libido in Vegas (aka Las Vortex). Twenty-three redheads and seventeen pounds of bacon later, I bring you RENEGOULET.COM

Please excuse me; I'm a wee bit frazzled and need to soak my nerves in a big, fat tub of porn.

But fret not; I will be back momentarily with new posts, new reviews and more tracks. In the meantime, a nice little bandstand banger to keep your arse warm.....


M.I.A. - Boyz (Goulet's Backside Bump)

Fergie In A Blender / Under The Influence Of Giants

It’s been four score and seven minutes since I last updated the Cylinder. I don’t have much of an excuse for my absence, other than the fact that the wind simply disappeared from my sails, which left me struggling to find a port suitable for the girth of Goulet’s Love Boat (yes, I did make a cameo on the ill-fated series in the 70s).

After months of introspection, I now realize that it is futile to live in the glory days of overflowing mammaries and bountiful bedside pharmaceutical bowls; I must shake off the doldrums of ice and snow and pray for the global warming phenomenon to rear its ugly head. Oh sweet, delicious iceberg, how you melt in my mouth like an aspiring showgirl…

Alas, Goulet has been quite productive during these winter months. Now I shall follow the Astrological path of Nostradomus while paying homage to the genius of Richard Johnson of PageSix fame. I love little baby lambs, so in hopes of overseeing herds of these scantily-clad creatures in due time, I hereby present the feather that will tickle the lion’s most sensitive nerve endings into a menacing roar. Or a horrifying meow…



Various Artists - Fergie In A Blender (Goulet's Self-Indulgent Clusterf*ck)

This one is easy to explain. I simply threw 20 darts at my record collection and vowed to include a sample from each pierced jacket in this subsequent cluster-f*ck. However it does not end there. As a result of this twisted mess, I am planning a benefit that will feature a live performance of this overwrought, self-indulgent ego-stroke to benefit my favorite charity, MABS (Moms Against Breast Sag), which provides enhancement to those who have been ravished by the risks of self-provided child nourishment (SPCN). It’s an epidemic that’s affected millions of mothers around the globe, and I urge you to give what you can. And, yes, that is the Barney Miller theme.






Under The Influence Of Giants - Mama’s Room (Goulet’s Bandito Mezcla)

This remix was influenced by the Golden Girls, Andre the Giant and a trip to Cuba on THC Airlines. Have you traveled with them before? I highly recommend it. It’s like Virgin Airlines for those who are definitely NOT virgins. Free Love in the sky, my little pogo stick.

NY Fashion Week Playlist

I’ve heard that fashion is simply the art of buying clothes you don’t need, with money you don’t have, to impress people that you don’t even like. Now if that’s not sexy, I don’t know what is. However I think that this criticism is a bit harsh; after all, I would argue that if it works for overweight punch-buggies smuggling tires in spandex, then I must applaud its merits. Touche Fashion!!!
Now check out a sampling of the music that shook vanity to its knees….

Marchesa Fall 07 - a frightening marriage of Jesus & Mary Chain, The Good, The Bad & The Queen, Clockwork Orange, Portishead, The Smiths, Heart, Requiem For A Dream, Death In Vegas, Led Zeppelin, Pan's Labyrinth, Pink Floyd & Tricky.

Music from Marchesa Fall 07 Presentation

Diane Von Furstenberg Fall 07 - pop sugar goes to Spain, amigo. Audrey Hepburn, Robin Thicke, Coco Electrik, Mika, Domino, Rossi De Palma, Lady T & Lionel Richie Flamenco Styleeeee.....

Music from Diane Von Fursternberg Fall 07 Show

A coming of age story...

At the behest of a friend who shares a similar love of all things sordid, I purchased the New York Times Bestseller "Confessions Of A Video Vixen." I don't know where Karrine Steffans found time to hone her craft between all the Rusty Trombones and Cellophane Surprises, but this girl writes like Emily Dickenson with a belly-full of Shakespeare's offspring. I could go on and on, but I'll let the text speak for itself:


On Vin Diesel:

"Reminiscent of a scene from Gone With The Wind, he pressed his lips firmly against mine, then as they parted, our tongues touched and then danced. I melted in his mouth as the sun began to set over Zuma Beach. I wanted to feel my skin and soft, round breasts against his hard, lean muscles. I wanted more than I could have at that moment, but what he was giving me was powerful just the same."

On Jay-Z:

"I felt comfortable around him and felt that it was all right for me to accept his invitation to take a ride with him down from the house and onto the beach. We hopped in the back of his chauffer-driven Mercedes S55 and took the windy road back to the shore of Zuma Beach. We continued to talk for a while until his driver parked on the beach and exited the vehicle. After a few moments of silence, Jay pulled out his penis, covered it with a condom and placed his hand on the back of his head. I was being a good girl, thanking him and proving my worthiness of the kindness he had shown."

On Bobby Brown:

"We had lunch at beachfront restaurants, in plain view of the world, and on one occasion, we fed each other raw oysters for two hours at a popular seafood restaurant close to the Santa Monica pier. He never missed an opportunity to tell me he loved me, and my eyes would dance as I returned the notion. But there were still many things about Bobby that worried me."

I'd live with the bad teeth to be a Brit....

Why does it seem that the publishers of American music magazines are of the Jerry's Kids ilk? Because they are, my young patriot. That's why I tune into the Brits for all of the latest dirt. Wanna know how many doodies Pete Dougherty did today? NME (answer: none cos the H binds him up). A sense of humor? Q. Reviews? Mojo.

You might be saying to yourself, "Goulet - I REALLY like Blender! They give me ALL the news about Gnarls Barkley!" For starters, you probably prefer the American version of The Office to that of the Brits. And you're probably a fat kid whose trailer is decorated by the sweet smell of candy bar residue.

A few examples of the American press juggernaut:

From Blender:


Well, you kind of are a handjob, Dane, so I guess that makes Blender a collective of handjobs for actually putting you in their magazine. I typed in "dane cook sucks" in Google and guess what I found? A website named - you guessed it - danecooksucks.com. Wow. This mag should be called "Blunder."




From URB:

First of all, the word "HOLLA" was put to rest a long time ago, chico. We need to find you a new word, one that's NOT as played as your dirty skeevies. And the review? I'm surprised that your house has not been torched for comparing Hot Chip to the Beatles. You just peed on the graves of every Brit that has ever passed beans-and-toast inspired gas, my friend. Touche.

And on the Brit side....

From Q:




Now that's some funny shit. Period. And it really does make you think - wouldn't someone as high-maintenence as Mariah Carey afford herself a nice WAX from time to time? Apparently not, which makes her an enemy of the State of Goulet. Tisk, tisk Mariah. Well done, Q.







From NME:


Again, the Brits show their flair for prose. Commenting on a poster that was included with NME (how many American mags do that? Not since Bananas and Scott Baio!!!!), the Brits want answers. Which makes me think: It would take a lot of dirty fingernails for Kate Moss to register a Courtey Love score on the Stank-O-Meter. But that doesn't preclude Courtney from doing a little modeling on her own....

Apparently, it's Goulet and Courtey's cooch...

God damn I love advertising, especially when is smells of sweatshops. And who better to capture that odor than Courtey's cooch? Although she claims to be sober, there's nothing more intoxicating than a sweet whiff of her nethers, so the good folks over at Apparently American have signed her on as their newest model. What's that? Who's the striking fox in the gold lame tights? None other than Goulet and his insatiable appetite for the animal kingdom.

Goulet and JT get it on...

Here I am kickin it with JT and Timbaland up in Club Dunce Cap on the outskirts of Dublin. True, it looks a bit randy but rest assured; JT was simply picking my pockets so he could get up in some deviled eggs at the bar. They make da eggs so nice at the Dunce Cap! Tim looks a bit excited, but that's only because he was taken by Goulet's scintillating star-power. After I made my way thru the bevy of red-headed knob-seekers, it was time to drop some pain on the dancefloor. Let's just say I found this mix while digging for Xanax in my man-purse...

My Love (Goulet's D-Cup Send Up)

rUSs Weekly - Incest Is Back!

Oh god. I don’t know how this happened, but apparently the rules of biology have been thrown out the door and Darwin is nothing but a babbling lunatic. Brothers hit skins, give birth to rappers and suddenly Pete Doherty’s pharmaceutical game of pot luck has lost its luster. Russ is smoking pap smears again, but at least he didn’t kill any embryos in the process.

So in an effort to enlighten the plain, poorly decorated room that most people in this realm call the "blog-o-smear" I've decided to create a musical accompanyment to the recent findings of the always-clever pig greaser, rUSs.

Wax "WonderDogg"

or download it:
Goulet-"WonderDogg"

Playlist - Fat Women To Inhale Runways

So I went to a birthday party for a skinny model the other day. And guess what? The cake jumped out of the girl. Laugh now, but know that the day of the 80-lb POW look is soon to be kicked to the curb. Well, maybe not kicked…the wind will probably do just fine. In hopes of sending the “right” message to women around the world, protesters are demanding that healthier women walk the runways. Does this mean that I will no longer have to provide beats for 14-year old, prepubescent stick figures draped in fabric? Will I FINALLY get to see some Tits and Teeth??? Or will the Pink Mafia respond by sending the Russian Olympic team down the runway? Do you care? Would you rather have the media focus on important shit? Personally, I will let the self-righteous media spank-bags moan about that one. I just wanted to make a funny picture, ya know? C’mon, you know it’s funny.

Here's a sampling of what got waxed for the Spring 07 shows:

The Gossip - Listen Up! (TOC remix)
Teddybears vs. Hall + Oates - Cobraeater (Goulet mix)
Bugz In The Attic - Move Aside
Dollyrots - Be My Baby
The Grates - Science Is Golden
Pony Up! - Matthew Modine
The Blow - Pile Of Gold
Soho Dolls - Stripper
Sexy Finger Champs - Go Robot Go
Love Is All - Motorboat
Coco Electric - Sex Shooter
Razorlight vs. Bloom - Eyeliner In The Morning (Goulet Mix)
Planning To Rock - Bolton Wanderer
Jahcoozi - Shake The Doom
Neurotic Drum Band - We're Gonna Rock NY (Glass Remix)

And since you're so bi-specially curious, I've posted the music from Nathan Jenden, which contains a few arbitrary samplings of utter randomness. The first person who can name all of the tracks wins a date with Sumo Judy!!!! I'll give you a hint - the first track is somewhere on this blog. Now run along, children....

Wax Nathan's Spring 07 show:

or download it:
Nathan Jenden SP 07

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!

Check out "That's My DJ"

or download it:
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

Check out "Never Met A German"

or download it:
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"

or download it:
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...

Check out "She's My Man"

or download it:
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"

or download it:
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.

The Anti-Viagra

Eva Langora is not hot anymore. Ladies…take some advice from Goulet. The quickest way to encourage limpness is to either:

a) profess your love of the “new” Bon Jovi track; or
b) say that you don’t like Stevie Wonder

I speak from experience. You see, I once went on a date with a lost young girl who mentioned in passing that she did not like Stevie. Really? You don’t like Stevie? Then you obviously kill helpless animals and eat little children for fun so this date is over, you taste-deprived wench. I went back to the scene of the crime the next day and obtained this audiotape from the establishment, which was clearly trying to recover from the damage. Although you can’t hear the girl's senseless babbing over the roar of debauchery, you will surely hear when everything went Pete Tong...

Wax at your own risk:

"I Don't Like Stevie"

or download it:
I Don't Like Stevie

Music Reviews: July 2006

Muse – Black Holes and Revelations (Warner Bros.)

This album fucking rocks. Bleep. Oops. All of Muse’s albums deserve an expletive, for they are the rare example of a band that continues to grow hydroponically with each album. Kinda like JC Chasez. On their fourth effort, they deliver a cohesive stroke of greatness that can best be described as a spacey rock extravaganza. I am not saying that this album is better or worse than their previous efforts; I am simply stating that you are a toothless gimp if you do not buy this immediately. Although they haven’t met the Pope or saved African villages, Muse IS one of the most important rock bands of the past decade, worthy of Radiohead-like worship and Michael Jackson hall passes. So why haven’t you heard of them? Probably because some people thought they copied Radiohead, and nobody likes a copycat. I say those people are whiny losers that hole up in chat rooms all day in their underoos. If anything sets Black Holes… apart from previous Muse albums, it’s Matt Bellamy’s focused lyrical themes and the varying styles that weave throughout. Produced by Rich Costey (who produced Absolution), the band indulges in Rich’s enormous sonic palate, which includes productions for Mars Volta, Franz Ferdinand and My Chemical Romance. “Take A Bow” starts off like an ABBA-meets-ELO cosmic frenzy that makes the following, Britpop-flavored “Starlight” a bit more palatable. Such a great song with so many damn hooks that I even forgot about the Coldplay-esque piano hook for a second. The single “Supermassive Black Hole” is a pounding, Evil Heat-esque banger that finds Matt Bellamy pulling a rare falsetto that sounds somewhere between Prince and Spoon. (What? Dunno. Just kinda came out.) After starting with a nod to Depeche Mode, “Map of the Problematique” snakes its way into an operatic prog monster while “City of Delusion” is a string-laden, flamenco-tinged bomb that will cause mood swings worthy of a prozac-less Sebastian Bach. Shit I just fell off of my chair because I’ve been deluged by so many hooks. Ouch and ahhh. Ouch and ahhh...

Wax these: “Take A Bow,” “Map Of The Problematique,” “City Of Delusion”
Wax it if you like: Radiohead and Mars Volta in a Bizarre Love Triangle

Check out "City Of Delusion"

or download it:
City Of Delusion


Shy Child – Only With The Sun (P-Vine)

Shy Child is comprised of two dudes from Brooklyn. (A band from Brooklyn? Go figure.) Using only keyboards, drums and vocals, these guys deliver a relentless bombardment of moog-infected dance-pop that would surely shake the ice off of Condi Rice’s left boob. While Nate Smith lays down the slinky beats, Pete Cafarella drops a barrage of synth delights a la Herbie Hancock on E at the Hacienda, topped off with an eclectic vocal style that sounds like the lovechild of Jack White and Conner Oberst. (Hey, I’m not condoning Connor Oberst here. I’m just making a comparison, knowing full well that if Jack and Connor ever hooked up, Connor would get kicked to the curb before carrying the child for 9 months.) Even with limited instrumentation, Shy Child manages to fuse Daft Punk, the Neptunes and Timbaland into a playful stew of twisted beats and burning gristle. And the titles are so damn apropos! “The Noise Won’t Stop” is a broken-beat, saw-toothed orgie that will deliver the average James Blunt fan to Bellvue’s doorstep, while my fave “Break Your Neck” transforms an infectious vamp into a head-nodding volley that begs you to pull out your teeth with unbridled delight. Just as you’re about to jack your face full of novocaine, “Echo and Throb” rolls through your nerve sockets like a hijacked freight train commandeered by a rogue group of nursery school drop outs. You know, the shy ones that you could never quite figure out. OK, so the ballad at the end is a wee bit out of place, but I’m willing to forgive and forget. Shy Child is not easy listening. It’s a mental workout.

Wax these: “Break Your Neck,” “The Noise Won’t Stop,” “Echo and Throb”
Wax it if you like: Conner and Jack’s love child fronting a radio un-friendly Killers

Check out "Break Your Neck"

or download it:
Break Your Neck


Lily Allen – Alright, Still (EMI)

Unless you’ve been living under Ruben Stoddard’s chin for the past few months, you’ve heard the name Lily Allen. You haven’t? Well damn, son; unfold the folds!!! Simply put, the Brits churn out guilty pleasures faster than a greased hot dog sliding down Courtney Love’s hallway. And that’s a pretty big hallway. Following in the herb-laced footsteps of fellow Brits Louchie Lou & Michie One (“Rich Girl”) and Althea & Donna (“Uptown Top Ranking”), Lily takes the rock-steady reggae vibe, throws in some other worldly spices and drops an album teeming with clever pop anthems that SHOULD have been Ms. Dynamite’s second record. Dyna dropped the ball. Lily took that shit, stuffed it in her belly and knocked out this pop jem just in time for summertime’s stanky back-end. The comparisons to Mike Skinner are inevitable - - real tales from the streets of London, delivered in a sweet-yet-tough vocal style; clever & witty, yet sharp enough to cut the mole right off of Aaron Neville’s forehead. In addition to the heavy rockers vibe, Lily doesn’t discriminate against a good sample: “Knock ‘Em Out” turns Professor Longhair’s “Big Chief” into a rant against that tool with no teeth that tried to jack your number the other night; “Everything’s Just Wonderful” twists an easy-listening 60s Esquivel vibe into an uptempo boogaloo gem with a vocal that makes me think of Pink. Not her package, her voice, son. The single “Smile” is a laid-back rocker about the joy of seeing her ex-bloke cry like a pansy, and reminds me of a more bangin’ version of Lauryn Hill’s “X-Factor,” minus the crazy-ass vocal chops. Damn I’m full of comparisons today. Speaking of which, where the fuck is Lauryn? Anyway….this record is like that cute bird in the bar the other night that ripped off your clothes with her eyes and shagged you with a pool cue…was that a pool cue? That might explain my chalky bum. Translation: this is the right record for the right time. Not groundbreaking, but deliciously fun.

Wax these: “Smile,” “LDN,” “Everything’s Just Wonderful”
Wax it if you like: a lost weekend of finger darts with Miss Dynamite, Michie One, Posh Spice and Pink

Check out "Everything's Wonderful"

or download it:
Everything's Wonderful


Hard Fi – Hometown Hi-Fi (mixmag)

Are you sick of me talking about Hard Fi yet? If so, I suggest you start a perpetual purge of last nights’s Olive Garden salad bar and listen up, cuz there is no end in sight. Don’t remove your finger just yet; Song Airlines just went out of business so I’ve got enough barf bags to last Nicole Richie 10 lifetimes…Hometown Hi-Fi came with last month’s Mixmag. I don’t usually buy the rag, mainly because they only write about how many hits of E you need to drop to see Tiesto in Ibeeee-tha, where it usually goes all kindsa Pete Tong anyway. Life begins at 125! Bollocks!!!! However when I saw this CD I made an exception. Mixed by DJ Wrongtom (www.wrongtom.com), this is perhaps the finest summer ass-shaking initiative since, um, Lily Allen’s record? Seamless mixing don’t mean too much without great tracks, and Wrongtom goes above and beyond the norm with this jammie. A crazy dancehall remix of Billy Bragg (!) starts it off, before settling into a track by the funkiest crate-digging honkies, The Nextmen with Dynamite MC. Hard Fi’s “Dubbed Up Too Tight,” which is on the In Operation CD injects some dub stylee, followed by Eek-A-Mouse, tasty remixes of The Kills “No Wow” and Justice’s classic reworking of Franz’s “The Fallen.” Wrapping up with electromatic Uffie’s “Ready To Uff” and some aural jizz by Spank Rock, this CD is worth the Pacha-worshipping rag that you’ll have to carry under your arm before you can actually get home and twist one up. Right-O, Wrongtom. Now please send me another.

Wax these: wax ‘em all, mate. It’s a mix.
Wax it if you like: not being a wanker

Check out Nextmen w/Dynamite MC's "Bloodfire"

or download it:
Bloodfire


Other Waxables…

Razorlight – Razorlight (Universal)
I’ve only given this a quick listen and it’s quite randy. But Johnny Borrell seems to think that he’s the second coming of John Lennon, so no matter how good this record is I have to say that you are mistaken. Organic production and great songs that sound like a mix of early Modest Mouse, Costello and a less-punky Clash. You can print that.

Journey – Live in Houston 1981: The Escape Tour (DVD/CD) (Columbia/Legacy)
Steve Perry hitting notes like Ike Turner’s temper, Neal Schoen with a denim-encrusted package and Steve Smith wearing jeans up to his armpits. Utterly classic concert. And you can NEVER, EVER get away from “Stone In Love.” Thank you Mark “Darkness” Miller for letting me dance around your living room like a little school girl on myspace.

Dirty Pretty Things – Waterloo To Anywhere (Interscope)
The less-sober Libertine, Carl Barat shows us what it’s like to actually show up to the studio sans crack pipe. The result? A full-on, rocking debut from a band that will hopefully stay away from Kate Moss. Picture an English pub full of hooligans and horny birds grinding their sweat-drenched bodies across a Guiness-soaked floor. They scream “You Fucking Love It.” I scream “Yes I fucking do.” Mentally addictive.

Thom Yorke – The Eraser (XL)
The press can’t seem to remove their firmly-planted mouths from Thom’s johnson, but my jaws hurt so allow me to vent. Yes, this is a good record. However, when I hear a solo effort I expect something that sounds a wee bit different than the artist’s respective band. Does this mean that Thom’s sound is Radiohead’s? Maybe so, but I would love to hear Thom backed by nothing but a guitar, a dollar and a dream. Hey, you never know. Does it mean that Thom and Nigel are lovers that can only hold hands under the blippy, computerized moonlight? Well, that kind of explains thing a bit better. C’mon, Thom. Bring some grime next time.

rUSs Weekly - Why Chunky left the Monkeys

The Cylinder is expanding like Courtney Love's coochie! You know what they say: the bigger the waistband, the deeper the quicksand... As I was traveling through the backwoods of Kentucky last week, I met an interesting fellow. Russ. He is a living, breathing Ned Beatty character - complete with a greeaazy pal named Cletus. Anyway, Russ gets ALL the dirt and has agreed to let me share it with you. You won't find it anywhere else, unless you go to his house and manage to escape without becoming his Gimp. He knows my work on the Vegas stage, so I was spared the intrusion. Ladies and gentlemen, the Cylinder presents the first installment of rUSs Weekly - Why Chunky left the Monkeys...

THE NEW TASTEMAKER

Everybody’s a DJ, right? Wrong. You see, even if you have the most jacked Ipod in the world, the simple truth is that you can’t buy taste. And even if you do have good taste, we all know that it’s completely subjective, which means you probably wasted your money anyway. Plus, I’d rather not listen to your “creative” scratching of the “Under Pressure” a cappella breakdown over I-can’t-even-remember-cuz-I-ran-out-of-the-spot. But you meant to do it in the wrong key with no regard for rhythm? Sorry, I forgot. You’re so avant-garde.

It seems that this “taste-optional” trend has infested NYC nightlife, rendering it limper than Rush Limbaugh’s Viagra-less ding-ding. You’ve got the W. 27th Street outer-boro playlist, (aka “tunes for shaking overstuffed sausage bags to”), the NME-toting, I-look-like-Karen-O playlist (aka “Paul Epworth remixing Arthur Baker dropping a deuce?” “Yes!”) and an occasional bad Parisian dream complete with downtown hotel lobby “vibes.” While there are some notable exceptions, the overriding taste factor is about as bland as a Saltine cracker dipped in Evian.

Fear not, poopy pants; I’ve found the perfect solution. As tasty as a Wheatsworth topped with Foie Gras and Velveeta; unassuming, yet flirting with Studio 54 eccentricity. Where? Key Foods on 4th & A. I don’t know who’s dropping the beats at this culinary mecca, but I stopped coming here for the food a long time ago. Where else can you hear a set filled with Dazz, Billy Idol, P Funk, Alan Parsons, Romeo Void, Tribe, ELO, D Train, Heavy D, Tito Puente and Supertramp, all served with the random deliciousness of an all-Boars Head deli counter? Ah, but it seems as though the secret’s already out. The Pope, Reverand Al and the Heatherette dudes are regulars already. They even brought back the Studio 54 doorman? Is Susanne Bartsch behind this? I don’t know, but you better get there before the promoters come in and demand an all hip-hop frozen foods jubilee.

The Death of "Holla"

Goulet and Rick Rubin have a lot in common. We’ve both rekindled the career of a living legend. We also wear boxers. At least I imagine a man of Rick’s commanding girth would choose boxers over the all-too-constricting “brief.” In 1993, when Craig Mack ruled the airwaves, Rick decided that the word DEF had been co-opted by pop culture in such a way that it needed to die. So he had a funeral and laid it to rest. DEF was five years old, which is 50 colloquial years (human x 10 = colloquial years). Ask Hawking if you don’t believe me, boo.

Fast-forward 13 years and we’ve got another word that needs to die: Holla. (aka Halla, Hollaback, Challah). Holla started out in 1757 AD as a term used for a yearly gathering of Sikhs in India. Picture a Bollywood Coachella. “Where you at?” “Holla Mohalla!” This made sense, because homeboy was actually there. The term lay dormant for a few centuries, until a few peeps (careful, this one’s next) unearthed the term to add some flava (you too) to their vocabularies. Jay-Z, Biggie, Fabolous and other hip hop artists made the term ubiquitous with hip hop culture, however this time with a different meaning. While Goulet doesn’t condone yelling at people, “holla at me” was not simply a passive request to contact the solicitor. It was a plea for understanding. That’s right, hip hop has feelings, too. You remember LL’s “I Need Love?” I could get all Nelson George on you, but I’ll leave that one for Spike Lee’s next joint.

Suffice to say, “Holla” soon took on more meanings, from a form of punctuation (“My toe! Holla!”), to a seal of approval (“Me like Mike & Ike! Holla!). This is when shit started getting out of control and “Holla” began to wear out its welcome. Martha Stewart used it with Busta on some vapid MTV-VHS award show and then some skinny girl from the Valley gave the word international exposure while flanked by Harajuku dancers. Had she gone Bollywood she would have brought Holla back to its roots (sorry - unavoidable pun), but she didn’t. Have you seen a map lately? Then, just as the death bell started to toll, I was suddenly awoken by the grating sound of a nail being pounded into the colloquial coffin. Somehow, “Holla” became “Challah.” Look, Goulet is an equal-opportunity entertainer. I enjoy a nice Challah French toast with a side of Manischewitz syrup as much as a trip to Sylvia’s Uptown for catfish. However, some things were never meant to go together. Like syrup and catfish. The tipping point had been reached, and “Holla” tipped its raggedy, confused ass right into a giant bowl of Absynthe-flavored irrelevance. When it emerged, it didn’t know its name, much less where it came from. The end has arrived, and it is my duty to put “Holla” out of its befuddled misery. Off to a better place, where you can run hand-in-hand with DEF as “Beeyotch” lies in a nursing home with tubes in its nose…

“Holla,” lived a long and colorful life, name-checked by hip hop stars and homemakers, rockers and rabbis, and was used to pepper many an entry in Rene Gouet’s blog. “Holla” was 60 colloquial years old.

50 Cent to star in Hammer of the Gods

So I spoke with Senator Tang the other day. You still haven’t met him? Your bad. Just don’t mention his name if you ever find yourself hanging by your genitalia in a Thai prison. Tang tells me that a rogue group of South Korean film students are currently filming the big screen adaptation of “Hammer Of The Gods,” the unofficial Led Zeppelin biography. In case you haven’t read it, there’s a scene where the band catches a mud shark from the window of their bayside hotel in Seattle after a show, circa 1978. Like good Christian boys, they turned the shark into a rabbit, which was then used to penetrate the innocence of a very suspecting (and willing) groupie. Minnows for foreplay? Tang tells me that 50 Cent, who apparently received numerous Korean awards for his stunning portrayal of Johnny Cash, has been chosen to play the groupie. I tried to tell him that 50 wasn’t Johnny Cash, but Tang threatened to gouge out his own eyes if I didn’t acquiesce. As further evidence, he gave me this photo and recording, both taken from the infamous shark scene. When I saw the horrified expressions of Mobb Deep and heard the Deliverance homage at the end of the track, I knew Tang was right again. You go, Tang.

Check out "Whole Lotta Shark"

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Whole Lotta Shark

Music Reviews: June 2006

One-Two - Love Again (Four Music)

Frederic Beucher and Severin Tezenas Du Montcel are the French duo One-Two. True to tradition, they sing in the International Language of Love...English? Au Bon Pain!!??? Fear not, my little flower; while they do sing in English, their French accents add to the playfulness of their sunny tunes, which are devoid of gruyere-flavored pretention. I get the feeling that they speak the recently-annointed official US language with ease, however their penchant for placing the em-PHA-sis on the wrong sy-LLA-ble from time to time is all the more endearing. Touche, Les Halles. Linguistics aside, One-Two crafts deliciously edible pop tarts with just enough electronic production to hijack the sand from even the tightest bikini. Their songwriting is an unabashed nod to the 60s pop of the Beatles, Beach Boys & The Kinks, while their production follows in the footsteps of Air, Phoenix and Zoot Woman. (Stephane Briat, who produced Air and Phoenix, contributes to the record). “Blissful Boy” is straight-up Paul & John meets Brian, complete with lush harmonies and finger snaps, while “Emma Needs A Love Song” drips farfisa-fied mooginess and oozes pop perfection. On first listen, I thought of the scene from “Better Off Dead” when Layne “Wenie Man” Meyer pimps his Camaro to impress Monique, the vixen French exchange student. They cut out the scene of little Ricky sniffiing her panties, but at least his mom’s face gets blown off, no?! Ahhh...John Cusack. “Oh Yeah, Alright” takes the romper-room vibe new heights, as One-Two channels Oingo-Boingo into a frenetic beach-blanket-orgie, complete with Bea Arthur in drag. After all, they sing about “dirty socks for golden girls,” so it’s either this or an ode to Betty White’s menopause. I’m not sure, but you gotta hand it to the Frenchies.

Get these: “Blissful Boy,” Emma...,” “Oh Yeah, Alright”
Wax it if you like: Air on a speedball

Check out "Emma Needs A Love Song"

or download it:
Emma Needs A Love Song



Sam Wynch - The Lullabadeer (Down Pony)

I’m told that Sam Winch lives somewhere in Wisconsin. Then I heard something about a bowling alley outside of Philly. Doesn’t matter, because the truth is that Sam Winch is a burgeoning circus performer who is fully versed in the “Carny Code.” If you don’t know what that is, you haven’t woken up next to a bearded woman named Stingy. Hormone coctail, anyone? Those circus performers sure are wacky. Sam couldn’t throw knives or swallow fire, so he stole a guitar from a dancing monkey and learned to craft a tune. Now it seems that Sammy is all growns up and has perfected that craft. From the album’s title track, Sam sets off on a roadtrip through the nether regions of the heartland, complete with box cars, mechanical bulls and a keg full of elixir sold by Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney. (Before the sex change and divorce, respectively.) A true storyteller, his songs are peppered with vivid and colorful lyrics about netless trapeze acts, black and blue eyes, bad breath, love & loss along with a take on Pachabel’s Canon. Anchored by a 10-piece band, this is the closest thing to The Last Waltz that you’re gonna get without actually pulling the the lump of coke out of Neil Young’s nose.

And in true medicinal form, a few of these nuggets served as background music for Izzy’s 36Ds in Grey’s Anatomy. Hey, it’s not like he played at the Peach Pit on 90210, but I hear that hospitals RAWWWKK!! Morphine drips all around, orderly! You know what I like most about Grey’s Anatomy? All of those cute little medical terms sandwiched in between sexually charged shenanigans? The volupuous 85-lb figure of Miss Grey? Promiscuous bedside manner with release? No, silly; it’s that feisty little Sideways girl and her ability to put a smile on my McJohnson. Ohhhh, Sandra tickle my humanity!

Get these: “The Lulabadeer,” “One Two Three,” "Julio”
Wax it if you like: The Band, Little Feat, Menudo (just checking)

Check out "One Two Three"

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One Two Three


Primal Scream - Riot City Blues (Columbia)

Bobby Gillespie, the chemically-inclined leader of the Scream, once answered a reporter by saying, “you should take some California sunshine acid, whoever you are, and find out the answer for yourself. Then tell me, because I don't fucking know." Words to live by. Always willing to wing it, I’m told that Bobby simply dips his hand into a hat box full of meds and whatever he picks serves as inspiration for the next project. Starting with “Sonic Flower Groove,” “Primal Scream” and the incredible “Screamadelica,” Bobby went from Bart Simpson acid to MX-missles; “Give Out But Don’t Give Up” and “Vanishing Point” started out with Jim Beam-laced bong hits before working its fingers over to any-given-opiate, while “XTRMNTR” and “Evil Heat” saw a new school of modern pharmacology, as Bobby combined heavy doses of microwaved horse tranquilizer with crushed ritalin. For the latest installment in Bobby’s Rite Aid fetish, he dips his hand and...wait a minute...Advil?!?! Apparently, the grinding electronic pulses of the last two records gave Bobby a headache. On “Riot,” the Scream revists the no-frills organic sound of their earlier recordings, and while little ground is broken here, it still has the potential to shake 19 yr old girls out of their new “vintage” rock tees all over the LES. Starting with “Country Girl,” Bobby swaggers through a simple, Stones-esque bluesy romp that’s catchier than a malaria wading pool. “Nitty Gritty” tries to recapture “Rocks,” (aka Get Your Rocks Off) which is like trying to catch a greased pig. A tasty one that you plan to eat, of course. And while most of “Riot...” tips its hat to the New York Dolls, glam Bowie and mid-70s Stones, tracks like ”When The Bomb Drops” (produced by Will Sergeant of Echo and the Bunnymen) and “Little Death” breathe fresh electronics into Bobby’s little pill case. Sure, he sings about priests choking on rosary beads, but he’s only kidding, right? On paper it may appear dated or sound like a Hooters record (ouch), but somehow the Scream manages to make it as refreshing as a post-gumbo Tucks pad. If it were winter, I might’ve been a bit more critical, but I’d rather not alienate girls in rock tees, especially since this record has the potential to liberate skin from unnecessary clothing all summer long. Please enjoy before Bobby grabs a bottle of Absinthe-soaked Xanax.

Get these: “Country Girl,” “When the Bomb Drops,” “Little Death”
Wax it if you like: the Stones, New York Dolls, Diamond Dogs Bowie

Check out "Country Girl"

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Country Girl


Lee “Scratch” Perry - Divine Madness Definitely! (Pressure Sounds)

When I read today that Gnarls Barkley will only be photographed dressed as movie characters, someone said, “That’s twisted.” My dear friend, you obviously don’t know Lee “Scratch” Perry. If given a chance Lee would dress like E.T. everyday with Wonder Woman underoos on the outside as if it were his destiny. One of the true innovators of Jamaican music, Lee had his hand in the evolution of reggae, most notably as the innovator of dub. Employing only a 4-track mixing board, Perry showed us what a pound of kind, sticky herb actually sounds like by dropping deep bass, reverb-drenched guitars, screaming baby samples & cosmic phasers all over the mix. He produced a ton of records (including Bob & The Wailers’ Trojan recordings), had a number of chart hits in the late 60’s & early 70’s and then started bathing in Ma Brown’s mushroom tea. That’s when shit just got weird. While in his backyard studio, the legendary Black Ark, not many people blinked an eye when he blew ganja smoke on a microphone before burying it under a palm tree to record its heartbeat. But when Lee started worshiping bananas, drinking gasoline, christening people with garden hoses and built a duck pond in his drum booth only to burn his studio to the ground, people started to wonder if he was an alien. Like a Rasta Michael Jackson of sorts. Hmmm. The early stages of Lee’s pending lunar launch are evident on “Divine Madness Definitely!” which focuses on his early productions and features rare cuts along with the dubbed-out versions that were surely inspired by terrestrial fits of Red Stripe. While back-to-back versions of the same track get a wee bit tedious, his influence can be heard in everything from the Clash (who he produced) to Massive Attack and beyond. A true mad scientist despite the absence of the crutch we call technology.

Get these: “Dub Fa Ya Rights,” “Africa Dub,” “Kingdon of Dub”
Wax it if you like: King Tubby, the Slits, early Trojan recordings

Check out "Dub For Your Rights"

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Dub For Your Rights



Hard Fi - In Operation (Atlantic/WEA)

So you want a little more dub, huh? Hard-Fi, who managed to fuse Oasis and Blur into the best Brit-Slop album of 2005 (see October 2005 review) gives us a breath of fresh air with “In Operation.” The main component is a DVD that I haven’t watched. My fear is that they’ll do something to compromise my lofty view of them. For instance, Richard Archer might have an unsightly mole or bathe in runny egg yolks for breakfast. Kind of like how Evangeline Lilly is dating the hobbit from Driveshaft on “Lost”!?!? I didn’t need to know that; it kind of ruins the show for me, although Angie needs to meet my Other. You get my point. So...I moved right over to the accompanying CD, which is - surprise! - a dub version of Hard Fi’s recent album “Stars of CCTV.” (I try to connect the dots so you don’t have to overexert your pretty little frontal lobes.) This isn’t the first time that a band from the other side of the pond has infused their music with rude boy riddims - The Clash, The Slits, Primal Scream (you go, Goulet), Stereo MCs and countless others have all fallen under an occasional dubby haze. Massive Attack released a dub remix version of the album “Protection” (entitled “No Protection”), however this is the first time I’ve heard of a band making such a departure from their original sound, nonetheless as an entire dub remix concept. I shouldn’t work, but somehow this record is pretty damn sinister. Sinister like the bad guy you love to hate. The production is so tasty that I can almost hear Lee “Scratch” Perry digging through the ground to bury Richard’s microphone. Peppered with his reverb-drenched vocal textures, deep, droning bass, blunted horns and a bombardment of analog keyboard tweaks & bleeps, this is a great modern dub record. All of the tracks are laced together seamlessly, anchored by the spooky, uptighty version of “Cash Machine,” the rocking cover of “Seven Nation Army,” and mooged-out “Dubbed Up Too Tight.” Get this record and you will get lifted.

Get these: “Dubbed Up Too Tight,” “Seven Nation Army,” “Dub of CCTV”
Wax it if you like: Mad Professor, Scientist, Dub Sound System

Check out "Seven Nation Army"

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Seven Nation Army


Action Action - An Army of Shapes Between Wars (Victory Records)

The marketing sticker states that this CD is “for fans of Depeche Mode, Interpol, The Faint and The Killers.” Wow - they’re just setting themselves up for comparisons, no? They should’ve thrown in The Bravery to round it out. The problem is that Action Action can’t seem to decide what kind of band they want to be, so they end up sounding like everyone else. This is not to say that the record is a wash. When they remove the unnecessary layers of electronic noodling that may (or may not) evoke the above artists, a few of the songs are quite catchy (“A Tornado/An Owl,” “The Game”). But it’s still difficult to figure out how a dude from Long Island can adopt a lazy 80’s Morissey-meets-Thom-Yorke-tinged British accent. I guess it has something to do with Thomas Friedman’s contention that the world is flat... Besides the lack of originality and dull lyrical content, perhaps the most puzzling part of the CD is “120 Ways To Kill You.” It’s actually an embarrassingly sappy love song, but what’s up with the title? I’m beginning to think that this dude spent too much time in the underground parking lot at Nassau Colliseum. Hint: if you want to get the girl back, you probably shouldn’t kill her. 120 ways, nonetheless. Not very sexy. But before they head back to Strong Island, I've picked out Action's best Oasis impersonation for you to check out... J-E-T-S, Jets Jets Jets.

Wax it if you like: following instructions on the sticker...

Check out "The Game"

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The Game

Music Reviews: May 2006

Flaming Lips – At War With The Mystics (Warner Brothers)

Holy shit. Heavenly bowels. Cosmic leftovers. The Flaming Lips have made a career out of twisting peoples knickers into a frenzied state of confused bewilderment. On “At War..” they twist a little harder, leaving skidmarks that must have been the divine work of Picasso himself. Ahhh, sweet Downy… Following up one of the most critically-acclaimed concept albums EVER, “Yoshimi…” here the Lips concentrate on the songs and let their signature style of tweaked production and flair for arrangement tie everything together. And the production… I would love to be a fly on the wall in their studio. I picture elves wrapped in 2-inch day-glo tape, fairies with moustaches and mermaids with hairy legs all presided over by the mad conductor, Tommy Coyne, holding a velvet wand that coaxes his technicolor whims to fruition. People seem to think that Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd is sprinkled all over this record. While I see the similarities (especially on “The Yeah Yeah Song”), the influences range from T-Rex pomp & Queen glam to Beach Boys sunshine pop and everything in-between. “Free Radicals” sounds like a Mooney Suzuki / Jack White tweakfest (no it doesn’t sound like Prince, as Amazon.com likes to think – what’s up with their Prince fascination, anyway??) while “The Sound Of Failure” tips its hat to Todd Rundgren. “It Overtakes Me” is an epic piece, harking back to “Yoshimi…” with its cinematic arrangement. My only question – what will they do next???

Get these: “Free Radicals,”The Yeah Yeah Song,” It Overtakes Me”
Wax it if you like: the air that you breathe, g

Check out "Free Radicals"

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Free Radicals



The Raconteurs – Broken Boy Soldiers (V2)

Jack White likes Coke. Yes, the man who penned a catchy little jingle for the syrup-and-corn wielding, tooth-rotting juggernaut is back with a new band. Just don’t call it a vanity project. Jack has ditched the face of Marc Jacobs and formed a sort-of all-star band with Brendan Benson and some guys from the Greenhornes. Given the lineup, I wasn’t surprised that the Raconteurs rely mostly on their retro-rock influences. The lead single, “Steady As She Goes” starts off like a Joe Jackson tune and…well, it kinda rocks. Unlike the Stripes, the groove is a lot slinkier (sorry, Meg, but white chicks aren’t funky) and the additional vocals of Benson are a welcome change. Simply put, these guys sound like a band. “Hands” is a cross between “The Bends” and Bad Company (what did I just say?); “Intimate Secretary” features some interesting retro-meets-modern production, sweet-as-coca-cola harmonies and the best arrangement on the record. And then there’s “Store Bought Bones.” Brendan and Jack’s voices are like a Reeses peanut butter cup. Not sure if Jack got his chocolate stuck in Brendan’s peanut butter, but I’m not gonna explore that one. I’ll let NME start the rumors. But it’s nice to see each of these artists stretch into new territory. Granted, it’s not far from the comfort zone, but I’ll take it.

Get these: “Steady As She Goes,” “Store Bought Bones,” “Intimate Secretary”
Wax it if you like: Cheap Trick, Joe Jackson, The Guess Who

Check out "Store Bought Bones"

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Store Bought Bones




Cibelle – The Shine Of Dried Electric Leaves (Six Degrees)

Cibelle is hot. Let’s get that out of the way, because I really fancy a shag. But unlike most misunderstood, arm-candy “vocalists” this Brazilian-born vixen can sing you into sweet submission. Cibelle was introduced by the late-Brazilian producer Suba and released a loungy, Bebel-ish record on Six Degrees a few years ago. This record is a complete 180 degree turn. The production is incredible - - clean, organic, yet experimental and tweaked enough to bug you out if you happen to smoke a binger and zone out with your new Bose noise canceling headphones while walking up First Avenue. Sacre Bleu!!! The brazilian-slanted cover of Tom Waits’ “Green Grass” is gorgeous. Devendra Bernhart shows up on the silky, yet twisted “London, London” and Seu Jorge compliments the hooky “Arrete La, Menina” with background textures that have an air of desperation. Yes, the cover looks straight outta Berlin, but this is definitely not a Miss Kitten record.

Get these: “Green Grass,” “London, London,” “Arrete La, Menina”
Wax it if you like: Suba, Bebel, Maria Rita

Check out "Green Grass"

or download it:
Green Grass



Dudley Perkins – Expressions (20. 12 A. U.) (Stones Throw)

Dudley is one of the most original artists in hip-hop. Period. His first record, A Lil Light, was dubbed-out, dissonant hip-hop on Thom Yorke-flavored peyote. And while Dudley’s eccentric-leanings are still intact on Expressions, he leans more toward the soulful side of the street with stellar results. His raps flow like a stream of conscience, anchored by Madlib’s crisp beats and minimal, old-school soul samples. Dudley’s delivery is smokey with a flair for the melodic; what I like most about his style is how he tosses in falsetto lines, which, almost random by design, make for a truly original style. Like most of the releases on Stones Throw, this is not some Puffy-babble. (Diamond-encrusted backpacks from Jacob – holla!) The first track, “Funky Dudley,” takes a riff from Ohio Players’ “Rollercoaster,” breaks it down and serves as a bed for Dudley’s profession for all things funky and sticky. “Get On Up” takes a similar turn, while “Dolla Bill” makes a mockery of hip hop’s obsession with the Benjis; however his rhymes would probably go over the heads of those he mocks. The last line of the song, “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of being broke” serves the bling community with dose of reality before he flips it on “Inside,” which extols the virtues of what drives him: music. Oh, bittersweet irony, thou hast spoken. Merci, sweet Dudley.

Get these: “Funky Dudley,” “Dolla Bill,” ”Me”
Wax it if you like: J Dilla, Mad Lib, Stones Throw

Check out "Funky Dudley"

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Funky Dudley



Adam Green – Jacket Full Of Danger (Rough Trade)

With the release of his forth solo record, Adam Green (formerly of the Moldy Peaches) continues his journey down the road less-traveled, anchored by his own drumbeat that leads him towards an island of gleeful randomness. From the first note, I feel like I’m trapped in a dream conducted by Bill Murray riding a half-Eddie Rabbitt, half-Lawrence Welk centaur. Sounds strange, but when you hear Adam Green talking about smoking crack like Isaac Asimov while backed by a Burt Bacharach tribute orchestra you’ll know what I mean. There’s something perversely enjoyable about all of this, though. I have a thing for the bird that played the fiddle in Welk’s band, and “I Love A Rainy Night” is one of those songs that makes a trip to the dentist seem like a vacation. And Eddie’s hair is chic. Mr. Green is a quintessential musical humorist. But unlike Richard Cheese, who revisits modern-day chart toppers with a Holiday-Inn Velvet Lounge approach, his lyrics are clever and at times hilarious without being corny. “How many drugs does it take to find something to say? How many drugs does it take to find something to do?” Classic tortured pop-star etiquette. This may not be the record that you listen to over-and-over again as you get primp your cute little beehive and apply Enjoli to you nether-regions before you do the 27th Street shuffle on a Saturday night, but if you have a twisted musical sense of humor, you will definitely enjoy like Goulet.

Get these: “Pay The Toll,” Vultures,” “Drugs”
Wax it if you like: Burt Bacarach on Ectasy, Richard Cheese

Check out "Pay The Toll"

or download it:
Pay The Toll

Playlist: GenArt Styles 2006 @Hammerstein Ballroom

Big ups to the GenArt Massive. Yes, they picked a perfect stage for Goulet to peddle his wares. Granted, it’s not the Sands, nor is it the Tropicana, but Goulet is never one to shy away from skinny girls as they gallop down the runway with the resolve of the most determined postal worker. I’ve even treated you to a behind-the-scenes photo of my elusive DJ stance. Here are the tracks that fueled their erotic fury:

Madison – “Let’s Go”
The Rakes – “Retreat” (Phones remix)
Crazy Girl – “The Rebel” (Niyi Can’t mix)
Infadels – “Top Boy”
The Cramps – “You Got Good Taste” (Goulet’s Motrin mix)
Jahcoozi – “Shake The Doom” (original mix)
One-Two – “Heady Melody”
Shy Child - "Break Your Neck"
Sid Vicious - "My Way"

Coach + Ella =

Ooooh I’ve got that burning sensation again. But this time it’s not from that girl Sophie from Pigalle. No, it’s just that I’m sitting in a field in Indio, CA while the sun whittles my senses down to a dull pile of bio-degradable nonsense. God DAMN it is hot!!!!

Yes, there was a lot of hype around some of the bands that performed at Coachella 2006. Then Hard-Fi and The Subways cancelled. Wankers. Fret not, my pretty little flower; there was still enough music for even the most seasoned NME-reading, Pitchfork-gazing, body-by-Vice, tube-sock-wearing disciples to choose from.

And now for the awards…

PLEASE HAMMER DON’T HURT EM award:
Wolfmother. That’s all you need to know, skippy. They stuck their feet so far up everyone’s rumps that it felt like a night in Fire Island. Channeling the fury of Zeppelin, the vocal acrobatics of Geddy Lee and the ‘fro of Richard Simmons, this Aussie trio brought more pain than a kidney stone. “Who can it be knocking at my door?” Actually, they just kicked your fuckin’ door down, Colin. ROOOCCKKK!!!!

OK YOU JUST MAY HAVE LIVED UP TO THE HYPE award:
Gnarls Barkley. You know that song. Crazy. Number One downloaded blah blah blah. Frankly, I try not to get swept up in all the media frenzy, but suffice to say that Gnarls made me forget about that duo from Atlanta - - you know the one with the guy from Be Cool aka Get Shorty II? What's his name? Backed by a full band, backup singers and a string section (all dressed as characters from The Wizard Of Oz, nonetheless) Cee-Lo and Danger Mouse’s Memphis-meets-psychadelic rock-hop set whipped the crowd into a frenzied orgy complete with naked midgets and pudding. At least that’s what I think I saw. The 45 min set was perfect; I’m not sure if I could’ve handled another set of Cee-Lo. No offense, but I think he was a wee bit excited and peed his pants.

TRANSCENDING THE HIPSTER BANDWAGON award:
Tie: Yeah Yeah Yeahs / Bloc Party. Say what you want about these kids, but they know how to write snappy tunes and have the stage presence to back it up. And they’ll probably be around for longer than you can say “Primates in Antartica.” Thank you sir, may I have another.

THANK GOD YOU PLAYED IN THE EVENING award:
Daft Punk. Imagine having to wear full space gear in the 100-degree heat. No thank you, mon ami. Dirty, sweaty, grinding, uncontrollable mayhem. No, I’m not talking about Courtney Love’s urine sample. I’m talking about two fine Frenchmen that turned the desert into a 5 million gallon hot tub filled with champale and debauchery. Touche!

TRUE BLUE BALLS award:
Madonna. 20 minutes late. Five songs. Two featuring her on guitar. Sure, her butt looks great, but I think she’s entering the next phase of her career: menopause.

HIGH SCHOOL PEP RALLY award:
The Go! Team. These guys brought me back to the days of Kids Incorporated and cheerleading tryouts. Everyone thought Goulet was a bit fem for being on the cheerleading squad, but I’d rather look up a skirt than take a snap from stinky boy, oui? This band looks like they fell out of a Benetton ad, minus that goofy rugby with the word “Benetton” on it. You know you rocked that, you middle-aged hipcheck! The Go! Team isn’t about crafting unforgettable tunes, but what they lack in the hook department they make up for with their energy and unparalleled eclecticism. Bravo, young lads.

Honorable mention:

NOT YOUR AVERAGE JULIEN LENNON award:
Damien Marley. Proof that roots never die.

I DON’T UNDERSTAND A WORD YOUR SAYING BUT IT DOESN’T MATTER BECAUSE MY FEET CAN’T STOP MOVING award:
Amadou and Mariam. Transcending language barriers and showing everyone that Africa is where it all started.

THANKS FOR THE ALMOST 19TH NERVOUS BREAKDOWN award:
Cat Power. Her set was amazing. Backed by the guys who played on her record, there was only one meandering moment of weirdness. Well done, Ms. Power.

HELP I’M WRAPPED IN GOLD TINFOIL award:
Jake Shears of the Scissor Sisters. But at least it was designer tinfoil.

WHO SAYS YOU NEED A BAND? award:
Tie: Jamie Lidell / Imogen Heap. Can you pronounce her name? I can’t. Don't care. Feed me more.

WHO DID YOU HAVE TO BLOW TO GET IN HERE award:
James Blunt. Product placement at its worst.

PLEASE PLAY ANOTHER SONG FROM YOUR NEW ALBUM award:
Tie: Depeche Mode / Tool. Because they need the money.

LIKE WATCHING PAINT DRY award:
Tie: Sigur Ros / Massive Attack. Look! He moved! Wait…My bad.

HA HA WHITE PEOPLE DANCE FUNNY award:
Kanye West. What a riot. All jokes aside, he tore the place apart.

HUMILITY DOESN’T GROW ON TREES award:
Kanye West. Makes me forget that he tore the place apart.

MISS KITTIN, WHO? award:
Lady Sovereign. One of the most exciting performers in hip hop. Yes, she looks like one of the Spice Girls. Yes, she will beat you to a bloody pulp if you tell her that.

I’M KINDA TIRED. CAB FARE IS ON THE DRESSER award:
Franz Ferdinand. Do do do I really want to? Want to what? Change the channel? Yes, please.

YOU PLAYED TOO DAMN EARLY SO I MISSED YOUR SET award:
Tie: Nine Black Alps, Infadels, White Rose Movement, Be Your Own Pet, Mates of State. But I’m sure you all did fine in the 100-degree, 1 o’clock heat.

Music Reviews: April 2006

Who the F*** is Pete Doherty? – directed by Roger Pomphrey

You’ve probably heard Pete Doherty. Although the British music press anointed him the second coming of Lennon after he and his former bandmates, The Libertines, released “Up The Bracket” a few years ago, it’s his appetite for any ingestible substance and a short lived snog-fest with Kate Moss that has fueled a British tabloid frenzy. Kind of like Page Six soaked in a vat of swine, ‘init? His daily diet is public knowledge: an ounce of coke, a tub full of H and a few gallons of whiskey topped off with handful of E-bombs and enough crack cocaaaaiiine to set Pookey Bear off for a year. He gets arrested every time he leaves his house and can’t seem to go anywhere without wrecking the place or crashing a car trying to get there.

All of these sordid accounts have turned Pete into the most famous junkie in the UK. While they have taken the focus away from his prolific talents, they’ve also added to the mystique of an often misunderstood artist who some call a genius. This is the theme of “Who The **** Is Pete Doherty?”

The sheer influence that he has over his fans is mind blowing. When he decides to show up, he throws himself into every crowd, engages his followers at every show and once had fans line up outside his bedroom so he could play personal requests for each one of them. And the candid footage of him riffing on the guitar is almost as chilling as his buddy’s upper row of teeth.

After seeing this documentary, I honestly think that Pete should get a life-long hall pass from any and all incrimination. Kind of like how Jacko is allowed to molest whomever he wants for having recorded Off The Wall and Thriller. But first he’s got to make it past 27. Jimi, Janis and Kurt couldn’t do it. Maybe history will repeat itself…

“Who the Fuck Is Pete Doherty,” by Roger Pomphrey (57 min) – the Real Player stream is available FREE and worth every second. Absolutely genius.

Check it:
Who The F*** Is Pete Doherty?



Prince – 3121 (Universal)

God damn this record is hot. However I just read a review on Amazon.com that claimed “Prince is the black Beck.” Right. And Stevie Wonder is the black Jamiroquai. Now please excuse me, dipshit, while I write something intelligent to the short man perched atop diamond heels, draped in chiffon and dripping in sex:

Dear Mr. Prince: Thank you for listening to Purple Rain, Controversy, Sign O’ The Times, Lovesexy, et al before you went into the studio. Thank you for not inviting Scott Storch, Linda Perry, Missy Elliott or Fantasia to pitch in. Thank you for inviting Maceo Parker. Thank you for not covering “Devil’s Haircut” because that would have added validity to the above-referenced review by the handjobs over at Amazon.com.

I could go into particulars about each track, blah blah blah, but I think you get my point.

Get these: “Get On The Boat,” “Fury,” “Love”
Wax it if you like: bashing the dude who made the Beck comment

Check out "Love"

or download it:
Love



Jarvis Cocker & Steve Mackey – The Trip (Family Recordings)

If I hear one more “Late Nite With…” compilation I’m going to…um…I don’t know, get all existential and shit? Que dramatique! These comps usually seem forced and pretty damn boring. Enter “The Trip.” Brilliantly compiled by Pulp’s Jarvis Cocker and Steve Mackey, this is the most random selection of music I’ve heard since Captain Kangaroo ate LSD and played Zamfir covers on his balls. From classical noise to murder pop; droning girlie rants to psycho-billy, this collection of songs (yes, songs) is not simply out of the box, it doesn’t even know what a box is. But unlike the Captain, this collection draws you in like an online predator that just needs someone to talk to. (You being the vulnerable teen, of course.) There must be a more elaborate story behind this acoustically twisted mix than the liner notes lead me to believe, but it’s probably stuck somewhere between a twitch and a vice deep in the tweaked collective psyche of its creators. If you’re looking for a tweaked collection of songs you’ve never heard, this is for you. However, if you’re looking to extend your new Arctic Monkeys fascination, you might want to pass. Whatever the case, just don’t listen to it before you go to sleep because you will wake up with no head.

Get these: The Beach Boys “Feel Flows,” The Human League “Rock n Roll,” Dion “Purple Haze”
Wax it if you like: complete randomness

Check out "Feel Flows"

or download it:
The Beach Boys - "Feel Flows"



Fred Thomas – Turn It Down (Ypsilanti Records)

Some artists spend tons of money to harness the lo-fi sound. Others just set up some mics in their bedrooms and push record. While the latter approach can yield truly scary results, Fred Thomas pulls it off with wonderful ease. Fred is a member of Saturday Looks Good To Me and runs Ypsilanti Records out of what I would imagine to be his little crib in Michigan. Probably nowhere near 8 Mile, son. The songwriting is amazing. The instrumentation is sparse, anchored by acoustic guitar, minimal percussion, strings and Fred’s humble melodies. It’s definitely poppy in an early Ben Folds vein, but ultimately veers favors the eclectic more so than most emo-ish outfits. Yes, he does sound like that Conor Oberst dude, but minus the relentless whining. I’m sure you’ll hear this on the OC Anatomy soon, so get it before it gets thrown into the shoe-gazer abyss…

Get These: “Synthesizer Parts,” “Turn It Down,” “Throw Me A Line”
Wax it if you like: Modest Mouse, New Pornographers, Conor on meds

Check out "Synthesizer Parts"

or download it:
Synthesizer Parts



Madison – EP (dunno)

Finally, a girl that can rock and still be sexy. The Donnas tried to do it, but their packages ultimately got in the way. So did Courtney Love, but her cooch had other plans… Ah, but then there’s sweet Madison. When I first heard “Let’s Go” I couldn’t make up my mind if I wanted her to punch me in the face or simply use me like a wet nap. Pain or hygiene, you ask??? Oh, sweet confusion, hath thou no remorse? Madison manages to make lines like “I like it dirty/I like it sweaty/I like to win a little competition” sound flirty without having to hike up her skirt like Clay Aiken. “Personal Porn Star” is a bit, um, contrived and would be better suited for Paris Hilton’s album, but Madison is allowed one mishap, no? After all, for a fleeting moment she made me forget that people like Fefe Dobson and Ashlee Simpson ever made it past the olive in their daddy’s martini. The songs are catchy. The production is tight. Not unlike Courtney Love’s rash or stretched forehead. I’m told that her EP is available on itunes, but it appears that some of the songs I have in my frothy little hands are unreleased. No worries – get the songs as long as you don’t mind being shackled to the wall by Steve Jobs.

Get these: “Let’s Go,” “Radiate”
Wax it if you like: Shirley Manson, Transister, Pat Benatar for the Millenium

Check out "Let's Go"

or download it:
Let's Go




Various – Monsieur Gainsbourg (Revisited) (Universal/Barclay)

Ah, the French. Somewhere between Johnny Haliday and Jerry Lewis they managed to find time for Serge Gainsbourg, who has become a national icon since his death in 1991. After a flood of reissues commemorating the anniversary of his death, his catalog is “revisited” by a truly eclectic mix of artists. All sung in English. Huh? Oh, well – so much for French pride. Regardless, the collabs are different and daring: Jarvis Cocker and Kid Loco, Marianne Faithfull w/Sly &Robbie, Franz w/Jane Birkin to name a few. There are some interesting results: Franz and Jane turn out a mysterious, sensually rocking version of “A song for Sorry Angel” Feist’s “Boomerang” breathes sex, and Jarvis and Loco’s track is a true homage to Serge’s legend. But I must scratch my cabbage head over some of the choices. Brian Molko from Placebo, whose voice makes me want to convert to celibacy, is Serge’s antithesis. The Rakes cockney rock doesn’t exactly embody sexuality, and Tricky is just…Tricky. And did I forget to mention that all of the songs are in English? It would have been nice to get some contributions by some other frenchies (Keren Ann, Air, Zoot Woman, etc) but overall it’s definitely worth checking out before you go and riot for your right to keep a lifetime civil service job, no? Touché!

Get these: “Boomerang,” “I Call It Art,” “A Song For Sorry Angel”
Wax it if you like: eclectic tribute records

Check out Franz and Jane's "Sorry Angel"

or download it:
Franz and Jane - "Sorry Angel"



Jane Birkin – Fictions (EMI)

Moving on with the Frenchies. Well, kind of. Jane Birkin was actually born in England but has lived in France for the past 40 years. Apparently it was something about the food. Ms. Birkin is best known for her breathy background vocals on Serge Gainsbourg’s recordings and has released a number of records on her own, most recently “Arabesque,” which “revisited” songs from Serge’s catalog with a Middle Eastern slant. Seeing a pattern? Nothing gets past Goulet. Honestly, I don’t know much about Jane, but when I heard that my idol Gonzalez produced this record (he of Feist, Chilly G and the Kitty Yo crew), I immediately threw off my clothes, painted “J’Adore Jane” on my nether regions and ran through the Tompkins Square Park like a man possessed. And the music? Quite lovely. Her version of Neil Young’s “Harvest Moon” is gorgeous. The arrangement is lovely, the instrumentation is refreshing and she makes the song her own. Tom Waits’ “Alice” gets similar treatment, as do new tracks like “Steal Me A Dream” (written by The Magic Numbers) and “Waterloo Station” (written by Rufus Wainwright). Oh, and did I mention that she sings in English? I’m beginning to think that the Frenchies just want to be like us after all…

Get these: “Harvest Moon,” “Alice,” “Steal Me A Dream”
Wax it if you like: Keren Ann, Carla Bruni, Feist

Check out "Harvest Moon"

or download it:
Harvest Moon



Secret Machines – Ten Silver Drops (Reprise/Warner)

Secret Machines made a splash with their debut album “Now Here Is Nowhere,” drawing raves from Bowie and comparisons to Pink Floyd. Their follow-up, “Ten Silver Drops” starts off on a more personal note than the first album - - they sing about love, loss and heartache - - and seem to have ditched the other-worldly Star Trek lyrical vagueness that made “Nowhere Again” and “First Wave Intact” so infectious. This is not necessarily a bad thing. Actually, it works pretty well for most of the record. The first cut “Alone, Jealous and Stoned” finds Ben Curtis in a more personal, vulnerable space without detracting from the intense arrangements and sonic cluster-fucks. “Lightning Blue Eyes” hits you with so many hooks that you’ll almost forget to grab the bong in time for “Daddy’s In the Doldrums,” an eight-minute blues-tinged trek through the bridges Of Humboldt county. “I Hate Pretending” finds Ben doing his best Chester Bennington imitation over odd time signatures, but by then you might have passed out face-down in your meat in a purple haze. And if you don’t eat your meat, you won’t get any pudding. Thank you sir may I please have another.

Get these: “Alone, Jealous and Stoned,” “Daddy’s In The Doldrums”
Wax it if you like: Floyd, Embrace, Kent

Check out "Alone, Jealous and Stoned"

or download it:
Alone, Jealous and Stoned