for your * pleasure: hey, look! an apologies post!
By Kervin | April 8, 2010 | No Comments
yes, yes. we’re terrible people for ignoring our cash-cow blog. we should really spend more time ranting at the internet because holy shit, this website is genning up DUMP-TRUCK LOADS OF DOLLARS for us. but you see, we (meaning I– I can’t really speak for anybody but myself) have been six hell-tons of busy with projects for school, (professionally matted) working, (counting beans– twice) socializing, (getting drunk and naked and hanging out like i was some goddamn clothed emperor or something) and when we can find the time, sleeping (ha ha ha. just kidding. there’s no time for that.) the sad thing is, i haven’t had a good stretch of solitary moments when i can stretch out and listen to creepy music in the dark while i flick a knife open and closed and think about the catastrophe what is the world. I HAVE JUST BEEN TOO DAMN BUSY. but! i have been keeping up with my ultra-cool, but not tom waits cool, indie music blarg subscriptions, plus i have met some people who have amazing taste, so today i will cop-out and give you an installation of FOR MY PLEASURE BECAUSE IT’S GOOD GODDAMNIT, I WISH I COULD TAKE SOME OF THE CREDIT BUT I REALLY CAN NOT, BUT THAT DOESN’T REALLY MATTER ANYWAY BECAUSE I WILL NEVER BE THAT GUY WHO FINDS OUT ABOUT A BAND BEFORE ANYONE ELSE BECAUSE — LET’S FACE IT — NOBODY IS EVER THAT GUY.
jana hunter. yeahhhh, jana hunter:
Have You Got My Money by Jana Hunteroh and uh, Jungle Rot:
Psychotic Cremation by Jungle Rothrmmm, how’bout some Lusine Icl:
A Day Apart by Lusine Icland some Mark Lanegan:
Hit The City by Mark Lanegan…
Ok, yeah. Nothing left to say, really. These artists are on constant rotation in the background while I ACTUALLY ACCOMPLISH THINGS HOLY GOOD LORD AND GOLLY GOSH DAMN. I am going to stay up all night drinking coffee and finish these photoshop assignments now.
for your * pleasure – what is the opposite of psychedelic rock
By Kervin | March 16, 2010 | No Comments
good evening, ladies and germs. please refrain from throwing your rotten fruits and vegetables of ignoring these huge chunks of text i devote to screaming about things i like for a second, that is, please just refrain from the internet standby of tee ell semi-colon dee arr, because i’d like to introduce to you FOR YOUR INTIMIDATION AND POSSIBLE SPOOK-OUT, another round of sharing the creepy music i devote chunks of my life to sitting down and listening to. it’s important.
i have a lot of paranoias. conspiracy theories, being buried alive, tapeworms, foot fungus, alien abduction, abduction proper, large spaces, small spaces, no people, too many people, forced intrusion, (remember that creepy fucker from m. night shyamalan’s sleeper-hit [read: piece of shit] unbreakable? “can i come in?” haunts me to this day.) undercooked seafood, goats’ eyes, cats sleeping on my face,
Orphaned By The Ocean - 2009
and BEING ON A BOAT SINKING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING OCEAN TEN-THOUSAND MILES AWAY FROM ANY SORT OF PLAUSIBLE RESCUE OR OTHER METHODS OF SUPPORT OR SUSTENANCE. HOLY SHIT. DEAR FUCKING GOD IT’S THE WORST THING TO THINK ABOUT EVER.
Teeth of the Sea - Only Fools On Horse Teeth of the Sea - Latin Inchesthat’s all there is to TEETH OF THE SEA’s album ORPHANED BY THE OCEAN. look at that album art. listen to those first two tracks. sinking with your tiny crew in the vast, ice-cold north-atlantic reaches of depths, surrounded only by a bunch of shit that people probably don’t even need, at fucking DUSK. flare guns hold standard-size shotgun ammunition for a reason.
for your * pleasure – i’m serious, introduce me
By Kervin | March 11, 2010 | 1 Comment
what up, peeps. i am overworked and underslept, which always makes for interesting revelations when i go back and re-read what i’ve typed a few days after the fact. so let’s all venture down the rabbit-hole to see how my slinky psychology and flimsy philosophies manifest destiny the shit out of this infinite canvas, shall we? speaking of how people see the world, and to tie this segment of FOR MY OWN DAMN PLEASURE, MAYBE YOURS TOO IF IT TURNS OUT YOU LIKE IT; THAT WOULD BE GOOD, I WOULD LIKE IT IF I SHARED SOME THINGS IN COMMON WITH MY READERS into the others, i hereby must present another group/dj who exists in a dark catacomb in the back, water-stained hallway of a literally-underground goth club, he who goes by the title AMON TOBIN.
i would like to believe that my good friend amon (we’ve shared a few candle-light cannibal dinners together) sees his world through a chipped, not necessarily cracked, diffusion filter precariously rigged with masking tape to a holga packed with a film far too low a speed to properly expose all the composed elements in the viewfinder. that’s to say, dark, gloomy, fuzzy, noisy, and so on. or at least, that’s what his music would like to convey.
supermodified - 2000
supermodified, which came out ten years ago, is not a well-guarded secret, which is great. spooky music of this caliber shouldn’t dwell in the shadows, no, it should be the shadows. and though you are at first given a strict dance sensibility, respected light-side dj, pulsing light and friendly-enough club vibe as the album starts, that’s definitely as light as it will get– the longer you listen, the further you are pulled into a dark hole, maybe a k-hole, with all sorts of twisting abstract smoke shapes in your peripherals. around all the sworled concoctions of unrecognizable, spooky samples, there’s a sort of lofty headiness that i decipher as both decidedly uplifting and maniacally crushing– so it’s definitely a good-headphones sort of album, certainly one you should find in FLAC lossless or LAME mp3 with a 192kbps encoding minimum. here, let’s take a taste:
now i’ve definitely heard amon tobin described as cut’n'paste jazz, which i think is appropriate, but not necessarily all-encompassing. that’s like calling ska “jazz punk.” there are horns, there’s some fretless bass, but i’ll be damned if i’d show this to my pops with the jazz angle. a better slew of arbitrary nomenclature would be NEO-GOTH-REVIVALIST-INDUSTRIAL-MUSH-POP, since i would expect the asymmetrical-blue-haircut, jhonen vasquez, knows-all-shades-of-black, thick-eyeliner crowd to willingly and peacefully listen to this album while they tag dark alleys at three-am tripping balls all the while. if you know any ladies whom fit this bill, please introduce me. or even better, LYNCHIAN-GROTESK, since this album plays like a david lynch movie does– nothing makes any sense, then it’s over and you’re sitting in the dark and scared shitless and you have to call your film-savvy friend david maron to help you decipher the various visual and auditory clues so you can go to sleep without having to worry about what the fuck do those mice even mean, their dialogue is so sporadic and nonsensical and backed by a super-sterile laugh track, is it a commentary on sitcoms or nuclear families or some twisted perspective of the human condition, i just don’t get it.
know what– i like this album so much i’m going to give y’all another track to sit on.
for your * pleasure – fedora the explorer
By Kervin | March 8, 2010 | No Comments
well hey there, studly and stubbly muffins alike. i’m really excited to have the ball rolling on this feature, as it’s a great platform for me to share with you and not feel like a skeez or anything because hell, you’re realistically an abstract smudge concealed or congealed by a keyboard and the various switch-offs network-to-network on this wild-west, rootin and tootin thing we call the internet FOR ONE, and also because i’m going about this from the mindset that, “hell, there’s no reason for me to collect all these great bands just to hiss at other people enjoying them, so fuck it, i’ll share,” FOR TWO. so, anonymous patron of the blog, may i happily present to you another enthralling installment of what i’ll consider calling FOR YOUR LOWBROW AUDIOPHILE PLEASURE.
Better get started listening to this one now, as it takes a while to get moving. Know what, quickly grab your headphones and plug those suckers in, cause I’ll be the first to say that this group cannot be thoroughly enjoyed through crappy macbook speakers. ok, so you’ve got some 40mm drivers glued inside the cans strapped to your head with the volume turned up as loud as it will go. go ahead and click the link that says THE KILIMANJARO DARKJAZZ ENSEMBLE and get ready to sleuth the fuck out.
Here Be Dragons - 2009
HERE BE DRAGONS is a fucking masterpiece like brick was a fucking masterpiece — under the radar and dark as hell. the band name is a misnomer, there’s less jazz here and more jazz club. if you can listen to this group and not instantly be assaulted with the image of a dimly-lit, blood-red brick wall, haze of expensive cigars, fine scotch, made men and dames ala my 1920s wet-dream back-door password-is-charlie-chaplin speakeasy, we’re not friends. or we just don’t talk as often as we should. i’ve said it before, and i’ll say it again: if it makes me want to don an expensive rabbit-wool fedora and .38 snubnose cautiously resting in a hand-crafted worn-in-from-time leather shoulder-holster as casual attire, i’m all for it.
for your * pleasure – this one’s about drugs
By Kervin | March 3, 2010 | No Comments
hey there, kiddos and widows alike. welcome back to my lazily and, recently, lethargically assembled triumphica indieoso segment i like to call “FOR YOUR EARHOLE PLEASURE.” you will have to grin and bear today’s segment being two days late; i will not make excuses for myself, and it will probably happen again. but you’re here now and i’m here now and i’ve got a lot of lovin goin, so let’s just chill and let marbleize all smooth and polished-like. a’iiiiight.
as promised, i’m here to give you a review of albums i find entertaining or insightful or flat-out decent enough to put on in the background while you get wasted with your friends in your lavishly yet modestly ikea-furnished downtown loft. so i will, and so it goes, and so i will go and begin with TERRY SCOTT TAYLOR aka wump-a-dum-buh-dah-bum, a-ree-tee-teedee-tee.
Neverhood Songs
NEVERHOOD SONGS is delightful and delirious. yes, this is a videogame soundtrack. back when steven spielberg and the rest of the gang down at dreamworks realized they had so much money that they could sink a couple bil into the growing casual computer game market, they turned to microsoft and landed a partnership that probably failed a few years after its inception, but however, whichever, whatever. they had the means to give a group of acid-head artists fourteen tons of clay and a ridiculously far-fetched deadline to produce one of the finest point-n-click adventure games to hit the market, THE NEVERHOOD. so a vivid, dynamic and otherwise wild and weird universe was dreamed up, rendered in clay, viciously programmed, and most importantly scored. by TERRY SCOTT TAYLOR, which is where that whole tangent began and where it will soon follow. see, caps-lock and paragraph breaks really ease this whole speed-reading process. it’s good for you.
for your * pleasure – beginner’s tutelage
By Kervin | February 23, 2010 | 1 Comment
hello, hello. welcome to another hastily planned and poorly executed recurring feature; this one’s specifically called “FOR YOUR LISTENING PLEASURE.” it exists because i listen to a lot of great music, and so should you. see, indie-scoff avoided. i’m a reasonable man.
keep in mind i will not be linking to any of the albums or songs mentioned, as this would be “illegal,” but i don’t want to keep you from enjoying the many jams to be cranked, so i will start off the feature with a great google query that will get you going in the right direction. use it with discretion, and as always, be prepared to get your pants sued off by gigantic corporations whose only aim is to make example of those unscrupulous people called “pirates.” oh, and please don’t play “pass the blame”– this query has been around much longer than i’ve known about it, and is here for educational purposes only.
so we want to try and find a song IN THE PUBLIC DOMAIN, yes? well, i like mozart. he’s been dead long enough that all of his copyright holdings have died too.
Three AM trip to Wisconsin
By Kervin | October 14, 2009 | 3 Comments
The planning stage of a road trip across the nation is an important ritual. You are committing yourself to something once started cannot be undone– in this way, many similarities to psychotropic substances can be drawn– so prepare accordingly. This serves as a guide to those unfortunate few who’ve never driven for days at a time. It’s a magical thing.
Packing
Consider the terrain you’ll be traversing. Where are you headed? I’ll be frank for the sake of example: I am going to Wisconsin. I will be leaving the southwest, a place of dry heat, for the shocking cold and snow of the upper midwest. I know that I will need a heavy coat, a scarf, sturdy, warm shoes, and some sort of cap. But I will also be spending most of my time between my home and my destination: Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, Illinois, et. al. I can’t be expected to calculate the placement of these geographies on the globe, nor know elevations, weather patterns, and so on. So I will take a range of clothes that allow for the unexpected, which brings me to another important header:
Don’t Pack A Bunch Of Bullshit, or, Travel Light
This is a short trip– four days, max. I don’t need my entire wardrobe. I also don’t want to load down the hatch area of a subcompact car with all of my things. Other people will need this space. Take one suitcase, max. Follow the basic rules of flying. Less is certainly more.
The Importance Of Money
Don’t be a dick. Share that shit, however much you’ve got, unless we’re talking about THE EMERGENCY FUND. Yes, have one of those.
Driving Jams
I am a romantic. I adore the feeling of the right song for the right place and the right time. It’s indescribable, but once again I will assume you have no idea just what the hell i am talking about just give me a good enough idea of what you mean and expedite the process i am impatient.
The giant clockwork what determines the courses of our lives is built of splendorous gold and silver cogs. It resides in the fourth dimension mere centimeters away from our own universe. Given the right songs, the right films, the right people and the right mood, this hidden layer reveals itself for you and, for a split second, allows you to bask in the tremendous glory of serendipity.
Now that you know I am crazy and that music is an important and often under-looked facet of the road trip, take some time to consider the future context of your travels. You will be cooped up in a car with people you will slowly grow to resent in an absurd, superficial way. (I will explain this later) Don’t be afraid to pander to the lowest common denominator, e.g., the person whose musical tastes are unknown to you. But don’t be afraid to be a dick and put on something nobody else is into. If you’re driving, it’s your call. The trick is finding a balance of everybody’s tastes and parlaying that against the amount of daylight out, how long you’ve been on the road, the energy levels of everyone involved, and so forth. Just pay attention and God or The Clock or Whatever will give you some ideas of where to take It. If you denounce all ideas of faith or metaphysics or however you want to call it, feel free to take requests from the folks in the car. You’ll save yourself a headache that way.
Oh My God I Can’t Stand This D-Bag Anymore, or, Coping With Road-Crazies
Imagine you’ve been on the road for six hours. You’ve had to listen to everybody openly speak their minds about whatever-the-hell the entire time and you’re considering pulling the wheel into that telephone pole just to shut them up. Don’t worry– this is part of the process. This is road madness. The cause is still unknown to me, (and just you wait I’m about to toot my own horn here) and being a self-proclaimed road veteran (told you) means I should. I can, however, tell you some of the solutions I employ.
- Tune that shit out. Put in your headphones. Pay attention to the lyrics.
- Relax. You’re probably just stressed from staring at the infinite stripes. Smoke a cigarette, take a stretch break, get someone else to drive, do what you must.
- Change the subject. Nothing too controversial, though. This will just make things worse.
- Meditate. Picture an expansive, cool, green field. You’re holding a bottomless Thompson sub-machine gun. The billions of rabbits explode into rainbows and daisies when hit. Go wild.
Smoking Patterns
If you’re a self-respecting hipster like the rest of us, you smoke cigarettes. Nobody thrives on wind noise, so minimize it by smoking with the rest of the pack. My trip will happen in a two-door, so spare the people in charge of windows the hassle of the up-down. Bring a satellite ashtray for the backseat so your coffin nail droppings don’t get rubbed into the upholstery.
That’s all I can think of right now. My advice to you: always exercise a great amount of common sense, possibly more than you do on a daily basis, and you’ll come out alive and knowledgeable.
