Yo, what's up my homiez? As you all know, Cobras is smoothed out on the hip-hop tip, keeping it real at the gym (right) when I'm not cruising the "hood" in my 5.0 ragtop. I'm dope and fresh. Like Mountain Dew Code Red I'm "as real as the streets". Word. There are two distinct types of this so-called "rap" music that I enjoy. There is the "weird" stuff, like Dr. Octagon or ODB, and then there's the "hard" stuff, like Public Enemy or Geto Boys. The commercial stuff can suck a dick (besides Brokencyde and Cyco Eva -- those guys are awesome!). Here are two examples of what I mean by the "weird" stuff and the "hard" stuff, both of them debut albums from around the dawn of the millenium, both of them by rappers who have appeared on IC in the past. Word.
BUSDRIVER - MEMOIRS OF THE ELEPHANT MAN (1999)
First, the WEIRD: Busdriver, real name: Regan Farquhar. Last seen on IllCon HERE, where I claimed that Mr. Farquhar "combines the inside-out, upside-down fractalizations of a good acid trip with the unsettling speed and confusion of an 8-ball to the head." Indeed. Hyperspeed, freeform poetry of the mindfuck variety. Crazy stuff, and highly recommended.
Next up, the HARD: Immortal Technique, real name: Felipe Coronel. Last seen on IC HERE, where I wrote up this album's predecessor, the aptly titled Revolutionary Vol. 2. To quote myself: "... you really can't deny the sheer power and lyrical artistry that I.T. puts forth, proving that he is both one of the most talented AND one of the angriest rappers out there ... this album just fucking KILLS, and can serve equally well as either a booty-shaking party accessory or a chin-stroking meditation on philosophy, politics, race, and violence. This is what It Takes A Nation of Millions To Hold Us Back sounds like 15 years later, with all the same malice, hard beats, and unexpected insight -- only cranked up to 11, stuffed full of Peruvian coke, and armed with two machetes and an AK". Volume One shares a couple of redundant tracks with Volume Two, but there's still plenty of good stuff on here if you've already got that one. Brutal shit. Word.
The Goodkind recently posted about William S Burroughs (and Shelby did here). Burroughs was a strange cat. I lived two blocks from him when I was in college, in a basement apartment on Baxter or Buchanan or something like that (it started with a "B" and I'm too drunk to remember) and walked by his house everyday on the way to the bus stop. After his death the university offered a class which culminated in a party at his former house (as in, the "final" grade was dependent upon whether or not a student actually showed up at the party). Above is his appearance on Saturday Night Live. Enjoy!
Back in 1989 a handful of unknown bands were releasing the first records of what would become the short-lived great white musical hope for the future. Punk we were led to believe was "breaking" up here in Seattle, as if to suggest that it was no longer serviceable as a form of rebellion. As much as we should all appreciate the raw energy of that new sound, I don't think there is any question as to it's integrity post 1991. But never mind, that's a story for another time and place.
All of that noise has a tendency to obscure the simple fact that up here in Rain City thrash was still chugging along with a good head of steam. Back in '89 I probably still thought girls were gross, but I did appreciate giant scaly 8 eyed monsters eating whole villages. The frequent tempo changes, and death and destruction themed lyrics of Forced Entry's 1989 release Uncertain Future take me back to the good old days of comic books and Dungeons and Dragons. Hell, I didn't have time for girls, I was on a fucking quest.
When Cobras posted the second record by these guys, As Above, So Below over a year ago he noted Forced Entry's fantastic eye for great cover art. As you can see from the Greg Winters piece above, they were on a roll.
2) Kaleidoscope of Pain
3) A Look Through Glass
6) Unrest They Find
8) Foreign Policy
(Anaconda is a little scratchy at the beginning because the source material is damaged, but I included it anyway because you will want to hear it)
Gee, there sure has been a lot of chooglin'-ass heavy psych/classic rock getting posted around here lately, hasn't there? Like, lots of self-titled albums released between 1968 and '71 featuring scraggly dudes in bell bottoms singing about sunshine and shit? Has anyone else noticed? Seanford, have you noticed that? Manslaughter? Anyone? (get a room already, you hippies.) While I personally have no issues with said stony jams, I wanted to post something today that's the COMPLETE OPPOSITE of that, something technological where hard psych is organic, menacing where it is mellow, surgically immaculate where it is scruffy and sloppy. I know, I know -- such eclecticism is contrary to the basic principles IC was built upon. But chill for a second, hear me out.
The mysterious one-man Virginia-based cyber-grind entity known as GIGANTIC BRAIN is the polar opposite of all things mellow, crunchy, and peaceful. Sounding like a cross between Mars Attacks! and Agoraphobic Nosebleed, the Brain's sporadic, alien-obsessed bursts of blasting chaos are the antithesis of "groovy", the type of schizophrenic sonic onslaught that incinerates hippies on contact. I've had trouble locating individual releases by Gigantic Brain (a quagmire of split albums, demos, EP's and the like have evaporated into the atmosphere like steam), but The Invasion Discography collects everything the Brain ever recorded pre-'04, including unreleased, expunged, and otherwise unfit material from the darkest corners of cyberspace: 63 tracks, each song an apocalyptic mindfuck. As far as I can tell, Gigantic Brain's long-awaited full-length, Our Bovine Destroyers, remains unreleased as well. Cryptic, evil sci-fi metal. Suck it, hippie.
Download HERE Purchase (Used, for ONLY $170!!!) HERE
And for this Lunch Lady, School's out forever. Ahhh, Summer. My favorite time of year. I do believe it's about time to throw on that Budweiser bikini, grab a 40 oz beer koozie, and pour a bottle of vodka into a watermelon and then turn it into a bong.
(Killing two birds with one stoned, wait...huh?)
It's time to get wild in the woods kids. I think the whole IC crew is due for a sweet vacation, although it would probably end up looking something like this:
Anyways, if you're stuck in traffic coming home from your lame-ass job, staring at the asshole in front of you with his trucker balls dangling, your radiator overheating, your crotch is all sweaty, and your just fuckin over it, stick in this sweet jam mix (dedicated to country hikes, getting high, jumping in a river, sitting in a tree, and making epic fires) and imagine you are here:
(Raging River of Fear-Big Sur, 2010)
If you're a regular around these parts, most likely you have at least half of these (as they are all part of my RFL list-REQUIRED FUCKING LISTENING), but in case you don't here are the links/posts to most of the albums for download. If there's a particular one that doesn't have a link and you want it, I'll upload it for you. Major bro move right there. Yep. Now in no particular order:
1. Weed-Sweet Morning Light (Ken Hensley goes to Germany and cheats on Uriah Heep) 2.Budgie-Whiskey River 3.Blues Creation-Mississippi Mountain Blues (love these Japanese trippers) 4.Flower Travelin' Band-Unaware (these ones too) 5.Black Mountain-Druganaut 6.Possessed-Climb the Wooden Hills (everything on this post is REQUIRED) 7.The Young Flowers-Overture (what is it with Swedes and being so rad?) 8.Cain-Born On A Wind (To a Limey) 9.Blues Creation-One Summer Day 10.Captain Beyond-Raging River of Fear 11.Atomic Rooster-Head in the Sky 12.Orang-Utan- Country Hike 13.Leaf Hound- Growers of Mushrooms 14.Sir Lord Baltimore-Lady of Fire (Excuse me, Sir; is this song about me??nah-narcissist.) 15.Alice Cooper- Teenage Lament 16.Iron Butterfly-Termination 17.Asterix-If I Could Fly 18.Art-Think I'm Going Weird (pre-Spooky Tooth project, pretty rad) 19.Arthur Brown-Fire (REQUIRED) 20.Socrates Drank the Conium-Naked Trees 21.Thin Lizzy-Old Moon Madness
Now, if you'll pardon me; it's about time to make invisible citrus in front of the fire, rip off clothes, carve a pentagram into my chest and go running like a wild animal into the forest under a full moon. Trust me on this one: it's good times.
Why isn't Faxed Head more of a "thing"? I don't get it. I mean, let's look at it rationally: this is a band fronted by a minor celebrity (Neil Hamburger) and featuring two members of Mr. Bungle (not to mention the equally disturbing Caroliner). If pressed, I would tentatively categorize their music (on this album, at least) as punk-and-death influenced experimental black metal (which the kids love nowadays), featuring equal amounts self-imposed obscurity and over-the-top, off-the-wall instrumentation. Shouldn't Faxed Head be a "thing"? What am I missing?
Now, I'm no huge fan of Mr. Bungle (it's mostly Patton issues), but Faxed Head does share certain conceptual points of interest with them. Luckily, the similarities are almost entirely analogous to Bungle's earliest, basement-thrash demo stuff (Raging Wrath of the Easter Bunny, etc.) and not their later meanderings in R&B, soul, or what have you. This is sloppy, stupid, bashing-your-forehead-into-a-wall foolishness, at times quiet and faux-introspective but most often chugging forth full-force on a freight train made of blastbeats, tremolo riffs, and croaked vocals. McPatrick Head, Neck Head, Jigsaw Puzzle Head, LaBrea Tar Pits Head, and Fifth Head have been churning out their ridiculous mental-patient metal since 1992, dropping EPs, splits, and demos of varying quality like turds in their wake. Their first full-length release, 1995's Uncomfortable But Free, is an absolute abortion of no-budget anti-production (on purpose, of course), but Exhumed At Birth finds them in the midst of what is presumably their most "listenable" phase (read as: "pretty much almost unlistenable"), still bathed in a thick, viscous miasma of blanketing fuzz but playing actual songs nonetheless. There is no other word to better describe this album than "RIDICULOUS". It is so lowbrow it is high art. Avant garde fart jokes, Jackson Pollock diarrhea finger-painting in a loony bin. Faxed Head are harbingers of the art-pocalypse, malfunctioning minstrels disgorging their psychiatric manifesto from the bowels of a small-town Taco Bell bathroom.
From Faxed Head's "official" bio: "In 1991, while cleaning up roadside trash on Interstate 5 as part of a probationary sentence for shoplifting, a young Coalinga High music student discovered a box of "death metal" music CDs that had fallen out of a UPS truck bound for San Francisco. He shared his discovery with his small circle of friends and they quickly became obsessed with the music’s imagery and dark lyrics. This did not endear them to the Coalinga locals (whose tastes run more towards "modern country" and Contemporary Christian pop), and soon the small group of teens became outcasts at Coalinga High School and in our community-at-large. An addiction to the harmful practice of "sniffing glue" caused the quick decay of the boys’ judgment, and one dark night, while feeling sorry for themselves, they made a suicide pact. After stealing a shotgun from under one of their father’s beds, they made their way out to the cotton fields of Coalinga and attempted a mass suicide by self-inflicted gunshot. Fortunately, the youths survived. However, the force of the blasts left them physically (and to a certain extent, mentally) handicapped. The boys were placed in a series of county and state rehabilitation programs. While undergoing physical reconstruction and mental therapy at the Coalinga Youth Hospice, the now-repentant teens decided to embark on a more positive venture: they decided to form a band."
I’d like to take a quick second to thank psychedelic bands for inventing heavy metal. Totally, totally appreciate it. From the wild screams of Roky Erickson and Arthur Brown to the heavy neo-classical worship of Black Sabbath to the hopped up chugging of Blue Cheer and Deep Purple to the outright Satan worshiping of Coven. I just want to say thanks. For tripping balls, getting bummed and inventing metal, I toast you. That said, in addition to bands that invented metal, I’m also a huge fan of post-pych/proto-metal bands that take psyche, pop, or soul music, slow it down, Hammond it up, and make it heavy. I posted some Child a little while back, they’re good at that. Manslaughter (the Sexecutioner) posted some Suck the other day, they rule at that too. But the kings of mega-heavy-slowed-down-screwed-and-chopped covers of 60’s classics has got to be the ever timeless Vanilla Fudge.
shredder shredder shredder shredder
You read IC so I’m assuming your tastes are both refined and sophisticated, generally falling somewhere between Burzum and Bernard Herman (someone please mash up some Virgard Herzum). Anyway, as I know you to be an extremely well informed and cultured readership, I’m sure 90% of you have been sitting on an original vinyl pressing of this record since 3rd grade and the last thing you need is for some 14-yearold-pop-punker to tell you to check out Carmine Appice shredding balls on the drum set.
To be honest, I just blew an entire work day composing 2,500 words about this band but lets face facts: I’m not a very good writer and you’re not the worlds most accomplished reader. Plus, like, why am I even trying to sell you on this stuff? I don’t care whether or not you spend your day downloading amazing records. In fact, don’t. Stop reading blogs, get off the internet and go get laid. I’m deleting my masters thesis on Vanilla Fudge, walking out of work early and having pussy for dinner. FUCK OFF.
Frank Chu aka "The 12 Galaxies Guy" is a fixture in the streets of downtown San Francisco, a beloved eccentric and conspiracist as recognizable to locals as the Transamerica building or the Coit Tower. Chu's trademark black protest sign, always emblazoned with morphing, nonsensical neon phrases (above), can be seen at sports games, public gatherings, or just about anywhere the news media is present -- although its meaning is a bit more obscure. If you need any further proof of Mr. Chu's integration into the social fabric of San Francisco, please consult Google Maps and check out the "street view" of 3rd and King:
Throughout all the media coverage and internet adulation, though, Mr. Chu's message has gone, for the most part, tragically unheard. Today we take a few minutes to review the facts in the case of Frank Chu vs. The 12 Galaxies, in an attempt to shed light on one of the most far-reaching and insidious human rights travesties of our time. Chu is not so much a protester as a freedom fighter, and his story will undoubtedly inspire legions of intergalactic truth-seekers in generations to come. I will relate Mr. Chu's story, whenever possible, in his own words (via his Myspace blog), as any embellishment or unnecessary insight on my part could result in The 12 Galaxies and the CIA transforming me into a dog.
As we all know already, Frank Chu starred in an imaginary television show in the 1980's called The Richest Family. His role led to intergalactic fame, although problems arose when payday came around. According to Mr. Chu, the leaders of The 12 Galaxies (a mysterious, powerful realm that has supplied the U.S. with all of our presidents since Jefferson) denied him payment for his role to the magnitude of "20 billions of dollars", which is why he protests to this day. According to Allexperts.com:
"Frank believes that he and his family have been filmed for years now without their knowledge and the show has aired as "The Richest Family". He found out that he was a star (and appeared on the cover of Newsweek, Time, etc.) because California Correctional Officers who were really movie stars who were really KGB agents told him---through ESP. In fact, nearly all the movie stars have ESP. Frank is not from another galaxy and never contends to be. He hasn't even visited them. He is aware of them (possibly) through ESP being sent to him by Soviet ex-presidents (alive and dead/resurrected) and KGB agents. Clinton, Hillary, and even Chelsea are "guiltied" of being in collusion with the first 12 galaxies away from our galaxy, while Frank is being aided by the Zegnotronic (120 galaxies away)."
The only way for Mr. Chu to retrieve his 20 billions, he says, is to raise awareness via protest, which will eventually result in the impeachment of Presidents Bush and Clinton and the payment of said billions. Immense amounts of "sex magic" have been perpetrated by The 12, as well as attempts to "murder God in the testicles". Chu aims to right these atrocious wrongs. In his own words:
"Ben Franklin with the 12 galaxies' populations is guilty of stealing the sex lives, trying to deprive his enemies (the Soviet presidents and their friends) of their sex lives. Also the U.N. presidents. The owner of the12 Galaxies nightclub is probably Yelstin's son, too. I met Mark Hamill at the 12 Galaxies nightclub, and he introduced himself to me as Luke Skywalker. He wanted to identify me as a movie star, so he met me. 12 galaxies with the CIA is stealing sex with sex magic. The U.N presidents and their friends can counter that type of stealing with the KGB and they can take that sex life back for themselves. They could have their second wives, or a 1,000 wives. And they can enjoy sex with orgies too. The 12 galaxies are perverted, trying to murder god in the testicles, and trying to murder Lenin in the testicles, becoming the most jealous criminals across 100,000 galaxies. They can dissapear with telepathic inventions. They can use rocket vacations to their galaxies and other populations; it's like the American airlines. More advanced than the airline vacation. They can use flying saucers, space vacations, more rockets instead of more cars. And the populations on each galaxy, maybe up to 100 billion. On each planet maybe up to 5 to 8 billions. Their architecture is more advanced, richer, and more intelligent. Taller, stronger, lighter in complexion, more eye colors, more hair colors. The eye colors are probably purple, lavender, navy, orange, wintergreen, all the colors. The same with the hair, in all colors, too. The life spans of infinities are all public. The second salaries and the second wives and the telepathic inventions can all disappear in thin air."
It's a simple message, and a tragic one as well. But Chu is not content to sit idly by while George Bush is Guiltied to a Zegnatronic Rocket Society. His protest is far from static. Quite to the contrary, actually, as his trademark "12 Galaxies" slogan jumped up to "1000 Galaxies" a couple years ago, and has repeatedly changed quantity since (at last count, The 12 had increased to 8,685,000,000 Galaxies). The reason for the change is easily explained:
More explanation pertaining to the superiority of The 1000 Galaxies: "I was presenting my Campaign's to The Law Office's of George Rush, Josh Arce, and to Kevin, their friend was hi-fiving me about Sarah, I met her Halloween Nite, she was making out with me as Stars and T.V. Stars, I am against The 12 galaxies constantlied burglarizing my myspace messages, with attempted murders constantlied continuing against his testicle's ruling a 1000 Galaxies! I was able to speak with Cecil William's at Glide on Thanksgiving, The fried turkey, pot roast, Ham, beers and whiskey, cake were at Mesha's place with friends from the 12 Galaxies niteclub, buttter is more profitable than margarine, it has a better taste, tastier, The taste buds are more advanced at a 1000 galaxies, butter was burglarized by the 12 galaxies."
Although Chu considers himself a Republican (it says so on his resume), assigning a one-word categorization to Chu's political beliefs would be doing them a disservice. He is neither Ostrological or Dectrological, although Omegalogical Theoretical analysis of the Thatroxillions of Populations is not yet complete. Perhaps this excerpt from Frank's blog will clarify:
"He came from a 1000 Galaxies equivalent to Ruling a 100 Galaxies with my Aunt Caroline Wong helping my Father at Vacations at other Galaxies at a 1000 Galaxies of Populations, I was on Channel 7, 5,4,2,11 concerning populations at other planets in outer space, against Them Ruling 12 Galaxies. The Vacations are with Flying Saucers with advanced foods on Space Vacations, better than Star Trek. The foods have lighter complexion's for their animals and vegetables, higher in Proteins, Iron and Nutritionalled Vitamins! Their animals are more domesticated, different at color, different eye colors also. The 3 shapes of the planets are more sophisticated, more provacativ'd, more modern, more intelligent, taller, lighter in complexion's of their populations. The rocket vacations have better holidays, better than thanksgiving against the 12 galaxies, better mashed potatoes at a 1000 galaxies. Better than the turkey stuffings with caroline wong, my aunt resurrected at 500 galaxies also. She is all passed away right now. The Glide Memorial Turkey with Cecil William's he is friends with Jessie Jackson's, with Turkey Stuffing's, Peas, better advanced Turkey Stuffings better than today's Turkey Stuffings. Yams, Sweet Potatos, Mashed Potatoes, Peas & carrots, the Ranch Dressings, The Thousand island Dressings, the salads."
It's rather obvious that with a little research, Mr. Chu's messages are easily deciphered. I believe this video will serve to eradicate any lingering questions you might have:
So there you have it. Frank Chu, in collusion with the Zegnatronic, fighting for justice against Bill Clinton and the oppresive regime of The 12 Galaxies. The man is only working to get payments due, and his struggle is the struggle of Exoatmospheric Populations everywhere. Supporting him in his "Crusade for the first-ever impeachment of a non-acting President" is a good way to assist, but buying advertising space on the back of his sign is even better. Frank Chu needs your help!
Below: A "priceless" work by street artist Banksy located in San Francisco's Mission District, recently "Chu'd" and improved. Fuck Banksy.
To summarize, I leave you now with more prophetic words from the man himself, taken from a review of Borat he posted on his Myspace page on November 22, 2006. Chilling stuff:
"He was learning manners, she told him not to show a naked picture at the dinner table, his favorite naked son about 20 or 25 years old. He had to be taught how to use the restroom he also was brainwashed by the CIA filming him with Live Performances, The CIA with their friends are Stealing their sex lives with Massed Murdered Cases by Formered Presidents and friends, forcing him to fight his Russian friend, naked.
He was a KGB'D Russian Actor, I am The Most American, as a Formered Billionare'd on a People Magazine! Both films were against Perverted Massed Murdered Cases committed by Formered Presidents and friends with The White House!"
I hope this post has served its intended purpose: to clarify the details in the case of Mr. Frank Chu, and dispel any confusion as to his motivation and aims. Mr. Chu's message is a clear and precise one, often distorted by the media but powerful nonetheless. Long live Frank Chu, long live the Zegnatronic!
You had me at the album cover, Mr. Haack. But if a psychedelic, befeathered Satan/Jesus just isn't enough to get your rocks off, The Electric Lucifer has plenty more to offer as well. Proto-Kraftwerk analog synth manipulation, hints of acid and folk rock, lyrics about computers, God vs. The Devil (and by extension the duality of man), the "Death Machine", supernovas, and all manner of indecipherable hippie myticism, funky basslines, cascading, atmospheric noise, feedback, and monotone chanting are all present as well, wrapped up in layers of reverb, delay, and good, old-fashioned trippiness. There's really something here for everyone. The opening track, "Electric To Me Turn", sets the tone for the entire album, sounding like a Moog-ed-out Cantina band fronted by an Autotuned (Vocoder? what's that?) Haight Street nutcase ranting about space and electricity and free love. It only gets weirder from there, as Electric Lucifer slowly reveals itself to be an LSD-drenched concept album about good, evil, and electronics, hatched from the mind of one of strangest and most influential artists in the very early experimental-synth scene. Speaking of which, let's take a minute to talk about Bruce Haack. The guy started off making children's records in the early 60's, getting bitten by the psych-rock bug sometime around the release of 1968's The Way-Out Record for Children. He created many of his own instruments, including the Dermatron (right), a touch- and heat-sensitive synthesizer that he demonstrated on TV's I've Got A Secret by strapping it to the foreheads of 12 "chromatically tuned" young ladies. He explained his creations on Mister Rogers (below) and scored commercials for Kraft Foods and Parker Brothers. He was a pretty mainstream guy, despite his experimental electronic leanings, and the release of Electric Lucifer (his major-label debut) surprised many. This wasn't music for kids. This was high-concept sound collage, concerning Earth's struggle for survival in an epic battle between Heaven and Hell. You couldn't dance to it. You could, however, trip balls to it.
Haack went on to release several more albums -- children's and otherwise -- in the 1970's, before veering off into unexplored territory once again in 1978 with the creation of Haackula. This was another "left-field" album, featuring Haack himself muttering weird asides about blowjobs and paranoia over throbbing, robotic synth music. His record company flat-out refused to release it, so he re-imagined the entire thing, adding vocals by a 13-year-old boy and putting it out under the title Bite in 1981. Look for the far-superior Haackula version on IC very soon. Haack's final release was a semi-successful hip-hop collaboration with Russell Simmons in 1982 entitled "Party Machine", but his health was deteriorating fast and he eventually succumbed to heart failure in '88. The Electric Lucifer stands as his first (and most daring) excursion into realms previously unexplored by popular music, and if you are in need of a good mind-blowing this record is essential. EXPAND YOUR MIND.
Spoiler alert: The only way to reconciliate God and Lucifer and save the Earth (according to Mr. Haack) is a mysterious, ethereal substance known as "POWERLOVE". I'm pretty sure that listening to this record repeatedly is the only way to properly obtain it.
Bruce Campbell and Evil Dead producer Rob Tapert discuss the film on public access TV circa 1983. Unfortunately, all clips from the film have been removed due to copyright issues.
And in completely unrelated YouTube news...
THE AWARD FOR MOST OBVIOUS ATTEMPT AT TROLLING GOES TO (drumroll please)....
Seriously, man? We're supposed to believe that a Juggalo would rock a hipster mustache? I call bullshit. Juggalos and hipster 'staches are like oil and water. Or oil and baby pelicans (too soon?). Here's why: Juggalos are unaware of the existence of a thing called "irony". Hipsters THRIVE on irony (I met a hipster chick once who selected her sexual partners based on irony... In fact, she was in the process of trying to bag a Juggalo). There is no middle ground. This guy is a troll. Case closed.
Okay, I promise... this will be the last post related to the Dickie Goodman story.
Mickey Shorr was a very popular radio disc jockey in Detroit in the heyday of radio DJ's, the 1960s and 1970s, when radio was relevant (it still is, by the way, but the people working in it are not). From what I can gather, he didn't do any crazy stunts or wacky practical jokes, and I doubt that he ever interviewed a porn star or anything like that. But he was pretty cool, and, as someone who still listens to the radio everyday, I sometimes wish that the hosts of the shows I regularly listen to were more like this:
Mickey Shorr worked with Dickie Goodman in the early 1960s on a few break-in records under the name Spencer and Spencer. He also produced some break-in's under the moniker Mickey Shorr and the Cut-Ups. Dickie Goodman is rumored to have been involved in this project, but there is no definitive proof. As a break-in record it's pretty weak, and falls victim to a lot of the traps that Whimsical Will mentioned in my original story. It is interesting, however, that the last sample used in Shorr's most famous recording is a clip from Bill Buchanan's big hit with Bobby Vee "Please Don't Ask About Barbara".
These days Mickey Shorr owns a chain of 'mobile electronic' stores in the Detroit area and doesn't seem to care much about his past. If anyone is interested I could try to track him down for an interview or something.
Arthritis? Heretic? However you interpret their odd name, one thing about this defunct Montreal quartet is certain: they kick out the weird jams fast and heavy, with strong emphasis on the atonal noodling. Like their countrymen Gorguts, Atheretic have a sharp ear for dynamic disc(h)ord, and their music is a cacophony of pure, unbridled, metallic chaos. Enjoy their two full-length releases, 2001's Adhesion, Aversion... and 2006's Apocalyptic Nature Fury.