COIN-OP MEMORIES PART 1

If my parents had a list of things I shouldn't have spent my hard earned paper round money on then arcade games where public enemy number one when I was a child. Even more so than comics and records! I could happily piss away a whole weeks wage ( back then, that was a lot) inside of an hour at any number of amusement arcades dotted around my home town. I have always believed the appeal was the fact that you believed you would never see these games on your home computer, couple that with the amount of violence and the prison-art-therapy artwork adorning most of the machines casings and you had a sure thing when it came to relieving young people of money.
I recently spent a bit of time messing around with a MAME emulator and revisiting some of these games. Suffice to say, it becomes obvious you were not designed to complete most on a single credit. A few have held up pretty well while others still hold a small corner of my memory hostage. Following my research, these are my sure fire, revisit, classic arcade cash devourers.

Cadillacs & Dinosaurs (1992)

Cadillacs & Dinosaurs not only combined all manner of awesome things ( dinosaurs, cool cars, guns, post-apocalyptic story and girls) to appeal to a young man, but it also managed to keep me going back time after time. Despite being Mark Schultz's Xenozoic Tales bolted to the Final Fight game system, Cadillacs & Dinosaurs held my attention for years. You had guns! Final Fight didn't have those. You could kick the shit out of dinosaurs! Final Fight couldn't do that.

That's what you think dick neck.

The story had you fighting off poachers, mutants, bikers and various nasty types from messing with the balance of nature. That didn't really matter to me. The clincher was halfway through the first stage, being able to blast someone out of a window with a shotgun before punching a Rock Hopper (Raptor. None of the dinosaurs go by their real names) in the face outside in an alley! Throw in being able to smash through bikers and barrels in a car and I was sold. My pockets rapidly emptied.

Ignore the System of A Down tune at the beginning, Some people have a nerve.

A.B. Cop (1990)

AB Cop was the easiest of my childhood arcade adventures. Being as I once managed to complete it on a single credit, sadly there was no one to witness my amazing skill on that fateful day in a derelict amusement arcade in Blackpool. AB ( Air bike, air biscuit) Cop took the Hang On template of third person, full immersion racing ( you had a bike to lean left and right on, or if your arcade was cheap they just had the cabinet with handle bars ) and added enemies to battle. The levels all took the same route, ram various nasty biker types before confronting the boss. You then had to use your turbo charge to jump and smash him off the road to complete the level and get a satisfying thumbs up from your rider.

The main appeal of AB Cop was the difficulty scale. It was so easy to have a single credit and get through about 3 levels before you had to dive into your pocket for a follow up go. Once you worked out the main tactic for dealing with every boss ( jump, turbo charge. steer left/right, repeat) you could rampage through the whole game on a single credit. Of course the appeal of showing off to all and sundry in the arcade by reaching the completion screen of any game was impossible to ignore. No matter how easy said game was.

BEAST BUSTERS (1989)

Long before you could take cover with a fancy foot pedal in Time Crisis and such games, rail shooters gave you a big machine gun and threw waves of enemies at you. Beast Busters ( from the ever reliable SNK stable) was always the game I saw in arcades but never managed to actually play as they always seemed to place Operation Wolf or Rambo 3 in my way as a distraction. Luckily, I found a flea pit on a family outing that only had assorted pinball tables, Asteroids and Beast Busters. No contest really, sorry Asteroids.

The wafer thin plot had you as gun nuts trying to escape a zombie infested city. Gun toting zombies at that. Pretty ahead of its time stuff? The gore was a major factor in how cool I thought this game was. Enemies exploded in blood and bone pieces, green slime was everywhere, they had zombie bikers, Jason like hockey masked monsters and then along came the absurd bosses! A driverless Jeep that shoots missiles before coming alive! A typical 80's street punk that transforms into a massive dog! A floating eye made of bodies! Next level shit for any kid. Even the soundtrack was sweet.

It had 3 f**king guns!

Party Bus

Thanks to the wonders of MAME technology you can enjoy all these titles from the comfort of your own home. You don't have to worry about all those dodgy, blatantly criminal looking dudes that used to hang around arcades, you don't have to worry about putting your hand in the never clean ashtray that adorned pretty much every machine and you don't have to worry about any bigger boys coming along and shoving you over while you where playing. The world of arcade gaming is far less dangerous these days.

P.S. If anyone can help to hook me up with any of the soundtracks to these games or other arcade classics then that would be sweet.

Part 2 to follow.

Cryptosporidium Parvum - Demo 2008

I hereby direct your attention to Cryptosporidium Parvum, a quotidian blip on the acne-pocked face of pornogrind circa late 00s. I normally have little patience for this sort of thing but CP's brand of sloppy, under-produced, overblown grind endears itself to me every time. They've got a track, "vaginal love" on their 2007 demo whose amorous title is out of place with pornogrind's usual over-the-top nomenclature and whose beginning does not sound entirely unlike "Louie, Louie." So where most bands lose you with their tales of clitoral evisceration, CP warms the heart with a track about simply loving pussy. Even if this kind of thing isn't your kind of thing (pig grunts and the like) do yourself a solid and have a couple of chuckles over the video for "Ay, Mamsheeta" below. That's right, Mamasheeta. See what they did there?

couldn't find any band photos so used this instead

Cryptosporidium Parvum - Demo 2008

Every Relevant Heavy Metal Song In The History of Ever Covered In 3 Minutes

"(Holiday Version)"

Thanks alot, Cory

BULLSHIT FOR SHITTY BOY

"A BULLET FOR PRETTY BOY"?!?! Are you fucking serious?!?! You named your fucking band "A Bullet For Fucking Pretty Boy"?!?! Why in the name of all things holy and sacred would you give your fucking band such a fucking stupid fucking name!?!? I mean, I've heard some shitty "metal" band names in my time: We Butter Our Bread With Butter, The Tony Danza Tap Dance Extravaganza, The Forrest Gump Mile High Marathon... But I mean, JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, MAN! WHAT THE FUCKING HELL? Your band name was unbelievably shitty even the FIRST time I heard it... When it was BULLET FOR MY VALENTINE. But this... Fuck, man....

Let me guess, you fucking idiots play some sort of "hardcore-infused Christian metal", right? I'd be willing to bet ANYTHING that Jesus is involved with your whole stupid fucking trip somehow. Let's see... Checking your page on "Myspace Beta" (WTF?)...

BAM! "Hardcore/Christian/Ambient"! In your OWN FUCKING WORDS!!!
Let me give you one quick tip here, you fucking sorry-ass gaggle of limp-wristed pussy-farts: those three words, "hardcore", "Christian", and "ambient"--THEY DON'T BELONG TOGETHER. IN ANY SITUATION. EVER.

You are scum. Your music is shit. PLEASE kill yourself.

LOL @ "Live Love"'s fucking sandals

Oh, this is just fucking GREAT. A fucking acoustic set... At fucking Hot Topic!?!? Jesus fucking nail-shitting asshole of Christ! YOU fuckers are the reason I grind my teeth when I sleep. YOU are the reason I feel the need to choke out every floppy-haired, tight-pantsed kid rocking an Iron Maiden shirt I see on Haight Street. You're ruining everything. You have no soul.

I understand why you guys are doing this, I guess. For kids your age, "hardcore" and "metal" mean the exact opposite of what they did 10, 15, 20, shit, 30 years ago. This is music for the "cool" kids now, a style that, if you conform to the exact rules and regulations, might score you a record deal (it did), shit, might even lead to you getting laid. OH WAIT, you little weasels are CHRISTIAN, riiight. Let's change that last part to "might even lead to some really HOT hand-holding" (or whatever it is you poor, deluded, asexual boy-waifs do to girls). My point is this: You turds are simply conforming to an established market, to appear "stylish" and maybe make a couple bucks. Your parents bought your tour van and give you a free place to live, right? Sure. I don't fault you for that. Take the free ride, let Daddy's lawfirm foot the bill.
What does offend me is the COMPLETE LACK OF AESTHETIC VALUE, THE VAPID, SOULLESS "MUSIC", and, FOR FUCK'S SAKE, THAT TERRIBLE FUCKING EXCUSE FOR A "BAND NAME"... "A Bullet For Pretty Boy"? I still can't believe it.

It's bad enough that Watain is fucking shilling for Scion and Judas Priest is selling Hondas, OK? We don't need any more help commodifying metal. Especially from ineffectual, misled panty-wastes like you.

LET JESUS TITTY-FUCK YOU! LET JESUS TITTY-FUCK YOU!!!

Just to make everything 100%, absolutely fucking CRYSTAL clear, allow me to sum up my thoughts here:

YOUR GOD DOESN'T EXIST AND YOUR MUSIC IS LOWER THAN THE LOWEST IMAGINABLE FORM OF ROTTING, PURULENT PIGSHIT. IF THERE EVER WAS A "JESUS" (AND THERE WASN'T), HE WOULD TURN HIS BACK ON YOU AND CAST YOU OUT OF HIS FLOCK, IF ONLY TO CONVINCE YOU TO PUT DOWN YOUR GUITARS, YOUR KEYBOARDS, YOUR DRUMSTICKS, YOUR MICROPHONES, AND JUST WALK AWAY... WALK AWAY FROM "MUSIC" FOREVER, ALWAYS, FOR ETERNITY. DON'T EVER, EVER, EVER COME BACK. YOUR "INPUT" IS NOT NEEDED. GET A JOB, STOP LIVING OFF YOUR PARENTS, GO FAR, FAR, FAR AWAY FROM US--THE PEOPLE WHO APPRECIATE REAL MUSIC, MUSIC WITH SOUL, MUSIC WITH INTEGRITY, MUSIC WITH FUCKING BALLS!

HOW TO BECOME FAMOUS - GATEKEEPER EDITION

Hi yeah so this band Gatekeeper from Chicago seem like something I'd totally be into. Goblin-esque soundtrack synth-scapes, truly evil horror imagery and cool-dude gothy clothes. Often playing with "Witch-House" pioneers Salem (whom we wrote about here), their hype in the blog-o-sphere lately has been vast. In other words these dudes are BLOWIN' THE FUCK UP. Recently signed to super hip label Merok, they are releasing their new full length GIZA in December. Check out this cover art! It's awesome right???

Wow! So late 70's!!!

Their label describes them as, "Inspired by the sounds and visions of forgotten sci-fi film scores, fantasy games and arcade imagery, Gatekeeper lives in a morbidly demented discotheque of its own making, a vivid flight of fancy in which the conventions of techno, Chicago house, italo-disco and industrial are transfigured into one phantasmagorical adventure, populated by hushed screams, Gregorian dungeon chants and cinematic washes of mammoth sound."

Holy shit! EPIC!
Well when buying into the hype like the moron I am, I checked out the big Gatekeeper single from last year. Hmmm something isn't right here... this song sounds familiar...



Wow what a video featuring clips from my favorite straight to video movies I rented as a child of the 80's (including 1991's POPCORN)!

Wait... I know this song...



It's a song by Larry Fast's project Synergy from the 1978 album Cords. It's the EXACT SAME SONG with some terrible drums programmed over it.

Gatekeeper....

YOUR POSE HAS BEEN EXPOSED!!

ummm... oh shit...

DAS EFX - DEAD SERIOUS (1992)

DO NOT PANIC. COBRAS IS STILL WITH YOU.
Times are tough here at ICHQ, kindly bear with me.

Right: How to strike a serious "rap pose", figure 1.

Diggity Das EFX had a distinct fliggity flow like niggity no other, one listen to any triggity track on Diggity Dead Serious will surely confirm it. Do you riggity remember these giggity guys? This tiggity tape ruled my wiggity world right around siggity seventh or eigth grade. And it indiggity-deed keeps ruling to this viggity very day.
Are you a figgity fan of Liggity Lords of The Underground? How about Figgity Fu Schnickens (pre-Shaq Fu, of course)? If so, perhaps you should liggity let Skoob and Krazy Drayz spiggity spin your dome. Figgity FUCK.

Diggity download HERE
Piggity purchase HERE
Liggity Last.FM

PRO TIP: Dead Serious contains what is quite possibly the finest song ever written about shitting one's pants, the heartbreakingly earnest "Looseys". Highly recommended.

END YOUR WORK WEEK WITH LULZ

Not much to set up here, guys. Just some videos that made me laugh so hard that my face shat kittens. All of them suggested by Brother Royce. Epic.

Laugh hard. Laugh well. Enjoy your weekend.


First off, we have what is quite possibly the funniest thing I've seen all year, "Pumpkin and Buddy Discover Nature" by Livedaybyday.com (only a couple thousand views, WHY!?!?):



See more of these bearded comedic geniuses at Snaketar's YouTube channel (highly recommended).


Next up, three episodes of "SMUT CAVE", hosted by "THE SPELUNKER". This shit is soul-crushingly disturbing, and again, I'm surprised that his videos only have a couple thousand views apiece. Hm.







There are 32 (!) more episodes of SMUT CAVE available for your shock and confusion, kindly peruse them at the YouTube channel of Woodshop Films.


Have you fuckers heard of Earles and Jensen yet? Here are two of their finest prank calls for your listening pleasure:

1) "Loder's Run: The Quickening"



2) E&J's BEST, "The Party Doctor":



Earles and Jensen Myspace


Also, this:



Thanks, Royce. Truly compelling stuff.

Speaking of Jesus Metal...

Nostalgia will make you do funny things. Speaking from a purely personal viewpoint, pure, unadulterated nostalgia will cause strange behavior, such as downloading (and subsequently listening to) such hindsight-tarnished nuggets as NOFX, Voodoo Glow Skulls, or even Weezer's first album. Such nostalgia will also cause you (read as: "me") to listen to the TOTALLY RAD FUCKING JESUS JAMS OF BARREN CROSS!
When I first encountered Barren Cross' 1986 Xtian opus Rock For The King in the back room of some Saint Vinnie's in downtown Eureka in the mid-90's, I was immediately blown away by not only their awesome haircuts and sweet blue-and-white spandex outfits (crucifixes and handcuffs? Kinky!), but their lyric sheet as well. Barren Cross love Jesus, to be sure, but their odd fixation on Jesus-as-substitute-for-weed is what REALLY caused me to fork over the 50 cents and bring this sucker home. This is a band unafraid to belt out such controversial phrases as "Better than pot, Jesus rocks / Come and believe!" or invite you to "Smoke on his love!"
The Thing posted some actually-pretty-awesome-and-not-ironic Xtian metal jams this morning (XINR), but from ongoing conversations in the comments section and elsewhere, it is apparent that our tastes diverge when the elements of cheese and silliness are introduced. I like corny, ridiculous metal. The Thing does not. Harbor no futile hopes about Barren Cross being an actual, substantial, talented band. They are silly as fuck. Sorry dude.

FUCK IT, WORSHIP JESUS.
(dl)

Tribute website. Fuck yeah bro.

LOOK AT THIS FUCKING BURNER

Awhile back I mentioned that I was planning on creating a Tumblr page dedicated to heckling that most false and bogus Bay Area bogeyman, The Common North American Burner. Well, I got as far as reserving the domain name before I realized, shit, I don't have time for another blog. Fuck that. I'll just make fun of those stilt-walkers right here on IllCon, as I always have. No need for a Tumblr page.
So here you have it. Part 1 of a (possibly) ongoing photodocumentation series studying the lowest of the low, the yuppiest of the yup, the "playa" dirt-covered specimens of human shame known as "Burners" in their native environs. It's been a couple weeks since these rave-culture hangers-on returned home to San Francisco in their dusty Subaru Outbacks, and I apologize for lagging so long. But the Burner scourge must be addressed forthwith, via ridicule and disdain.

Here are the first dozen doozies.

I get it, dude. You were shooting for Beyond Thunderdome. Unfortunately, this looks a lot more like Far Short of Thunderdome.

Celebrity Playa sighting: Check out Hugh Jackman over there on the left.

Speaking of celebs in the BRC, apparently James Hetfield made it out there, too.

Let's see, you get one week of vacation per year. How would you like to spend it? On a beach somewhere tropical? Skiing in the Hamptons? Nah. Let's do the usual: Ensconced in a homemade Hazmat suit, choking on dust, sweating out some bad acid and shitting in an overflowing Port-O-Potty.

Humor me for a moment by imagining this dude, naked and sweaty, mashing his balloon knot against that bicycle seat for seven days straight. Now imagine sniffing said seat.

His name is Jeff and he works in Accounts Payable.

This fucking Burner is totally on the "cutting edge" of "modern music". Right now, he's totally singing lyrics to a song by this really obscure Gypsy band from New York called Gogol Bordello. You probably haven't heard of them yet.

Did you know that there's a Scat Porn Appreciation Society on Facebook?

NIGHT OF THE (GAY RAVER) LEPUS!!!

Desperate, desperate cries for help that will never come.

I know you paid for all the gas to get out here and everyone else drank your distilled water, but aren't you taking this a little too far?

Jesus Christ, even Burning Dan looks at this fucking Burner and says "LOOK AT THAT FUCKING BURNER!" Harsh.

BRUCE HAACK - HAACKULA (Unreleased, 1978)

Last time we checked on Bruce Haack it was right over here, where we discussed his psychedelic 1970 masterpiece The Electric Lucifer. In this same post, I also mentioned Haack's robo-porn album Haackula, which his record label flat-out refused to release upon its production in 1978. Well, here it is.
This is, as they say, "some F'ed up S". Equal parts Kraftwerk, proto-Nintendo, Tim and Eric, and Men's Recovery Project, Haackula was Bruce's giant middle finger to popular music, an odd, stumbling mix of groovy synthesizers and mumbled vocals with very little pretense and even less commercial appeal. Long after its initial recording, Haackula finally saw "official" release a couple years ago, at which point it was slathered with a horrendous, "modern"-looking cover (above right) and marketed to the electro-nerd masses.
Whatevs. While I prefer the artwork from Electric Lucifer and Haack's earlier children's albums (see top and below), the music and concept behind Bakula Haackula is formidable and confusing, the type of thing that must be heard to be believed.
This one is for Manslaughter, who claimed last time around that "Muttering weird asides about blowjobs and paranoia over throbbing, robotic synth music is one of my favorite pastimes." Well here you go, buddy. I'll see you at The Retreat this weekend.



Download HERE
Purchase HERE

Myspace / Last.FM / Wiki

FAXED HEAD - EXHUMED AT BIRTH (1997)

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."

You are now in on the joke. Deal with it.

Download HERE
2001's Chiropractic on IC


Myspace / Last.FM

THE ULTIMATE CROSSOVER

Perhaps some of you recall the LATROMMI DEBACLE from back in December, in which I proposed the creation of a "false and ungrim" inversion of a black metal band. For those of you who didn't, click the link and learn. Pussy.
Illogical Contraption has certainly never shied away from innovation, especially when it comes to discovering, naming, and/or merging sub-genres of heavy metal music. We identified Renrock. We named Narration Metal and Tigger Slam. It is fairly obvious that we here at IC are poised at the razor-sharp cutting edge of knowledge regarding modern music. Hence, it is with a fair amount of confidence that I now announce the biggest trend in metal circa 2012.
As a genre, heavy metal is notoriously unable to stand still for very long. Subgenres cross-pollinate with other subgenres, and the resulting sub-subgenres inbreed with their cousins until you end up with stuff like this. But it's not all bad.

To wit: Let us consider the genre of music affectionately known as "YACHT ROCK". Counting in its ranks such diverse and silky smooth crooners as Kenny Loggins, Michael McDonald, Hall & Oates, Air Supply, Steely Dan, Asia, Toto, The Eagles, and Lionel Richie, Yacht Rock is the soundtrack to a pleasant afternoon aboard your boat, a lullaby for the coke-addled with roots deeply embedded in both jazz and pop. For a near-complete history of Yacht Rock, consult these two posts for a comedic, fictional YouTube series that provides just that.

Steely Dan in the 70's: kvlt?

Yacht Rock is the absolute antithesis of Tr00 Nekro Black Metal. The former is soft where the latter is abrasive, danceable where the other is purposefully obscure. Yacht Rock is the sober yin to black metal's raging yang. It is for exactly this reason that I propose/predict the Next Big Thing in music:

YACHT METAL.

You heard it here first.

That's right. YACHT METAL.
Bongo drum blast-beats. Four-part harmonies paying obeisance to the Dark Lord Satan placed over placid synth washes and saxophone solos. Music that soothes while it slays. The kids are gonna go nuts for this one.
But I'm going to take it a step further, by starting my VERY OWN YACHT METAL BAND (the first of its kind). Our name:

YACHTMYSTIUM.

Merchandising is already taken care of. Got a Sharpie and some Nachtmystium gear? Sweet! You now own a YACHTMYSTIUM hoodie, bro! (see example, left)
We're the mellowest, grimmest Yacht Metal band on the seven seas! Now all I need are some bandmates. Who's "ON BOARD" (see what I did there)?

Above: "Conceptual" band photo of Yachtmystium, who dwell in shadows even under the warmest sunshine.
Below: Yacht Metaller Jimmy Beelzebuffett onstage with the "inverted Latrommi", IMMORTAL. Sweet Jesus that's smooth!

Scoff now, fools. But I can guarantee beyond a shadow of a doubt that Yacht Metal is COMING, and it is going to be HUGE. So bust out those black markers and get to work on your Yachtmystium paraphernalia NOW. Before you know it, you will be the envy of the entire black metal community.

(Keep an eye out for Yachtmystium's upcoming debut album, Goat Boat, due for release on the first day of summer.)