Scared Of Chaka - s/t (702, 1996)

Their ten-song EP from '96. Most of the tracks clock in at under two minutes or so. Fun, spastic punk rock with a New Wave bent here and there. You could describe Chaka as a polite Angry Samoans (how fuckin' weird is that?!?!?) or a more-introspective Dickies (see last parenthetical notation). "Sexy Figure," "Submarines," and "Two In The Morning" (One of the worst times of the day...I meant night...No, I really meant day -- NOTE: These aren't lyrics to the song, just me acting drunk) are three of the key tunes represented. Cover of Elvis Costello's "Hand In Hand" fits like a tight mitten.

Eater - All Of Eater (Creative Man, 1997)

Collection of twenty-eight original recordings from 1977-78. Songs like "Room for One," "No Brains," and "Outside View" filed quite nicely alongside contemporaries like The Vibrators and Slaughter And The Dogs. Youth was definitely served in this band -- drummer Dee Generate (!) was all of twelve-years-old. And to think I was listening to Culture Club at that age...

The Slobs - Down The Tubes (Centsless Productions, 1996)

Some messy, shitfaced-as-fuck punk on their own label. Seventeen songs of Weideman-induced HA-HA-HAs for your musicalfridge. "Goin' Downtown," "Bored To Death," "Have A Nice Day," "She's A Disease," etc. are instantly glued to your brain, with pleasantly annoying vocals and sing-along refrains. Bass player Andy's basement is the Abbey Road of punk rock 'n' roll, as Nashville Pussy, The Candy Snatchers, Hookers, etc. have recorded there.

Division Of Laura Lee - Black City (Burning Heart, 2002)

Within the next several months, "Need To Get Some" will be the soundtrack of an auto spot starring The Strokes as New York City cops. Handcuffing the driver of a stolen Saab, their "Give them the truth and they just might follow" mantra is forcefully spoken after the reading of Miranda's rights. "Trapped In" shifts like the fluid transmission of Ian Curtis getting Closer to the New Order's Movement. While the bleak atmosphere clouds squeaky electronics from her 24-hour B-day party song, Miranda plaintively states, "I know, someday, things will get better/I've been trapped in this black hole for too long" from the floor of a dank cell. "Access Identity" ("You've got everything you need from it/If that's the way you wanna be, sucker") and the title cut ("Thousands killed on the Internet/Life delete/All is sent/If this is your truth/Your truth is a mess to me") interrogate the suspect using blunt techniques from the handbooks of GoF, The Fuses, and Radar Secret Service. "Pretty Electric" further examines Miranda's story in a transfer-to-D.C. van driven by J. Robbins of Jawbox ("You're not on my list/I guess you won't resist/'Cause you're leaving it all to trust/You ain't got shit"). Shoulda jacked a Volvo -- that's a car you can be believed in.

CIRCUS FUN

Around the time of my 13th birthday (March '85), our family went to see the Ringling Bros. & Barnum Bailey production at Hampton Coliseum. This place was located right beside one of the shittiest housing projects I had ever seen. The Coliseum was where The Rolling Stones had recorded their crappy '81 live LP Still Life. It would later become the setting of Phish's six-CD set Hampton Comes Alive (hippie humor is the worst).

We saw a bunch of clowns, freestylers, jugglers, horses, hoops, balls, bears, elephants, and lions. The main attraction was King Tusk -- "The World's Largest Elephant." Whoa! Well, "The Greatest Show On Earth" had drawn to its conclusion, so we made our way to the ground floor with hopes of seeing King Tusk up close. While the rest of us gazed amazingly at the thick-skinned mammal, my father dismissively said, "Oh, there's about 50 of these elephants that Ringling Bros. has." "Well, how many Gunther Gabel Williamses (the famous lion tamer and animal trainer) are there?" was my question to him.

The whole family (minus my dad) laughed tremendously. He called me a smart-ass; I called him an asshole (but not to his face).

Capote (United Artists, 2005)

In 1959, four family members residing in a sleepy Kansas town are brutally murdered. Paging through the morning newspaper, Truman Capote (Philip Seymour Hoffman) is immediately taken by the account and decides to conduct his own investigation for an upcoming article. Traveling west by train, he is accompanied by the dishy Harper Lee (Catherine Kenner), who assists with the research and acts as a babysitter of sorts. Capote realizes that the numerous events need more than a few pages' length to recount them properly, so he attempts to author a work referred to (by him) as a "non-fiction novel." Access to one of the accused, Perry Smith (Clifton Collins Jr.), is blocked at first, but Capote's charm and a fistful of greenbacks grant him entrance behind the bars. The writer is drawn to Smith and forms a tight relationship with the prisoner, but Capote isn't above telling outright lies in the name of art. For example, he assures Smith that In Cold Blood is a title made up by the organizers of an advance reading in NYC. In one self-serving moment, Capote mentions hiring a new lawyer for Smith after several appeals are exhausted. To which a listener responds (paraphrasing), "Did you hire the attorney for Smith or for you?" The prolonging gives him more grist (not to mention time) for his story, which is three-quarters finished at this point. After an extended absence where Capote doesn't visit or write, he returns to Kansas for one important reason: Smith's honest recollection of the life-changing November day.

THE GRATEFUL DEAD II

Back in 1992 or so, when I worked for my second of 3,286 telemarketing firms, I took a liking to a 350-pound woman named Diane. There was something about this lady that separated her from the others at Touch Tone. It wasn't Diane's plus-sized measurements, because such females were common in the phone-sales department. For example, Bonnie was a Navy wife from upstate New York whose husband floated on an inflatable raft in the Mediterranean. Her idea of a perfect date with "one of her six boyfriends" was to stand for six hours in 95-degree heat and watch the jets fly overhead at Oceana Air Station. This white-trash whore should have stayed in her barracks. Shirley was a dark-n-not-so-lovely woman who resembled a mix of Patrick Ewing and Mable King from the TV show "What's Happening!". By bringing her part-time catering business to work, the fellow telemarketers were oft-treated to such delicacies as bloody chicken casserole and sausage 'n' mayonnaise subs. I'd later make a T-shirt as a tribute to her efforts that read, "Shirley's Sausage Subs: They're oniony. They're mayonnaisey. They're Shirleyey!" Ummm...

What made Diane different from those bovine creatures was that she:1)wasn't a military dependent, 2)knew how to use a bar of soap, 3)didn't pretend to know how to cook, 4)let my hands make contact with her breasts, and 5)forced me to eat chocolate pudding off her fingers. I wanted to bed this sweet-smelling piece of womanflesh!

Alas, it was not to be. Diane quit her job and married a bearded man with one eye. Over the years, I had lost touch with the big beauty. Then one day, I was reading a testicle-reattachment story in the newspaper. On the same page flashed a weight-loss testimonial from...DIANE! She had lost 228 pounds and become a counselor at said weight-management center. To celebrate "the new her," Diane and her one-eyed husband went to Hawaii for some fun-in-the-sun. However, the vacation took a slight downturn. As Diane was soaking up some rays (while listening to The Devil Dogs' song "North Shore Bitch" and fancying herself as one), she was skewered by twenty-five boys who had grown tired of using their clubs to crack open coconuts. At first, Diane's husband had been saddened by her death, but it was later explained to him that "Kill Haole Day" is as much a part of the Hawaiian fabric as Don Ho. Haole means "caucasian."

Supposedly, the cremation ceremony was nice, with lovely floral arrangements throughout the hut. When the one-eyed husband returned to Virginia, he traded me his dead wife's ashes for pipe tobacco. Ahoy, mate!