The Joup Friday Album: Earth ‘Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light II’

Earth Angels of Darkness Demons of Light 2 Earth specialize in dreary forays into the subtly supernatural that, in the hands of a lesser band, would be laughable, but if you use these records to soundtrack the news, it’s easy to believe in demons. Judging by recent promotional shots of the band, Dylan Carlson is increasingly taking on the appearance of some world-weary, handlebar mustachioed Midwestern prospector — lines furrowing his once Elfin face.

The Joup Friday Album – Jeff Buckley ‘Sketches (For My Sweetheart The Drunk)’

Buckley Sketches What with US politics having descended into what feels like an aborted late 80s Rodney Dangerfield vehicle (he gets no respect, he’s even got the red tie and everything) to distract from the actual mortals scheming behind his Cheeto Benito decrees, I must have gotten to thinking about something that leads-in with a big anti-establishment agitpop-song, but swiftly realigns its sights inward, to study something more rudimentally human, if no less depressing. I’m not sure how much the last 20 years has done to improve the appreciation of the ‘Hallelujah’ dude in his homeland where he was always incongruously overlooked. I dismissed him for a decade after his debut, due to it being a staple of the record collections of students whose taste I didn’t respect, alongside the same slew of CDs that made it look as though they’d signed up for a record club with the same stroke of a pen as their University application. I’m a serial record collection forensic expert at the best of times, but this pastime served as a useful attention-deflection technique when finding myself at parties I didn’t really want to be at.

2016: A Solipsistic Musical Review

I dispensed with the terror that accompanied force-feeding myself popular music news and reviews shortly after I started writing about music in 2011 (in a brief, quasi-professional capacity anyway), both activities seemed from the-off to dissipate in enjoyment the more they were required of me, and the further I got from ‘my path’.  I felt in my twenties, as my tastes diversified that my discovery of new music was effortless; a self-sustaining passion driven not by trend-setting publications, but word of mouth and meticulous cross referencing of liner notes, or the research and natural curiosity that was born out of adoration. As I’ve gotten older and responsibilities have overtaken the free time I had to dedicate myself so absolutely in this pursuit, progress as been slow but sure; in this strolling I came to accept that I couldn’t keep abreast of everything new, and theorised – informed by the deluge of new music – that there was already in existence more great music than I likely have hours left in my body, and I should just drift with the current. My ‘path’ is now forged by the happenstance of hearing something on independent internet radio stations (chief among them the indefatigable Freeform Station of the Nation: WFMU), from past purchases that I never gave a fair crack back in the day, or my many expeditions round local charity shops where I fill holes in my collection or take chances on interesting looking discs. Here are ten choice selections from the discoveries I made this past year.

The Joup Friday Album

melissa

“Yo, Melissa, Imma let you finish, but I have one of the best Friday Albums of all time.”

No one invited me this week, but I have to take the stage. I have to mention it, this Elephant in the room (well it was once a Donkey, then a…whatever, then begrudgingly welcomed back as an Elephant when it looked like it might get its trunk on the peanut-keys. ‘Off she went with a trumpety-trump, trump, trump, trump’). It’s been two weeks since the combined nationwide clapping and gasp abruptly went reverberating around the world like the amplified unveiling of a waterfall of severed genitalia. To think, I was once torpid with apprehension at the prospect of the Romney-bot, who in retrospect looks like a chuckling uncle with no more nefarious-a-skeleton in his closet than a used-car lot, albeit with a dog strapped to the top of one of his inventory.

The Joup Friday Abum: Silver Jews – American Water

 

Motivational speaker Tony Robbins.

Motivational speaker Tony Robbins.

I was watching a documentary on Netflix the other night. In an opulent Florida hotel’s conference room, a defeated looking stringbean of a boy was sobbing confessions of suicidal ideation into the face of a millionaire weightlifter surrounded by an audience of strangers with whom all he had in common was the $5,000 dollar-wide hole in his pocket. Before soaking-up the boy’s despair, the muscular man – who was so strong, even his vocal chords were audibly ‘pumped’ – sort of Vogued, or did the robot or something, spun around a few times, jumped on a child’s trampoline a couple more for good measure, before ascending a handful of steps , emerging through a curtain to the conference room’s stage and fist-pumping the crowd into a frenzy with some kick ass 90s techno music before roaring a primal scream to the heavens. I mean, it looked and sounded like a roar, but I suppose it could have been a long, drawn-out slow motion guffaw at being the Cat’s Mulberry silk Pyjama’s in a room full of self-affirmed losers paying him for being so great.

The Joup Friday Album: Ween ‘Quebec’

61OwGj1G-SLIt’s gonna be a long Friday night. Well, not so long as eventful and..what’s the word? ‘divergent” will suffice, I think. Ween are a difficult band to preach to the unbeliever, they’re that guy you’ve known since High School who is not only no-holds-barred hilarious, but his filterless and inappropriate comedic instincts (while seemingly oblivious to societal norms and the due diligence and restraint the rest of us instinctively employ) are derived from a place of rich cultural, intellectual and emotional intelligence. While he’s an anomalous, aberrant champion in this ridiculous existence 99% of the time, this is regularly lost on the general populace. There’ll inevitably be an occasion when you invite him to a house party and he’s already dispensed with the sixpack he threaded through his belt on the walk there, and he hot-knifes all the resin of one of the guests who couldn’t skin it up on his own, before being suddenly inspired to display his acumen for Bruce Lee’s Jeet Kune Do, but No Can Do; he attempts to execute the 7 foot, lightbulb-obliterating scissor-kick but misses spectacularly, the momentum of his upswung leg sending him collapsing onto the sofa behind him full of previously giggling girls , whereupon he’s instinctively repelled into a nearby Yucca plant before receiving a bony toed barefoot kick to the cheekbone by the middle class guy who looks – with his blond surfer curtains – like an understudy for that LBJ Ex President out of ‘Point Break’ (’91). You’re permitted to stay, but he of course has to go, so you naturally pledge inebriated allegiance to the exile and wander off together urinating into the cooling evening breeze onto the nocturnal golf course to climb trees and scream at the stars and divulge your innermost torments.

The Joup Friday Album: Dump ‘The Skinny Motherfucker With the High Voice?’

Album cover for the album 'The Skinny Motherfucker With the High Voice? by Dump (James McNew of Yo La Tengo) an album of Lo-Fi Pronce cover versions.

Album cover for the album ‘The Skinny Motherfucker With the High Voice?’ by Dump (James McNew of Yo La Tengo) an album of Lo-Fi Prince cover versions.

Maybe this is all down to Lemmy. So impervious was he for so long, that Death was fended off, expending all his efforts and ingenuity trying to bring the man down. This most prized scalp finally secured, the Reaper was free to run amok, indiscriminately scything down anyone of any cultural significance, resulting in this Celebritygeddon we’ve been suffering since Christmas.

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