The Joup Friday Album: ‘Niandra LaDes (& Usually Just a T-Shirt)’ John Frusciante

lrg-253-jfmakeupA mind is a terrible thing to waste, but damn if it isn’t fun to do so. Self destruction can be an expressway to artistic Nirvana, the catch is that you have to ultimately shed your physical self to get there, as someone who traded under that heavenly appellation would famously find out. ‘The dead do not improve’, just segue into a misunderstood and misappropriated Valhalla defined by the hands of a cumulative bastard- hack comprised of millions with their inaccurate imaginings. In 1991, on the last page of a British Metal magazine only just starting to reinvent itself as Cobain & Co’s hurricane gathered on the horizon, was an interview with John Frusciante that was epiphanic to my adolescent mind. It was my first glimpse at his idiosyncratic way of thinking – more outlandish and Dionysian than his bandmates could ever conceive of being. The interviewer completely failed to deal with his intellect (or at least, decided it would be funnier to feign ignorance and kowtow to the meat-headed readership), and Frusciante blew my impressionable young head off shoulders that had just recently known my ‘rebellious’ hair’s first contact.

Joup Movie Review: ‘Boyhood’ Richard Linklater, 2014

boyhood

I feel a Hipsterish cringe as Coldplay’s ‘Yellow’ sounds out over the opening shot of a cloud strewn blue sky, before I remember that I secretly think this is a beautiful song. For a long time, I didn’t even hate Coldplay, I was above all that, they were just an Indie ‘In’ for those younger than me. Of course in recent years I’ve found their self important, remedial plinkety-plonking bombast grossly offensive, but that’s just an irrelevant by-product of experience and the slow creeping cynicism that heralds the beginning of the inevitable rendezvous with decrepitude. As Coldplay serenade the theater, you’ll have to forego a certain amount of cynicism. We’re looking down on 5 year old Mason, unfettered by such trivialities, lying on his back on serene grass musing on the incongruous blue above as it becomes clear that this musical cue is a signifier for this place in time, 2002.

The Joup Friday Album – CHROME ‘Half Machine Lip Moves’

110276-aThe drum kit is sentient and coated in tin foil, its human overseers gaunt and warped from light years of ST37 abuse. These two jumpsuited mutants go by the earth-names Damon Edge and Helios Creed and their clingfilm (Saran wrap) skin is pallid from sunlight estrangement. While Punk was pissing and whinging about the inequity of modern life, Chrome were taking the same musical aesthetics and shaping it into a future we were expecting after the promise of late 60s space exploration and the ensuing Universe of cautionary and allegorical Sci Fi, courtesy of some of the period’s drugs of choice.

The Joup Friday Album: The Residents ‘The Commercial Album’

The effect of music on the mind is allegedly secondary only to scent in its ability to transport one to the past. Since my teens I’ve had this project on the back-burner too sacred to discuss, where I seek out albums that transport me to another world. I’m not talking about your marijuana or ‘Wizard of Oz’ enhanced trip to the ‘Dark Side of the Moon’, rather that abstract artefact that clearly existed at some point in history, but for which you have no frame of reference; either in the form of anything that sounds comparable in your collection or contextualisation from anyone you’ve ever met.

The Joup Friday Album: SHELLAC ‘1,000 Hurts’

There are so many things to consider when the occasion calls for you to pluck an album out of your (re)collection, or hard drive and hold it up as representative of yourself and assure others it’ll be worthy of up to three quarters of an hour of their time. The scope for selection is so wide, I have to blinker this decision with some relevance either to previous posts, the fact that it’s a Friday, or maybe it just has to have an opening track that has you ensnared from the get go. This album has as memorable an opener as any.

The Sunday Song Poem #10 ‘Peace and Love (Blind Man’s Penis)’ Ramsey Kearney

Ramsey Kearney

Ramsey Kearney

Not having posted last week I feel an obligation to do so today, and as such feel as though I’m phoning-this-in somewhat, so it’s only fitting as we enter double figures for The Sunday Song Poem that we acknowledge, celebrate, or otherwise just get-out-of-the-way what is perhaps be considered both the Daddy and red headed stepchild of the whole phenomenon.  I’ve had a strained relationship with Ramsey Kearney‘s ‘Peace and Love’ (aka ‘Blind Man’s Penis’), stemming mostly from the fact that I long believed this to be as precious an exhibit of insanity as was evident in the last instalment, only to be enlightened by ‘Off The Charts: The Song Poem Story’ as to the fact that this particular song’s lyrics were intentionally so gorked.

BOB LOG III, Ruby Lounge Manchester England, April 24th 2014

BOBLOGBANNER
“N. Senada’s (Bavarian Composer -1907-1993) “Theory of Obscurity” states that an artist can only produce pure art when the expectations and influences of the outside world are not taken into consideration.”

I shouldn’t have to be writing this because you should have been there yourself. Luckily for you, Bob is a natural phenomenon that, like some integral celestial body circles the Planet Earth every year, so you can ensure you don’t miss him next time. Though maybe it’s us that orbits him. Anyway until next year…

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