Basement Bunker

Last week, our army's newest member, Acting-Ensign Hedrick, had some housework to attend to. Menial, banal housework during which absolutely nothing interesting happened. Sweep, sweep, sweep... dust, dust, dust... find a new door in the basement...find a new door in the...

Wait. Back up a step.

On his way downstairs, Hedrick slipped on a handful of marbles left there by Lil' Ensign Hedrick, knocking over a disused water-cooler and a stack of surfboards in the process. When he came to a few hours later, he looked up to see this old friend staring him in the face:

Not a Biohazard LP.

Behind all the dust and debris, this helpful signpost led Gary to a real, live fallout shelter from this country's best war, the Cold War. Well, he did what any good soldier would do and polished her up, checked the floor joices, and stocked the larders with plenty of canned rations and MREs. And after spending some time down there in the dark, he retrofitted it with the ultimate in recording hardware: A laptop microphone.

Here are the fruits of his labor:
Tired_Of_You.mp3

The (slightly) louder version is available here: Foo_Tired of You

The only downside - to plug in the laptop, something had to give. "Something," in this case, was a school of goldfish. Fortunately, no fish were harmed in the writing of this post.*

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*CORRECTION: TWO fish were harmed in the writing of this post.

Land Ho!

When last we left our fearless Admiral Boyle, he was stranded out at sea with nothing to help pass the time but his trusty guitar, a laptop, diesel generator for said laptop, seven cans of gas for said generator, a dog-eared issue of Club International* and a pringle-can wifi antenna that was spotty at best. He drifted about for a few days trying to find inspiration, some kind of muse or stimuli, a goddamn wireless signal so he could triangulate his location, something!

Now there are a lot of things in this great, big ocean of ours, and it turns out that most of them are water. You would think that this sea of endless blue would discourage, but Joe managed all right, and even found someone that he got along with:

Sweet tortoise-shell finish!

Olive was a sweet girl who found herself in a "family way" and needed some help. Knowing, as all good Navy officers do, that sea turtles of the family Cheloniidae will return to their place of birth in order to lay their eggs**, Admiral Boyle tethered his life-raft to Senorita Ridley's shell and hitched a ride. When they finally beached, Joe held her flipper and wiped her brow with a moist cloth while she dug in the sand to deposit her young ones.
Soon after, this happened:


Joe named them all Marvin.
Can you blame him? With that kind of inspiration, anyone's thoughts would quickly turn to love (and the making of.) Also, the salt-water dementia was starting to set in. It was all Joe could do to avoid stepping on the adorable little buggers as he ran to lay down this saucy little number:

Marvin, you are so close to being in a Tool video.

Download Joe Boyle's desert-island Let's_Get_It_On.mp3

And listen to the old, blurry one here: Gaye_Let's Get It On

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*No hyperlink for that one, dirtbag.
**It's right after Basic Training, in Not-So-Basic Training.

Umlaut-er than Everyone Else

What is it with submissions coming in from rough-and-tumble landscapes? Music marooned amidst hot climates, songs stranded in hardscrabble environs? It would seem that while our recruiting stations in Western Sahara and Outer Mongolia are acting as the proverbial honey to the fly, our outposts in the temperate zones are consistently missing their quotas.

Which brings me to our latest edict.

Effective Immediately: Cancel funding to embassies in Vienna, Buenos Aires, and...uh...Pago Pago. If there isn't hardpan in the area, I don't want to hear about it. Really, as long as there's suffering, thirst, starvation, and guys dressed in black leather with dull glinting metal things that used to be shiny shining metal things, we're in good shape. (As a last-minute substitute, permafrost is acceptable.)

Our latest submission comes from Acting-Ensign Grosz, a new arrival in the Corps, and this one's a hearty dose of classic metal, sure to scare the Red Squad back into their caves and keep them from impurifying our precious bodily fluids.

Ace_of_Spades.mp3

Here's Lemmy's version.

You got your pancho in my villa.

Do yourself a favor and check out the best article I've read this week, in which they explain:

The idea for [Motörhead's] umlaut came from Lemmy, the group's lead singer, who said, "I only put it in there to look mean."

Face the PROG of Blue Öyster Cult!!! ...Amon the DÜÜL of Amon Düül II!!! ...Note the GRAMMATICAL INCONSISTENCIES of Mötley Crüe!!!
All this and more...at WïkïÞëdïä...

Exoskeletons Never Did Nobody No Good

Dispatches from overseas have been in short supply this week, and I find out now that it's been due to a tussle on the deck of Admiral Boyle's aircraft carrier, the U.S.S. Scuttlebutt. Now, I'm reluctant to use the word "mutiny" in mixed company, so let's just say that a certain Admiral has a certain temper, and it was inflamed by a supposed infraction into his supposed territory, sparking a certain turf-war and eventually leaving him stranded in a dinghy off the coast of Cape Horn. I'll just leave it at that.

To keep his spirits up, Joe laid down this sweet little ditty to keep himself occupied until help arrived.
It's_Gonna_Be_All_Right.mp3

And give a listen to Ween's version here.

Boyle was dismayed to discover that the cause of his frustrations was nothing more than the trouble-making of the detestable scamp illustrated in this rarely seen image:

A bile-inducing "artist's rendition."

Known simply as The Mollusk, this ugly little bastard uses its over-developed cochlea to echo and mimic sonar waves. Then after strapping itself onto a ship hull, all barnacle-like, it messes with the transducers, or the capacitors, or something.

How's that for a last-minute wrap-up attributed to a previously unheard-of lifeform?

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REVISIONIST UPDATE:
Joe has recorded a new version of his first song, You Can Close Your Eyes. Hop in the Delorean and motor back the first post to check it out.

In place of songs...

Music News from the Front!

Forgive us, dear citizen. The daily tribulations of battle management, supply coordination and ration... rationing - has taken its toll on all of us here at DemoWAR HQ. In the interim, I deliver two items of sonic importance which could not go unreported:

David Byrne and Brian Eno plan new album and tour!

From thedailyswarm:

The dream art-rock team of David Byrne and Brian Eno will return with new, strange fruit soon, the former Talking Heads man told NME recently. Speaking at an event in New York, Byrne revealed that the duo had rekindled the relationship they formed in the late 70s/early 80s which resulted in three Talking Heads records and 1981’s classic My Life in the Bush of Ghosts.

Full story here: Byrne/Eno Reuniting

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The most unwanted song = 25 minutes of unlistenability

Yes, that is a word. A crew of musical pioneers got together and polled listeners to find out the most unappealing aspects of music. This, of course, led them to assemble a 25-minute long holiday composition combining ALL of these detestable ingredients. The closest thing I can compare this to is David Allen Coe's sublimely irritating You Never Even Call Me By My Name, in which he codifies what makes a "perfect country & western song." (Considered by some to be the most unappealing aspect of music.)

Full story (and link to song badness) here.

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Both stories thanks to boingboing, a superb collection of design/music/electronic rights items. Visit them during your next lights out! Rest easy, troops. The calvary is on the way with four (4!) new bits of audio shrapnel to rout the enemy. Stay tuned!

"Acting-ensign Andreson, reporting for duty, sir!"

Let's see, Andreson...acting-ensign, first class... says here you were stranded behind enemy lines for the past three years, miraculously evading capture by shaving all your body hair, dressing conspicuously and standing creepily behind a dead tree (marsh locations a specialty.) That's a hell of a camouflage technique you got there. We appreciate your, well, your dedication to service and we're glad to have you back.
Let's give a listen to some of the intel you were able to obtain:

Download: Fitzgerald.mp3

Deep cover.

Damn fine work, Andreson! As a token of gratitude, we've scheduled a 21-gun salute to thank you, our new acting-ensign, for your first submission. Ready... aim... Not towards traffic, private! More sort-of...up, I guess. Jesus, don't they teach you anything in basic training? Aim... wait for the birds to pass... Johnson! Did you hear me say "fire"? Grenier, Shipley, grab Johnson. He's got that crazy look in his eye again. Pemberton, is that a flask? Medicine for your "nerves"?! Give me that!

If you troops think this sort of grab-ass is acceptable, let me be the first to tell you it is NOT! If we get kicked off this highway median for disorderly conduct, this will mark the last field trip for the rest of the year. Mark my words! Shoulder your weapons and haul ass back to camp.
Sorry you had to see that, Andreson. We'll kick these idiots into shape and maybe get you a proper salute next time.

Update:

Effective immediately, all media players on the site have been replaced with newer, meaner models.

Faster downloads, smoother playback; progress is power, people!

Boom!