Inventions For The New Search
Maserati
In the Lapdance household, we have a long tradition of family gatherings that end up in substance fueled melees. As a group, we are all over-opinionated assholes that don’t tolerate much outside our own interests; you know, your typical nuclear family. The only thing that can come close to calming the savage beasts that are my siblings is music.
Not just any music though, if it’s too light, instant riot, if it’s too heavy, it gets turned up so loud it curdles the dairy. Now the home stereo knows no other volume than excessive and any music that makes it on is going to make the tubes glow red-hot, so selection is very important. At a recent gathering of the kin, I came prepared.
I figured that some post rock shit would do the trick and that we could actually carry on a word or two of conversation in the lulls between the bombast, so I came packing. I brought the new album from Maserati, an Athens, Georgia assemble of plank spankers and overdrive overlords. I popped on Inventions For The New Search and turned it up, way up and the most amazing thing happened.
My siblings actually shut up as this soothing music washed over them and then when the natives started to get restless, the songs turned around with such ferocity and volume, it not only drowned out their petty squabbles but it also brought my flat beer back to life. A win/win situation in my book.
Of course, the rest of the day degenerated into the usual disarray of overstated opinions and understated intellect but for those forty-six minutes the Lapdance clan were all as one and it was really weird.
Lapdance Larry
Finding Beauty In Negative Spaces
Seether
I was house sitting the other night and the new Seether album; Finding Beauty In Negative Spaces was left behind in the CD player. I often housesit and occasionally the owner even knows I’m there. So anyway back to this night.
I liked what I heard at first on the high fidelity and turned it all the way up to stun. The sounds of modern metal with a variety of both tempo and melody filled the room. It was heavy enough to grab hold of your ears and interesting enough to keep the grip on. From that point on I doubt I could have heard World War Three much less the thieves that had broken into the garage at the front of the house.
The music had my full attention so I thought those sounds were just the sub woofer getting a workout but as it transpired it was actually those law breakers making off with both of the cars left in the garage. I think they got a few pushbikes as well.
Man shit happens doesn’t it? Thievery is one of the blights of our society isn’t it? But I must be honest here and say this particular case didn’t really bother me all that much, I guess it would have had I actually known the owner.
Lapdance Larry
Scream Aim Fire
Bullet For My Valentine
Speaking of bullets for Valentines, did I ever tell you about my first crush and the Valentine Day date with her that went wrong, very wrong? We first locked eyes flipping through the racks of metal at the local record bar and struck up a conversation (or fight?) about the virtues of British metal over American iron. She was singing the praise of Bullet For My Valentine and I was putting all my chips on Slayer (a little one sided of an argument wouldn’t you say?). Needless to say, she was adamant and I of course wouldn’t budge, so we soon reached a stalemate of sorts. She called me an arsehole and ran off and I chased after her. She was after all, quite cute and female.
Finally a few blocks later I caught up with her and tried my best to get the foot in the door. V-day was on the horizon and I don’t really know how but I talked her into a date on that most coupling of days. Maybe it had something to do with the offer of a free meal or maybe it was my charm, no strike that last statement, it WAS the offer of a free meal, no more, no less.
I didn’t talk to her until the big day, giving her less chance to change her mind. But when I got to her house, she answered the door looking hot and proceeded to tell me her folks were not home and to come in for a moment. She pulled the curtains closed and we were soon on the couch getting jiggy with it. Just when it was getting good, we heard a car pull into the driveway. I couldn’t find all my clothes in time, (all black and hard to find in the dark) so when the occupants of that car came through the door it didn’t look good, especially when it turned out to be her parents.
In what little I could see in the filtering light from the now open front door, her dad looked a little pissed but turned away and went into the other room. He soon returned with an evil look on his face and a shotgun in his hand. He aimed it my way and I hit the bricks. As the sting of the rock salt struck me on my almost bare ass, I knew that our date was probably over. Bummer, although I did save on the restaurant bill but then how much would have McDonalds cost anyway?
And if you were wondering what this all has to do with the new album Scream Aim Fire, it was what I hoped to do but never did but if my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me before I had to run for my life, I do recall hearing bits and pieces of it during the throes of passion and it sounded pretty damn fine.
Lapdance Larry
Lost In The Sound Of Separation
Underoath
The Christian lads of Underoath remind me of a shady moment in my youth. My friends and I had taken over the Lapdance palace (actually a humble house in the suburbs) during a daytime session in which I’m sure we should have actually been at school cramming our brains with useless information.
It was a boiling hot day, so sans air conditioning, all my friends were in various forms of undress, the girls in bras and panties and the boys in their boxer shorts (no tightey whiteys for this mob). We were trying to keep cool by downing frosties and ice cube cooled biffos. The music that was spinning round and round was very heavy and the thumping bass lines drowned out the insistent knocking at the front door.
During a brief pause between tracks in the audio onslaught, I finally heard the knocking. I went to the door, opened it and found two young gentlemen in suits and ties trying to tell me about the lord. My addled brain could only come up with one idea, invite them in!
They entered the darkened room and sat on the couch. My two most cleavlicious friends flanked them on either side and offered them a world of temptation. As the words and tongues lashed their ears, I could see a world opening up for them that might transcend the limited one of their chosen religion. As soon as I saw the chasm start to split open, it snapped shut, they turned bright red and got up without a word and ran for the door.
In the aftermath of their embarrassment, I thought that any religion worth its weight in gold icons should embrace a wider worldview and not a narrow doctrine that precludes the joys in bawdy behavior. How can you feel the glory of the big guy without knowing the glory in ones own lower region.
I think the boys in Underoath must have experienced a similar situation in their youth but they were smart enough to stay to the end and see it out. Because only a group of open minded and worldly Christians could mix up the secular and non-secular world in song and make it so heavy and so right. The body, the mind, the spirit and the perfect fifth can coexist.
Lapdance Larry
Everyday Demons
The Answers
I have a tale to tell you, my disloyal readers, about a recent trip a mate and I made to the good old USA. Maybe it was all that American junk food or the pressure on his brain caused by his massive afro or maybe even a shift in brain power from all that driving on the wrong side of the road but from the moment my mate took ownership of the keys to that giant blue ute we rented and hit the road, I was terrified.
This situation was far from being helped by the copy of Everyday Demons, he smuggled in his carryon. He had stated that nowadays only crap music comes from the US and with acts like Britney Aguilera, Pennyback, Taylor Slow and Chris Hellno racing up the charts, who could argue? Everyday Demons by the Irish group The Answer was a perfect counter to those weak yank tracks with its burly guitars and razor blade vocals. Its blast of AC/DC inspired rawk would certainly blow out the cob webs.
Everywhere we went that diabolical disc was up so loud that the really low bass notes would make the rear view mirrors go fuzzy in time with the music. At least that blue shit box had a raging stereo. This stereocide was bad enough but not near as bad as his complete disregard for all the traffic laws, including speed limits and giving way to slow moving pedestrians. Add to this, the shark’s pull to the outside lane brake bias and we had many a brown short moment.
We headed up the left coast of California from our arrival in San Diego, so I spent most of the time on the road thinking I was going to eat flaming death when he drove over the cliffs the Americans had so handily placed on their coastline and then plunge to our death in a large petrol fuelled explosion (seems I too have watched too many American movies). We eventually arrived at this place called Pismo Beach. Now, we in Australia have always had many beaches to drive on here with our motors but in yank town, I guess it’s not that common because this beach was filled with petrol heads racing around on the hard packed sand like another round of dead dinosaurs was about to be discovered.
My mate in his competitive glee drove the blue land shark dangerously close to the incoming waves and when he mistimed his approach caught a wave a metre deep and sent sheets of water into the back of the ute and absolutely soaked everything that we owned (being stupid enough to leave everything in the back in the first place). Having said that, when we stopped and opened the doors, water poured out so maybe the interiour wasn’t so safe after all.
So before my memory faded into a substance fuelled stupor, I remember us going to a local laundry mat and putting everything we owned in the dryers there and since it was getting a little cold out we also had all the empty ones open and cranking out the BTUs just for good measure. We had the blue land shark out on the sidewalk with the doors open and the Irish lads blasting. It did a remarkable job of keeping all the straights out so we had access to all the dryers.
So to end with just a few small suggestion, next time you go to the states, bring some good music because the radio over there really is as crap as their charts would suggest and since they will rent motors to anyone, even large afroed crazies with lead feet, never take your eyes off your fellow road fools. Oh, also keep a pocket full of local coin as well because the dyers there aren’t cheap.
Lapdance Larry
Seventies Simon lists seven of his favourite guitar albums.
So What
Joe Walsh
Back in the old days before the rot of the Eagles set in.
Garden Of Love Life
Narada Michael Walden
Every music collection needs an album cover as cheesy as this with music as good as this.
Wired
Jeff Beck
Guitar jock rock, surely I think not.
Live at the Fillmore East
The Allman Brothers
The beginning and the end of something very special.
Larks’ Tongues in Aspic
King Crimson
Art wank that spanks the plank and provides a good test for your speakers and your neighbor’s patience.
Live At Leeds
The Who
You can count all of the great live rock albums on one hand. This is the thumb.
Teaser
Tommy Bolin
So good, so dead.
Seventies Simon
Hendrix in the West
Jimi Hendrix
Growing up in the seventies had its good and bad points. One good point, the release of albums like Hendrix In The West, a 1972 posthumous release originally available as either 8-track or album only. My copy was cartridge so it was on non-stop play but only after you wedged a matchbook cover in just right to get rid of the rumble. It helped form an important part of the soundtrack of my misspent youth.
As for bad points, we were outright hooligans and almost always got away with it. Our behavior, which would today probably land us in jail, was accepted then as just quant nonsense from over enthused lads. That point was never better illustrated than by this one afternoon. A friend, let’s just call him Mr. B. drove by to show us some new high performance parts he installed on his truck. He said Let’s go for a spin, so I grabbed the Jimi tape and hopped in.
As we drove, the first couple of tracks got the right foot down only for things to go back under the speed limit when the track Little Wing kicked in. After that it was pedal to the metal. Traffic laws? We don’t need no stinking traffic laws! By the time we got to the screaming covers of Chuck Berry’s Johnny B. Goode and Carl Perkins’ Blue Suede Shoes Mr. B’s accelerator foot was out of control. We ran out of petrol way before tunes and stopped at a servo to fill up.
As Mr. B was leaving the station, he was so amped from the music, he floored it and we smoked our way out of the station into traffic, almost. Halfway trough the burnout, the drive shaft broke, spun itself loose and dug into the asphalt. I was soon staring straight down at the lines on the road as the rear of the truck drove over the broken driveshaft and got flicked into the air. The motor over revved wildly just before the back of the car slammed back down to earth. Ouch! What a shot to the spine. It was extremely dangerous and stupid but we could have cared less.
In the end, I don’t know which hurt more, Mr. B’s pocketbook, our sides from laughing or my back from the jolt it sustained. A lesson wasn’t learned. Oh and if you’re interested, the Jimi 8-track made it through the ordeal unscathed and even lasted a few more years, right up until the time the cassette tape took over but then that is another story for another time.
Seventies Simon
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