SONG OF THE DAY: I Wasn't Made For These Times

Did you know that Jimmy Buffett used to be in a band with Charles Manson? Small world. They reportedly wrote this song together while working as extras in Werner Herzog’s Aguirre, the Wrath of God.

SONG OF THE DAY: Ring My Bell (screwed & chopped)

Love too hear Screw just get dialed in and work a classic groove all the way down to the bone gristle. All the old grey tapes are at the Internet Archive, and you ought to put them on an external hard drive. Don’t count on the internet to have shit forever. Forever ain’t ever happening with anything manmade, so get it while you can.

SONG OF THE DAY: She Said

Hasil Adkins is an aesthetic mentor of the highest order. This song contains some of the best yelps in recorded music history. I have a crossfader in my brain that often blends this with “Ain’t No Grave” by Brother Claude Ely, during my dreams. It’s actually pretty great sounding, and helps me forget that I’m trying to find a clean bathroom that I can piss in in my old middle school. Anyways, if you've never seen The Wild World of Hasil Adkins, set half an hour aside and do yourself a favor.

SONG OF THE DAY: Piece of Your Action

By the time they released Shout at the Devil, Motley Crue had mastered the faux Satanic imagery that made them metal famous, before they flipped the color scheme to be MTV famous on their next record. But nothing they ever did comes close to the raw power of Too Fast For Love. They made the perfect album for wrecking your car into a guardrail on a Wednesday night.

SONG OF THE DAY: Hell Bent For Leather

I got a tattoo in an old school tattoo shop the other day, and they were playing old metal, so heard a couple from Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, even Dio. Even though it was probably a streaming playlist, it felt appropriate. I was once a young metalhead with degenerate style unkempt longhair and a jean jacket with bona fide Motorhead back patch. Ozzy actually came on and me and my tattoo artist talked about how we didn’t know if Dio was dead or not, and I said I had meant to look it up but never did. Fuck looking things up online, to be honest. Anyways, when I first got a record player back in the day, I had a total of 5 albums, all of which were taken from my uncle’s bedroom in my grandma’s trailer, because I think he got kicked out or something? It was Kiss Double Platinum, Ozzy’s Blizzard of Ozz, and Black Sabbath’s Paranoid gatefold, but for some reason the other side of the gate fold was busted open and held a copy of Volume 4 without the cover. Not a bad first 5 albums starter pack, to be honest. Thus, I could have some opinions about metal, because a bunch came about during my formative years, but I’m also pretty old school and believe that if you have short hair and a college degree, you’re not allowed to have opinions about metal music. At all. Hard stop. Also, in case you were wondering, being a cop is like having a PhD in Dumb Fuck, so they’re definitely disqualified as well. Any metal that cops love is anti-metal in spirit. Damn, forget I said that, because that’s bordering on having an opinion. I’ll stay out the metal opinions business and instead focus on fighting cops, like my original borrowed/inherited/absconded record collection taught me.

SONG OF THE DAY: Beat Street Breakdown Part One (kudzu'd)

Yesterday, it occurred to me I hadn’t fed the crows in a while. But then I forgot, because I’m getting older and between cultural dementia and long covid and wireless rays beaming into my brain all the time… what was I saying? Anyways, this morning, as if we’d reconnected on the astral plane, the crows were up in the tree, hollering at your boy. So I remembered to feed them, throwing a quart of whole roasted unsalted peanuts up on top of the murder shed out front. Then, I got the joy of hearing them caw and bicker and sing their feral songs of fuck itness. Did my heart good.
Anyways, all these 45s at 33 I post are from harvested direct from my record collection, where I carefully select the finest (cheapest but not too scratchy) rhizomes from local music warehouses, and then cultivate them on my intentional organic beat farm. Thus, I ensure only the highest quality slowed down grooves, so you can be sure that I'm not clogging your mind's arteries with artificial fillers and intelligence. I hope you enjoy them. I know I do (and that's the dirtgod promise).