J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - August '10 #1: "Marriage of the Outlaw to the Straight and Narrow" by Blue Globe Beats

Another Boogie Brown beat, and I sit here wondering why I ain’t wearing a t-shirt with my own stupid phrase printed on the front? Why ain’t got a microphone plugged into the computer sitting underneath a baby doll on the kitchen floor? Why ain’t I got graffiti on the ceiling and why ain’t I got a tattoo on my left forearm to match the one on my right forearm but different? Why ain’t I got rims on my truck? Why I ain’t got a machine gun with an Oscar Zeta Acosta quote scratched into the side? Why ain’t I seen Boogie Brown in like a year, and why ain’t we play bones tonight at Deric’s house? Why ain’t I getting wild with the ol’ lady at the Wyndham in Lynchburg all weekend long? Why ain’t I trying harder to stop trying so hard? Life is real as fuck, but I’m a fresh-dipped soul warrior from SS Va. and we shall survive. My dad always said that, “Son, we’re survivors.” He also taught me of the special psychic powers we have, that I think my grandfather brought back from Korea. Seriously. That shit is in my aura beam, and if you see me in real life, it’ll shine at you. Nothing non-humble about it, because it’s as much a burden as a blessing, because the shining aura attracts the man-moths. No worries. Most of them folks got things to say that you can infuse yourself with. Too many folks expect the world to get sterilized and be biodynamically and environmentally and organically perfect. But life is too real for most people. It’s sex, trash, and making psychic lemonade all goddamn day/week/year long out of chronic lemonitis. Do it to it real world. We got these fake motherfuckers held by their attention span.
STEAL "Marriage of the Outlaw to the Straight and Narrow"
NEXT MONTH: It would be the September Krupert countdown, when I moved my Itunes to a new computadora, so it will be the last hurrah of my originoo song clappaz!

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - August '10 #2: "Cadillac Jack" by Andre Williams

I, like a lot of 30-something former opiate enthusiast white dudes, first ever heard of Andre Williams through the Crypt Records mail order catalog, where the asshole who ran that shit was like IF YOU DON’T KNOW WHO ANDRE WILLIAMS IS YOU ARE AN ASSHOLE AND YOU SUCK AND YOU SHOULD DIE THIS IS THE BEST GREATEST SHIT EVER TO BE RECORDED or something along those lines. But I didn’t buy nothing with the dude back then. However, at some point during the internet age in the past year of my life, I finally remembered the dude’s name (after mistakenly stealing some Nathaniel Mayer first), and snagged that ass off the interwebz. And it’s not THE GREATEST SHIT EVAR! or anything, but it’s pretty goddamned good. I’m a sucker for that ’60s era country R&B (kinda like I’m a sucker for country rap nowadays, meaning Alabama shit like G-Side and Jackie Chain, not Nashville crap like fucking Colt Ford) and there’s a ton of Andre Williams songs I can get down with, but this “Cadillac Jack” song hit me the mostest of them all. I love the concept of a dude being completely wrapped up in one single solitary material possession, because people do that. And I love the “goes up quick/comes down fast” karmic tale, not to mention the irony of the ending. But mostly, that fucking part at the end where Andre drawls out into a break, instead of just singing “Cadillac” like you’d expect from the rest of the song, where he’s all “long… looonnnng… black… blaaacccckkkkk… blaaaaaaaaacccccccckkkkkkkk… Cadillac,” and the back-up singers crank in as soon as he hits the Cadillac word, that’s some next level other level never again level shit. I actually was playing that song one day in the house and stopped it to explain to my oldest two kids how awesome it was and why it was an example of motherfucking musical song-making brilliance. It may not have sunk in that day, but I’m laying the groundwork for them to recognize the real. Life is real as fuck for most people on this world, so you’ve got to be able to recognize it, especially when some crazy old dude is flipping it on it’s ass and letting it run away then grabbing the world by the tail again, pulling it back, letting it run again, and then wrapping it up and making it feel just right on the proper axis like it wanted to go all along. That takes supreme psychologics, and that’s Andre’s thang more than any thang.
STEAL "Cadillac Jack"
NEXT UP: Finally wrapping up August!

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - August '10 #3: "Kowboyz and Indians" by Gonjasufi

I do not smoke weed anymore, at least not on the internet, and I am not into sufism, as I do not work at an independent health food store where Whole Foods is considered the Hitleresque equal to Wal-Mart, so I am not naturally inclined to Gonjasufi. His music is not really for those that desire music, because it’s basically warbled craziness screaming against all the cell phone towers of Babel we’ve not only willingly thrown up everywhere we can, but we actually have gotten excited and consider it “smart” to have the attached electronic tracking devices that work with those towers of Babel. What the fuck? If any of that makes sense to you, then Gonjasufi might as well. Or maybe not. Shit man, I don’t know. I’m wasting time at work trying to write words together and there are SIX FUCKING MONITORS in this tiny room, pointed at my brain with the HAARP beam precision crossing pattern, holding my soul down like the Ghostbusters dudes trapping a ghost, just without Bill Murray’s wisecracks to make the day go by easier. My printer is printing slowly and I don’t know why, and I just checked my bank bullshit and I am broke like $11 broke, and payday is still 8 days away. On top of this all I really want to do is go walk railroad tracks up near Waynesboro and enjoy the fall air and leaves changing and find that Crozet tunnel and go do shitty graffiti that says ROJONEKKU in bubble letters inside of it, but can’t, because of work and because of being $11 broke and because of being so invested already into this bullshit that I have to play it out and hope it works out good for me in the end, which used to mean wild wealth at one point in my more naïve mind, but now just means that hopefully I do not die homeless with a mental disease that prevents me from making sense even to myself. Although I guess there is something to be said for that.
STEAL "Kowboyz and Indians"
NEXT UP: An old R&B track about a Cadillac!

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - August '10 #4: "Sun Is On My Side" by Gogol Bordello

Being part of the internet age where everything is everywhere and then it disappears in a cloudy frenzy of cubicle-encased hatred, most things seem awesome as fuck at some point and then will suddenly be the lamest thing you have ever seen. The turn is incredible. It used to be you had to wait months for something like this to happen, until you read a Spin article by some jackass hyping up something that you had previously thought was the most amazing shit ever, and suddenly you realized that what you thought was this amazing thing was kinda just blind luck achieved by questionable individuals. And on top of that, worldwide, a bunch of assholes who you would rather pound with a ball peen hammer in the skull are loving on that same shit, thus your peers. Before the internet, that was the incubation period of the natural contrarian.
Now though, things can take the swing far more quickly. For me, a few years back, hearing about Gogol Bordello playing a tea house with some anarcho-bullshit show full of people and energy, it was a good sounding thing. And when I stole their music from inside the interwebs, some of it was great, some of it was predictable. Mostly, that pseudo-European crazy vibe was nice to me, as I’ve become really fascinated with American whiteys who have a sense of their specific cultural heritage, as opposed to the retarded overall WE ARE WHITE THEREFORE BETTER generic heritage that most southern whites are relegated to. (Perhaps I should start an ethnically prejudiced southern white organization that is disgusted at how southern whites have intermixed and wants us all to segregate back to our original European tribal entities – bring ethnic cleansing philosophy to America.) This comes up often as I try to explain to my children what they have the most of inside of them. I mean, my maternal grandfather was the American-born child of Polish immigrants, and my maternal grandmother was the American-born child of Norwegian immigrants. Genetically, this explains why I am stupid and crazy, which also drives home the point of how knowing your cultural heritage can more properly prepare you to be who you truly are. All my life I have been conflicted with being so stupid and so crazy, trying to assimilate into status quo lifestyles, be responsible, when my true deep down DNA essence wants to grow my hair long, get drunk, and wreck straight into a guardrail at 3 am on a Thursday morning, but survive, and turn it into a funny story about how I ran off down a logging trail on foot with one fractured legbone so I didn’t get my fourth DUI and have to go to jail for 6 months. It’s my natural inclination.
Of course, all this, combined with my obsessive compulsiveness, is probably why I’ll be one of those creepy ass old dudes looking up family history at strange record keeping enclaves in Pennsylvania or Utah, usually near where there’s a religious movement with roots going back to the Old World that want to maintain proper records like that. (In fact, if I’m going to start a southern whites segregate amongst your different whitenesses organization, I should also start up a mulatto awareness record keeping bureaucracy privately funded, hopefully somewhere in northwest Georgia near the North Carolina border. Because if those places are funded internally, and usually associated with religious movements, there’s no real religious movement attached to the blessed melting pot destruction of white and black that’s come on since hip hop music, so we need to get the ball rolling now. They tried to start a church of hip hop, but those dudes can’t even get enough money to keep Afrika Bambaataa’s old housing project from being turned into a condo like the rest of NYC.)
Anyways, I really got into Gogol Bordello for a spell. But then I started to notice their in-real-life references cross from retarded hipster types to more sterile Whole Foods shopper types. This was disconcerting. As goofy as the hipster is, seeing some dude in a fedora and black-framed glasses driving a ’75 Impala down the street blaring Gogol Bordello is still less unnerving – to me at least – than seeing a soccer mom taking her daughter to ballet in a Toyota Prius quietly pumping Gogol Bordello. So as that type of visual and personal conversational chatter started to pick up, my contrarian radar started blipping.
After that, I got some movie about the Eugene Hutz dude – a documentary done by a girl who obviously just wanted to be Eugene’s girlfriend – going through Gypsy country in east Europe. It was so fucking painful to watch, and I wavered from feeling like smashing that dude in the fucking mustachebones with an orange milk crate, to feeling sorry for holmes for being such an errant little sheep soul in this big confusing modern world. It is that second feeling that still overtakes me from time to time, that no matter our internet age judgments, we are all basically uncool as fuck, and errant souls stumbling across the surface of a far too technologized planet, trying to find some people to sit on a long couch in an alley with and feel a part of something. Times like that is when “Sun is On My Side” would be warmly embraced while I ride down the road in my shitty truck, always pulling to the left, chewing up tire tread, window down, waiting for salvation.
And of course my contrarian nature will kick in, even with myself. And being this is the internet, no matter my true feelings, I have to act like I could only under the right circumstances like a newer Gogol Bordello song, because lolcatz youtube ofwgtka amirite?
STEAL "Sun Is On My Side"
NEXT UP: Homeless rap – the best homeless music made ever since hobos stopped making guitars out of scrap construction material!

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - August '10 #5: "Dixie On My Mind" by The Charlie Daniels Band

I am going to run a marathon of donations at some point in the coming weeks, like a two day period with a chunk of new posts, one per hour, where you donate money to my paypal to support me riding a Greyhound bus across the deep south into Texas and then back up through the lower midwest, down through West Virginia, back home. Not really, I just need money because my bills are expensive and I don’t have enough discretionary income to get a tattoo of a ruler on my dick, which I really really REALLY want to get so that I can visually pretend my penis is larger than it is. The Brett Favre texted pics just drove that point home to me. At the same time, I’ve always wanted a back tattoo in seven layers that involves my entire life, a map, SS Va. but looking all fresh-dipped as fuck in a tweaked out style, and I actually wrote a long ass thing about that but I mailed it off to the Oxford American. You know them bitches ain’t gonna print it, but if I give up and post it here, then they’ll use their jewbot internet tracking softwares to see if it’s been printed before and they’ll find it here and rather than go, “Oh shit, this muthafucka be writing all types of stupid shit,” they’ll think “We can’t use this, it’s been previously published in a public forum,” like Waldo from that Van Halen “Hot For Teachers” video all growed up. So pretend I didn’t mention it, and hopefully they will publish it and pay me probably like $25 if I’m lucky and I will supposed to be happy about that. Man, fuck writing. I should just spray paint haiku on people’s cars instead.
STEAL "Dixie On My Mind"
NEXT UP: Stupid ass hipsterism, but bright and sunny!

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - August '10 #6: "Lookin' For a Mountain" by Hank Williams III

One time I was going to Boogie Brown’s when he lived in a silver jellybean camper covered internally with graffiti on the side of Buffalo Mountain, and I found some sort of back roads way to go so that I could start getting drunk once I passed Roanoke, and one of the roads was seriously fucked a rutted ass dirt road, not gravel but straight up dirt, and I was passing all these placed that looked like Shelby Lee Adams would be uncomfortable taking pictures at, and fully expected to get stuck somewhere and either die at the hands of racist hillbillies who thought anyone with dreadlocks and facial hair must be some sort of new-fangled negro, or get drunk as fuck hanging out with racist hillbillies who thought anyone with dreadlocks and facial hair must be some sort of new-fangled vagina-haver. But somehow the road started pointing back downwards, and eventually I clipped out onto paved road again and found my way the rest of the way, although I drove right past Brown’s driveway in the woods and almost got stuck again in some seriously non-road road in my stupid fucking Toyota Tercel, and had to back it out like a quarter mile, drunk, like a slow-motion hick ass version of that one Biggie video.
Mountains are powerful things, tall chunks of rock that instill spirituality and independence and all the assholes can’t do much with because it’s not level enough for cul-de-sacs or strip malls. They do that mountaintop removal shit, and in fact in Buckingham County there is the kyanite mine which has carved a huge scar into the earth surface, and I guess that’s why that type of business endeavor is so supremely fucked. That to me is like if you were a Christian and somebody making a life-sized wax figure of Jesus but with a hole in the mouth to stick their dick and pretend to have sex with.
Anyways, I will probably go to that part of Virginia next week, to shoot guns with friends and yell at the sky about how fucked people are. This is a proper thing to do on mountains. This also reminds me of how far behind my plan to get as much white quartz rock as possible to try and build a large stack of quartz rocks on my property I am. I was hoping for a forty foot tall structure by the time I’m 60, and I’ve got nothing but four or five small piles of rocks. To be fair, I haven’t gone to our secret hiking spot and even built my weird quartz towers in the woods for the bears to find this fall either. I am slacking like a motherfucker on real life and dipping my balls far too deep in electrocide.
STEAL "Lookin' For a Mountain"
NEXT UP: I was thinking of my dad today and somehow by chance the song up next reminds me of pops Charlie Tuna!

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - August '10 #7: "Deer Mama" by Yelawolf

I’ve been doomed from the womb to the tomb, SS Va. by birth and not too far by death most likelihood. This is fine because they can bury me down in my side field under the red maple where I buried the goats and like to sit around at night when no one is can see me because that spot is shielded from down-the-road security lights and houseshine and all that other stuff, so I can take my clothes off and smoke a bowl and feel the world. Not a lot can be done about what I am at this point, and though I try to make myself marketable – as both employee and international commodity – nothing can spit shine the grime that was born into my bloodstream. I was freestyling some styles in my truck riding back from sliding a floated check through the payment deposit slit box at the electric company today for tomorrow’s cutoff notice, hoping the floated check doesn’t try to get turned into a coach before payday or else they’ll just be holding $157 rotten pumpkins (where the fuck my fairy godmother at? – nice family man aside, the littlest one River who is nearly 3, I’ve been reading to her in bed at night and she absolutely loves Cinderella and she cuddles into me and as hardscrabble and fucked and rough edged or even edgeless as I am a lot of times, those three girls got me), and I was cutting back roads from Palmyra back to the compound and pumping some sort of fucking beat, maybe DJ Frane, I don’t know, and styling a freedom of somewhat rhyming words from my discombobulated neurons, and came from my mouth by my brain was “anybody can get a ghost to write a whole batch of words, and speak ‘em for a camera to get the sheep to be herd,” and I my conscious mind interrupted my unconscious mind with a “fuck yeah bro.”
Yelawolf wears his hair a lot like people I would know. Honestly, he looks kinda stupid, which makes him more real in my mind. His flow is the best most honest whiteboy flow in a couple coon’s age, no pun intended though ironically it was there, and I hope the motherfucker actually has an album before his flavor of the month status dries out or before they stop actually even trying to sell music to people anymore and just put viruses inside of all music files that make you sick with auralyphilis and the only way you can cure yourself and hear things again is to buy some drug from the record companies and every record company would have their own virus encoded in their songs so they would make money by signing great young musical acts that people couldn’t resist stealing music from and would get sick. That shit’s about to happen. It’s in Revelations.
STEAL "Deer Mama"
NEXT UP: More junkie country (which should really be a new genre because “outlaw country” is Wal-Martinized and “alt.country” is full of fruits!

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - August '10 #8: "Soul 1" by Spacemen 3

The Spacemen 3 are some good sounds, especially if your brain is rumble stripping through 12 ounces of cough syrup or 250 mg of vicodin, but you should already know that by now. So I’m gonna call an audible at the line of scrimmage since I took some old shit off a busted and forgotten laptop and found a file full of unfinished bullshit. Here is a beer review I never got done, but it starts strong…
Ellis Island Amber Ale
AFFORDABILITY: I had a convention to go to for my work that was in the Paris hotel on the Las Vegas Strip, where we got there two days early. I can tell you right now that the Las Vegas Strip is the complete antithesis to my internal molecular structure. It felt gross and fake and I felt like a goddamned fool for even being associated with it. Not that anyone would see me or know, but just the fact my mind's eye was seeing me walk through that, I knew it was disappointed in myself. Anyways, if you've ever been to the corporate flypaper that is the Las Vegas Strip, you know that you can't do anything for less than $10, and it all is vaguely directioned so that you end up walking right through the middle of something bright and obnoxious and that will take your money with the false hopes of giving you it all back tenfold. Our convention was inside the hotel, so I had just about had enough, and decided to just go for a walk in the opposite direction, away from the lights. And one long Las Vegas block away from my hotel was a shitty old casino called Ellis Island, with three decades of smoke staining the air, and an outside patio area where some Mexican dude was cooking whole half chickens and racks of ribs, for like $7. And it came with corn on the cob and actual homemade coleslaw. But the kicker is they microbrew their own beer here, with a room full of big giant vats you walk through to get to the outside area, percolating away. They serve you your beer in those 16 oz. clear plastic Solo cups, and they're $1.50 each. Even if I hadn't been in the middle of soulless Las Vegas, this would've been an awesome fucking deal that would become a regular part of my yearly life. But being it was only a block away from the goddamned hotel I was staying in that served a $77 hamburger made of angus beef and topped with lobster claw, it was the most amazing bargain ever. Plus it cleansed my soul a little of all the ick. The fucking ick... it is everywhere there on the Strip. 9 out of 5.
DESTROYABILITY: I had a hearty meal, slammed three beers real fast, left a five dollar tip, and still had some change to waste in the low end slot machines. And there was a perfect wobble to my swagger as I left empty-handed and full-bellied. 4 out of 5.
LABEL AESTHETIC:
CORPORATE MASTER:
OVERALL AMBIANCE:
TOTAL RATING:
STEAL "Soul 1"
NEXT UP: Damn, more Yelawolf? What the fuck is wrong with me? I guess it was two months ago!

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - August '10 #9: "Jack of Diamonds" by Uncle Sinner

I have no idea what Uncle Sinner is. It might be Kid Rock’s drummer for all I know. But somehow I ended up downloading a CD by these people (or person?) and of all their songs, all ended up on the deletion list except this one track, which persevered in the clusterfuck battle royal of my tiny gaypod shuffle for a long time, until I had listened to it enough it made this list.
Most ugh.alt.country sounds like a graduate thesis project to me. I grew up with too much hopelessness and frustration and plywood windows and dripping ceilings to really feel a lot of this music that pretends itself to be country-influenced. The perfect example of this is Ryan Adams, who is a huge critical darling. To me, he sounds like a bitch. I think about hanging at the Mahan’s junkyard, or sitting around the table at Tip’s house, and something like that would get laughed at. You can’t be country without having a healthy handful of hard dick alpha maleness. Being conscious is what you are when you wrap a guardrail around your hand-me-down vehicle at 3:30 on a Sunday morning, which is technically still a Saturday night to you, and you don’t pass out, so you can call your buddy to try and wench it out the ditch, or just run off into the woods along logging trails if authoritative headlights come shining your direction.
Uncle Sinner may be more of this. But it slipped under my radar. Or off my radar. Honestly, I don’t have radar, though I do have a CB radio, but my old satellite radio blew out all the cigarette lighter sockets in my truck, so I can’t power it up to use it. That is unfortunate, yes, but ultimately makes perfect sense. People like me – real country – we can’t have shit.
STEAL "Jack of Diamonds"
NEXT UP: Pioneer stoner rock, which unfortunately does not mean Pa Ingalls in a ching chong opium den!

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - August '10 #10: "I'd Rather Be Blind, Crippled and Crazy" by O.V. Wright

I was not exposed to too much soul music growing up, outside of white people standards like Stevie Wonder, but once in the college, where you are allowed to explore all those nasty, vile things your parents tried to hide from you, like music by black people, anal sex, and falafel, I started pumping the goddamned Al Green, most specifically his Greatest Hits LP. Mostly, that first track – “Tired of Being Alone” – is my all-time favorite, because I was living in a shitty house in RVA, sleeping on a part of a loft bed sitting on some milk crates that I ended up breaking fucking my girlfriend one day, and it’s just a great song to start an album out with, plus my copy has a bit of scuffed part at the beginning that makes it sound fuzzy for five seconds, and those goddamn Memphis horns, sounding like that sound the woods make in the south when it’s summertime, a symphony of frog croaks and bug chirps, building and building and building and building and then it’s silent as death.
Al Green had been my favorite for a few years when I worked in a veterinary clinic/hospital in Richmond, splitting kennel slop duties with a 40-something pussyhound black dude ex-con who was chill as hell. We would leave joints for each other behind the radio for after hours job duties. One day, an Al Green song came on the radio, and I said how I liked that shit. He was like, “Back in the day, everybody loved Al Green. Everybody. The women loved him because he was smooth as fuck, and all the men didn’t care because we thought he was a faggot.” That just made me love Al Green even more. Real life does that to you about things.
Anyways, a few months back I sawed a blog that had some O.V. Wright downloads, and I had no real inkling as to why I would download it, but I did. Oh man, holy fuck, it’s like alternative Al Green, with that same murky Memphis horns sound, but O.V. Wright sounds like he never got hot grits thrown on him. I don’t care to research the musical history, but the sound is exactly the same as classic Al Green, and there’s God shit galore in an O.V. Wright compilation, but it’s like somebody pitch shifted the voice down two scales. In other words, it’s the rock solid goods.
There’s a black Jesus station out of RVA nowadays, and it all sounds all big bandy (like a lot of people, not white dudes playing 14 different types of brass instruments) but with a four-pad drum machine underneath it. If Jesus really wanted me to pretend all that mythology was the best mythology, he’d have motherfuckers busting a sweat gland making some music like this O.V. Wright shit, not chanting at my ass. Never mind this song is about relationships meaning booty. Sex and Jesus go hand in hand because everybody with a dick just wants to poke it in as many women as they can, and that never stops until they are dead and gone. But we have minds and emotions and can trick ourselves into denying our animal instincts, so we can fall into line with some mythological moral system and deny our desire to dick-stab every halfway decent looking human with fleshy chests we pass, so as to keep our personal one-on-one relationship intact.
Kinda funny that that comes up, because that black ex-con dude from the veterinary hospital, I used to go play Spades with him and his wife in their ghetto ass neighborhood, and we’d get high on the back porch and watch RVA’s Northside sketch past us. But I saw that dude one time with someone, and I was like, “Hey Reggie, how’s Denise?” who was his wife, and he was all like shrugging his face and being like, “no no no no” through facial expressions, so I made up some shit about some other shit and it was all good. He caught me aside and was like, “She don’t know I’m married,” meaning the woman he was with, who looked like she would fight people for a pack of Newports. It was all really perfect because Reggie had a fuzzy and round happy growing old light-skinned black man face, and reminded me of a young Fred Sanford.
I wonder if Reggie is chasing Jesus or pussy at this point in his life? Hopefully pussy. Vagina is life, Jesus is death.
STEAL "I'd Rather Be Blind, Crippled and Crazy"
NEXT UP: An ugh.alt.country song that I have no recollection of why I got!

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - August '10 #11: "In The Trunk" by Too Short

If ski masked Ukrainians broke into your house right now, with futuristic gun-looking things that scrambled your chromosomes to conflict your sexuality, and they said, “You must come with us, and you can only download one Too Short song to listen to for the flight to Morocco,” and then the other Ukrainian guy would go, “You dumbass, why did you tell them we were going to Morocco?” and they’d be talking in Ukrainian but in this scenario where there futuristic chromosome scrambling gun-things, they also have brain implants made by Rosetta Stone that automatically translate foreigner talking to something you understand, except these dudes didn’t think you had that, because you’re always fucking around online when they watch you. Anyways, if you could only download that one song for the trip, this should be your one song. On the 12-inch single for it, there’s a completely fucking awesome DJ Premier-produced remix, and right now I am contemplating going and digging my USB turntable out from under a stack of Easyrider magazines from the 1970s out in the camper to rip my Too Short “In The Trunk” 12-inch right smack dab into the internet’s insides. But then that makes me think about brain chips that translate languages, and how internet porn secretly tries to make all men gay, unless they are gay already, and then it tries to make them feel shameful for not wanting to demean women with the men they love.
STEAL "In The Trunk"
NEXT UP: Some Sunday morning, cooking up some potatoes and eggs music!

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - August '10 #12: "Wild As A Turkey" by Hayes Carll

I am not drinking so much lately, not really for any reason other than I am testing to see how crisp my mind is compared to when I drank a lot more. The results thus far have been inconclusive. I think the overabundance of techno-waves going straight to my brain may have been working in cahoots with the alcohol to start making me stupider, but by quitting the drinking, I’ve had good spells, but also very blank long periods, as has been evidenced by how fast I’ve been catching up on these song listings. I think the best solution would be for me to just start writing exclusively on my laptop using the battery power only, preferably standing in the middle of my now empty pigpen with four old milk crates stacked up on each other to make a typing stand, at night, just pacing around at the edge of the woods in the dark. I found a genuine redskin arrowhead back there one time that got kicked up by my goats, so feet have stepped through that area. There is so much psychic pollution on this part of the Earth I scratch around the surface of that it’s easy to think, “I need to stop drinking,” or “man, fuck TV forever,” or really anything. Cell phone towers of Babel, which always look most appropriate when there’s a pack of turkey vultures lurking on the metal bars, putting their turkey vulture shit all over everything. I have satellite internet now, and a giant computer screen that is a portal to all that is evil and monstrous for my children to be corrupted by. Honestly, I would rather have turkey vultures than all this technology, like seriously. I do not pretend to be some sort of luddite because obviously I use all this dumb shit. But it would be funny to me if turkey vultures started going crazy because of all our human psychic pollution and just started attacking living human beings and kamikaze bombing our vehicles. Were I ever to become a billionaire through some sort of sketchy chronology of actions, instead of trying to help Sudan or fight homophobia in American society or find a cure for autism, I’d probably mostly just dedicate my wealth towards training monkeys and vultures to kill people.
By the way, you may not know who Hayes Carll is. Do you remember when Lucinda Williams had that self-titled CD but hadn't done Car Wheels on a Gravel Road yet, and some musically inclined people plus dork critics were like, "blah blah blah Lucinda Williams is the greatest shit ever," but nobody really believed it, and then Car Wheels on a Gravel Road came out and she became the famous Austin City Limits NPR segueway type person she is nowadays? That's where Hayes Carll is.
STEAL "Wild As a Turkey"
NEXT UP: The absolute perfect greatness of one Sir Too Short, coming straight out of Oakland!

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - August '10 #13: "Country" by Untamed

I was vegetarian for a while there, not for a few years, but for a long ass time, and my favorite vegetarian dinner to be having was cooking up a pot of greens, usually a mix of collard and kale back in them days but if I was to do it now, it’d be mustard greens. I love mustard greens, eat them raw as soon as they sprout out the ground so we never really grow them too well, between me and worms down in there nibbling on them straight out the ground. One time I had dranken a bunch of wormwood liqueur and wandered away in the darkness and my wife cut on the side porch light and there I was laying in between two rows of the garden, head tilted sideways, chewing at a mustard green leaf, all slow and contentedly, like an iguana. With this pot of greens, the chosen form of side food that pretended to be meat was my wife would use Bragg’s Amino Acids (whose expensive ass has been replaced in our diet with homemade apple cider vinegar flavors) and cook up garlic slices in our big cast iron frying pan (we have like nine, because who amongst rural for-real cooking types can have enough bonafide frying pans? my drunken dream is to one day be actually hit with one by my wife, hopefully while we have clothes drying in the living room hanging from a cord run across the room), and then she’d throw in slices of tofu. Now I have always hated tofu, because it is soft and mushy, even when not mushy. But there’s this hippie commune nearby where everyone has sex from age 13 on, and they make a wonderful wonderful firm tofu, one style even with Italian herb flavorings. You can get it in shrinkwraps at more whitey stores, but hardcore health food places have it in the 5-gallon bucket for you to use tongs and pick out a prime block. But those things baked in the frying pan in the oven coated up with garlic and Braggs, that was some good shit. And honestly, even though I am nothing even close to vegetarian (I guess I was more vegeterrorist – not eating meat when psychopolitically necessary), I sometimes still miss that meal. Yet even with that, I do not understand at all the urban trend of “soul food” restaurants that are health food, which always ALWAYS fucking serve some sort of vegetarian barbecue, usually tofu or seitan. I do not get it. They are also always expensive, and full of white people who CARE and probably made some snarky comment about how fucked up Columbus Day is on their Facebooks or the Twitters, and there’s always a middle-aged yellow-to-redbone lady with very tightly done braidlocks and some sort of wacky print skirt or blouse on. My biggest problem is how can you consider yourself a bonafide “soul food” restaurant and serve an arugula salad but not macaroni-and-cheese. How long before the Whole Foods assholes roll out a healthy frybread for the native wannabes? Man, I loathe this world at times. Loathe it. This is why it is good I live in a mostly rural area on 5 acres and have been here long enough that most everybody knows to leave me the fuck alone. I’m a good dude, and I’ll help you out if you need it, but leave me the fuck alone.
Oh yeah, the song. This is another Alabama rap song about being country as fuck, though you have to imagine a bunch of black dudes from Huntsville, Alabama, are not truly country as fuck. I guess it's all relative, because to NYC rap pioneers, that shit is the boondocks and a half, but to me, I'd lock my car doors and pull my pistol out and set it on the passenger seat if I was riding through Huntsville.
STEAL "Country"
NEXT UP: Another song from the greatest real country alt.country album of the past ten years!

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - August '10 Intro

You may or may not have noticed I have been doubling up on the J.J. Krupert posts whenever I get around to doing them the past week. This is because I am two months behinds and have the ultimate goal of being in the correct month again by the end of October. I know I said that last month as well, but I’m for real this time. Really, it’s going to be different.
Also I just got a new home computer set-up, and lost all my play count data for my musics in moving it over. I did some google searching and there are ways to rebuild it, but why bother? My Itunes music was never in the right place and was basically like 53 different folders of clusterfucked together stolen audio that I would add as a giant file to the Itunes master playlist without copying in Itunes, so to actually keep all that data would not be worth the trouble at all. Amazingly enough, in moving all the music over, there was a ton more music than I realized on that one computer. And I still have a laptop and two semi-broken external hard drives to hunt and gather through as well. So what I’m saying is that after this (last) month’s list and the September list, it will be like a re-start at 0 for everything that’s in the gaypod database. One super dooper benefit to the new home set-up is I will run my USB turntable directly into the thang and start ripping shit that I do not have already. I'm not gonna share it all because what the fuck, you think this is some dumb shit music blog? Hell no bitch; I got a life.
So yes, in recapping briefly, this would be the J.J. Krupert list, meaning things that have survived on my tiny 4gb gaypod shuffle machine, where things only survive in survival of the fittest mode. The things upon that which have been played the most (with skip counts subtracted) that I have not wroted about before get wroted about. That is the springboard for this stupid shit, so instead of trying to impress you with my vast knowledge on a few very specific obscure genres, I’m giving you the overview of my tastes, and what really rocks my world or makes up the background soundtrack to my stupid long and boring slow death days upon the surface of the earthball.
FIRST UP: More quality obscure bumpkin rap from Alabama!