Baley

The first album I ever owned was either, Or I was 9. Charles Bukowski - Something For The Touts, The Nuns, The Grocery Clerk And You Oh man, if only you could understand those lyrics. The title goes something like "Luxury Boy", rich dweebs, gold chains, bad breath, fast cars, you get the idea.

Yeah, but did Layne ever cut a record with William S. Burroughs? You've seen the AIC exposed page, right? It's a bloody wonder|heavenly miracle he survived as long as he did.

You see, Nirvana to me are the epitome of rock, they're dirty and they can't really play their instruments, they're bums and they're noisy as hell, but they're also full of energy and vitality, they dedicate themselves fully to their lousy playing, and I can respect that, even though I hardly listen to them, maybe once a month at best, and even then it's probably the Albini record. Oh, and I like Cobain because he reminds me of me, and if there's someone I've always loved and respected, that's me. Swollen Members - Dark Riders.

Yeah, I mean, I was watching this video on youtube, and they couldn't really play their instruments and Cobain couldn't really sing, but what made them great was all there, man, the energy, the liveliness, the there-ness. And Kurt will always be free of sins, in my book at least, for helping produce a Melvins album. Now imagine what would've happened if Cobain had aced his Melvins audition some 20 year ago. Kris Kristofferson - To Beat The Devil.

There's something inherently hilarious about Canadian hip-hop. I like the beats. And the rapping ain't bad, I guess, I dunno, it's pretty okay.

Feisty today, eh? Bring on the hate, brother, thing is, Nirvana were an extremely exciting and most importantly fun band. They played catchy rock'n'roll better than anyone else in the mainstream world, and, hey, hypocrisy's great, keeps the world alive and breathing, keeps the monkeymen in their place, frankly, mate, I don't give a damn how horrible, monstrous, greedy an artist was as long as the art he produced sparkled like gold in front of my eyes. Pixies - Dig For Fire.

Autechre - Stud And the last 10 minutes of, I think I'm gay.

My my, I thought they'd be remembered for, you know, making great music, but yeah, sure, whatever you say, mang, poppy-hooks are the devil. As for Cobain's off-stage antics, I'm not sure what this gotta do with the music, artists are a strange breed. Frankly, as long as he did his shtick and did it well, he could call my momma a whore and I wouldn't bulge an eyelid. Big Black - Tiny, King of the Jews. Christopher Hitchens on Leon Trotsky, BBC Radio's Great Lives.

Actually, Nirvana were one of the best early 90s mainstream rock|punk|whatever bands. Fishbone, RHCP and Faith No More, also good choices, but you gotta hand it to them, the mix of catchy tunes, wild energy and pure ole' fashion out-of-your-mind delirium-addiction, is virtually unmatched on teeny bopper Radio. Cobain was a soulful mofo*, maybe he couldn't play his guitar right, and maybe he wasn't much of a natural singer, but only wankers care about musicianship in punk rawk. You, like, don't mess with an Albini produced band, mang, you just don't, classic rule of Rock. *The Mods don't like the Baley using potty language. Substitute at will.

European Power Metal? Dude... Yeah, I mean I'm cool with that, you're my homey, we can listen to Bauhaus together. No Biggie. The Baley is all about the love. Keep it flowing. And now, the greatest album ever released,

Magnets.

I'm just asking cause what I've read, stock footage from the bloody Shining, sounds hilarious.

Have you ever seen the theatrical cut? Cause I'm sorta wondering how it ends.

Naw, even named it in my 100 greatest movies list a while back. Friday was the first time I watched it in years. I don't like crushing teenish memories, it happens, you know, sometimes. It only fails as an adaptation, the music almost ruined a few scenes too, ain't perfect, sure, but it's a blast, plus, the silver unicorn realization makes for an interesting finale. Smile.

Well, according to wikipedia he really liked a, and I quote, "forty-minute special effects test reel". He died before it was released. Stroke. Learn something new every day, eh?

Philip K. Dick.

Blue In The Face Lou Reed, Jarmusch and Lurie are awesome, Madonna and RuPaul not so much. Some of the skits work, some don't. Well, at least it's an enjoyable mess and I reckon you learn something about Brooklyn. Blade Runner Rutger Hauer's one magnificent actor, the sets are mind-blowing, I believe PKD really liked it, last great Ridley Scott movie? Kirikou et la sorci

It's called bull[----], actually. At least that's how I refer to it, mock pretension gone too far, warped silly, plus, it's fun. Thank you, Julian.

Those words of mine, sweet Moth, flew over your ever-winkling buckled head like the 5 o'clock hurricane of ink-slinger-ennui dispersed over Bush's whitebread pimpernel of doom, gore and pornography, a few months back. I laughed over Venice, equally, years of unity. Christ unites nihilistic teenagers. Never Forget. You can lock the thread now, Eldar.

Only for you, babe. What's always disturbed me about birthdays, what truly awes the mind and baffles the soul vis-a-vis this East-European connection with a now rotting former Pope, is the expectation factor. We're expected to have a good time, smiles on our faces and sunshine on our lips, filling the world with our most candid inner joy, just because, incidentally, our dear mothers decided to vomit us unto this world a few years back, well, bollocks. We're expected to calmly sit, on our freakish chairs, with all these dirty little people raving about their dirty little lives right in front of our eyes, middle of the room, hot summer day. Look, hun, I don't give a damn about your son, his paralysis, your lack of pesos and bad tit job, yes, they're ugly, malformed, please, just get 'em out of my face. What I want to do is spend some quality time with that one mythical person I actually care for, me. Yes, I want to be alone, sipping champagne, listening to Liquid Swords and smoking a pack of lights a real man would never dream touch. But of course, what we need talk at this late time of day is the decay of modern culture, started not long ago by those icky WASPs and their mates, the suave Frenchies and loud-mouthed Krauts. Now, I ain't a sourpuss chatting you up, looking for love, I ain't a revolutionary calling for a new way and then changing my mind, putting on a suit and dedicating my life to number-crunching and the ole' 666 striperoo, nor am I a woman, a lady or a racist sniveling pig dressed in the finest Russian wool. What I am is, frankly, aging. And part of me hates it and part of me welcomes it and part of me thinks how fat my ass looks in the pinkish Jeans my grandma just gave me. Gifts have a real way of cheering you up, eh? Or To those that still, with open eyes, condemn the sun for the treachery of the moon, please understand that birthdays are the scepter of Satan, polished by his animated spit, the fires of Nevermore, dancing, tingling, pulsating sensations in our fermented trouser. The evils of man have long corrupted hell and redone it in their image, the transformation of water into beer is but the first cry of the old wooden oak, named God, who's battle once over is now reborn. I do not wish to make you understand, no, I do not wish to make you feel or see or even hear, what I want is the affirmation of the condemnation of Fascism in all its forms, birthdays, kisses, sex, they must all go for man to enjoy spiritual kindness in the face of an ever-changing world, the physical must be replaced by the spiritual for us to survive as a species, culture and civilization. Abolish the laws of man, destroy the bridges separating right and wrong, vomit your barfed regurgitations of Shakespeare on coke, all that is, now, as we approach the final century, is hate, and hate is spawned through our reproductive organs, thus we must separate them from our bodies and bathe in the platonic glory of love. Fire unites corporeal kindred. From now to eternity. And literature, and, well, art in general. Maybe life too, I'm sorta torn on that. Oh and, down, Muppet man, down. Ponies are so 2 years ago, I actually rode one once, a great achievement to be sure.

R.A. The Rugged Man - Lessons