02 03 Stop Loving Everything: And If Sometimes I Can't Seem to Talk, You'll Know This Blackboard Lacks a Piece of Chalk 04 05 15 16 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 31 32 33

And If Sometimes I Can't Seem to Talk, You'll Know This Blackboard Lacks a Piece of Chalk

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Couple things, first, before we enter the Land of the Lost Music:

The Morning News has an article that comes closest to capturing something I've struggled to capture for a while: our nation's capitol, as a city, is a fucking weird place to live. I've seen crazy stuff living and growing up in and around NYC, but never anything as strange as the shit that went down for the few years I lived in DC. During my brief pad crashing in Georgetown? Coded messages in chalk, on a mailboxes, we later learned to be actual missives between later-covicted spy Aldrich Ames and his Russian handlers. Or in NW, seeing a famous, primary Watergate operative through a window of the Mayflower Hotel having dinner with a woman whom I knew - because I worked with her housemate - was a prostitute (albeit one wearing a Sonic Youth t-shirt when I met her. 'Chameleon' doesn't begin to describe her). Not even a Connecticut town would re-elect a mayor caught on video smoking crack. Not yet, at least. My favorite weird DC moment was frequently meeting BLelvis, the Black Elvis, when he was still begging street money to sing an Elvis song - any Elvis song - while he combed his huge sideburns on a corner at 2am. Once I asaked for "Blue Hawaii," and he sang it.

Jens Lekman, if you didn't know already, has three free EPs up for download. The track 'Tammy' is a duet with El Perro Del Mar, if you were wanting to know that.

Onto Lost Oughts/Nineties/Eighties/Whenever Friday. Land of the Lost Friday, for Sleestacks. Today we start with

Big Country - 1000 Stars(Live on Radio One)

just because Big Country has spurred Futurehead arguments etc blah blah in the comments section, where we fight like family. (can we change it to enmity section)? And I post the track partially to hear that drummer Mark Brezecki was the real deal, even live.

And then there's

Stan Ridgway and Stewart Copeland - Don't Box Me In

just because someone will have always wanted this track from the underrated Francis Ford Coppola-directed Rumble Fish, from 1983 I'm guessing, cast including Tom Waits, thanks, along with other usual suspects of SE Hinton movies. But this is the best one, hands down, excepting some corny parts. I'm not a Police fan beyond reliving the eight grade, but Copeland was always the only good thing about them, and this collab with former Wall of Voodoo cornermouther Ridgway tells me Copeland needed to collab more with people just as interesting. Someday I'll do a picture into Wall and some decent solo Ridgeway, too.

Lasty, and most obscurely, we dig into the darker days of local NYC MTV land and come up with the Brandos, a band known mostly for their 1987 left-field rock radio and video hit "Down in Gettysburg," which sounded like better Creedence doing a Long Ryders cover. The debut album Honor Among Thieves, which contained said song, was mostyl too-tough-guy rock but didn't much disappoint either; a vinyl copy is worth every dollar you spend under 5 bucks. A nice and nasty cover of the Fuzztones' (but prob by way of the Cramps) "Strychnine," a cover of Fogerty's "Walk on the Water," and some decent originals in the same vein made for a swell car ride record. But label woes ensue, legal nastiness, and they get lost. I last heard they'd weirdly found a rabid follwoing in Germany, which just does not compute, but then neither does their Hasselhoff fetish.

Former bandleader Dave Kincaid has some shit-quality mp3 samples up, with info and other stuff. Looks like they might even be touring still. And making a new album for someone I don't know.

By 1992 the album Gunfire at Midnight surfaces, but it proves there's not much more reason for the Brandos to exist, save two tracks and definitely the following, which belonged on Honor Among Thieves if it belongs anywhere. But I warn you: it's kinda corny. Unless it's about Edgar Allen Poe's child bride, 'cause then it's appropriately creepy.

The Brandos - Anna Lee
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