7 Years....

October 28th was the 7th anniversary of DNA's dad leaving this world, dying, going to a better place, blah, blah, blah. One year, DNA was tired of trying to explain the figurative language to his young son, because really, DNA doesn't believe that there is an actual city in the sky with streets of gold and all the saved people of all time congregate for eternity. What does DNA believe? Well, it's not necessarily in opposition to Christianity (or other religions, for that matter). DNA believes in the philosophy of living a Christ-like life (not so much in the rules and dogma of a religion). After all, what does it mean to "believe in Jesus?" Does that simply mean, "believe he existed?" Easy. What does DNA win? What do you mean, "That's not what they mean when they say, 'believe in Jesus.'" Does it mean "believe what he professed?" Yes, now we are getting somewhere. When you put belief in someone, we're talking about believing in ideals and ways of life.

DNA also believes that he doesn't know very much about the world or the universe, and what really happens after we die is and always will be unknown. DNA admits that although unlikely, it is possible that the spirit lives on in some form when the body dies. (In fact, DNA has a cool idea for a mystical sci-fi story in which the missing mass of the universe, identified now as 'dark matter' and 'dark energy,' is actually the manifestation in the physical universe of all of the energy contained within a multidimensional 'spiritual' universe [cuz mass =energy, and spirits are energy, and perhaps this spiritual destination is one or several aspects of higher dimensional physics]).

However, DNA believes it is much more likely that immortality is imbued in you by the living memory of those who pass before you, in the ways that you think and act, in your memories, in the lessons you learned from that person and the lessons you then teach to others, and in the actual genetic code which shaped that person, which he passed on to you, and which you may pass to your kids. This is more of the Old English/Germanic way of looking at immortality: Tempt Fate, do great deeds, and your song will be sung forever.

If your song is to be sung forever, you need a singer and a songwriter. In the old days, you had a sceop, (poet, in Old English) who sung your deeds. In the digital, age, DNA's dad has DNA. DNA wrote a little tune about his Dad, called, "I Wish I Would Have Listened To Him More," which sums up the best of what DNA could put in a four minute song about his Dad. If you want to listen to a bit of it, go to iTunes or CDBaby! and look up the DNA Vibrators. Then, click on the song and listen a bit. Go ahead, do it. DNA will wait.

Did you like it? DNA hopes so. There is that little bit of immortality that DNA can put his finger on. Since that part is done, there is the matter of the great deeds that needs to be attended to.

Well, let's see. When Dad was a younger man, after he married Mom, the family lived in Kincaid. One morning, after the third shift, as Dad was prone to do, he stopped in the local tavern, and had a beer before coming home. On one particular morning, Dad was sitting, enjoying his beer, when a mountain of man, 6 foot and then some, 250 pounds, came in. He and Dad had had words before out at the mine where they both worked. Apparently, the guy thought Dad needed to be taken down a peg or two. Now, to be fair, Dad may have been a little cocky, but unlike most men who are cocky, Dad was never afraid to throw down to back up anything he said. Most men, when faced with "put up or shut up," will shut up when some big fucker calls them out. Also, Dad probably wasn't cocky to this guy. Dad had no problem telling someone, telling anybody, exactly what he thought of them. He was a pretty good judge of character, and he probably sensed this guy had little.

Well, after a few moments, the guy walked up to where Dad was sitting at the bar, and said, "You need to move. This is my seat." The bartender didn't like where this was going, as if he had seen this guy to this kind of thing before. The look in his eye to Dad said, "If you know what's good for you, you'll get up and walk away." But Dad valued equality over almost everything else. This guy was no better than him, and certainly didn't deserve or require special treatment simply because he demanded it. Dad said, "I don't think so." The guy replied, "You don't understand. I'm not asking, and you are going to move. Whether you move or I move you is the question." Dad said, "Well, you little punk, you can try."

In one quick motion, the big guy swung his full mine bucket, a large round steel lunch bucket which weighs a few pounds, and smacked Dad squarely in the face. Dad didn't know it at the time, but it shattered his cheekbone. He was knocked off his barstool.

"God-damn about time somebody put you in your place, you little sum'bitch," the guy said. "Next time I tell you to move, you better..." The word "move" did not cross his lips. Dad sprang up and grabbed the guy, wrapping his strong, wide, right hand around his throat, and squeezed with all his might. Within a split second, the big guy knew he was in mortal danger. He began to flail madly about, connecting with blow after blow from his ham fists against Dad's head and face. Despite the blood flowing from his nose, despite the roar of pain in his face from his broken cheek and damaged sinus, despite the pressure that filled one of his eyes with blood, he grabbed the guy's throat with a grip like a vise, and had one and only one goal to achieve. The big guy dropped to his knees, and within a few seconds his frantic attempts to free himself became weaker. The bartender pleaded with Dad, "Mister, you're killing him! You gotta stop!"

And then, Dad was given what he was looking for. In a moment, his eyes locked with the big guy's eyes, and in Dad's face was the calm determination and reservation that he was prepared and able to do anything he needed to do to defend himself against punks, and in the big guy's face, the realization that he had been beaten, by a better man than he.

Before the big guy passed out, Dad let go. The man crumpled to the floor. Dad bent down close to him, and whispered, "If you ever come up to me again, you will feel my hand again, only this time, I will break your fucking neck." Then, to the bartender, "You're a dirty son of a bitch. How many times have you let this asshole do this? I ought to choke the shit out of you, too."

Dad never went back to that bar.

This is a small measure of the man that was DNA's Dad. Like Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown, or Jim, (you know what DNA is talkin' bout if you're a Jim Croce fan) you just didn't mess with Dad, unless you were comfortable with the idea of meeting your Maker. He was a wonderful human being, kind, generous to a fault, but if crossed him, or threatened him or his family, then there was no middle ground, and if you fought, only one would walk away.

Tranfer Complete!

At least for now. DNA has temporarily placed all the music files in accessible places, and changed the index page of the old website to redirect people here. Everything should be ready to go. Please comment back if you find a dead link or something like that.

DNA

Tranferred...

DNA completed transferring most of the important stuff from the old website. DNA is working on setting up a new web host to hold all of the songs and image files. As soon as everything is ready, DNA will shut down the old site, and send it off in fine fashion. Until then,

DNA

Song Lyrics

Song Lyrics

by The DNA Vibrator

copyright 2007, 2008, 2009

Brainmilk Publishing

Here are the lyrics for all of the record, "The Shape Of Things To Have Come And Gone," or as DNA calls it, TSOTTHCAG. If you are reading these, you should also be willing to wash DNA's car. Afterwards, DNA has included different lyrics from a variety of DNA songs, old and new. Enjoy!

After that is the lyric sheet for "From Obscurity To Global Domination In Three EASY Steps."

Hey Kids

Hey kids, don�t be so hard on your old man, he�s doing the best that he can.
He once was a kid too, y�know, although, that was a pretty long time ago.

Before the bills and the family and the upkeep on the home;
Before the car and the school and payment on the student loan.

Hey kids, don�t disrespect your old man, sleeping there sprawled out in his easy chair.
He once looked more like you well-muscled too, and he had a hell of a lot more hair.

Before the bills and the family and the upkeep on the home;
Before the car and the school and payment on the student loan.

Be glad he doesn�t know how to hang a plasma TV on the wall
Or why it's important to text your friends hanging out at the mall.

Hey kids, growing old was never part of the plan, it never is when you're a young man.
He once was in a rock and roll band, your friends will think he's cool but you'll never understand

Before the bills and the family and the upkeep on the home;
Before the car and the school and payment on the student loan.

Hey kids, let him remember the glory days, senility is still a few days away.
He once drove a car that was the bomb, had a hot chick on his arm, guess what, that was your mom!

Before the bills and the family and the upkeep on the home;
Before the car and the school and payment on the student loan.

Could you imagine if your dad was still cool how creepy that would be
Hanging out with 17 year olds, buying clothes at Hot Topic, even though he's 40?

Well

Well, I tried to tell the truth
But you, you lied, before you knew

The truth in all of its infamy
And how, ugly the truth can be
But now that you know aren't you happy?

That the well, that you tapped
Has gone dry, has went sour has been
Sapped, has caved in, has collapsed has been
Capped?

Thought it took a savior to turn that
Water to w(h)ine
But now that its done all we gotta do is
Waste a little time
To turn that wine into vinegar

Well, well, well, well, well, well, well, well

Were we ever in love, do you remember the place?
Or the feelings we felt do you still feel a trace?
Or impressions of the time we cared,
Or an outline of the love we shared,
Or is all that�s left the depression in your heart?
I�m so sorry to hear, that you're not

Well, you seem sick
Your mind's eye
Has been tricked.
It's sublime,
Difficult to see
Except for you
Except for me

Now you know the truth in all its infamy
And how ugly the truth can be
But now that you know, aren't you
Happy? Happy? Happy? Happy?

Well?

Plate Tectonic King

Alfred Wegener, what do you know!
Universally despised not long ago.
Naysayers' ideas withered and died,
But your ideas made worlds collide.

By comparative analysis of fossil flora and fauna;
Pangea, subsequently, Laurasia and Gondwana;
Continental drift, and polar wandering,
Makes you the plate tectonic king.

The plate tectonic king

Some of Wegener's ideas were wrong---
Like ocean floors which continents plowed along.
He couldn't explain how the continents moved
And so his theories were ignored or disproved.

But new evidence provided by paleomagnetism
Rock matches on each side of the Atlantic schism
Along with new theories, like seafloor spreading
Makes you the plate tectonic king.

The plate tectonic king

Ridge push, slab pull, convection in the lithosphere
Magnetic reversals and anomalies,
Divergent, convergent, and transform boundaries
Ocean drilling and satellite photos seem pretty clear

That convection currents in the mantle rock
Brings the hot mantle up to the top.
Mid-oceanic ridges are caused by rising flow
Ocean trenches plunge the cold rock below

The distribution of volcanoes and earthquakes explained
Mantle plumes and hot spots raising islands in long chains
The theory of plate tectonics remains especially appealing
Which makes you the plate tectonic king

The plate tectonic king
Alfred Wegener, what do you know?
The plate tectonic king
Alfred Wegener, what do you know?
The plate tectonic king
Alfred Wegener, what do you know?

I Wish I Would Have Listened To Him More

He rapped his knuckles on the table
The rhythm let you know he was around
He'd have danced if his knees were able
If you were close enough his love taps could knock you to the ground

He was quick to joke and quick to anger
A better friend you'd never get
Judged a man solely by his actions
And if you crossed him once you surely would regret the day you met

He was strong, he was tough, he was hard, he was brave,
He was fair, he was honest, principled and unafraid.
He was kind, he was faithful, he was simple, he was wise,
He was funny, he was thoughtful, would cut a bully down to size.
He raised me right, stood up to fight for the things worth fighting for.
I wish I would have listened to him more.

It was hard for him to say he was sorry
I've learned it's hard for any dad to say he's wrong
But he shouldered so much pain and worry
Sometimes it's difficult to bend when you have to be so strong

He taught us all the simple lessons
Like do your best and do what's right
Stand up for what you believe in
And believe with all your might

He was strong, he was tough, he was hard, he was brave,
He was fair, he was honest, principled and unafraid.
He was kind, he was faithful, he was simple, he was wise,
He was funny, he was thoughtful, would cut a bully down to size.
He raised me right, stood up to fight for the things worth fighting for.
I wish I would have listened to him more.

(solo)

He was strong, he was tough, he was hard, he was brave,
He was fair, he was honest, principled and unafraid.
He was kind, he was faithful, he was simple, he was wise,
He was funny, he was thoughtful, would cut a bully down to size.
He raised me right, stood up to fight for the things worth fighting for.
I wish I would have listened to him more.

Folsom Prison

I hear the train a comin' it�s rollin' 'round the bend
And I ain't seen the sunshine, since I don't know when
I'm stuck in Folsom Prison, and time keeps draggin' on
But the train keeps a rollin' on down to San Antone.

When I was just a baby, my momma told me, "Son,
Always be a good boy, don't ever play with guns."
But I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die.
But when I hear that whistle blowin' I hang my head and cry.

(solo)

I bet there's rich folks eatin' in their fancy dining cars
They're probably drinkin' coffee and smokin' big cigars
But I know I had it comin' I know I can't be free
But those people keep a movin' and that's what tortures me.

Well if they freed me from this prison if that railroad train was mine
I'd bet I'd move out a little a little farther down the line
Far from Folsom Prison that's where I want to stay
And I'd let that lonesome whistle blow my blues away.

(solo)

Hard Science

You've got a heart of stone
As hard to crack and fragile like and ancient bone
Your granite smile tries to hide the faults of your rocky facade crumbling inside
I can't chisel through the layers deposited by you
To protect the delicate impression of the feelings you've fossilized

I didn't expect that my degree in paleontology would come in so handily
I like your Geology

I would like to graph the equation that would map the curve of your spine
Your hips, your lips, your fingertips trace a perfect ellipse
Which contradicts the tangents in my mind.
You know my angle, I'm deriving your cosign, and my solution is your change over time.

I like your Geometry, I like your Geometry, Pythagoras, he would agree
You spin the world, not gravity

And then it happened, I won, and she was mine, and that special place in my mind that she occupied really did change over time, so that she was no longer who I loved, but what I defined.

I don't need you to analyze, or synthesize, or criticize, the thousands of ways the things I say or think or feel is wrong.
My house of cards rests precariously upon the shards Of the glass one that I built and shattered, and scattered through the pieces of my life,
To the winds of the world, which have battered them, for so very long.

I don't need psychology, Astronomy, or Biology, to give you what I see you need,
So I'll leave with my apology.

A Brief History Of The DNA Vibrator

Went to school at Southern Illinois University at Carbondale
Fucked up just enough so that despite myself I nearly failed
Me and my homies on Hayes we would have parties for days
The scourge of the neighborhood, our music landed us in jail.

We spent our 20's in and out of half a dozen different bands
We spent our money in the studio like each dollar was a grain of sand
All on a quest to be granted immortality
A little radio airplay and our moment of truth would be at hand.

It's a funny thing your life has a way of working itself out
No matter which road you choose it follows a single route
My bands didn't hit it big, but every so often I still play a gig
I will always have my music and that's what it's all about.

The Three Deaths Of Juan Belmonte

Juan Belmonte, toreador, left a myth to explore
Defining what it is to be a man, to face your fears, to take a stand

The three deaths of Juan Belmonte
The three deaths of Juan Belmonte
The three deaths of Juan Belmonte

Friends with Ernest Hemmingway, checked out the same way
Knew when he had passed his prime, he selected his own time
The three deaths of Juan Belmonte
The three deaths of Juan Belmonte
The three deaths of Juan Belmonte

Well Juan's alright, yeah he's okay
Tomorrow will be a brighter day
Survived the night and he's seen the light
Cuz Juan was right, yeah!

Juan wanted to die in one of three ways: Horse riding, bullfighting, or getting laid
I'd prefer to be in bed, but either way, you end up dead

The three deaths of Juan Belmonte
The three deaths of Juan Belmonte
The three deaths of Juan Belmonte

Well Juan's alright, yeah, he's okay
Future's in his hands, charting his own way
Defended by might what he knew was right

Juan had the sight to see past today
To dream of his country's new glory days
Took a path one night, set a fire alight

Now it's burning bright if you wish to see
You can control your destiny
May not agree with his methodology
But Juan was right, yeah!

Victim Of Vicious Love

He didn't mean to harm anyone. He felt a little like Prince Charming and Don Juan
Rolled into one but she deserved so much more, to be treated like a queen instead of a whore.

Think about who you're pleasing whose consciousness you're easing
Caught in the grips of an everyday life, she was tired of being a mother and a wife.
Tired of looking around and seeing, other people enjoying just being alive.

Think about who you're pleasing whose consciousness you're easing

Victim of Vicious Love
Victim of Vicious Love
Victim of Vicious Love
Victim of Vicious Love

Each the object of the others' desires, they were burned into adulterers and liars.
Out of control in heated lust, incinerating everything that could combust.

Think about who you're pleasing whose consciousness you're easing

Less Than 1%
Not so defiant now that you're all alone. The shoes on the other foot since you've Walked so far from home.
How does it feel to have a target on your back? To not know who's a friend, or who's Likely to attack?

Hey, I
Don't believe that we can kill in God's name
Hey, I
Think the righteous are the fuel of Hell's flame

Now that you're caught and you can see what you've done, "It all felt so unreal" You thought when your hand was on the gun
Facing your victims, the judge has your fate in his hands Mercy is not a concept that we truly understand

Hey, I
Don't believe that we can kill in God's name
Hey, I
Think the righteous are the fuel of Hell's flame

Less than 1% of DNA separates man from ape
But you don't hear gorillas preaching love but feeling hate
Which species is more evolved only time will decide
Which one of us lives within our bounds and which one commits mass suicide

Now come to me children, let me gather my flock, the Lord has commanded a Thorny path to walk.
The time is now, gather round, for us to ascend, drink, drink up from this cup This is the beginning, not the end

Hey, I
Don't believe that we can kill in God's name
Hey, I
Think the righteous are the fuel of Hell's flame

Less than 1% of DNA separates man from ape
But you don't hear gorillas preaching love but feeling hate
Which species is more evolved only time will decide
Which one of us lives within our bounds and which one commits mass suicide

Pretty Ugly

Pretty ugly, awfully nice
Won't you take some good advice

Pick your contradictions up off the floor
Don't let complexity bother you anymore

Pretty ugly, awfully nice
Won't you take some good advice

Pick your contradictions up off the floor
Don't let complexity bother you anymore

Silent scream waking dream
Nearly perfect to me

Pretty ugly
Pretty ugly
Pretty ugly

Medicine Bag

I got a medicine bag which keeps my sickness away
I got a medicine bag which holds my demons at bay
I got some voodoo charms and dolls made of clay
I got some needles and pins which make my dolls obey

I got a medicine bag, I got a medicine bag, I got a medicine bag, okay?

I got a mojo suit, which I wear at night
I got a mojo suit which comes on when I turn out the light
I got some demon boots, made out of black rawhide
I got some ways to go but which way I can't decide

I got a mojo suit, I got some demon boots, I got a message for you, alright?

I'm givin' up my magic to get to you
Cuz without your spell I ain't doin' well
I said without your love I'm goin' to hell
Without your love I'm goin' to hell
Without your love I'm goin' to hell
Without your love I'm goin' to....Hell!

I got a medicine bag, I got a medicine bag, I got a medicine bag, yeah!

I'm givin' up my magic to get to you
Cuz without your spell I ain't doin' well
I said without your love I'm goin' to hell
Without your love I'm goin' to hell
Without your love I'm goin' to hell
Without your love I'm goin' to....

I'll be your warlock king if you are my queen
I'll be your warlock king like you ain't never seen
I will be your priest if you're my sacrifice
I will take your soul left to my own device

I'll be your warlock king, I'll be your warlock king, I'll be your warlock king,
If you'll be my queen.

Ghost Riders In The Sky

An old cowboy went ridin' out one dark and windy day
Upon a ridge he rested as he went along his way
When all at once a mighty herd of red eyed cows he saw
Plowin' through the ragged skies and up a cloudy draw

Their brands were still on fire and their hooves were made of steel
Their horns were black and shiny and their hot breath he could feel
A bolt of fear went through him as they thundered through the sky
For he saw the riders comin' hard and he heard their mournful cry

Yippee aye oooooo Yippee aye ayyyyyyyy
Ghost Riders In The Sky

Their faces gaunt, their eyes were blurred their shirts all soaked with sweat
He's ridin' hard to catch that herd but he ain't caught 'em yet
Cuz they've got to ride forever in that range up in the sky
On horses snortin' fire, as they ride on hear their cry

As the riders rode on by him he heard one call his name
If you want to save your soul from hell a ridin' on our range
Then cowboy change your ways today or with us you will ride
Tryin' to catch the devil's herd across the endless sky

Yippee aye oooooo Yippee aye ayyyyyyyy
Ghost Riders In The Sky

Yippee aye oooooo Yippee aye ayyyyyyyy
Ghost Riders In The Sky

Yippee aye oooooo Yippee aye ayyyyyyyy
Ghost Riders In The Sky

Yippee aye oooooo Yippee aye ayyyyyyyy
Ghost Riders In The Sky

One More Time

Her face was not the same
Her face was not the same
It looked more like her mother's
Her face was not the same

Her place was not the same
Her place was not the same
Now it was my brother's
Her place was not the same

Now that she's gone, the ties that bind
Once so strong seem so hard to find
I may be wrong, its hard to say
If my sister and brothers are drifting away

Her face was not the same
Her face was not the same
It looked more like her mother's
Her face was not the same

Her place was not the same
Her place was not the same
Now it was my brother's
Her place was not the same

I wish you were here, I wish I was there
I wish we had another moment to spare
You were my world now my world is gone
Foundation shattered which I stood upon

Her face was not the same
Her face was not the same
It looked more like her mother's
Her face was not the same

Her place was not the same
Her place was not the same
Now it was my brother's
Her place was not the same

I miss you much, I need you now
I guess I'll go on, but I don't know how
I'd give anything to have you back for awhile
To hear your voice and to feel your smile
One more time, one more time, one more time

Remember

There is a place that I can go, it is a place that I call home.
Love's currency is what we share between us all we're millionaires.
It's bought us happiness and joy, my sister's girls my brothers' boys.
It's like a flame that can't expire, and needs no fuel to keep its fire.
Faith is all it needs to burn, supplied, transformed, and then returned
To its eternal source above, best described only as Love.

There are few moments when its clear, when troubles seem to disappear
When time itself is standing still, like sunshine balanced on a hill,
When worry fades right from your eyes like sanguine clouds in autumn skies
Open them up again to see what�s always been a Mystery.

As we begin our family I sing this song to my baby,
So after many years have passed, this will be yours to the last.
Some token of love to survive, a memory to keep alive
Of those who passed away before and those who'll love you even more.


Fistful of Cleveland

Feels like you're sinking in a pit of quicksand
Before you�re under better snatch a fistful of Cleveland
Take something with you that they won't soon forget
Better do it now, when's the next chance you'll get

AAAAHHHHHHHHHH x4

When did you stop and park the car on the shoulder?
Was it when you noticed that you were grey fat and older?
Do the colors that you like now seem colder?
Does responsibility weigh on you like a boulder

Then shrug it off, kiss death right on the lips
Feelings retreated from your fingertips
And though you can not feel it in your hand
Before you go, better snatch a fistful of Cleveland

A Note To My Old Band

I was born a Nightsoil Coolie, yeah that's no foolie
Shoveled shit for money so I could go to schoolie
With my buddy Tony and my buddy Brian
We turned into a band without even tryin'
We practiced in the basement of 503 Hayes
Hassled by the cops for the music we made
And the way we played it so loud it shook walls
We took it out, told the girls "Hold our calls,"
While we went off To Beverly....Hills, that is.

We drove a van, we played guitars,
In the shittiest, of shitty bars
Like the Cubby Bear, where we once played,
18 damn bucks was all we made
Or 611, a pizza bar dive,
at least we didn't have very far to drive
We made lots of records, as many as we could
But when school was over we were finished for good
I wanna, I wanna be
I wanna, I wanna be
I wanna be a Nightsoil Coolie!
What about fish?
You forgot fish!
Man fish'll be pissed!

But that was years ago, time has passed away,
Tony went to Chi-town and Brian didn't stay
We sold the van, we split the cash,
I started livin' like white trash
But the crazy karma wheel it turns itself around

Cuz sometimes you're on the up and sometimes you're on the down
And when we all split who'd a thought we'd come back
With Brian in our memory to lay a bomb track

I wanna, I wanna be
I wanna, I wanna be

All I Want For Christmas Is A Whole Lotta Cash

All I want for Christmas is a whole lotta cash
That's what I want, so give it to me man
And if you don't, I'll take it if I can
And if you think that sounds a little selfish,
Well kiss my ass, cuz this is my wish
But,
I'd settle for less, like love and human kindness
But I won't get that shit, cuz the world's a mess
So, instead I'll pray
That god will come down and say,
"I gave you all one chance, and now you're going away."

All I want for Christmas is a whole lotta cash
To be at Indy when there is a terrible crash
200 horny women, and no itchy rash
To smoke a bowl with all my friends who dipped into my stash
All I want for Christmas is a whole lotta cash

But,
I'd settle for less, like love and human kindness
But I won't get that shit, cuz the world�s a mess
So, instead I'll pray
That god will come down and say,
"I gave you all one chance, and now you�re going away."

My holiday spirit, don't wanna get near it
My merry Christmas just can't resist this
Like mary's typhoid sickness,

I'm infected, I'm infected
To tell the truth about today
I been selected, I been selected
And if you listen very long
You'll feel corrected, you'll feel corrected
What do you mean my mastercard has been rejected?
Let me inspect it!
Maybe the magnetic strip has been affected.
Oh yes, American Express, Express
Will end my distress, distress
Now I can buy some useless shit
Cuz I need some, yeah I need some
Hey now pity that poor fucker
He ain't gettin' none, he aint gettin' none
Now it's time for Dave to play
Cuz this song is done, cuz this song is done
Oh yeah!

138

Everywhere I look...........................138
Pages in my book............................138
When the earth shook.................it was 138
Records that you took.......................138

It rings of conspiracy
Somethings happening to me


Everything I buy............................138
Channels in the sky.........................138
Mohave Desert high..........................138
Needles in my eye...........................138

It rings of conspiracy
Somethings happening to me

SOLO

It rings of conspiracy
Somethings happening to me


DEVO Was Right

Lay a million eggs, or give birth to one. Avoid display, or wear bright colors: It doesn't matter! The fittest shall survive, yet the unfit may live.

We must repeat, we must repeat, we must repeat, we must repeat

DEVO was right, DEVO was right, DEVO was right, DEVO was right

We're pinheads now, we are not whole, we're pinheads now, jocko-homo. Think or be led, to think that you're lead, if you're led to think, it might go to your head

We must repeat, we must repeat, we must repeat, we must repeat

God made man, but a monkey, sure look like you do

DEVO was right, DEVO was right, DEVO was right, DEVO was right

Meow

Meow��meow�..meow

Chance And Opportunity

It was a year ago today that you went away
There were so many things to say that I didn't say
Looking back I realize good-bye was in your eyes
Regret's a very bitter pill I think I had my fill

And if somehow by chance you were standing here before me
I wouldn't challenge circumstance or bore you with my story
I'd take that opportunity and go for the glory
Cuz I still love you.
---Break---- Yeah.

There is no better time than now but I don't know how
To form my words into a sound stronger than my vow.
I need to re-invent the wheel to get where I feel
And if I see you once again there'll be no might have been

And if somehow by chance you were standing here before me
I wouldn't challenge circumstance or bore you with my story
I'd take that opportunity and go for the glory
Cuz I still love you.

And if somehow by chance you were standing here before me
I wouldn't challenge circumstance or bore you with my story
I'd take that opportunity and go for the glory
Cuz I still love you.

Ethnic Song

We watched Discovery together flipped to 36 and watched the weather
Did everything to please each other, and lied, "We love it."

Once we danced Hava Nagila that first night that we met on the beach
It was our one real night in a life of unreality

She collected college sweaters but quit school after two semesters
She said my face was not as deep now, it�s not forever.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? How long is forever when you're 19?
She skipped out of town on Friday, like she was some kind of gypsy queen.

It wasn't love that made me upset, but fear that she was all the love I'd get
I still don't know if I regret, that She's
Gone
Now.

Seven years! Seven Years! Seven years without you! Seven years without you! Seven years! What if we had bee too afraid to run away? Would we hate each other today? I stopped thinking and started drinking, and asked her, to come.

Home with me.

She wore head to toe leather 36 displayed the weather
I wondered whether she remembered back when we did this.

Once we danced Hava Nagila, but tonight we fucked and drank tequila
I don't care if it was shallow, that was as honest as we could be.

We watched discovery together, flipped to 36 to watch the weather
Did everything to please each other, but
That's Over Now.

Strange Love

There are some mysteries in our long history, one mystery I'd like to know Is why did you notice me consider the remotest possibility that maybe you and I had some place to go?

No doubt that love is strange it makes sane seem deranged But all I want to do is find out whether or not you are crazy too.

I'd run fast as I can like the six million dollar man but I still didn't have the change to keep up with you. I'd go to the same club hoping our elbows would rub, and if that's all I was going to get, well it would have to do.

No doubt that love is strange it makes sane seem deranged But all I want to do is find out whether or not you are crazy too.

One night after a show, I thought that maybe you might go somewhere with me so I said hello. I walked up to you direct, you offered so I smoked one of your clove cigarettes, and we haven't looked back even once I got no regrets

No doubt that love is strange it makes sane seem deranged But all I want to do is shout out to the whole world that I'm crazy too.

Just Give Me A Drink

I don't wanna hear about how many beers you drank last night
Just gimme a drink
I don't care if it's bad I guess I'm just like my dad and now its time to fight
Just gimme a drink
So I kicked your ass, took a broken glass and made you take a bite
Just gimme a drink

Something to whet my tongue
Something alone to make me feel among
Something to kill me slow
Cuz that's the way I want to�

Well I'm not in control, but I achieved my goal cuz I think I gone blind
Just gimme a drink
What am I looking for, most the time it's the door but most the time I find
Just gimme a drink
The floor instead sometimes I wish I were dead, but that's a little too kind
Just gimme a drink

Something to whet my tongue
Something alone so I can feel among
Something to kill me slow
Another drink before I....

Something that's like a sin
Cuz it hurt to feel again
Something to kill me slow
Cuz I'm still scared to
Go.

Big Black Cadillac

Before my daddy died he taught me this fact
If you wanna ride, buy a big Cadillac
Add custom chrome and dual glass packs
And like the rolling stones, you want to paint it black

I got a big, black cadillac
I got a big, black cadillac
I got a big, black cadillac
I got a big, black cadillac

A 472, with 400 horsepower
Ridin on 22's at 100 miles per hour
Black leather seats, power everything
The stereo is sweet, I feel like I'm a king
In my big, black Cadillac
In my big, black cadillac
In my big, black cadillac
In my big, black cadillac

Out on the interstate, master of my fate, you'll recognize my taillights, if you're out driving on them hot summer nights.

I got a big, black, Cadillac
I got a big, black, cadillac
I got a big, black, cadillac
I got a big, black, cadillac

I Can't Be Your Robot

That robot he ain't your friend I know you don't wanna hear this but I just can't pretend
When it says that things will be okay, puts its head on your shoulder, I just gotta say,
That robot isn't programmed to feel although he's there and he is real, he isn't me.

His brain is made of wire and conduit instead of a heart a pump for hydraulic fluid
Designed by a corporation gyroscopically balanced, a frame of titanium A marvel of engineering, built to fool so I hope you�re hearing it isn't me

I can't be you robot a robot only is what its designed to be
But if you want somebody to love you no machine can do that better than me

You can't break a robot's heart because its made of plastic and steel
It may seem like its returning affection, but like a mirror, reflections don't feel
Reflections they don't feel.
Reflections they don't feel

I can't be you robot a robot only is what its designed to be
But if you want somebody to love you no machine can do that better than than me
I can't be you robot a robot only is what its designed to be
But if you want somebody to love you no machine can do that better than me

God Made Us Funky

I'm a carton of hate I'm a wedge of spite
I'm a carton of hate I'm a wedge of spite
We're Milk and Cheese We're Milk and Cheese
We both gone bad We just ain't right
Our big ass laffs Are too hardcore
You don't deserve anymore
We're Milk and Cheese buy our records please
Our aim's to sell so go to Hell

Chorus music

Fear us suckers fear our truth
Mindless violence beyond reproof
Are we evil so some claim
But society is to blame
Start a riot, lose control
We are gods of rock and roll
Give me beer, give me gin
We're liquored up so let the mayhem begin

God Made UsFunky
God Made Us Funky
God Made Us Funky
God Made Us Funky

Break down Read the liner notes

Fod made us gunky, no wait I mean god made us funky
God made us funky God made us funky
God made us funky God made us funky
God made us funky God made us funky

Lyrics from the record, "From Obscurity To Global Domination In Three EASY Steps"

There’s Something On Your Back

There’s something on your back, I think it might be a spider
No, I’m not gonna give it a smack, it might sink its fangs deeper inside you

It might pierce your spinal column, this close to your brain
It might instantly paralyze you, or drive you bat-shit insane

There’s something on your back, yes I know what I’m talking about
Now everyone stay calm, and whatever you do don’t SHOUT

Oh my God it’s on your back, Oh my God it’s on your back, Oh my God it’s on your back, Oh my God it’s on your back, Oh my God it’s on your back, Oh my God it’s on your back, Oh my God it’s on your back, Oh my God it’s on your back Oh my God

You don’t have to be afraid anymore
It always does what its done before

If there’s something on my back, I guess I’ll just shrug it off
And if it won’t leave with that, I guess I’ll take in for a walk

Yeah there’s something on my back, a burden we all carry around
and I wouldn’t be the same if I laid my burden down

Yeah there’s something on my back, a shadow that I’ve walked through
And I know you don’t want to hear this, but there’s something on your back too!

Oh my God it’s on your back, Oh my God it’s on your back, Oh my God it’s on your back, Oh my God it’s on your back, Oh my God it’s on your back, Oh my God it’s on your back, Oh my God it’s on your back, Oh my God it’s on your back Oh my God

Oh my God, It’s on your back
Oh my God, It’s on your back
Oh my God, It’s on your back
Oh my God, It’s on your back


The Future Is Rosie

When Rose was born she outshone the sun of a Sunday morning
With hair like flame softer than the flower which bears her name
Her parents love was deep, and while she was fast asleep
They thanked the lord above to be given this girl who would show them the world

Rosie, the future is Rosie
Rosie, the future is Rosie

When Rose was nearly four, she touched the screen of Heaven’s door
She was invited to stay, but decided to come back another day to play
On that fateful day, many people kneeled and prayed
That through hope and faith and love, she would be saved, she was so brave

Rosie, the future is Rosie
Rosie, the future is Rosie

break

Now 20 years have passed, when you want time to slow down, it moves too fast
But when you wanted it to fly everything was standing by
Everything changed that day, but everything changes, either way
Rose is who she wants to be, outshining the sun of a Sunday morning


Rosie, the future is Rosie
Rosie, the future is Rosie
Rosie, the future is Rosie
Rosie, the future is Rosie



Black Monday

The closing bell on Wall Street never sounded so sweet
As is did this afternoon; I’m getting drunk real soon
Half of what we own, I lost on the telephone
What am I going to say, when I see my wife today?

I can just imagine it, tragic as Plantagenet
With murder in her eyes, until she realized
If she kills me there is no way the life insurance will pay
So instead she sits and smiles shedding tears like a crocodile’s

It’s got to look like an accident like I tripped when I knelt and bent
To gather up my paper; they’re gonna need a scraper
To peel me off of that train, at least that’s what I’m praying
Now I hear the bells again, and see a light that looks like Heaven

Now I hear the bells again,
Now I hear the bells again
Now I hear the bells again
And see a light that looks like Heaven



God Made Us Funky

I’m a carton of hate
I’m a wedge of spite
I’m a carton of hate
I’m a wedge of spite
We’re Milk and Cheese, we’re Milk and Cheese,
We’ve both gone bad, we just ain’t right
Our big-ass laffs are too hardcore
You don’t deserve anymore
We’re Milk and Cheese, buy our records please
Our aim’s to sell, so go to hell

Fear us suckers, fear our Truth:
Mindless violence beyond reproof
Are we evil?
So some claim, but Society is to blame!
Start a riot, lose control
We are gods of rock and roll
Give me beer
Give me gin
We’re liquored up so let the mayhem begin

God made us funky!
God made us funky!
God made us funky!
God made us funky!

solo

God made us funky!
God made us funky!
God made us funky!
God made us funky!



Big Bad John

Big John, Big John

Every morning at the mine you could see him arrive
He stood six foot six and weighed 245
Kind of broad at the shoulder and narrow at the hip
And everybody knew you didn’t give no lip to Big John

Big John, Big John, Big Bad John

Nobody seemed to know where John called home
He just drifted into town and stayed all alone
Didn’t say much, kind of quiet and shy
And if you spoke at all, you just said hi, to Big John

Somebody said he came from New Orleans
Where he got in a fight over a Cajun queen
A crashin’ blow from a huge right hand
Sent a Louisana fellow to the promised land, Big John

Big John, Big John, Big Bad John

Then came that day at the bottom of the mine
When a timber cracked and men started cryin’
Miners we’re prayin’ their hearts beat fast
And everybody thought that they’d breathed their last, ‘cept John

Through the dust and the smoke of this man-made hell
Walked a giant of a man the miners knew well
Grabbed a sagging timber, and gave out with a groan
And like a giant oak tree, just stood their alone

Big John, Big John, Big Bad John

solo

With all his strength he gave a mighty shove
Then a miner yelled out, “There’s a light up above!”
Then 20 men scrambled from a would-grave
Now there’s only one left down there to save and that’s John

With jacks and timbers, they started back down
Then came that rumble way down in the ground
Then the smoke and gas belched out of that mine
Everybody knew it was the end of the line for John

Big John, Big John, Big Bad John

Now they never re-opened that worthless pit
They just placed a marble stand in front of it
These few words were written on that stand:

At the bottom of this mine lies one hell of a man: Big John


Big John, Big John, Big Bad John
Big John, Big John, Big Bad John
Big John, Big John, Big Bad John
Big John, Big John, Big Bad John




I Got What I Got

20 years of drugs and drink ain’t hardly slowed me down
But when my fears make me stop and think why I’m still fuckin’ around
See I got no silver spoon just this guitar I detuned to make the girls come
I’m just a regular goon, a workin’ class buffoon, whose done before he’s begun

So when I sidle up to your girl, although you gave her the moon I’m gonna show her the world
And later when she feels the earth begin to heave beneath her feet she’s gonna wonder how I make an earthquake feel so sweet, yeah!

Cuz I got what I got, and I’m gonna get it on
I’m the freak that she’ll seek to make her weak from dusk til dawn
Yeah, I got what I got and man, you got none
So take your best shot, punk, and then I’ll drop you like an atom bomb

Lookin’ back at the things I done, and I shouldn’t a did
Baby I got regrets not one, nothing to forgive
See I’m like a natural force grinding on a course, through your trailer park
There ain’t no stoppin’ this man, I’ll finish what I began, on the hunt after dark

So when I whirl up to your girl, although you gave her the moon I’m gonna show her the world
And later when she feels the earth begin to heave beneath her feet she’s gonna wonder how I make an earthquake feel so sweet, yeah!

Cuz I got what I got, and I’m gonna get it on
I’m the freak that she’ll seek to make her weak from dusk til dawn
Yeah, I got what I got and man, you got none
So take your best shot, punk, and then I’ll drop you like an atom bomb

solo

I got what I got, and I’m gonna get it on
I’m the freak that she’ll seek to make her weak from dusk til dawn
Yeah, I got what I got and man, you got none
So take your best shot, punk, and then I’ll drop you like an atom bomb

Yeah, I got what I got, and I’m gonna get it on
I’m the freak that she’ll seek to make her weak from dusk til dawn
Yeah, I got what I got and man, you got none
So take your best shot, punk, and then I’ll drop you like an atom bomb




Plate Tectonic King

Alfred Wegener, what do you know? Universally despised not long ago. Naysayers ideas withered and died, but your ideas made worlds collide,
By comparative analysis of fossil flora and fauna
Pangea, subsequently, Laurasia and Gondwana,
Continental drift, and polar wandering,
Makes you the plate tectonic king

The plate tectonic king

Some of Wegener’s ideas were wrong, like ocean floors which continents plowed along
He couldn’t explain how the continents moved, and so his theories were ignored or disproved
But new evidence provided by paleomagnetism, rock matches on each side of the Atlantic schism, along with new theories, like sea floor spreading,
Makes you the plate tectonic king

The plate tectonic king

Ridge push, slab pull, convection in the lithosphere, magnetic reversals and anomalies, divergent, convergent, and transform boundaries, ocean drilling and satellite photos seem pretty clear

That convection currents in the mantle rock, bring the hot mantle up to the top.
Mid-oceanic ridges are caused by rising flow, ocean trenches plunge the cold rock below
The distribution of volcanoes and earthquakes explained, mantle plumes and Hotspots raising islands in long chains, the theory of plate tectonics remains especially appealing,
Which makes you the plate tectonic king

The plate tectonic king
The plate tectonic king
Alfred Wegener, what do you know?
The plate tectonic king
Alfred Wegener, what do you know?
The plate tectonic king




I Saw Jared

I saw Jared walkin’ down the hall, big man on campus he was walkin’ tall
Jared’s been around he knows a thing or two about walkin’ in another person’s shoes

I saw Jared, I saw Jared, I saw Jared, and he helped me see things through
I saw Jared, I saw Jared, I saw Jared, and if you look you’ll see him too

A G-man from back on the block, Jared walks the walk while others talk the talk
He loves his family and he loves his school, tries to do no wrong, keeps the golden rule

I saw Jared, I saw Jared, I saw Jared, and he helped me see things through
I saw Jared, I saw Jared, I saw Jared, and if you look you’ll see him too

break

He knows this campus like the back of his hand, through the valley of the shadow he fears no man, seeking his reward in the Promised Land, hold his feet to the fire and he might get a tan

If you see Jared, you should call his name, he’s a friend to all he treats all the same.
If you feel like you’re carrying a heavy load, you just walked a block down Jared’s road.


I saw Jared, I saw Jared, I saw Jared, and he helped me see things through
I saw Jared, I saw Jared, I saw Jared, and if you look you’ll see him too
I saw Jared, I saw Jared, I saw Jared, and he helped me see things through
I saw Jared, I saw Jared, I saw Jared, and if you look you’ll see him too




It Could Have Been Worse

In the 21st Century people live in harmony
Free from gravity and economic calamity
‘Least that’s what the futurists dreamed in 1953
But in 2008 things don’t seem so great
Throwing everything away here this morning and gone today

But it could have been worse
Yes, it could have been worse
Well, it could have been worse,
Of course it could have been….

Glass cities floating in the sky, cold fusion powered apple pie
Living with instead of against, all of Nature’s consequence
But when we made ourselves to be Masters of everything we see
We screwed the pooch and in a mighty flash, spaceship Earth is gonna crash
More effective than a bomb, we consume until it’s gone

But it could have been worse
Yes, it could have been worse
Well, it could have been worse,
Of course it could have been….

solo

Here comes global climate change mass extinctions on its way

But it could have been worse
Yes, it could have been worse
Well, it could have been worse,
Of course it could have been….




It Got Worse

It got worse, before it got better but it got better, eventually
And if it gets worse again, it will probably get better again,
And if it doesn’t well there’s never any guarantee.

Living every moment afraid, I don’t feel like a man anymore
If you gave me a shovel and called it a grave,
At least I’d know why I was down in this hole

It got worse, before it got better but it got better, eventually
And if it gets worse again, it will probably get better again,
And if it doesn’t well there’s never any guarantee.

Once I get past a certain point, I’d rather be dead than feel the way I feel
Unfurl the shroud and with oil anoint
Roll the stone so the tomb is sealed

Sometimes it’s alright, when I’m self indulgent and petrified
To feel lonely, but never alone
Cuz I remember who is by my side.

break

They say that it’s darkest before the dawn, that’s like saying you live as your last breath’s drawn
If you live like every day might be your last, then no matter what dawn comes too fast

Sometimes it’s alright, when I’m self indulgent and petrified
To feel lonely, but never alone
Cuz I remember who is by my side.

Sometimes it’s alright, when I’m self indulgent and petrified
To feel lonely, but never alone
Cuz I remember who is by my side.

Sometimes it’s alright

To feel lonely, but never alone




Possessed

Oh baby, it’s time to exorcise your demons
Bottled up inside only one way to free them
So baby, lay down and take off your clothes
And we’ll loose those bounds make you lose control

And when you feel me comin’ in, then you’ll feel them comin’ out
And when you feel me come again, it’ll make you want to shout, say

Yeah! Say yeah! Say yeah! Say yeah!

You never know when those demons might rise
If they infest you again, and possess your thighs
You know I got the cure when you’ve got the itch
You can rest assured when you feel that twitch

And when you feel me comin’ in, then you’ll feel them comin’ out
And when you feel me come again, it’ll make you want to shout, say

Yeah! Say yeah! Say yeah! Say yeah!

I rebuke you in the name of Jesus. Be healed. Praise God!

Let loose your cries, let me hear your pleas
Reaching to the skies, from your bended knees
When it’s feeling strong, but your feeling weak,
Girl it won’t take long, to turn your other cheek

And when you feel me comin’ in, then you’ll feel them comin’ out
And when you feel me come again, it’ll make you want to shout, say

Yeah! Say yeah! Say yeah! Say yeah!




You Call My Name

You call my name---you call my name
A moth to a flame can’t explain
The spiral in, out of control
Yet predictable, how it all ends

Blinded, burned, battered, bruised,
Bound by the Devil’s tongue
What else do I have to lose?
Everything, it’s just begun.

I’ve seen this road, been down it before
Never want it no more, cuz I know where it goes
Even though I swore, I’d never see it again
Yet here I am where the road ends

Shackled, shorn, shattered, shamed
I’ve go no one else to blame
Once you hear the siren’s call
Nothing ever sounds the same

I’m so low
I’m so low
I’m so low
I’m so low

You call my name
And I reply
You call my name
Even though I tgry
You call my name
To resist your cry
You call my name
You are not denied
You call my name
You call my name
You call my name
You call my name

Blinded, burned, battered, bruised,
Bound by the Devil’s tongue
What else do I have to lose?
Everything, it’s just begun.
Shackled, shorn, shattered, shamed
I’ve go no one else to blame
Once you hear the siren’s call
Nothing ever sounds the same

You call my name
You call my name
You call my name
You call my name
You call my name
You call my name




The Ballad Of Theo And Marian

She’s from Toronto, by way of Ghana, when she was eight she had to leave her mama
He’s from the southland, from Tennessee, he was adopted as a baby
She grew up right, she grew up strong, sings like an angel, runs all day long
He dearly loved his family, when old enough served in the Navy

And if you were there when they met, then you’d a heard me say:
The way they fight it must be love, he’s gonna marry her someday

When they first met at work, she thought he was a jerk
She ran track at SIU, he tipped back a beer or two
She had like four degrees, he liked to cut the cheese
She liked to sing at church, he played Xbox after work

And, oh yeah, there was this other thing among the differences that I found
Something night and day, so obvious you’d see if you were around
Something about color, that always seemed to hound
I think it was their eyes see his were blue and hers were brown.

And if you were there then you’d have seen their fire become a light
and I said, “Now’s your chance, ‘fore it’s too late, you better marry that girl tonight!”

So here we stand to witness in, their bond of marriage, Theo and Marian
In sickness and in health, in poverty, or in wealth
So raise your glass, and make your toast,
Bestow your gifts, honor them the most
We wish you many years of happiness, may your union be forever blest

And for all time, should anyone consider or wonder:
What God consecrated, let no man ever sunder




The Simple Pleasures

So you say you like to live on the edge
Your margin for error is pretty thin
What are you compensating for?
What childhood void still needs filled in?
Why do you nearly die, before you feel alive?
Why are you in the mess you’re in?

You swam the raging rivers
Crossed the Great Divide
Camped on the side of an erupting volcano
Climbed the highest mountainside
And even though the air is rarified up there
Our living’s done down here below

Earth’s greatest treasures
The simple pleasures

Like how you feel the first time your baby laughs
Or how you feel everytime he cries
Finding an insect on a blade of grass
You’ve never seen before even though you’ve looked a thousand times
Smelling coffee, eating toffee
With every breath you’re glad to be alive

Earth’s greatest treasures
The simple pleasures

solo


Earth’s greatest treasures
The simple pleasures

Earth’s greatest treasures
The simple pleasures

Earth’s greatest treasures
The simple pleasures




All I Want For Christmas Is A Whole Lotta Cash

All I want for Christmas is a whole lotta cash
That’s what I want, so give it to me, man,
And if you don’t, I’ll take it if I can
And if you think, that sounds a little selfish,
Then kiss my ass, cuz this is my wish,

But,

I’d settle for less, like love and human kindness
But I won’t get that shit, cuz the world’s a mess
So, instead I’ll pray, that God will come down and say
That “I gave you all one chance, and now you’re going away.”

All I want for Christmas is a whole lotta cash
To be an Indy when there is a terrible crash
200 horny women, and no itchy rash
To smoke a bowl with all my friends who dipped into my stash
All I want for Christmas is a whole lotta cash,

But,

I’d settle for less, like love and human kindness
But I won’t get that shit, cuz the world’s a mess
So, instead I’ll pray, that God will come down and say
That “I gave you all one chance, and now you’re going away.”

My holiday spirit, don’t want to get near it
My Merry Christmas just can’t resist this
Like Mary Typhoid’s sickness, I’m

Infected, I’m infected, to tell the truth about today I been
Selected, I been selected, and if you listen very long you’ll feel
Corrected, you’ll fell corrected, what do you mean my mastercard has been
Rejected? Let me inspect it. Maybe the magnetic strip has been
Affected. Ahh yes, American Express, Express, will end my
Distress, distress, so I can buy some useless shit, cuz I
Need some, yeah I need some, well now pity that poor fucker, he ain’t
Getting’ none, he ain’t getting’ none, now it’s time for Dave to play
Cuz this song is done, cuz this song is done, oh yeah!




You Didn’t Know

You didn’t know
You didn’t know
It was the last day that you would see me, cuz I had to go
If there’d been another way, believe me, that’s the way I would have chose

You didn’t know
You didn’t know
When I shut the door behind me that moment was our last
The game was over months beforehand, when the final die were cast

You didn’t know
You didn’t know

break
solo

You didn’t know
You didn’t know
Even though I held your hands in my hands, ignorance isn’t bliss
Good-bye this morning meant forever, betrayed by a kiss

You didn’t know
You didn’t know
You didn’t know
You didn’t know
You didn’t know
You didn’t know

Myoo-SICK Revues

Myoo-SICK REVUES

This is where all of DNA's Myoo-SICK Revues are collected for the kids. Like DNA said on the front page, when you live music, it's okay to talk about music, and offer your opinion about music every once in awhile. Recently, DNA started to review bands, in the hopes that DNA might change everybody's lives or cure cancer. Okay, he started reviewing bands to get cheap shots in at no talent hacks, and to give a forum to some good bands that ought to be heard. If DNA says your band sucks, it's okay---it only means that your music means nothing, or perhaps even less. In the big scheme of things, that's only a little less important than the atomic bomb. If DNA says your band is awesome, however, then watch the fuck out. You are on a sky rocket to immortality. You should expect lots of sex, drugs and money coming your way soon. In the end, this too means nothing, or perhaps even less, but you'll be so much happier doing it.

Everyones' A Critic...

Myoo-SICK REVUE

This is a feature that DNA has wanted to do for some time. Hopefully, he will make this a regular feature. After having established in this blog that logically, no music sucks, only the listener's ability to appreciate it does, he was swamped with literally hundreds of humble submissions from readers which really did suck. Hack songs, hack lyrics, terrible production, rehashed themes, blatantly ripped off melodies, you name it, DNA heard it. So, DNA might have to reconsider the concept that no music sucks. Many examples of DNA's own songs are not very likable, so DNA understands that some songs might take a lot of bourbon or weed to appreciate.

However, even music that sucks must have some redeeming value, right? Right? Well, DNA will be the judge. DNA will try to select a wide variety of music, popular, obscure, current, past, famous and not, and try to provide a critical analysis. DNA will try to be fair, to understand why something he thinks is terrible might be liked by somebody. AND, if DNA disses a band you like, then DNA will print your critical rebuttal if it is any good.

DNA expects that most of what he reviews will be easy to skewer, some of it will need to be skewered and hasn't been, and every once in awhile, he will find some stuff that has been skewered that needs to be admired, and even more rarely, will find something really good that has been missed.

Myspace seemed like a good place to start searching for artists who fit the above criteria. DNA went to Myspace, and went to the Top Artists tab. The top of the top unsigned artists today (11/2/07) was one Tila Tequila.

"Tila Nguyen was 1 year old when she moved to the U.S. from Singapore, but she's Vietnamese by heritage and blond by choice. As for what she does for a living, there isn't really a word for it yet. Nguyen, who goes by Tila Tequila professionally, is some combination of rapper, singer, model, blogger and actress. But what she mostly is is the queen of the massive social-networking website MySpace..." - Time Magazine

Okay, get that? TIME MAGAZINE???? Sorry. Instead of giving you a couple of quotes encapsulating the psychology of why anyone expresses any kind of interest in Tila, DNA will direct you to this well-written article in the New York times.

Seriously, take a moment to read it. It says everything DNA could about what motivates us as a culture. But, DNA isn't here to critique Tila as a human being, or a myspace phenomena, or MTV sl---uh, star, but as a musician. DNA looked for a long time for anyone actually reviewing her music.

Out of 819,000 hits for "Tila Tequila Review," DNA found only three actual reviews of songs by Tila Tequila. Some might argue that this alone is overwhelming evidence that, like so many have written, she is less artist than entrepreneur, which is the word they use for "whore" in the nice blogs. In the not so nice blogs, they use "whore" for "whore."

Here is a sample of her writing on the song, "Stripper Friends:"

All my stripper friends, all my ex-boyfriends, we all want the same thing, we all want the same thing.
Bodies in the bar, reaching for the stars, we all want the same thing, we all want the same thing.

Good writers write what they know. DNA is not surprised that Tila knows lots about strippers and has lots of ex-boyfriends. But is this enough meat to feed a song? Is the rhyme between the words "friends" and "friends" too forced? Or the one between "bar" and "stars" so complex as to undermine the depth of the subject? This review is already too heavy, cuz DNA senses some IRON-y. Oh, and the pronoun "we" isn't correct as she uses it. Not to be a little grammar bitch, but it should be "they." C'mon, it's a fucking pronoun. This alone should tell you the level at which she writes.

We are led through a litany of simple rhymes, a simple theme, and a droning refrain, in the mode of any number of pouty-mouthed (and also potty-mouthed) so-called bombshells. Why do our current pop singers sing like they just had dicks in their mouths? Oh. That must be the answer.

After Donna Summers' hit "Love To Love You Baby" stunned people with its steaming sensuality, any number of "pop" artists have attempted to breathe, moan, and groan their lyrics in an attempt to make their rather pedantic and forced music to sound raw and sensual like that. That was distilled into a very sick vintage in Britney Spears, and has been guzzled by a whole generation of singers who think that "sexual" and "sensual" are the same thing. This whole affectation of over pronounced consonants, as if the singer's tongue is too thick for her mouth (which is exactly the effect they are going for, so sad little boys can think about that girl's tongue, maybe with a stud in it, and what she would do with that), and over-exaggerated hyperbole must stop.

Since she tells us that "we all want the same thing," and the rhetorical device tells us that Tila is the "everywoman" who can tell us what that is, DNA has to ask, "Why the fuck wait until 3 minutes and 9 seconds into the song before you let us know what that is?" Generally, holding a bit of information like that to create artificial interest or tension, or to inflate the importance of the concept is an example of weak writing. DNA guesses that Tila is guilty as charged. Here is the wisdom she imparts at nearly the end of the song:

We all wanna live we all wanna learn how to love without getttin burned We want to be loved, are we good enough? Yeah, yeah.

No, no, we are not good enough. Not yet.

So, she doesn't distinguish herself as a singer, or as a songwriter. The production values aren't bad, certainly passable, but are nothing that can't be done by somebody with a computer in his basement. The beats, the arrangements, the musical talent which is required to write the music itself is fairly small. Does she distinguish herself in any other way? Well, she poses in some of the same ways as porn star Asia Carrera, and Asia actually has some pretty impressive skills, so DNA guesses that counts for something. Look at them side by side.


Asia Carrera............................... Tila Tequila..........Put them together and you get Tia Carrere!

She certainly has marketed herself into a position of fame, has a TV show, has millions of myspace friends, and has a single that DNA's son has heard on the radio. Tila Tequila is no different than any number of the relatively talentless, relatively nice to look at women who are made into "stars," with the exception that she actually "made" herself without the help of Warner Brothers or Disney, which is saying something. DNA thinks it is saying that the bar, officially dropped by reality TV and OJ, has reached a new lower equilibrium. This should not surprise us. As long as good singers, and good musicians are still able to be heard and seen, why do any of us care if Tila can titillate the lowest common denominator? She ain't no Aretha Franklin, hell, she ain't even a Mariah Carey, okay, fuck it, she ain't even at the level of Fergie or the Pussycat Dolls. Still, when your retarded half-sister sings in front of the family at the reunion, shouldn't everybody there clap, and is it wrong that some of the family really thinks she is good?

PROS: She kind of looks like a bobble head of herself, already. Marketing genius if she gives out bobble-heads at her concerts.

CONS: Her writing is simple, her sense of melody basic, her concepts fairly low-brow ("I don't wanna fuck your man" comes to mind), her delivery uninspired, and her affectation of the "sex-kitten" does not come off as sensual, but as soft-core porn, which considering DNA's comparison of Tila to Asia Carrera, should show you how bad someone trying to be "hard-core" sexual looks when they don't have the courage of their convictions, and just wants to appear "hard-core." Asia Carrera, DNA respects. Tila Tequila, not so much.

PROS: Tila proves that the democratizing power of the internet works.

CONS: God help us all from the river of shit her wave of success has unleashed. Prepare to be underwhelmed.

DNA debated a long time about even reviewing her music, because DNA is only adding to the number of hits that her name gets every day. This is like an endorsement, no matter what her music is like. But DNA really couldn't find any good reviews of her music, so this was justification enough. Just because it is shitty doesn't mean it gets a pass. In this respect, Tila is experiencing a case of the emperor's new clothes. Once public affection has died, once her looks fade, and nobody cares about the trailer park parade she is currently leading, then people might look back and say, "No, I don't see it. I don't know what I liked about her," and she might say, "Wow, I really didn"t have very much talent." DNA doesn't want to throw stones, really. DNA doesn't have a lot of talent, either. DNA makes no claims other than it is what it is. A last word: Who has millions of fans but does not have a record deal? Tila.



Time For Another Myoo-SICK REVUE...

Remember the guiding principle for this recurring feature: After having established in this blog that logically, no music sucks, only the listener's ability to appreciate it does, he was swamped with literally hundreds of humble submissions from readers which really did suck. Hack songs, hack lyrics, terrible production, rehashed themes, blatantly ripped off melodies, you name it, DNA heard it. So, DNA might have to reconsider the concept that no music sucks. Many examples of DNA's own songs are not very likable, so DNA understands that some songs might take a lot of bourbon or weed to appreciate.

However, even music that sucks must have some redeeming value, right? Right? Well, DNA will be the judge. DNA will try to select a wide variety of music, popular, obscure, current, past, famous and not, and try to provide a critical analysis. DNA will try to be fair, to understand why something he thinks is terrible might be liked by somebody. AND, if DNA disses a band you like, then DNA will print your critical rebuttal if it is any good.

DNA expects that most of what he reviews will be easy to skewer, some of it will need to be skewered and hasn't been, and every once in awhile, he will find some stuff that has been skewered that needs to be admired, and even more rarely, will find something really good that has been missed.

This week's experiment in uhh, hmmm, music? is the band Hollywood Undead. DNA doesn't really want to direct you to their myspace page, but in the interests all things fair, you can go here to listen to them. DNA is sorry in advance. Really. Okay, not really, DNA listened to them way too many times over the last few days for research purposes. This was way harder research than DNA's Master's Thesis. Why? Because nobody was torturing DNA while he completed his thesis.

Now, before you think DNA has lost his objectivity, DNa will give you some Hollywood Undead background, and ultimately end with an enlightened discussion of Emo, Screamo, and the final word from someone who can be considered the expert.

First off, Hollywood Undead has, gulp, over 12 million pages views on their myspace page. 12 million page views! Over 33 million listens to their songs. DNA can't even get more impressive italics to show how fucking unreal that is. Let DNA put it perspective. Britney Spears has about 19 million listens to her music on myspace. Hollywood Undead has about 100,000 more "friends" than she does. Who have they shown their pussies to?

DNA will get into the actual review in a moment, but again, he has to ask: for a band that seems to command so much myspace respect, why aren't they signed? Why don't they have a snocap store or are on iTunes or have some other method of online distribution for their music? Why are there a million (okay, only several hundred thousand) mentions of them around the web, but only a few honest to God reviews? And why are the actual reviews (not just fan comments) almost uniformly bad? Also, DNA noted in his research, that either you have people who think Hollywood Undead are the worst band ever, reconceptualizing the actual meaning of the word "bad" by the horrible-ness of what they call music, or that people think they fucking rule, and are inviting the 7 member-band for continuous 7 on 1 orgies across the country. The 7 on 1 orgy invitation appears to be both from male and female listeners. Meaning, Hollywood Undead is so cool, that even straight frat/thug/gym/macho guys get hard-ons for their music, and could handle being the catcher as long it was one of the guys in Hollywood Undead popping his ass-cherry.

At least, that is the gist of the commentary DNA has read.

What do they sound like? Well if you listened to Linkin Park (or 75,000 other bands that sound as bad as they do, the way they do), then you have an idea of what Hollywood Undead sounds like on a good day. Overall, production is good, but not great; again, as with the Tila Tequila review, the beats, loops, and sound are reminiscent of some guys with too much time on their hands and a nice computer in their mom's basement. They copy the "schtick" of many other popular bands, covering their faces, except that you get the feeling that they are covering their faces because otherwise, fans would see that these guys are kind of geeky, not cool. Slipknot, they are not. But, it seems to be working for them. Lyrically, there is some inventiveness, the words certainly flow, but the subject matter, even when one gives them the benefit of the doubt, and is willing to entertain the idea that the lyrics are tongue in cheek, can't help but think, "yeah, tongue in cheek, between ass-cheek, directly in ass." DNA is trying to say the lyrics are base, (not lots of low frequency, but as in low-brow), sophomoric, puerile, yeah, that's the right word, puerile, (look it up, gangsta-wannobe).

Actually, it's the lyrical content that bothers DNA, cuz it plays right into some stereotypes that DNA saw prevalent among the douchebag "think with their dicks or other more impressive muscles" crowd that he so often purposely antagonized while a student at SIU. The problem is, this band is supposed to be part of this "screamo" underground hardcore scene that opposes the establishment, right, except that, they and their fans kind of share the same knee-jerk, 'fuck you, faggot' attitude that is normally representative of the establishment. How can they be cool and anti-establishment if they are dicks and mouthpieces of the crap we all hate about the establishment? Oh, right...THEY CAN'T.

Let's get right to the music, shall we? The first song you hear upon clicking their myspace page is "Dead In Ditches."

That's when we, that's when we, that's when we ride
that's when we, that's when we ride on these bitches
That's when we ride on bitches
You fuckin' faggot snitches
So don't you try, we packin' 9's
We leave you dead in ditches
That's when we ride on bitches...

Okay, DNA just barfed in his mouth a little, and had to stop typing. No, not from being disgusted, from laughing so hard he contorted his stomach and chucked a little up. Instead of listing all of the lyrics, DNA will summarize: They play with the metaphor of a gun being both a symbol of toughness, and also a symbol of virility. It is clear as they talk about packin' 9, (ostensibly, a Glock 9)and shooting, that they are really talking about sexual conquest...wait a fucking minute, is DNA actually doing this? Actually providing a critical analysis of a song about fucking so 'good' that the boys in the band leave ho's dead in ditches? Okay then, how about this: the boys in the band say, "we packin' 9's." You know what that really means? They look at each others' dicks, and they have measured them. Because they are absolutely sure they are packin' 9's. They say it alot. Who do you know who looks enough at other guys' dicks to know exactly how long they are? Just by looking? Sorry, Hollywood Undead, you can't be mad at the "fucking faggot snitches" if you got a thing about measuring dicks. While we're there, about the use of the word "faggot." There is not a single word left in the English language when used in the off-handed, incidental, but still perjorative sense that it is used in this song, that doesn't more aptly display ignorance, stupidity, intolerance, etc., etc. Just the kind of thing your angry, disaffected youth wants to be associated with...if they are fucking fascists. Congratulations, Hollywood Undead. DNA will now buy Elton John, Liberace, Barry Manilow, and Judy Garland records on fucking principle alone.

The next song is "Bitches." Yeah, DNA laughed too.

Bitches I hope you know
bitches I hope you know
bitches I hope you know
I won't stop til I hit that ho
Baby come say hello
And get your junk ass over here let's go


DNA hopes the bitches know, too, that these guys sound like Weird Al when they try to sing, which is really demeaning to Weird Al, who actually is pretty fucking good. From this point of view, DNA is glad Hollywood Undead don't sing very much.

DNA can say, that without reservation, this is some of the worst stuff he has listened to, and for that DNA is glad. Every one elses' music seems better now. Even 2 Live Crew had their moments----"Hey, we want some pussy!" DNA can identify with that. DNA just can't identify with "Bitches." Nor can he fathom how anyone who can hear and understand English could identify with "Bitches." You know who are the bitches? Yep, Hollywood Undead.

Why are they bitches, though? Not only are the posuers (or however the fuck you are supposed to spell that word when you mean not the real deal), but they have completed what the establishment needs to have happen to "win." They have taken a genre that at one time was reactionary and revolutionary, and reduced it to a cliche, and made it the vehicle in which the establishment now rides. Don't believe DNA? Read the "influences" the band lists on their myspace page: "HOLLYWOOD California, Designer Jeans, Camo, Cigarettes, Mickey's 40's, Bud Ice, Pro Tools, OUR FANS, TATTOO'S, Cahuenga blvd, Pla-boy Liquor, ASS, partying, Subway Sandwiches, Finger Snaps, Scene Hair, Sidekicks, Dumb fuckin girls, Freestyling, HXC, Brassknuckles, Riding Bikes Drunk, clubs and bars...." If this doesn't sound like the wet dream list of the dick-headed, frat-boy, pumped up on his own beauty jock from high school/college. The establishment has co-opted cool. Fuck. DNA is glad he is uncool.

Now, here is the problem DNA has. These guys are so wrong on every level. It takes work to be that wrong. It takes brains, and it takes talent. In fact, in the back of DNA's mind, a little voice is saying, "They're fucking around with you, DNA, and with the hundreds of thousands of people who call themselves 'fans.' They are so spot-on parodying everything that is wrong with the tatooed, muscled, thug-life poseur dickheads, and the slutty, wish they were prettier, and only assess their own value based on the size of their asses and tits airheads, that they have to be laughing at them. Otherwise, they really are the theme music for the most pitiable generation of sperm and egg to have ever heaved their way down the fallopian tubes.

Lastly, where do they get the genre, "screamo?" From "emo," obviously. But then, what is "emo?" You think you know, but you don't, not really. Short for "emotional hardcore," or "emotive hardcore," whatever the fuck that means. Here is the definitive response to what is "emo," from the only trusted source on the net, Wiki.

(The passages below were copied right from the Wiki "emo" page. Fuck it, they said it better than DNA could)

In 1985 in Washington, D.C., Ian MacKaye and Guy Picciotto, veterans of the DC hardcore music scene, decided to shift away from what they saw as the constraints of the basic style of hardcore and the escalating violence within the scene. They took their music in a more personal direction with a far greater sense of experimentation, bringing forth MacKaye's Embrace and Picciotto's Rites of Spring. The style of music developed by Embrace and Rites of Spring soon became its own sound. (Husker Du's 1984 album Zen Arcade is often cited as a major influence for the new sound.) As a result of the renewed spirit of experimentation and musical innovation that developed the new scene, the summer of 1985 soon came to be known in the scene as "Revolution Summer".[1]

Where the term emo actually originated is uncertain, but members of Rites of Spring mentioned in a 1985 interview in Flipside Magazine that some of their fans had started using the term to describe their music. By the early 90s, it was not uncommon for the early DC scene to be referred to as emo-core, though it's unclear when the term shifted.

The difficulty in defining "emo" as a genre may have started at the very beginning. In a 2003 interview by Mark Prindle,[13] Guy Picciotto of Fugazi and Rites of Spring was asked how he felt about "being the creator of the emo genre". He responded: "I don't recognize that attribution. I've never recognized 'emo' as a genre of music. I always thought it was the most retarded term ever. I know there is this generic commonplace that every band that gets labeled with that term hates it. They feel scandalized by it. But honestly, I just thought that all the bands I played in were punk rock bands. The reason I think it's so stupid is that - what, like the Bad Brains weren't emotional? What - they were robots or something? It just doesn't make any sense to me."

The bottom line is what started as a movement is now simply a fashion, which is really the only proof DNA needed to see that Hollywood Undead aren't being duplicitous, they really are bad. They are called "screamo" because they look "screamo," not because they represent some social movement, the way bands like Fugazi or Bad Brains did/do.

Lastly, the fact that they are a myspace phenomenon only goes to prove that myspace has very little actual power to effect change, and has linked the lowest common demoninator together. Where else could dickheads find the theme music to fuck bitches to?

Pros: Every now and then, a little humor, or some inventive lyric, makes it to the light of day (keeping that little voice in the back of DNA's mind whispering).

Cons: Predictable, limited, puerile, white-boy, posuer, wannabe, masturbatory fantasy life soundtrack which has been done better by just about every skinny kid who picked up a guitar and felt like Superman.

Pros: They do make it sound cool to have some bitches around.

Cons: Based on their popularity, and we all know how wise it is to listen and follow something because lots of other people are following it, Hollywood Undead will probably have the next bad reality TV show on right after "A Shot At Love" with Tila Tequila.

Pros: Their name isn't half bad. DNA was intrigued when it saw the name Hollywood Undead. That sounds like a band ripe to subvert the ingrained idea of life in Hollywood, right?

Cons: In other words, with a name like that, they sounded like they should have the potential to rock like the Groovy Ghoulies, Man Or Astro-man, or The Reverend Horton Heat, but instead they didn't. Instead they sucked the life right out of the name "Hollywood Undead."




Time For Another Myoo-SICK Revue

It�s been a week or two, and it is time again for another DNA Myoo-SICK Revue. Instead of taking potshots at passing supertankers (Tila Tequila and The Hollywood Undead), DNA is going to narrow the focus a little bit, and do a review of some local talent. Carbondale has always been a fertile ground for new music. The Carbondale Nightlife does a great job of highlighting new local talent, and will review records in a more holistic way than does DNA. The whole idea is that whether you like the music or not, these guys are out there making it, and deserve respect.

What approach should be taken? Surely, the reviewer shouldn�t talk down to his subject, or treat the local guys as lame just because they are local. DNA got that attitude a lot when he was in bands years ago. Some band from Austin could suck balls, but, man, they were from Austin, and we can see you local fuckers anytime�..Also, if you talk about a band like they are meaningful, it might be because they are good, and it might be that others will think of local bands with a more global perspective. Also, a lot of reviewers try not to compare a band to another band in a review, because it is a stereotypical short cut, and also because reviewers tend to see those kinds of reviews as juvenile, and not representative of the band or a good way to showcase their own literary and musical knowledge. DNA says FUCK that. Sometimes, saying a band sounds like so and so works.

Innovation, like mutation, occurs in the cul-de-sacs, in the backwaters, in the places that are relatively untouched by the constant push of the raging rivers. In these incestuous little pools, single voices can shape or change the bigger picture. Unfortunately, but inevitably, as bands become more regional, and less local, their ability to affect that pool is necessarily diminished. Once a band gets to a certain level, they no longer swim in those tepid waters. Presented here, now, is a band firmly sitting in the silt-y mud of a forgotten bank of the Big Muddy River outside of Carbondale, and we in Carbondale are all the better for it.

The Dammit Boys.

Many of the band�s compositions show the strong influence of surf, rockabilly, and the kind of white trash rock that would make the guys in Monster Magnet proud. The Dammit boys would probably be blessed as the appropriate music for the sacrament during a sermon by the Reverend Horton Heat. What DNA thinks most people miss is that there is something else thrown in there, some European gypsy-king vagabond element that transcends the typical genres like garage, or punk, in which the Dammit Boys get dumped. Not that they musically resemble Camper Van Beethoven, but like Camper in spirit, they capture the feeling of old world mystery in a very hard to define way. The cut �Toluene� is a fine example of this fusion. The Bustos blood, originating from the Castille area in Northern Spain, must be running heavily in the veins of lead singer and guitarist, Mortimer Bustos.

Some people in music scenes are larger than life. Mortimer is one of those guys. He has a voice that is reminiscent of Tom Waits�, but Mort is not trying to emulate Waits at all. He uses his voice the way true vocalists use their voices: with the understanding that the voice is an instrument with a range that all other musical instruments only pay homage to. Although DNA first met Mort as a bass player, DNA has seen Mort play guitar, on which he shines. If frozen dog shit in a coffee can was an instrument, Mort could pick that up and play the dog shit out of it, literally and figuratively.

Mort is pretty fucking cool. Judge for yourself (pic of mort). But, he isn�t alone. Dave Marquis, the bassist for the Dammit Boys, is quiet, reserved, disarmingly quick of wit, and kick ass on the bass. Not kick butt, not, could punch you in the face if you weren�t expecting it, not open hand slap your chest until your tits turn red, but KICK ASS. Overly flashy? No. Unassumingly adding the brass knuckles to the fist of the Dammit Boys? Hell, yes.

DNA doesn�t mean to slight Dave Raymond or Time Beaty, the other guitarist and drummer, respectively, of the Dammit Boys by not heaping up their praises. Although DNA has known those guys for some time, he never had the pleasure to get to know them better than as a gawking spectator to their fucking onstage awesomeness.

If it sounds like DNA is a little biased towards the Dammit Boys, maybe cuz he knows them, or something, then you would be wrong. There are lots of bands that DNA likes a lot. Bands like DEVO. Now, the Dammit Boys are not like DEVO. See how this proves DNA is not biased?

Actually, DNA did some objective, experimentation with the music of the Dammit Boys in an attempt to limit the influence of DNA�s own history with these guys. DNA played 20 songs at random from his iPod. Then he listened to the Dammit Boys. Then DNA asked himself: Whose voice sounded cooler? What song rocked more? When you hear �Sky Hammer,� you can imagine the sweat dripping off of Mort�s face as greasy bodies are swaying in the 70�s euphoria that leaks from that song like smoke from a raunchy old bong. Seriously, DNA put the iPod on shuffle and started to compare bands. Now, by chance, the iPod cued up the song �Rock Your Ass� by the Supersuckers first, which was a shitty place to be if you were the Dammit Boys! Nobody rocks out with their cocks out the way the Supersuckers do. That was a tough draw for the Dammit Boys right out of the gate. But, OK Go? Dammit boys smoked �em. Wolfmother? Made �em wanna run home to momma. Coldplay? Didn�t wanna play anymore. In short, the Dammit Boys� records are worth buying. So. You. Go buy them.

From the opening line of �The Mind Snare,� you too, feel like you �could walk right through this wall.� The song evokes the heady feeling you might have had the first time you listened to the Doors if you were 19 in 1969---and weren�t in Vietnam. On their myspace page, the band writes that this song is an example of some of the new stuff they are working on. Their new compositions reflect their continuing growth as musicians, technically and intuitively.

As usual, DNA did some internet searching, and found these interesting tidbits: Unlike the two huge myspace sensations DNA has reviewed previously, in the first three hits on Google, DNA found a review of the band, y�know, like you would expect, if the band were actually a working band. This was the first good sign. Next, reading some of the reviewers unsolicited responses to a show was also positive, such as, �if Mort and I were in prison together I�d definitely want to be his bitch."

Pros: A unique vibe that isn�t exactly any of the categories in which it is placed.

Cons: Those turned off by garage rock or surf or rockabilly might give them a pass, which is their loss.

Pros: When you listen to them, you are probably drunk, or getting there.

Cons: You can�t capture the contradictory minor key depression that weeps through Mort�s guitar playing in the midst of power punk energy very well on a CD.

Pros: The name, evoking the aggravation of an older Dad, yelling at those no good kids getting into who knows what behind the woodshed�

Check out the Dammit Boys the next time you are in Carbondale. You won�t be disappointed.



Another Myoo-SICK Revue....DEVO had babies!!!

Time for another Myoo-SICK Revue. This one has been a long time coming. DNA has only bought a couple of new records lately, new to him, at least. DNA is gay for the Supersuckers, so it has been buying up their stuff, and DNA is now carrying the torch for this installment's review subject: the band Polysics.

What do you need to know about Polysics? Well how about this? They're cool. They're from Japan. They've been around for over 10 years, but unless you're into import vinyl and CD's, you probably have never heard of them. Because at first glance, they look like a DEVO clone, circa 1980, even if you had heard of them, you might just pass them by, and say something like, "Fuck, I just don't get the Japanese."

DNA is here to say, "Fuck, DNA just don't get the Japanese," and that is okay. Polysics is not so much about the obsessive mimicry of Western styles that permeates Japanese culture, but about paying homage, making inspired quirky songs from the New Wave spring that still bubbles up on the side of Mt. Fuji, and also really innovating sound, and trying elements of different styles.

Far from being a DEVO clone, Polysics is a DEVO meets Man-Or-Astroman clone, and hell, aren't there hundreds of bands like that? Oh, that's right. There is one. Polysics.

In most myoo-SICK revues, DNA quotes some lyrics out of context to make bands sound really ignorant, but it is hard to do with Polysics, since most of the lyrics are in Japanese. Some are in English, DNA thinks, but in the end, it doesn't matter. The sounds of the lyrics are part of the brush Polysics uses to paint their old Korg Poly Six keyboards.

In the album DNA just purchased, called Polysics Or Die!!!! Vista, a greatest hits compilation (their second, actually) there are some songs or sounds that are a little too DEVO for their own good. It's hard to beat the boys from Akron at their own game, and unfortunately, when Polysics mines that vein a little too deeply, they sound more like a caricature than a creative force. However, on some cuts, like "I My Me Mine," they capture the guts of New Wave with very little of the glitter and black eyeliner that went with the typical synth band. The old analog synths deliver the "soul" of the biomechanical rhythm, but the fuzz and overdriven drums, frantic and frenetic vocals, and the tri-tone creepy synth texture on the top makes this little gem really shine. And, you can't get much greasier on a keyboard bassline than the song, "Kaja Kaja Goo," which must means something in Japanese and simultaneously points out how idiotic one of the more successful new wave synth bands, Kaja Goo Goo, was.

Here's a clip from YouTube:



The girl in the video isn't in the band, or so DNA has heard. She just kind of hangs out with them.

And you might as well see the rest of the story:




So, go buy the record. It's available on iTunes, or in really cool records stores. While you're at it, check out the Octopus Project, too. More fun in the same vein.