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Lunch tonight was: Carnitas, carnne asada and pollo tacos from the place by the Harley Davidson store. Washed down with a half litre Mexican coke!

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Alex V. Cook is an author, journalist and music critic living Baton Rouge, LA. His work has appeared in The Believer, The Oxford American, DownBeat, Paste Magazine, Hails and Horns and The Wire, and his first collection of essays Darkness, Racket and Twang: Essential Listening from the Fringes of Popular and Unpopular Culture was published by Side Cartel in 2006.

He is the music editor for outsideleft.com, editor for Sweet Tooth, and a frequent contributor to 225 Magazine, OffBeat and Country Roads.

He is a founding contributor to the Badasses of Contemporary Composition blog.

Friday, February 17, 2006

Consider it Confronted

Wow, DJ shows are boring unless you are in posession of one of the key ingredients:

1) Ecstacy; 2) longing to participate in fake public lesbianism; or 3)cool skateboard moves you can work out, sans board. It kind of worked in a starfucker context, that Perry Farrell, that guy on the giant poster in the bedroom of that gloomy art chick that would never sleep with me - I mean, you, was right there just a few yards away, smirking behind some gizmos. His material had a rockist bent to it, I suppose. A few dub tracks thrown in, some guitar-y sounding things, and evidently Peretz is a revolutionary in that he picks up the mic and sings a little during his four-on the floor - mostly little yips and yo's sent through the echo chamber but he actualy sang on a couple numbers. And the members of the meager crowd that weren't dryhumping their roommates went nuts, or nuts-ish. But it was all dimishing returns. he didn't do much, we didn't say much, but the signifiers all pointed to customer satisfaction so we smiled and threw devil horns and shouted "PEEERRRRRRRRRY" hopin he'd smile at us, and he did. It's almost like we all wanted something, but didn't want to pay for i-it.......

Ol Perr looks pretty good, I guess all the extreme sports stuff he does pays off, though his drug ravashed face looks not unlke that of the Skeksis from The Dark Crystal . And if the almost cartoonishly foxy blond chinese girl in the wings was his paramour , then hats off to you and your giant Gelfling penis.1

He had a little Arnold Horshack thing going on as well. "Mr. Kottt-ere, I was standing in the shower thinking this moooooorning...." Kremember when Horshack was going to join a cult? I was 9 at the time, and cults were big then at the end of the seventies. Were Walter Kronkite to be believed, and he was, cults lurked behind every bush waiting to snare you in with their pesky acceptance.


I like how this one came out, with its Gary Numan electro-purity forming a rainbow halo around his head.

1. and I am not a dork for knowing that much about The Dark Crystal, so shut up already.YOU ARE JUST JEALOUS!

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