Archive for NYC

“Joy” by Citizen Bird aka Silverbullit (Sunday A.M. Punk Rock Gospel)

Posted in I Heart My Love-Tribe, I Heart Robots, Music & Life & Sundays, Psyche & Sexuality, Rock & Roll, Romance & Relationships, Sexuality, Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel, The wisdom of the universe with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 1, 2010 by alphabetfiend

It’s just a simple thing that you call joy. It’s leaking out from every pore. I feel joy now I feel joy!

Thanks for tuning in (“and turning on?” she asks, eyebrow arching.) This is a very special hip hip hooray Happy Birthday — to the RobotBoy! — edition of the Sunday A.M. Punk Rock Gospel.

Today we’ll be musing on the magic of love, on the mystery of dreams, on the JOY of music, on the brink of ecstacy.

Be patient while I goo-goo mew, for who am I but a love struck girl? 

This is just what I been lookin’ for! This is just what I been lookin’ for!

Before I met the real-life RobotBoy, he starred in several very vivid dreams.

It’s been a theme through-out my life, this “sensing” of an important someone before they’ve arrived.

My parents say it’s cause I was born with a veil (the amniotic sack, known as “the caul”, usually breaks away but when a baby comes out still hooded or “veiled” they’re said to be extra-sensory.) I say it’s cause I pay attention, plus I have the patience and the pesky urge to record my dreams rather than let them be lost to the ether. But perhaps it can be chalked up to a childhood spent on hyper-alert, always anticipating, neck craned and waiting.

This is just what I been lookin’ for! This is just what I been lookin’ for!

Maybe the universe just wanted to make damn sure I noticed that southern gentleman in the Hyde Park laundromat who would probably have been too shy to strike up a conversation, never mind ask for my number.

Eleven years later and the conversation I started continues. Sure, he’s shy but give him a beer and he’ll start talking; give him another and he’ll revert to the dense Mississippi drawl that slays me with sexy.

The RobotBoy and I have loads to talk about.

Being from the same mystical tribe makes for good conversation.

It’s especially important for weirdos (mofo freaks, genius odd-balls, jukebox poets, mutant mavericks) to find fellow tribe members with whom they can share their lives. This isn’t easy. Nothing great ever is.

But how could someone like the RobotBoy be with a woman who, I dunno, thinks like a mind-numbing Normal? Who sez “a man’s place is the workplace? Who voted for Bush? Who doesn’t give head? Who forbids fun in any form? Who freaks out over pot, porn, punk rock? Whose idea of music is Miley Cyrus? Who can’t rock and roll? 

Hell no. I know this man and he wouldn’t waste a moment with that woman.

If I hadn’t come along he’d have lived his life as a punk monk.

This is just what I been lookin’ for! This is just what I been lookin’ for!

Back in those days, before I met my Bot, I was still hyper-disciplined about recording my dreams (in an ever expanding series of tiny notebooks) and so those loverbot dreams can be returned to for re-examination whenever curiosity strikes.

We constantly marvel at all the little things those dreams foreshadowed.

In one of these dreams, he was known as an “R2D2” or “someone capable of inter-dimensional travel.” R2D2. Hahaha. It took years before I got the joke but I eventually laughed my ass off. In another prescient dream, he rose up from a smoky stage, surrounded by musical instruments, like a “Bradbarian Amadeus.” (No shit, that’s a direct dream journal quote.)

So it’s no surprise that music (real music, not Miley) has been such an enormous part of our love affair. 

Music — and the times we’ve shared within its clutches — has made “us” into a whole new thing, having given us a curious kind of form & function. It has also brought us a most immense, intense JOY.

This week’s featured song is “Joy” by Citizen Bird. They’re actually a Swedish band known as Silverbullit who had to change their name here in the states so as not to be confused with Bob Seger, er, I dunno, some other Silvery Bullety bunkos. I like the band by either name.

We first fell for Citizen Bird aka Silverbullit after seeing them live at CBGBs. They opened for The Soundtrack of Our Lives, more Swedes and one of our all-time favorite bands. (I Heart Ebbot Forever!) We saw both bands again the very next night at The Mercury Lounge. Despite impatience and preoccupation with our beloved Soundtrack, Citizen Bird blew us away.

Since then our love for them has only deepened.

The song “Joy’ is about just exactly that kind of love. 

I love to listen to “Joy” cranked up loud. Louder than yer mama can stand! Louder than yer doctor recommends!  Loud ass loud, my friends. I love it loud at the dusty gray, the very start of day, before the sun has risen, as the blackness fades. This sound, that gray, with the day & the highway curving up ahead.

It’s just a simple thing that you call joy. 

What is it? Well, you call it joy.

But maybe it’s more, maybe it’s an ecstatic rumbling from deep inside the cerebellum. Maybe it’s a giddy vibratory jumble of goodness in all it’s guises. Maybe it’s a wondering, a tumbling, an awe-gasp plundering and then a sudden eye-pop hiccup of hell yes. Maybe it’s a coming clean yanking free making way kinda thang? Maybe it’s a beat happening! In the left foot of Venus. Hard to say really.

It’s simple but it’s sacred, it’s easy but it’s pure.

A melody and a couple of chords.

Maybe people fall in love with music because Music will never leave –there will always be someone somewhere ready to rock out with their cocks out. Count on that. Sure, Music can and will break yer heart (happens all the time) but it’s the rumble-chest rib-wrenching feel good kind. Music can kick the living shit outta you, sure, but it’s always there later to kiss the boo-boo. 

For your pleasure, I have provided two very different videos. The first was directed by The Designers Republic for some bullcrap coke thing (ugh) but the video fulla throbbing hearts & cartoon pine trees is psychedelic, pulsing and kinda perfect.

Despite the sweet perfection of  The Designers Repub vid, I still feel compelled to share another. “Joy” set to a 1968 short film by German experimental film director, Lutz Mommartz. (“Weg zum Nachbarn”) Pardon my excesses. Really, I couldn’t resist. It’s super cool and crazy sexy. Right up a Robot’s alley! Plus, the artsy dark-haired hottie with the soft expressive (cum)face is just exactly the Robot’s type. 

Mmmm. I’m in the mood for a mind-bomb orgasm. You?

Now that’s a hell of a way to spend a Sunday! Calling out to God overandoverandoverandover.

Later, lovers.

JOY

Just a simple thing and nothing more.

Just a simple thing and nothing more.

Melody and a couple of chords.

Just a simple thing and nothing more.

Just a simple thing and nothing more.

Just a simple thing and nothing more.

It doesn’t hafta be any more.

Just a simple thing and nothing more

*

It’s just a simple thing that you call joy.

It’s just a simple thing that you call joy.

It’s leaking out from every pore.

It’s just a simple thing that you call joy.

It’s just a simple thing that you call joy.

It’s just a simple thing that you call joy.

It’s just a simple thing that you call joy.

I feel joy now I feel joy!

*

This is just what I been lookin’ for!

This is just what I been lookin’ for!

A melody and a couple of chords

This is just what I been lookin’ for.

This is just what I been lookin’ for.

This is just what I been lookin’ for.

I feel joy I feel joy I feel joy now I feel joy!

The mermaid-robot is from the crazily amazingly entertaining comic site Nataliedee.com

“Robot Love — Take Two” by Munster; “Robot Love is Forever” by graphic designer extroidinaire Scott McLean ; “I love you, Robot” is available as a t-shirt on shirtoid; Sad Robot is available as a tee at threadless.

View “Weg zum Nachbarn” in full at http://www.archive.org/details/Mommar…

For more on Cit-bird/Silverbullit see the Silverbullit website or the silverbullit myspace page.

The Citizen Bird album is available on amazon.

When The Trickster Starts A Pokin’ (Sunday A.M. Punk Rock Gospel)

Posted in Goof & Glamour, I Heart Tricksters, Lipstick Shamaness, Music & Life & Sundays, Mythos, punk rock, Rock & Roll, Spirituality & Religion, Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 6, 2010 by alphabetfiend

For this very special Happy Birthday –to me! — edition of  The Punk Rock Gospel, I’ve chosen a song about the trickster by actual tricksters.

As I walked into the bar
A man came up to me and said:
you know the older you will get
the more perverted you will get

Back before barely anyone had heard of Gogol Bordello, I had that between the shoulder-blades twitch. The itch that tells me to expect something important. I got word — via emails from friends or omens from the universe — that this was a band I needed to see. Me, in particular.

“Why?” I asked, “Why me in particular?’

And they said, Well, y’know, they’re like crazy carnies, they’re anarchist gypsies, they’re circus & costumes & pageantry.

Then the Robot Boy delivered the final seal-the-deal detail: their first single was a song called “When the Trickster Starts a Pokin’ .”

The perfection! 

Is the trickster poking into our life, making a mess, causing creative chaos?

Or is it our own trickster-self, poking out or sticking up or suggesting something inappropriate?

 

“When the trickster starts a pokin'” by the band Gogol Bordello is the PERFECT punk rock gospel choice: thanks to the trickster-laden meaning and Gogol Bordello’s gypsy punk style.

They are noisy and kinetic on stage, many things happen at once. There’s costumes and gorgeous goof-blessed dancing. There are lights and drums and uninhibited giddy fun that is lovely and contagious. This is something more than music, more than performance. There is something otherworldly here. It’s a trickster’s fortune cookie. It’s a gypsy curse.

There’s a shamanistic showmanship to Gogol Bordello’s Eugene Hutz. He moves with the trance-rock spirit of Morrison or Iggy. Hutz performs with that same  limit-pushing boundary-crossing urgency. Exhaustive and unfurling, Hutz has a loose-limbed physicality that challenges the inertia and ennui of the audience. 

It’s almost as if Eugene Hutz is endowed with the same kind of magic-making movement as the Trickster:

Ah ha hey!

When the Trickster starts a-walking
He sends the whole world askew
just when you think that it’s all through
It’s just a birth of something new
And when the Trickster starts a-pokin
who does he need to ask permission
before he goes in third position
I guess he’s just a Bordello kind of guy!…

Sometimes I have to remind myself that I invited trickster energy to unfold in my life, so why am I so surprised to see that the trickster has fucked my shit up?  As tricksters are wont to do. Never invite Coyote to dinner and act all disgusted when he pisses in your crock pot. Don’t jump on Fox’s back unless you can flee quicker than he jumps over the lazy dog. But whatever troubles Trickster causes? New life will grow from those soot-filled fields. Just when you think that it’s all through, it’s just a birth of something new.

As I write this, I am wearing my Gogol Bordello tee. I look almost obscene, being sans bra. Luckily, the tee is so tight and has such a cool screen — “This mustache kills fascism” — that I can justify my bare-breasted look as a radical pro-curves statement. Shall I be a classic self-crasher? Or be a good flasher?!  Tonight, in my too-tight tee, I’m gonna be a good flasher cause I’ve been a classic self crasher way too many times.

So I walked out of a bar
and drove like crazy for half mile
I was thirteen beers drunk
on Houston I jumped in some trunk…
We ventured on New York Throughway
where I heard myself say:
Shall I be classic self crasher?
Or be a good flasher?!

I chose the above version because it is such an unusual performance for them and so few people have seen it. It’s from an in-store performance at Criminal Records in Paris. I have provided another clip at the bottom should you care to see a more typical performance full of the usual noise and chaos.

*****************************

When the Trickster Starts A Pokin’

As I walked into the bar
A man came up to me and said:
you know the older you will get
the more perverted you will get

Hey, I’d like to see you try it
Oh what you gonna do about it?
Optzay, be a bad priest?
Ili primernij ononist?!
Be bad transvestattn? (Da yuta nigh!)
Or be a good zoldatten?! (Ozay Optzay!)
Yeah, give it a try, (By by by by)
But me I’m jasto Bordello kind of guy!..

Mama, of course all hopes are so fragile…
Papa, i can’t believe what it costs?..
Sily, Sily oni menja pokidajut
So i did what I did and its worth what its worth what it’s worth

Ah ha hey!

When the Trickster starts a-walking
he sends the whole world askew.
Just when you think that it’s all through
It’s just a birth of something new!
And when the Trickster starts a-pokin
who does he need to ask permission
before he goes in third position?
I guess he’s justo Bordello kind of guy!…

Mama, of course all hopes are so fragile…
Papa, I can’t believe what it costs?..
Sily oni menja pokidajut
So I did what I did and its worth what its worth what it’s worth

Ah ha hey!

So I walked out of a bar
and drove like crazy for half mile
I was thirteen beers drunk
on Houston I jumped in some trunk…
We ventured on New York Throughway
where myself I heard I say:
Shall i be classic self crasher?
Or be a good flasher?!

Hey, I’d like to see you try it
Oh what you gonna do about it?
Heeeeeeey, be a bad priest?
Ili primernij ononist?!
Da yuta nigh!
Ozay Optzay!
By by by by!
I guess I’m justo Bordello kind of guy!

Bordello kind of guy!
Bordello kind of guy!
Bordello kind of guy!

Click on this if you wanna see this band in motion. Pay attention to all the crazy on-stage antics!

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