ABOUT A SONG- CHERUBS

How often does music absolutely change you? Even more specifically, a single song. It's quite epic the power these song crafters have in bearing enough talent to alter someones consciousness and make them a completely different person while standing in the same spot they were standing in just minutes ago. But great music and the makers of such are one of the things that make our lives less pointless and more orgasm inducing. Music equals orgasm.

I always remember the first time I hear bands and songs that have changed me somehow. Case in point for this edition of about a song...

Cherubs.

A little known trio from the Austin, Texas domain that existed briefly between the years 1992-1994. They released two proper studio albums along with churning out and un-tuning in several compilation appearances and seven inchers. Though only having a blink of an eye existence their cult following was cultivated by the sheer intensity and disregard they exuded from creating noise that would happily burst eardrums and blood vessels along with snuffing anyone within splitting head distance of their agonizing  cacophony of reverberation. These cherubs were a beautiful thing.

Back in the early 90's my friends and I used to frequent all the cool underground music and video shops of the Greenwich village area in New York City. One particularly happening cultured pot of purchasing mirth and musical malady was Kim's Underground.

 Underground indeed. Some of the finest hard to find cult items the scene had to offer freaks like us who were always searching for something way different whether new or old.

One thing I have always loved about going to underground shops is that they seem to have no regard for common eardrum etiquette and just blast their shit at a level both foul and mind numbing to the average mall rat and sheep fucker. Employees in the big mall music chains clock their hours by hanging posters and displays of what is radio friendly and doo rag popular that week. The process of picking some harsh music to play at ear bleeding level is a sacred thing to the underground record shop employee. After all, those who continue to browse the store through volume that could make a growing boy sterile must certainly be worthy customers. Hail to these customers. True lovers of real music.

I remember I was standing in the cd aisle checking through the piles and piles of filthy plastic encased cds and this song came on over the speaker. Just drums to start. Sounded like the guy was banging on trash cans and table ends. The vocalist started wailing. Not singing. Not screaming. This fucker was wailing like he was being stabbed in the gullet with a tuning fork. My first reaction was "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!" Not always a bad thing. I just had never heard anything quite like it and was simply screaming my query instead of pondering it. The vocals sounded like the guy was being tortured alive. Not anything perverted like having his dick shredded by eager cannibal babes and bards. No, this was more like he was having the very lifeforce crushed in the bung of his lungs and pressed up through his larynx then ripped through that hole he calls a mouth and spewed into the air like a bowl of regurgitated gut chili. This all before the bass and guitar had even kicked in.

So, yeah.... about that bass and guitar.... you see, as a writer myself I have long harbored an intense passion and meaningful appreciation for lyrics. Ever since I was a young music lover whenever I would buy a new record or tape (and even still with a cd) the first thing I did even before hearing one note of music is break open the lyric sheet and enlighten myself before I rock my bones. Although sometimes I just like to rock out and... well, you know that sometimes those songs we love so deeply might have lyrics that are confounding or downright silly. The song I heard that day in Kim's Underground in the fall of 1994 shall stand as a perfect testament to this. In fact, I don't even think I was paying any attention at all to the lyrics that day and even now when I hear this song, I still don't.

While the vocalist was being tortured all I could recall thinking while standing dumbfounded in the middle of the aisle was "man, it sounds like the band is putting a hurting on that poor son of a bitch." Maybe the guy was standing right in front of the amps and wasn't wearing ear plugs. I don't think that people started becoming fascinated with ear canal protection until somewhere around 1999. Whatever the case, after babbling lyrics along the lines of

"Bessie-
you've got a little left-
what's wrong with that?
Old lady giving up-
stuuuuuuff-
Who'll feed the pets?
When I'm giving-
give 'em a little less"

-the bass kicks in. Not just any bass. Not your grand pops complex lounging around smokey jazz band bass. Not your dads best John Paul Jones reincarnation of blues manitou bass licks either. This isn't even your older pot smoking brothers smooth and funky good time Doobie brothers pop rocks. Fuck that shit. This bass is like a hammer in your skull that is grinding through bone and tissue on its way to carve the teeth out of your mouth and make you have to eat nothing but soup from a mush friendly bread bowl for the rest of your life. It won't stop there though. This bass blows the gore out of your ear holes in chunky crimson confetti and then chisels down through your torso where it will ultimately land like a sledgehammer blow stopped in the pit of your stomach.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Then the guitar starts. The guitar is tuned down so low that it sounds like the strings are gonna commit suicide and jump off the fret board onto the floor and when the guitar player strums something that resembles a dis-chord it sounds like a razor blade slicing through the air and chopping off what is left of your head.

Yeah, okay.... the lyrics about "Bessie" and "who'll feed the pets?" and something about being "wrapped too tight" ..... I don't know, man. But holy shit. That song sounded like boots were coming out of the speakers overtop of the counter and getting ready to crush my skull inwards right down the middle. When I think about what I was feeling at that very moment and how excited I was I imagine that I must have pooped, peed... or spooged in my jeans even. Since an underground shop would probably hand me a paper towel roll and make me clean up after myself and I know this did not happen I guess that must have been my mind that soiled itself. I felt all tingly though. Best believe that.

I raced over to the nearest person who looked as if they actually worked there and not just patroned the place with my jawbone stammering and my hands shaking.

"What the hell is that you guys are playing?"

Dude turned his head and looked up at me from the floor stacking new music and said one simple word.

"Cherubs."

Maybe when you are at Sam Goody or Fye they will stop what they are doing and smile walk you over to the Cherub section, but at Kim's Underground.... he wasn't getting up and I wasn't standing around. I raced over to the C's and grabbed a copy of the only cd I saw there. Cherubs. Heroin man.

 I held it up for his approval. He nodded. Purchased. Deal done. Time to play. I didn't even know what song I was listening to and I never got to find out until later that night when I got home from hanging in New York all day long. I didn't care. I had never heard anything so filthy and noisy and sick and I knew that now it was mine.

The song is called "Mr. Goy". It's on the second Cherubs cd, "Heroin man". The band is long gone. They even have better songs in my opinion. Personal favorite Cherubs song ever? "Carjack fairy". Although, let me tell you that this band does a sleazy and mean and cover of that old pop tune "I want candy" that must be heard to be believed. Be careful with that one. The bass will kill your speakers and your liver.

Obviously the Cherubs sound is an acquired taste. I have always enjoyed extreme and brutal music personally. I have been front and center for more revolutionary musical moments than I can begin to call off. One scene that I was proud to be a part of was the noise movement of the 90's. Bands like Pain Teens, Unsane, Hammerhead, Today is the Day, Ed Hall, Janitor Joe, Guzzard..... and them Cherub guys. The list goes on and I could probably do an entirely different blog about that altogether.

I'll be perfectly honest that as much as I love my song lyrics I had no idea what half of these bands were singing about. But none of that seemed to matter when they could still produce an overall intensity that could blast your balls right out of your pocket and strip the paint off the walls in the name of brain pain over lyrical depth. It was like dying a beautiful death and then coming back to life. Reborn through waves of non-melodic nausea inducing bedlam blast that fried your egghead into submission and oblivion. An eargasm.

Cherubs were one of the first bands that I heard that had this effect on my rock beginnings and nerve endings. They threw me down in the middle of a crowded store and bludgeoned me until I screamed in perfect harmony from that not so fresh feeling. This band would indeed change me somehow because up until that point I had never heard anything so mind numbingly chaotic and yet it made me feel like smiling deep within my soul while pumping my fist straight through the ozone layer and stomping my feet onto a piss ant farm until nothing but dirt and bug carcasses lay frayed and trampled at my trembling hooves. One should never forget music that makes you feel this way. This is why I never do.

*****From Musicequalzorgasm blog page. Original post date 12/1/2011*****

I'M DOWN WITH UP SYNDROME

In between keeping tabs on Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes and reading in graphic detail the surgery report on the operation to undergo a second penis addition into the small of George Michael's back so that he can jerk off like an Olympian foreskin runner I was set into equal fits of panic and rapture upon the discovery of some bonafide headline induced fly buzzing. Of course I am talking about dueling "American Idol" departure announcements from Steven Tyler and Jender Lopez. Despite the fact that this waste of television screen space has been losing viewers like the Titanic lost passengers pre-iceberg hitting ever since the nasty British guy left the two icons of pop crotch and jello butt have seen the error of their ways and chosen to follow a new era dubbed affectionately their wanderlusting away from the wasted years.

Styler and Jennalope have so much to offer both industry and the starfucking demographic so I am entirely assured they will earn their millions doing more than just making sure the Coca-Cola logo faces camera front and whatever else it was they once claimed as an occupation on a W-2 for the last couple of tax seasons.

Tyler was first out of the gate with some bloated statement about his love for a band whose existence has been questioned by fans and critics alike to the levels of being labeled severely pointless for the last ten years. When asked to clarify his allegiance he mumbled something about poor pussy seeking etiquette practiced by production staff versus commercial break ratios and was quoted in Beaver Hunt magazine as stating "It's much easier to slip a backstage pass into a pair of dirty underwear front stage than it is to oogle fifteen year olds while their mom and dads cheer on their screeching skills and flex flagrant displays of cock blockery."

 

As for J-Lode ....well, she found a show named after America rather stifling to her heritage and was overheard saying that "the time has come for me to spread my creative and ancestral wings." For those unfamiliar with Jello ass mythology this means she wants to "feel free to shake her ass for strange men." As of this time there have been unconfirmed reports that Jello ass will be starring in a play alongside the octomom down in Dumpwater, Florida. More news there as it shall be made available.

So what does all of this mean besides the fact that I am desperate for something to write about? Now that Boom Stick and Taco Crotch have exited the building "American Idol" is going to need a new set of judges to fill out the trio of has beens as they sit behind a table and boogie oogie oogle to a bunch of zit faced crooners and crawlers. Who knows, maybe the show can actually be fun again? Never minding the fact that it wasn't fun in even its initial conception phase as it skewered the concept of actual talent in lieu of smiling pretty for the camera and clapping sans rhythm.

Who should help encourage the untalented while knee slapping the last remaining judge held over from the shows infancy Randy Jackson? As with any other artful reckoning the possibilities are endless. I mean, I once did a joke blog in response to a rumor that Howard Stern was going to join the show and look at what happened to that guy. Now he is a co-host on "America's most unwanted has talent." Since I was ahead of the game on that call I have decided to throw my tube steak around and see if it sticks onto the grill once again. Hopefully production scum will see this blog and I can make their meaningless jobs even easier by offering up some suggestions for new judges on season who gives a flying fuck of "American Idol." Here are just some of my nominees that I truly believe would give this show a kick in the pants that are laying on the ground and just might make this sometimes two hour monstrosity not seem like three hours.

The more my creative mind thinks all of this over I must admit that I find myself weeping over opportunities missed due to restrictions brought on by bad timing and celebrity death. We should never be deprived of our ability to dream and can you just imagine how much fun it would have been to have Hunter S. Thompson as a purveyor of truth, justice and alcohol on this publically broadcasted piece of shit? That guy would have brought some class to a show that reeks of nothing but swamp ass and no class. Maybe they could have had him bring in a rifle and permanently eliminate one unlucky contestant. How awesome would that have been?

How about James Brown? He would have been much fun and a bag filled with severed monkey dicks. They could have cross promotioned his appearence each week with a "What the fuck did he just say?" sweepstakes and whisk the winning participant away to a broom closet in their Hollywood studio where they would be tag-team serenaded by Will I'm Hung and Susan's Boyle. Ah, the creative imagination trumps all yet again.

But given all the has beens and never weres we have to choose from I do imagine these people would make most excellent entertainment for anybody stupid enough to actually risk the combing down of their ass hair to sit through this horrid excuse for commercial product placement.

Speaking of James Brown, the artificial music industry is no longer just a man's world. Just ask Ryan Seedcrest. While white men still can't jump they sure do know a hot 15 year old chick there to audition when they are trying to scam one in between sipping lukewarm high fructose corn syrup and getting paid for something that we can't seem to put our fingers on or in. So, we shall start off with the testosterone fueled show savior sect. On a side note, I am very certain that StylyTyly is not the only host prone to chasing underage poontang. (and Vienna snausages either I'll wager)

 Due to popularity issues and the uncreativity of typical American mindage Ozzy Osbourne could very well be the first choice of many since he followed up a most stellar music career and essential role in the 70's and 80's as a drug taking legend by becoming a game show host and couch model for furniture companies. He will most likely be unavailable though due to Sharon needing him to stand on some more stages and replenish her limbs and facial structures. Besides, who needs Ozzy anyway? My response to this would be a hearty "Fuck that shit!" and give me my own first choice-

Lemmy Kilmister.

Rocker and all around bad ass that would be sure to spike this deadpan cocktail and headcase hour with a swift kick in the eardrums with a snakeskin boot. Lemmy is way too cool to even consider such a horrid experiment in career misplacement. But a guy can dream. Besides, that is why I made this a healthy sized list of options.

Crazy is as crazy does. It sells too. It's a fact as well known as the recipe for diarrhea. Though he is more newsworthy now than ever before the last thing television audiences, even stupid ones, want is Tom Cruise jumping up and down on a desk as some tuneless waif croons and cruels her way through "Birthday cake" by Rihanna. So, who better to be this shows resident crazy person than Samuel L. Jackson?

I can hear the classic Sam on Idol quote screaming in my head now as I write this. "I have had it with these motherfuckers who think they can sing on this motherfucking show!" Priceless. 

Christopher Walken-

Ahhhhhh, just saying his name here is actually making this all sound cool.

Hey, if they want the show to be fun, so much fun that people will actually care enough not to speed past it on the cable remote why not? Everybody loves Walken, right? Sounds like a win/win to me. If they really wanted to step up the fun a notch how about each week have Walken act out one of his classic film roles in response to non-talent wasting his precious time?

What better response is there to off key warbling than grabbing some Mariah Carey impersonator by the hair and yelling "You're not ready for this!" As he force feeds them a barrel sandwich? The other judges could even get in on the action too. In a nod to his role as a crippled mafioso in "Things to do in Denver when you're dead" maybe have Randy Jackson hold Walken's dick as he offers up a golden showered review of some William Hung worshipping song burglar. Hell, if that was what I could expect every week I would actually start watching the show myself.

I am aware that schedule conflicts can be a bitch sometimes. So should the producers wish to go this route and find that Walken is unavailable might I suggest Steve Busemi as an alternate judge?

Gary Coleman-

Okay, sorry. Had a Geritol moment and forgot that he was dead. Zombies are very chic right now though and while we're lamenting can I just say that I would give my left nut to have him crawl out of the grave and grin sans makeup at the camera and ask "Whatchootalkin'bout'RyanSeacrest?"

Eddie Murphy-

But only made up as one of the members of the Klump family from that "Nutty professor" flick he did. Each week America would tune in just to see not only which one of them he was but how loud he farted anytime one of those vocal magicians failed miserably in delivering with  Houdini stylings.

William Hung-

Probably the one thing that "American Idol" will be always remembered for in my mind is their star crafting of arguably the most untalented and worthless individual on the planet at the current spinning cycle. This guy sold millions of records and packed concert halls worldwide on his ability to vocalize as proficiently as a not quite there yet piece of roadkill. This pretty much says all that needs to be said or sung .... or hung even .... about the credibility of "American Idol". But hey, the guy has become as useless as a losing lottery ticket now so why not have some fun at his expense? 

I'll bet armed with a Mr. Microphone and Mrs. Skaraoke machine he would almost be cool. Have him sing all of his retorts and rebuttals. Just for being so darn void of talent and worth you could have the other judges and maybe even some lucky members of the studio audience beat the shit out of him when they disagree with his horribly off key analysis. I smell instant television gold as rank and clear as diarrhea here.

Okay okay, since Jello ass is in talks with Dionne Warwick for directions to the San Jose freeway we will be needing some more female test subjects to torture and represent for the Coca-Cola industry so they can slap a soda splashed bra and edible panties laced with high fructose corn syrup on them and label them a diva.

Joan Rivers-

My first choice because she kicks ass. She is not afraid to make fun of anything or anybody and I'm pretty sure that when she encounters someone that makes her wish she were deaf she will start to throw shit. I'm guessing this will happen quite often. Sure enough to elicit high fives all around on entertainment factor alone. This never minding the fact that I just mentioned bra and panties and Joan Rivers all in the same breath.

Cameron Diaz/Charlize Theron-

A two-way tie with something for everybody. You see, casting for such an illustrious position should first and foremost be about multi-tasking. To replace such star quality that is both monumental as well as mental as J-Lobe one needs to think outside of the box while maintaining a sense of integrity that is not equipped with enough piss and vinegar to rain all over the parades of the idiots who make up the initial audience who made this show a main topic at both watercoolers and check out lines in the first place. First up we need someone with that trailer trash appeal we all know and loathe so well. You know, someone with a certain Tonya Harding quality. Someone not afraid to expose her womanly attributes on the air through multiple wardrobe malfunctions either. On the other hand, we need to realize this show is called "American Idol" and desperately needs apple pie just as much as it needs girl power. 

I think that Cameron Diaz would bring a certain goofiness to the table that otherwise is only matched by some of the clothes worn by host Ryan Seapcrest. She could alternate between slapstick antics one week and playing off the whole dumb blonde thing on other weeks. The whole charade would add a little spice to the burrito bowl.

As for Theron, she tends to be more serious in her overall character nature and I think just for shits and giggles and the occasional ratings sweep she should be allowed to show up dressed in her award winning Aileen Wuornos get up from "Monster". It would make for a hell of a Halloween show too.

Blue man group-

Hey, you think that somewhere there is a group called the Blue woman group? Okay, maybe not. If the Blue man group got sex changes I would totally want them as judges. Due to space restrictions at the judge table you would either have to have them all sit on top of each other in one chair or maybe switch them off each week. Either way it would be a whole lot of blue and a whole mess of fun. Since they are not women though I have to disqualify them and move on though. Sorry about that.

Moppy Ray Cyrus-

Okay, so here is what you do to appeal to both sides of the coin. For the few underaged birth controllers who are not out on a school night looking to find a warehouse rave you need someone who speaks their language. Ultimately though this is an adult show because it is adults who exercise taste inferior enough to propel this kind of runny shit into the most watched listings in the first place. So, you get this Moppy Ray Cyprus chick and you have her sit in a chair and look and listen to these wanne-be pop tarts that are all about as talented and deserving of fame as she is. But the key to not alienating your primary target audience is that you put duct tape over her mouth and just have her nod either her approval or dismissal. Win/win. Everybody stays happy. Even her because she is getting paid to squirm in her chair and mumble through her gag.

Cher-

I guess we should have some kind of music somebody something or other in there somewhere I suppose. Since she has stopped making chick flicks and selling glow in the dark douche bottles on late night television Cher would probably have her schedule clear. She is a music legend too which is a bonus. Well, she used to be before the whole douche thing. Truthfully I think that having a bunch of washed up pop stars tell a bunch of people that can't sing how to be buzzworthy is a waste of time,space and energy. This means we need to spice up the joint in anyway that we can. Cher is also a classically trained award winning thespian. So why not have her come dressed up as a different movie character each week and give all of her dialogue in character? Some fun ideas would be "Edward Scissorhands" and Marlon Brando either circa "Streetcar" or "Godfather".  If for whatever reason that can't happen maybe get Katey Sagal to don her Peg Bundy costume and bring some more of that trailer-esque ambiance to the show.

Eh, I guess i'm just grasping straws at this point though. I do realize actually that many of my choices have absolutely nothing to do with music. But really now, does it matter? After all, this show itself has nothing to do with music. No music and all fun. Sounds like a win/win to me.

*****The real date on this one is tricky. If you truly have no life then think back to whenever the show American Idol was trying to find some new judges. I think Mariah Hairy and Nicki Mange are on it now or something. I don't know or care because once I finished writing this blog I had the words American Idol physically removed from my brain by a poop scratcher. At the time I wrote it the blog site I was posting on changed over to a new format. Incidentally, this would be the same formatting that drove me away and landed me here. Whole other story though. The site was more fucked up than Kanye and Kim's kids will be if they have them and I was unable to post the blog with pictures as I had intended. They do add a certain Jenna says "qua", don't ya think? I did end up posting it on my Bungle page without the pictures and it wound up being one of the last blogs I posted on that cyber shit hole. I am very happy to at last present it the way it was meant to be seen. With Jenna saying "qua"..... and stuff.*****

THE FIRST TIME I HAD SEX

"THE FIRST TIME I HAD SEX"-
A STORY OF LOVE

BY BUNGLE GRIND

The first time I had sex

I was told that it would be the most amazing experience of my life.

I expected nothing less than passion (dueling)-

romance (personified and unified)-

and ecstacy (reciprocated).

Instead,
what I got was-

blood (hers)-

sweat (mine)-

tears (hers)-

and ten seconds later-

I was a man-

and then she went shopping.

THE END

*****Original post date 12/21/2009*****