30-Day Song Challenge, Day 1

My favorite song first? Trial by fire, I suppose. To be honest, I'm so worn out on lists, rankings, and so on that the idea of this intrigues me but ultimately makes me nauseous. I don't know what my favorite song is, and nobody cares what it is anyway. Paranoid in my old age (22), I suspect this is a case of -- word to Twitter -- free market research. In fact, I'm sure it is.

My favorite song is Harry Nilsson's "Everybody's Talkin'."

It's on YouTube.

Day Twenty-Two: Play It on the Radio - Just Don't Play It for Me

Day 22 - A song that you listen to when you’re sad

The sound of the river is inaudible 'cause we don't flow.

Playradioplay! - Forgiveness, the Enviable Trait

Day Twenty-One: Take Out the Garbage, Dude (Shit's Startin' to Stink)

Day 21 - A song that you listen to when you’re happy

Your good friend and mine, Tiberious aka Sparkles aka Harrison Forbes aka Eion Fobres* has observed that as of late, I've been a bit of a bitchy grouch (or a grouchy bitch!) and I suppose he has a point; though such admissions have a tendency to swell up his heads and so, in the interest of keeping the sun from being blocked out by our good friend's extremities let's just say he's not entirely mistaken. I've been in a funk these past few weeks, 'tis true but that doesn't mean I'm unable to crack a smile or, dare I say it, enjoy life! Of course I can, silly, and when I do, I crave music that accentuates the mood. One song that does so excruciatingly well is 'Cherry Lips (Go Baby Go!)' by Garbage because, well, the lyrics are somewhat goofy, somewhat trashy, somewhat catchy and honestly, that shit makes me smile!

Garbage - Cherry Lips (Go Baby Go!)

* That's how the Ex spells his name. No foolin'.

Day Twenty: For When a Local Hotshot Kicks You in the Face

Day 20 - A song that you listen to when you’re angry

Don't you hate it when this sort of thing happens? You try to be nice (or merely cordial) to someone and bam! you get kicked in the face, or you do something nice for someone and bam! you get kicked in the face. Maybe someone's spreading lies about you -which is bad enough- and to make matters worse, bam! they kick you in the face just because they can. Perhaps a person just can't help themselves because their brain is broken (or, to be charitable, they're damaged goods) and while somewhat pitiable in their lunacy, it doesn't change the fact that bam! you get kicked in the face; and the worst part is that sometimes you just keep coming back for more.*

This is a song for one of those days:

Local H - Deep Cut

* Until you don't.

Ed. Note. This is not a post directed at any one person. It's about people and the way we act toward one another at our less than best moments. I include myself in that collection of people, too since I -like most everyone else in the world- have a broken brain in some way, shape or form.

Day Nineteen: You'd Think She Were Daft, Wouldn't You, Punk?

Day 19 - A song from your favorite album

Favorite, favorite, fa-vor-ite!* You, of all people, should know by now that I'm deficient in that regard; which is not to say I don't relish some albums more than others but like you should have figured out by now, what is good is not necessarily what floats my boat and, conversely, what floats my boat needn't be all that good, yet (yet!) sometimes one simply has to go with the flow and what flows in this vacuum is what makes me feel good, and what makes me feel good is mammalian mutilation Daft Punk's Discovery. Say what you will about the album (and you'd say a lot if you knew me better), the band or, hell, its audience (and you'd be spot on, perhaps) but this much is true: I could listen to Discovery once a month for the next ten years and still be enthusiastic about the next encounter - and that's saying quite a bit when it comes to my relationship with humanity music.

Daft Punk - デジタル・ラブ**

I'll be the first to admit that the song -along with the album as a whole- is more than a tad cheesy, but what's wrong with a bit of Cheese Whiz in life? If anything, experience has taught me that the majority of people who claim to be enamored with chic, deeply-hip indie music (that truly expresses the nature of their tortured souls! blah, blah, blah) are anything but. And you wanna know what's even cheesier than the music? The videos! (Different song, but you get the gist.)




* Or favourite if you're a Commonwealth Kid, and that's cool.
** The version of Discovery I own happens to be the Japanese edition (don't ask) so I felt it best to keep the katakana intact.

Day Eighteen: In Exactly 30 Seconds We'll Be Exiled to Mars

Day 18 - A song that you wish you heard on the radio

If we were still in 2002, there would be a decent chance of hearing 30 Seconds to Mars' 'Capricorn' on the radio but, for better or worse, we're stuck in the present otherwise known as 2011.* Since I don't have a time machine (one I'm willing to share with the general populace, at least) we'll have to make do with the next best thing: music. And unlike a DeLorean DMC-12 set to hit 88MPH, there aren't any disgruntled Libyans involved (unless you're into that stuff, in which case such things could be arranged, I'm sure).

30 Seconds to Mars - Capricorn (A Brand New Name)

(As a friendly reminder, I'd like to note that this song, alongside any of the others posted, can be downloaded free of charge as an MP3 file by right-clicking the artist/title and saving linked file as... or whatever.)



* Now I'm not saying 2011 has been a total wash thus far, but you get the idea.**

** If this were another blog -one that shall remain nameless- my post would have been removed for telling the truth.

Day Seventeen: Stone the Lovers at the Temple but Spare the Pilots

Day 17 - A song that you hear [often] on the radio

I had to put the word 'often' in brackets because I don't listen to the radio all that much -while driving, if ever- and thus I've deemed 'often' to mean 'more than twice in a single week'. That being the case, I've heard STP's 'Trippin on a Hole in a Paper Heart' at least twice this week, which isn't such a bad thing though (along with many of the other tunes I've been exposed to via FM radio) it causes me to wonder if radio has changed all that much since the mid-nineties...


Stone Temple Pilots - Trippin' on a Hole in a Paper Heart

Spunk Tales! (The Godbeast)

  


M83 - Skin of the Night

    Within an increasingly iridescent glade amidst a slowly decreasing woodland not too far from the reach of humanity’s gaze, there resides a creature best left unmolested; for just as mankind plays games, this beast entertains itself with activities best left unspoken. The godbeast once labeled Hati Hróðvitnisson resides in this morbidly sacrosanct tract of land, though to say that it basks in solitude would be a misnomer of sorts, as there is more, or perhaps less to this glade than Life, Earth, and Progress would have an observer believe. The godbeast is not, by any means suggested, alone, and yet the living need not be counted amongst its company.

    Beside the creature of a thousand stars, countless scars and its faded, bleached mange stands a stag with four legs broken in several places, bones jutting through the fur of a body partially decayed, both eyes long since devoured by maggots; the putrefied deer watches intently as the godbeast runs a gaunt, clawed finger across the body of a felled raccoon. Wherever that finger traces, therein lies an orange akin to florescent paint, for this is the godbeast’s favorite shade of reanimation; this way and that, the wandering finger infuses just enough vivacity to disregard the roadkill’s predicament and the animal begins to stir, its shattered spine disobeying the laws Nature once decreed.

    From its one azure eye, an eye devoid of pupil, iris, and ephemeral grace the godbeast exudes placation while from that other place, a jagged crevice from which a second eye once gazed upon the world, lies a wound that forever bleeds; beast, much as man, suffers the insufferable burden of incurable ailments, the difference being for a creature which is neither, that which does not heal scarcely kills, yet what the godbeast secretes is not blood but, rather, the stuff of dreams, the materials which lead men and women alike to insatiable cravings. This, the godbeast’s cervine companion feasts upon with lacerated tongue.

    Within this increasingly iridescent glade amidst a slowly decreasing woodland not too far from the reach of humanity’s fate, there resides an expanding coterie of servile parasites eager to embrace their oblivious executioners, those who steal vitality along the interstates, highways and byways that breach the land itself. The headless, limbless, and lifeless yearn for what has been taken from them so callously, yet the godbeast has other, albeit not entirely divergent plans from its septic legion, for the creature still referred to as Hati Hróðvitnisson effortlessly savors what fleshly constructs cannot fathom; that is, if not the future then the enduring zest of inevitability.

    They, unbeknownst to all save the godbeast, approach this site of unnaturally vibrant hues and artificially infused wildlife with the unbridled curiosity befitting of easygoing children exposed to something categorically bewitching; before long, that ragtag group of unsuspecting youths shall discover something best left unseen and soon thereafter, any flicker of life, love, friendship, and hope will be devoured by what awaits them.

Day Sixteen: To Boston and Back

Day 16 - A song that you used to love but now hate

I have something to tell you, something incredible. I hope you're sitting down for this. Once upon a time, I thought Boston was a pretty groovy band, but that's not the shocker so stop wetting your pants already. The kicker is that I positively adored the band's third album, the cleverly-named Third Stage. (You may now return to darkening that skirt of yours, guy.) Worst of all, I even considered the final track, 'Hollyann' a great way to end such a fantastic assemblage of sonic beauty. That was 1986, mind you, and to be fair, weren't we all total chumps in 1986?*

Beyond that, I think the fact that I've listened to the album a total of infinity plus twenty times has something to do with my revulsion of its final track. Also, let us consider such riveting, gut-wrenching** lyrics as Hollyann, we made the dark into light / We saw the wrong and the right and I still hear guitars in the air / As we sat in the sand, oh, Hollyann.

Jesus. I can only wonder two things at this point, the first of which being 'What the fuck were you thinking, Boston?' followed by 'What the fuck were you thinking, Chicken Wire?'

Boston - Hollyann




* Some people still are, of course, but for them, it's not just Memory Lane that's lined with feces.
** More akin to food poisoning than anything else.

Day Fifteen: An Electric Six-Shooter Pointed Toward the Feet

Day 15 - A song that describes you

Personally, I think today's challenge was designed to throw people a curveball or, if one ascribes deviant tendencies to the the challenge's designer, it's an attempt to highlight folks' flawed desire to be associated with something that was never intended for them; and not in the Carly Simon theme song to The Spy Who Loved Me You're So Vain way, but more of an I wish this song encapsulated my existence! sort of thing. Such longings are understandable of course, as I would love to submit the Allman Brothers Band's Midnight Rider as my song (on account of it being awesome) but I can't, given that I own the clothes I'm wearin' (to say nothing of the fact that I haven't a silver dollar in my possession).*

So in lieu of anything dramatic, personal, revealing or meaningful:
Electric Six - Down at McDonnelzzz

Now whether or not the song describes me in some way is a question best left to people who'd like to think they know shit about shit; and if you're reading this blog, chances are you're not one of those sanctimonious individuals.



* Take that to be metaphorical as well as literal.

Day Fourteen: Savage Errands amidst Lunar Gardens

Day 14 - A song that no one would expect you to love

If anything, this task has been the most arduous yet and the reason is simple: for all intents and purposes, there's bound to be someone, anyone, or everyone out there who would be aware of songs I adore, for I tend discuss such matters with friends, enemies, and fictitious personalities alike. Thus, it's virtually impossible to present a song that catches all by surprise, though the forthcoming tune should baffle more than a few astute souls.

Before unveiling the song in question, I'd like to get a few things out of the way:

1) PK alum dnzmtc will cry himself to sleep tonight on behalf of the Australian continent, people, and culture
2) I lack a theory about the bitter one
3) I'm not waiting for the right kind of pilot to come*
4) I wouldn't fly to the moon and back, but
5) I may put you on trial for crimes that were never defined

Savage Garden - To the Moon & Back



* But you never know!

Spunk Tales! (The Garnish)

The White Stripes - Blue Orchid

That silly, dilapidated mutt took the note my mother wrote and stapled the paper to its forehead.

    This is how she would have described the situation, as if branding were the newest fad indeed. It's not like the mutt felt physical pain whatsoever, so a staple here and there meant nothing, but the content -yes, the content- of the note itself was irksome enough for the two of them. Differences, differences, of course.

    The mutt pointed a rusted, twisted index finger toward its face, and repeated the words hastily printed upon yellow parchment with supposedly indelible ink.

    "Sophia, could you set the oven to 350 at 6:30. I'll be home at 7:15. Mom." The mongrel employed rising intonation, although the girl knew damn well that her mother would never have phrased -let alone written- the declaration as a request. The sham hadn't required a faux motherly voice either but it was, admittedly, an amusing caricature.

    Sophia tugged upon the refrigerator door casually, retrieved a half-full can of Pepsi and took a sip with the door left ajar. 'Bonus points if you can tell me what mom is going to make for dinner.' The mutt sampled the air while it flicked one of the edges of the affixed note with the aforementioned, absurdly elongated finger, and then mentioned something about chicken breasts marinated in a cocktail of vinegar, lemon juice, oregano; some manner of Mediterranean recipe in the works, but he was no connoisseur of fine cuisine, or so he attested.

    "Close, but not quite," Sophia replied, and set the can of Pepsi upon the counter. She retrieved the Tupperware container, set the plastic cube beside the aluminum can and popped the lid off. It was chicken, most certainly, but it lacked a crucial ingredient. Sophia thrust her arms behind; to scrape, collect, and condense the refuse that had been recently deposited, haphazardly, upon her exposed backside (by a trigger-happy fool twenty-six years her elder who waited, however impatiently, inside her bedroom, probably going through her drawers at this very moment). She smirked as the mongrel watched her bathe the chicken with gooey, relatively fresh ejaculate - she preferred to call the stuff milt but that was another story altogether. The mutt groused that she was so juvenile, to which Sophia countered that it was so astute, for the mongrel had, in all likelihood, observed her balding confederate jerk off onto Sophia’s naked body while she ate from a can of Sour Cream 'n' Onion Pringles during this afternoon’s episode of Guiding Light, her eyes glued to the television; though to be fair, she knew quite well that a bewildering, somewhat-detached curiosity -and not any manner of carnal yearning- was, above all else, the beast’s motivation.

    She took another sip from the can of Pepsi, and then licked her lips with childish mendacity. "Besides, it's not as if it really hurts anyone. Mom will take a bite of her chicken breast and note just how well the recipe turned out. Secretly, I think she savors the taste of my additions. Come on, it's not as if she doesn't know the flavor of semen, really. I'm tickled, and she's satiated about being an adequate mother. Win-win." Sophia grinned at the beast's subsequent retort. "Well," she replied whimsically, "I'm never very hungry, for real food anyway, so I'll just nibble on some chips and drink another Pepsi." Sophia proceeded to pull a strand of her long, blond hair across her face and gave the mongrel an aggrandized wink. "It could be worse, you know; I could take up smoking." She knew that the creature mulled over what to say next but its incapacity had grown tiresome over the past few years, so that was just the way things were.

    The topic of discussion ceased to concern Sophia almost instantaneously and she ran her fingers along the growing curves of her blooming physique. "Do you think I'm ugly?" She hadn't bothered to look the mutt in the eye as she made the inquiry, because the importance of her developing form was paramount. Sophia was vaguely aware that time and flesh were bedfellows, but it was so tough to think about vagrant prospects.

    The mongrel divulged that Sophia was fairly attractive - for a nude calamity on the cusp of fourteen. It then removed the staple from its flesh and muttered that things were going to get much worse if it waited much longer, as well as some obscure comment about the fate that awaits rock 'n' roll clowns.

    "Yeah," Sophia quipped, "but your mama won’t mind what your mama can’t see." The beast was mildly impressed by the girl’s knowledge of Def Leppard yet decidedly less so with her application.

Day Thirteen: (Marky) Marked for Death by a Funky Bunch of Misfits

Day 13 - A song that is a guilty pleasure

Guilt. Pleasure. Guilty pleasure. A blogger craves not these things and neither do I, but here's a song for you anyway.*

Marky Mark & The Funky Bunch - Good Vibrations

* But what about you? (Without the guilt, of course.)


Bonus Round (Marky) Mark III

This song was suggested by not one, but two readers as a guilty pleasure of sorts and just between the sixteen of us, they have a point. Third Eye Blind's 'Never Let You Go' is, much like STP's 'Interstate Love Song' a tune that strokes my soft spot for tall, dark and venomous pop/rock (or power pop, if you prefer) songs, and why shouldn't it? Short, sweet (or not), and full of catchy riffs is how I like you... I mean, it. Yeah, it.

Third Eye Blind - Never Let You Go

Day Twelve: The Black Box System of a Downed Airplane Stuck Up My Ass

Day 12 - A song from a band you hate

To say that I hate stuff is a bit of an exaggeration. Sure, there are plenty of things I mock regularly (coffeehouse fuckheads, The Rebel Alliance, The Mars Volta, yuppies, Wolverine, organic markets, idealjetsam, John Carpenter's career after the Eighties, etc.) but that's just for fun, really, and it's a far cry from hatred. Even now, when prompted to highlight a song from a band I hate, it's easier to think of something I simply loathe, and that band is System of a Down. Fuck, does that group drive me up the wall; and if anything, System of a Down is the perfect storm of shitty instrumentals, shitty vocals, shitty Look at us! We're so outspoken! do-gooder ideology, and perhaps worst of all, shitty hairstyles. Congratulations, Serj Tankian & Co. You win the Inane Bullshit with Twisted Sister Hairdos Award.


I hesitate to even post a song by this mangled set of hippo testicles, so let's go with a cover of Berlin's 'Metro' instead of something atrociously original.

System of a Down - Metro

Day Eleven: When You Get to the Arcade, Toss Him into the Digitized Fire

Day 11 - A song from your favorite band

Back again (weekends don't count, you know) with a song from my favorite band or, at the very least, a band that I consider really fucking good; and the standard by which I judge this band to be 110% awesome is that every album they've produced I enjoy immensely, be it a month, six months, or a year after the first listen. The band in question? Arcade Fire. Funeral was a work of genius, Neon Bible magically delicious, and The Suburbs was -metaphorically speaking- like a rock-hard boner or a shot of semen to the mouth regardless of your sexual preferences.*

One song doesn't really do the situation justice, but those are the rules.

Arcade Fire - Black Wave / Bad Vibrations

* Or, as would be the case for some people, quite literally. But we'll save the spunk for later.


Another Bonus Round!

This one's courtesy of none other than Psychedelic Kimchi's very own Maestro of Masturbation, Tiberious aka Sparkles aka Harrison Forbes, a man who was positively certain that I'd include a song by PK mainstay The Killers. Chances are that he'll be proven correct in his omniscience, if only for today.

The Killers - Sam's Town

I should also take the time to note that another PK mainstay, the most enduring of Constant Retards known as Avis knew this was coming as well, just as another, former (and thus, less than constant) Retard could have foreseen a Killers inclusion, too (had she a better memory).

Day Ten: Stay Bright, Droopy Eyes

Day 10 - A song that makes you fall asleep

For the most part, it's a bad, sad song that puts people to sleep (that, or a lullaby) but what about the good songs, the ones you pop into the CD player to set your dreams alight? Tough call. Granted, if I were to take the easy way out, I'd opt for something from Massive Attack's catalog and don't get me wrong, I like Massive Attack but let's not beat around the not-so-proverbial bush here: that shit could put the undead to rest. Instead, I think I'll lay out a track from Bright Eyes' 2011 album The People's Key entitled 'Ladder'. It's a bit sad, yeah, though not so bad; and it helps return this particular zombie to its wormy grave.

Bright Eyes - Ladder

Day Nine: A Pair of Scissors with Sisters

Day 09 - A song that you can dance to

This one's been a killer, Defenestrated Readers. See, the thing is that, to be candid, I'm not much of a dancer; even wasted, you'd be hard pressed to get me on a dance floor of any kind save a slab of cardboard, though that alone would be a Herculean endeavor and, furthermore, while one could envision dancing as a euphemism for sex, that too would be problematic, given that said activity is met with an equal amount of disdain on my part - some folks may bemoan their loss in either category, perhaps, but whatcha gonna do?*

So this is my song for dancing regardless of how one interprets the phrase.

Scissor Sisters - I Don't Feel Like Dancin'





Bonus Round!

Out of curiosity, I asked some friends (readers and philistines alike) to toss out their own predictions as to which songs would, or should appear on my list; of this hallowed bunch, the first arrives courtesy of Kelli, Constant Retard Extraordinaire.

Def Leppard - Photograph

To paraphrase her thoughts on the matter:

See, I would think that you'd put Photograph on the list, somewhere. For as many years as I've known you, it's a song you're guaranteed to rally behind in most any situation. It's such a Chicken Wire song!

Verily, Kelli. Verily.


* Oh, the humanity!

Day Eight: Everyone's a Foreigner to the Hero

Day 08 - A song that you know all the words to

Foreigner - Jukebox Hero

... Put his ear to the wall, then like a distant scream...