(Unfortunately, I may soon wind up dropping Fafblog from that same list. Not because I want to, just because we’re coming up on a month and a half since it was last updated. Fafnir? Giblets? Medium Lobster? C’mon out, guys — joke’s over.)
He’s outdone himself with the recent “Rock and Roll Boy“, though: starting with found audio of a six-year-old boy burbling a song into his a tape recorder and ending it with a dedication to his mother, he’s actually crafted an infectiously catchy pop tune. Joe Bob says check it out.
I made an offhand reference to Devo’s “Whip It” while chatting with Holly the other day, and she of course caught it instantly. But then she went looking for the full lyrics, realized that she’d been under a misimpression for years, and opted to do the honorable thing by confessing: she’d always mistaken “Try to detect it” for “Tattoo Detective.”
After thinking about it further, we concluded that “Tattoo Detective” would probably be a pretty interesting job. “Miss, could I see an up-to-date registration for that tramp stamp? Uh huh. I thought so. Come with me, please.”
Of course, being part of an elite unit wouldn’t lessen the need for smooth interdepartmental cooperation. “Sir? Excuse me, sir? This is Sergeant O’Hallorhan from the Cliche Squad. He’d like to have a word with you about the barbed-wire bracelet on your upper arm. Step this way, please…”
After nearly a year in which it was available only abroad, Electric Six‘s sophomore effort, Señor Smoke, has finally been released domestically. Those of you already familiar with Electric Six who didn’t feel like ponying up $30 for the import will know this is a time for rejoicing, and an album purchase.
Those of you who aren’t familiar with Electric Six will have to be convinced, and this will take a certain measure of doing, because while Electric Six are a hoot and a half, they defy categorization. (I suspect that a causal relationship between these two facts exists, but I’m not sure in which direction.) It might help to imagine a band that does for a certain variety of pompous, chest-puffing, late-70s rock what Elvis impersonators do for Elvis — poking fun and showing a certain kind of backhanded respect all at once, through a sort of exagerrated homage. There’s a definite degree of ridicule directed toward the most egregious excesses, but there’s an undeniable measure of affection, too. I’ve always thought that you can’t really parody something effectively unless you secretly love it, just a little, and I think Electric Six offfers proof.
In any case, they’re going to be playing at The Independent in March. I’m going. I’ve never seen them live before. I cannot wait.
Wait, Wait… Don’t Tell Me! my favorite NPR program, has added a podcast; not just of selected highlights, but of the entire show. Now I can take Peter, Carl, Charlie, Paula, and the rest of the gang on the road without being tethered to a PC running RealPlayer. This is a fabulous thing.
In addition, my favorite of the regular panelists, Adam Felber, is apparently in the process of publishing his first novel, Schroedinger’s Ball. Fortunately, since it appears that it won’t actually appear in print until August, I have a little time between now and then to wear down the rest of my queued reading so as to make room for it.