MIND GRAPES

Choosing your ringtone, like choosing your wife, or your first murder victim, or the dude you would have sex with if you were gay (John Goodman) is one of the most important choices you can make. The fact is, so much of what people think about you is based on your ringtone: if you use the default ringtone, it means you’re old and out of touch with modern technology (maybe you are Amish, or my grandparents). If you choose the song “Seasons of Love” from the musical Rent, it means you’re gay, or maybe fat. If your ringtone is a hit song from the 80s, such as “Touch Myself” by the Divynils, it means you’re annoying. If your phone plays a rap song when it rings, it probably means something complex about race, class and popular culture in America, or maybe that you think “Magic Stick” by 50 Cent says something pretty meaningful about your life.

For a long time I owned a Nokia phone originally manufactured out of ivory and whale fat by Alexander Graham Bell. It was not a ringtone-friendly phone. I answered that phone to a ringtone called “Sticks” that sounded like this:

DIT

DIT

DIT
DITDITDITDITDITDIT.

I liked “Sticks” because it made me feel like I was in the Nature Company store (RIP), and also because everyone I knew was really weirded out by it. “Change your ringtone, Max,” they’d say, “or we won’t hang out with you anymore.” I never changed my ringtone, and guess who’s laughing now? I certainly am, and probably none of them are, though I don’t know, because they stopped hanging out with me.

I now own an iPhone, given to me personally by Steve Jobs (engraved on the back it says: “Max, I love Disco Horror — Steve Jobs”). I’ve gone through a lot of ringtones on this phone–an exciting one called “Crickets,” that sounds, excitingly, like crickets; a snippet of the song “My President is Black,” by Young Jeezy, that helps remind me what color Young Jeezy’s president, and Lamborghini, are. But recently I’ve settled on one that really speaks to me: “You Make Loving Fun” by Trailmix.

I hope my Fleetwood Mac fandom is well-enough documented on the pages of this storied blog that my appreciation for a 4×4 edit/mix of the Rumors classic is not particularly surprising. The Mac, being hip in that impossible-to-tell-why way, have received their fair share of classic mixes–Arthur Baker’s mix of “Big Love” being, you know, like, the greatest use of pianos, in any song, I guess, ever?–but I think this Trailmix version is pretty easily one of the best. None of Lindsey’s rad guitar work is cut; it just soars over the churning beat & distorted bass while Stevie’s [NOTE: CHRISTINE] vocals echo in the distance; the slow-down chorus gets cut right the fuck out in favor of more of that pulsing rhythm & wonky guitar. Really the only problem with using this as my ringtone is that I just want to dance to it instead of answer the phone.

But I do know this: when my phone rings, everyone around me thinks I’m fuckin’ rad. “There,” they say, “is a dude who knows how to choose a ringtone.” I don’t want to suggest that you copy me, but know that if you make this your ringtone, you will probably have sex within twenty-four hours. Enjoy.

Above is a famous photo of Bono meeting with Ghandi (just kidding: this is a photo I found on the internet that is probably porn for some sub-furry U2/Second Life slash community.)

I ask you a question: who is a more important person: Mahatma Ghandi, the President of India, or Bono, of the rock band the U2? A lot of people would say Bono automatically, because he is white and has several pairs of sunglasses and has written such famous albums as “Rattle & Hum” and “Discotheque,” while Ghandi has written no songs, according to Wikipedia, and probably doesn’t own any sunglasses at all. Some other people, but probably not as many, would say, Ghandi is more important, because the inspiring story of a ragamuffin Indian lawyer/ascetic beating off (not sexually) British Imperialism is like a Bad News Bears for our times, and also inspired the movie Ghandi: The Movie.

But surprise! The real answer is that you don’t have to choose between the savior of India and the most famous Irishman in the world! Because in a lot of ways, Ghandi and Bono are the same person. This is why you hear Ghandi referred to as the “Bono of India.” What do I mean? Think of it like the Christian concept of “the trinity”: Bono is the Father and the Holy Spirit, and Ghandi is the Son (Jesus). You wouldn’t choose between Jesus and God, would you? (If you did, my understanding is that you will go to Hell.) So next time someone forces you to choose between your two heroes, tell them, Max said I don’t have to.

Why do I bring up Bono? Well, it just so happens that the MP3 I’m attaching to this post is a cover of the famous “U2ne” (U-tune) “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For, Yet” by the Chimes. Ari hates this cover, which is probably the right way to feel about it; I dig it, for basically two reasons: one is that it’s nice and laid-back, without the overblown piety of the original, chugging along at around 100 BPM with a loping drumbeat and movie strings; the other is that repeated saxophone figure from the very beginning, which is for some reason hitting the spot for me right now.

This, by the way, is the “Street Mix”–I hope the street has a name! (”Where the Streets Have No Name” is a U2 song).

NOTE: BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN, USING HIS EMAIL ADDRES “DCMANOTICE” PERSONALLY CONTACTED US TO ASK US TO TAKE DOWN THIS POST–I THOUGHT THAT WAS PRETTY “GAY” IN THE BAD WAY–BUT HE TOOK IT DOWN ANYWAY. AND NOW I CAN’T FIND THE FINAL VERSION. SO YOU’LL HAVE TO JUST DEAL WITH READING THIS SHITTY FIRST DRAFT. THANKS A LOT “COPYRIGHT LAW.”

SECOND NOTE: MY BEST FRIEND KIERAN SAVED THE POST!! HERE IS THE NOW-INFAMOUS DISCO HORROR MEMORIAL BLOGSPOT DAY POST, REPRODUCED BELOW UNEDITED–SARAH CRACKNELL DONT YOU DARE FUCK WITH US.

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Well, yesterday was my favorite holiday, Memorial Day, which is The Official Start Of The Summer, as decreed by basically everyone, and also The Day When Various Media Personalities Hector Us All About All The Dead Troops, as decreed by Various Media Personalities, who, desperate to be seen as Upstanding, Troop-Loving Types, talk about people making “The Ultimate Sacrifice For Your Country” a.k.a. “Dying In Iraq/Afghanistan Due To The Muslims” basically nonstop, especially on NPR, and really, NPR, who are you fooling, you fucking commies, I just want to listen to Car Talk.

How did you guys celebrate? If I know my reading audience well, I imagine that the Americans among you spent the day slack-jawed, hunched at your Macbooks, playing/masturbating to some kind of World of Warcraft/pornography hybrid, while our two or three British fans had tea on the barbie and saluted the Queen. I personally memorialized the Troops and the September 11ths and the George Washingtons by eating a hamburger made from red meat, helping contribute to my Classic American Impotence and Heart Disease, and listening to R. Kelly. Major League Baseball celebrated the blood sacrifice of thousands of nineteen-year-olds by holding Fred Durst Day, where every ballplayer was forced to wear a red hat, presumably symbolizing the color of Valentine’s Day cards, which the troops sent to their “sweethearts.”

The real question is: what America-loving music did you listen to? Given that most people who read this blog are dance music fans, and therefore closeted gays, and therefore terrorists making suicide attacks on marriage, you probably spent the day listening to “The Internationale (Osama Remix)” and Elton John. Fear not, though—as part of Disco Horror’s service to this country, I’m going to provide you with two truly America-loving songs.

The first is “Born in the U.S.A. (Dub Mix),” by the all-time America-lover Bruce Springsteen. Springsteen wrote this song as a tribute to the fact that God had blessed him by not making him an immigrant, and as a celebration of our country’s Greatest War (Vietnam). And I know what you’re going to say! “Max, this is some kind of un-American remix! What would the founding fathers think if, for example, you remixed the constitution!” Folks: this is a “dub mix,” which is the least gay/unamerican of all mixes, so please don’t worry.

Bruce Springsteen - Born in the U.S.A. (Dub Mix)

The other track is the terrific capitalist anthem “I Buy American Records,” by the band “St. Etienne” (what could be more American than a God-fearing band who names themselves after a religious figure??). This track is all about stimulating the American economy by buying records—a terrific message for a difficult time.

St. Etienne - I Buy American Records

Originally posted at Disco Horror

Hey guys—do you think the “joke” I make about how Jimmy & I are “famous” “rich” “good-looking” “bloggers” is “over”? Have I used it “too much”? Ha ha, of course not. “Irony”!

Jimmy & I were tandem windsurfing yesterday off the coast of the island from “Lost” (it’s real, and we get to go to it) when two golden-feathered doves landed on our respective shoulders and whispered in our ears: “RVNG is releasing a new mix, curated by Andre Bumrocks and Jason Evans from Hey Convict!, and it will be released simultaneously with a 7″ featuring some highlights from the mix, on purple vinyl.)” And then the birds, which were actually clockwork creations made in the distant past by unknown master Persian craftsmen, turned into MP3 players, and we listened to the mix, and then went back to the shore and made out, with babes.

“Irony”! Actually we got an email from a guy named “Josh,” and because we are a) big RVNG fans and b) suckers for people who make the mistake of thinking this website has any readers besides my girlfriend (hi Ari!), we decided to post a track off the 7″ (it’s a seven-inch because this is the seventh release in the series—also because Andre Bumrock’s favorite band is Avenged Sevenfold).

The mix itself (called “Purple Brain,” a reference to the great 70s rock band Deep Purple and the Steven Martin film The Man with Two Brains; that’s the cover up top) consists of what sounds like three dozen nameless brain-erasing parallel-universe beardo classics; it’s a little all-over-the-place, but if you’ve got a problem with all-over-the-place, you’re reading the wrong blog. Really, the problem is that an hour is way too short to actually get a grip on the ridiculous number of things going on in this mix, and more than once tracks get cut off just when you’re ready for more. Still: better to have listening to thirty seconds, and lost, than to never have listened to even thirty seconds, of a song, at all, right?

I didn’t recognize any of the tracks on my first couple listens, but I was able to recognize many instruments, including:

• The guitar

• The drums

• The flute

• The bass guitar

Bottom line: if you like any of those instruments, I feel confident you’ll enjoy this mix.

“Josh,” who is very nice, asked that we let you know when you can pre-order the fine merchandise listen above, so, please be aware, you can pre-order both Purple Brain and the Purple Brain 7″ on May 26.

The track I’m leaving you with is the B-side to the seven-inch, a happy, apolitical, message-less little ditty by the apartheid-era South African troupe the Bahumutsi Drama Group (founded by activist and playwright Maishe Maponya). I feel confident that when the Drama Group recorded this “joint,” they were hoping it would someday be played in a Bushwick loft to a bunch of drunk, mostly white, out-of-work “artists”/web designers! Enjoy!

• The guitar

• The drums

• The flute

• The bass guitar

Bottom line: if you like any of those instruments, I feel confident you’ll enjoy this mix.

A famous movie about a beach where everyone plays ping pong.

HEY!

Y’all: summer is here. Basically. I mean, it’s been a little rainy, a little chilly, but it’s summer where it counts—in my heart. Right? I went back to Jersey this weekend, and, guys, I packed shorts. I didn’t end up wearing them, partly because it was cold, and also because I didn’t end up leaving the house. Also: some of my friends went to the beach. The beach! Obviously, I wasn’t invited. But I bet they had fun!

And as I was sitting in my house on Friday night, re-watching episodes of How I Met Your Mother while my parents had a party, I couldn’t help but think of my friends, at the beach, and wonder what music they were listening to. Probably Lady Gaga! But if I had been there, I would have made sure they were listening to something far more appropriate–something like “Vamos a la Playa” by Righeira.

Here’s the video, starring a young Jake Gyllenhaal:

Now, as I’m sure you know, one of the great things about this blog is that we’re very smart, and we like to teach people. It should come as no surprise, therefore, to learn that Disco Horror is in many ways a “bilingual” blog (or, “el blog”): both Jimmy and I passed Spanish 102; Jimmy lives in San Francisco, which is a city with a Spanish name; my girlfriend’s last name is sort of vaguely “Latin,” insofar as it ends in a vowel, and has a “z” in it. So we’re eminently qualified to translate the song, which turns out to be kind of a bummer:

We go to the beach
The bomb exploded
The radiation toasts
And blend with blue
We go to the beach
Everyone with hats
The radioactive wind
Dishevels our hair
We go to the beach
At the end the sea is clean
No more dirty fish
Or fluorescent water.

Jeez, Righeira, way to bum everyone out! Still, it’s better than the Notorious B.I.G.’s song about disliking beaches, “Playa Hata”—plus, how many people actually speak Spanish. Can’t be that many, right? Please enjoy!

Here’s the video, starring a young Jake Gyllenhaal:

We go to the beach
The bomb exploded
The radiation toasts
And blend with blue
We go to the beach
Everyone with hats
The radioactive wind
Dishevels our hair
We go to the beach
At the end the sea is clean
No more dirty fish
Or fluorescent water.

Photo of Staten Island

So: the reason I bring this up is that last weekend Jimmy and I got an email from a band called Paragraph, a band from, of all places, Staten Island. And as shocked as I was that there were “musicians” from “Staten Island,” I was probably even more shocked that they have email. Technology! And in this Staten Island email, this band, Paragraph, was an MP3.

Now—as famous, wealthy bloggers, we get a lot of emails, many from doctors offering us experimental sex procedures or jewelers who, recognizing our wealth, offer us Rolex watches. Also, publicists, and, sometimes, Nigerians, many of whom have lost their family fortunes. And because we are often having “sex” with “models,” we’re not always able to check our jewel-encrusted jPhones (next-gen iPhones) to see what emails we get. But when bands send us MP3s, and those MP3s end up being pretty good, well, we don’t do much but post ‘em.

So here it is: an MP3 from noted Staten Island band Paragraph. I’ve only heard four songs from these guys, I think, and this one is the best—less like a short-pocketed Gang of Four tribute band, the way their MySpace YouTube videos sound (not bad but, uh, it’s not 2003 anymore, let alone 1983) and more like a tightly-wound R&B group with a very, very serious talent for grooves (the track is basically begging to be edited/remixed for the floor). The only hesitation is this weird little autotune bit at the end, which sounds kind of out of place, if not from an entirely different planet (it sort of reminds me of rap-rock favorites Crazytown); everything else I fully endorse (Jimmy hates the autotune part, deeply, with what I can sense is every fiber of his body). The song on their MySpace isn’t quite as good as this, but its own WTF element (a sweet summery guest rap from a young lady named “Star’s Da Limit”) sounds way more natural (and good). And you know—I kind of can’t be down on a band that’s putting weird little bits of other planets in their songs. Especially because, you know, what else are you going to do on Staten Island?

Cross-posted at Mind Grapes.