28 September, 2010

Recent Love (I've-been-promising-this-one-for-a-while-now Edition)

Mclusky - Mclusky Do DallasMclusky Do Dallas.
OK. Here's how I'm going to break it down for you: There are more choice one-liners on this record than a Friar's Club Roast. For real. The first song, "Lightsabre Cocksucking Blues" includes the machismo-licious / bravado-tastic / delusion-of-grandeur-iffic line, "I'm aching from fucking too much."
Aching from fucking too much.
Let that sink in.
This record is big loud noisy fun, just guitar, bass, drums, and vocals and no bullshit effects or gimmicks. It's the record you put on to get your day started. It's the record you put on to piss off the neighbors. It's the record you put on when you just want to hear good music... as well as kick shit all over the house and fuck somebody on the floor.
Well, no. I wouldn't fuck somebody to this record. [Editor's note, 19 January, 2012: Charlie, the author of this piece, has, indeed, fucked somebody to this record.]
Who am I kidding? I've fucked to a Sonic Youth record, I can fuck to this.
Mclusky's winning element is their ability to blend solid, pounding punk rock with springy, bouncy melodies and their sense of humor. For instance, the one slow, subdued moment, the part that's actually gentle and quiet enough that you have to turn things up louder to hear what the fuck is going on, on this record is a song titled "Fuck This Band", the killer being in the second verse:
Fuck this band
Because they swear too much
It's an obvious ploy
And irresponsible
Fuck this band
Fuck their holes
But if they split up
You're responsible
It should be noted that this lullaby of a song comes after a song that pins the blame for - I don't know, something - on the '86 World Cup and before a song wherein singer/guitarist Andy Falkous claims Mclusky "take more drugs than a touring funk band". Actually, that last one, "To Hell With Good Intentions" is one big collection of hysterical one-liners. Have you ever wanted to just start a totally cocky band but couldn't find the balls to write some big-assed exaggerated claims? Here's what you do:
  1. Go to the record store. Ask for Mclusky Do Dallas. Feign surprise when the clerk acts like he's never heard of it.
  2. Go to the liquor store. Purchase malt liquor.

    This manies.
  3. Return home, admit to yourself that you have to illegally download this shit. (Sound Design and Assembly does not endorse illegal downloading but that ponce at the record store forced your hand in this matter. You'll buy it on Amazon later.)
  4. Put Mclusky Do Dallas on repeat. Crack your first forty. May I recommend the Old English to start? It takes the paint off in a reasonable amount of time, and you're not quite ready for the belligerence of the Cobra yet.
  5. Remind self that even though you get the gyst of "The World Loves Us and Is Our Bitch", you're not quite there.
  6. By the time you get to the third listen, you're probably ready for your next forty as you've convinced yourself that he really is saying "One of those bands' got fake tits!" and, shit, it is seventy two minutes later. You can't drink an Old-E in a fucking hour? Pussy.
    May I recommend the Colt 45 next, Princess? It's smoothness suitably compliments the potency of the Olde English and is wonderfully relaxing for the third spin of the record.
  7. Keep restarting "Gareth Brown Says" so you can sing the opening line to the cat. Watch cat not give a shit if his friends are cunts or if his mother's a ballpoint pen thief. Express dismay.
  8. Th'fuck? Is the mailman here?
  9. Get out the guitar and start trying to figure out how to play "Lightsabre Cocksucking Blues". Give up after the first chorus because you're a little buzzed and right now, man, you know, right? Because...
  10. By now you're either revving up for the fifth listen or you want to hear that Mazzy Star song because you just remembered your ex-girlfriend and, man, what happened with that? You know? When it was good, I mean, damn, it was good. How did that fall apart?
    ALLOW ME TO SMACK THE SHIT OUT OF YOU. Play the goddamned record again. May I recommend the Mickey's to follow the Colt 45? Some may say the Mickey's is a bit overwhelming, though I feel it in no way detracts from the mellow and plaintive Colt. The Mickey's is stronger tasting, true, and reminds one a bit of the Old-E but you can't place those two that close together. That would be uncouth.
    You'd have already burnt down the goddamned garage.
  11. Now you're standing on the coffee table, throwing the double horns, screaming to the empty living room, "My dad is bigger than your dad, he's got eight cars and a house in Ireland."
  12. Dance, monkey, dance!
  13. Man, what happened to all the fucking tortillas?
  14. Hey. Hey! HEY! Wake up, goddamnnit, it's fucking three in the afternoon, you lightweight. Come on. We're on listen number seven.
    You know what you have to do.
    Come on.
    Come on.
    Do it.
    Do it, you fucking pussy, do it!
    DO IT!
  15. Oh, shit, there goes your security deposit.
  16. Man, there is no way you're driving to Arby's right now.
  17. Begin tapping on the table. Realize that that's not the right rhythm.
  18. Out of smokes, start picking butts out of the ashtray.
  19. OK, that - Hey! Jesus, man, give me the lighter. Fuck. No, look at your thumb. Shit, that's going to blister.
  20. Begin laughing because "Alan is a Cowboy Killer" is on and Marlboros are called "cowboy killers" and you're trying to smoke a cigarette but you don't have any and you kind of just burnt the shit out of your thumb.
  21. Don't remember shit at this point.
Can you argue with the results? Yes. Because I told you that you could start a Mclusky band using this method and all you did was get piss-drunk and wake up at eleven at night with a splitting headache and the damned record is still going. Also, the coffee table is broken.
That's the kind of record we're dealing with here.
Now, let's see if you can stumble your way to the bathroom to piss.

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