Sunday, July 14, 2013
JEFFREY MORGANíS MEDIA BLACKOUT #376
Sun, July 14, 2013 | link
JEFFREY MORGAN’S MEDIA BLACKOUT #376 MACHINE ROCK’S MEDIA
EDITOR’S NOTE: Jeffrey
Morgan (@CREEM) is on vacation. Ghost writing his column for the next few months will be valued colleague MACHINE ROCK (@MachineRock) who promises to try and ape, as closely as possible, Mr. Morgan’s idiosyncratic; emdash-addicted; comma-eschewing;
alliterative; run-on sentence style of writing. Let’s see how well he does this week:
Joe Satriani – Unstoppable Momentum (Epic) :: If you
only buy one Joe Satriani album this year, make sure it’s not this one. “Unstoppable” my crazy cracker ass:
a used wetnap could wipe this 486 DX2 50 MHz era video game music away. If you want to hear what a real instrumental
rock album sounds like, then listen to Satriani’s 1992 benchmark meisterwack The Extremist.
Chickenfoot – Chickenfoot & Chickenfoot
III (E1) :: But if you’re in a mellow mood, why not sit back and relax to Joe’s laid back folk
outfit in which he’s aided and abetted by the lay down the law firm of Hagar, Anthony & Smith, MFIC.
Vagina Dentata Organ – Cold Meat (WSNS) :: Come
now, you’ve never read an actuarial table in your life, have you? Why, they’ve got ten volumes on suicide alone.
Suicide by race; by color; by occupation; by sex; by seasons of the year; by time of day. Suicide, how committed: by firearms;
by drowning. Suicide by poison, subdivided by types of poison, such as corrosive; irritant; systemic; gaseous; narcotic;
alkaloid; protein; and so forth. Suicide by leaps, subdivided by leaps from high places; under the wheels of trains; under
the wheels of trucks; under the feet of horses; from steamboats. But of all the cases on record, there’s not
one single case of suicide by listening to a long playing phonograph record!
SIZZLING PLATTER OF THE WEEK: Supermachine – Supermachine
(Small Stone) :: You can always depend on the heaviest and the loudest record company in the world to perpetually
skew you on the right track when it comes to serving up a primo paint-peeling, gasoline-siphoned, lease-breaking rock ’n’
roll brew that’s guaranteed to do you through—which brings me to Supermachine’s self-titled sonic sludgefest.
Rabidly reeking with ripe riffs that’ll waft right
up your wazoo, you can bet your bottom daughter that this quim-quivering quartet has got what it takes to snatch the cooze
carpet out from under you with such snorting thud puds as “Flesh Farm” and “Pill Cruise” and the bone-pulverizing
“Crutch” which is about as close to a Brutal Planet outtake as you’re likely to hear without having
your ears slawed off.
Oh, and don’t worry about
not being able to find a copy the next time you’re in a record store ’cause it’ll be filed under: Unstoppable
Now for that doofus last line:
Be seeing you!