Lou Reed & Metallica

Worse than You can Imagine

I just this minute found out Lou Reed and Metallica made an album. I sampled about a minute of each tune on YouTube and it’s effin terrible.

Except if “Iced Honey” had been on “The Bells”, or “Growing up In Public”, or “Mistrial”, or “Legendary Hearts”, or “Sally Can’t Dance”, or “Rock N Roll Heart”, or even “The Blue Mask”, it would have been the best song on the album.
I’m not saying it’s good, but it sounds like above average late period Lou. Someone will say “update of Velvets sound”. Not necessarily a good thing.

File Under: What Were They Thinking?

These guys are hard on their fans, that’s for sure.


I saw this comment: “This oughtta make “St Anger” sound better”.

Can you say Super Heavy?

Burnt Garlic or “kulinary gangsta”?

Celebrity Cracker Advocate

I became aware of his existence last superbowl season and he bugs the shit out of me. He was a talking display hawking his “recipes” and “brand” image for some cracker company. In all the wrong ways a cross between Wolfman Jack and Billy Idol. That look was maybe edgy and shit in 1977, or 1991, but now he looks like a Saturday morning cartoon character.  Like if there was a “Stinky” on Scoobee Doo.
To be more specific, this fu*ktard has co-opted every post WWII element of so-called hipster cool and blender-ed them  into a grotesque caricature, so repellent that it really calls into question whether any hip affectations were ever cool. The answer is probably not. It’s like a Les Paul with a flame job and dice for knobs. And little skulls for dots. In a crushed purple velvet tuck and roll faux alligator case. Something that would mostly attract those with more interest in image than substance. Or some CEO who didn’t play, but wanted a guitar like Slash, only even cooler.


I’m sorry I couldn’t let it go.  I had to say something.

David Burned

A really big brain crammed with big ideas.

A really big brain crammed with big ideas.

Below is a personal email I received from my close friend David Byrne:


Sorry for the mass mailing. I missed saying hi to some of you at the office Turkeyfest, but hope everyone had a good time. See you all next year.

I have, after many years, finished the Here Lies Love CD project – at least this iteration of it. It will come out in late February on Nonesuch. It’s a collaboration with Fatboy Slim , an upbeat series of songs sung each one by a different singer. The songs are about Imelda Marcos and Estrella Cumpas, the woman who raised her. The package includes 2 CDs (22 songs), a DVD with videos of 6 of those songs, and a 100-page book that explains it all. Singers include Florence Welch (of Florence + The Machine), Sia, Santigold, Nellie McKay, Sharon Jones, St. Vincent, Róisín Murphy and many more (even me on 1 and 1/2)… I am pretty excited about this, but who knows, it might just make people crazy.

We’ll see. There will be more concrete news, with links and music, in early January.

In the meantime, I have decided to rebrand myself, inspired by Philip Morris changing their name to Altria, Blackwater to Xe, and the train I’m riding on right now that calls itself Acela – none of which mean anything, but they are cleverly evocative. When I decide on the magic word, you’ll be the first to know.

-David Byrne

P.S. Santa’s elves have stock of Bicycle Diaries, fresh from their polar workshop.

My tirade:

I received this because like an idiot I didn’t resist the latest Eno/Byrne. As a reward I got this email.

This thing pisses me off every time I read it!
Have you ever read anything smarmier? More cloying?
Since I’ve hated The Talking Heads, and in particular David Byrne, since 1977, this is a gift that keeps on giving.
First off it’s written to sound like a friend wrote it, sorry if I didn’t say “Hi” to you at the Fucking Turkey Fuckfest.
Yeah I was smoking a joint in the store room with Ras, the other black guy there, and making “Gay” jokes behind your back, so I missed saying “Hi” to you at the Fucking Fuck Turkey Fest!
David Byrne is not my friend. If I’d known him in school, I’m sure I would have picked on him. Knocked his cap off his head when I saw him in the hall. He could have me to thank for his “Swirly”.
I can’t wait to ruin my hearing with his collaboration with hasbeen/neverwas wanker FatBoy Slim. Two cd’s, each with a generous 11 songs apiece, plus a hundred page book that explains it all! And it’s about Imelda Marcos and the woman who raised her. What an utterly fresh topic!
And a DVD with six of those fabulous hits in video form.

I can’t help thinking I’ve already seen and heard all this before, and it bored me to death the first time! This smells even staler.
David Byrne does ironic take on Evita!
“I am pretty excited about this, but who knows, it might just make people crazy.”
I’m feeling a little crazy right now! Heck, I’d like to break the cd’s into little shards, and reduce the rest to unrecognizable pulp!
Send the paper elements off with the recycling so I can buy post consumer recycled toilet paper and wipe my ass with it!

And just in case we forgot that David is an artistic visionary, he drops the rebranding thing. Inject a little social commentary, namecheck Phillip Morris, and Blackwater.
I’ve got one for him. Why not Murano? It’s like one of those words, except that it’s a car named for a place that has no cars. Isn’t that sort of perfect?

And “The Bicycle Diaries”?!!!! Puhleeeze! Geek rides folding bike and thinks we want to know what he’s thinking.

I wouldn’t piss on it if it was on fire!

Here is part of a review written by an admitted fan on Amazon:

“I found myself abandoning the book about half-way through which is something I almost never do. The writing itself is not bad, but I just don’t think he has enough to say to make this work as a book. I remain a David Byrne fan and I’ll look out for his next effort, but I wouldn’t recommend buying the book.”

Of course it’s signed, David Byrne, Midtown. Midtown says it all.

And my “friend”s email return address:

David Byrne do-not-reply@topspinmedia.com

I didn’t post any music for obvious reasons.
This is a first.