Recently Consumed (6/8/06)

I recently finished reading Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung, the Greil Marcus-edited collection of the writings of Lester Bangs. Lester Bangs was an absolute madman. The dude consumed massive amounts of drugs and alcohol and still managed to be perhaps the greatest rock critic in the history of the shit. His best writing, at least in my book, is when he accounts for every New Year's Eve he has experienced since the age of partyin' and drugs set in; the years he can't remember? he makes up absurd-yet-believable stories about getting way too fucked up, hitching a ride out to a party at a country club, and blasting his Stooges lps all night to the shock, dismay, and/or pleasure of his fellow attendees. And then there's "Maggie May," Bangs' fictionalized account of the love story that spawned Rod Stewart's mega-hit of the same name. Young man meets older woman, the two fall in love. Older woman realizes she isn't really in love and fucks young man's world up. Young man writes song about experience and becomes a superstar. That's the plot; the writing, on the other hand, is absolutely beautiful. After 350 pages of balls-to-the-wall rambling about Lou Reed, Tangerine Dream, and the Clash (et al.), I was floored by Bangs' ability to write a love story...and to do it so well. In the book's introduction, Greil Marcus notes Bangs' claim that he was "the Best Writer in America (Who [is] better? Bukowski? Burroughs? Hunter Thompson? Gimme a break." [Note: the parenthetical statement was never closed!]. Marcus then questions Bangs' assertion with the fact that he never wrote anything besides record reviews. "Maggie May" debunks Marcus' attempted debunking. [Note: Greil Marcus is an awesome guy; read Lipstick Traces, you'll understand]. I'm not saying that Lester Bangs is/was the Best Writer in America, but rarely do I have as much fun reading a book as I did with Psychotic Reactions. On a related note, I need to read a lot more books on music. Shit's awesome.
Next up on the list was Fyodor Dostoevsky's epic The Brothers Karamazov. I'm reading this with Joey (although I believe he finished it--in remarkably quick fashion, I must add). 1050 pages thick, this will be the longest book I've read since I trudged through Atlas Shrugged back in 10th grade--Ayn Rand's bullshit philosophy went completely over my head at the time. I'm about 300 pages in at this point, and things are already so crazy...and so Russian. The chapter on Reeking/Stinking Lizaveta is one of the most foul yet intriguing passages I've ever read, and it makes the Philadelphia band of the same name all the more badass now that I know more than "Oh, they got their name from a character from the Brothers Karamazov." So far, it has been a much quicker read than I originally thought it would be, and it would be an even quicker read if Dostoevsky didn't step away from the plot every time he wanted to discuss philosophy. One thing I've noticed this time around that I didn't pick up on in Crime and Punishment is Dostoevsky's astute attention to detail. Every time a new character is introduced, he spends a page describing their physical appearance. Sure, Dostoevsky rambles, but this really caught my attention--in a good way! Impressions so far: 1)Fyodor and Dmitry Karamazov are damn fools. Fyodor, however, is smarter than the narrator seems to give him credit for. 2)Dostoevsky's hero is Alyosha. He mentions this in the book's introduction, but it is evident in the first 300 pages. 3)The climax of this book is going to be bonerific. I can't wait to get there. I'm going to try to have this finished by June 15.
I have listened to Corrupted's El Mundo Frio numerous times in the past couple of weeks. The album is one track, 71 minutes in length, and it out-badasses Sleep's Dopesmoker as the best extended stoner/sludge jam I've encountered. Corrupted is a Japanese sludge/doom/whatever (I still am not quite sure where the lines are drawn)...but the vocals are in Spanish. Brutally growled vocals in Spanish. Sparse instrumentation spread throughout the piece is separated by mind-obliteratingly heavy, distorted segments. The quiet parts are anchored by meandering picked guitar and occasional piano/keyboard, but Corrupted gives fair warning before entering the gut-crushing--the bass hits and lets ring the open low note, signifying that the end of the peaceful and the beginning of the destructive. And I wasn't lying when I said loud parts are mind-obliteratingly heavy. Damn. I see a whiskey-drinkin', Corrupted-listenin' party in the near future.
I haven't watched any movies lately. I really should change that. Haven't sent my Netflix back in a long time. I'm stupid. I have, however, thanks to Mikey, been feasting upon the Wonder Showzen Season 1 DVDs. The minds behind this show unquestionably have been affected by various drugs, and they cram as many hilarious, fucked up, offensive, and bizarre bits into a 23 minute episode as they can. The show's lead puppet's name is Chauncey. Serious lols. Other hilarious bits include D.O.G.O.B.G.Y.N., a canine superhero who helps deliver babies by pulling them out with his teeth; "Taco, Nachos, Chimichanga!;" Chewties; Funny/Not Funny; Letters to Jesus; and finally, Beat Kids, a segment where kids with senses of humor walk around and ask random people funny and offensive questions. I've seen every episode several times now, and they aren't anywhere close to getting old. More Wonder Showzen it is, then.