Abel’s 4000 Albums That Matter: Part Twenty-Seven
All I can think of lately is the upcoming World Cup. Seriously. I’ll be having a conversation at work or at the grocery store and all I can picture is myself in fantasy scenarios.
I’m a holding midfielder and on a defensive lull I squirm through on the left bank beating the offside trap, first-touch a beautiful through pass and fire it into the back of the net, the keeper’s fingers barely whispering on the surface of the ball. The stadium goes the kind of silent that deafens and then it breaks into a cacophony of insults and vuvuzelas.
We’re five minutes from regulation time, I’ve defended my side well all game but we’re tied at one and we need the three points to pass the group stage. I’ve had some challenges but nothing incredibly risky that would jeopardize the team. No sir; I’ve been a good boy all game long. And then it comes. He’s got excellent control on that ball, I’d be a fool to try a pick but I’d be an even bigger fool if I let him pass unchallenged. So I go in. Hard. I’m all fucking elbows and shirt-pulling. The seconds last an eon and we tangle pretty badly and we go down. In the fracas I’ve forgotten my placement and tackle this fucker in the box. I’m yellow carded. This guy’s boots have murderous intent and he will score, our keeper is good but he’s no Lev Yashin. As the zebra books me I seal myself into the history books and Cup infamy: I punch him square on the jaw and walk away before he draws the red card on my pathetic ass.
Let’s get to some albums and the anti-colonial rape of the English Language and her Grammars and Spellings before I fully commit myself to blowing my footie load in this piece.
566. The Undertones – Positive Touch. I was at my brother’s house the other day getting my nephews riled up before bedtime and he confessed that he had just recently gotten into the Undertones. WTF? How did these guys fly under his radar for so long? These dudes from Northern Ireland do no wrong by me.
567. The Tragically Hip – Road Apples. Ever wonder what Canadian rock sounds like but you don’t want to go the NoMeansNo or Rush route? Listen to the Tragically Hip. Or the Tragically Polite which is a cheap shot at our northern neighbors, but fuck it. What are these guys going to do? Get mad? Shoot some elk? Offer to buy me a Molson’s?
568. Teengenerate – Get Action! My life has been one long failure held by the duct tape of rue and regret. I’m eternally broke. I can be a whiny little pissant and what little good has come my way, I’ve managed to piss away. When I’m low which is with increasing frequency I do one of two things: I reread Bukowski’s Post Office and/or I listen to Teengenerate at exceptionally loud volumes. Those two always do the trick. I’ve reread that book close to forty times. I listen to Teengenerate daily.
569. James Brown – “Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag” b/w “Get Up I Feel Like Being a Sex Machine.” Make all the arguments that you want about him being a bad singer and whatnot. This dude could jam and get you popping! If papa rolls around with his brand new bag and invites you to party… what are you gonna do? Say no? Give me a fucking break.
570. Bad Religion – No Control. I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned this album at least twice so far but senility works in mysterious and wondrous ways. All I know is that I liked this album so much I bought a t-shirt with the cover art and a very large and obnoxious Epitaph logo on the back. It was terrible. I think the logo was purple and given my largesse at the time made me look like a morbid Grimace. That shirt, like many of my punk rock t-shirts ended up on the cutting floor for my mother’s leg-waxing needs. Please dispense with the Freudian remarks.
571. PM Dawn – Of the Heart, of the Soul and of the Cross: The Utopian Experience. What can I say? The cover art of this album has always baffled me. What the Hell is Prince Be and DJ Minutemix supposed to be? A purple swan? What’s with the glacier? Why am I craving a rereading of Ulysses?
572. Patsy Cline – Always Patsy Cline. As far as album titles or compilation titles, however you wanna look at it goes, this one sums it up pretty well. I have no words. It’s always Patsy whenever this honky tonk angel’s involved.
573. Chico Science – Da lama ao caos. All these emotions that are swelling within me got me fucking pumped! And since the Cup’s being held in Brazil, it is no secret that I’ve been revisiting a lot of my old musical pals from the nation. I got into Chico Science relatively late by comparison to other bossa and MPB musicians that I’m into. A founder of the Mangue Beat and as wild as that connotes Chico got himself killed at the age of 30 in a car accident. This guy was a genius.
574. The Jesus Lizard – Head. This band never got the cred it deserved when they burst on the scene. I’m glad that they are back in some capacity and would love to catch them live. Maybe it’s the manchild in me but I always get a giggle out of “My Own Urine.” Their following releases got better and better but this debut LP set the pace and if you haven’t gotten into them, this is a good place to start.
575. Alceu Valença – Molhado de sour. This man has been a poet, performer, composer and overall freak since he burst on the Brazilian music scene in the ‘60s. Talk about bringing the righteous funk. He’s eclectic as Hell. Blending the traditional sounds from his corner of Brazil with innovative pop tweaks and digital skewering his albums are best ingested with some lysergic soda-pop. And judging by that cover photo, he’s the sexiest Brazilian of all time.
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