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Send submissions (music, visuals, text, whatever) to anuncontrollableurge [at] gmail [dot] com. Some day, I will look at it. Address things to "David" because that's what my name is.
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Expressway to Yr Skull
End of Radio
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Music is a Sin
The Mythical Good Part
Peace & Rhythm
Sex Sux (Amen)
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Self Promotion (eh ... kind of)! →
So, obviously there’s not been a lot going on at An Uncontrollable Urge. I’ll be honest: for the past several months, I’ve either been too poor to leave the apartment, or (now) too gainfully-employed to do anything else. At the moment, I’m working a couple of jobs. One of them does involve things that may be of interest to a follower of this blog, so I figured I may as well point you toward those things, until I’ve got more time to come back to Urge.
I’m working part time as a blogger and podcast host for Raditaz. The first episode came out last Friday, so check it out. I produced a few segments for it, and they are:
- An very basic overview of Fela Kuti and the Kalakuta Republic, including several excerpts from awesome Fela tracks. I also show off my awesome junior high-style essay skills.
- A playlist of songs having to do with break-ups, including some music I would normally never go anywhere near, but it did involve some audience suggestions, and how else would I have been able to come up with a playlist that wasn’t all punk-rock fury and the 13th Floor Elevators? That kind of thing should be saved for this blog. Anyway, this was more fun than I thought it would be.
- An interview with Bobby Matador from the band Oneida about being on the road, and whatever! Bobby was a lot of fun to talk to, and I picked up some great recommendations of music from him, including the Rubaiyat of Dorothy Ashby, which is currently blowing my mind. There’ll be sort of an extended cut of this interview going up within the next day or so, which includes Bobby listing off the records he’s been spinning recently. Some insane slabs in there.
The podcast comes out once a month, and I’ll keep you posted here as to when, more specifically, that is. For now, here’s Dorothy Ashby:
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The Flaming Lips, Oneida at Central Park Summerstage
Y’know, festival crowds suck. When Oneida opened up the show last night, dropping all sorts of free-jazz, ambient drones, and electronic squalls, building and building in intensity throughout their 40-minute set, it seemed like I was the only person in attendance who even knew a band was playing. The constant stream of people coming and going, excited to see the psychedelic version of Radiohead perform this sold out show, was incredibly distracting. And I guess you can’t blame them for not knowing who Oneida was, since, as far as I could tell, nobody told anyone that they’d be performing. I was still excited though, because they fucking rule, and they ruled last night. The drummer in particular was exceptionally gnarly; if you get the chance to catch these guys, you should do it. The best part may have been the song introduction which went “this song’s called ‘The River.’ It rules!” It did (obviously).
For someone who has never cared that much about the Flaming Lips, this was kind of a strange experience. I think I sort of knew they were into making things really warm and fuzzy for stoners, but I guess I didn’t know the extent to which they would go. From mass amounts of confetti and streamer guns to the lead singer’s crowd-zorbing, the whole show seemed to be about sweet buzz. Which is fine, especially since that buzz included about a thousand psychedelic naked ladies, projected on their enormous screen. The part that was kind of a bummer for me was that the band hit the stage after walking out of a gigantic vagina, but didn’t leave via the same route. Come on guys, it’s called consistency.
The music itself was good, but you probably already have formed your own opinions of the band. I thought it was kind of a bummer that they ended two songs in a row with sort of folk-acoustic reprise verses. I mean, one is kind of hacky, but sure, it can work. But twice in a row is kind of pushing it. But I guess that’s a big part of the Flaming Lips vibe; they’re a feelings-y group.
I guess my main issue with the show was really that I wasn’t stoned. And that’s my fault, really. The whole place smelled like a Melvins concert; I could’ve asked anyone for a hit. But even sober, it’s still a good time. I just don’t know if it had the sustain a straight mind requires…
P.S. There were a lot of balloon props used at this show. What do you call those guys who like to rub their penes on balloons? Whatever, Wayne Coyne is one of them.
