Ten Years of Noise

This year marks Audubon Park's tenth anniversary. To celebrate, we are recording a new album, or maybe two albums, or maybe and EP, or maybe a short film of Stingy discussion the Cosby Show. We are still working out the details. Then in the Fall we are going to have a Tenth Anniversary Show...somewhere. I'm not sure where. Maybe just in a parking lot or someone's living room. Again, we are in the early stages of all of this.

In any case, we are very excited.

A Questionable Exercise

A roundtable discussion of Soundgarden’s new album, “King Animal,” by Matt Kalb! and RIKK.

ER: So, let’s do this. I DVR’ed some vintage UNC basketball on ESPN Classic last night and Stingy is coming over to watch in like an hour.


MK: Oh burn.


ER: Not really. So did you listen to this thing that Finn insisted we hear?


MK: Yeah, I wasn’t really sure why there was so much push from him on this. I mean, it’s not like I 
have ANYTHING ELSE to do, you know. And this blog is pretty 2009.


ER: Well, yeah! (laughs) So I guess first of all, fuck you, Finn, for making us do this.


MK: Well, don’t hold back. Really let us know how you feel about this.


ER: Whatever. I basically agree with David that Chris Cornell is generally pretty hurt. He’s seriously the worst thing about this record, which is no “Third/Sister Lovers,” if you ask me. Which Finn did.


MK: Well, don’t oversell it here. You don’t want the people reading the blog, i.e. Stingy, to get their hopes up in the event that you inadvertently set the bar too high.


ER: (laughs) Do you disagree?


MK: On what?


ER: That this shit is pretty strugglin’.


MK: Hey, what is your dog doing?


ER: Ramona! Stop that! (gets up, removes sippie cup from dog’s mouth). She’s really into this cup 
lately.

MK: Well, I can see why. It’s definitely pretty appetizing. I was considering gnawing on that myself but didn’t want to be rude.


ER: That reminds me, am I STILL the only one who Finn keeps texting pictures of dogs to?


MK: Well, don’t insult his girlfriend like that.


ER: Seriously, that’s like the only communication I get from him any more, aside from stupid shit like, “hey, want to revisit my teenage years with me and listen to the new Soundgarden album?”


MK: Well, don’t downplay your irritation or anything. We all know how busy you are with your archival UNC basketball footage advocacy these days.


ER: Yeah, man, that shit’s good! James Worthy was the man! Plus -- those uniforms back then were hype!

MK: Well, don’t get too bogged down in details. Like the panning of Kim Thayil’s guitar on the aptly titled “Blood on the Valley Floor.”

ER: What is that?

MK: Track four.


ER: You got that far? I lasted through a song and a half.
MK: Well, that sort of ruins the point of this exercise, if you will.


ER: Are you saying you actually listened to this?


MK: Well, I had it on in the background. Judah actually listened to it more than I did and he sort of gave me the skinny. Like a book report, if you will.


ER: You steal any mixing tips for Le Weekend?


MK: Well, I did mention to Bob that he should start slinging his bass a lot lower and writing some songs on a ukelele. And I considered getting Robert another ride cymbal.


ER: You gonna rock a Peavey stack now?


MK: Well, that might affect my tone. And I don’t know if Bob would greenlight that action.


ER: I think it was Bjorkback who said one time that Bob Wall wouldn’t even let him use a Peavey head to hold his bass drum in place.


MK: Well, he kinda changed his tune once he realized there was an amp he didn’t have to move just sitting at the Big House.


ER: He was in like, every band that played at the Big House for a while.


MK: Well, don’t underplay his contributions.


ER: You want a beer? (gets up, walks to fridge)


MK: Well, I thought you’d never ask, so I definitely didn’t come prepared with my own rum and sarsparilla or anything. (produces bag containing bottle of Sailor Jerry rum and 4-pack of organic sarsparilla)


ER: Sarsparilla? Who are you, a resident of Deadwood? You got any buffalo jerky in there either, pardner?


MK: Well, don’t make references I might understand or anything. I personally would have gone with, “Who are you, Sam Elliott?” Can I have a glass and some ice?


ER: Yeah sure. Probably got some limes around here if you need. And here, use this Soundgarden cd as a coaster. I can’t believe he fucking bought it and sent it to us.


MK: Well, at least let’s put the disc on and I’ll use the case as a coaster. For empirical purposes, we really do owe it to Finn to fully immerse ourselves in the task before we expend energy on an elaborate critique. You know, since he asked so nicely.
ER: Mine’s not gonna be that elaborate. I don’t know what sort of Nick Kent/Lester Bangs kinda shit you got planned, but this is pretty cut-and-dry to me.


MK: Well, at least be the Truman Capote to my David Fricke.


ER: Oh, shit, you just dropped the D-Fricke reference. You know, I bet he actually wrote a review of this record for Rolling Stone since he’s still around. Let me Google that shit.


MK: Well, let’s not go down a rabbit hole or anything.


ER: (Googling) Can’t find it, but I did find this picture of Rasheed Wallace dunking on Kobe Bryant from a few years back.


MK: Well, I don’t know what that means. Are you trying to say there’s a connection between the two? I thought Pearl Jam was the 90s grunge band that liked basketball. Soundgarden always seemed more like a band that would be into NASCAR. Or duck hunting.


ER: Duck Hunt! Remember that Nintendo game? That was my jam!


MK: Well, I was always more of a Metroid guy. But only so I could lord my high scores over David in college. He was always trying to figure out “why” that little guy needed to keep hopping up and down some chamber.


ER: I had you pegged as more of a Double Dragon kind of guy. Or Dungeons & Dragons.


MK: Well, let’s not stereotype me as skilled with a 12-sided die or anything. Can we just put this on for a few minutes?


ER: Yeah yeah. Here. (fiddles with cd player, removing a disc from the changer) Was rocking that new Le Weekend earlier. (holds up that new Le Weekend cd)


MK: Well, let’s not set the bar even higher for Soundgarden. I mean, Chris Cornell may have (makes air quotes) “changed the game” with his lyrics for “Slaves and Bulldozers,” but I really took him to school with that “Heroic Cutlets,” if I may say so.


ER: You may. But I will point out that “Heroic Cutlets” definitely seems to adhere to the Soundgarden song title template circa 1994. Exhibit A being “Fresh Tendrils,” off “Superunknown.”


MK: Well.
(pause as opening riff of “Been Away Too Long” kicks in)
MK: Well, give it time. I’m sure this is just the teaser for a much more elaborate melodic development.


ER: Sounds like Razzle.


MK: Well, Razzle never incorporated that much compression. And I think Bjorkback used real drums.


ER: I do think Cantwell had a pedal that sounded like this.


MK: Well, maybe. But I guarantee that Bob Wall can’t hit those notes.


ER: Who would want to?


MK: Well, there was a time and a place. The time was about 4:30 p.m. one afternoon in 1991 as Terry Date sent the rest of the band on a pizza run and made Chris Cornell hit that one note on “Jesus Christ Pose” over and over. That definitely qualifies as “want to.”


ER: Oh shit, Terry Date. What else did he do?


MK: Well, he manned the boards for Screaming Trees, Fishbone, White Zombie.... I think Pantera.


ER: Screaming Trees! Shit, we really should just break out the “Singles” soundtrack.


MK: Well, didn’t you say Stingy was coming over soon?


ER: Yeah, that might actually be appropriate.


MK: Well, it would only be appropriate if you DVR’ed a UNC game from 1991 and had the “Singles” soundtrack in the background.


ER: I could rock that. I bet Graham would dig it.


MK: Well, where is Graham?


ER: He’s practicing scales in the bedroom.


MK: Well, why is he doing that? And can he even fret yet?


ER: Shit, son, that’s one of the first things I taught him! Can he fret? He can fucking capo the shit out of a short-scale bass. I'm working on getting him to play harmonic while rocking the intro to "Three Days."


MK: Well, I started Judah early but not that early. Don’t put pressure on the kid or anything.
(buzzer rings)


ER: That’s probably Stingy.


MK: Well, it would make sense, that since he IS coming HERE, that that bell would be HIM. I don’t know, call me crazy. I’m not a rocket scientist.


ER: Hey Matt, any movie starring Anthony Michael Hall from 1982 called. It wants its rocket scientist reference back and stricken from any further use into the 21st century. (speaks into intercom) Yo.


Stingy: (on intercom) Hey. It’s Matt.


MK: Well, whoa, I’m in two places.


ER: Break yoself, fool! (hits button to unlock front) When he gets up here, we should just give him this record and let him review the whole thing. You know he will.


MK: Well, I don’t know that, actually. Plus I don’t know if Stingy could lay claim to possessing the lyrical chops of Chris Cornell and the fret gymnastics of Kim Thayil. Like yours truly.


ER: You totally got that description of Kim Thayil from a David Fricke review of “Badmotorfinger.”


MK: Well, ok. You got me.


ER: You know, I’d totally be way more down reviewing like a new Velvet Crush album, or even a new Cinderella record. But I just can’t get down with these lyrics. Did he just say “the dogs are feasting on the bones of the ghost of the christmas tree”?


MK: Well, I hope so. That would probably be better than what he actually said. Which I’m not sure because I was tweeting at David Fricke while you were talking.


ER: Tweets! I need to get on The Twitter. Is Dean Smith on there?
(knock at door)


ER: The Stinge tolls for thee.


MK: Well, I’m not sure if he knows I’m here.


ER: (opening door) What up. Welcome to the Soundgarden listening party.


Stingy: Black Hole Sun.


ER: Not really. That was 1994.


Stingy: Still classic. Need to get some Stingebiggs action on that jam.


MK: Well, that would depend on your definition of "some."


Stingy: Like homecoming performance style. That's what the people want. Here, I brought my phone. Can you order some food?


ER: Yeah. Only if YOU listen to this god-awful Soundgarden album for us.


Stingy: What?


MK: Well, Finn for some reason asked me and Eric to listen to the new Soundgarden album and post a review on the blog.


Stingy: Did you see those photos i put up a few weeks ago?


MK: Well, yeah. You did email us about it.


Stingy: Yeah but the photos were actually a few weeks older.


MK: Well, you told us in the email.


Stingy: (upon hearing a wordless wail from Chris Cornell) Le Weekend needs more screams like that. Actually, you should make a solo record with Timbaland like Chris Cornell.


MK: Well, I'll pose that to the board and see how it takes. My guess is that a large majority would be opposed, including myself, but Bob's always a swing vote.


ER: What timing is that? At this point I start to just get annoyed. Biggie don’t want no apple pie -- I don't want no song that has to make me count.


MK: Well, that's 15/4. And I see your point. But the numbers never lie.


Stingy: Remember that "numbers never lie" bit from that Spike Lee movie "Mo Betta Blues"?


ER: Oh shit! Stingy on the obscure references!


Stingy: It's not that obscure. John Turturro and that other guy.


MK: Well, that song was definitely terrible. Did he just say his hair was moving at the speed of sound?


Stingy: That’s questionable. Do you have any peanut butter?


ER: What, you don’t bring your own?


Stingy: Well, I have apple butter and white bread, but Shana only buys natural peanut butter, and I gotta have some corn syrup in my diet.


MK: Well, as a father, I can attest to the fact that your health comes first. So kudos on maintaining that.


ER: I think we have some Skippy up in here, but it’s sugar-free, I think.


Stingy: That’s questionable. Whoa, that guitar solo is pretty awesome.


MK: Well, it would be, since Kim Thayil is expressing himself with some slight modality that counteracts the shifting harmonic structure that is being outlined by that (uses finger quotes) “Sgt. 
Pepper-esque” arpeggio.


Stingy: What is an arpeggio?


ER: It’s Italian for finger sandwich.

We were so excited for the Le Weekend record release show tomorrow night at the Pinhook, we just had to do some slam bam jams!*



*these pictures were actually taken 3 and a half months ago

dem dat may

Jamaicans react to Buju Banton sentence

The Bachelorette Fanfiction: Chapter Twenty-One

It was the moment he’d been waiting for since the beginning of the competition—a night alone with Ashley.

He was leaned back on the bed, his shirt off, breathing hard. His heart throbbed. Ashley stepped back from the bed, he mouth hanging open slightly. She dropped her nightgown from her body and when he saw the spinnerets, he began to howl.

The cameraman had to turn and look away, but could still hear what was happening. His sobs were muffled by the sound of his gorge rising.

The Bachelorette Fanfiction: Chapter Twenty

As she leaned in to kiss him, he could smell her breath. It was a cool waft of carpet ruined by cat urine, damp wood warping and that smell that rises from stagnant, green water in a culvert during high summer.

He whispered ‘love’ into her open mouth and then instantly regretted it as he realized it was a weird thing to do.

The Bachelorette Fanfiction: Chapter Nineteen

"You know why I am bitter? I'll tell you. I thought we were bros, man. Brothers. But he stabbed me in the back. He threw me under the bus. I mean both of those completely literally. I was looking at myself in the mirror in the bathroom, adjusting my face for the one-on-one date with Ashley and he came in without making a sound and began to stab me again and again in the back. I didn't notice at first because I was caught in the own flickering light of my hazel eyes. When I finally noticed what he was going, I said, 'Bro!' and then he drug my body, writhing in pain, and tossed me into the street just as the bus came by. Its wheels crushed what was left of me. Broken bones. Torn muscle. Blood flying like water from a sprinkler. A bunny rabbit looked me in the eyes and we communicated telepathically. It said, 'I feel you man. Happens to me all the time.' Bros are not supposed to act like that. What has become of American manhood?"

Submariner Gets Wild

The Bachelorette Fanfiction: Chapter Eighteen

Ashley walked along the balcony of her hotel room. She asked the darkness if she would ever find love. There was no response from the darkness other than the sound of someone inside her room, in the shadows, struggling against fetters and a gag.

She sighed and let a single red rose drop from her fingers. It fell several stories, down to the bustling street, where it was trampled.

The Bachelorette Fanfiction: Chapter Seventeen

[partial transcript of online dating site chat]

BachelorEx2011: Hey! 'Sup! I was on The Bachelorette. Would you like to seem some photos of my torso.

Staci9999: Excuse me?

BachelorEx2011: Don't you remember that show? I was one of the contestants. I used to be called Ben C., but now I go by a different name now, for a bunch of reasons that you don't need to worry about. I am compliant with all applicable laws. There are videos of me on the entertainment pods. Feel free to take a look. I can also ElectroGram you some private images.

Staci9999: Using my WikiImplant, I've scanned the available historical databases and I find not reference to you or that show. This dating site is supposed to be secure and free of falsehood. I am going to get my mother.

BachelorEx2011: No, don't do that. I'm cool. We are just talking. I'm not trying to pressure you into anything.

Staci9999: What kind of show was it?

BachelorEx2011: It was popular, really popular. You would have a beautiful woman dating dozens of men. This was before the Moral Entertainment Purges of 2038. I can ElectroGram you some still images. They are lo-rez, but I think you will get the idea. Physically, I satisfy all of the National Physical Requirements. Or did.

Staci9999: I'm sorry. How old are you? If that show was before the Purges, that was sooooo long ago. That was even before reproductive initiatives between people required licenses and were handled through the National Population Control Center.

BachelorEx2011: These stills are from when I was in my early thirties, but my CryoWell Home Sleeping System has kept me looking top notch. If you look that the lo-rez stills and at me from a distance, we look that same. I have hair.

Staci9999: NOTICE: YOU HAVE BEEN CHATTING WITH A NATIONAL SECURITY ONLINE PATROL BOT. A TRANSCRIPT OF THIS CHAT HAS BEEN FORWARDED TO YOUR SECTOR PATROL STATION AND AND AN INVESTIGATIVE GROUP HAS BEEN DISPATCHED TO YOUR LOCATION. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO LEAVE YOUR LOCATION. ANY ATTEMPT TO LEAVE WILL BE DEEMED AN ADMISSION OF GUILT AND YOU WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT.

***BACHELOREX2011 HAS LEFT THE CHATROOM***

The Bachelorette Fanfiction: Chapter Sixteen

Ames woke from his restless sleep. His head still hurt, still spun. He had moments of clarity and then the world would cloud again. Where was he? He couldn't remember, but looking out the window of the small room at the dark alley below, he knew that he wasn't in New York any longer.

He had the taste of blood in his mouth, but then he remembered the rose ceremony. "Oh, right. That is why I have the taste of blood in my mouth." As he walked back to the pallet in the corner of the room where he'd been sleeping in tangled sheets, wet with his sweat, he noticed that he was carrying a severed hand.

"I said I needed a hand, but this is ridiculous." Being a stock broker, he put the hand under his pillow and hoped that in the morning, in its place he would find a fifty cents.

The Bachelorette Fanfiction: Chapter Fifteen

The men on the group date walked along the streets of Chiang Mai, joking easily with one another. Then, at the entrance to a small plaza, they saw her, the goal of their romantic quest. Their hearts capered at the thought of spending the rest of their lives with her, treating her with the love and respect that she deserved. She was the most beautiful woman they'd ever seen.

"Gentlemen," she said as they stood before her in a semi-circle, gesturing to a small in the center of the plaza. "Blood sports."

The thrumming streets of Chiang Mai reverberated with the distant screams of the suitors. Inhuman shrieking of unbearable pain. It was a sound that many never forgot, not on their death beds, happily submitting to that final silence.

The Bachelorette Fanfiction: Chapter Fourteen

The antiquarian book dealer gasped when he opened the crate. A faint air of decay wafted up to this nose, a smell he remembered all to well from his years as a young priest in Cairo. Before he renounced a God that he now knew did not exist.

The title, red on the ageless page: Das Geheimnis der unverheirateten Wurm

'It has begun again,' he thought.

The Bachelorette Fanfiction: Chapter Thriteen

"I really loved that bottle of wine you gave me on the first night. What type of grapes do you use," Ashley asked.

"I don't use grapes," Ben F. said. "The wine is made from the ruined dreams of spinsters."

"I thought it tasted familiar."

The History of Audubon Park: Errata

An anonymous commenter on a previous post explains why we thought that "Crookshanks" was funny:

you know, the best part about that flier (which i still have) is that there was a picture of Crookshanks lying on the ground and a picture of Crookshanks looking at the camera. above the latter, someone had written "alive," while above the former, "dead." then someone ELSE crossed out "dead" and wrote "not dead".

I had totally forgotten about the captions. Yes, that is why it was funny.

Ben says it best:

It is good to remember awesome things you had almost forgotten.

The Bachelorette Fanfiction: Chapter Twelve

"For tonight's group date, we are going to roast Ashley," Chris Harrison said.

The men began to salivate. Their eyes rolled white.

"No, not like that. What I mean is that we are going to all make fun of her."

Wiping the saliva from their slack-jaws, the suitors began thinking of clever things to say. They were silent.

The Bachelorette Fanfiction: Chapter Eleven

Constantine felt that he had the best connection with Ashley because they had both been rulers of ancient lands, living secret nocturnal lives for centuries.

"I was born in 1985," she said, sipping from her flute of mid-priced champagne and pouting.

"Oh, sorry," Constantine said, drawing a pouch containing a powder made from the ground bones of ibises and inhaling deeply. "Well, we just have such good conversations, I assumed."

The Bachelorette Fanfiction: Chapter Ten

Ashley had been warned that Bentley was not there for love, but to promote his Utah-based trampoline business. She wasn't warned about his unending hunger for human offal.

"I like to eat children's livers," he said to himself. "It makes my hair look good. See." He began to pose and flex, though there was no one to see it.

Later that night, the other suitors were awakened by the sound of distant howling.

The Bachelorette Fanfiction: Chapter Nine

When Tim woke, he couldn't remember much of anything. He'd been in a mansion, he knew that. He'd had something to drink, maybe too much, but as a liquor distributor from New York City, that was nothing new. There'd been a man in a mask. That was nothing new in NYC either.

No, the only strange thing was that his torso was covered in bite marks and his legs had been gnawed off.

"Bro, this is not cool."