December 27, 2004
December 24, 2004
|
|
|
|
don't despair just because it's christmas
My friend Katrina, erstwhile yodeler, sent out this picture of herself on the job, extending her big-hatted, bright-feathered Las Vegas wish for the happiest of holidays. Everyone here at the Thoughtpeach.com wishes you a Merry Christmas, I guess. Omaha here we come. shitload of new entries, top 10 blah blah of the year and what have you coming before 2005 crushes our brains, promise. -the management |
||
|
|
|
|
December 14, 2004
December 10, 2004
|
|
|
|
merry go bye byeAfter a five-year recording break, experimental rockers Mr. Bungle are officially done. "I'm at a point now where I crave healthy musical environments, where there is a genuine exchange of ideas without repressed envy or resentment, and where people in the band want to be there regardless of what public accolades may come their way," says singer Mike Patton. "Unfortunately, Mr. Bungle was not one of those places." [. . .] "We could have probably squeezed out a couple more records but the collective personality of this group became so dysfunctional," Patton says. "This band was poisoned by one person's petty jealousy and insecurity, and it led us to a slow, unnatural death. And I'm at peace with that, because I know I tried all I could." Oh, oh, oh, that smarts. Can I nostalgize for a sec? I still remember the first time I listened to the first album, sitting in the smoking section at college, wedged into one of those awful study carrols, trying to figure out what my newfound friend Vinny had gotten me into. Or the night Disco Volante came out, I had to work my busboy job until about 1 in the morning and I'd left Vinny money to pick it up when it came out at midnight, coming home to my tiny studio apartment and listening to it all night while I banged out a term paper, until the sun slowly came up on me still listening to it and trying to watch the Naked Kiss and being weirded out by the confluence of Fuller's film and Bungle's After School Special. Or hanging out in Spanish Harlem with Glasson and God the Band and bongs o' plenty and California playing on the stereo, me trying to emphatically explain why this was so very very brilliant to anyone unfocused enough to listen. There's the shows, Vinny and me crowded into the Metro just before Thanksgiving, a ramshackle set-up and Bungle somehow translating the orchestral mess of Disco Volante into a compelling show before busting out the last song, a cover of "Everybody's Working for the Weekend," and I coulda swore when he pointed around the audience, saying "You. You. Yeah, you motherfucker," his finger landed on me for a second. Same venue a few years later, California like Brian Wilson digesting John Zorn, a pop extravaganza, disturbed children's songs to God. Front row, covered in sweat. The last time, the House of Booze, The Monkees' Headquarters playing on the overhead before the band came out. While so many bands tried very little, Bungle tried way too much and often succeeded, they never sounded the same twice, they never bothered to sound like they gave a damn whether anyone was listening, and from them came Secret Chiefs 3, every Mike Patton solo project and a whole generation of Slipknotian morons who will forever ape, but never emulate. Godspeed, gentle musicians of Eureka, California. You'll be missed. |
||
|
|
|
|
December 05, 2004
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|

















