Chains and Black Exhaust

Like wow. Get a load of all the heavy, noisy funk on this monstrous collection. "Showstopper" by Iron Knowledge is worth the price of admission, but Preacher's "Life is a Gamble" stands as a close second, and Gran Am's "Get High" is righteously inept. There's messy wah-wah abuse all over this thing, not the tight, clean, clipped rhythmic style you might be expecting but rather flaming amplifier wah-wah that melts conks and expands minds. Thanks to The Mystery Poster, whose blog is stuffed with bizarre home-cooked psych records so obscure that many of them don't even exist.

"By God, if Ken Knott can do it, I can do it."

Tesco Vee has reformed The Meatmen and will be back to his old schtick in Lansing, MI at Mac's Bar on March 1st. Wake me when Just Say No reunites. Is that one bald guy still alive?

COMMON LAW WIFE

Wealthy oil man Shugfoot Rainey and his live-in girlfriend, Linda, have been shacking up for five years, and their relationship has grown contentious enough that Shugfoot wants her out. He's sent for his stripper niece, Jonelle (who he refers to as "Baby Doll"), to take her place, but Linda loves the cantankerous old goat and doesn't want to leave her home. She checks with a lawyer and learns that she is legally Shugfoot's common law wife, so she buys herself a ring and lets him know that she's staying put. Jonelle arrives in town and realizes she's been shut out of her cushy arrangement, so she moves in with her sister and brother-in-law, Sheriff Jody. Five years earlier, Jody and Jonelle were an item, and the sheriff is anxious to continue their illicit fling, but all Jonelle wants to do is get rid of Linda and get her hands on her uncle's considerable fortune. When Jody won't help her, Jonelle turns to Bull, the local bootlegger who supplies moonshine whiskey to Shugfoot. Together they hatch a plan to poison the old man, which drives Linda to exact a ghastly revenge.

This gloriously sleazy soap opera has everything a down-home regional production needs to succeed: incest, murder, adultery, strippers, moonshiners, and a hidden still in the swamp. All that's missing is a lynch party, though it's hardly necessary. Common Law Wife throws enough hopped-up tawdry thrills together to make the viewer feel the sweltering, stifling small-town heat. This Texas production doesn't always make sense (Jonelle is transparently contemptuous of her rich uncle, so much so that she's clearly going to be the first suspect if he's murdered) and the budget is as cheap as they come, but it's thick with attitude, humidity, and a torrid jazz score that sounds great, if a little urban for the setting. The viciously curvy Lacy Kelly spits fire as Baby Doll, and Anne MacAdams gives the most human performance in the film as the desperate Linda (she would go on to a number of Texas-lensed exploitation films, most notably the insane Don't Look in the Basement!). FRED BELDIN

I reviewed Common Law Wife some eight years or so ago, but watched it again this morning. What a great way to start the day. Anyhow, it's still exceptional, so check out a clip here.

"A DISASTER OF A RECORD"

Oh, what's that? Another of Bryan Bong's bands made it onto a year-end best-of list? Yawn, simply yawn. When the noise-rock backlash starts, then I'll get excited and start touting his merits again. Til then, I'll let everyone else do it ... congratulations, Poor School.

New on Frenzy of the Visible ... Mark Lansing and His Bored of Water & Light and the mighty Poor School.

The Death Killers

This is sublime. Two children trying to recreate doom metal with acoustic guitar and Casio. Listen to it right now. Or you could make friends with them.

New Year's Eve 2007/2008 was not like some I've enjoyed in the past. I didn't stay up late with my parents watching the Village People sing "Ready For The Eighties" on TV at midnight. I didn't get puking drunk on vodka and Faygo red pop with the other guys in my comedy troupe. I didn't make out with a real live girl for the first time. I also didn't have sex for the first time with that same girl the same night in the backseat of an olive green Pinto. I didn't go on a first date with a woman I'd end up in love with for four fruitless but powerful years. I didn't see the Queerdaddies play at the Howland House, so I didn't hear "Boredom Thing" for the first time. The Clutters didn't play at a house party. I didn't drive back from Chicago nursing a hangover 24 hours after the Apollo Nine opened for the Sea & Cake at Lounge Ax, and Noelle wasn't by my side gradually getting sicker and sicker with the flu as each mile flew past. I didn't drink a bottle of champagne alone and fall asleep at 10:00pm while watching a Charlie Chaplin movie. I didn't kiss Suzanne Howard at midnight. I didn't listen to The Scotts drunkenly chant "5-4-3-2-1 -- Happy New Year!" over and over all night and fool people into joining in every time. I didn't threaten to throw Mark Deming down a flight of stairs. I didn't hang out with Vanessa Lucas but get so wasted that at 3:00am I couldn't quite remember where we went or what we did. E.J. and Matt didn't take off the stupid punk rock records I was playing and slap on my secret stash of Mamas & Papas platters, to the delight of everyone assembled -- and when they left they didn't run screaming for help in the streets in an effort to bring police attention to our party. That also didn't happen.

What did happen is that I made out with my beautiful wife and watched several episodes of Knots Landing. Beat that. You can't.