Consensus is that dudesdudesdudes will continue our now-official hiatus until Sept 1, when we will convene an assembly to discuss rules of procedure and propriety for the fall season.  Tune in then for more photoshop fun, denigration of millenia-old Andean cutural garb, and special  guest stars!

Sexface is the Bestface

Good job, bromide. Listening to all that New Order is really paying dividends. Dividends of shreddage. I can’t wait to hear your next song, which I’m sure will feature a pipe organ you had to sneak into a church to record, or a choir of small confused children, mixed down on your Blackberry.

Speaking of which, the next challenge topic is THE UK DRIVING TEST. Should be easy enough.

Stay American,
S.E.

edit: So now that I am home and drinking (drunk) I will elaborate on this, my submission. 2 things that the astute listener may note: firstly, that I have broken my “no guitars” policy and secondly, that the lyrics are mushy and sort of girl-related. On the use of guitars, I blame New Order mostly. I have been listening to “Temptation” and “Ceremony” almost nonstop as of late and I have finally decided that guitars are not that horrible after all. This is also part of a broader sea-change that I am enacting in my own self in which I attempt to stop defining my tastes in the negative. Thus, crappy guitar riffage. Sorry. Secondly, with regards to the mush-headed nature of the lyrics, I blame myself and Stag equally. To whit; The Stag and I have had several conversations centering on the allure of sloppiness in the gentler sex. I refer to it as sloppiness, S. Stag refers to it as insouciance. Whatever the terminology may be, we have been debating whether or not dirty glasses enhance or detract from a girl’s attractiveness–ditto crappy tattoos, athletic socks, weird hair, unkemptness in general. It was clear to me that leg bruising fit into this debate. Thus, I tried to envision a love-type scenario wherein the leg bruising of the female protagonist would function as a metonymy/synecdoche for the entire suite of sloppiness/sexiness that Stag and I were debating and which we Austinites are so familiar with. I hope you enjoy this track, it was made in my Dad’s living room in the beautiful environs of Redondo Beach California. The next track will be composed entirely on my cell-phone in Brazil, more on that later.

Last Legs

I was trying to collaborate on some backing piano or vocals or something, but I couldn’t get it together in time.  If it happens in the next couple days, I’ll put it up.  Til then, it’s exactly what I said I wouldn’t give you this week… one-track acoustic and vocals.  Punk rock.

The spirit is strong.

A job well done, Agrestive! I can’t help but wonder if all of this alleged “coming weak in the production game” isn’t a hustle of its own, kind of like how rappers pretend they can only sing off-key when it really just sounds better that way (re: “Hey Lady” by Cam’ron feat. Freekey Zekey and everything ever by Biz Markie). Anyway, enjoy the spoils of victory, for this week they are all yours.

I don’t know about you guys, but I can’t wait for the leg bruising songs to hit the blog. It seems like the dudes have found this challenge truly challenging. On Thursday I asked Space Stag how it was going, and instead of answering in a verbal way, he ripped his short shorts up the back to show me a really sweet leg bruise he had recently picked up. Then he ripped up the other side of his short shorts, I guess because symmetry is beautiful.

In any case, I think this next challenge topic will probably be a little less of a stretch for the dudes, because the topic is “penises: flaccid.” (Please note: I’m not making any kind of dig on anybody’s masculinity, but I’m pretty sure none of you all are sporting ragin’ boners 24-7. Unless you are, in which case, congratulations, and good luck with this week’s song.)

Love,
S.E.

I am coming a little weak production-wise this time (again.)  Next time I promise to roll out some tricks with some home recording software.  This week I downloaded some program Sexfizzy recommended, probably because he is a diabolical competitor, and I think it might have had a role in crashing my computer for about two days.  Now I’m resurrected, though, and I guarantee i will not do single track vocals & acoustic guitar forever.

This is by no means a caveat on the quality of the actual song (see my opinions on the punk rock aesthetic v. disco/wankery debate, whenever i get around to explaining them, or the patent wrongness of Sexfizzy’s and the Stag’s viewpoints.)  No, the abstract ideal of this song rules. Which is how it earned its Neoplatonist title:

City of God

Space Stag is hidden deep in the woods of Northern Virginia. He did,
however, manage to find an abandoned piano and baritone ukulele, which
he had access to for an hour (really). This is what came out of it. He
apologizes to God, mostly. But also to you, dear listeners.
Presenting, “Enactment of the Thousand Names of His Revelation,” with
a tip of the hat to Cat Stevens, the Animal Collective, and Pope
Benedict XVI.

Space Stag’s quest for Oberst’s left over groupie-tang continues.

Secondly: I submit to you my track, entitled “Praise Be Unto You, and Praise Be Unto Your Infinite Modes of Expression” While I know that I should at some point include some sort of self-deprecatory remark about the song’s quality and all that I will refrain–mostly because I have contracted some sort of mystery stomach ailment. As a result, my life for the last two days has consisted in watching 2 Fast 2 Furious and drinking milkshakes. I will tell you that this song includes: Mike Agresta’s man purse, Kim Cardashian, Making out with G-D and drums that are mixed way too loud.

Cantankerously, 

SXFCE