Sunday, September 11, 2011

Nat Turner's pinstripe dump



DAILY PLANET, 'LIFE' b/w 'PAY' (Riff Raf, 1980)

Yes, I will continue to write in the tedious first-person.

For those that know me, you are likely already well aware of the direct correlation existing between the length of my hair and the depth of my inner square. Similarly, the limit to my dick’s limpness (or color in 1972) should come as little surprise, requiring no advanced equations or line-judge booth reviews. It’s taken me a long time to accept, but... I am a nerd. I am just a power pop turd. And I can live with that. I’ve made peace with myself and my life-partner (a small fluffy white dog). We had a lovely ceremony last year at a lake-side chalet with matching vests and the singer from Off Broadway acting as the officiate. This is me, ya’ll! And I can finally, honestly and proudly now say that yes, I am a slave.

…anyway, mixing my anti-power pop song lyrics there. Thankfully less dangerous than mixing my drinks. And listening all about Los Angeles’ Daily Planet, you have to wonder if Bobby Soxx or M.Saunders/G. Turner might have been painting with too broad a brush.

How many promising new wave combos must suffer for the sins of the likes of Phil ‘N’ The Blanks or the Naughty Sweeties?????

Answer: most of them (like a skinny-tie Sodom).

Impossible to say or recreate the climate of the time, but I find it doubtful that Bobby or the Samoans would have found much with which to take issue (get it?!) with the sound/style being mined by Daily Planet. Recorded live at L.A.’s Club 88, both sides of D.P.’s lone single recall the Rickenbacker/high-energy spit-roast of groups like The Rockers or maybe even The Nerves if they had worn matching striped shirts instead of three-piece suits. Some of the members were originally from Chicago and apparently soldiered on in the Planet until at least ’82, at which point the writing was well and truly on the stall and it read DROP DEAD BABY.

A cool uncomped breath of fresh air before hardcore idiocy/Posh Boy mediocrity set in and made southern California safe for board shorts and Social Distortion tattoos forever.

Derp Burps For Lerp Twerps.

'LIFE'

'PAY'

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