Wednesday, February 28, 2007
It was more fun in the theater, true, because at that time I'd already bought and memorized the soundtrack. Since my friends and I were the only ones at that particular show, I serenaded them along with the movie; they might have been saying "Shut up, asshole" and "Just watch the movie" the whole time but they really loved it.
So instead of picking a song from the soundtrack for the Daily Dose, I'll simply recommend the whole thing and go with this instead...
Cake - "Comfort Eagle" (From "Comfort Eagle")
Cake is known for their laid-back, quirky Groove and John McCrea's unique vocal delivery, a style I have dubbed "conversinging." "Comfort Eagle" is one of the Funkiest of all the Cake Cuts (Slices?) and has some of the weirdest lyrics as well. I think it might be time to change the Church's motto to...
"We are building a religion
We are making a brand
We're the only ones to turn to
When your castles turn to sand"
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
First, Dwayne Wade dislocates his shoulder.
Now, Shaun Livingston dislocates his knee.
Believe you me, folks, the Rev. Jenner J. Hull knows exactly what it's like to dislocate a shoulder. I'm not showing the videos because it's a bit too painful for me to watch; although Wade's isn't so bad, Livingston's is damn-near horrifying.
If you happen find one and it looks like D-Wade is crying (or trying not to), don't blame him. I sure as all Hell don't.
We hope both of 'em get better with the quickfast.
Greetings to all those coming in from "Chez Phil". If you're looking for even a fraction of the great content on Bad Astro, prepare for disappointment. We're not scientists; we're crazy people who really love music.
As I mentioned, we're totally on Phil's side. And as for "Rogan holding his own," he did a lot better job in the first segment. The second segment seemed to be entirely about "von Braun is/is not a Nazi" and really had nothing to do with the debate. It was entertaining, though, which is all I really expect from Penn's show (the skepticism and atheism are just sprinkles and chocolate syrup on an already loaded banana split).
So, yeah. We landed on the Moon. Phil's right. Joe's wrong. They're both funny.
And von Braun wasn't really a Nazi. He was actually a sea otter. Don't let the historical revisionists tell you otherwise; they're just a part of the "Vast Otter Conspiracy."
In honor of the occassion, a very predictable Daily Dose...
R.E.M. - "Man on the Moon" (From "Automatic For the People")
Sure, it's mostly about Andy ("Here I come to save the day!") Kaufman, but the title works, so we'll use it. And it's a catchy little song, too.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Opeth - "Deliverance" (From "Deliverance")
I had to invent a word to describe Opeth properly.
Brutaful - (adj.) Used to describe something that is both "brutal" and "beautiful."
One of the strangest of the Swedish heavy metal acts, Opeth is perfectly comfortable with searing metal riffs or sweet, Reniassance-style melodies. They also tend to write long-ass songs, so instead of just pounding on the same riff for a few minutes, they can work several movements, sections, tempo changes, and other musical oddities into a mini-opus.
"Deliverance" is thirteen minutes of pure aural lunacy and features some of Opeth's best and wildest licks. The final three minutes consists of a devious double-guitar section (one heavy guitar and one light guitar) that brings the Cut to a crashing end and is, in my opinion, the nastiest last three minutes of a song ever recorded.
This next bit was related on Joe Rogan’s website, specifically, here. Here's a direct link to the video that will soon be in question.
I gotta give Joe Rogan some respect. I always loved the guy on "NewsRadio" because he held his own with the immortal Phil Hartman and brilliant Stephen Root; no easy task.
I wasn’t so much on "Fear Factor," but that really had nothing to do with Rogan; a steady job and a paycheck on a hit show is a steady job and a paycheck on a hit show.
I do like him as a stand-up but I got burned out on stand-up (except for Carlin and Hicks) so long ago that I really don’t watch it anymore.
And, since I’m also a UFC fan, I’ve gotten enough exposure to Rogan to like him and recognize him as a weird and funny guy.
Of course, Rogan was on Penn Radio (twice) recently doing the Moon Landing Hoax thing with Bad Astronomer Phil Plaitt, and though we’re solidly on Phil’s side, Rogan at least took the time to know what he was talking about and gave Phil a run for his money on several points. Aside from the Moon Landing Hoax thing and, possibly, a few other quirks, Rogan’s a generally skeptical cat, and we’re always cool with that. As long as he doesn’t believe in Ramtha.
So, I’m not some psycho-obsessive Roganbot, but that’s really beside the point...
Even without the current controversy, I never liked the guy.
I saw one of his comedy specials some years back and said, "Meh." You could tell even then that he was, at the best, a third-string quarterback for the Cleveland Browns (no offense to the Browns). I’m tempted to say, "Only the Funky Lord knows how he got his own show," but I think even the Funky Lord would shrug, mumble something about "demographics," and discreetly change the subject.
His whole act seemed to be predicated on the fact that, "he says what you only think." Which is complete bullshit.
Does Carlos Mencia know any males between the ages of 15 and 30? If so, then he’d know just how tame his act really is. He must be hanging around with Mennonites or something. If he’d have hung out with my high school and/or college crews, he would’ve gotten a comprehensive education on "offensive, crude, and vulgar."
He thinks he’s a comedic genius simply because he’ll make fun of race. Ooh, so edgy! Sure, a little good-natured racism amongst friends can be funny (on the same level as a well-timed "Your Mom" joke), but the racist joke is always the cheap joke, and you have to be naturally funny or very clever (Pryor, Murphy, Dice, Kinison) to pull it off well.
"Ooh, look, a brown-skinned guy wearing a turban. Cab driver or convenience store clerk? Ha! Hey, a couple of black guys on the corner! Must be drug dealers, right? Ha! How about a Mexican guy driving a car? Must be 20 more in the back! Ha! All Asians are good at math! Ha, ha, ha!"
See, any moron (e.g. Yours Truly) with a passing knowledge of commonly held racial stereotypes can write this crap. Richard Pryor material it ain’t. Besides, there are other current comedians (e.g. Sarah Silverman) who actually are edgy and offensive and funny.
So, if someone had told me a year ago that Carlos Mencia was accused of stealing jokes from other comedians, I wouldn’t have believed them, if only for the fact that I thought all his jokes were bad. I would’ve then made a bad joke of my own, "Unless he’s stealing jokes from Bazooka Joe!"
I might (might) could’ve seen the "Ah, Rogan’s just jealous" angle, if it was only Rogan accusing him. Add in George Lopez (who, evidently, jacked Mencia up for it) and at least half a dozen other comedians (some of which are on tape saying, "Yeah, he steals jokes," in front of Mencia) and you either have an elaborate and mean-spirited conspiracy amongst unscrupulous comics or a single jerk-off joke thief.
Rogan and Mencia recently had it out on stage (and on "the video...in question") at the Comedy Store which resulted in Rogan being banned from the venue and dropped by his agent, whom also represents Mencia. Mencia calling Rogan "a little bitch" is probably the funniest joke he’s ever come up with; and he’s lucky Rogan didn’t rip his face off.
So, why write about this when we have, say, the whole Iraq/Iran/North Korea fiasco being decided by corrupt or impotent politicians more interested in gaining a swing vote than actually governing the country? Well, we are a Church based on Funk, humor, and entertainment in general. And politics make our hearts hurt.
Theft is theft, be it your TV, your car, or your intellectual property. For me, it’s even worse when it’s something you’ve had to develop from scratch and craft into something insightful, beautiful, or funny. You can replace a TV or a car, but people can only hear a really good joke once.
Stealing someone else’s routine is tantamount to stealing their livelihood; it’d be quicker and easier for all of us if Mencia just hacked a comic’s bank account and put the mic down for good.
And we at the Church despise cheaters. Doubly so when they parlay their dishonesty into a (for some reason) popular show on a network that we otherwise respect. It almost irreparably sullies Comedy Central, to have a phony putz among such brilliant jokesmiths as Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, Trey Parker, and Matt Stone.
And if you still feel like giving Mencia the benefit of the doubt, Rogan provides documented proof of Mencia stealing a two-year-old joke from a comedian that once opened for him, Ari Shaffir. Then Mencia denies that Ari ever opened for him.
In closing, we at the Church would like to urge all of our Funky Monkeys to take a giant crap on Carlos Mencia (and all art thieves) the next time you hear his name mentioned. We’d also like to offer a hearty "Huzzah and Kudos" to Joe Rogan for having the conviction to loudly challenge this particularly pathetic shitheel.
Friday, February 23, 2007
We’ve touched on the many different representations of the Groove and the Funk in various genres. We’ve also overlooked one fairly important genre, one that had a profound influence on both rock and metal.
Punk, baby! But not this wussy emo-punk-pop on the radio nowadays (we’re looking at you, Fall Out Boy; a clever "Simpsons" reference does not a good band make). Sure, we could throw down some Bad Brains or early Misfits or the awesomely bad Sex Pistols (anyone heard "Friggin’ in the Riggin’" lately?) but we’re gonna go with a slightly more recent act...
The Dwarves - "Motherfucker" (From "Blood, Guts, and Pussy")
First off, great title for a song.
Second, these guys are nuts. Just look at the name of the album.
Third, it really is a good, thrashy punk song.
Fourth, the "Surfin’ Bird" part at the end is straight-up bad-ass. And hilarious, if you juxtapose it with a "Back to the Beach" context.
Fifth, did I mention that these guys are nuts? I mean, kooky-batshit-daffy crazy. It shows through in their music, and we at the Church enjoy that sort of thing.
So, yeah, Slayer was OK. If, by "OK," you mean "the craziest, loudest, most brutal metal available to two ears." Then, yeah, it was OK.
The Rev. Jenner J. Hull could easily fill endless tomes with praise of Slayer and other Death Metal Monsters. However, if you’re not a Metal Freak and have never seen a full-tilt metal show, there’s really only one thing I can say...
If that tells you nothing, here’s an analogy I’ve always found helpful.
"Imagine slamming your head violently and repeatedly against a concrete wall while having an orgasm."
As for the actual show, well, it’s kind of fuzzy at this point. A good time was had by all (except for the poor beat-up bastards in the Pit), Slayer rocked harder than diamond, and copious amounts of beer were consumed (drivers were designated). In the Rev. Jenner J. Hull’s experience, heavy metal hangovers are always the least painful.
Sober, tipsy, or faced, I’ve found that the best shows I’ve been to always remain kind of fuzzy. If the Groove is locked in, even the shambling zombie denizens of the Funkless Masses tend to focus solely on the music and, somehow, "lose time." Or, more accurately, "blur time." I’ve found that, mere minutes after an awesome show, I’ll have the following hypothetical exchange with my fellow show-goer...
(In the car, after, say, a Clutch show.)
THE REV. JENNER J. HULL (RJJH)
Oh my good, good Funky Lord! That was ca-rucial!
FUNKY DEACON (FD)
Fuckin’ A. I told you they were gonna play "10001110101," didn’t I?
And they did. I love that they played "The Regulator." It sounded better live than it did on the album!
What did they play after that?
Oh, it was... I... I don’t remember...
Damn. Damn! "Regulator" was only the fifth song, wasn’t it?
Yeah, I think so. Wasn’t it?
That’s what I asked you!
I don’t know! I might’ve been in the can!
Ah, never mind. They kicked ass.
In the case of a metal show, even if I don’t exactly remember the exact chronology of exact events, I’d still know it was good if I woke up hoarse.
I woke up this morning sounding like Harvey Fierstein. And I sounded fabulous...
Updates on future Jam Sessions as they become pertinent. We’re thinking about a "One Week Notice," or something of that nature. Regardless of what we decide, the next must see is Black Label Society at the House of Blues in Myrtle Beach on the 29th of March. If you attend, make sure to wear the colors.
They say that the South Carolina Chapter of the BLS is one of the meanest. We shall see, but we’re leaning towards "True."
Thursday, February 22, 2007
In sad news, Dennis Johnson, a former All-Star basketball player and an NBA champ with the Boston Celtics, collapsed during a pick-up game*** and died earlier today. He was a great man and an amazing and unselfish player. You were the man, DJ, and you will be missed.
Man, I was all set on talking some smack about intelligent design after reading this post by Kevin Beck over at Doc Bushwell's (Kev slams DaveScot in the comments), but now I'm just bummed out. In these situations, I find it's always better to listen to a happy song...
10cc - "Good Morning Judge" (From "Deceptive Bends")
Just a cool, groovy, and strange track. A little funk, a little smattering of honky-tonk, and a suprisingly nasty guitar line punctuate what might be one of my favorite songs of the '70's. Though it's not quite as cool as "Dreadlock Holiday" (known mostly from the "Snatch" soundtrack), it's by far the best 10cc track and a seminal Sacred Cut. You've gotta love the psychotic optimism of the lyric, "San Quentin is the place to be/I'm so happy I don't want to be free."
***EDIT*** When I first heard the report of DJ's death, I kind of sat there, just shocked. Apparently, while I was thinking, "The guy's just barely fifty," I misunderstood the initial report and somehow threw a "pick-up game" into the mix. Dennis Johnson was actually coaching a developmental team at the time and collapsed after a team practice. Sorry about the screw-up, Funky Monkeys. And sorry, DJ.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
New in the Realm of Funky Deacons ...
It's common knowledge that 95% of You Are Morons. Rockstar Ryan can help you figure out whether or not you're apart of this illustrious cabal.
Rev.BigDumbChimp may well be "big," because that's totally relative, and he is chimp-like, because "Who isn't?", but he sure as all Hell ain't "dumb." Quite the opposite, actually.
And now, a perfect example of why the Rev. Jenner J. Hull is a tremendous freak of nature...
I burn CDs constantly. I still listen to my various bought albums but, more often than not, I just want a little taste of everything. While I take good care of my "real" albums, the burned CDs usually get tossed about the car with no real concern for their well-being. Every now and again, I find one of these CDs, pop it in the stereo (if it isn't too scratched-up), and wonder, "What in the Hell is wrong with me?"
Exhibit A; these two songs led off the CD...
Willie Hutch - "The Glow" (From "The Last Dragon" Soundtrack)
Berry Gordy's "The Last Dragon" is the best horrible movie ever made. Just the story is patently ridiculous, even in the context of high-concept 80's movies. A roving band of chop-socky miscreants led by a kung-fu-Master/faux-Warlord? A sociopathic music producer with some kind of mysterious and murderous creature in a stagnant tank? William H. Macy? Really?
I'm still amazed that I love the movie so much.
In this Cheeseterpiece, Leroy "Bruce Leroy" Green, a martial arts student in New York who, for some reason, thinks that he's Chinese, gets caught in a battle with said sociopathic music producer when the sleaze tries to strongarm the popular VJ Laura into highlighting his latest horrible Cyndi Lauper rip-off. Along the way, Leroy is also in search of the mythical "Glow," which, we're assuming, signals that the fighter has acheived the highest level. The humor is campy, the over-acting (especially "Sho'nuff," the "Shogun of Harlem") is brilliant, and the soundtrack is the perfect match.
"The Glow" is the epitome of early-80's R&B/pop Cheese. Every time I hear it, I have to yell, "Leroy! Who is the Master?"
Mr. Bungle - "None of Them Knew They Were Robots" (From "California")
I've bought "California" four times since it came out. Wore the first one out, lost the second, and wore the third one out. The newest one has been copied extensively; the disc has only been in my computer once and has never actually been listened to. And so shall it remain.
"NoTKTWR" might be the best known Bungle track, since it was featured in Julie Taymor's stupendous "Titus" in the post-crowning orgy scene.
Like most of Bungle's tracks, it's complete and utter insanity. Jumping from psycho-lounge to rockabilly to evil Latin chants, it's the quintessential music for discerning individuals who aren't afraid to consider themselves "Weirdos."
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Behold! The dastardly, perniciously hilarious David Malki ! and "Wondermark."
The high points and low points were...
...a "Best In Game Dunks" show beforehand with lots of great footage and interviews. Something that will never get old; watching Darryl "Chocolate Thunder" Dawkins rip a rim right off the backboard.
...a quartet of Rat Pack impersonators that was, mostly, pretty bad. Except for "Frank;" I don’t know who the guy was, but he did one of the best Chairman impressions I’ve ever heard.
...Penn and Teller were there! Which was odd, because my brother had mentioned earlier that day, "I bet you they’ll find a way to work Penn and Teller into the show." Penn sawed Teller in half and "found a Frenchman backstage" (Tony Parker) to be the legs.
...Dwayne Wade won the skills competition and did it only a second slower than Steve "Quickfast" Nash’s record time of twenty-five seconds. The low point of the whole weekend; Nash is sitting out due to a sore shoulder.
...Jason Kapono won the three point contest with an exemplary score of 24 and thoroughly whipped both Dirk Nowitski and my boy, "Agent Zero," Gilbert "Hibachi" Arenas.
The second best part was the dunk contest. After a few years of mostly boring competitions, the young contestants brought a little creativity back to the All-Star segment, which is good. Remember when the dunk contest was just as important as the All-Star Game itself?
The best dunks were...
...(#3) '06 winner Nate Robinson’s gravity-defying, Jordan-style dunk on his first attempt. I’m just still amazed that a guy who’s only 5'6" can do such a thing. Alas, I couldn’t find a vid of this one.
...(#2) Gerald Green’s Dee Brown tribute. A nasty dunk perfectly executed. I love Nate's reaction after Green clears his head...
...(#1) Dwight Howard’s sticker slap. When he did it in real time, it looked like just a basic (if high-flying) alley-oop-one-handed-stuff. Then, upon landing, Howard points up to the backboard. I’m thinking, "Jesus, Dwight, it wasn’t that good of a dunk," and then you see the sticker. They ran it back in slo-mo and, sure enough, when he catches the ball, at the apex of his jump, he slaps a sticker (with his face on it) about four inches from the top of the backboard. My man's got hops!
Of course, the greatest moment was the highly-anticipated footrace between long-time NBA ref Dick Bavetta and, quite possibly, the "Coolest Cat on the Planet," Charles "The Round Mound of Rebound" Barkley. I was expecting Bavetta, who puts in about five miles a day and runs up and down the court for a living, to win it. Sure, Charles was an uncommonly fast big man in his prime, but he’s put on the pounds in the last few years (as have we all).
Barkley, always a tricky opponent, is also surprisingly agile.
All-Star game tonight, bitches and bastards!
Saturday, February 17, 2007
(For future reference, Jerry has an awe-inspiring Southern accent. Your Humble Reverend’s accent is practically Canadian in comparison.)
THE REV. JENNER J. HULL (RJJH)
Thank you for calling the Funkiest religion under the stratosphere, how can we get your Groove on today?
Uh... I’m lookin’ fer a girl named Jenny.
Jenner. Jenner Hull.
I thought it was Jenny.
It’s Jenner. I’m Jenner. Jenner J. Hull, at your service, sir. What’s happening?
Well... Do ya remember a woman, name of Carly Robertson?
Yeah. Redhead, tall, used to play the mandolin with a bluegrass band in Eden [North Carolina], right?
The same. You recall her talking ‘bout her Pa?
"Turbo" Terry Walsh?
‘Course I do! The man’s a legend! He played with Fat Back Jackson!
That’s why I’m callin’ ya.
(At this point, RJJH is speechless. A few seconds of frantic silence ensue.)
Yeah, hey, I’m, I’m still here. So... What? You knew Turbo?
Turbo and Fat Back both, for a while. That’s why Carly told me to call you.
(RJJH is, again, speechless.)
Are ya on a cellular phone, son? Are ya goin’ through the mountains?
No, no. I’m sorry. It’s just...
Ya heard a lot of Fat Back’s music, have ya?
Yeah, I’ve got a few LP’s and a 45, and I’ve heard lots of stories and...
I met ‘im in 1967. Him and Turbo and Jackie MacNamara were playing at the...
(RJJH rudely cuts him off.)
Wait, wait, wait, wait. Just who the Hell is this? Oh. Oh! You scumbag bastard! This is Jambalaya, isn’t it?
No, and I ain’t gumbo, neither. Name’s Jerry Walker. Like I said, I caught up with Carly, she told me whatcha were doin’ with regards to Fat Back, and said I should call ya. Now, don’t be gettin’ no accusatory tone with someone trying to help ya.
Look, I’m sorry, really. But, you’re not jerking me around? You met Fat Back when he was only twenty-two?
(Jerry pauses briefly. He then sounds a little amazed.)
How’d ya know he was twenty-two?
‘Cause that’s the lie he told the most. Man stayed twenty-two for, like, seven years.
Well I’ll be damned. And you never met ‘im?
Shit. Y'already know more about ‘im than half the people he ever knew.
So, what now? Do you have some old recordings?
Nah, wore ‘em out or lost ‘em years ago. All I got is stories. Ya still livin’ in Virginia?
For the time being.
I’m in Alta Vista for a week or so. Think ya can get out here?
Yeah, it’s only forty-five minutes away.
Good. Carly said that you’re good people and that ya were looking for first-hand knowledge. I figured I’d give ya mine.
What kind of first-hand knowledge are we talking about here?
Well, for one, I was there when he got his nickname.
Where are you in Alta Vista?
(Jerry gives his temporary address.)
Be at the Irish pub in twenty-five minutes.
Thought you said it’d take forty-five.
Don't you worry about that. Drinks are on me.
You got it, kid.
For the record, the Rev. Jenner J. Hull got to the pub in just over twenty-seven minutes. If he hadn’t hit that damn vulture, swerved off the road, and got hung up at a stoplight half a mile from the pub, he would’ve come in at just over twenty-five.
Fat Back’s story (as told by Jerry) coming up in "Pt. II."
Friday, February 16, 2007
Local members of the Church of the Everlasting Groove will be congregating at the House of Blues in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, on February 22nd to witness the sonic assault of the one, the only, the truly frightening...
Your Humble Reverend will be the one with Satan on his shirt. Oh, wait...
Pardon, the one with Satan dressed as a gas attendant on his shirt.
Unearth will be the opening act, but Your Humble Reverend isn't so familiar with them. A Funky Deacon tells us that they aren't too bad, so we'll go ahead and take his word for it and excommunicate him if he's wrong.
Honestly, it could be a pack of wild dogs farting into kazoos as an opening act; as long as Slayer closes the show, all will be well.
All Funky Monkeys in the area are encouraged to attend. We eschew mandatory Jam Session attendance when it's something like the the most brutal death metal on the planet; we understand that it just ain't some people's cup of Funky tea.
What is that you're yelling? Is it, "We want the Funk!"
Ask and ye shall receive...
Dream Theater - "Overture 1928/Strange Deja Vu" (From "Metropolis Pt. II: Scenes From a Memory")
If someone were to kidnap the (insanely) beautiful and (insanely) talented Zooey Deschanel, put a gun to her head, and, on the pain of her death, force the Rev. Jenner J. Hull to name his favorite band, he'd have to say, "Dream Theater." Then, for his heroic act, he and Zooey would ride off into the sunset on a snowy white steed, buy a small tropical island, and spend their remaining days feeding each other grapes and constantly professing their undying love for one another.
Well, we can dream, can't we?
Your Humble Reverend can't quite remember how he got into Dream Theater but, once he did, he did so obsessively and never looked back.
The first DT album I bought was "Scenes" and, once I got through the intro track (I wasn't much on the hypnotist part), was immediately hooked. "Overture" is a bombastic instrumental running through the various themes and riffs explored in the rest of the album, mixing the heavy with the light, and leads directly into "Strange Deja Vu."
I took to "Strange" immediately, mostly because of the subtle bravado of drummer Mike Portnoy. I've always had a thing for fills (regardless of the instrument) and Portnoy does it damn-near constantly and spices up every part of the Cut with his own little tweaks, be they short cymbal flourishes or double-bass bombs.
Basically, what you have is the rare "Virtuoso Line-Up." Petrucci is a Git-Fiddle God, Portnoy is a Beat Machine, Myung is a Bass Monster, Ruddess has the Fastest Fingers in the Biz, and LaBrie belts like every "Hair Metal" singer wishes he could. If you like gorgeous, interesting, and elaborately complex music, then Dream Theater should be high on the recommendations list.
Your Humble Reverend realizes that people are not born great. Einstein wasn't born one of the most brilliant theoretical thinkers of all time; he had to work to get there. Rosa Parks wasn't born a seminal figure in the Civil Rights movement; she had to make a stand and earn it. Hell, the Pope wasn't even born the Pope; he had to be voted in.
And our greatest and Most Funky musicians and singers are not ready-made on a factory assembly line, ready to Jam right out of the box with no assembly required. They must start small, obscure, and with zero professional credentials before working towards greatness.
So, besides showcasing the Funk Giants, the Church of the Everlasting Groove will make a concerted effort to shed some Funky Light on the little guys and gals, those that toil in the trenches in an effort to bring their hearts, minds, and music to a wider audience.
Our first unsigned gem can be found in the links section under "The Compton Effect."
...is an atheist and physics major from Arizona via California. As Your Humble Reverend has previously stated, he's somewhat iffy when it comes to rap and hip-hop but he knows true talent when he hears it.
Setting aside the sheer novelty of being an "atheist rapper," Greydon's lyrics are honest, thoughtful, lucid, and very well-written. Distilling thousands of years of philosophical and theological musings into a three minute track is undoubtedly tough, but Greydon pulls it off with panache to spare. I'm not sure if he writes his own beats, though. If so, then he's just that much better. If not, then it just further proves his good taste.
If I were forced to compare him to another artist, I'd say he reminds me of an early Eminem, back when he was the most innovative and surprising hip-hop act around. He has the same type of effortless, methodical flow which, combined with his obvious intelligence, makes him fucking devious...
And, come on, people! Penn Jillette gave him props! You can't argue with that...
Three new Funky Deacons have joined the flock...
Matt of "Pooflingers Anonymous" focuses mostly on throwing metaphorical feces at targets that, frankly, could use a bit of de-spiffifying. May his aim continue to be true...
And P-Funk, a great man by any measure, has become the first Official Online Ordination of the Church of the Everlasting Groove. So, please, from now on, show him the proper respect and address him with the honorific "The Rev. P-Funk." If he chooses to add further honorifics to his title (e.g. "The Right Honorable and Estimable Reverend P-Funk, His High-Rolling Holiness"), this is kosher.
The Rev. P-Funk has actually exchanged words with our Funky Lord, George Clinton. If only we could all make such a truthful claim...
And where would we all be without the Rational Response Squad? Take their "Blasphemy Challenge" and earn a one-way, non-refundable ticket to Hell. No cover charge, $1 domestic drafts, and entertainment starts promptly at "Armageddon."
Thursday, February 15, 2007
We may reiterate that the Church does not discriminate against any particular religion that isn't ours. Jew, Muslim, Zoroastrian, Catholic, or whatever, we don't care. As long as you recognize the Groove and the Funk (and aren't an ass), everything's copacetic.
So, when we say that Bill Donohue is an astounding piece of shit, we say that without referring to his Catholicism.
And he is an astounding piece of shit. And, due to his constant double-standard act, is either totally ignorant or intentionally and knowingly stupid. He's perfectly fine calling a pair of bloggers bigots and, at the same time, completely overlooks his own history of bad-mouthing Jews, homosexuals, Muslims, and anyone else who doesn't live specifically by his narrow views.
Donohue would like people to think that he's the official mouthpiece of the Catholic Church but the simple fact is that every intelligent, decent Catholic in the country thinks that he's an annoying schmuck with a self-righteous persecution complex.
Basically, he's a controversy whore. Think back to high school; there was always some duplicitous, back-stabbing bitch who'd spill everyone's secrets in an attempt to manufacture drama, presumably for her own personal amusement. Donohue's turned it into a career.
Just because someone may disagree with an official church policy (e.g., contraception) or thinks that Donohue is a pompous douchebag, it doesn't mean they hate all Catholics. And Donohue would realize that if he weren't such a blatant glory-hound.
Before we do, however, we at the Church want to give a shout-out to insomnia. Without it, we would have never listened to music for hours on end and we would have (Funky Lord forbid it) never heard the Groove.
Joe Satriani - "The Extremist" (From "The Extremist"')
Much as Your Humble Reverend hates the wanton misuse of the word "extreme" in modern popular culture, "The Extremist" is the perfect label for the man known in certain circles as "Satch."
Legend has it that Satch wrote this song for a Gap commercial; something about a biker and a ballerina. He submitted this Sacred Cut as the "biker song" and it was rejected because it was, and we're paraphrasing here, "too hard." Sounds like the end of an "Asian Hooker joke" to me.
Regardless of the Cut's origins, it is a relentlessly hard-rocking song. Satch, like always, shows his versatility by stringing together the perfect base-riff (not to be confused with a bass-riff) with multiple virtuoso solos; if I'm not mistaken, even the harmonica solo is just a distorted guitar. And it's all disgustingly good...
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
The Unofficial Church Mascot will change on whims and whimsies. For example, I remembered how much I like pangolins and decided to eschew my psychotic cat, "Loki, the Norse God of Mischief," for the time being.
Fear not, though, cat lovers. Loki (A.K.A. "Wild Tooth," "Crazy Face," "The Avian Assassin," "Feline," etc.) shall return at some point, if only because he's provided us with many funny pictures. And he is completely psychotic.
Well, I can't really dance, but you get the idea. Sort of. Probably not. I'm not even quite sure that I do. What the Hell were we talking about again? Doesn't matter...
Anyway, if anyone is curious as to what the Reverend Jenner J. Hull is really like, here's a selective list of interests, activities, accomplishments, and quirks.
The Rev. Jenner J. Hull...
...has an obsession with Yoo-Hoo. And we mean a serious obsession. Frankly, the rest of the Church thinks it's quite unhealthy and have taken to referring to the beverage as the "Chocolate Horse." At least it's not a fetish.
...was, at one time and for his age, one of the best trumpet players in the Great Commonwealth of Virginia. Has not touched the instrument since.
...accidentally touched Katie Holmes' ass on the set of "Dawson's Creek."
...does an uncanny Michael MacDonald impression. And, when he's half-drunk, a decent Frankie Blue.
...taught himself how to juggle in three days with the help of a Rottweiler/Shepherd/Beagle puppy named, aptly, Puppy. The Reverend dropped, Puppy fetched.
...is afraid of spiders. And heights. And comb-overs. And televangelists. Especially televangelists.
...has a man-crush on James Randi. Yeah, like you don't.
...loves "Lost" because it's so damn frustrating and confusing.
...is proud to have evolved from ape-like creatures, but would've much rather evolved from bird-like creatures. Opposable thumbs are cool, but wings would be infinitely more bitching.
...thinks that only one perfect person has ever lived. Her name is Zooey Deschanel.
...loves Thabo Sefolosha of the Chicago Bulls because his name is so fun to say. Go ahead, try it. "Sefolosha, Sefolosha, Sefolosha!"
...thinks a French dip sandwich would be absolutely faboo right now.
...wishes that hockey jerseys were considered "formal wear."
...hates commericals. The cats that write commercials (except for, maybe, a handful of said "cats") can, in the words of Kurt Vonnegut, "take a flying fuck at a rolling donut." Then they can "take a flying fuck at the Moon."
...can, on a clear day and in fair winds, hit the high parts in "Billie Jean."
...once killed a hobo. With kindness.
Today's Daily Dose is an extra-super-special edition for two reasons; The Police and Van Halen.
The Police reunion I had heard about; even someone as completely apathetic towards the Grammy's as Your Humble Reverend still hears these things. Maybe Sting will start writing music with balls again.
The Van Halen thing somehow slipped by me, though. I had to rely on a Funky Deacon to relay the news in the following approximated conversation...
Dude, did you hear that Van Halen's bringing back Roth?
REV. J. J. HULL
Oh, great. So, have they fired him yet?
Remember that movie "Airheads?" When Brendan Fraser et al are trying to figure out if Harold Ramis is a cop based on his answer to the question "Which side did you take in the big David Lee Roth/Van Halen split?" Ramis answers, "Van Halen," to which the reply is, "He's a NARC!"
I've always had a problem with these people who seem to think that, just 'cause VH started off with Roth, that he's inherently better than Hagar. An ex-boss used to refer to post-Roth VH as "Van Hagar" with such rancor that I fully expected him to spit on the ground after every mention. I mean, sure, Roth was a great singer, but, honestly?
He was also an annoying jackass and, obviously, not worth the trouble. He had a terminal case of "lead-singer-diva" syndrome, which isn't odd, except in his particular context. Let me spell it out for you David...
You were in a band with Eddie Fucking Van Halen! I don't care who you are; even Michael Jackson would be wholly eclipsed by Eddie Van's inhuman prowess. The man is a Living God of the Git-Fiddle and you're David Lee "Zwee-Bop!" Roth. I don't care how many pink spandex leotards you own or how many groupies you defiled, Eddie's always gonna be the star.
Of course, if Roth acts like a normal human being and does his job (just sing, let Eddie and Wolfgang wow 'em), then this reunion could work out just fine. And if the Rev. Jenner J. Hull gets a chance, he'll definitely go see 'em.
The Police - "Synchronicity II" (From "Synchronicity")
I always like this Cut because it seemed like the most straight-forward rock song from a group that usually specialized in reggae/pop. Far from the bubbly happiness of "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic," "Synchronicity II" is a pretty dark track dealing with desperation and misery in Suburbia; it's like a damn Todd Solondz script ate an 80's song.
Van Halen - "Eruption" (From "Van Halen")
Planet Earth, meet Mr. Eddie Van Halen! The best thing about this Cut is, this is what Eddie Van does to warm up. The guy running the board heard him playing this mind-boggling classical/metal, said "Hey, we should lay this down," and introduced the world to the best guitar player of modern times.
Besides, Eddie's good people; he put his iconic black and yellow guitar in Dimebag Darrell's coffin at Dime's funeral.
While we're on the subject, please observe a moment of deafening, cacaphonous metal in Dimebag's honor...
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
We've been on a rock kick recently, so we're gonna be focusing on that for a while, probably. Maybe. OK, we don't really know. Things tend to change often 'round these parts and with what we refer to as "the Quickfast."
Oh, and check out Mr. Deity at www.mrdeity.com or on Youtube (if I ever figure out how to embed links in text, I'll do it). He's trying to land a TV deal and we at the Church wish he, Larry, Jesse, and Lucy the best of luck.
Small children might want to leave the room; it's about to get Funky...
Clutch - "The Incomparable Mr. Flannery" (From "Robot Hive/Exodus")
Clutch has long been one of the hardest-working and most under-appreciated bands in the modern rock scene. If you're looking for one of these milquetoast rock acts like Good Charlotte, Fall Out Boy, or My Chemical Romance, please leave now and never return.
No eye-liner and wannabe-punk posturing from Neil Fallon and boys, just old-fashioned, foot-stomping, fist-pumping, ball-busting hard rock with twinges of soul and metal.
"Mr. Flannery," as the opener to their '06 album, starts off nasty, with a bluesy rock riff and never lets up. Though the lyrics aren't quite as fun as some of the other Cuts ("Circus Maximus" and "Never Be Moved") the sheer brutality of the music should be enough to open up anyone to the Groove...
Oh, yeah, we hate. We loathe. We see and hear things that make us want to go on periodic rampages, and not the fun kind of rampages, the ones that involve bars, late night Jam Sessions, and, if it was a really special night, a stay in the County Inn. We're talking the kind of rampages that leave a city or two in ruins. If it isn't apparent, we just get annoyed really easily.
So, when some sort of insect burrows into the Reverend's nether-regions, he'll tell you why he would see fit to accuse that (hopefully, metaphorical) insect of the most heinous of blasphemies in the Church of the Everlasting Groove; being "Jive!"
I'm gonna be a complete prick now. Thanks.
Living in Myrtle Beach is like bearing witness to the very essence of human misery and pleasure, especially in the summer. People come from all over the US (and, oddly enough, other countries as well) for their vacation; they want to relax, play golf, go to the beach, eat some of the best seafood on the East Coast, go shopping at the outlet malls, etc. These people just want to have a good time, I understand that.
So, there's all these people here, trying to have a good time, and what do you get? Traffic snarls that test even the most jaded road warrior. Ridiculous wait times at every single restaurant in town during peak season, since 98% (completely made-up estimate) of tourists eat out for most of their vacation. Beaches that should be relaxing and serene are instead Hellscapes of scorching heat, screaming kids, and so many people it's hard to even find the goddamn sand.
But that's not my gripe, really. I knew what it was gonna be like before I came here and I accepted the hassle (while reserving the right to bitch about it) and it hasn't been so bad since October but, well, here's the point.
If you're gonna come down here for a week and drive around, buy a map! Figure out where the main drags are, have a vague idea of where you're going and how to get there, and, for the Funky Lord's sake, if you're about to miss a turn or an exit, don't go for it! Don't slam on brakes and whip a last second turn. Go down a ways, turn around, and come back. I can't count the times I've been cut-off, brake-checked, or nearly side-swiped by some jackass who'd rather risk my ride than get to Wings a full minute and a half later.
It only took me a week to learn the lay of the land when I moved here. You're not on the Lewis and Clark Expedition, people; at the very least, take about five minutes to check out Mapquest or something.
We won't even discuss Bike Week...
Friday, February 9, 2007
It is quite possible...
As we speak (i.e. write), there is an exceptional example of non-musical Funk on ESPN Classic. The '92 NBA All-Star Game, baby!
All the big names (Jordan, Bird, Magic, Hakeem, the Glide) and some of the slightly smaller (but no less important) names were in attendance; I mean, seriously, when was the last time you had the pleasure of witnessing the majesty that is Dan Majerle? Ah, "Thunder" Dan, where hast thou gone?
Don't get me wrong, I still love the game and the current crop of superstars and stand-outs (e.g. Amare Stoudemire), but that was the end of an era, my Funky Congregation. Any opportunity to see the greatest ballers of all time on the same court (or playing on the same Olympic Dream Team) is something that no sane person should pass up.
And Your Humble Reverend will, quite literally, watch anything as long as Charles Barkley is involved. Someone needs to give that man his own network.
Onward to the Funk!
Faith No More - "King For a Day" (From "King For a Day, Fool For a Lifetime")
Your Humble Reverend has had an affinity for Mike Patton for quite some time and considers him to be the second Most Underrated Singer of All Time (after David Ruffin, of course). His vocal range is staggering and, unlike most singers of a similar persuasion, he can also change his tone and delivery at will; sometimes he even sounds like a completely different person.
Out of all the stellar FNM Sacred Cuts (and there are oodles), "King For a Day" stands out, in most respects, because it's a pretty basic, cut-and-dried, and seemingly not at all complicated song. There's a driving, almost constant acoustic base, an especially Funky bassline, and an understated yet atmospheric piano, but that's really it. It gets a bit heavier in the middle section but, otherwise, floats along at a medium pace, unlike such freak-fests as "Surprise! You're Dead!" or "The Gentle Art of Making Enemies."
As far as Your Humble Reverend knows, "King For a Day" just may hold the vaunted (personal) record of "The Most Inclusions on Various Burned Compilation CD's."
Thursday, February 8, 2007
As you all know, the Church of the Everlasting Groove does not discriminate against any particular kind of music per se, but we do reserve the right to judge some genres and styles of music as, inherently, more or less funky than another.
Having been a Southern Gentleman and Country Boy for his entire life, Your Humble Reverend is surprisingly averse to country music, especially any sort of modern country. In years bygone, country musicians were rough-and-tumble, melancholy (but not whiny), hard-drinking sorts playing modified blues/bluegrass licks and writing plaintive, honest lyrics that spoke of their working-class hardships. Folks like Johnny Cash and Merle Haggard fit into this "Funky Country" category.
Now? We've got cookie-cutter personalities playing the same songs and singing the same trite lyrics in the same dreary (not appropriately melancholy, just dreary) voices. The only differences between any major country singers come down to, quite simply, the name on the marquee or the color of the cowboy hat. People like Tim McGraw and Kenny Chesney are, in no sense of the word, Funky. We can allow Brad Paisley; that cat can play. And he's got a sweet-ass electrified git-fiddle.
And Trace Atkins? "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk?" Fuck me running...
By and large, rap fell into the same hole. Of course, rap has always hinged, in part, on image but, for a while there, the music was also present. Acts like the Wu Tang Clan treated their work as actual music; they tried to structure real songs (not just beats), write inventive lyrics (the GZA is insane), and, generally, do something different than your typical gangsta bravado and/or thugged-up dance track. Honestly, I can't think of a single rap act since Wu-Tang that hasn't become a full-on parody of a rap act. I mean, Jesus, the RZA throws the periodic table of elements into a verse while Little John yells "Yeah!" and "What?"
Anyway, there are exceptions (which we'll point out at various times) but don't expect a whole lot of (modern popular) rap; and count on very rare occurences of country music. Here are the first two of the infrequent examples...
Jerry Reed - "(Love Is) A Stranger To Me" (From "Ko-Ko-Joe")
Jerry Reed, best known as the immortal Cledus "Snowman" Snow from "Smokey and the Bandit," is also the Most Funky Country Musician in history. As his career progressed, Reed managed to incorporate all kinds of random musical styles into his sound while keeping his country roots completely intact.
In "(Love Is) A Stranger To Me," Reed throws down on a tasty Groove With a Twang, and practically croons (Funky Lord how we love the crooners) a song that, in today's country climes, would be uheard of.
Outkast - "ATLiens" (From "ATLiens")
The Outkast duo (Big Boi and Andre 3000) have gotten progressively weirder and better over the years (hear "Speakerboxxx/The Love Below") but their best track hails from their debut album and served as a harbinger of hip-hoppy goodness to come.
The beat isn't the best they've put forth, but the lyrics and delivery are simply legendary. Also contains one of Your Humble Reverend's favorite rap lines of all time (the delivery is perfect)...
"Daddy Fat Sacks, B-I-G, B-O-I/It's that same motherfucker that put them knuckles to your eye."
Well, now that that's out of the way, we can continue to pick bands or artists at random, without regard for genre or any other categorization, the way it should be. Though the Rev. Jenner J. Hull is the reigning authority in the Church (but should, in no way, be considered infallible), he is more than willing to entertain suggestions as to choices for the badly-named Daily Dose segment, official canonizations, and other aspects of the Church's online manifestation. Unless they blow...
The Rev. Jenner J. Hull has traveled extensively across the South East and has amassed a motley collection of friends, dubious contacts, people who owe him ancient favors for reasons completely forgotten, and various one-time acquaintances which, somehow or another, turned into fast friendships. While visiting an old flame in the mountains of Tennessee, Your Humble Reverend met an old man named Hiram Cullen at a disreputable (but Ever-So-Groovy) honky-tonk who, after a few boilermakers, told an amazing but tragic tale.
Cullen’s son, David, was a living blues song from the day he was born prematurely and nearly died. Young David had asthma, periodic epileptic seizures, and, due to an automobile accident when he was four, a pronounced limp from an improperly-healed broken leg. Hiram confessed that he eventually came to believe that David was bi-polar, or at least suffered from a severe clinical depression. Since the Cullen family was poor and lived in the rugged TN mountains, (in the late forties and the fifties, mind you) comprehensive health care, mental or physical, was always of tenuous credibility.
Since David was rarely strong enough to roughhouse with his four older brothers or play with the other kids that lived near the Cullens on the mountain, he spent most of his time in front of the family’s radio. When he was around six or seven, one of his neighbors began teaching him how to play the guitar (Hiram always called it the "git-fiddle") and David took to the instrument with religious fervor.
David eventually dropped out of high-school, and with Hiram’s reluctant blessing, moved to Nashville and soon made a living as a studio musician. Credited as "Hop" (like "hop-along") Cullen on several hit singles, David soon formed his own band and began playing the local bars in and around Nashville until he built up a fairly wide fan base, even among the non-country/western crowd. David’s band, Appalachia, went into the studio and pressed quite an astounding record. It was stupendously innovative for the time, combining Motown-style horns and strings with traditional mountain bluegrass and contemporary country structures, possibly too innovative. The record sold poorly, even compared to the band’s modest expectations, and David never got over the disappointment.
David Cullen shot himself soon after. He was only twenty-four years old.
Oddly enough, Your Humble Reverend had come across an old LP of Appalachia’s only album some years previous and was rather taken with it; think of a more ambitious, bluesier Jerry Reed. Hiram was grateful for the glowing praise of his late son’s work and, once he learned of the Church and our Funky Mission, he gladly offered me several reel-to-reel tapes made by David, his friends, and the band during his tenure in Nashville.
Though he didn’t know it at the time, Hiram Cullen provided the Church of the Everlasting Groove with our very first documented proof of Fat Back Jackson.
One section of tape, dated April 7th, 1967, consisted of a jam session wherein David (still referred to as "Hop") and his bass player, Doug Carlin, work out the kinks on an early version of what would eventually become "Down in the Cold Dale." After a few runs and some tinkering, David brings in "a guy he met a few nights back" and introduces him as "the Fabulous Fat Back."
Fat Back proceeds to lay into some righteous riffs and solo sections, David and Doug applaud, and the three talk back and forth as they cook up some new riffs. For about thirty minutes of tape, David and Doug basically quiz Fat Back on how, exactly, he became as good as he was. Being ‘67, David was only twenty-two and, though we don’t know for sure, we suspect that Fat Back was the same, possibly younger.
When asked about a certain riff (he had a penchant for naming all his riffs, mostly "for no particular reason at all"), Fat Back referred to it as "The Dead Man’s Groove;" David, who’d been hanging out with him for a few days, evidently, remarked, "You got a lot of names with ‘Groove’ in ‘em, man."
Fat Back’s words were, "That’s what life’s all about. You gotta hear the Groove. The music, that’s just the manifestation of the Groove in our world."
At this point, David interjected, "The good music."
Fat Back again, "Right. And once you hear the Groove, only then can you fully comprehend the Funk."
Doug chimed in with, "Oh yeah? What the Hell is that?"
Fat Back said, "Well, it sounds a little something like this," and began to wail on a riff he called "The Polar Bear."
Fat Back had only been developing his "Groove/Funk" philosophy for a few years (though some sources indicate he may have become enamored of the Funk as early as age thirteen) and would soon perfect it but these early exclamations offer a rare insight to a brilliant, albeit misunderstood, musical mind.
Fat Back’s central tenet was finally, as far as we know, revealed to the world for the first time.
You must first hear the Groove, only then can you feel the Funk. Fat Back would discuss the Groove from time to time; he always spoke of it as an eternal thing, something that "just is," something that cannot be invented or created, only harnessed.
He also had this to say about the Groove; "It’s something that can’t be taught, but it can be learned..."
That is why we are the Church of the Everlasting Groove. Because the Groove, the same force that found and molded the Funky Savior Himself, Fat Back Jackson, was around long before him, and it’ll be around long, long after.
Unfortunately, the tapes were stored in a friend’s garage in Florida, so when Hurricane Andrew roared through in ‘92, a dead tree crashed through the roof and allowed water damage to claim two of the tapes, one of which contained the aforementioned audio evidence. It was a great blow to the Church but, with the newly discovered evidence detailing Fat Back’s life on the fringe of international renown, we will soon have something to make up for it.
More info on Fat Back (including the priceless story of how he got the nickname) in the future...
Monday, February 5, 2007
Your Humble Reverend took a trip to his Virginia Church and saw some snow. For a while. Then it melted. It was a few magical, flurry-filled hours, nonetheless.
Some of the Funky Deacons are already bitching about a lack of heavy metal representation on the Church’s official Intertube-Thing. In complete acquiescence to their demands, I give you...
Black Label Society - 13 Years of Grief (From "Stronger Than Death")
Any sort of praise you can give Zakk Wylde is nowhere near enough.
The man is simply an axe-slinging God. Scientific tests conducted by our Resident Funkologist, Presley Gordon Beauregard (D. Fnk.), have proven conclusively that a single hair from the flowing mane of Mr. Zakk Wylde contains more groove than an entire normal human being.
He’s a glorious freak of nature, jumping wantonly from brain-bombing metal maelstroms to heartfelt, piano-driven epic ballads without so much as a cursory warning. The best example of the former persuasion is the above-mentioned Sacred Cut.
After some blistering distortion and drums, Zakk lays into a priceless riff, some perfectly profane lyrics, and a nasty-ass solo section. It’s the kind of song you can play at top volume while sitting at a red light in heavy traffic and seriously creep out or offend several people. It’s not his best track, but it may just be the meanest...
Sunday, February 4, 2007
Django Reinhardt (1910-1953) was a Belgian gypsy who became, quite arguably, the most influential guitarist of all time, right up there with any picker or shredder you could possibly name. Considering he was playing professionally in the 1920's, when he was still a kid, you can place him firmly at the beginning of the Great Jazz Guitar Epoch and pretty much any other Subsequent Guitar-Based Epoch.
Before he turned twenty, he lost the use of most of his left hand in a caravan fire (remember, he was a gypsy) and had to completely re-learn how to play the guitar. Two fingers (those irreparably damaged in the fire) were able to form crude chords while the other two played some of the most ridiculous solos and riffs in music history.
Django went on to become a international jazz juggernaut, conquering Paris then the world. Note that I did not invoke "Godwin’s Law." Thank you.
By now, his credentials should be apparent.
MIRACLE #1: The fire, the disfigurement, the rehab, the mastery. Two fingers, people. Two fingers!
MIRACLE #2: A majority of the most influential guitarists in the world name Django as an influence. If Les Paul, Chet Atkins, and Jimi Hendrix love the guy, how can you not? And don’t give me that "objective opinion" shit. With legends, it won’t fly.
So Damn Funky...
Love it. Absolutely love it.
It’s just a cool, laid-back, jazzy, gorgeous song. It almost makes you want to stick your finger in the air, bob it around, and dance in circles.
Not that I do that sort of thing.