Here's a whole mess of mp3s, of every flavor. You should really be bookmarking these hosting sites because they're the ones in the trenches:
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First off: Emy Jackson and the Smashmen. Really, no cooler name exists. Because of that, all objectivity goes out the window. It doesn't hurt that Jackson is Japanese and sings in English, and the guitarist sounds like he just got his first surf record the day before (not to mention his first whammy bar). Oh, and the way she sings "why" sounds certifiably tortured. All this and a bare production render it a must-right-click-now-Batman classic.
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Next up, Roy Head and the Traits' "Treat Her Right" which some of you aging hipsters may remember from Johnny Thunders' cover of it on "Copy Cats" about 15 or 20 years ago. I played the shit out of Thunders' version because I could never find the original and I knew I remembered hearing it out of the radio on my Dad's workbench when I was growing up. (Al Hirt's "Java" was another long sought workbench record). I finally happened upon it at The A Side, the companion site to The B Side (host of the outasight Willie Mitchell cuts posted on Monday). The introduction to the post pretty much sums it up: "This song just kills me. Two minutes and five seconds of in your face Texas swagger that just doesn't let up. How cool is Roy Head, man?"
Here, here!
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The big news around Bacon St. is that Reverend Frost, of Spread the Good Word, is posting again. He is, of course, the person who unleashed Al Garcia and the Rhythym Kings "Exotic" on this dry sod, making him feel drunk again, if only for 2:14. Now, after an absense that he seemed apologetic for (despite the fact that he was homeless!) he returns with more of the twisted fare that made him a saint in these parts. The latest: Buck Griffin, a hill-a-rocka-billy that you and I would have never heard about otherwise, despite the fact that he's in the Rockabilly Hall of Fame.
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Next up, some equal time for the soccer kids of trash, Tiny Masters of Today, a 13 year-old brother and 11 year-old sister duo who have become the darlings of...well, they have a Blues Explosion drummer, a Moldy Peach, two Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs, and a B52 on their debut, so you figure out who-dragged-who. David Bowie called them "genius" but also said that they sounded like a mix of Suicide and the Shags, which isn't at all accurate. What they do sound like is a couple of kids that were mentored by a member of the Blues Explosion (drummer Russel Simmins, who produced them). That said, any kids who write a song called "Stickin' It to the Man" before they've reached junior high, they're the Sound of Young America that I want to hear.
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Which reminds me...I sure wish Bowie would keep his stink off of other people. He's been doing it for years. Shit, he's the one who dragged the synth-weakened Iggy Pop onto the Dinah Shore show, and that was thirty years ago. (Memo to Thin White Parasite: I have a long memory when it comes to rock crimes.) Then, he trampled the Pope of Out-There, dishonoring the Legendary Stardust Cowboy by covering one of his songs as a ballad. Blasphemy! Quickly, cleanse yourself of the thought!:
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