One glaring difference here is an utter and welcome lack of any Morrissey or R.E.M. on my random Chunk o' Nano. Another, more significant difference (which cannot objectively be seen as anything other than a serious flaw in our nation's very character -- and shame be unto you of all people, Reno Dakota, for helping sustain it) is the alarming dearth of female artists on the Sirius LoC... playlists (relative at least to my personal collection). Behold:
1. "I'm Waiting For The Man" - Velvet Underground: Makes me squirm in a good way. Sounds vaguely like Bob Dylan. Only filthier. And faggier. And like they've got better smack connections. Oh, and fun. Classic. 9/10
2. "Blue Bayou" - Linda Ronstadt: An exceptional exception to the rule that no one can cover a Roy Orbison song and have it be equal, let alone an improvement. That cool-blue, clear-as-a-bell voice, tinged with just the right amount of plaintive rawness, lends an atmosphere to the tune that is at once both otherworldly and perfectly homey. Plus, there's the nostalgia factor: this song takes me back to my early childhood, waiting on my parents' bed while my mom put on her face before our trip to Hilltop Mall for shopping, grilled-cheese sandwiches, bubblegum ice cream, and ice skating. 8/10
3. "Pretty Vacant" - Sex Pistols: Fuck all y'alls and your glossy tans and your Z. Cavaricci's and your Wet Seal crochet tops and your patchwork leather jackets and your Exclamation! cologne and your blithering Julie Brown show recaps and your Rush Limbaugh quotes and your poodle-perm/Kahuna-bangs combos and FUCK YOU ALL! This is *the* background music for making fun of cheerleaders and early '90s wiggers who dressed like Bel Biv Devoe back-up-dancer rejects. At least, it was for me in high school. 7/10
Picture edited to minimize the poor girl's pudgy little sausage-fingers.
4. "Let Me Be Your Angel" - Stacey Lattisaw: Proof positive that there once existed an underground industry devoted exclusively to manufacturing songs for the stage of Star Search. Classic schmaltz -- they don't make 'em like this any more; the proverbial "they" certainly broke the mold with the nasal-whine-with-a-dollop-of-soul Stacey... 6/10
5. "First Day of My Life" - Bright Eyes: Hey look! How'd an overplayed single get in here? 'Cos it's good, biotchez: fey indie heartthrob (is there any other kind?) Conor Oberst at his tremulous, unassuming finest. "I'd rather be workin' for a paycheck/Than waitin' to win the lottery" -- at the risk of making an enormously ugly generalization, only a Nebraskan would forge that metaphor. 7.5/10
6. "Teenage Goo-Goo Muck" - The Cramps: Because, well, I was. 8/10
7. "If I Only Had A Brain" - The Flaming Lips: Possible theme song for the next Wally Herger campaign? A classic by way of an electronic Bedlam's day care center. 6/10
8. "Falling In Love" - Scorpions: FAAAAW-LING IN LOVE! Uuuunh, UUNH! [grind, thrash, grind] -- What? What are you looking at? Huh? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE LOOKING AT, BITCH?!?!? Now plant that face back in the pillow as I resume my groove... 7/10
9. "Talk Of The Town" - The Pretenders: I like you, Ms. Shirley Manson, I really do, but bite it: Chrissie Hynde was the original hot-shit, too-kool-for-skool bitch. She can make you fall in love with her even as she's shanking you in the throat with a penknife. 8/10
10. "Loose" - Iggy Pop: Iggy is the ugliest man I would ever have sex with. But I'd do it. And yeah, I'd still wake up sore and hungover and deeply sick and ashamed, but I'd go up to all my friends and be all like "Smell me! Smell me! No, not there...Down here. Now guess who I did last night..." 8/10
+ BONUS: "Obscene & Pornographic Art" - Bongwater: This will be my drag revue debut song. I'll sing this while slowly descending Broadway-style stage-stairs, vamping the way Ann Magnusson wishes she could: arrayed in enormous hoop earrings, a red sequined sheath slit to mid-thigh, and thigh-high, high-heel black latex hooker boots, with my hair parted between two enormous, dirty blonde afro puffs. At a certain point in the performance, my Rube Goldbergian "Deus ex machina" (a gargantuan, vague papier mâchè contraption) will lower from the wings. It will be surrounded by huge Sid & Marty Krofft-style cherub heads flapping their mouths in time to the chorus. And that, baby, will be the closest I will ever come to possessing the fucking Power of Pussy (short of getting the surgery, of course). 9/10
P.S. Quick shout-out to the studs at 3 Bulls!, who are accepting submissions from the worst of my commenting excesses across the superinfohighwaycyberwebs. A tough project, as I've worn so many masks...