Goo Goo Cluster

(googoo.com, 1921-present) Good Good!

Scotty McKay "Scotty McKay Rocks"

GUEST REVIEW BY GENTLEMAN JOHN BATTLES

(Bear Family, 2020) Dallas Rocker Scotty McKay is best known today for having served a stint with Gene Vincent's Blue Caps on piano and rhythm guitar, but he had a prolific recording career of his own, and this is the first comprehensive collection of his work. Things kick off in fourth gear with his first single, "Rollin' Dynamite,” which appeared on "Desperate Rock 'n' Roll" and was later covered by Kenny and the Kasuals, and the wild rockin' sounds don't let up.Though there's only three original tunes here, McKay covers his contemporaries (Elvis, Gene Vincent, Buddy Holly, Chuck Berry, Bo Diddley and Frankie Ford) with style, flair and plenty of enthusiasm. His "Baby Let's Play House " had more slapback echo than Elvis' version, and his take on Chuck's "You Can't Catch Me" and Bo's "Who Do You Love" are real barn-burners. McKay's boss beltin' and cool croonin' are jet-propelled into overdrive by lead guitarist, Bobby Rambo (of Gene Rambo and the Flames and later the Five Americans). This 32 track collection features a bundle of singles and a half dozen wild acetates (standouts include his own "Bad Times" and ''Evenin' Time,” and his rocked up take on Julie London's "Cry Me a River" has to be heard to be believed) . Most of these tracks were recorded in the 50s, but Scotty did not slow down in the mid-sixties, cutting a killer version of Titus Turner/Little Willie John's "All Around the World (Grits Ain't Groceries),” which appeared in the schlock horror film, "Creature of Destruction,” as did the cool flipside, "Here Comes Batman,” which also appeared in "Creature,” but, sadly isn't included on on this CD. Both performances are on YouTube. Fresh off a tour with the Yardbirds, McKay cut a savage "Train Kept a-Rollin’” with Dallas garage band the Exotics (though it was long rumored that Jimmy Page played lead guitar). Scotty also did three songs in another 60s Horror film, "the Black Cat,” with Scotty and band all wearing eye patches (!), but, alas, those tracks don't appear here. Almost everything here is medium to breakneck tempo. It's the stuff, all tuff, no duff. 

Superteam Family/Brave and Bold Lost Blogspot

(https://braveandboldlost.blogspot.com/) This is just insane...every day, for almost ten years, this dude has posted an imaginary archival team up cover featuring characters from different companies/universes that he creates by seamlessly overlapping images from existing covers...and then he does it again 3000+ more times! Every day he does this! I do not know how he cannot be more famous  and I do not know why this took me so long to discover and I can't imagine how he can find the time to never fall short of this dasily goal. I write a review a day but I don't take more than a three minutes writing any of them, I mainly do it as an exercise to get some writing in, but this dude creates a concept and executes it and takes time to make it look good and adds captions and makes it funny and has lore for his team ups where stories (which only exist on covers he made up!) continue in later numbered issues, and this is amazing and bananas! Good job Russ Pearsall...you are an Intenret superhero and may all your Team Ups be great!

Ron Dante "Ron Dante's Funhouse"

GUEST REVIEW BY GENTLEMAN JOHN BATTLES

(Sunset Records, 2020) If anyone deserves a career retrospective it's Ron Dante, even if he had to produce it himself, which he did. Known primarily as the voice of The Archies, Dante also has many TV commercial jingles and solo recordings under his belt. Fittingly, this set kicks off with "Sugar, Sugar” by The Archies and "Tracy” by The Cuff Links, another manufactured studio group patterned around Dante's strong Pop vocals. Both songs made the Top 10 simultaneously in 1969, and I'm still not thoroughly convinced "Tracy” wasn't partly the inspiration for XTC's "Life Begins at The Hop." "Sally Ann” by The Cuff Links appears here, too, and it's good enough to convince me I need to pick up The Cuff Link's album next time I see it on the cheap. This two CD set also contains several songs by The Archies that appeared on TV, but never made it to vinyl, solo Dante recordings, and a half dozen of his commercial jingles (I could go for a half dozen more, I love this stuff.), the best being The Archies' breakfast drink, Tang, plus duets with Andy Kim, Bruce Johnston of The Beach Boys and Toni Wine (the female voice on Archies hits like "Jingle Jangles” and, of course, "Sugar Sugar”). The newer recordings are predictably more high tech sounding, especially the "2020 Euro Dance Mix” of "Sugar, Sugar," but they lose none of the Dante charm. Dante knows how to sell a song, he has a voice just made for television, but he was and is a pretty good looking guy, too. He gives "Happy Together” a rockin' overhaul, and the liner notes inform us he's now the lead singer for The Turtles (but, what happened to Flo and/or Eddie?). "Let me Bring You Up” and "Umbrella Man"(credited to Starbird) are fine examples of modern day Bubblegum Rock, and did you know Dante had a song in "the Little Mermaid"? Me either. The 1980 single, "God Bless Rock'n'Roll” would have been a welcome addition, but Ron is covering all the bases, here. Three songs by The Chan Clan, the house band for the early '70s cartoon show, The Amazing Chan and The Chan Clan turn up here, and they're good (especially "Number One Son"), but they haven't got The Archies beat on a good day. There's also two Spider-Man songs not from the Ralph Bakshi Saturday morning cartoon show, The Electric Company's Spidey segments, or even the late '70s live action series. Dating from 1972, these songs might have been slated for use in a TV pilot that never came to be. In any case, "Theme From Spider-Man” is a kick, with it's Shaft-inspired wakka-takka-guitar, and lyrics boasting of Spider-Man's status as a sex machine with the ladies ("Shut your mouth” "I'm just talkin' about Spider-Man” "We can dig it”). Along with thirteen Archies songs, there's the opening and closing themes to Archie's Funhouse, the second of many Archie cartoon shows, which made me wonder why some of the other Archie show themes aren't included here. Surely, Dante sang at least some of them. There's seventeen (count 'em) Archies dance intros, as well. You see, on the original Archie Show the songs were preluded by brief instructions on how to do the new dance of the week. Most had Archie-themed names like "The Jughead," "The Betty,” and "The Veronica Walk,” and cool instrumental vamps behind the Dante-sung dance instructions. Kids would dance in front of the TV set, trying not to step in their bowls of cereal when the song came on. I don't think my brothers and I did, though. Unfortunately, the sound quality takes a serious dive on these tracks, like they were recorded off the TV with a handheld microphone, as do the commercial jingles, but that's my only complaint, and it's probable that the masters no longer exist. Overall, this collection is fun to have, though it probably won't make believers out of people who aren't already Archies fans. Then again, who can say? The packaging is cool, the first disc had a repro of the orange Calendar records (the Riverdale gang's alma mater) label and the second bears the artwork from an Archies cereal box record (for those too young to remember, they used to put cardboard records for acts like The Archies, The Monkees, and the Jackson 5ive on the back of cereal boxes). The cover art was done by latter day Archie artist Dan Parent, who's no Dan DeCarlo, but it's a nice touch. To cap it off, Ron Dante is donating a dollar from each sale to The Shriner's Hospital for Children, so everything's Archie!

Lay's Game Day Chili

 

(Lays, 2020) I can taste a mild chili-ness, and you can make an argument that there's some cheddar cheese flavor profile noticeable, but there's definitely no sour cream or chive action despite the graphic. I assume this was for the Super Bowl, so I would have made the chili flavor more intense, gone hog on the onion, maybe spiced it up with a little Tabasco profile. But maybe this lost some of its oomph, because I also assume that this is an old assed bag, because people don't do big pots of chili for the NBA.

Oh Snap! Pickle Slices

(Oh Snap, 2020) These are fine, fresh tasting pickle slices with nice flavor and they boast of no extra brine, so you wont spill much pickle juice on your car upholstery (though you might spill a little, hopefully the Febreze works). Still, a liquor store/gas station giant pickle in a bag is a technology that does not need to be improved upon. Sure they are overly chewy, borderline too big to bite, and all of them seem to have been pickled during the Clinton presidency. But they are some perfect-assed snacks. But this is the real world, and there are plenty of days when you are not in a liquor store or gas station so there's honor in gentrifying the pickle bag so you can get your portable pickle on even when you are in an upscale store, so god bless them. But these are not nearly as satisfying as eating yourself sick on a rubbery football-sized former vegetable.

Sex Pistols “The Great Rock ‘n’ Roll Swindle”

GUEST REVIEW BY GARY PIG GOLD

(VIRGIN, 1979)

           TEN REASONS WHY THE SEX PISTOLS 

DIDN'T (OR COULDN'T)  SAVE ROCK AND ROLL

1.  MALCOLM McLAREN

Never before in the long and illustrious annals of popular music history has a man been handed so much raw talent atop a potentially platinumous platter, at such an opportune time and location, as when Steve Jones, Paul Cook and Glen Matlock, fresh from hiring a new frontperson named Johnny Rotten, strolled into London’s cleverly named Sex shoppe circa 8/75 and asked its proprietor, suede-o bohemian entrepreneur Malcolm McLaren, if he’d be interested in helping them invent punk rock, revolutionize – or, failing that, destroy – the music business, and earn a million pounds (of dollars) in the process. And never before has a man so swiftly and slyly enacted his master plan and seen it bear fruit in greater abundances than even he, in his wildest Col. Ahmet Loog Epstein fantasies, would have believed possible (within a mere twenty-three months, the Pistols swept from crashing obscure British art college balls to bumping Linda Ronstadt off the hallowed cover of the Rolling Stone)… and Never Before, and hopefully Never Again, has such a superfluity of potential and promise – not to mention profit – been so thoroughly and effectively botched, blundered, and bludgeoned. For, thanks to Malcolm McLaren’s brilliant mismanagement, the Sex Pistols, an act of unlimited wit, fire and socio-musical import, are recalled today as little more than the great rock’n’roll swindle Sid Vicious played in before he set his hotel room on fire, sliced open his girlfriend, and joined Elvis and Kurt in that big cabaret revue in the sky.

 

2. GLEN MATLOCK

Unceremoniously hoofed from the band on the virtual eve of their anti-success for professing admiration toward the wrong people (Paul McCartney) in the wrong place (the pages of Melody Maker) at the wrong time (1976), the Pistols, in one fool swipe, lost not only their most accomplished musician (well, not that that mattered much: after all, his replacement was Mr. Vicious, fresh from the Dee Dee Ramone hunt-and-plonk school of bass playing) but their one true resident songsmith (yes, it was GLEN who cooked up some of the Seventies' catchiest guitar hooks;  ie: "Pretty Vacant" and "God Save Whats'ername"). Relatively unperturbed, Glen took his talents elsewhere (Iggy Pop, plus big Pig faves The Rich Kids) while the new and "improved" Pistols resorted to dismembering old Eddie Cochran tunes and warbling cute li’l ditties about the Holocaust with some Great Train Robber.

 

3.  VIRGIN RECORDS

In refusing to press enough copies of "Anarchy In The U.K." to allow the Pistols' debut disc to creep any higher than #38 in the British charts, EMI Records actually (though probably unwittingly) helped establish the band at this most crucial stage of their tragically brief career as not only Euro-youth’s latest cause célèbre, but Fleet Street's most potent front-page fodder since Beatlemania itself. Then, with characteristic ineptness, Malcolm trotted his cultural icons elsewhere:  inanely into the open arms of Virgin Records, at the time widely known – and ridiculed – as the graveyard of such synthesized Seventies casualties as Mike "Tubular Balls" Oldfield. Under Virgin's laughably feather-brained wings, the emphasis was quickly placed more on Amusement than Anarchy, and the band was now forced to attack the airwaves with such duds as "Friggin' in the Riggin',” "Rock Around The Clock" and, in a rare display of Virgin forthrighteousness, Some Product. (NB: said discs now populate your local pop shop's delete zone... right alongside Mike Oldfield's).

 

4.  WARNER BROS. RECORDS

No doubt experiencing sudden pangs of guilt in the midst of their post-Rumours coke 'n' caviar indulgences, and in nostalgic remembrance of their label's maverick infancy when record contracts were bravely being handed out to the likes of Wild Man Fischer and The Fugs, Warner Bros. decided to test out the new waves of 1977 by arranging a distribution deal with Seymour Stein's legendary Sire label (who in turn had such bright hopes as the Ramones and Talking Heads under contract). However, soon growing discontent with simply marketing Seymour's signings, Warners set out to land a punk act of their very own Stateside, and spent untold amounts of Fleetwood Mac royalties to graft Malcolm's boys to the dotted line in October of '77. No sooner had WB issued Never Mind The Bollocks, here’s John, Paul, Steve and Sid on their very doorstep as it were, about to embark on that ill-fated first, and last, American tour. Now, to say Warner Bros. had absolutely NO IDEA how to handle, let alone capitalize upon, the Pistols' arrival on the U.S. scene is akin to accusing John Lydon of having certain flaws in his personality... to say nothing of his choice of diners (for example, it's been alleged Warners hired former CIA goons to roadie the band's tour). Nevertheless, despite a decade of non-promotion, Bollocks was finally awarded Gold Record status in 1987...  and Warners went on to reap additional billions from Seymour Stein's signings (ie: Madonna).

 

5.  ROGER EBERT

It's a hitherto closely-guarded secret that 'way back in the Summer of Hate one esteemed Chicago Sun-Times film critic was, by some inSidious twist of faith, hired by Russ “Beyond The Valley Of” Meyer to script the Sex Pistols' eagerly-awaited silver screen debut, Who Killed Bambi?  ("Remember, without me, there wouldn't be any mention of Bambi in this movie," boasted Ebert to Rolling Stain). Yet despite both a healthy budget (courtesy of Warners' film division) and truly inspired casting (Marianne Faithfull as Sid's mother), the movie never made it past the screenplay stage, denying not only the Blank Generation of a Hard Day's Night they could call their own, but theatre-goers the world over a larger-than-life Technipallor dose of charisma Rotten & Vicious-style. Who Killed Bambi appeared years later in wholly bastardized form as The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle, Meyer quickly high-tailed it onto the pages of Film Threat magazine …and Marianne Faithfull was, bless her great big heart, recently spotted sipping wine in a Paris hotel lobby with none other than her far-from-broken Englishman Keith Richards. See? Even this screenplay has a happy ending!

 

6.  THE I.N.S.

At 11:30 PM on the night of December 17, 1977 every North American who still believed rock’n’roll had some spit left in it was tuned to their local NBC-TV affiliate, anxiously awaiting the Sex Pistols' long-rumored appearance on Saturday Night Live: a television event which promised to equal, if not surpass, Elvis and them Fabs' Ed Sullivision barnstorms of decades previous. Alas, it was not to be. For several days before The Great Event That Couldn't, the Immigration and Naturalization Service, lamely citing several Cook and Jones criminal offenses (nothing serious, mind you... just the usual r'n'r roster of B and E's, concealed weapon and assault-with-a-Fender-bass charges) ruthlessly denied both Malcolm and his anti-Beatles permission to enter the Big Apple. That is, until after the comparatively meek and mild Elvis Costello had replaced the Pistols on the SNL in question. Perchance it's simply virtual paranoia running away with me again (excuse me, I think my mouse is tapped...) but this seems to me to be but the first of several high-level attempts to squash the horror known as p-u-n-k-r-o-c-k by the post-Watergate White House. Read on.

 

7.  JIMMY CARTER

Unlike British Prime Minister Harold Wilson, who shrewdly rode to Downing Street beneath the coat-tails of four fellow Liverpudlians in 1964, Jimmy Carter was not so willing to embrace the latest pop/rock peculiarities in order to secure a power base amongst his nation's young. Quite to the contrary, at a closed-door pow-wow with the recording industry elite in 1977, the peanut-pruning President reportedly suggested to a gaggle of America's leading radio programmers and promo honchos, in a most sinisterly Agnewesque fashion, that, quote, "Boys, we really don't want this new wave music now, DO WE." As a sorrowful result, the Pistols' stylus-shaking debut LP soon vanished from the airwaves and sales racks of the land, only to be replaced by the safe, sterile, sickly-slick sounds of, amongst far too many others...

 

8.  THE CARS

This late but wisely little-lamented combo epitomized America's squeaky-clean response to the Pistols’ furor: They looked, and sounded about as menacing as Pat Boone had twenty years before, when he too helped rid the USA of "dangerous new sounds" by musically castrating the likes of "Tutti Frutti." Ironically, it was Pat's dippy daughter Debby whose deceptively darkened "You Light Up My Life" held a 439-week stranglehold atop the Billboard Hot 100 at the very moment such classics as "Bodies" and "I'm A Lazy Sod" languished unheard in some obscure Greenwich Village import bin.

 

9.  THE BEE GEES

And while America was being force-fed such pablum as "My Best Friend's Girl" and "Heart of Glass” under the guise of New Wave, those Brothers Gibb, designer chest-wigs intact, were busy dominating both the AM and FM dials with their eunuch blend of down-under falsettos and bubbleyum R'n'B. Their glory daze already far behind them, these once-imaginative Aussie chart-toppers pioneered the utterly detestable genre known and loved/loathed to this day as Soundtrack Rock, thanks to such full-length promotional vehicles as Saturday Night Fever and (pause for blanching) Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. The veritable upchuck of billion-sellers which resulted left precious little room in your home entertainment center for Messrs. Vicious, Rotten, Cook and Jones.

 

10.  JOHN SIMON RITCHIE, 1957 - 1979

R.I.P(unk):  No Future indeed.

Joe Dirt/Joe Dirt 2

 

(Happy Madison, 2001/2015) Noble and I have been watching every Adam Sandler/Happy Madison/Happy Madison adjacent movie for the last few months, as he fills out a spreadsheet he created documenting Sandler-signature tropes and peccadillos (Sandler wearing shorts; cruel bullying portrayed as a virtue; hiring Allen Covert; Rob Schneider ethnic impersonation; audible fart, etc.), with a goal of creating a database revealing the Sandler-iest of the Sandler pictures. We are in the home stretch now, and to be thorough we are checking out DVD releases to see if deleted scenes change any tallies, or to find short bonus films to add to the list.  Anyhow, you get a few surprises along the way, and the most pleasant one came on my recent viewing of David Spade's reliably, if mildly, funny tribute to White trash culture, Joe Dirt. The two-decade old comedy has aged well, not only because juvenile potty humor is relatively timeless, but mainly because Spade seemed really invested in creating a sympathetic, ethical, innocent, humble hero, whose lowbrow taste and toothless braggadocio define him less than his innate likability. As in Spade's far inferior, Dickie Roberts, which is jarringly closer to an MOR family comedy than almost anything else in the Sandlerverse, things shake out so that in the end the lovable loser gets way more lovable and way less loser-ish. 

   The recent death of Rush Limbaugh, whose jokes seemed very poorly executed to my ears' funnybones, led to online discussions about which conservative funnymen are, in fact, funny men. Sandler and Spade were celebrated, with the caveat that they are publicly soft spoken about any Republican leanings. However, possibly the most conservative element of the Happy Madison comedies is their definition of "good guy." Why is it so important that Deuce Bigelow and Bucky Larson not actually have sex while thriving at sex work? Why is there noble dignity in working at a toll booth but slutty shame in serving at Hooters? And while it is funny how casually nonplussed Joe Dirt is to be trapped in the sex abuse pit of Silence of the Lamb's cross-dressing killer, why is it considered so hilarious for the random Farley brother, and other typical Sandler supporting characters, to want to humiliate Joe for being victimized? Well, whatever the reason is for this sex-negative sympathetic protagonist formula, one thing is for sure: Joe nails it. He is completely adorable, and Spade's light, earnest constant joking, especially in the Dennis Miller shock jock radio interview framing device, is delightful.  There are two slow-developing poop joke set pieces in the film, but the bathroom humor is more a declaration of proud juvenility than it is a defining feature. Joe Dirt is a movie about liking Joe Dirt. 

    I had seen the film years ago, and it made a good impression, as the fun film follows the model of the first and most recent Pee Wee pictures, putting our manchild hero on a grand road trip mission. But the DVD proved a real treat and elevated my esteem for the movie because there were two commentary tracks. Spade's was good, demonstrating how proud and invested he was in the project (he put up his own money to afford Christopher Walken) and some of his comedy philosophy ("big teeth, big laughs") and returning again and again to his pride in coming in under budget so that they could afford the classic rock song licenses the film needed to get the trailer park flavor just right.

    But the commentary from director Dennie Gordon was the treasure. A lot of the pleasure was in hearing her genuine pride in this silly film, and her affection and loyalty to her crew (putting them in as extras for fun, for example). But what was really good was her technical insights, breaking down the shots and the lighting and framing, explaining how even how very dumb comedy needs to be executed just right so the jokes hit. During the part where Joe and his Native American fried find a nuclear bomb she explains broadly how jokes and reveals were re-scripted to make them work better, explains how shots were composed to get the most oomph, marvels at a perfect lens flare during a driving shot, and most impressively, breaks down the composition of the shot in which pounds of diarrhea drips on Joe's head to makes you appreciate the cinematic craftsmanship and deftness needed to make a poopy head joke as funny and effective as possible.

    Which is why I had high hopes for Joe Dirt 2, which reunited most of the original cast and some of the original creative team (though not Gordon). Sure it was 14 years after the original, and was produced by Crackle, a streaming service on which you can watch episodes of The Critic, sequenced out of order, that look like VHS transfers and stop for commercials mid-joke. But still...it's Joe Dirt...we love that guy!

    This may not be the the actual worst movie I've ever seen, but it is the most disappointed and frustrated I've ever been watching a movie, and it is SOOOOOO BAAAAAD! What is most foundationally off-putting about it is that it doesn't even look like a movie. At all. Any lessons learned on the set of the original about the craft of comedy filmmaking was buried under pounds of diarrhea. Many, many, many of the shots are just someone (often a Playmate/porn-looking starlet in an awkward sexy stance) standing mid-frame, shot in antiseptic Hi Def with bright, depth free lighting, saying a bad line awkwardly that does not fit the timing of the scene and looks unlike a movie or commercial or real life...or anything.  

    And the crazy thing is this movie's narrative is an ambitious time travel/It's Wonderful Life/dirtbag Forest Gump thing (i.e. time travel Joe sees teenage Skynyrd playing in a club and mentors them towards their destiny/true band name, dismissing the faux Van Zandt's deathly unfunny series of gay band name choices). But the execution was so bad it made me feel shame for finishing the movie and made me deeply dislike everyone involved in its production. I always assumed because he is relatively funny in everything I've seen prior to this that Patrick Warburton was OK, but he was so unfunny delivering such basely awful and terrible material in this that moving forward he might as well have white power tattoos on his face as far as my sympathies towards him. This movie is so bad it feels like a hate crime, and not for the endless homophobic jokes, but for just being deeply, deeply, deeply awful.

    Roseanne Barr and Gary Busey were originally shot as Dirt's lost parents in the first film, but Gordon reveals in the commentary that they were so recognizable it took away from the comedy, so they reshot with the very funny Caroline Aaron and Fred Ward. Not only would they have NEVER considered losing footage of a celebrity in JD2, but I don't believe they shot a frame of sterile, soulless Hi-Def video that they didn't use.This is just a filthy toilet full of one take terribleness by people who it is hard to believe ever knew how to make a movie. I don't know why Walken agreed to be in this, but he made a terrible mistake. I don't know why Kid Rock knew to turn this down (his role re-cast with the Sugar Ray guy, who is dead to me now), but ROck has now earned a level of feel respect from me. I don't know exactly what my current opinion of David Spade is, but I do know that after watching the original Joe Dirt commentaries my opinion of him as a comic, a person, and a moviemaker soared. I was re-accessing his prominence in the Sandlerverse and proudly rooting for him moving forward. I was willing to fall under the spell of cinema and transfer Joe Dirt's nice guy/lovable/worthy winner attributes to the goofy character's creator. Not so much anymore.

    If there is one good thing about Joe Dirt 2 is that there's no DVD commentary or bonus features of any sort, which is a blessing. I could not spend one more second with that fucking Dirtball...a dirtball that one DVD ago I was willing to spend my whole life with.

    But that's the way the dirt crumbles.

Z Roll Farm Original Flavour

 

(Taekaenoi, mfd 8/20, exp 8/21) I am not sure exactly what this Thai snack is. The first one I bought was just a piece of rigid rolled up seaweed, soaked in something sweet. The cone/tube formed a cavern that was confoundingly empty, so I thought maybe this was the snack equivalent of some kind of zen koan for me to ponder as I snacked, but considering the prominent "Central Islamic Council of Thailand" stamp on the back I dismissed that.  Instead I went back and bought a variant that had a picture of something inside. Since the "Z" in the name is parenthetically rollspained to mean "sea" on the wrapper, I expected something fishy, but the giant self-peeling potato graphic suggested a spud theme. However, the spotted green, phallic/horror movie creature graphic declaring "Original Flavour" threw that easy explanation off. The ingredient list suggests this it is a seaweed wrapped, meat and fish-free potato/corn grit hydrid chip ziggurat flavo(u)red with sugar, mushrooms, soy sauce and liquid smoke. But the sticker attached next to the ingredients declaring "California Proposition 65 WARNING Cancer and Reproductive Harm" made me stop analyzing the wrapper and just enjoy this sweet, crunchy, mysterious, dangerous goodness. I like it. And I've lived long enough and am not pregnant, so will continue to risk it.

Dot Wiggin Band "Ready! Get! Go!"

 

(Alternative Tentacles, 2013) Obviously you can't re-capture the Shaggs shagginess, but Dot's record from a few years back is a real pleasure and her songs are still great and her singing is both better and exactly as Elmer Fudd-ian as ever. I am very glad this record exists.