Dear readers, I invite those old enough to recall this insane moment in 90’s major label history:
This one’ called Martin Scorsese
He makes the best fucking films (x2)
If I ever meet him I’m gonna grab his fuckin’ neck and just shake him
And say thank you thank you for makin’ such excellwnt fuckin’ movies
Then I’d twist his nose all the way the fuck around
And the rip off one of his ears and throw it
Like a like a like a fuckin’ frisbee
I wanna chew his fuckin’ lips off and grab his head and suck out one of his
eyes and chew on it and spit it out in his face
And thank you thank you for all of your fuckin’ films
Then I’d pick him up by the hair swing him over my head a few times
And throw him across the room and kick all his fuckin’ teeth in and then
stomp on his face 40 or 50 times
Cuz he makes the best fucking films he makes the best fucking films
I’ve ever seen in my life
I fuckin love him
I fuckin love him
Alex Chilton went to NYC in the mid-to-late 70’s and brought punk rock back to Memphis. He put together a band with Tav Falco and lived busking on our now-defunct open-air downtown mall. He was the godfather of our scene. This will hurt many Memphians in a much deeper way, as I barely knew the man outside of his visits to the record store when I was working. The first words I ever heard him say were nasty words about someone else, but I laughed hard. Really hard. He carved it out, lived it, walked it, and all fans should be thankful that he enjoyed the respect he deserved over the past 10+ years.
That’s right! Like any male in his mid-30’s with sporadic and wildly-fluctuating amounts of income plus a host monumental problems right outside the door (so to speak), I’ve deemed it a good idea to release some records, some print projects, and even put on some events later in the year. After waffling between several near-perfect names, I initially settled on Andrew Earles Productions, but that’s just not going to cut it for a number of reasons. Yes, every nimrod this side of a Ford Transit Express Owners Club has started a label. That part of the idea isn’t even worth discussing. I will assure you that no one is planning the ideas that I have stuffed up both sleeves and one pant leg.
First in the pipeline…
A 28-minute 12″ EP reissue of The Patio Tapes and Killed By Absurdity 7″s (1996 and 2000 respectively). The Patio Tapes was a 7″ of prank phone calls executed by myself and a cohort who might not want to be mentioned by name but it’s way too late…or early…in the morning to call him up. Originally the third title on my Resort Theory Entertainment label, the 14-minute 7″ contains the notorious “Meat Rendering” trilogy of disturbing and ridiculous calls, plus the “Happy 7th Birthday, Timmy, Keep Your Balls to the Wall!” cover art tie-in call. The latter, successfully-executed idea consisted of calling an ice cream/cake-making establishment and ordering a total head-fuck of a birthday cake, picking up said cake, paying local photog-on-the-scene to capture it in nice detail, making repros of the photo, and including the call on the record. Oh, the photo was hand-glued to the front cover, but I no one seemed to notice the connection. I remember putting these together on the floor of my apartment – some 14-years ago – and thinking that the idea was so brilliant that I’d be forced to repress within a couple of months. Ok! This is where we stop dwelling on past delusions. There’s a long and colorful future of mistakes ahead of us! Killed by Absurdity Vol. 1 was originally released on my Failed Pilot Productions label in mid-2000. That summer, I pretty much kept to myself, working on the last issue of The Cimarron Weekend that would never see the light of day, and once again enjoying the delusion that the whole world would find this 7″ to be the work of absolute genius. First, I was mailed 3 CD-R’s of mp3’s by a colleague who worked at a music-based dot.com (no longer around, surprise surprise, but things must stay anonymous). This individual, who was in a fairly hip band at the time and still works in the music industry, had the fascinating job of trolling the internet for personal sites (pre-blog explosion) in which musicians had posted their own music. He compiled the most mind-melting, unbelievably-hilarious tracks on those three CD-R’s and gave me permission to cherry-pick almost 14 minutes for release on 7″. That is exactly what I did. Capping-off a decade of bizarre 7″ releases like “Winners of the World’s Worst Rap Contest” and Gregg Turkington’s “Sounds of American….” series, Killed By Absurdity Vol. 1 predates the cable/public-access appropriations of Tim & Eric and speaks of an era when my record collection actually had a huge section stuffed with weird, outsider, or generally fucked-up titles and I would join likeminded smartasses for viewing parties of worn-to-mush VHS tapes that were traded amongst an underground network of folks hungry for the next “Crazy Black Guy Trying To Give Directions” or “My UPS Lover” or the ‘Stairway to Heaven’ of such entertainment, ‘Heavy Metal Parking Lot’. Much like The Patio Tapes 7″ four years earlier, it took a really long time for no one to give a shit.
Do not let this give you the impression that I’m launching a comedy label. No sir. No ma’am. The focus of Cimarron Weekend Productions will multifold though dominated by an impeccable selection of music new and old. This will be my third and final attempt at maintaining a label. Am I scared? Hell no. Nothing is sexier than a great idea, yet nothing is more common than the botched, halted, or never-attempted execution of a great idea. But I can state with confidence that these are reasons-to-get-out-of-the-bed-when-everything-else-is-ruined ideas.
ITEM II: EARLES AND JENSEN LP FOR LOWER THAN DIRT PRICE (LIMITED TO FOUR COPIES)
I bought back four copies of the Earles and Jensen and Friends Present Just Farr The Record LP from a retail establishment that has since gone KA-PUT, and I’m offering them to you for the wicked-low price of $13 a pop POSTAGE-PAID. That’s $7 lower than anywhere else in the world, plus these copies will include a PERSONALIZED AND SIGNED SENTIMENT FROM ANDREW EARLES TO THE BUYER!! Only 324 of these LP’s were pressed up and released in May 2009. In the competing class of LP’s with first pressings of 500-or-less copies, this title holds the world record for staying in print the longest! Own a piece of history!
I will have an operating Paypal shopping cart when I have Cimarron Weekend Productions titles to sell or more distro booty. In the meantime, order this LP by sending an e-mail to email@example.com with “EARLES AND JENSEN LP SALE” in the title line. Or PAYPAL $13 to the same e-mail WITH “EARLES AND JENSEN LP” written in any and all available spaces (except for the one that would normally have your mailing address).
ITEM III: TO THE ONE INDIVIDUAL THAT ACTUALLY SENT AN E-MAIL: NO, THE CORRECT ANSWER TO MY RECENT LINER NOTE CONTEST IS NOT “A MORBID ANGEL LP?”
Trey A. of Morbid Angel was never a sub-literate murkhead and would go on to read every self-help, T.M., positive-power, or Eastern-thinking/meditation book ever written, or so goes the possible truth. That question was for true heads that wouldn’t piss on my blog if it was on fire. No, I do not consider myself a true head in regards to any genre of music. I’m still trying to grow a massive but scatterbrained frame-of-reference….of questionable use in life. I’ll find ways…
The baby-as-adult ones. It’s predictable, I know, but talking babies have always struck me as cause for creative blacklisting. The guy responsible for the main baby voiceover…that’s a comedian. I can feel it. I can see that comedian’s bald head and slightly drawn face…I can see that comedian’s pocket-tee, cargo-shorts, and drinking problem. I can see this comedian’s age, experience, and degree of fame…each has ever-so-slightly surpassed those that choke YouTube with short films that do little more than invent new methods of trying too hard. I can see this comedian’s girlfriend leaving a note on the breakfast table: “I’m fine. Don’t call my parents. Don’t report me as a missing person.” I can see the phone ring. I can see him battling both emotions as he learns of the eTrade voiceover gig. I can see him get blasted on the surplus of beer in the fridge. I can see him in an Irish themed bar, accepting free drinks from a coked-out lesser. I can see this coked-out lesser launching into an impenetrable description of a short that’s being entered in a monthly contest. I can see the key-bumps exchanged in the bathroom before the comedian and the lesser depart for the latter’s promise of more. I can see years and years of conversations started with those that normally wouldn’t even deserve a post-dated gas-face.