Wee Man And Toiletdoor

Half remembered line from 1980s children's TV, a savage and uncontrolled beast that had a mystifyingly small impact on our psyche. Not remotely appropriate, either, for today's post, which will bundle together all the important stuff from the weekend. Apart from that Sufjan business, which we still can't recall. O'Connor's has a new sign, but the jukebox is still unaccountably hostile turf, and the buds are up to $3. Robbery!

We would also like to relate the story of a lady we met recently at a dinner party, who said that she had recently been embroiled in a shouting match with the Lord High Marty-Clown. Turns out that Marty's normally bluff and cheerful mask slips when he is confronted with stadium opponents. On this occasion she was treated to a "What if you're wrong and I'm right, eh? What if I'm right? You don't know what you're talking about!" tirade from the scumster. The flunky (how does a flunky himself have flunkies? No idea) recording the meet-the-people moment abruptly turned off the camera.

So, next time you spot the Marty-Troll gambolling around this fair Borough, you have two options:

1) Scream "Resign Marty!" as soon as gets within earshot. Follow that up with "Mayor Mike's got a bigger thingy than you" and "the Dodgers left. Get over it." Finish it with "you'd be an embarrassment as a Coney Island carney barker."

2) This one requires a bit more preparation. Make sure you have a gigantic foam or inflatable cell phone close to hand or in your pocket, and when he comes near, wave it at him shouting "Oh Marty, it's Brooooooooce!" This is a reference to Marty's humiliating performance during his New Yorker profile, when he hustled to get on a call with the stadium-fiend, and then offered up a stroking of Mr. Ratner that stopped barely short of executive relief.

We didn't actually end up getting into much more trouble this weekend than not remembering an indie-pop show (according to a somewhat agoraphobic gothamist it was little cop). We have got into a bit of a CD binge, whose components we may as well post here:

• Bob Mould - Body of Song. Not bad - review promised to the zinicles.


• Primal Scream - Give Out But Don't Give Up. We were a bit trashed when we bought this at Kim's. We've been threatening to obtain a copy of Rocks for a batchelor party, but this seems on the outside to be a bit too much.


• Sleater Kinney - Dig Me Out. Replacing a tape copy. This is still our favourite. They veer rather amazingly between being very pissed of at men, and being very attached to them. This is of comfort. We occasionally toy with the idea of having One More Hour played at our cremation.


• Heavy Trash - Heavy Trash. Now, we are prepared to admit that we are a hapless tool in the hands of Jon Spencer, and would probably be in the front of the queue for his fart-concept album. But this is pretty jolly. There were quite a few lazy people on Amazon calling it raw and raunchy, when it's really rather sweet. Reminds us of Cave Cat Sammy. Not really a drunk album.


• dEUS - The Ideal Crash. We mentioned this already, but also want to recommend Caiman's z-store on Amazon for cheap imports CDs. They were pretty fast and pleasant. We'll probably use them for the new album when it arrives.


• Tindersticks - II. Oh, this is good. We hope never to be sad enough for this to make total sense, but if we're depressed enough, and have had enough wine. this would do. This was what we were playing on the subway this morning though our rather leaky SR60s. We could swear that the lady next to us started beaming.

Do you think we're trapped in a late 90s drone-pop hovel, now do you? Just a little bit? In related news, noted Stereolab-enabler Robert Moog is dead. R.I.P.