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Stephen Parr and the Peculiar Archives of Oddball Films Come to Miami
Screening This Weekend at O Cinema and the Frost Museum of Science

“The transition of film,” says Oddball Films owner and eternal archivist Stephen Parr, “and its 100-year plus longevity, to the ever-changing formats of digital media bring speed, lower cost and worldwide distributability though the trade-off is now everyone is an archivist, constantly migrating data from format to format, device to device.”

This lament might sting purists who long for streamlining and clarifying the ever-increasing muck of hubris clogging up the binary pipes of the modern, digital world like a dutiful librarian. But it is especially topical coming from a man who began archiving bizarre, oddball, one-off, and just plain eccentric moving images a little over 30 years ago.

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How To Replicate The Pleasant Confusion That Is Thurston Moore
A Guide For Neophytes

I’ve dreamt of sycamore trees, homemade ice cream off the via delle setti ponti, and ex-wife alimonies but I’ve never been as confused as I was at the muli-disciplinary homage to Kurt Cobain at the Gusman Center yesterday. Let’s talk about being lured under false pretenses, let’s talk about the incongruences of the recently aborted, and let’s pretend we like each other for a minute or two.

I think Thurston Moore’s all right; he’s a local boy who’s done well and is known throughout the land but I am so pleasantly confused about the last night’s “Kurt” proceedings that I’ve got to chime in.

How do we explain it briefly? Well, there was a short film, interpretative dance, a yahoo with a guitar, the Thurston and a newly anointed German on the skins… But is that satisfactory music journalism? I’ve never been on the carburetor dung end of things, I’m a sham, a put on, a plan B; but I’m still me.

So, through the magic of the internet, I’ll do my darnest to recreate that which I saw.

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Abel Interviews The Dwarves, Finds Them Most Handsome

The Dwarves have been the most handsome and good looking band in rock and roll since the 80’s. Their travels and records are the stuff of legend. Gearing up to rock South Florida one more time at the revered Churchill’s Hideaway Pub this past weekend, we recently had the chance to conduct a rare THL interview with ringleader Blag the Ripper (or Dahlia, depending) and here’s how it went down!

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Abel's 4,000 albums that matter: Part Twenty Two

No more intros. Not today, maybe not next week. Intros will come back whenever it chooses to emanate from its fur. Whatever the Hell that means.

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Abel's 4,000 albums that matter: Part Twenty One

Everything comes to an end. It must. Like Rick Moranis. We will slowly and painfully grind to a halt with such extreme snail-ness that one day, when it is gone; you’ll think it had gone a long time ago. In the meantime, two of our winners have already received their mix-tapes and the reviews are nothing short of stark raving madness. I strike again. With impudence. And mostly against the English Language and Her Grammar and Spellings which makes me a language misogynist I guess. Oh well. Rick Moranis, think about it.

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Abel's 4,000 albums that matter: Part Twenty

I guess I’m what, an eighth of the way in and I still haven’t mentioned Hawkwind or Diana Krall or Tina Turner or the Spawn Sacs, right? Oh well. Who knows how long before this train derails. Today we hit 500 which means nothing really other than I might be on more frequent sabbaticals from here on out, which is cool because you can just continue imagining that somewhere else, I’m also committing the same violent transgressions against the English Language and Her Grammar and Spellings. I like pork chops by the way. #Chuleta Oh, I’ll also be very busy making those tapes for our four contest winners since the equipment will be back from the shop this week!!!

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Abel's 4,000 albums that matter: Part Nineteen

How long before this little pony crashes sideways into that tree? That tree that’s always been there and this little pony don’t see coming? How long before do ya think? And I says thank ya. But really. Let’s find us another hobby. Another venture. Let’s throw the towel in. Let’s pretend we care. Let’s ignore the blade as it slips reddened out of the English Language and Her Grammars and Spellings. Let’s see if the little pony avoids the tree, but bucks the rider into a ditch.

Orioles, Pansy Division, Flatus, and C + C Music Factory behind the curtain …

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Abel's 4,000 albums that matter: Part Eighteen

Part the eighteenth is not the sordid tale that would take you galloping through some maiden’s maidenhood, nope, it’s actually quite boring. You should probably skip over it and head back to John Spain’s memoirs of life as a WVUM alterno-muzak jockey. There’s lurid stuff in there too. Late night cocaine binges, unprotected sex with hookers of questionable age, wild theories concerning French poesy of the late nineteenth century, dark rooms/alleys, soft penile touches; in short, everything you would need for a solid yarn of the Pynchon middle canon. In other words, a much better read than this shameless tromp through the erogenous zones of the English Language and Her Grammar and Spellings. Don’t bitch later like I didn’t warn you. Cuz I did, cuh, I did.

ATR, Promise Ring, Mastodon and Aztec Camera beyond the jump …

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Abel's 4,000 albums that matter: Part Seventeen

Here we are with Part the Seventeenth rearing its ugly head in our (well, rather, your) direction and all the tautologies of the past stand true in defiance of better judgments, e-mails, threats and attempted trébuchets. Do we soldier on? Sure, why not. At this point all four of you look forward to my less than clever musical musings. Plus, we break the Holy 400 today, whatever that means. But I do know what it means for the English Language and her Spellings and Grammars. It means I don’t give a flying good goddamn of a coasting fuck on roller-skates. I wonder if there’s a direct correlation between financial stability and being a complete music loser/dork? Are these things even related? Shit, now I’m babbling and getting personal, something I promised I’d never do within these digital pages…

Run D.M.C., Wanda Jackson, and Ol’ Blue Eyes beyond the jump –

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Kinda-Sorta Winners of the 4000 Albums That Matter Mixtape Contest!

Here we are at the Via Crucis of good intentions. Remember last year when we held a contest for a mix-tape from my heart to your ears? Remember that? Remember the instructions? How if you posted to Facebook and became post number 127 you’d get one? Seemed like a good idea right? Save you the trouble of “downloading” music and owning something that will probably disintegrate in a couple of years but that would have some kind of cool little handmade package to show the kids eventually? Yup, it seemed like a good idea to us too.

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Abel's 4,000 albums that matter: Part Sixteen

Well, it’s been a while my sweet chickens and dearest fools of the parade, but with reason. Now, dispensing with the cutesy introductions that usually preempt these proceedings, many things have happened in the weeks since we saw each other last, but one thing remains true and solid within these digital pages: my deadly incursions into the sacred realms of the English Language and Her Grammars and Spellings continues unabated by reminder e-mails and occasional real-life skirmishes with people in the word biz. But I say unto them and you my sweet chickens and most dearest and appreciated fools of the parade, could I possibly give a bucket of rocks kicked over of a flying fuck when my THL sheriffs encourage my excessive excess? Nope, I didn’t think so… we soldier on to the day 4000 becomes a reality, or I perish in a hail of recorded materials!

Bad Religion, Mark and the Mysterians, and more after the jump

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"The Big Gig" - Music Workshops at Pinecrest Gardens This Sunday

This Sunday, March 11, will see the gathering of several of Miami’s best jazz musicians, who will lead workshops and end the day with a group performance in the afternoon. The day is part of Tito Puente Jr., will lead the music workshops, produced by KCC Productions, on timbales. Tito is on a passionate mission, nurturing the musical legacy left by his father. Crowds lured to a venue by the father are returning to see the son — and to once again participate in the high voltage celebration that takes place on stage.

Read on to learn more about the performers/instructors who will be there!

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Abel's 4,000 Albums that Matter: Part Fifteen

Part the fifteenth is a chockfull of international wonders, British punk rock and as close to a confession on masturbation as we’ll get for a while. Read on, make notes of the transgressions against the English Language and Her Grammars and Spellings. I also posit against jazz fusion, but then again, wouldn’t you?

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A Poem by Abel Folgar: THE SONG STARTS WITH “T”

(After Amit Majmudar’s “By Accident”)

The song starts with the letter “T” and it starts by accident.
The howl is not a shriek, it is an accident.

But there is something deliberate and cosmic;
a plane borne out of chaos and accidents.

The palms sway in sun and wind,
their inner sound, to the untrained eye, accidental.

Al-Shaytan knows the foils of humankind all too well
and he did not traipse upon them by accident.

Neither did humankind when it fully understood
that sweet is bitterly sweet in un-ironic accidence.

It is not so much having to grin and bear as it is
to fully accept the resplendence of harmonic accidents.

It is saying to oneself that the song does in essence
start with “T” and it is in no simple means, an accident.


Abel's 4,000 albums that matter: part thirteen


Onwards you Black Emperors! Part the thirteenth is upon us and your humble narrator continues the Canadian vibe in the opening vignettes and goes into unrelated rambles concerning the evil heroin, albums that need to die, and the usual verbiage of violent volleys against the English Language and Her Grammars and Spellings. This one does not end well.

301. SNFU — IF YOU SWEAR, YOU’LL CATCH NO FISH. I remember being in Canada in 1994 and getting a lot of Canadian TV under my belt during the slow afternoons of my two-week stay and seeing these fuckers’ videos on all the time on what was it? Much Music or More Music? Something Canadian and polite. Lots of skating involved. I dubbed this tape from a friend in school when I got back. Cool stuff. Fun trip.

302. THE DIODESTIRED OF WAKING UP TIRED: THE BEST OF THE DIODES. Seriously, who isn’t? But in favor of finding a specific album, this “best of” collection has all the hits you need without the geenky über-New Wavey stuff that might make you cringe. Often looked over, you might enjoy it.

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Abel's 4,000 albums that matter: part twelve


This is Part Twelve. This part is not one of the lost tribes of Israel. This part has many parts of disco and disco-ness. If that offends you, move right along. The assaults on grammar and spelling continue. It will make you reticent to the proclivities of your heart. But we also hit 300 entries in this part, which is cool for the ladies because it will remind them of the super-buff dudes from that horrible movie about the 300 Spartans and the Battle of Thermopylae. I promise no history anecdotes here. Just my humble narration and whimsical eye.

276. HIS HERO IS GONETHE DEAD OF NIGHT IN EIGHT MOVEMENTS. This is a great 7” that I actually wore down considerably. Traded it away lest I finished the job. Great fucking dirty smelling crusty hardcore from these backwoods lumberjacks. Soulful, desperate, hinging on next month’s welfare check. Even a little niggerish at times for good measure… but always dirty. I recently got a slightly less used copy.

277. RED HOT CHILI PEPPERSTHE UPLIFT MOFO PARTY PLAN. Aside from having Flea, this album also boasts the background vocals by Mr. Angelo “Motherfucking Fishbone” Moore. It is arguably RHCP’s best album tied with Mother’s Milk (which loses a bit of charm with overproduction). It is a party record. It is fun. And believe me, with a “themed” entry I have planned for this, it is not all accolades for these guys.

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A Poem by Abel Folgar: Sixteen


Pry the veined leaves from the
sea, their focus unmitigated by
cyan-tinged promises of subterfuge,
obfuscation, derailment and

the tender lament of
topiaries long forgotten and
cast into the shadows of an
ugly and slow descent.

Now is the moment of reflection,
now the sky can kiss the wet hand
in a subtle manner,
noted for its depth of congenial

gravity, its lack of emotive
harrumph a coiled seahorse’s tail,
a way to drift listless,
wrecked and comatose.


Abel's 4,000 albums that matter: part eleven


On the eleventh second of the eleventh minute of the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month of this eleventh year of the millennium, your humble narrator and somewhat passable scribe will contemplate the business end of a handgun as it will be held by the English Language and Her Grammars and Spellings and all of these little transgressions that I have brought to all you seven of my readers will finally be given the swift justice only she can muster. Hopefully I can finish this by then, because after that, I will no longer be.

251. AIR SUPPLYTHE ONE THAT YOU LOVE. Goofy bright, cheery photog of the air balloon on the cover (no pun intended, I’m sure), this album reminds me of the music my mother played in the house when I was a toddler and it reminds me of my love for her and her psychotic cleaning binges in the wee hours of the morning. The late ’70s/early ’80s were bizarre times. But I love my mother.

252. RUFUS THOMASTHAT WOMAN IS POISON! This is latter days Rufus, but it still is straight up blues! You’ll remember him from “Walking the Dog” but this album was my first taste. Solid shit baby.

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