Fe Fi Fo Fums - I Just Wanna Boom Boom Girl (mp3)(buy)
One minute thirty-eight seconds, including false start!
Pretty much the best band name/song title/running time combination one could ever hope for. The Fe Fi Fo Fums (myspace) were a recentish (2006-8?) Seattle wha?-fi garage-punk band that wrote punchy songs like "Don't Bite Me Baby, I Got the Boom Boom in My Blood" and "My Baby Got the Boom Boom" and recorded on Boom Boom Castle Records. Member/label-runner Jesse Lortz went on to form The Dutchess and the Duke, a band I've never listened to because I confuse their name with The Bird and the Bee and who wants to listen to that shit?
(The FFFFs also have a song called "Fuck New Wave." Who records a song called "Fuck New Wave" in 2006? That's like calling a track "You Know That Your Future is Still Ahead of You" and imploring people to vote for Thomas Dewey in the lyrics.)
If you're tempted to dismiss, from the title and from how everything's been sort of fuckety-fuckety around here for the past week, "Boom Boom" as simple shorthand for sex, you're wrong. It's more than banging bodies or pounding pulses or a blunt call for traumatic stimulation. Boom Boom is that ethereal something-something that makes all existence worth its bother, the unspoken kinetic connection to all beings and forces in the universe that makes you simultaneously aware of your biology and able to transcend its limitations. Boom Boom has given rise to great cultures and laid waste to others, it has added voice to great works of art and rendered false fictions mute. Moses brought the Boom Boom down, Byron whipped it out between thunderclaps, the Little Rock Nine took it to school. Boom Boom is in you, it is you, it's bigger than you, it's less than 140 characters but it's too long to Twitter.
Bob Log III - Bump Pow! Bump Bump Bump Pow! Bump Pow! Bump Bump Bump Baby! Bump Pow! Bump Bump Bump Pow! Bump Pow! Bump Bump Bump (mp3)(buy)
I guess so!
Anyway, I have not seen the new Transformers film. But I was woken this morning by a gang of (no doubt) well-meaning, hard-working men in the employ of the landscaping industry who were using what little available light existed at that hour to assemble such machinery underneath my windowsill that, when activated, created a motorized din of steel-on-pavement which resembled nothing so much as the scream of ten thousand innocents who had, after having lost their tongues at the hands of the Spanish Inquisition, been loaded on to transport vehicles and driven into a metal/meatgrinder. The excitement of the fuel and overheated parts didn't create an odor so much as the feeling that a pair of garden hoses had been thrust up each of my nostrils with a slight vacuum and an overfilled gas tank and a mad man with a matchbook at the other end of the tubes. I am in wonder at the human body and the vast multitude of ways it has to eject unpleasantness. I did not know my hair could scream! Or that my urethra could cry!
So I figure I pretty much have seen the new Transformers film.