The Smush Newsletter, August 29th, 2001 Contact: oskillator@hotmail.com Home: http://www.mindspring.com/~pfister_/smush/ Table of Contents: 1. Intro ............................. 17 2. Classics .......................... 33 3. You Are The Perfect Slug .......... 77 4. Little Heads ...................... 84 5. Absence Makes The Heart Go Fonda .. 117 INTRO ----- First of all, I must apologise for the delay in sending out the latest smush newsletter. Grief over the death of our good friend R.F. suddenly overcame me two weeks ago, and as a result, our new album was delayed. Also, Rubbahead won a vacation to Hawaii. We're still writing music, but the new album will probably be delayed, because I'm too grief-stricken and Rubbahead is too exhausted from jet lag. Also apparently one of the conditions of the vacation was that he spend twelve hours a day picking bananas. That didn't really help, nor did the forty pounds of Leis that the native Hawaiians made him wear. Luckily, a pair of Smush fans saw him sweating away and they smuggled him out of Hawaii... he is now a fugitive from justice, but at least we know that there are actual Smush fans in the world. CLASSICS -------- These Smush songs have been around for a while, but they've aged like fine grapes, and are well worth listening to. MTJ - Rubbahead went through about a week in which he worshipped the band Less Than Jake. I don't know if he thinks they're cute or what -- they do have a certain Scooby-Doo appeal. But their music reeks! I listened to a song by them, and what the hell, it was just ska! Ordinary, regular old ska music! Admittedly it did have that unusual accent on beats 2 and 4 that Rubbahead had never noticed in ska before, but. I decided it all had to end, and so wrote a song that was worth more than all of More Than Jake's entire catalog put together. It features the One True Time signature of 63/48, which is infinitely better than the awkward-sounding 4/4 that Less Than Jake can't seem to get away from. In fact, I challenged Less Than Smush to write a song that would make their entire discography have more artistic value than MTJ, on the Rhode-Schwartz scale, but they have yet to respond. Pussies. SCT - This song was composed and recorded in a copper Room we had imported from Scotland quite a while ago. Unfortunately, by the time it had made the trip overseas, it had already tarnished! You can hear a definite "green" influence on this song. So that makes it kind of Irish, even though the song is about Scotland. Unless you're a Protestant, in which case the copper tarnished to an orangish color that wouldn't trigger an offense of your moral, ethical, or religious sensibilities in any way whatsoever. We also made it a point to only allow Scotch people to set up patches on our synthesizers, which explains why some of the sounds are so thin: all the good Scotch synth programmers went home in 1982 to fight the Scotch-European war! FUM - I just rediscovered this sublime example of dadaist production techniques while grievously opening random mp3s on our hard drive. This is usually a fruitless task, because I usually open an mp3 encoding of one of tracks 7 through 97 of Nine Inch Nails' "Broken". This song, though... it's pure genius. The vocals and chime lines double and triple back on themselves like a Klein bottle, and the Acid line adds a bizarre 80s sound, hearkening back to the days when just about every techno track had a TB-303 style sound in it. The ending is possibly the most perfect of any piece of music under three minutes long that I've ever heard. Much less written. I rule. YOU ARE THE PERFECT SLUG ------------------------ Development on the new album is proceeding at a rapid pace. Rubbahead is going to be doing the cover art next week. (HINT HINT, RUBBAHEAD). And then it must be approved by the publisher. And that'll be all she wrote about that topic. LITTLE HEADS? ------------- Rubbahead called me up long distance to tell me about a relationship that he is developing with a sultry Hawaiian temptress. Rubba: I met this really cute girl last night. Lemon: Oh yeah? I spent the night grieving for our lost friend, R.F. Rubba: Yeah, too bad about him. Anyways, she's really cute. She's 21, and she has this daughter, and she's also really cute. The daughter is cute too Lemon: I'm so drunk. Rubba: But she told me last night that she doesn't like me in that way. Lemon: What way? Rubba: The way that would allow me to have sex with her. Lemon: Oh. Right, she's probably going to hook up with an alcoholic. Rubba: Ell Oh Ell. Lemon: And then call you to complain about her lousy boyfriend. Rubba: What lousy boyfriend? Lemon: Women always go for alcoholics, because they apparently have a need to be hurt. I see it all the time. Rubba: What lousy boyfriend? Lemon: The one she's going to hook up with. Rubba: Oh, are we still talking about that? Lemon: Yeah. Rubba: Anyways, she's really cute. And her daughter is cute too. Lemon: How old is the daughter? Rubba: She's four. Lemon: She's too young for you. Rubba: What? Lemon: The daughter is too young for you. And the mom only likes alcoholics, so I guess you're screwed. Rubba: Maybe I'll start drinking. ABSENCE MAKES THE HEART GO FONDA -------------------------------- And with that, we bid you Goodbye, Farewell, Auf Weiderschlager, Adieu. To you, and you, and you and you and you. We hope to speak with your all again some day. Into the future, we point with arms outstretched, indulging in hyperbole of the worst kind as we roll down the primrose hill that leads to self-devastation. Great googly moogly.