Listen, before you go any further, you should know that Tales of the Birdman is intended for mature audiences only. The views expressed within do not reflect the views of WordPress, Shiny Red Nothing, or myself. Read at your own risk and enjoy. Life’s too short to be offended.
Tales Of The Birdman by Wayne Bird
I: Keeping Our Vices Warm
3.5: Wayne Bird’s Top Five Favorite Things About Two Thousand Five, In Descending Order, Partially Related To Music, But Not Limited To Music
Hello, Folks, I’m Wayne Bird, and this is this year’s edition, the very first of a long line of editions, of Wayne Bird’s Top Five Favorite Things About Two Thousand Five, In Descending Order, Partially Relating To Music, But Not Limited To Music, with the other editions to be about the years, as they come in numerical order, until I am dead or rendered useless by some means or distraction or with the possibility of means of distraction.
5. Coffee Plus Marijuana: Try this when classes start again- as soon as you get home from school, smoke a bowl and drink four cups of coffee. Keep the coffee and homework coming. You will be a goddamn machine. Oh, but this is imperative: LEAVE YOUR HOUSE. Go to a coffee house or Starbucks or something. Trust me. Leave your house.
4. I See Sound: This is not that Blatant Self Promotion bullshit. Fuck that. And fuck that Bootsy Collins song (though, in truth, I do Fear Da Tiger personally and deeply). What I’m talking about is good music, important music writing, and even better photography- led by a dedicated staff of goofballs, gossippers, elitists, and Dale, a self described Pirate King, who, honestly, treats me like shit. Hey, when am I gonna get paid for this?
3. Rock N’ Roll: Oh, man. The top three are so close together that I can hardly tell them apart. I have considered, instead of numbering them: 3, 2, 1, numbering them: 1, 1, 1, but I felt that would do you a disservice (“You” meaning “Dale”). But Rock N’ Roll. It’s here to stay I think. It’s even here in our little hometown. Did anyone else see Dead Flowers open up for Psychic Ills and Blood On The Wall at Southgate House? What a show. DF is weird. There singer is dimutive and looks like a boy in jeans and t-shirt and boy’s haircut. She growls and wails into the microphone while the band soldiers around Fallish territory. Loud And Crazy Punk. That’s what I’m going to call it. The bass player was decked out in a polyester green thrift store tuxedo and played melodic bass that lost against the guitar, but always sounded melodic and badass on it’s own. The keyboard player looked straight from a french movie, bob haircut, thrift store wedding dress, sex kitten boots to her knees: ambient synth, catchy melodies, and drone-alongs coming from her drunk little fingers. It was great, though, for all I know, 5 Songs By Dead Flowers may be impossible for you to find. Lucky for you, Dead Flowers lives here, in your backyard, and you can ask them for it when you see them. Tell Sarah Y I want her phone number.
2. March Of The Penguins: Who knew a movie about penguins walking around the ice to get laid could be so awesome? These penguins go through some tough shit, man. It’s fucking cold in Antartica. It’s like, colder than it is here even.
1. VD: Yes, I know it’s hard to believe, but VD really was my favorite thing about 2005. I know I’ve led you to believe differently, but the six months I had VD were not altogether unpleasant. Sometimes it was really nice. Of course, VD got around, and the repercussions of that are obvious. It’s a fact that somewhere, deep inside of me, I will always have VD.
Shiny Red Nothing 