(Album Review) Vagabonds Of The Western World-Thin Lizzy

Those Who are used to the twin guitar harmony attack of the latter day Lizzy may at first be taken aback by the heavy/blues Funk punk of this record, but within seconds that impression is smashed to pieces by the sheer FORCE of this Trio.the guitar shredding is fierce, Phil is truly coming into his own as a back alley Dylan, spinning tales of lost love and earthly woe while beating on the bass like it owes him money. all the while Eric Bell, a insanely underrated guitarist, plays like James Williamson's older, more academic brother. Brian Downey on the drums makes orchestras weep with his syncopation and downtown bucket drummers nod, assured at his soul.

This was the last record The Original Thin Lizzy would record before Eric Bell left for grayer pastures and they filed out there now etched in eternity twin guitar sound. this is the other Thin Lizzy record everyone must own (Jailbreak is no 1, Natch) from the 70s aerospace acid leftovers cover to the remarkably full, rich production, to the soothing rasp and scowl on Phils voice, to the so fucking good it should be fattening Guitar owning Of bell, if your not full on BLASTING this record (deluxe edition is on spotify kids, and blue tooth speakers are cheaper then ever) check yourself into the morgue, your brain and heart and soul is dead.

-Lou Toad

The Low City Bar (Poetry) By Lou Toad

Telecommunication

A trans-literal

Disambiguation

A translation

From train station

To fornication

Under stars

lit by the scars

you won at the low city bar

In a scrap

with some sorry sap

who cut you good

the blood came instantly

and kept coming too

the juice that produced you

  that you never knew 

could be so beautiful

like gold in a silkscreen sky

it hypnotized you red

as it dripped onto the dirty barroom floor.

A brawl

in which you scrawled

altering the ending

to declare yourself the winner

and in many ways you were

it gave you glowing scars 

and something to write

and it felt right

to keep drinking that night

so the sordid story goes on

a bleached reach for the center

of your imbalance

a charismatic and tragic accident

of natures darling boy

who escorted you across Satan's seven rooms

to a new prince of high noon projected on the moon

and in you astro-cinephile eyes

you cried

for the guns to carry more backstory

in there chambers

filled with strangers

who relieved themselves in urinals shining like glass

while you ate your last gasp 

as the fight ended at the sight of

credits rolling

then it was time

to smoke another dime

with Khmer cats

that react to spazzed out reflections 

written on old brown grocery bags

singed at each end by joint embers

and underground mags

with small circulation

but big ideas

Realized inside

and let out to play

it's a sun shinin' day

that repeals the first sleepy steps of summer

another whiskey sour

at the low city bar

scraps of 50 year old newspaper stories

yellowed with sorry age and the irrelevance of gruesome years

signal me a frost giants daughter

i'll write a one act on the subject

of her slaughter at Odin's hands

due to increased demands for her circus meat body

to be ground into burger for another vegetable free meal.

somnambulists steal

my waking nightmares

and I claim they hassle me 

like a true gentleman

because I know its only a fucking dream.

this reality

so calm

so carefree

so relentless

in its insistence

that I write another line

hippie punks on fire

with coagulated eyes

greasepaint smearing

the heat from there faces

and replacing it with cold vengeance

talked up like a fighting fish

restricted by wire fence 

and wedding bells

from selling its shoes

useless to a fish but essential to a man

the elongated strips of withering beauty

fall with no grace

from the body of the beloved

when she renders herself obsolete

thus complete in the mirror vision of a storm

indignant world just beyond the reach of our sex crazed eyes.

-Lou Toad 2011

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Movie Review: Bad Ronald 1974 (TV)

       The TV movie, especially in the realm of horror, is usually derided. saying a horror film gave off the feeling of a "TV movie" is almost always meant as a knock on its quality, or to denote how uninteresting the flick is. 

Within televisions strict frameworks however, lie some real gems. case in point: 1974's Bad Ronald.

Bad Ronald Tells the Tale of Ronald Wilby (Scott Jacoby, who reminds me of a proto Billy Jane of bloody birthday and Parker Lewis fame) a troubled teen writing a fantasy novel. his mother buys him some paint supplies so that he can draw some pictures to accompany the novel, which involved a prince and princess. Ronald's an awkward kid, and because this is the 70's he doesn't have any like minded individuals to share his obsessions with. he must contend with his mother, who is convinced that her son is a genius, who will one day make a great doctor. she refuses to get medical attention until Ronald becomes a doctor, so he can perform the operation she needs.

Things take a bad turn when Ronald's temper gets the better of him and he pushes a younger girl over in a yard. she hits her head on a concrete block and its goodnight nurse for her. Rather than go to the authorities Ronald opts to bury her. when his overbearing mother hears this, she reacts in the best way she knows how-lock Ronald in a secret room behind a wall and tell the police he ran away. the mother soon dies, leaving Ronald alone in the house with a new family, his sanity at this point slips, as he works on his fantasy novel and accompanying drawings, he loses touch more and more with reality, thinking himself to be the prince of his tale, and making eyes at the new tenants daughter for his princess....

Bad Ronald is shot with an understated yet cinematic quality, even though destined for the small screen, it proved small scale stories like this could still be photographed artfully. The drawings shown throughout are a cheap but effective mood enhancer and inspired art direction. based on a novel by Jack Vance, known for his science fiction and fantasy novels such as the demon princes series. at a brisk 70 minutes there is never a dull moment to be had, a perfect rainy Sunday night flick. Available as a MOD disc from Warner Archive

-Lou Toad 

Welcome To Discarded I's!

Hello,

Lou Toad here. I wanna welcome you to Discarded I's.