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Wednesday Wadio: Kate Bush’s King Of The Mountain.


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Opening with mysterious panning pulses and the whistling of wind, the song gradually swells into a climax of guitars, crashing drums and spookily layered vocals. As comebacks go, they don’t get much better than this. – Virgin

When I heard Kate Bush was making her unlikely comeback, I decided I should put her 1978 classic Wuthering Heights up on Radio Pye. WH is based on Emily Bronte’s book of the same name, and has long been an obsession of Bush’s. The tune took the scene by storm, and although it confused the heck out of a lot of people, it stayed at #1 in the UK for a month that year. Bush went on to record with Peter Gabriel, release a good album every few years until 1993 – and then go absolutely stark raving mad before disappearing into the desolate English countryside.

Earlier this year she spent 2.5 million pounds on an estate near the setting of the 158 year old novel, and registered herself to vote in the county under the name Catherine Earnshaw – which just happens to be the name of Wuthering Heights’ heroine. But she’s back, and I’m pumped and I want to share. And, no, her new album isn’t entitled “Mad as a Box of Frogs”.

The first thing about Kate Bush is her voice. If you hate her, that’s probably why. It’s childish and prickly, and she sweeps through her four-octave range with all the inhibition of someone taking a shower in an empty house, seemingly oblivious to the fingernails-on-chalkboard effect a voice like that can have. – Salon

See what you think of King of the Mountain. If you like it, try Wuthering Heights, Running Up That Hill and Babooshka. And maybe don’t try moving onto a remote moor and spending all your time reading the Bronte sisters and sculpting whilst wearing leotards. Or do – you know what? It’s almost Thanksgiving. Let’s all get a little nuts this weekend, hah?

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I Wish My Building Would Fuck Off.


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We’ve been in the midst of a monsoon here in Boston for the past 24 hours or so, and it’s quite miserable to say the least. I’ve just heard from a building-mate that the roof in her bedroom is leaking like a seive – so we can add that to the list of decrepitude that has taken place since I took over managerial duties. Let’s recap, shall I? Fine then:

1. Two windows were broken by people moving out just prior to my tenure.
2. A sink fell off one of the walls.
3. Two medicine cabinets had to be replaced.
4. The front door lock was destroyed by a burgular/drunk.
5. The fire-escape broke and had to be painted.
6. The roofdeck had to be stained.
7. The washer and dryer broke down.
8. My inebriated, keyless roomate destroyed our front door.
9. The fire alarm malfunctioned.
10. The exterior light stopped working.
11. The roof is leaking.

Am I forgetting anything? Probably. It’s just dumb luck, as it’s a great little building. But I wonder why it has waited until my reign of terror to begin falling apart. Does it think I have more empathy than Seamus? No replicants have moved in to date, so I guess it can’t be all that run down just yet. All those… repairs will be made. Like tears in rain.

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Polly Wanna Open The Bomb Bay Doors?


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As I strolled through Government Center this morning, my head its usual jumble of stresses and tasks for the imminent workday, being shat upon by a seagull was the last thing in the mental pipeline. It wasn’t the first time this has happened – once as a child I was visiting an amusement park near Toronto when one of the winged bastards managed to get a cluster bomb right in my bag of cheesies. What are the chances?

What, indeed. When I got to work, looking like one of the paint covered crooks from Home Alone, I met with some reassuring words from one of my coworkers. “It’s good luck when a bird shits on you,” he said. “Think about the accuracy that takes. You couldn’t do that if you tried.” Well, the last time I tried I got arrested for a hate crime. So don’t hold your breath for that to happen again anytime soon. At least not while charges are still pending. But anyway, he’s right.

The angle, velocity, windspeed, etc. would all have to be perfect. A pidgeon dropping a white, watery grumpy on me from 10 feet in the air is akin to Luke getting two proton torpedos into the Death Star’s exhaust shaft. The assault didn’t worsen my mood though, it actually improved it. All my other worries melted away as I started to giggle at the silliness of it all. Luck, fortune and avian feces. Great shot, Polly – that was one in a million.

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Wednesday Wadio: Goonies ‘R’ Good Enough.


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“Don’t you realize? The next time you see sky, it’ll be over another town. The next time you take a test, it’ll be in some other school. Our parents, they want the best of stuff for us. But right now, they got to do what’s right for them. Because it’s their time. Their time! Up there! Down here, it’s our time. It’s our time down here. That’s all over the second we ride up Troy’s bucket.” – Mikey

The video for this song is emblazoned on my memory like a makeshift coathanger cattle brand. Cyndi Lauper and the child cast of 1985’s The Goonies run around various sets from the film whilst being pursued by professional wrestlers of the day. Steven Spielberg’s mullet makes an appearence. The octopus (which was cut from the final print of the film) dances along to the breathtakingly strange accompanying song. As I was very in to giant squids, Rowdy Roddy Piper and The Goonies that year, I sat glued to my favorite Canadian video show every night religiously after school hoping for a Goonie-glimpse.

On the eve of the film’s 20th anniversary, and a possible sequel in the works, I thought I’d add this strange-but-catchy little tune to Radio Pye. Forget Time After Time and Girls Just Wanna Have Fun – this is Cyndi’s best work, and the only video she ever made in which that most creepy boyfriend of hers did not also appear. Whoops, I spoke too soon. Upon review it looks like he played the right honorable Captain Lou Albano’s flunkie. Maybe that trusty cattlebrand needs to be reheated.

“During the scene where the boys are sitting in the living room watching MTV, they were not actually watching the Cyndi Lauper “Good Enough” video, which was to be developed six months after filming wrapped up.” – IMDB

Peaking at #10 on the Billboard charts, Goonies ‘R’ Good Enough was shat out by popular culture almost as quickly as it appeared. The cult following of the film cannot be denied, and recently New Found Glory covered the tune on a compilation called “From Your Screen to Your Stereo”. Quintessential 80s synth handclaps, xylophones and Cyndi’s harpy-like voice combine and draw off elements of the film’s original score to create a passable musical tie-in. And when I say passable, I of course mean awesome.

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Trolling For Testimonials Two.


in Pye in the Face

It’s been about 6 months since I added the funny little testimonial section you’ll see over to the left there. Every time the page refreshes, a new quote is displayed from a list of about 15 which were submitted at the inception. They’re getting a bit old. A bit long in the tooth. A wee bit stale. If you’re looking for a little interactivity today, email me a testimonial or leave one in the comments for me to add to the fray. I’m not fussy, but the funnier the better. Thy will be done.

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The Bag Is Out For The Cat.


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I maintain that cats are brighter than dogs – because coming on command does not a smart animal make. Those dense, hairy little canine buggers would jump off of a building if they were told to follow a tasty snausage over the side, wheras a cat would stop dead in its tracks and wonder what the heck you’d been smoking. I don’t think obedience equates to superior intelligence. I like the fact that my domesticated house pet of choice has his own agenda, and doesn’t jump on me, drooling like Sloth every time I walk in the door. I like the fact that I can leave him alone for a weekend and not come home to an apartment that looks like it was broken into by incontinent gorillas.

When I got home tonight, however, Boss put on a show that ranks him right up there with the deer tick in terms of intelligence. I bought a new winter coat on Saturday afternoon, and it’s a big ‘un. The white plastic bag that I brought it home in is ginormous as well and Boss was curled up inside of it just as comfy as can be. I sat down and started watching the news, and he poked his head up to look over at the TV. That was when I noticed he had one of the handles wrapped snug around his neck. I made a mental note that when he tried to get up I’d lean over and remove it – thereby escaping a tragic garroting at the hands of the spiral staircase.

When he finally got up, he got up fast – suddenly realizing he was supposed to be in my bedroom for some life and death situation as cats are known to do. The bag followed him whipping back and forth and making a heck of a racket. Before I could grab him he was off the couch with the enormous bag tagging along above and behind him like a raincloud with a vendetta. He became absolutely terrified, and ripped around the kitchen and living room at a speed I’ve never seen, desperately trying to escape his cheap plastic pursuer. I nearly doubled over laughing as words cannot really describe how ridiculous it looked, but then he headed for the stairs and I snapped back to attention as my spidey senses began to tingle.

By the time I got down to the lower level, he’d successfully gotten away from his nemesis and was looking up at me from the middle of my bedroom floor, chest pumping and eyes wide with kitty shock and awe. The bag lay a few feet away, hung up on the last step. He quickly turned his attention back to it – I assume anticipating yet another attack. That was 4 hours ago, and he’s still there staring at the bag as I type. It’s a Filene’s Basement Bag Standoff, and I truly hope it’s over by morning as I’d like to use it to take my gym clothes to work. Godspeed. You show that bastard bag who’s boss, Boss.

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I Sincerely Like The AHL Hockey.


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Site favorite Detroit Velvet Smooth works for the Lowell Lock Monsters as an off-ice official, and he’s invited me several times to accompany him to a game. I finally tagged along last night, and I have to say – AHL hockey is considerably more enjoyable than its older brother. I may be hooked.

I will be going to the Monsters’ game a week from today to continue my new obsession. It’s healthier than niche German pornography, anyway. Let me know if you’d like to accompany us.

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Arrested Development Guilty On All Counts.


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That’s right. It’s guilty of being original. It’s guilty of being hilarious. It’s guilty of being a fucking milestone – and today – it’s also guilty of being cancelled.

Bateman will now be able to join the support group for “brilliant shows which were axed by stiff suits before their time”. Colin Quinn and Chris Elliott are bringing the donuts and coffee this week, while Peter Griffin moderates via satellite from the Drunken Clam.

Other tragedies include: The Tick, Freaks and Geeks, Sports Night, Firefly, NewsRadio and, of course, Mr. Show. Where is Susan Powter when you need her? Cancelled, I’d assume.

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In Flander’s Fields The Poppies Blow.


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Please read the poem you see below, and then this accompanying article on the poem’s history and author Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae.

IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

In Canada, you used to learn this poem in the 2nd grade or so. You would memorize it and recite it every November 11th with your classmates – I remember saying it out loud in a gym once with every other kid at my school at an entire assembly devoted to Remembrance Day. We’d all be given poppies, in keeping with the poem, which we would wear on our little lapels for the entire day – and usually for a few before and after. Veterans would come and speak to us, and most kids were well versed on the major wars before they were old enough to fully appreciate G.I. Joe. Although I cut and paste it into this page, I could have still typed it out from memory. And it gets me every time.

I say ‘used to’ because the current Canadian climate is not really conducive to mentioning war, or the soldiers who fight them, in any sort of favorable light. It’s probably been stricken from most curriculums in favor of repeated viewings of Ellen. Regardless, I wanted to share Flanders Fields with my American friends who have likely never heard of it – and say a sincere personal thank you to all those who have fought and died so far from home over the last hundred years. See another tribute over at GoonBlog.

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Almost Frat Pack Photoshop Famous.


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You may remember my half-hearted post from a few weeks back – when bored and starved for material I spent 15 minutes Photoshopping a “Frat Pack” image. This combined an original photograph of the Rat Pack performing at the Sands in the early 60’s with the heads of our beloved modern day dummies. I also mentioned a site which was thoroughly devoted to the Wilsons, Ferrell, Vaughn, Black and Stiller – and gave him a little kudos for his efforts.

Well apparently – it’s turned into a circle jerk. My silly little collage is now featured front and center on his very popular site. I first noticed this when I saw the abundance of traffic coming through from that domain. He even mentions Pye In The Face in his latest Podcast which, if you’re a fan of the boys, I highly reccomend. Thanks for the hat tip, Kevin – and keep up the good work.

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Wednesday Wadio: Luna’s "City Kitty".


in Wednesday Wadio

City Kitty reels with befuddled disgust, shot through with a clammy sci-fi movie organ and the rattle of screwdrivers on fretboards — until the strings start soaring above a bridge which is one part Ennio Morricone, one part Glen Campbell. “Slinky and winky, stinky and drinky.” – TeenBeat

Hi everybody! This is Nate, guest-blogging because my esteemed roommate is off making a hamhock sandwich. He LOOOOVES his pork. But at the end of the day, who doesn’t want to tuck in to some salty hog? Here’s the deal: there are 3 kinds of people I hate:

  1. People with oversized umbrellas that are the width of the sidewalk because they are so fat they need them to stay dry (it’s called a tarp – get one).
  2. People who don’t look forward in an elevator because they are checking out my enormous cock.
  3. People who don’t like Luna.

More specifically, their best song – City Kitty. A song of mystery and mystique. A song of black-eyed susans and chilled potatoes. A song of triumph and adversity. It’s a song I have been screaming for them to sing for the 13+ years I’ve been going to see them, to which they consistenly reply: “fuck off, Nate.” Real funny, jerk-offs. It’s a song I have only heard once in concert, and that’s because they were drunk one night and tried to appease me. But they gave up. Unlike this song, they were weak. They did not try to persevere.

The song is about positivity. About achieving one’s goals. About heading into the realm of the unknown. Okay, fine. It’s a song about drugs. And I’m drunker than a poet on payday. Enjoy, and stop checking out my package, perverts.

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A Wee Bit Sick. But You Knew That.


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Once a winter I get sick. As far as I am concerned, the sooner the better – last Christmas I drove from Boston to Kingston and then Toronto whilst delerious. So I wasn’t totally disappointed this morning when I woke up feeling like a Tombstone lunger. So I’ll sit here in front of the TV, with a laptop in my… lap, just like the good old days when I worked from home everyday as an editor. Consciousness – coffee – Columbo. Day after day after day. Rise and shine, imbibe caffeine and then religiously watch a 30-year-old police show everyday before starting my first keystroke of work.

Do I miss that? Kinda. But I also had to eat dog food back then. So I’m just fine with the whole rat race thing.

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Why Didn’t Anyone Tell Me How Funny Arrested Development Is?


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Tobias Fünke: O-kay, who’d like a banger in the mouth? [laughs] Right, I forgot, here in the States, you call it a *sausage* in the mouth.
Michael: We just call it a sausage.

Good lord. If you haven’t seen this show yet, tune in Monday nights at 8pm on Fox. I’d heard things, sure, but this is quality stuff. David Cross, Martin Short and even frigging Dave Thomas is in it too. I am hooked after about 20 minutes, and this exercise started as little more than a way to kill time before the Patriots game. I don’t know that much about the show, other than it’s really creative, unique – and seems to feature a lot of guest stars.

One thing I do remember, is that a’ la Family Guy – the show was cancelled and then brought back to life after grass roots, obsessive and downright creepy support from legions of fans Fox didn’t know existed until after the fact. It’s a shame the same couldn’t be said for Get A Life.

Tennessee. Tennessee. Tennessee. Just joshin’.

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