DUF DAVIS + THE BOOK CLUB
And now: Brent Paris, former avant-slacker, college DJ host of "Who Wants to Hear That Crap You’re Playing on the Radio?", band booker for Floppin’ at Freddies and webmaster for the Elmer school system, opines web-wise on the avant garde dance stylings of Duf Davis and the Book Club:
Here we are, it’s time for us alumni from years past to come forth from our trailer parks (where we live now -- maybe before we had houses, but that was before divorce number two, dammit dammit dammit) and return here to recall our glory days when we thought we were important because we were on the radio -- some of us have gotten older, a little grayer, had a kid or two, had a lapdance or two, had a failed IPO or two... But just because we’re lagging a bit behind all you rich c***s doesn’t mean we don’t appreciate a song from today that speaks to us. Like the music of Duf Davis. (Somehow I’m supposed to segue from my fifteenth high school reunion dinner speech I was supposed to give last week to a website note for this music guy. I didn’t get to give my dinner speech because my buddy’s Explorer got a flat while we were going back to the reunion from the Showgirls Lounge in Camden, only $50 an hour for the Cheese Ball Special, so I’m gonna work my talk into these web notes, sonofabitch).
Anyway, to us, the big thing is talking about the music we all thought was important. Let’s face it, it’s the music of the 7-tease and eighties that formed our culture -- and of course, everything you hear when you’re sixteen always sounds good to you, and everything that comes after is just ugly noise by a bunch a no talents, just like those hippies said about our era’s vastly superior musical offerings. Like they know, listening to those three-minute wankfests that fade just when you’re waiting for something good to happen, like a buttkicking marathon drum solo, goes on all day, like Iron Butterfly. But face it, how can all that stuff on the radio or mp3 or farmboy.oww today compare with the touchstones of our generation -- Kajagoogoo? Wang Chung? Styx? Trapeze? Locomotiv GT? A-ha? Molly Hatchet? Savoy Brown? Mister Mister? Peter Schilling? The Other Ones? Tim Moore? Mark Almond? Jesus Jones? Toni Basil? The Plasmatics?
But none of this really explains Duf Davis. All the websites like garbageband.cum demand you compare yourself with other artists so people know what you sound like. My boom box back in the trailer is broke, so I haven’t listened to much lately so’s I can compare, but here goes.
Duf In Concert (L to R): DUFFREY TAZELAAR & TIM KORZUN
John & Peter's, New Hope, PA 1999
Imagine the emotional power of Nick Drake, the DIY energy of Ani Di Franco, the dulcet baritone of Ian Anderson, the adventurous tunings of Joni Mitchell, the junkyard orchestral textures of Tom Waits, the powerpop left turns of Dave Edmunds, the ska madness of Madness, the attitude of Eminem, the vocal gymnastics of Kate Bush. Can you imagine all that? You can? Well ain’t that nice, good for you, chucklebutt, just ‘cos you can afford to buy some records, and even own something to play them on, you know what these people sound like, and we bow at your feet in awe and praise. Whoopdefuggin’ doo.
Well, maybe I don’t know. Maybe some of us didn’t get into that final circle on the Regis show, or date a Scores girl. Maybe some of us did one mouse click too many with Mom’s mutual fund money on E-trade. Maybe some of us are trying to duck the sheriff when he comes around the trailer park at dawn, hiding behind the neighbor’s new gas grill, looking for me to cough up my second wife’s support check, which I’m always happy to do. Not!!! Or my new girlfriend telling me to empty out the Self-Storage bin of my old LPs so she can stash useless crap like her furniture in there while she tries to land a new apartment, like I need reminding the turntable’s busted so they’re utterly useless except if I sell them to those balding SUV-dwelling maroons who think surface noise and non-fill and worn-needle mistracking equals perfect sound forever. Yeah, like hello Earth, fer crissakes. I say to her, forget that, stay here, sure it’s a trailer, but the plumbing works, I tapped into the cable TV line for free, so she can watch that Lifetime stuff, and on nice days you don’t hear the hum from the power lines that much, plus there’s less cargo air traffic over our heads flying out of McGuire on the weekends when we’re not working. Beats trying to deal with the Nosy Parker neighbors and their stupid "you can’t have blue drapes in your window" condo association rules and their nasty-ass pitbulls or whatever.
That’s how it is for us music wise. Easy for you to rip things off the net with your Rio. Easy for you to use the CD duper there in your laptop. Me, I gotta beg and plead for Vern next door to lend me one a his damn discs, just for a friggin’ hour, which he doesn’t wanna do because he knows I wanna tape it, so I only get to play it once, but I have a cassette ready to go in the player anyway when he finally lets it loose, I start recording before he flips the disc in. Of course I only get the first 45 minutes or so of the disc, then the tape runs out, and I miss whatever song is playing while I flip the tape over, provided he’s not watching me when I’m doing that. If he is, he won’t let me back it up and start over, I don’t get the rest, which really sucks if I’m into the song that runs out at the end of the tape side.
Yeah, that must be the life, being able to make your own records, which this Duf Davis does. I guess that’s all I have to say about this Duf Davis guy. Check him out. I actually got a tape of one of his discs from Vern. (Yeah like I got any scratch handy to buy one for myself. Shut up).
Duf's CD Page for album information - album cover jpg's and reviews
DUF on MP3.com/DufDavis for instant RealAudio and MP3 downloads of 8 BookClub tracks including unreleased and alternate recordings. Site changes semi annually, unless there's a delay.
To BREETLES home page because I did Duf's web work and because I SAY SO! -signed Breet.
send email to Duf Davis or Don't, see if he
cares.
28 March, 2000 - Date this stupid page was last updated