Something 4 The Weekend # 250

Hank Mohaski:  Revolution & Pleasure:  "Malarky, Part Twelve"  [mp3]

I apologize for foisting another one of my tunes upon you so soon after the last time, but during last night's VP debate, Joe Biden used the word "malarky", which is my fourth favorite word (yes, I have a list), and I felt compelled to share this particular song, probably recorded in 1994 on my old Tascam 4-Track.  Because of the limitations of a cassette 4-track, I couldn't squeeze any bass on this song without making the entire thing sound like absolute shit.  You may think it still sounds like shit without the bass, but I like the song, and in general, I'm happy with this recording, despite the lack of bass.

Malarky man plays bomb scenarios of little one-act plays that blow up in his face.  Malarky man shows swingsets flat fall, and purple lips the size of throw pillows with sutured fringe that bled on Sundays.  Malarky man blows darts underground, planting them in the flesh of a rose named Dave.  Porcupine of horse he became, lost among the angels in the city of Los Angeles.  Malarky man made to find all the pockets of wants on the leathered daughter of a drunkstore mogul.  In cemeteries and dry bathtubs.  Alone, and amongst pimpled heathens of discovery.  Malarky man made to meditate on meant with nothing more than a blind eye for a brain, and a marmalade memory, now he cries for triggers soft and lame between missives from heaven that boom and smart 'scapes.  "Bunch of goddamned malarky" said the twisted, toothless old man.

Hotcha!  Hank

Something 4 The Weekend # 247

Hank Mohaski:  Revolution & Pleasure:  "A Star For Everyone"  [mp3]

Did you know I'm a songwriter and musician?  I am, though I'm a bit more idle these days because arthritis has started rearing it's ugly head in my fretting hand.  I started playing guitar around 1982 - barre chords, or "Sabbath chords", as my gang called 'em.  Brick, Smoothy and I had a primitive punk-metal band called The Nadz.  I don't remember much except that we thought we ruled when in fact we half-sucked.  Our songs were pretty solid, if simple, and they were often funny and gross, and sometimes scathing and political, but fuck if we could play our instruments or sing.  I remember a few song titles - "Free Cheese", "Your Dad Is A Fat Asshole, Kyle", "Night Of A Thousand Hobosexuals", and our theme song and title of our one and only album, recorded on a boombox in Brick's basement, "Go, Nadz, Go!"  We played about four house parties in our year+ of existence, and then fizzled out because we half-sucked and only about two people liked us.  I wish I had a copy of our that Go, Nadz, Go! tape, but maybe it's best that I don't.

Skip ahead, past Mumniti (another band for another post, perhaps), to 1994, and I'm living above a sandwich shop in downtown Grafton with two friends and our girlfriends.  It's an enormous 3 bedroom flat, with a living room that's about 20' x 35', and half of it is a 4-track recording space I've set up.  This was the DowntownLivingroomRecorder, from 1988 to 1997.

Revolution & Pleasure was a tape I released in 1995.  "A Star For Everyone" is the last song on the album, and in fact was the last song recorded for the album, around Thanksgiving of '94, as I recall.  I guess this is a pretty typical kind of song for me back then - heavy guitars, basic beats on a busted drum machine, and non-traditional (and often badly sung) vocals.  It might be worth noting that in this particular song, the solo you hear in the middle section is not a guitar, but me vocalizing through a wahwah pedal, trying to sound like a guitar.  I think it works.

Anyways, if you're interested in hearing more of my music, stuff that spans 1988 to 2004, check out this month's EVERYTHINGATHON! podcast, which is all about me and my songs.  18 songs, as a matter of fact.  Something for everyone, perhaps.

http://www.everythingathon.com/podcast.htm

Enjoy!

Hotcha!  Hank

Something 4 The Weekend # 200

Hank Mohaski: Moist & Tender Favorites: "Aberdeen" [mp3]

It was merely coincidence that I found myself in the Pacific Northwest a mere two months after Kurt Cobain blew his brains out in the greenhouse behind his Lake Washington home, but my stop in his hometown of Aberdeen was obviously no fluke.

I never fully adored Nirvana, though I did like and sometimes loved their music, but I was always fascinated by Cobain, the fellow left-handed guitar slinger whom I had held up for comparison to my own aspirations of rock stardom. In other words, Kurt Cobain had attained the life I had been dreaming of since I was 12 or 13, and more importantly, had essentially done it on his own terms, without compromising his artistic vision. The truth is - had I actually become a big rock star, it would have been with essentially the same kind of music Nirvana did - a heady mix of Punk and Metal, underpinned by a certain kind of pop song sensibility. I have several hundred 4-track tape masters dating back to 1986 that can attest to this fact.

At the time of his death, I would argue that I was a better guitarist than Cobain, and possibly a better lyricist, but in all other respects, he had me trumped - a better voice, better songs, better looks, better drugs, and more ambition. I always imagined in some alternate universe that I was the rockstar, the voice of my generation, while Alternakurt was the unknown slacker toiling away over his 4-track in permanent obscurity. This was my fascination and quasi-obsession with the man - the vagaries of success, and what it takes to become famous, that undefinable mix of talent and luck. And even more fascinating, the idea that Kurt Cobain had realized his dream, and then realized he didn't want any of it after all. In hindsight, I had decided it was for the best that I had remained a failure. I wasn't cut out for fame any more than he was.

Anyways, in the summer of 1994, I found myself in his hometown of Aberdeen, Washington, and quite simply, it was one of the saddest, ugliest towns I have ever seen with my own eyes. A poor, decrepit town nestled in a supremely beautiful landscape.

So, I wrote and recorded this song on my trusty old Tascam 4-track - a spoken word thing about entropy, decay, neglect, boredom and death. The quality of the recording isn't that great, and time hasn't been exactly kind to those old cassette masters, but I've come to think that it was one of those rare times when the execution of the song met my expectations.

And there you have it - the 200th installation of S4TW. Enjoy.

Kurt Cobain - rest in peace.

Hotcha! Hank

Something 4 The Weekend # 152

Hank Mohaski: Moist & Tender Favorites: "No Returns" [mp3]

I wrote and recorded this song exactly ten years ago today. How do I know this? Because despite the Psilocybin mushrooms I ingested that evening, which may very well have blurred my memory, it was my birthday. It's hard to forget one's birthday, even while under the influence of hallucinogens.

This song is called "No Returns". It's a play on the old playground saying "girl germs - no returns", but more to the point, it's meant to represent the forward movement of our lives, the idea that we cannot recapture the past. Thus, the sounds of kids playing, and underneath, the slow mechanical sounds of time forever moving forward.

On the surface, it may sound as if this song is nothing but 5 minutes of repetition, but if you listen closely, you will hear new instruments and new melodies continually being introduced to the song - the sounds of experiences constantly being acquired as we age. It may seem that we never really get anywhere in this life, but in reality, nothing ever quite stays the same.

So, here I am, ten years later, and at first glance it may seem that my life hasn't changed very much since then - I still live in the same house I did then, I still work at the same job, I still have the same two cats and many of the same friends - but in reality I've travelled in the past decade, I've made new friends and lost old friends. I've had alot of new experiences, I've shared my bed with new women, read new books, seen new movies, heard new music, written and recorded new songs. I've accumulated knowledge and forgotten other knowledge. Memories have slipped away, only to be replaced by others. In some respects, I'm still the same man I was in 2000, but in many other respects, that man is a stranger to me now. And so it goes...

Hotcha! Hank

The Ballad Of Ed McMahon

Hank Mohaski: Millions Sigh: "Call Me 'Mr. Second Hand' (The Ballad Of Ed McMahon)" [mp3]

I meant to post this Tuesday night, when Ed McMahon passed away, but I gotta be honest - I've been completely absorbed in The Wire. I've been watching the complete series on DVD, straight through, and Tuesday night? Let's see - I was probably somewhere in the middle of Season Three...

Anyways, I don't think I've ever posted any of my own music on HOT POOP...I'd have to check...I'm typically not one to self-promote too much...

This is a simple song I wrote and recorded to 4-track in one take with two microphones around 2002. It's a song about sidekicks, and how being second best, and knowing yr second best, can be a mighty sad place to be...It's not a great song by any means, but it's a song, innit? And it's relevant, right?

Rest In Peace, Mr. McMahon.

Hotcha! Hank