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Friday, October 8, 2010

Listen To This While High: 'Android,' by Sacto Proto-Punkers Ozzie

Posted By on Fri, Oct 8, 2010 at 2:29 PM

click to enlarge 551px_Potleaf_thumb_250x271.jpg
Given numerous (and proliferating) testimonials to cannabis use in its lyrics, it may be safely ventured at this late hour that rock music and marijuana go together like jazz and teacup gin. Racks of rock LPs, even entire sub-genres of the music, reach the ears already reeking of the devil's weed, and a purist's temptation to follow suit is nigh irresistible. Since staggeringly strong dank is readily available and a high-speed Internet connection makes every laptop a potential Mighty Wurlitzer, it's worth any doper's while to lower a resin-crusty critical bucket into the blogged MP3 stream for suitable musical accompaniment for getting ripped to the tits.

Listen to this while high: "Android Love," a juicy 1977 single from Sacramento proto-punx Ozzie posted on Altered Zones.

Recommended strain: A single face-empurpling hit of Lavender Kush, a skull-busting booj I'd picked up on an unfashionable stretch of L.A.'s Melrose Ave

Behind the buzz: Though the well-written original post namechecks Sparks and Captain Beefheart, it seems plain this wedge of reconditioned freakbeat owes as much to first-wave crunk-rockers like The 13th Floor Elevators, The Standells, and the Jeff Beck-era Yardbirds. These original psychedelic nuggets were not only among the first rock music made by dope-suckers for dope-suckers, but also exerted -- in the form of the bestselling 1973 Nuggets comp -- a decisive influence on what would become punk rock. Ozzie, a doomed and dead-game parcel of underground Sacto-brats, would thrive locally for a while in the Seventies and vanish by 1981.



The point you know you're high: You notice you're pogoing around the room.

Psychoactive verdict: In the best sense of the word, sick. This exhumed joint goes off with the perfect balance of hard-charging brio and breathy cockblocked urgency entirely fitting for the story of love with a metal-and-velvet girl, a literal bombshell with "a nuclear blast in a cellophane shell." The snaky bass line, choppy drumming and claustrophobically chugging guitars give an impression of unbearable lust to shove The Buzzcocks' "Why Can't I Touch It?" into the cheap seats with the masturbators. Enough unrealized hit potential to land it at Number 13 with a bullet in some long-gone alt-America where Philip K. Dick served three terms as president.



The point you wish you were higher: When you knock a framed Stanley Mouse vintage poster off the wall after your forehead's unplanned contact.

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Ron Garmon

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