The Gerard Cosloy Radio Hour (That Feels Like Two Hours)

in honor of this program's 300th episode, several of my devoted listeners pooled together cash from their paper routes and lemonade stands to purchase congratulatory Cameo calls from persons commonly associated with the number 300.  Sadly, thespian powerhouse Gerard Butler (fig 1) turned down the gig saying he couldn't get into the character.  Widely decorated pro bowler and DX acolyte Pete Weber also blew us off, claiming the provided script was too sexually explicit.  If this wasn't discouraging enough, how fucking crazy it is that Cameo's Larry Graham isn't on Cameo?  AT LEAST THE CAKE WAS GREAT  and yeah, so is the program. 

Needles to say, I'm confused how an accredited fitness maven/administration simp like Triple H got cut out of the intense training session shown above, but OTOH the room doesn't look very big. Maybe your sweat lodge is more spacious, I really don't know. I had a bunch of good stories about Richard Simmons from my former lawyer, but I'm sworn to secrecy (mostly because I'd asked him to arrange a meeting with Russell Simmons and he misunderstood). I'm so happy with this week's episode, I thought about saving it for #300, but upon careful consideration it would be more appropriate and in the spirit of the show if the next one totally failed to live up to the advance hype. Save the date, etc.

good morning. I am sure you are all as mortified as I am by news reports of someone claiming to be a former member of Spacehog sending explicit, unsolicited pics of himself to persons who've mentioned Spacehog on their timelines.   For starters, just because there are very few people who know or care enough about Spacehog to do so does not make these actions any less disturbing.  Since our authorities are too consumed this morning with shutting down the airspace over El Paso, it's up to me to (heroically) sound-the-fucking-alarm.  If you or your loved ones are approached online by someone purporting to be a member of Spacehog, IT'S REALLY EASY TO GOOGLE THE REQUISITE INFORMATION.  Members of Spacehog included Royston Langdon, Antony Langdon, Jonny Cragg, Richard Steel and Robert Currie.  That's it. There are no other members of Spacehog.  If they are really a former member of Spacehog, they'll either have a blue check mark next to their name or they're wearing a crown.  It cannot be that hard to figure out. 

Last Friday's National Shutdown here in the USA raised a number of question that may or may not be answered in this week's program.  For starters, it is a (slight) shame none of the organizers saw fit to credit retired MLB veteran Derek Bell who popularized the phrase "Operation Shutdown" some 24 years ago.  While there's little in Bell's resume to indicate he'd be an effective ally for this particular movement, it would only have been POLITE to reach out to him> On a somewhat grander scale, last week's conversations had me wondering (seriously) can any of us go FIVE FUCKING MINUTES without being in some way, shape of form, complicit in the destruction, degradation and dehumanization of the oppressed (and soon-to-be oppressed)?  This very missive is being posted on multiple platforms that engage in the above literally every moment of the day. You're almost certainly reading it on a device that was assembled under the most harsh conditions (to put it in words you might understand, "much, much words than working at Kim's Underground").  You're probably saying, "there is no way the host of this show has anything profound or helpful to say on this matter", and you could be correct, however you'll not know for sure until you've heard all 131 minutes (at least once, perhaps several times). 

with last week's passing of longtime New Jersey cable fixture Florio Vivino aka Uncle Floyd, there's been much said about Vivino's comedic chops, his many celebrity patrons (including but not limited to David Bowie and Howard Stern) and the countless appearances by iconic musicians including but not limited to Adrenalin OD, Rupert Holmes, NRBQ and Blue Oyster Cult.  Comparatively little has been written about the two appearances by Genöcide (featuring the late Bobby Ebz) and even less about the stylistic transitions that took place between said appearances (see above). Given the rather tense state of affairs in the USA presently, I can understand why some of you are not ready for a full and frank discussion of this topic (indeed, I'm told that even mentioning this band's name on this platform virtually guarantees a limited audience), but that's why you listen to this show — in the vain hope I will actually discuss what's been touted in the program synopsis.  Maybe it will happen one of these weeks.  In the meantime, I trust that Uncle Floyd and Sir Ebz are both hanging in some heavenly version of Rutt's Hut (or at least Floyd). 

while other programs have done a wonderful (well, adequate in some cases) job of memorializing Bob Weir over the past week, I will instead leave you with the following words from Sleep Chamber's John Zewizz that should really put everything into proper perspective LIFE IZ NEVER FOREVER. DEATH IZ. NOTHING IZ EVER FAIR. NOTHING IZ GUARANTEED. YOU ARE WHAT YOU MAKE YOURSELF. YOUR DESTINY IZ IN YOUR OWN HANDS. YOU AZ AN INDIVIDUAL STAND APART FROM ALL OTHES BECAUSE OV YOUR THOUGHTS, DESIRES, AND EFFORTS. FEAR NOT WHO YOU ARE. DESTROY ALL WHO TRY TO CONTROL YOU. MODIFICATION AND INNOVATION STIMULATE THE INFLUENCE THAT ALTERS ALL CONDITIONS. ACCEPT THE FACT THAT ‘WE' AS INDIVIDUALS STAND OUTSIDE AND ALONE. ACCOMODATE NO FALSE IDEALS - WE ARE THE ULTIMATE MINORITY. well, he had me until the last sentence, anyway. Farewell to Bob Weir, may John Zewizz live to 7000 years old

in recent times, the film world's powers that be have mercifully decided that biographies chronicling the lives of nobodies like Freddie Mercury, Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen are no longer necessary, instead trying to mollify us with the saga  of a Neil Diamond tribute act. While I would not necessarily describe this as progress, it does slightly open a window of possibility of a forthcoming feature film telling the story of STUPIFY, one of Cleveland's top 5 or 6 Disturbed tribute bands. Could such a project be some sort of karmic payback for Michael Chiklis, who suffered so many slings and arrows (well, mostly arrows) for being cast as John Belushi in “Wired”? I'd love to get into all of it during this week's show, however East Village Radio only grants me 120 minutes a week and this subject really requires ten, nay, one hundred times that. I don't think you're quite ready for the One Hundred Hours That Feels Like Two Hundred Hours (I'm certainly not).

for the first (or second?) show of 2026, I regrettably need to preface the program with a couple of apologies. As opposed to the nearly half dozen apologies that proceed most weeks.for starters, I know I'd promised with great fanfare that this week would feature the global streaming premiere of Vinnie Vincent's hotly anticipated CD single, “Ride The Serpent”. As you're probably aware, Vinnie is selling said CD online for $200 (plus $25 shipping) to discourage piracy, however, his keen business initiative has done nothing to combat PORCH PIRACY and my parcel has been STOLEN. Please be on the lookout for anyone trying to sell a Vinnie Vincent one-song CD for $200 in the general vicinity of Ben White Boulevard and Montopolis.My second apology, concerns the passing of High Rise / PSF guitarist Munehiro Narita. On this week's show, I spoke of Narita having passed away over the weekend, however he died some four years ago and this was only announced publicly in the past few days. Though I sincerely sorry for the error, I'm not sorry enough to re-record the entire show.

i've been told there's a lengthy essay in today's NY Times, something along the lines of “Is Rock Dead : Maybe?”   I've neither the time or inclination to read such a piece, particularly as I'm already aware rock has been on life support for some time and only following Rusted Shut's January 17 set at the Crowbar can we conclusively declare it d-e-a-d.  However, following news that a revered local nightspot (ok, repository for the worst fucking pop-punk / dork metal / who-gives-a-shit musics) has decided to “restructure” (ie. fire their entire security staff instead of paying back wages they're owed), maybe we should put the entire thing out of it's misery a little bit sooner. Say, right now.This week's program is a little more ROCK leaning than usual but that's only because i never saw a bandwagon i didn't wanna run off the road. Please enjoy and have as happy a new year as you can manage.

I've been asked once or twice, what, if anything, would i want to do MORE THAN ANYTHING to commemorate my 6100st birthday? I'll admit, it was a difficult choice. Drive into the Comal Street's White Horse with a bulldozer? Visit the Turner Curling Museum of Weyburn, Saskatchewan? Spend the afternoon with Texas Railroad Commissioner Wayne Christian and his lovely family?These are all very attractive options, however it's too late in the day to rent a bulldozer, the Curling Museum is closed for xmas and Commissioner Christian has previously obtained a cease and desist order against me. So with all of that mind, there is (almost) nothing else I would rather be doing on this special day than recording my 51st radio program of the year. It would not be an exaggeration to say this episode — much like the others — absolutely pisses on the alleged completion (from a great height), but that's what 6100 combined years of musical knowledge gets you

today's program, the penultimate episode of 2025, was meant to be a full review and unboxing of the latest reissue of NME's 1986 classic (?) ‘Unholy Death' - a 7 LP + blu ray + coffee table book collection. Sadly, I misplaced my half dozen or so box cutters (these are like socks for me except they're much sharper and cause more damage when you find them inside pockets) and I cannot get the fucking box open. As such, I am only able to speculate as to the quality of the unreleased demos, the quality of the blu-rays and the sheer lavishness of the coffee table book. But when you have imaginations like yours and mine (or at least mine), pricey material goods are no match for the power of the human brain. That being said, I could really use a 7th box cutter.

it's been several years since I asked you, dear listeners, to join me in mourning for my dearly departed Amaré Stoudemire Skullkandy headphones. To recap, said cans sounded like SHIT, however they were glorious to look it. Sadly, they were also about as durable as their namesake. And with that, I pivoted to Grado Labs' open back headphones (looked like shit, sounded glorious). In the space of less than 4 years, I've had no fewer than 2 pairs of new Grado phones fall-the-fuck-apart and it'snot like like I'm stretching them with an especially huge head or anything. Before I purchase my third pair, I would like to ask the company's proprietor, Scottish wrestling legend (I'm being charitable) GRADO for some measure of accountability. Or failing that, a professional discount. I'm not made of money. Were I made of money, it would certainly explain how many times I've been chased down the street (it wouldn't excuse it, but at the very least it would explain it).

with each holiday season, there's typically one or two highly coveted items that set up a frenzy amongst consumers, the-must-have-gift-of-the-year, if you will. The Furby. Nintendo Switch. For the well heeled and easily influence by marketing amongst us, perhaps the Peloton.  In 2025, however, the can't-miss gift is unquestionably the 7 DVD box set, “Dr. Gene Scott 95th Birthday Commemorative Edition : The Spiritual Nitro Pills” Currently marked down from $139.99 to a mere $59.99, this exhaustive (and exhausting) collection will delight viewers young and old (provided they have 25 hours to spare).  I don't have 25 hours to spare (and I've heard enough bands with two drummers already, if you know what I mean) Instead, on this week's program we're going to tackle the age-old question, what if Werner Herzog's “God's Angry Man” (1981) had instead been called “God's Hangry Man”. Provided, y'know, you have two hours to spare.

as a few of you are probably aware, today's NY Times has an extensive report cataloging recent signs of abject fatigue displayed by the current chief executive. While I am typically not in the habit of defending a charmless, thoroughly corrupt  pathological liar and bigot, in fairness, his alleged propensity for DOZING OFF while on the job is something I can (sadly) relate to.  Over the years, here's a short list of circumstances in which I have fallen asleep :   during a Zoom callat a (major) sporting event while being interviewedwhile conducting an interview while being interrogatedbehind the wheel of an automobile* in the pit while recording this radio programi know what you're saying, and no, i've not been diagnosed as a narcoleptic (though i will admit i started the tv series “Narcos” presuming it concerned this very issue - upon learning otherwise, i fell asleep). i'm simply pointing out that thanks to formerly dependable news outlets, these sort of obvious red flags have been normalized. YAY FOR ME, i'm as normal as the worst person on the planet. the good news for you is that this week's show does not feature one single occurence of your host passing out on the job.  If i can stay awake for this shit, i know you can do it, too. - while parked.  

today's show marks the 21st anniversary of what came to be known as “Malice At The Palace”, the (in)direct inspiration for Wizznuttz' amazing reinterpretation of Picasso's “Guernica”, aka “Aubernica”. For all the seismic changes the incident brought about in spheres of professional sports and crowd control, it is deeply regrettable “Aubernica” does not occupy space in a public gallery (aside from, well, this post), but we live in different times.  If I want to watch the clip of Jermaine O'Neal hitting some random schmoe into the next stratosphere, I cannot do so without getting a sponsored ad for a megachurch.   I'd have loved to really dive into all of this on this week's program but a) EVR only gives me two hours, and b) I didn't check the calendar until after taping.  SO SORRY. 

We live in times of GREAT UNCERTAINTY.  Who can say, for instance, if the charade we call democracy will even maintain the pretense for another 12 months?  If you're lucky enough to afford to climb aboard an airplane, what guarantee is there you won't smash into another?  Will anyone, besides the uber wealthy, be capable of feeding their families or availing themselves of health care?    The answer to these questions, much like “should anyone pay for a premium Stereogum subscription?” is of course, a resounding I DON'T KNOW.     I DON'T FUCKING KNOW.  NO ONE FUCKING KNOWS.   I've no time or patience for your prognostications (Wayne Root Jr.) and the only dead solid 100% sure-thing lock around here is that you don't fucking know, either.  Over the course of the next two hours, it is my hope we can all graduate from blissful ignorance to thoroughly embittered ignorance. The only thing I do know for certain is this new Wiccans album is a ripper (owens)

good morning friends, and as deeply encouraged many of us might be following last night's mayoral election results in New York City, I remain cautiously hopeful that some day in the future there will be a major candidate for high office willing to address the needless, senseless proliferation of hot takes.  I don't wanna hear your reasoned argument that a hot dog is not a sandwich.  I don't wanna hear some self-styled artist/bozo in pajamas taking about which Seals & Crofts album is a perfect 10 (answer : NONE OF THEM).  Rid our streets of tiny microphone wielding smug motherfuckers asking the dopiest questions and eliciting the most boring of answers.  This may not be the biggest problem facing our nation — I reckon it's pretty far down the list — but I am steadfast in my opinion the only good thing about these so-called short-form creators is that they're not creating anything LONG FORM. (above : the OG short form maven, Ugly George.  And no fucking way am I advocating resurrecting him, either). 

with all due respect to my many friends and loved ones who deeply enjoy the occasion, this week's program will not include a Halloween theme, Halloween music or any other sort of pandering, infantile bullshit designed to distract from the ongoing tire fire we're engulfed in. By all means, have a great time with your Halloween parties and however you choose to disguise yourselves. Sexy science denialist. Sexy utility infielder. Sexy sex worker. Sexy drum tech for Dream Theater (admittedly, an oxymoron) while you're playing dress up, back here in stupidville formerly known as the USA, we're gonna cut off SNAP benefits and leave millions hungry. Is that in anyway shape or form mitigated by handing out toxic confections under threat of vandalism? I think you already know where i stand on this, but for two hours this morning I will grudgingly pretend to care where _you_ stand on this, provided you can get past my call screener (sexy drum tech for KIng's X).

to quote Charlotte Caffey and Kathy Valentine, I am certain there are moments “"head over heels, to time to think / Looks like the whole world's out of sync” resonates deeply with each and every one of you. And that's why I do this program each and every week, to try and help you make sense of the senseless. I'll admit that I've not done a particularly good job in the regard — I tend to get sidetracked with a particular musical theme and completely disregard whatever larger point I'd sought out to make, but that my friends, speaks to the power of music While this week's Ace Frehley tribute in hour #3 is only availalble to Patreon subscribers, the preceding two hours are, in my opinion the very pinnacle of my narrow-casting tenure.

so none of my so-called friends thought it was worth mentioning that the National Crime Prevention Council's ill-advised 1988 cassette, ‘McGruff's Smart Kids Album' had recently been reissued on multiple formats by some enterprising record label and all available copies are G O N E. On the endless list of things going wrong near and far, this probably ranks rather low when it comes to issues to be massively upset over. But as you have probably learned by now, with the possible exception of Pat Riley when he was still young enough to have Kurt Russell and Michael Douglas emulate him in mainstream films, no one knows how to manufacture outrage like me. So here we are — another two hours of highly manufacture outrage, as pathetic as it is performative, with occasional (well, 117 minutes) musical interludes. Not playing anything from ‘McGruff's Smart Kids' this time because I'm NOT FUCKING YOO TOOB (and I'm still mad, outraged, even).Show less

if you're like me (and I suspect a few of you are), you were surprised but hardly outraged at the NFL's recent announcement that Bun E. Carlos would be headlining the Super Bowl halftime show next February.  Granted, a 15 minute drum solo is not everyone's brand of entertainment (and technically, since this is an instrumental performance, no one will be singing in English) but given Cheap Trick's election to tour without Bun E. for several years now, this is a unique opportunity to remind the world what an incredible player he is and at the end of the day that's all that matters. It's a shame this is being politicized like everything else these days but if some enterprising kook wants to counter program (Appice brothers drum clinic, rig rundown with Bobby Blotzer, etc.)  by all means, go for it.    This week's show will not feature any Cheap Trick songs with Bun E., not for the usual rights clearance issues but rather because all of my Cheap Trick records are in deep storage and every time I go to the storage space there's a guy working there who wants to argue that Off Broadway were the better band.  

greetings friends, I nearly wasn't able to complete this week's episode after being diagnosed with a case of minor men's whiplash acquired while reading the New York Times' recent, “Is It OK To Use Your Phone On The Toilet?” article. Weirdly enough, I was not reading said think (?) piece on the toilet but instead an airport monorail that made an abrupt stop, hence the Joel Gertner signature neck brace that I'll be sporting for the foreseeable future. On the bright side, this does open the doors to the paper of record considering other crucial questions, including but not limited to “can i use the same blanket as the dog?”, “do expiration dates really matter?” and the time honored quandary,”if the Exploited and Anti-Pasti* were both drowning and could only save one, which would it be?” (this is one for The Ethicist) We'll get into (nearly) all of it on this week's show.  * -trick question, everyone in Anti-Pasti is an accomplished swimmer, so they'd never need saving.

this week's planned Goner Fest preview was scrapped at the last minute in favor of a two hour roundtable (pizza) discussion concerning the mooted mid 1990's merger of eco-cult Zendik Farm with purveyor of delicious (albeit highly processed) baked goods Pepperidge Farm. Did it fall apart when the former's patriarch, the late Wulf Zendik (above) learned the latter's vaunted cheddar cheese goldfish in fact, contained no fish whatsoever? Or was the issue Pepperidge Farms upper management taking umbrage at Zendik's insistence that all sexual contact had to be approved by committee? It's A LOT to shift thru, especially when no one on the panel is old enough to remember any of it. Thankfully there's a little bit of music here and there to compensate for the uninformed opinions and baseless speculation.

i've looked forward to the day I'd be able to do this program live from East Village Radio's lovely 1st Avenue booth, however in light of recent events in the USA, I have implored station management for INCREASED SECURITY.  Not for everyone, necessarily, primarily for me.  I've come to understand that despite this show's wild popularity, some of the views I routinely espouse (ie. liquor and cabaret licenses should be revoked for failure to post set times, the Dandy Warhols should be sent to outer space, etc.) are highly controversial.  Divisive, even.  So once again, this week's show comes to you from a remote location. Much as I would love to engage in open debate with the more hapless among you, once again you will have to settle for the ultimate in American free expression — a cis white guy yelling with a microphone.  Also, there's a great story about blowing off a Torche show last week. It's a story, anyway

this week's program comes to you from Wood Green where following a fascinating guided tour of guitarist Barry D'Amery's birthplace/museum, we'll discuss the disappointing, nah, shocking paucity of details on INFA RIOT's wikipedia. How can an ensemble with such a rich and colorful historybe summed up in a mere two paragraphs? Is there really nothing to be said of the band's ill-advised decision in 1984 to change their name to The Infas?  Are there no details — say, for instance, calls for a boycott if not outright shunning — following Infa Riot's 2018 appearance in Tel Aviv?   We're gonna get into ALL OF IT and more on this week's incredible show but alas, we'll not be hearing any Info Riot music.  It's not for rights clearance issues, mind you,  I just don't think they're that great

he accompanying photograph is from an aborted IG account called ShaneandKaneOuttaContext. The problem is, I cannot possibly share such an arresting visual without providing some context. For the crap politician on the right, this is maybe the most (only?) relatable thing he's ever done. For the Bill Simmons lookalike on the left, a man whose only marketable skill is his ability to fall from great heights, this was a grim reminder that running wild on the mean streets of Greenwich, CT will eventually have consequences, be they getting fucked out of the family business or being tortured by Glenn Jacobs and a car battery. None of this is really dealt with on this week's show because it's not really a visual medium.

The other day, an East Village Radio colleague played a  new recording by a band so derivative, so feckless, so utterly craven, so thoroughly lacking any musical or lyrical creativity that I knew I had to do something about it.  Except of course, there's nothing I can do about it. Where I to name and shame this particular ensemble, I would almost certainly subject myself to accusation of bullying, or even worse, “gate-keeping”.   Putting aside how I've kept MANY records by Gate and that's nothing to be ashamed of, I'm instead not going to take this lying down and will be launching a gofundme on this very episode in order to finance a time machine.  Once I've zapped myself back several decades, I can make some of the same terrible life choices the rest of you schmucks have surely made, ensuring I have zero notoriety or influence to speak of.  Then, I can freely take steps to eliminate the band in question (perhaps by hooking their parents-to-be up with more intelligent or attractive partners  — i think there's multiple other movies I need to research).  For those who'd call this an incredible personal sacrifice on my part, YOU'RE RIGHT.  I might not be the most unselfish person you know, but I bet I'm in the top 20.   (time machine art : The Masquerading Scientist) 

like many of you, I was confused, befuddled, even, when the Kennedy Centers Honors list was released earlier this month and BRAINBOMBS were included.  I mean, they're Swedish.   OTOH, much of their subject matter would be right in line with the administration's general worldview . As it turns out,  I, like many of you, had presumed these presentations were under the auspices of the John F. Kennedy Center For The Performing Arts, but in fact, this was for the OTHER Kennedy Center, ie. the one named for and curated by former MTV VJ-turned-Fox-News-fixture Kennedy.  So with that in mind, it's not really much of an honor - it's sort of like winning “Best New Jack Swing” in the Austin Music Awards.   In the words of Charles K Wilson,  Lonnie Lee Simmons and Rudy Taylor, “first explosion turned out to be corrosion”.  I'll try not to jump to conclusions next time. 

i hate to get personal on mornings it's time to promote the radio show, but I received a rather devastating health diagnosis last week.  My doctor says if i do ONE MORE FAVOR for someone I barely know, I'm probably going to expire.   As it happens, I did just agree to do another favor and that's writing the liner notes to the long-mooted SLAMBODIANS box set.  Trouble is, I did not read the fine print in my agreement with Light In The Car Sick Records and it seems I also have to personally assemble the box sets.  As you know, if there's anything I am more allergic to than doing favors for people I barely know, it's manual labor of any sort.  To make matters worse, my health care provider has an exemption clause that precludes any claims related to injuries suffered while assembling Slambodians box sets. There's more details on this week's show (too many, in fact)

the recent Sydney Sweeney / eugenics dog whistling campaign is not only deeply stupid, but sadly, brought to mind my ill-fated attempt several years ago to revive Sears Roebuck's once-vaunted Toughskins brand. An expensive-to-produce television commercial featuring adolescents declaring “we've got really average to below average jeans” had to be scrapped following legal action from Kent, OH Oi revivalists who'd since claimed the Toughskins name. Though this was not the first or last time I've run afoul of someone adjacent to the Wheelchair Full Of Old Men media empire, it was probably the most costly.  My advice to the owners of American Eagle is simple : change the name of the company to American Beagle (EVERYONE LIKES BEAGLES) and license the Toughskins' “Oingo Boingo Ain't Oi” for the resulting campaign. Everyone's a winner (except for perhaps, Danny Elfman).

i am presuming you are all caught up in the sorry tale of police harassment / judicial overreach that has seen a beloved american icon (ok, Chuck E. Cheese) hauled away on the most specious of charges. who amongst us at one time or another not inadvertently borrowed a credit card and run up some miscellaneous charges at a local smoke shop or tavern? Are these not-quite capital crimes justification for zip ties and shaming on the grandest of stages (ok, Daily Mail dot com)? I think not. instead, i would like to see many of you transported to an alternate universe where authoritarian goons are openly persecuted by 6 foot tall rodents that walk upright

greetings and welcome to episode 269.  There were some last minute edits to today's episode --- i took a call on-air last night from an agitated individual who took great umbrage at Drake acknowledging Ozzy Osbourne's passing yet having nothing to say about the death of fellow Canadian Bill Exley (Nihilist Spasm Band).  Though this caller sounded suspiciously like the same person who used to harangue Rudy Giuliani about the latter's views on ferrets, I can't prove it and besides, he used too much profanity (and I cannot risk East Village Radio losing funding like those NPR stations that only play generic music dumped upon them by record label pluggers).   But hey, I am not above staying up all night to re-record the show.  This isn't the first time something like this has happened and knowing the sensibilities of the listenership, it probably won't be the last time, either 

Over the past several weeks I feel as though I've inundated with unreasonable requests, many of them coming from persons I have no relationship with, personally or professionally.  I'll grant that my reactions to such demands are a tad on the sensitive side , but in the interests of separating the kellogg's mini-wheats from the chaff, going forward I've established a price list that will hopefully save everyone some time (and help pay for the powerful anti-depressants I require to deal with many of you)  $100 - answer questions about some bullshit from 30+ years ago $200 - answer questions about some bullshit from 3 days ago $250 -  write “letter of introduction” to someone else in show business (whom i barely know myself) $300 - blurb / pull quote for band I've not heard, seen or met (extra $200 if i have to listen to them) $500 - appear on your podcast $2000 - appear in your documentary film about a band I might've seen once or zero timesstill free - advice to the lovelorn (though be advised I've no success stories, batting .000 here) 

earlier this week, a (very funny) social media post by David Stubbs extensively cataloged the myriad ways Oasis suck-like-crazy, laying waste to the revisionist history these dopes had any redeeming values, musical or otherwise. As this post was timed to coincide with the (less interesting) Bruddas' reunion stadium tour — not titled “Triumph Of The Norms & Normettes”, but perhaps it should've been — it's been circulated far and wide. The thing is, you don't need Stubbs' permission to conclude everything surrounding the band is wretched. As revelations go, this is somewhere between Victor Wembanyama is quite tall and water is especially wet. As sibling rivalries go, this stuff is hardly Ray versus Dave. It's not even Greg vs. Raymond. WAKE ME WHEN THE SPECIAL MOMENTS REFORM. Or failing that, wake me at 8:30 am central time as i need to post the radio show.

KEEP HONKING if you're in any way complicit (hey there fellow tax payers) in neighbors, friends, trusted colleagues and people who love their families so-very-much being hauled off U.S. streets and detained under brutal condition.  Honest, kind, hard working people just like you (presuming you're all of these things and if you're not, that's another subject). WOAH, that's too much honking.  I mean, I cannot hear myself think over all the fucking honking.  Maybe raise your hands instead.   #fuckice  (above:  Cubs OF Rick Monday graciously shows two Dodgers fans how to burn an American flag, circa 1976)

June 25 marks the advent  of two incredibly important inventions in the history of civilization ;  June 25 1630 saw the introduction of the fork, while June 25, 1867 was day barbed wire was patented. Today's program considers how our history might've changed had these dates been reversed ;   nearly 250 years could've elapsed with nothing being eaten except soup.  Conversely, barbed-wire death matches (electrified and otherwise) could've begun much, much earlier. Of course, these were hundreds of years before the birth of Abdullah The Butcher whose body of work would've undoubtedly suffered had he been toiling during a gap between forks and barbed wire.   My monologue about this subject is nearly two hours long and rather than save it for patreon subscribers, I've instead deleted the entire thing. You simply don't deserve to hear it.  So It's another all-music episode (sorry).

as this NBA season draws to a close, this week's program celebrates (belatedly) the 22nd anniversary of a troubled Calvin Klein accosting Latrell Sprewell in the middle of a Raptors/Knicks game. These days if you want to be led away in handcuffs, all you have to do is ask some reasonable questions at a press conference. In (slightly) less authoritarian times, however, far more effort was required. You had to purchase a court side seat at MSG and then risk strangulation at the hands of Latrell Sprewell and if you think this is pretext for another one of my, "you don't know how easy you have it," diatribes that frequently take up half the show, fear not because I have laryngitis. Or I no longer have the energy. If your grandparents built a bomb shelter, wouldn't it be just wonderful if the entire thing is filled to the ceiling with your defunct band's overstock.

my planned day and a half to do a comprehensive social media cull keeps getting put off which is a shame, because I end up seeing posts from respected members of the underground music world (ok, Don Walsh) alleging Los Angeles anti-ICE protesters are in fact, paid agitators getting rich from the generosity of someone named George Sore Eros.   Putting aside for a moment the disconnect of the current regime's (laughable) promises to wipe out antisemitism while engaging in the most basic, pathetic antisemitic tropes (ie. the world's strings are being pulled by an EVIL jewish zillionaire), the question remains, where can my friends — as broke as they are conscientious, get their stipend from George Sore Eros?  Surely there must be an app where you can upload your invoice/receipts. Or does he hold auditions on a soundstage somewhere (and if so, will there be food)?   I attempted to get answers to these burning questions for this weeks show but had to re-record the entire thing after being informed East Village Radio ran the risk of George Sore Eros cutting off their funding.  Hopefully the hastily assembled musical selections will not result the cash spigot being forever turned off.   above, heavily discounted bricks at a local big box retailer.  Instead of blaming George Sore Eros for social unrest, why isn't the media going after the person who is subsidizing street violence — Arthur (I Belong To The) Blank (Generation)?

for this week's episode, I pay tribute to the late Colin Jerwood in the most respectful, appropriate manner possible --- by updating his look for 2025. OK, it was really JJ Ruiz' idea, and much like Jerwrood's original shirt, the best ideas are always subject to revision (except for mine -- and I'll let you know if I ever have a good idea). Jerwood's original "Only Stupid Bastards Help EMI" tee is available from DC's Joint Custody for a modest sum and if you'd like to amend it in whatever way you chooce, hey, that's fashion, right?

when this program began 5 years ago, America, nah , the world was in the midst of near-universal harmony, health and prosperity.  It would be the height of exaggeration to say the global events that followed were  in any way influenced or informed by the launch of this radio program, but really, it's ok with me if only 3 or 4 of you are willing to say it out loud.  It's been my privilege to bring you two hours of music  (that feel like 3 or 4)  every week and while contemplating the next 5 years fills me and probably anyone else with a functioning frontal lobe with a sense of inescapable dread, to quote one of our more beloved philosophers, "the longer the note, the more dread". So the answer is shorter notes (maybe I'll try that next week, lotta long ones this time).

if this were a real call-in show, an all-too obvious topic for discussion might be "who is the worst live band you've ever seen?" I mean, for there are some all-too obvious candidates (Sump, Juliette Lewis & The Licks, Quiet Company, Ween) however what does it mean if you never thought the band in question was any good to begin with? How can you properly measure a performance if you're already disinclined to like the material or the performers?so maybe the real worst show you've ever seen is someone you otherwise respected or liked who simply shit the bed. Onstage (or in bed). This would be a great topic for this week's show except a) we don't have the technological know-how to  take calls for a prerecorded show and b) I really cannot stand the sound of anyone else's voice besides my own. SO YOU'RE JUST GONNA HAVE TO HASH IT OUT IN THE COMMENTS (again). (above : Anti-Nowhere League, best set I ever saw by a genuinely awful band - potential topic for a future episode)

While the New York Knicks are on the precipice of reaching the Eastern Conference Finals, said development neatly coincides with Erik and Lyle Menendez (shown above sitting courtside at a 1990 Knicks game) being eligible for parole, there is the likelihood, however slim, the convicted parent-slayers might actually be front and center when Jalen Brunson, Karl-Anthony Townes et al capture New York's first NBA Championship in 52 years. Of course, this would require someone else being supplanted from Celebrity Row and today's program will consider who is the best self-obsessed candidate to get the heave-ho.  It really should not take two hours to determine MICHAEL RAPAPORT is the obvious choice (while he's not a double murderer, he's been murdering acting, sports yak and world affairs commentary for longer than anyone cares to remember) and that's very good because I had to find some way of cramming in nearly two hours of music this week.  Current events be damned, with the possible exception of The Damned's local appearance this Saturday night (which neatly coincides with my referring to Jalen Brunson as Captain Sensible). 

I really hate the expression "there's so much to unpack" but regarding Celtic Frost's open solicitation for auditioning drummers,  THERE'S SO MUCH TO UNPACK.  "MUST BE WILLING TO LIVE IN SWITZERLAND".  "MUST BE WILLING TO TURN A BLIND EYE TO ASSAULTING SOMEONE IN A MOTLEY CRUE TEE".  "WE HAVE A STRONG IMAGE" (yeah, we've seen the back cover to 'Cold Lake'). We can spend all day getting bogged down in whether or not there's a contradiction between coveting a drummer who is "wild" but also expecting one who is "precise".  And that's exactly what I am going to do, I am going to get TOTALLY FUCKING BOGGED DOWN in whether or not there's a contradiction.  This examination will take place during the program's third hour.

while preparing this week's sbow,  like many of you, I could not help but reflect on Shedeur Sanders' precipitous free-fall thru the NFL Draft, with the projected early-round pick sliding thru rounds 1-5, then doing a complete nose dive thru the UFL Draft before finally being selected in 3rd round of the 2025 Arena Football League draft. Despite Sanders' humiliation, this is an impressive achievement just the same given the AFL has been defunct since 2019. But Sanders' difficult weekend brought to mind so many of the challenges I face with this show every week. Impossibly high expectations. A cruel, callous media (to say nothing of the public) that cannot wait to micro-analyze even the tiniest of errors. And then of course, there's the irrational jealousy on the part of my alleged friends & colleagues in the online radio game. Much like Mr. Sanders, I'm a manufactured-motivation FACTORY over here. He'll persevere and if the same is true of myself, I'll be certain to TELL YOU ALL ABOUT IT.

good morning dear friendsmuch as been written this week about the passing of Pope Francis, in particular the unfortunate timing that saw his Holiness meeting with J.D. Vance just hours before expiring.   It is probably the height of exaggeration to claim Vance's was the last face Pope Francis saw, however it does poses the question, if you were near death, whose face would you like to be the last one you laid eyes upon before transitioning to the great beyond?  I've thought about this long and hard and I've decided the only answer for me is veteran character actor Richard Masur.  I've never met the man and know little about him past his thespian prowess, but in a large percentage of his appearances on the big and small screen, his presence seems imbued with care and empathy.   I know, most of you are making obvious choices like The Great Kat or Ed “Too Tall” Jones, but during _my_ final moments on this metal coil, I'd rather gaze deeply into the eyes of a deeply thoughtful, caring person (even if that person is merely playing the role of a deeply thoughtful, caring person).   I was going to take calls on this subject on today's program, however I've misplaced my telephone.  You'll have to settle for another, mostly-music episode. 

much has been written /meme'd over the past 48 hours about the successful efforts to send Katy Perry into outer space (and yes, she has returned safely, so you can all exhale, finally) and to some degree I can understand the public's frustration.  I've been petitioning FOR YEARS to send other performers to into outer space (not necessarily with a return ticket, it depends) and have received no response whatsoever from any of these private space travel firms.  We're never gonna know, for instance, how humanity might've benefitted from Spam Axe of Teddy & The Frat Girls being blasted beyond the earth's atmosphere for 20 minutes, but that's just as well as EVR's rights clearance department informs me playing Teddy & The Frat Girls' “Club Nite” on loop for 120 Minutes is not only a terms of service violation, but it's also “really lazy programming”.  OK, I'm paraphrasing.  I was told it was “really fucking lazy programming”. 

 it seems there's a bit of a problem in that during the show from two weeks ago we had to ban someone from the EVR chat room for posting “White Lotus” spoilers.   Then last week, we had to ban someone from posting “JAG” spoilers (here's one - did you know that “JAG” is an acronym for “Judge Advocate General”?).  I realize this seems like a slippery slope but if you want unfettered, free expression, maybe there's another chat room for you on the dark web (hopefully one entirely devoted to “JAG” spoilers — here's another, the show is terrible)

it's been a tough week already.  Hello torpedo bats -- wouldn't everyone be happier if they were torpedo cats?  Goodbye Val Kilmer, thanks for "Top Secret" (and perhaps to a lesser extent for driving not one, but 2 successive directors to distraction on "The Island Of Dr. Moreau").  Hello plans for a 2nd Sully From Godsmack autobiography (clearly the world's paper shortage resulted in vol. 1 being less than fully realized).  In the midst of all this turbulence --- cultural, political,, etc., there is one constant in this irreparably fucked up world and that's The Radio Hour That Feels Like Two Hours.  You know that every week, I'm going to help you make sense out of the senseless.  OK, that's completely untrue., it;s more like you're going to help me make cents out of the senseless after EVR cuts me in for a percentage of the underwriting windfall that's long overdue.  The important thing is that we're helping EACH OTHER (and after all this time, I it's time you finally reciprocated). 

given the show is a little long in the tooth, I thought it might be fun this to replay an older episode, perhaps one from the year 1925. The part that makes it confusing is that even 100 years ago i was a particularly well-versed time traveler (you've heard of Dr. Who? Well, now you've met Dr. What The Fuck). This week's broadcast of a show from 1925 sounds unusually contemporary because I'd zapped myself into 2025 to pick out the repertoire. Needless to say, all of this century hopping has me laid up with a nasty case of Fred G. Sanford level WHIPLASH but I'm hoping you'll find it all as entertaining and educational as always. If I happen to say something wildly inappropriate, please keep in mind the bullshit excuse, “those were different times” actually flies in this case because it _was_ a different time. It was a hundred fucking years ago.(above : I'd wanted to include a picture of the pod from “Timecop” but I got distracted and ended up watching another, earlier time travel saga, “Freejack” (1992, dir. Geoff Murphy) and that's another reason why I'm gonna be laid up all day) 

good morning dear friends.  If you're like me, your social media has been chock-a-block with stories concerning a regional tech/influencer convention “reducing their footprint” in coming years and there's no shortage of misinformed, self-styled experts willing to declare the entire endeavor deader than Deadsy.  To which I say, PISH FUCKIN' POSH.  Did Tom Vu throw in the towel the first time he had a poor turnout at the Best Western?  Did Marshall Applewhite take his ball and go home the first time he failed to fill a room?  And if he did, is there such thing as an official mass suicide ball (signed by Bowie Kuhn)?  Without even making a Dr. Gene Scott analogy, if there's one thing I'm overly confident about (other than thinking anyone wants to hear this show) is that the next generation of grifters and narcissists will continue to find an audience, even if they have to lay low for a year or 3.  Goodbye Austin Convention Center, HELLO KICK BUTT COFFEE.  (above : likely location to pick up your 2025 Platinum Pass) 

(above - a rare photo of the show's original studio, circa 2020)dear friends, welcome and thank you oh so much for being part of EPISODE 250 of The Radio Hour That Feels Like Two Hours. If you're like me, you're finding it difficult to put this particular broadcasting achievement --- 250 episodes!  Not as many as 300!  But more than 200! -- into proper perspective.  How does it stack up against, say Brady Anderson's not-chemically-assisted-at-all 50 home runs in 1996?  Susan Lucci losing the Daytime Emmy 18 years in a row?  I'd say it's right up there with both, but it's not my place to judge. No, I think this is the sort of thing that should be decided by an actual judge, perhaps the Chief Justice Sonia Sotomayor?Regardless of how she rules on the matter, I am very grateful for all of your support since the show's inception.  It's customary to say, "I couldn't have done it without you," and I've never quote understood this custom because I have, literally, done it without you.