<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6008861</id><updated>2011-04-21T18:26:04.253-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wino Corrida</title><subtitle type='html'>dave queen</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scrape.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6008861/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scrape.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>dave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03701187401546863468</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>7</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6008861.post-111431253646880435</id><published>2005-04-23T20:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-23T20:15:36.470-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Gang of FourEntertainment!(Rhino re-issue)Dr Feelgood’s Too Fast for Love, no energy domes or socked cocks but songs like “King of Comedy”.  Many Californication owners have never heard of Hillel Slovak. Go4’s drummer was later replaced by a machine, something the Rolling Stones didn’t get into until Bridges to Babylon. The alleged Swiss-cheese dartboard on “Love Rollercoaster” is actually being </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6008861/posts/default/111431253646880435'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6008861/posts/default/111431253646880435'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scrape.blogspot.com/2005_04_01_archive.html#111431253646880435' title=''/><author><name>dave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03701187401546863468</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6008861.post-110745337884062348</id><published>2005-02-03T09:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-03T09:56:18.840-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>EYEHATEGOD“Serving Time in the Middle of Nowhere”Eyehategod are from New Orleans. It sounds to me like it’s a different guy singing on Confederacy of Ruined Lives than on their other records, but whenever I look it up it says it’s the same person. Maybe he has two voices. “Serving Time” is in two movies. One of them is Gummo. The funniest scene in that is when they get “lost” looking for the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6008861/posts/default/110745337884062348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6008861/posts/default/110745337884062348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scrape.blogspot.com/2005_02_01_archive.html#110745337884062348' title=''/><author><name>dave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03701187401546863468</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6008861.post-110473262937657918</id><published>2005-01-02T22:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-01-02T22:10:29.376-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>EVANESCENCEAnywhere But Home[excerpts from Amazon customer comments]Every two or three seconds the camera changed angles and it was a little disorientating. Plus, the cheering maxed out the music and Amy's voice causing you to stain to hear it. (****) – Bastet 1023 (1)There are a lot of close-ups to Amy and she is dressed in her typical Gothic style. Seeing her in this attire when playing </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6008861/posts/default/110473262937657918'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6008861/posts/default/110473262937657918'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scrape.blogspot.com/2005_01_01_archive.html#110473262937657918' title=''/><author><name>dave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03701187401546863468</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6008861.post-110020247423390823</id><published>2004-11-11T11:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-11T11:47:54.233-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>KROKUS  - Stayed Awake All NightThe Americans have spoken! The world will not be made smaller by computers but by grinding gears and great oil-burning engines. It’s not about security or secularisation, it’s about keeping the motorik running. The reason electronic pop music never became culturally dominant in the demonised heartland is that synth duos didn’t have large trucks loaded with </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6008861/posts/default/110020247423390823'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6008861/posts/default/110020247423390823'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scrape.blogspot.com/2004_11_01_archive.html#110020247423390823' title=''/><author><name>dave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03701187401546863468</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6008861.post-109966598022705694</id><published>2004-11-05T06:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-05T06:46:20.226-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>VAN HALENBest of Both Worlds(Rhino)Van Halen are known for their legendary trademark and a long train runnin’ of numbers for titles instead of words, for instance calling their thirteenth release 3. This compilation doesn’t include anything from that 1998 collaboration with Robbie "Jesus is Just Alright" Robertson (from Extreme, whose ode to mute bitches was the "Isn’t it Time" to "Under the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6008861/posts/default/109966598022705694'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6008861/posts/default/109966598022705694'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scrape.blogspot.com/2004_11_01_archive.html#109966598022705694' title=''/><author><name>dave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03701187401546863468</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6008861.post-107780105259310102</id><published>2004-02-26T05:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-02-26T05:13:43.123-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Planning to write something in May. Or June, probably.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6008861/posts/default/107780105259310102'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6008861/posts/default/107780105259310102'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scrape.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107780105259310102' title=''/><author><name>dave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03701187401546863468</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6008861.post-106746431526160394</id><published>2003-10-29T13:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-10-29T13:51:56.310-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>BANARAMAMA - True ConfessionsBlack Sabbath to the Spice Girls’ Nirvana, and TC was their Master of Reality. Even more déclassé than the Sabs, plus they were chicks. Which is why reading their 80s-vintage press is like diving into a misogynistic sewer, the stench of which is enough to gag a Taliban. TC is hiveminded as the big Swain/Joley&gt;SAW switch, which in retrospect was necessary as the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6008861/posts/default/106746431526160394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6008861/posts/default/106746431526160394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scrape.blogspot.com/2003_10_01_archive.html#106746431526160394' title=''/><author><name>dave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03701187401546863468</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
