There is a good chance you found us accidentally by using the word “taint” in your search (If you found us on purpose, you deserve our accolades). Of course, we don’t know what you were looking for, but you stumbled on a damn cool project. Look around; let us help send you on a musical journey. Here you will find a number of album reviews from the strange and extreme to the tame and mainstream. Our reviewers are a bunch of obsessive miscreants. Most of us are avid music collectors and have been involved in the music world for decades. A couple of us have been in or are still in bands.
There are no rules on Tickle Your Taint Blog. Our reviewers might make you laugh, or piss you off; both results are legitimate. One reviewer might write a glowing review of an album; another might tear it apart. We may have a new review every week, or we could end up with one every six months. This blog exists as a social experiment to build community among a diverse group of music maniacs – our reviewers and hopefully you.
The class war of the rich against working people continues to intensify, as millions are going to be thrown off their health care. Fascist fucks in Congress chant “U.S.A” following the passage of the heinous bill. The U.S. Air Force in Utah conducts flyovers to remind us that burning jet fuel is patriotic. Fuckhead Trump surrounds himself with flags, as he signs the bill, thinking he controls everyone and everything.
Phantasmorgasm, a punk rock band with some funk, starts their song “Burn the Flag,” with the line, “Oh can you see,” before asking:
Do you see the homeless people die?
Do you hear the hungry child’s cries?
Do you think of anyone, but yourself?
With simple lines, they illuminate stark inequalities and shame in a nation where a small percentage of the population controls vast amounts of wealth. With the line, “the flag is a symbol with no meaning,” they counter those in power who shroud themselves in the flag, using it to justify their actions to plunder the public. With weariness, leading to the end of the song, they sing:
I’m so sick of seeing pain,
everywhere I go,
the people without homes….
I’ll burn the flag,
I’ll burn your flag.
This sounds like a great idea on this day of continued shame. This evening, I am going to burn seven U.S. flags in a metal bowl, envisioning an empire on the brink of implosion. While the red, white, and blue turns into smoke, I will play Propagandhi’s “Stick the Fucking Flag Up Your Goddamn Ass, You Sonofabitch.” My wife and I will be smiling as we sing along:
My father told me, “Son it’s futile to resist. You can topple the ideology but not the armies they enlist.” I questioned the intentions of the boy scouts chanting “WAR!” “Well, that’s the sound of freedom, son,” he said (free to say no more). But wait a minute “dad,” did you actually say freedom? Well, if you’re dumb enough to vote, you’re fucking dumb enough to believe them. Because if this country is so goddamned free, then I can burn your fucking flag wherever I damn well please. I carried their anthem convinced it was mine. Rhymeless, unreasoned conjecture kept me in line. But then I stood back and wondered what the fuck they had done to me. Made accomplice to all that I promised I would never be. You carry their anthem, convinced that it’s yours. Invitation to honour. Invitation to war. Bette Midler now assumes sainthood. Romanticize murder for morale. Tie a yellow ribbon ’round the old oak tree my friend and “Gee, Wally. That’s swell!” Fuck the troops.
Polish tinsel Christian values with lots of hate and Jimmy semen. The finger that points is up your dress.
—Sons of Ishmael
The televangelist Jimmy Swaggart is finally dead at the age of 90, no longer able to spread his rotten seed. In the late 1970s and through most of the 80s, he smiled on the TV, sang gospel songs, praised God, taught hate, and swindled followers of money to build an empire through his ministries, broadcast network, and his bible college. He financially supported the South African-backed Mozambican National Resistance, an anti-communist militia group that committed crimes against humanity. In 1988, he pleaded for forgiveness in his “I Have Sinned” speech, when the first of his prostitution scandals was exposed. Once defrocked, he was undeterred and became a non-denominational minister, continuing his bigotry.
In 1989, Sons of Ishmael, a Canadian punk rock band, released the seven-inch Sing Generic Crap. Today, to mark the occasion of Jimmy’s demise, I am listening to their short song, “Jimmy Swaggart Stuck His Pee-Pee in My Poo-Poo.” The deeply scathing cynicism for the hypocrisy of televangelists erupts with:
It seemed like much more than a dream
When Jimmy Swaggart came to me
He said, “Send your kids to my school
Where they’ll learn to be just like me
I put my penis into whores
To cleanse them of their awful sins
I intimate children and old people
Extracting protection money to ward off Satan.
With a few lines they capture Jimmy:
Show me your sins and I’ll show you mine
Take me to a hotel room and I’ll tear off my garter belt;
Wholesome Christian blood rush to my penis
Little girls with blue lipstick are yeast to my penis.
It is no surprise that Jimmy loved Shitbag Trump. I hope Jimmy’s family plays this Sons of Ishmael song (3:22 in the video below) at his funeral.
I recently headed down to Austin to see one of my oldest friends.
Going from Dallas to Austin used to be a somewhat lazy drive, just moseying down the road and watching the Texas countryside. Now, you drive Mad Max style on the roadway through one massive city. While the names along the way change (Waco, Temple, West, Georgetown), it doesn’t matter; it all looks the same. It is just one enormous gas station, strip mall, fast food restaurant, or whatever suburban wasteland type establishment after another. It goes on and on and on. It’s kinda too bad and sad, but when the billboards say “Heartbeat in 18 days…choose adoption” those folks are going to have to live somewhere. It would be nice to see an actual Texas Longhorn somewhere along this journey, which now takes about four hours due to the seemingly endless stream of trucks, construction, and traffic.
What did I listen to?
Happiness Heartaches by Brian Auger’s Oblivion Express. I was not familiar with this album, but it sure was a pleasant surprise, especially the title track and “Spice Island.” Jazz fusion is one of those genres that is uniquely “love/hate.” If you get it and it’s well done, it is special. On the other side, I’d say, many people just think it’s too far out there to really be enjoyed. This musical genre came out of the late 1960s, mixing rock, funk, blues with jazz improvision. It was more accessible free jazz. Many bands rotated the players, creating unique combinations of musicians, which led to some great groups and iterations. The band Weather Report, for example, was filled with awesome musicians (i.e., Wayne Shorter and Jaco Pastorius), and they put out some excellent music. Their song “Birdland” is one of the most played jazz songs ever. I get it, I’m definitely in the minority, but listening to some jazz fusion was perfect as I coasted through this endless exurb that was once the Texas countryside.
As I encountered a traffic jam of epic proportions in Austin, I switched it up to listen to Here and Now on NPR. The hosts were talking about a genre of music called Lo Fi Hip Hop, which is very popular with the youth of today. As the story detailed (https://www.wbur.org/hereandnow/2025/06/05/lofi-girl-youtube-channel), there’s a Youtube channel that plays these mixes, and it helps students and people who have trouble focusing to focus. There is some science behind it. A researcher who had studied this phenomenon had a very interesting insight: music is scientifically proven to act like a metronome to the electric charges that shoot throughout our brains. Music can literally influence and pace our thinking. This was fascinating to think about as I pulled into one of the great music cities in the world.
I arrived at my friend’s house around 3 PM. We started things off with a shot of Tequila; it seemed prudent. Next, we headed out to take a dip at the Deep Eddy Pool. It was already hot in Austin and Deep Eddy Pool was right on time. As far as pools go, this one is topflight. According to the interwebs, this pool is the oldest public pool in Texas and holds 600,000 gallons of water. It’s fed by natural springs and maintains a constant temperature around 68 degrees. It was perfect for a hot Texas day—not too crowded and the giant Cottonwood trees provided just enough shade.
What did my buddy want to listen to?
Something by Bach or Vivaldi. He’s turned into a classical music fan. I’ve got to admit, it sure is a refreshing sound. I wish I knew more about classical music and should probably just listen to it more often, as I think my brain synapses would appreciate it.
What did I want to listen to?
“Hot Fun in the Summertime” by Sly and the Family Stone. This is a great song for just chilling in the summer, hanging with an old friend, and swimming in a cool pool, deep in the heart of the Texas. (RIP Sly.)
As we drove back to his house in South Austin, we turned on some local classic rock station.
What were they playing?
“Renegade” by Styx. This is an excellent song off the Pieces of Eight album. The cover had the ladies posing with the statues of the Moa on Easter Island as earrings. I really like Styx. The Grand Illusion broke them with the hits “Come Sail Away” and “Fooling Yourself.” They shortly followed up this record with the epic Paradise Theater, an incredible album that featured “The Best of Times” and my favorite Styx song “Too Much Time on My Hands.” It was nice to hear some Styx—great band with a pretty solid catalog. Later, with their song “Mr. Roboto,” the wheels may have fallen off the Styx train a bit. It’s just a nutty song, but maybe the message is a little more poignant in today’s AI/Internet world.
We then headed to The Yard, down in the St. Elmo District, to grab dinner and catch some music. The St. Elmo District is now an established nightlife dining area right by Ben White Ave. and South Congress. It consists of old warehouses that have been turned into breweries, bars, and pickelball courts, with plenty of food trucks strewn about. We entered the St. Elmo Brewery, and the band was in-between sets. We got some beers and food while reminiscing. The band started up and played some bluegrass—for some reason this is the music genre “du jour” in Austin these days. The band was topflight, loaded up with a fiddle player, banjo, and mandolin. They crushed. I heard some of the members toured with Dolly Parton’s band; they sure had the skills.
What did they play?
“I’ll Fly Away” by Albert Brumley Sr. This is a country standard and has been covered, redone, and whatnot by many country artists. This bluegrass band had a great rendition.
“(Hey Baby) Que Paso” by the Texas Tornados. Here’s a fun jam, and these bluegrass guys tricked it up nicely.
Back at my buddy’s house, we indulged in a nightcap. He had some interesting insights, maybe something I’ve always known but needed to be reminded of. He said he had been listening more to the universe and it had been talking to him. This is sure important to remember. I think the universe told me to head down to Austin, it was time. I’m glad I listened. Austin is a wonderful town, at least to visit anyway. As I left the next morning, I saw a bluebird perched in a giant Yucca tree.
What was song was in my head as left the next morning?
On June 3, 2025, I was listening to Conflict’s new record, This Much Remains, enjoying the back-and-forth vocals between Colin Jerwood and Fiona Jayne Friel. While Conflict was not the most innovative band, they helped set a standard, as far as anarcho-punk music. They consistently delivered fast-paced, fierce hardcore, loaded with driving, distorted guitars, and pounding drums. Colin’s vocals, sometimes shouted, mixed fast talking and singing, with a melodic touch. They were loaded with emotion, including anger, love, and sarcasm. They demanded attention. After listening to This Much Remains, while reading the lyrics, I started the record over. As the title track was playing, I read that Colin had died the previous day at the age of sixty-three.
I immediately recalled the first time that I heard Conflict in the mid-1980s, when I bought both It’s Time to See Who’s Who (1983) and Increase the Pressure (1985). As I played “No Island of Dreams,” I felt like I was thrown into a crowded mosh pit, packed shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of other punks, moving to the cadence of Colin’s vocals. It was a release of energy—a type of musical ecstasy. The flood of songs about struggles for justice, animal rights, anarchism, and anti-fascism were intoxicating. I got chills listening to “From Protest to Resistance,” as the distorted guitar starts the song, followed by the slow chord progression and the building drums, leading to relentless drive, when Colin yells, “No, no/There’s no fucking way/That anything’s going to change/It depends on you and you now/We can protest ‘til death, they won’t listen/Don’t sit back and think it will happen/They won’t give up what they have robbed/Stand up and resist.” Passionate and desperate, certainly. Importantly, there was also the realization that active resistance is necessary. This aspect should be plainly obvious, given the fascist fucks today trying to impose their will. The song ends, “If we’re to stand the slightest chance we must unite and fight/We must never give up/Make sure our message ain’t forgotten/‘Cause if they won’t fucking stop/Then we’re gonna fucking stop them.”
Love of Conflict also serves as a beautiful bond with my friends Wayne and Craig, as we spent many hours listening to their records. Two of my favorite Conflict records are The Final Conflict (1988), on which Steve Ignorant from Crass is a co-vocalist, and Against All Odds (1989). Today, I am going to listen to the former, as I am eager to hear “I Heard a Rumor” and “The Cord Is Cut.”
I take the day off to enjoy spring skiing at the Loveland Ski Area.
What do I listen to?
Hopping on the I-25, I tune into 93.5 Pirate Radio in Fort Collins. It is a classic “Boomer” station playing oldies, 1940s through the 1980s, as well as jazz, doo wop, and big band. I like how this station is super mellow and chill. It has an attitude of “hey, here’s a song to make you smile.” The concept of Pirate Radio was the idea that radio stations could operate outside of government boundaries and be free to play what they want, without government oversight. The same was true of “Border Blasters” in the United States (also see Mexico radio station XERF); these stations would broadcast at 250,000 watts bypassing the FCC regulations of 50,000 watts at the time. These stations supposedly led the way of exploring underground sounds—not sure it was a bit before my time. I do remember the famous DJ Wolfman Jack, who had a great look and a great story. Anyhow, 93.5 Pirate Radio Fort Collins plays songs you “want to hear but never hear.” I guess Pirate Radio has come full circle.
They play “Me and You and a Dog Named Boo” by Lobo. I don’t know much about Lobo, but he probably had a strong presence on the Adult Contemporary charts back in the day. Pretty cool song and message. It has a vibe of easy days—just rolling around the country. “How I love being a free man.” I get that.
Driving down the road, I tune into 97.3 KBCO, the seminal Boulder station, billed as world class rock. Overall, this is a pretty pitiful station, as the playlists always seem contrived and pompous. I’m not sure that I ever needed to hear Sugar Ray or Evanescence. But seeing how, ironically, 93.5 Pirate Radio is no longer accessible, I tune in for a few songs.
They play: “Where the Streets Have No Name” by U2. This is the opening track off the seminal Joshua Tree album, produced by Brian Eno. This is a pretty good album, but “Where the Streets Have No Name” is not really a great song. Nonetheless, this record was the album of the year in 1987. U2 was pretty big with my generation (Gen X), but I always thought they were a bit overrated. They are the perfect band for KBCO. The early albums were cool, especially Boy and October, but it just felt like they got pretty cheesy as they became more mainstream. Maybe they get a lot more credibility in Colorado because they recorded their live album Under a Blood Red Sky at Red Rocks—I don’t know. I do really appreciate the Joshua Tree title. I agree with U2, Joshua trees are magical. Just go to Joshua Tree National Park; you’ll feel it. Not sure what they think about the song “With or Without You” however.
I finally make it to Loveland Ski Area after a two-hour drive. Skiing these days is expensive; an all-day lift ticket here is $120! Sadly, skiing has become a sport for the well-to-do. This is unfortunate because skiing is a pretty amazing experience.
Taking a lift to one of the warming huts to stash my lunch, I happen to overhear a couple of the staff setting up the concession bar.
They are listening to “Friday I’m in Love” by the Cure. I’m a pretty big Cure fan, even though I was a “little late to the party.” I got pretty deep into the catalog and was a huge fan of their albums The Top and The Head on the Door. They first arrived on my radar with their hit “Killing an Arab.” This was pretty poignant because I was also reading The Stranger by Albert Camus around the same time. It was a real sweet connection—a great book with a great song to match!
The staff only play about a minute of “Friday I’m in Love,” which I understand. It’s not a great song, sappy and melodramatic. It is not a top one in the Cure Catalog for me or one to hear while setting up the short order grill for the day.
What do they quickly skip to? “Let’s Dance” by David Bowie. This was my entry track to David Bowie. I think I saw the video first, as it sometimes happened in the 1980s. Cool video, cool song, and what a cool guy. I think this album/song was a bit of a comeback album for Bowie as he was in a bit of a commercial lull at time. This track introduced me to the Bowie world. I’m a pretty big fan, especially of the Station to Station album, which is stacked with one great song after another.
A vignette: I ski down the Premier Bowl, a double black that drops down from the #9 lift at 12,700 feet above sea level. I quickly realize I need to watch myself, because my skills feel wonky, and a wipeout seems imminent. I go slow and make big giant slalom turns. I feel the edge of my ski get caught, and I go down in a massive crash, smack my helmet and loss a ski. As I lay there in a huge pile of snow, I laugh at myself. What an idiot, “You are not an expert skier anymore!” I struggle to get up and get myself together. I get my ski on and head down slowly and deliberately. I move on to an easier part of the mountain.
I ski down a run, a green (easiest) run, called “Forrest Meadow.” It is nice and easy. I get into the moment and just focus on the beauty of being on this mountain and making some solid turns.
What song is in my head? “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed” by the Allman Brothers. I’m a big fan of the Allman brothers. I once saw them at Red Rocks. I was shrooming my ass off. Right when they came out, a full moon rose above the stage. It was incredible. This track is pretty sweet, a southern rock instrumental jam. You can hear some jazz influence in the writing, that classic AABA form. I love the Dickey Betts and Duane Allman guitar interplay, and Gregg Allman throws down some pretty good organ as well. I discovered this song was tribute of sorts to this girl Dickey Betts was having an affair with at the time, Carmela Scaggs wife of Boz Scaggs. You don’t hear rock instrumentals very much, and this song did it right.
What song should have been in my head? “Lowdown” by Boz Scaggs.
A vignette, part 2: I’m on my skis looking around. It reminds me of being in the ocean. Some of this water on this mountain might make it to the ocean. To ski down on a huge frozen body of water on 12,000-foot mountain is an absolutely surreal scene if you think about it.
Laguna Beach by Scott Henderson
I wrap up my day and hear some faint music, as I pop out of my skis at the base near the lift named “Chets Dream.” I wander up the stairs and stumble into a performance by three white guys playing in a reggae band! Wow, that’s pretty sweet. They didn’t sound great—the same beat and guitar part seemed to resurface in every song. It didn’t sound like they did much of a sound check either. I haven’t seen much live music recently, but it is always noticeable if the sound is off. I looked them up later and learned they are band out of Denver called Kedron Asphalt Palace (https://kedronasphaltpalace.com/). I’m not sure if I’ve ever been to a reggae show, but these guys weren’t really selling it. I’m not sure white dudes should be really playing reggae.
As I walk back to my car, doing the heel to toe walk you do in ski boots, I faintly heard them playing “Straight to Hell” by the Clash. I guess I take back what I just said about Kendron Asphalt Palace, well some of it, anyway.
What is my theme song for the way home? “Watching the Wheels” by John Lennon.
Rumble Fish (1983), directed by Francis Ford Coppola.
This movie could be one of my tops of all time; it is a perfect film. It has a great cast (including Tom Waits as a soda jerk), excellent soundtrack, and wonderful production design. The film is shot in black-and-white except for the rumble fish; it looks incredible. The soundtrack by Stewart Copeland of the Police is on point. I have always been a Police fan, especially Stewart Copeland, as he is a top drummer, as tight as they get. The percussion on this score is used in such an interesting, unique way. Being the composer on this really allowed him to let loose. The track “Don’t Box Me In” is a collaboration between Copeland and Stan Ridgeway of the band Wall of Voodoo, who had the alternative hit “Mexican Radio,” which had a pretty cool video back in the day; I can still see that lizard being spun on a spit over an open flame. Based on the book by S. E. Hinton, this could be the best film adaption of one of her books. Hinton’s books were my middle-school experience, as I read them all. I felt like I could really relate to Rusty James the lead character, played by Matt Dillon, who was just a young guy who’s lost and takes it all for granted. Lucky to be alive and lucky to learn his lesson, by the end, it all made sense to me.
Boogie Nights (1997), directed by P. T. Anderson.
This movie probably has the best film soundtrack ever. There are so many awesome tracks tying together a great movie. The film incudes a great performance by Burt Reynolds. At the time, I hadn’t seen him in a bit, and he just stole almost every scene he was in. There was also a great scene with Alfred Molina smoking crack as he is playing “Sister Christian” by Night Ranger, followed by “Jesse’s Girl” by Rick Springfield. It was fucking tense!
The top scene was probably the New Year’s Eve party wrapping up the 1970s. William H. Macey enters the house, and the Steadicam camera operator is catching everything, in a single three-minute take. “Do Your Thing” by Charles Wright and the Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band is playing. It was perfect, as a broken man morally corrupted by the porn business can’t take his wife (played by real life porn actress Nina Hartley) fucking another dude as she has done over and over. New Year’s Eve 1979 seemed like a good enough of a time to end it as any. Watch this movie or listen to the soundtrack or do both, you won’t be disappointed.
Miller’s Crossing (1990) directed by Joel and Ethan Coen.*
This film was super cool and had a lot of great performances, especially by John Turturro and Albert Finney. There are choice phrasings in the writing, along with excellent exclamations, including “What’s the rumpus?” and “gave him the high hat.” A Boston Irish mob tale, this film did it so well. The scene that really struck me was the attempted assassination scene of Albert Finney’s character Leo O’Bannon. The song spinning on the phonograph was “Danny Boy” by Danny Patterson. Leo’s lying in bed smoking a cigar just winding down, as the assassins come in. He is ready to roll as his house starts to burn. He escapes effortlessly, jumps out the window, kills the assassins with their own Tommy gun, and even guns down the getaway driver just as the last notes of “Danny Boy” trail off—pretty sweet. I remember almost cheering; it was just badass.
My favorite Coen brothers’ movie is The Serous Man. This movie is so fantastic, it has a little bit of everything: deep philosophy, cool tunes, and a classic protagonist downfall. The score features some classic Yiddish tunes mixed with some Jefferson Airplane. I laughed out loud during the scene when the Columbia Record Club collections guy finally got through on the phone. I and many other people were duped by this Columbia Record Club scam back it the day. You got seven cassettes for a penny, then you would get billed full price for a selection of the month or something of the sort. I think I still have a few of the cassettes. I and a lot of other suckers got turned over to collections. It was always a cool experience though. I remember seeing the record club ad on the back of a magazine and mentally picked some albums.
One day, I filled it out, cut the check for one cent, and mailed it in. It was fun to get the cassettes in the mail, but the bill later came back to haunt me. Don’t overlook this film, it’s a real gem.
*Note: Back in my acting days, I was a day player on the Coen brothers’ film True Grit. As it went, my on-camera shot got cut down, but it was still pretty cool to spend the day with Joel and Ethan Coen on a film set in north Austin. Almost to the end of the movie, you can see me lumbering across the screen for a couple of seconds. So it goes in the acting business.
Do the Right Thing (1989) directed by Spike Lee.
I am a big fan of Spike Lee. He takes chances and does some amazing filmmaking. This film really blew mine and a lot of other people’s minds. It is a simple tale of a hot day in Harlem when things sort of boil over. Radio Raheem is killed by the police in the climax. His character is almost the catalyst by happenstance. He roams the neighborhood holding a boombox blasting “Fight the Power” by Public Enemy, and he is respected by everyone. His refusal to turn off the song during the confrontation at Sal’s leads to his downfall. Sal crushes the boombox with a baseball bat, sending Radio into a blind rage. “My music” he yells!
My favorite Spike Lee film is Mo Better Blues, the follow up to Do the Right Thing. It didn’t really get the same attention, but what a fantastic film. It stars Denzel Washington as Bleek Gilliam, the beleaguered trumpet player who juggles women, club owners, and musicians’ egos. It also has an excellent soundtrack by Branford Marsalis and a great story—where do you go when you lose everything and what might you do?
This film really brought it home for me as I was always a big Jazz head. It was like I was getting to peek behind the curtain. All the while, I was just another fan, sitting on a bar stool at El Chapultapec, the famous Denver jazz club.
A vignette:
I am standing just off stage. My heart is pounding. I take a deep breath to try and get composed. I’m up next. I peek through the curtain. The crowd is hot, maybe 100 or so patrons having a pretty good time, judging by the sound of things. The host riffs on the last comic, a couple of the digs land and the crowd enjoys the callback. He takes a beat and starts hyping me up. He says they’re so lucky to have me there tonight, nonetheless I’m the one who feels lucky. This is happening! He says my name. I part the curtain and head to the stage. I shake his hand as the crowd cheers. I take the mic out of the mic stand and place the stand aside. I face the crowd.
What song is my entrance music? “Outshined” by Soundgarden
