john trubee random notes

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received june 2002:
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"Groovy Album Titles - Free To Any Bands That Want 'em!" Copyright © 2001 John Trubee

      Hitler Had An Orgasm

      Romantic Mood Music For Rutting Warthogs

      Your Head On A Stick

      Feces Carnival

      Continuing Where The Beatles Left Off

      My Bitch Is A Whore

      Satan Is My Master

      Orgasms For Money

      Money Orgasms For Infantile Pigs

      Pornography For The Youngsters

      I'll Downsize Yuh, Buster!

      Permanent Siege Mentality

      Blowtorch To The Mediocrities

      Triumph Of The Damned

      Candyass Pop Crap For The Now Generation

      Lying Ho Stole Mah Moolah

      Chlamydia For Lydia

      Syph For Tiff

      Anal Warts For Annabel Schwartz

      Monkey At The Control Panel

      Horoscopes & Horror Hopes

      Dreams Of A Pulsating Larvae In The Space/Time Continuum

      Mucus Tendrils In The Limelight

      Massacre At Pebble Beach

      Orgy Of The Bovine Mannequins

      Teen Sexuality Revisited

      Heather Was Naked

      Bitches Buy Lawn Chairs On Sale

      Honey, I Shat On The Kids

      Infants In Business Suits

      Dead Monkeys For World Peace

      Music For Swingers To Screw By

      Smell My Burning Flesh

      Hardcore Whiskey For The Youngsters

      I Don't Want To Entertain You; I Want To Kill You!

      Kiss My Ass, You Bitches!

      J.J. Walker's Incredible Ejaculation Frenzy

      Will You Be My Naked Sex Slave?

      Being Nice Allows Jackals To Devour You

      Submit To Rules Of Social Civility
      So Vampires Can Suck Your Blood

      Let's Talk About Our Feelings, Wring Our Hands,
      Emote, & Other Great Time Wasters

      Carnal Frolic In The Summertime

      Imagine Your Enemies Lying On Mortuary Slabs

      Dr. Laura Castrated Me!

      Utterly Fascinating TV Sports For The Feebleminded

      Bloody Charnel Houses For The Yuppie Swine

      Tender Emotions For Vacuous Mongoloid Parasites

      Eura Bitch, Bay-Buh!

      Eviscerating Ally McBeal For Fun & Profit

      The Weaklings Outnumber Us

      Mediocrity Is Its Own Reward

      Repulsive Wine Snobs Puking In Each Other's Hair

      The Profound Utterances Of Professional Football Players
      Guide Us How To Best Live Our Lives

      Living Among The Normals Is Like Suffocating
      Beneath A Stampede Of Shitting Mongoloid Infants

      Mewling Cyclops Baby Locked Away In An Institution

      Greetings From The Bottom Of The Human
      Socioeconomic Dungheap!

      Of Human Stupidity

      Peace And Prosperity Produce Portly Pigs

      (to be continued when time & imagination
        permit)

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received june 2002:
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    THIS IS DAMN SPAM. YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH IT IF YOU DON'T WANT IT.

    Otherwise, in case you are interested...

    Please feel free to forward to all, post on newgroups, spread, infect, infest, stir up, annoy, promulgate, spam, replicate, reproduce, breed, copy, print, broadcast, xerox, publish, duplicate, pass out, shill, pester, sell, market, cram, mimeograph with purple ink & otherwise promiscuously fling out to help in my quest for utter global domination throughout the entire universe forever.
--FRANCIS E. DEC

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

   ORPHAN OUTSIDE THE BANQUET CDRS

   A new release of CDRs are NOW, FINALLY available for the discriminating listener. These AMAZING recordings are unavailable via retail outlets because distributors and retailers are too stupid and ignorant to recognize sublime beauty when it bites them on their asses.

   BLIND MAN'S PENIS, PRANK PHONE CALLS, & INCREDIBLY BEAUTIFUL MUSIC
   John Trubee & The Ugly Janitors of America

Self-descriptive title including BLIND MAN'S PENIS, which is out of print & unavailable everywhere except here. Also includes the original 1987 Ugly Janitors of America recording of WHEN MY SHIP ROLLS IN, weirdo prank calls going back to 1973 (!) including ZSA ZSA GABOR EARWIG, NAZI ARMY MEN, ELECTRIC BEMIS, DRUG HOTLINE IN TRENTON NJ 1980 and many more. Also includes great remixed outtakes from the WORLD OF LYING PIGS album sessions and bizarre electronic works.

   SONG DEMO FOR A HELEN KELLER WORLD
   John Trubee & The Ugly Janitors of America

    This collection of beautifully sarcastic songs was featured in Larry Wessel's critically acclaimed video documentary of the same name. Recorded at North Hollywood's Clear Lake Audio over New Year's 1999, this CDR features LITTLE BOY MELVIN RIDES AGAIN, THE RAIN KEEPS FALLING, TAKE A SHIT ON ME, TWILIGHT SONG, & more. These songs have never been performed live anywhere. This world is not worthy of them.

This wonderful assortment of songs was recorded in one day on March 12th, 2000 in the San Fernando Valley--notorious for its flourishing adult entertainment industry. We briefly rehearsed each tune, then recorded it. They have not been performed or recorded since. They are too rare and beautiful for this corrupt world. Titles include BEAUTIFUL NAKED LADY, SPANISH CALIFORNIA, HAG MARCELLA, THE WORLD'S ON FIRE, and more. Nude women, cocks, pussies, pulsating orgasms, tits, asses, DPs, orgies, & blow jobs surrounded us as we recorded this.

OBSCURE GOLD FROM THE INVISIBLE NIGGER
John Trubee & The Ugly Janitors of America

A really weird album with an insane phoned-in bizarre rant from crazy person Delmar Conley plus great tunes such as DILDO FACTORY, THEY CALL ME MISTER UGLY, electronic space music THE SOUND OF GOD SMILING, a live cover of Curtis Mayfield's MINSTREL & QUEEN, SHOP TIL YOU SHIT, and more.

The title says it all. The best calls dating from the 1970's to the 1990s--surreal blatherings elicit stunned & angry reactions from normal people who don't appreciate an insane person assaulting their deluded sense of reality.

Jennie was a bitch supervisor who fired Trubee's ass due to her congenital lack of humor. We dedicate this fine prank call album to her pissy whorishness. Groovy titles include NUDE MODELING, SQUEEGIE BLISTEX, DEMON FROM HELL 1 & 2, THE PLEXIGLASS WE DID TOGETHER, I'LL VOMIT ONYA, GREEK CULTURE, PRIVATE CLUB FOR SEXUALLY OPEN-MINDED PEOPLE, and many more.
The liner notes feature a provocative essay about the prank call ethos by Trubee.

Torturing bland normals in the San Fernando Valley, Hollywood, and beyond shortly after the exciting Los Angeles riots of 1992. Brutal humor helps to heal the brokenhearted. Can't we all just get along?

SPACE & TIME WORLD ENTERPRISES
John Trubee--President
PO Box 4921
Santa Rosa, CA 95402 USA

"UGLY JANITORS OF AMERICA FOREVER!"

    "Fuck the past!
     Fuck tradition!
     Fuck ancestor worship!
     The past must be discarded
     when it tortures the present
     and cripples the future."

                 --John Trubee

    At 3:43 a.m. I awoke from a nightmare in which I was furtively attempting to hide the body of someone a friend and I murdered.
    Then I took a shit from all those prunes I ate last night (they lyingly call them 'dried plums' nowadays--changing the name of something does not alter its essential 'itness'. Example: health used to be a perfectly suitable word-- now deviously supplanted by that New Age faggot contrivance 'wellness'. Who are these liars, these word murderers, and what are their motives?)
    Then I wrote this, my newest antipoem, my latest contribution to our civilization's understanding of diseased mental states...
     I gladly acknowledge its extravagance & ridiculousness and melodramatic, invented, playful self-loathing surrounding a quark of truth.

                THE DEVIL'S HATE POEM
                Copyright c 2002 John Trubee


                 In the midst of the night I awake
                 Quietly mouthing "I hate you
                 O how I hate you"
                 To those who deceived me
                 Shunted me aside
                 Fired me
                 Cast me asunder
                 Cast me under

                 To the smiley-faced normals of polite society
                 There needs to exist
                 An equal and opposite ballast
                 To counterbalance
                 Their hypocritical, sunshiney world.

                  I am that ballast
                  The dark man
                  The ugly one
                  He who must be punished for no reason
                  Except to expiate the sins of the hypocrites.
                  I am that proverbial fall guy,
                  The forgotten man,
                  Creep, asshole, and worse...

                  My father habitually screamed at me
                  And sent me away from the family dinner table
                  For no reason other than his rages.
                  I'm not complaining,
                  Merely explaining
                  Why I chose the devil as my defense attorney.

                  The devil is my symbol--
                  Not the devil of sorrow and distress,
                  But the devil as the image of the solitary individual
                  Persecuted by unjust authority;
                  Dr. Richard Kimble and Charlie Manson and
                  Satan and Jesus are brothers.

                  Light requires shadow
                  Day needs night
                  Happiness depends on sorrow
                  Wealth is bound to poverty
                  The wholeness of the universe
                  Requires the metaphysical linkage between polar opposites--
                  Look at Goya's paintings:
                  His chiaroscuro informs how shadow defines light
                  And vice versa.

                  This is a cliche and you know it.

                  You persecuted me
                  For no reason
                  Now I indict you and your world
                  I hate you
                 O how I hate you

                 BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"Politics: a ceaseless tug of war between two teams who, despite the surface veneer of their ideological differences, are composed of identical mobs of pompous brats.
I soon lose interest in observing the tiresome antics of these diseased personalities whose foolishness flourished before I was born and will continue unabated after I die."

I hope you can open this. This film, to be aired on PBS in February, contains the hoary BMP story. Jamie came up here and filmed for it--and even flew to Nashville to 'ambush' Ramsey Kearney, the country music geezer who sang it. I'll remind yuh when it get closer to airing...
--John Trubee

>>> If you, John Trubee, forever reigning king and virtual inventor of the "Alt Song Poem" genre, were not interviewed for this documentary (see below), there is no justice in the world. As they say in the computer industry: "Bow before me, for I am root!" Incriminating evidence attached.
Keep shredding!
-- Doc
********************************

********************************
(JT and disciples, L.A. Surrealist Alliance archives, circa 1985, Lhasa Club)

OFF THE CHARTS: THE SONG-POEM STORY, will air nationally on the new PBS series
INDEPENDENT LENS on February 11th (2003) at 10PM.

Day of the Locust meets American Idol in Jamie Meltzer's debut film, OFF THE CHARTS: THE SONG POEM STORY, a fascinating, at times unsettling, documentary that exposes the strange underworld of the song-poem industry. In this
little known subculture, "ordinary people" respond to come-on ads on the back pages of magazines ("Send in Your Lyrics and Make $50,000 in royalties!"), mailing in their heartfelt but often bizarre poems to "music industry" companies that, for a fee, turn those poems into real recordings.
Through interviews with several song-poem writers, the jaded producers and musicians who set their words to music, and a few of the growing number of zealous song-poem connoisseurs, OFF THE CHARTS explores a truly unique, never-before-seen slice of Gothic Americana.

"Someone observing a tradition for the sake of tradition
   is not unlike a 30 year old clinging onto a teddy bear
   for a feeling of comfort and security.

   Fuck tradition.
   Fuck convention.
   Fuck social propriety.
   Fuck the rules
   and those who torture you with them."

                  --John Trubee

James Coburn died yesterday.

He got more money and pussy
than you or I ever got.

     Now maybe some of that money and pussy
     will trickle down
                              .
                              .
                              .
                              .
                              .
                              .
                              .
     to us impoverished, unfortunate beggars.

Let's celebrate!

OFF THE CHARTS: THE SONG-POEM STORY by San Francisco filmmaker Jamie Meltzer
will premiere february 11, 2003, in san francisco

Jamie Meltzer's debut film, OFF THE CHARTS: THE SONG POEM STORY is a fascinating, at times unsettling, documentary that exposes the strange underworld of the song-poem industry. In this little known subculture, "ordinary people" respond to come-on ads on the back pages of magazines ("Send in Your Lyrics and Make $50,000 in royalties!"),
> mailing in their heartfelt but often bizarre poems to "music industry" companies that, for a fee, turn those poems into real recordings.
Through interviews with several song-poem writers, the jaded producers and musicians who set their words to music, and a few of the growing number of zealous song-poem connoisseurs, OFF THE CHARTS explores a truly unique, never-before-seen slice of Gothic Americana. OFF THE CHARTS will air nationally on PBS on February 11 (check local listings.)

Like a warped fun-house mirror, the song-poem industry has run parallel to the mainstream music business for close to a century; it's estimated that over 200,000 song-poems have been recorded since 1900. The genre's durability can be traced to three of our deepest American desires - to be in show business, to get rich quick, and to share and express our deepest feelings. We meet several of the "songwriters" - from an elderly woman to a young African-American man to a small-town Iowan with big-time dreams - each of whom has been in the "business" for awhile, churning out odd compositions that cover the waterfront of American obsessions, from Jesus to genitalia, from politics to Elvis. We also meet the producers (often known as song-sharks) who hold out the tantalizing promise of fame to their eager customers, and the has-been musicians who sit in studios, day after day and year after year, interpreting some of the weirdest lyrics ever written. Through fellow musicians and his son, Ellery Eskelin, one of the most eloquent fans of song-poem records, we learn about the life and tragic death of the man aficionados consider the greatest song-poem interpreter of all time, Rodney Keith Eskelin. Using a variety of stage names, this would-be classical composer brought an eerie beauty to many of the song-poems he recorded before ending his career and life by jumping onto a Hollywood freeway.

As filmmaker Meltzer says, "The beauty of Song-Poems is that they are a result of the intersection, or collision, of ordinary people's expressions and the desires of musicians/businesses to make a quick buck, making the music as fast as they can, usually in one take. When those two forces combine, they create strangely compelling songs that are unlike anything you've ever heard." Shocking, funny, and heart-wrenching all at once, OFF THE CHARTS is a fascinating look at one of the strangest subcultures in our American landscape.

Stevie Wonder's penis is erect because he's blind. This ludicrous line was invented out of sheer boredom and homicidal frustration as I labored as a cashier in a convenience store in Princeton, New Jersey, in 1975. I'd scribble some poems and weird phrases on a legal pad to vent my seething anguish. Writing on the job was a kind of self-invented therapy to prevent the onset of mental illness due to occupational stress and severe teenage alienation.
In late spring of 1976, I bought one of those horrible sleazy tabloids you find in supermarkets by the check-out stand. I had to keep up on my UFO sightings and mass hatchet murders.

In the back pages of the Midnight Globe (not the National Enquirer, as erroneously reported elsewhere -- was it Time?), I scanned the geeky little ads and saw: "Cowrite on a 50-50 basis, earn $20,000 royalties, send your song poems to ..." some outfit in Nashville, Tennessee. I thought to myself: wouldn't it be fun to send these people the most ridiculous, stupid, vile, obscene, retarded Iyrics to see their response?

In five minutes of stream of consciousness (or unconsciousness), I hammered out the following:

I got high last night on LSD
My mind was beautiful, and I was free
Warts loved my nipples because they are pink
Vomit on me, baby
Yeah Yeah Yeah.

Stevie Wonder's penis is erect because he's blind
It's erect because he's blind, it's erect because he's blind
Stevie Wonder's penis is erect because he's blind
It's erect because he is blind

Let's make love under the stars and watch for UFOs
And if little baby Martians come out of the UFOs
You can fuck them
Yeah Yeah Yeah.

The zebra spilled its plastinia on bemis
And the gelatin fingers oozed electric marbles
Ramona's titties died in hell
And the Nazis want to kill everyone.

I wanted to get an emotional letter from the jerks in Nashville. I wanted them to tell me I was crazy. I wanted them to curse me out in writing so I could show all my friends.

We have just received your lyrics and think they are very worthy of being recorded with the full Nashville Sound Production. ... I am enclosing a contract of acceptance. Please sign and return along with $79.95 to cover the cost for each song to be completed ...

They wanted my money. If I sent them the money, they would send me a tape and a record of my lyrics set to music. Although $79.95 was a lot to a minimum wage teenager, I signed the "contract of acceptance" and returned it with a check. Several weeks later I received a 7-inch, 45 RPM record that had a label and grooves only on one side.
Typed on the white label was "Peace & Love" (John Trubee-Will Gentry). I immediately rushed upstairs and put this little gem on the turntable for a listen. Over the lamest, most minimal country track was some country hack singing the lyrics I wrote. I was stunned.

They did change one line, though -- they excised all mention of Stevie Wonder and had the singer croon repeatedly "A blind man" instead.

Also enclosed with the disc (actually an acetate) was a photograph of Ramsey Kearney, the guy who sang the damned thing. Wearing a butterfly-print polyester shirt, Ramsey looked like the perfect man to sing these demented lyrics.

Several weeks later, Nashville sent a teeny 3-inch reel tape of the song in extreme stereo -- one channel had only the prerecorded rhythm track while the other channel featured Ramsey singing those idiot lyrics with a little slap-back echo thrown in.

For years I had recorded hours of tapes of my teenage band, prank phone calls, studio demo tapes, synthesizer blurbles, and various recordings of an unusual nature. I wanted all this hard work to be heard, and I loved distributing my tapes simply to annoy people and sometimes even to enlighten or entertain them. I am a music fanatic, a recording fanatic, and I needed to get this material out. It was my response to a world that seems always to have told me that I am small and worthless. Putting out music for the hell of it was my way of giving the finger to a universe indifferent to my existence.

In December 1982, I received a call at work from Ron Stringer, guitarist for the Fibonaccis, an L.A. art band. Earlier that year at a gig at Al's Bar, I had given him a John Trubee sampler cassette, which contained my Nashville prank song, "Peace & Love." Ron evidently played the tape for record producer Craig Leon, who was helping the Fibonaccis release their song "Tumors" on vinyl. Craig liked "Peace & Love" so much that he wanted to release it as a 45.

Craig managed to have the record pressed by Enigma, a new indie label based in a warehouse in Torrance, CA. I got 50 free promo copies of the record. We didn't discuss any specific deal. Any sort of greed, bitchery, money hassles, or small-minded haggling might have discouraged Enigma from marketing my record. I felt that they were doing me a favor by bothering to press it and give me some free copies. In retrospect, this attitude was one of profound naivete borne of youthful inexperience.

When I drove to Torrance one night after work to pick up the 50 copies of my beautiful record, some guy from Greenworld (Enigma's distribution company) approached me and, referring to the 250 copies they had pressed, said, "We already invested $20 in this record, and we don't want to have anything more to do with it."

The records were in plain white sleeves and had blank white labels. For $16 I had four rubber stamps made at a stationery store so I could stamp each record with the pertinent information. I also bought several hundred plastic record sleeves from a local Licorice Pizza and designed and photocopied my own little cover to insert along with the record.

With my original 50 copies, I did a promotional mailing to Dr. Demento and various radio stations, not expecting any response whatsoever.

I sent a copy to Los Angeles TV vampiress Elvira aka Cassandra Peterson who at the time hosted a show at progressive radio station KROQ-FM in Pasadena. She sent a postcard explaining that she'd attempt to play the record on her show, but she wasn't sure she would be able to due to the offensive lyric content. I shrugged it off, put her postcard in my files, and forgot about it.

That Sunday, Zoogz Rift, in whose band I played bass, called and told me to quickly turn on KROQ. I did so and was astounded to hear them play my wicked little ditty. The enlightened and godlike DJs at KROQ thereafter regularly played it and it spread across the country to innumerable college stations.

Enigma re-pressed the record, adding it to their catalogue and christening it with the new moniker "A Blind Man's Penis," even designing a groovy little label for it. Matt Groening (in his incarnation as a music critic years before he created 'The Simpsons') devoted his entire Sound Mix column in the Reader, a weekly Los Angeles tabloid, to the convoluted story of how 'Blind Man's Penis' came into existence. Matt's article was brought to the UK by music journalist Barney Hoskyns who arranged to have it reprinted in NME, further spreading the infamy of my serendipitous teenage prank.

I'm currently working on my second Enigma LP with my band, the Ugly Janitors of America. You, too, Mister Composer/Musician, can put out records if you bother to go to the trouble of sending obscene lyrics and suicide notes through the U.S. Postal Service as I did. The obsolete and idiotic machinery of the music industry requires the irreverent pranks of ugly outsiders if it is to survive its keening descent into hermetically-sealed grayness, smug mediocrity, and tortured self-destruction by endlessly redigesting its own putrid bodily wastes.

Hey You Kids -- Feel free to use these album titles when your groovy band releases its groovy music!

> And here's the quote for the day:
"Be grateful for the small things because one day you'll be left with nothing at all."
--John Trubee

----- Original Message -----
From: "John V Trubee" <crawlingwageslave@juno.com>
Sent: Friday, March 28, 2003
Subject: What Proper Socialization Has Taught Us

   "You should always allow fear to circumscribe
   the parameters of your life and you always ought
   to heed public opinion and the approval of others---
   for everyone else is always right and you are always
   shit wrong."

    (Excerpted from 'Diary of A Craven Weakling')

    "All the tyrants of the world
     Always kill us every day
     We gotta rise on up
     And blast them down
     And feed their bloody corpses
     To our starving dogs."

      chorus from 'Take A Shit On Me'
      Copyright c 1999 John Trubee

      I wrote this song specifically for events such as those which have transpired today.

    "Is the individual forever to be crushed
     beneath the wheels of commerce?"
                                  --John Trubee

     (reflecting on the current legal action against
      Unocal Corporation for its collusion with the
      junta in Myanmar which raped, killed, and
      tortured people)


    "Every word is a lie." --John Trubee

     (reflecting on the idea espoused by philosophers
      that words and language parses out our
      experience of reality into discrete bits so that we
      are unable to perceive the universe as one whole
      thing as does a god or a newborn infant.)


John Trubee
PO Box 4921
Santa Rosa Ca 95402 USA
"A junkyard dog staked to a short chain
  chasing himself in tight circles of sorrow and madness."