Monday, December 15, 2008

Christmas in Discoland

Here we see two completely different approaches to Christmas carol/song covers. The first, by Italo disco legend Alexander Robotnick, aka Maurizio Dami, is the completely barking mad, ravey, burn yer fake beard while lighting your fag approach. The second one is a much more Scandinavian and polite take on the idiom by Norwegian artist Lindstrøm, and friends. Both are equally valid, with Lindstrøm's Paul McCartney cover being a delightful accompaniment to the early and civilized part of the day, while Robotnick's will do just fine when all the food's been scoffed, quite a bit of hard liquor has been imbibed and the kids — rushing on a savage amount of sugar — are on top of the tree chucking baubles at you and screaming total gibberish in your general direction.

Thanks to Sir Anthony of the Mansfields for posting a link to the Lindstrøm vid on myshpace. Anthony makes rekkids with Nick Chacona, djs...a lot and runs the Hector Works label (I'm not sure if Hector works there, but call his mum too find out, if you're curious, or bi, curious even, snicker). He's based in Shan Francishco, and if you don't concur that his rekkids and remixes are fab –check his TJ Gorton remix and Greg Wilson's rework of "Oh Snap" — he will come to your town and point at you and then bear hug you until you relent. So relent now, as relenting laterz could lead to unrelenting embarrassment, and that's the tired and not so funny relenting usage put to rest.

I just love the Paul McCartney original and Lindstrøm's version is pretty damned faithful and you could have a bit of dance to it while pulling a cracker with granny, the Robotnick version is good whilst listening to the sleigh bells, and galloping reindeer in your your your mind. Can also did a version of "Silent Night" and it's on the b side of the 12 inch of "I Want More," and came to my attention in the winter of 1989 when I successfully blagged one off a friend back in ze old country. He wanted Sonic Youth's Sister on wax, which I had, and I wanted the Can 12" which he had. 

We reached a harmonious accord in relation to the transaction and I haven't looked back since, except when I'm walking through the Tenderloin in the wee hours and behind me I hear feet shuffling, blades being pulled or someone screaming "wurrarrghaaah" (which is always, but coincidentally, the name of someone who lives on the third floor of a building and has a copious amount of serious narcotics). Enjoy the yuletide machinations that are laid out before us like a cornucopia of gorgeousfulness, dear readers, and I will take my leave. Hokay!


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