the lick

“I’m your ice-cream man and I like Mötley Crüe…”

Sloppy Seconds. Remember them? Me neither*, until I read this article. Now I have “a stabbing or aching type of pain” in my temporal region “that recedes 10-20 seconds after its onset. Rarely, it can persist for two to five minutes“. Not unlike a Sloppy Seconds song, in fact.

But I digress:

Embrace the summer: come to terms with your local ice cream truck chime, and admit that you crave — nay, require — its catchy 20 second hook on glorious infinite repeat for maximum seasonal enjoyment.

WFMU’s Beware of the Blog scoops up a double serving of creamy, dreamy ice cream truck chimes. Essential… who am I kidding – particularly annoying for anyone stuck in the Southern Hemisphere in the dead of winter, licking chapped lips and dreaming of sweaty Camps Bay lifeguards and Choc 99 Caramel Dips with Nutty Sprinkles.

With links to mp3s of the Ghetto Ice Cream Truck Song, the Mister Softee jingle, Lips Stained Blue, Creamsicle of My Dreamsicle and my personal favourite title of all time: Torturing Swedes Since 1969, you can recreate your own sticky swirl of retro summer bliss. Or you could just blast this from your car stereo every time you pass a playground and confuse the hell out of the pre-schoolers.

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* I lie. You never forget physiques like that. Plus, they once did a well-intentioned cover of the Misfits’ Where Eagles Dare.

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Mmmm, Lifehacker.

me ears are alight

If I spent more time on the Internet and less time on frivolous distractions like ‘work’ and ‘deadlines’, I wouldn’t be the last person in town to discover that the ‘King of Ska’, Desmond Dekker, popped his clogs yesterday at the youthful age of 64.

Dekker – who, sadly, is probably best known around my parts as the guy everyone thinks is Horace Andy or a barber – rocksteadied Jamaica to the top of the international charts with Israelites, and 007 (Shanty Town), paving the way for a succession of island superstars like Bob Marley, Jimmy Cliff and … uh, Shaggy.

tune in, freak out

In 1972, a crack commando unit was sent to prison by a military court for a crime they didn't commit. They promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Los Angeles underground. Today, still wanted by the government, they survive as soldiers of fortune. If you have a problem, if no-one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you should consider therapy?

Metafilter reminds us that it's never too late to have a happy childhood with this stirring collection of TV theme tunes from classics like Knightrider, the A-Team and Airwolf. Hey, Airwolf! Didn't Jan-Michael Vincent come over here and disgrace himself with a cocktail waitress / cheap hooker once? Twice?

ride, don’t walk

The Mochines play hard, furious, mouth-punchingly energetic rock 'n roll. They sound too loud even when the volume dial is all the way to the left. Their frontman's shirts will burn shapes on your retinas. Loudly. Their logo looks like someone knocked off one of Joe Dredd's shoulder-pads. They'll have you screaming "YEAHHH" and gooing windmills for no apparent reason. They're like a giant, spiky bowling ball thundered down the N1 yesterday and crushed all the emo kids and guys with long, stringy hair. They come from Kraaifontein. I think I love them.

Download Miles Away and Doghouse from the album Hire the Losers. Do it now.

short, back, and lazy

Stereogum ponies up What a Waste – another mp3 from Sonic Youth’s forthcoming album, Rather Ripped. Rather nice, actually. Thanks.

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In a neat example of life imitating MTV, a young journalist at one of the recent People’s Celebration Concerts describes how she was whisked from concert venue to swish hotel and very nearly ended up as the Big Dogg’s bitch. Believe me, I’m just as surprised as you are:

“After I eyed him suspiciously, Uncle Reo went on to explain to me how "it" works. He said Snoop would point out girls he wanted to join him after a concert, his bodyguard or his uncle would then fetch the girls and they would then be invited to the hotel Snoop was staying at.”

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And Rolling Stone celebrates its 1000th issue by revealing the stories behind the biggest stories of the last 39 years, and spades of other interesting content. It’s a pleasant reminder of the extent to which the publication shaped and defined the industry before music television really took hold – and I’m sure it wields just as much influence today. Yet I can’t help feeling that it has gradually devolved into MTV’s stylish older, duller, sibling over the last few years. And, really – one VH1 is quite enough.