Last Rites Presents: Ask 2 Idiots — The Lugubrum Trio ‘Plage Chômage’ Edition

Over the last several weeks, we (the two idiots… The Ask 2 Idiots) have received hundreds of thousands of letters from all over world asking two specific questions: 1) What happened to you idiots, and 2) What the hell is Lugubrum (trio) thinking about right now.

Molting

Hey, the first question is easy. We’ve been VERY busy molting. Like, almost two whole years spent molting. If you don’t know what molting is, we suggest you head over to your local library right away, because there’s probably a spider (they’re called Arachnids in the science world—look it up!) and / or some species of insect (larva, if you want to appear smart) currently molting in a corner near some stupid books right at this very moment. [Side note: clean the corners sometimes, LIBRARIES. Wow.] If you want a quick answer to question #1, though, here it is: we’ve evolved. That’s right, we are no longer idiots. And if you call us “idiots” to our faces, we’ll totally rearrange YOUR face, because we’re now also black belts in a very mystical form of kung-fu that never ceases to impress everyone around us. We’re not even kidding*.

*Okay, we don’t really “know” kung-fu, but one of us watches a lot of kung-fu movies, and the other idiot who is no longer an idiot is curious about Krav Maga (Krav-Curious?). P.S. We still encourage you to go ahead and not call us idiots, because it’s impolite to do so in 2020.

The second question is an interesting one. We all know that Lugubrum (trio) is basically the hottest band on the planet right now—if you missed their performance on the 2020 Grammy Awards, it’s because they didn’t play. Why didn’t they play, though… That’s the 10¢ question. Easy! It’s because they were too busy working on promoting their latest album, Plage chômage, which we’re pretty sure translates from Franch into Unemployment beach (go ahead and ask the couple that’s always arguing about bread at 4am in the apartment below you, because they’re clearly Frenchies.)

Ronald Keel

ANYHOW, since so many people have been wondering what’s been going on in the Lugubrum (trio) camp since their last prize-winning platter, 2017’s Wakar Cartel, we’ve decided to pull the cover off the mysterious plate that’s hiding Plage chômage. If you want to avoid any more of our super interesting words, just know this: Lugubrum (trio) has definitely turned its back on you, the Heavy Metal Nation. Yeah, we know! This is exactly like the time that one guy called Dave from Humid Angel decided to play country songs like Ron Keel, except that it’s not really a country album that Lugubrum (trio) is delivering. Like, at all. What is it, then? Great question. Some of these songs you’d probably hear at the ballpark, on account of the fact that they feature an organ you could easily picture going “toot-doodle-toot-dee-doo-doo” when a guy strikes out and shuffles back to the dugout amidst 40,000 boos. It also sorta sounds like that guy called Barry “The Piano Guy” Dingle who plays live on Tuesday nights over at PLAY BALL Sports Bar (the only Sports Bar we’ve ever been to that has, uh, zero televisions. WTF). You guys don’t really know what Barry Dingle sounds like, though, because you probably don’t live around [City and State omitted for safety reasons.]

WOW. Now that that’s finally over with, what we’ve decided to do is keep it short. Each of us (the 2 Idiots who are no longer idiots) will tell you five key words we believe cosmically links to each song, and then we’ll give you a sentence relating to the song’s position on the star charts and how it makes us feel. It’s really a very simple thing we like to do as a courtesy to people who have active lifestyles that don’t allow the free time necessary for reading a billion words about a song they can just go listen to on their own. You basically NEED to know how we’re feeling about these songs, because we’re experts who have been listening to heavy metal since before it even formulated here on Earth in the 70s. [Side note: heavy metal was on another planet before the 70s and went by the name Star Boom. We can’t share the planet or the species that created it because they are keeping tabs on us and are very scary indeed.]

Love,

Captain (no longer a idiot)

GENTLEPEOPLE, START YOUR ENGINES!!!!!!

1. “Plage chômage” [7:22]

Five Words Cosmically Linked To The Song: Lights, Camera, Action, REaction, Cha-Ka

A Sentence: Hey, listen, if we’ve learned anything from the PMRC, we’ve learned we definitely should NOT do the things that songs tell us to do, right? If we did, we’d all be dead by now from killing ourselves after listening to our Heavy Metal tapes backwards. Same thing goes here. DO NOT—I repeat—DO NOT smoke carpets on the beach. People will think you’ve got a screw loose. Smoke carpets in the dirty bathroom of a Sunoco station like a TRUE American, you wimps. Anyway, this song is kind of a sneaky boogie cut you might expect to hear at a Franch café in the 70s. I know this because I’ve been there before… The 70s… Yeah, not so tough now, are you, guy? The song also has a really good (robot) beat going on later, just in case you want to spin on your head on a piece of cardboard like an artiste de danse (FYI: that’s French for dance artist.) Heavy Metalness: approx the same as Mormon beer. Horns up! Actual horns. The ones that look like gold. They’re in the song.

Five Words Cosmically Linked To The Song: Underground, Baseboard, Vacuum, Cherished, Melt

A Sentence: Maybe it’s because my parents were more liberal than Cap’s, but I feel very comfortable encouraging you to smoke fat carpets on a warm beach. Lay back and let the sand rub into your head. Let the carrot speak to you. Become the carrot. Eat the carrot. Mate with the carrot. Raise your carrot offspring. Treat your carrot offspring right. Watch that carrot graduate college. Grieve the loss when that carrot leaves you on the side of the road because you ruined its carrot dreams. Like you really needed to blow his carrot trust fund on that set of golf clubs. Like they were really magic golf clubs. Pathetic. Let that sweet, smooth, so-good bass line just bounce along supporting the energy flow between your neural system and you parasympathetic response system. Groove, baby. Groove on along.

2. “Seelengut” [5:09]

Five Words Cosmically Linked To The Song: Fedoras, Jessica, Fletcher, Inappropriate, Pubic

A Sentence: There’s a scene in Coming to America where Ron Jeremy bones a bunch of people in an alleyway and you hardly notice it because you’re so transfixed by the excellent acting in this award winning (nominated) film. Anyway, I’m pretty sure that’s what this song is about. Have you ever seen Ron Jeremy’s chest? It looks like Blackie Lawless’s inner thigh, but to the 10th power! The song starts off sounding like an old mystery show your parents would watch on PBS when you were a kid, and it almost becomes metal towards the end when it gets angry about sounding like an old mystery show your parents would watch on PBS when you were a kid. Heavy Metalness: a little more. Like, maybe around “a jug of 2% milk sitting out in the sun for a few hours” more. Playful bass!

Five Words Cosmically Linked To The Song: Reputation, Flabbergastritis, Beflustered, Redampulated, Serenpimpulous

A Sentence: While other bands have the Golden Arches, Lugubrum has the golden M’s. It’s like you brought a gun to a mop fight. You have essentially no chance to ever make that fryer money big time payout bread if you can’t bippity floppity your zip zaps to that sweet whip whap. Is Ron Jeremy’s chest hair curly? You bet it is. He’s got that glow all up and down, thanks to a partnership with our own brand of Ask 2 Idiots Sun Lotion and Hyperdrontitis Correction Cream. Here we have Lugubrum flip-flowing that sweet, sweet electric bass undercutting soft beats and lyrics about adult toys (and we don’t mean Super 7 ReAction figurines). Shave you chest hair. Boil it into a thick paste using avocado oil and smear it all up and down your chest. This song is gonna make you sweat ‘til you bleed.

3. “Foefganger [5:04]

Five Words Cosmically Linked To The Song: Mosh, Pit, Old, Folks, Home

A Sentence: I can’t help but think about busting someone over the head with a long, crunchy baguette while listening to this song. I guess I’m just a classic romantic that way. Old-timey romantic—like one of those dickheads who saves people from train tracks. This song makes me think of conking heads because it’s the most VIOLENT slice on the record, despite still not really being all that forceable about its clear threat. In that way, it’s also kind of like a retirement community’s answer to Age of Quarrel. The bass really brings a neat bounce, and there are still some horns here that will help make sure your parents don’t think you’re listening to the kind of music that will make your grades plummet. Heavy Metalness: yeah, okay, no. But maybe a little. But not really.

Five Words Cosmically Linked To The Song: Bunion, Paul Bunyan, Liquid, Foot, Bath

A Sentence: Cap’s not telling you those lies (like usual). This song is pure violence. Well, maybe some sort of slow, debilitated version of violence. Like a guy with no legs slowly dragging himself across a pockmarked and well-worn wooden floor with an age blade in his teeth. You know where that ax blade is going to end up. You’re not excited about it, but you can’t help but succumb. Sure, the IV in your arm helps you relax, but it’s primarily the soft scratching of his exposed hip bones on the wooden floor that lulls you into a state of pure trombone coma (aka Tromboma.) In that comatose state you realize the truth: your soul becomes one with the pah-wraiths who befuddled your Math SAT II back in 1998. You’re not an idiot. How could you have gotten a score of 420? How? It’s not like Stacy did any better. That’s where you find the knowledge to get past it and move on. Lugubrum is happy to deliver you to this state and treat you for your mental wounds. But then, like the subpar student you used to be, you end up dead at the end of the process.

4. “Muzzammi” [5:38]

Five Words Cosmically Linked To The Song: Chillax, Picnics, Baseball, Prison, Redemption

A Sentence: Look, no one really wants to go to prison. Sure, the food is outstanding, but can you imagine going to the bathroom in front of people and not being able to wear your all-over-print Rhapsody Of Fire t-shirts? I like how calm the song is at the start, which reminds me of croissant-play while sitting on a snuggly blanket in the sun. THEN… SUDDENLY… Some old guy starts yelling at you, and it really harshes your buzz, so you clobber him in the nose with the business end of a picnic basket and end up in the joint for a bit, because you had an outstanding warrant for something you totally did not do, I swear. That sort of thing. You get the drift. GREAT NEWS: The warden needs you to play organ for the prison baseball team, so you get to see the sun again. Heavy Metalness: smooooth criminal. The guitar here sounds like something you’d hear coming out of the cave in that episode where Bobby and the whole Brady gang find a tiki idol that condemns the whole family to hell.

Five Words Cosmically Linked To The Song: Wah-wah, Sandstone, Pail, Gelatinous, Swizzle

A Sentence: You think Manny hasn’t sat around and thought about prison? Of course I have. When you live the lifestyle I have, living right there on the edge, you’re bound to sometimes wonder what it will be like when time catches up to you. And you know what I realized? I am going to dominate that yard like a Butterfinger laying sweet body slam potential upon an inferior’s Milky Way. Like a package of Nutter Butter cookies opened surreptitiously during the Tumultuous 3rd act of Götterdämmerung. Y’all know that stuff just don’t play. You’ve gotta fight your way out past the water fountains and the ice cream cone-looking cups, vault the railing, swing from the chandelier and abscond into the night with one of them 35’ x 35’ Chagall originals. That’s basically what happens in this song. Except instead of the opera, it’s a Romanian circus.

5. “Goldhut” [5:43]

Five Words Cosmically Linked To The Song: Secrets, Hats, Soothsayer, Omens, Treasure

A Sentence: Something tells me these total bastards made everything up on the spot. Like, they sat down and just started playing their instruments at the same time, and just because they did it together while wearing “the gold cone” (winkwink) at just the right time of night, a portal suddenly opened up and a Mushroom Faery floated up through the floorboards playing a golden nose flute that revealed “the secrets of the universe.” Yes, the very same Mushroom Faery I’ve attempted to conjure for—oh, I don’t know—my entire life. Hey, guess what, I already KNOW the secrets of the universe now, Mushroom Faery, and it’s not something simple enough to drift out of a stupid NOSE FLUTE. But… I know where my bread is buttered, and I don’t want to incur the wrath of the entire mushroom kingdom, so I play the game and twerk like a goddamned tropical bird to this really sweet jam that’s probably made up on the spot by these magicians. Heavy Metalness: Less Than Zero Soundtrack. Are you horny, baby? Because this song has more horns. (And organ.)

Five Words Cosmically Linked To The Song: Tiddlywinks, Winklepickers, Truth, Lethal, Fiestaware

A Sentence: I got news for you, former idiot. Everything is made up on the spot. You think Galileo knew anything before he randomly was all “it’s a heliocentric universe, bra. Don’t tase me.” No. He straight made up that ish on the spot. Lugubrum is just doing the same. They are tapping into the frequency and vibration of the universe and letting that which the stars divine pour out their fingertips and mouth-holes. It’s all an act, man. That’s the thing. The guys behind the government (that secret cabal) don’t want you to see the truth. Lugubrum is the ultimate false flag for the international postal conspiracy. While shipping rates from Shenzhen to the US plummet and rates from Los Angeles to Tel Aviv go sky high, you’re busy listening to sweet parlor jams from Lugubrum. “Oh, more organ please, sir” and “can I hear that trombone again, monsieur?” But you just don’t get it. You fail to see that forest through the stars. The mushrooms are just the tip of the iceberg, man. And when that iceberg begins to melt all over your beach carpet you better be flipping ready for the carnage. Ground zero. Year Z. Time for the lightning.

6. “Fatty Streak” [6:34]

Five Words Cosmically Linked To The Song: Tubing, Amusement, Santa, Cruz, Prizes

A Sentence: Have you guys ever heard Busdriver? Not the person who drives 75mph in a 25mph zone with your precious children aboard—I’m talking about the absolutely great American rapper. Busdriver has a song called “Along Came a Biter” on his sophomore album (Temporary Forever) that is really great for a lot of reasons (one being because it samples a Godzilla roar, which immediately makes any song 100 times awesomer), but it really smokes the carpet because it features one of the filthiest breakdowns ever right around the 3:10 mark that makes you want to get up out of your seat and lift an actual bus driver over your head. Yeah, it’s that good. Anyway, this Lugubrum song—clearly an homage to Grimace, who eventually killed himself in a dirty refrigerator box for being forced by Ronald McDonald to work naked his entire life—contains a pretty crucial breakdown right around 2:10 that eventually leads to a very dark and scary end to the album. Peace and Eternal Rest to Grimace. Heavy Metalness: Grim Ass.

Five Words Cosmically Linked To The Song: Aeronaut, Bipedal, Solar, Litigious, Cacophony

A Sentence: Sorry I’m not here to drop some sick knowledge about the rap scene. If I was, I would tell you to listen to Griselda (particularly that freestyle on “Fire in the Booth”). I’ve realized, unlike my idiotic counterpart, that it’s not all about me. You know who did realize it was all about me though? Lugubrum. They knew I needed sweet bass drops and breakdowns and call-back bass loops and fruity loops and organ poops. It’s the scatology that the idiot thrives on. The themes of old become the purview of the meek. Capice? Course not. Lugubrum is counting on you being a cornfed dolomite pathetically rotting away in the corner of some forgotten and unexplored cave in Chechnya. So while you sit there listening to Seal sing beautiful love songs he wrote for Heidi, the real hu-mans will chill in the background pumping Lugubrum jammy jams into our veins using a homemade siphon we originally designed to steal gas from Grandpa’s PT Cruiser. I mean, what does he need with gas? Dude doesn’t even go to the VFW for spaghetti dinner night. And who in the hell is he to tell me that I didn’t amount to anything just because my vending machine enterprise may have failed somehow more catastrophically than my beeper business. So a few people got killed. It wasn’t the end of the world. Sorry that I got some of the tech on the cheap from a guy I know over in the Gamma Quadrant. Christ. Get off my back, gramps. Now smoke up this hot lava and fart out some bass rocks.

———

~Fin~

The Master

Posted by Last Rites

GENERALLY IMPRESSED WITH RIFFS

  1. I was with you until Seagal. That man does not eat carrots. Otherwise, brilliant.

    Reply

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