Happy Presidents’ Day, everybody. In honor of this auspicious occasion, I’ve compiled a handful of Youtube clips showcasing phat Presidential jammy jamz for your viewing/listening pleasure. Go on, girl, go ‘head, get down:

- “I Like Ike,” the “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” of Presidential campaign songs.

- Here’s one I can only imagine is called “Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy!”

- The schlocky “Nixon Now” from ‘72.

- Some old robot from EPCOT busting out numerous impressions in the sizzlin’ Presidents’ Rap.

- Speaking of which, what would Presidents’ Day be without a Rappin’ Ronnie Reagan?

- Not to be outdone, here’s Dubya beatboxing.

- “Buckle Down with Nixon” and “Jimmy Carter Says YES!” as performed by Brian Dewan on his accordian (Brian, by the way, is the artist who built that thing on the cover of They Might Be Giants’ Lincoln album).

- Here’s Nixon himself whippin’ out Piano Concerto #1 (an original composition).

- Taking a cue from “The Simpsons,” The Forgotten Presidents Song remembers all the not-so-memorable Commanders in Chief (the response video someone made is ten times funnier, though).

Not enough for you? Okay, here are two bonus jamz, neither of which were culled from the aforelinked video monolith:

- The infamous recording of LBJ ordering a pair of slacks from Haggar (hard to believe this hasn’t been sampled by the Beastie Boys yet).

- From my personal collection, Larry Shannon Hargrove’s classic Lewinsky-era tune “Leave Bill Clinton Alone” (sample lyric: “all this investigating ain’t nothin’ but playa-hatin’!”).

And I thought I got rid of all the promo CDs I received from record labels during my years as a college radio yutz. I just found these four in my closet, all from 2003 (the year I graduated). Don’t remember much about them. Let’s see what we have here:

Union 13 - Symptoms of Humanity

Metal-tinged hardcore with a Hispanic flavor. Production slicker than a slip n’ slide greased with vegetable oil. Dock ‘em five points for the lame acoustic fake-out at the beginning of the record. “Going Through This” stands above the general din to be the requisite catchy, anthemic number. Guitar solos on the wanky side. Cookie Monster-type noise in “Traces.” A look at their Myspace page reveals Union 13 has experienced some growing pains as of late - they are currently looking for a second guitarist. If you like wearing black and shredding on insane riffs, go check it out.

The Hard Ons - Very Exciting!

Aussie punks leaning towards power pop. Lots of soft, dreamy harmonies, even on the more brutish numbers. Another helping of Cookie Monster vocals, but this time in jest (the song in question is titled “Cat’s Got Your Tongue” - are they ribbing black metal here?). More wanky solos, too. I understand. I play guitar myself, and that stuff’s lots of fun to whip out. I think Iggy Pop ghostwrote “Preservation of a Wild Cat.” So sexual, primal. Probably my favorite track. The rest is dangerously close to something Sean Lennon might have been involved in.

Various Artists - The Sound of San Francisco

From Alive Records, who sent me more crap than the University of Phoenix (not looking to become a nurse, thanks). This disc is a sampling of their wares. All new wave/garage rock revivalists. I like the Coachwhips song the best because it’s the shortest. I think this CD is what every shitty rock club I’ve been to since the White Stripes broke plays between bands. Certainly makes me feel like I’m standing around some gross place waiting for the Funderful Butt Explosion to take the stage. Thumbs way down.

U.S. Bombs - Put Strength In The Final Blow

I remember really hating this. Any band that emulates the Clash this much is yucko in my book. This is actually the Bombs’ first album, rereleased for reasons unknown. For the fans, probably. Wikipedia just reminded me these guys were the stage band during Jim Breuer’s stint hosting Comedy Central’s “Premium Blend.” I wonder how they feel about that now. The guitar on this record sounds like it’s being played through a 24″ Zenith. Everything sounds so lifeless, as if they used take fifty-nine of each song. The only tune with any snap is the Saints cover, “Demolition Girl.” Bad sign, bros. Maybe this one should have stayed a vinyl-only release.

I can’t imagine why I hung on to these CDs. Maybe I was high on furniture polish. If anyone wants any of ‘em, let me know.  I will totally unload them on you. First come, first served.

You’re in the bungle, baby. You’re not gonna die. I doubt you’ll even get injured. No, there’s nothing dangerous in this part of the blogosphere. It’s just me, James Greene, another Kentucky Fried Idiot who feels like he’s filling some large void by posting epic rants about obscure punk bands, forgotten vaudevillians, and childhood heroes on the Internet. Expect that kind of thing here, peppered with MP3s and video of whatever wild crapola I feel needs to be shoved down your throat. I shall do my best to keep things interesting and fringe - no promises, though. Somedays, a guy just feels like talking about the Lemonheads.

And sometimes, that day is today.

How famous is Evan Dando? I’m really not sure. I’m guessing his eventual death will not interrupt a prime time broadcast of “Law & Order” or “Grey’s Anatomy.” I suppose a more appropriate question might be how famous does Evan Dando think he is? The answer to that question is, apparently, very famous, or at least that’s what I gathered after seeing him perform with his band the Lemonheads two weeks ago at Orlando’s Social (club motto: our backstage is the broom closet).

I say this not because Dando had a rack of about eight guitars next to him during the show (all of which seemed to produce roughly the same sound when plugged in) nor because he swapped guitars out after nearly every song. Nay, I say this because there was a man planted onstage directly behind said guitar rack whose sole job was to hand Dando whichever axe he desired, despite the fact that the distance between the fussy frontman and his arsenal of git-fiddles was no more than one and a half steps. The bass player was not afforded such amenities. In fact, he used the same guitar all night. The drummer, as well, used one singular drum kit for the duration of the set.

Maybe we were witnessing performance art. At one point, Evan turned to his hapless helper and motioned to his amp. He appeared to mouth the following words:

“It’s not loud enough.”

The guy darted over to the amp’s volume knob, turned it clockwise, thereby increasing the volume, and stepped back. Dando nodded in approval. While this is not on the level of playing the guitar solo from “Sweet Child O’ Mine” in the middle of every song (a brazen act Dando once perpetrated during a concert, resulting in the temporary breakup of the Lemonheads), I will accept Evan’s Royal Knob Turner as the best crazy he has to offer these days - but only so I don’t have to damn his name in sentences laced with phrases like “no soul” and “rock star bullshit.”

Musically, the Lemonheads were in top form on this chilly Orlando night. Dando’s voice is still a sweet, buttery coo drenched in molasses (Dando 1, Crack 0). The rhythm section was particularly boffo, which is good because it appeared they were working without a setlist. More than once I spied Dando turning his fretboard towards Mr. Bass Man so he knew which notes to hit. They played plenty of crap off the new record, which is fine and dandy, but they also paraded out a plethora of classics. “Hospital,” “If I Could Talk I’d Tell You,” “Drug Buddy,” “Outdoor Type,” “Big Gay Heart,” “Rick James Style,” “It’s a Shame About Ray” - we were even treated to rollicking versions of “Hate Your Friends” and another very early Lemonheads song that was recorded, according to Dando, “the day after we graduated from high school in 1986.”

If I walked away from this show with one disappointment, it was that during his spotlight acoustic set (read: bass n’ drums get a break to finish their hot dogs and whiz) Dando did not bust out his epic cover of “Skulls.” I saw him play it once at a solo gig in 2001 and I seriously almost had multiple orgasms. Only Boston’s favorite substance-abusing alternahunk could take lyrics like “demon I am and face I peel, to see your skin turned inside out” and make them sound romantic. Oh, Dando, I bet you say that to all the girls!