A heavy metal concept album...Imagine the lofty conceptual ideas of Joe's Garage, Quadrophenia, and The Wall poorly executed by a drunken metal band from Cincinnati who decided to "turn up the art." Bravo.

12 MP3 Songs in this album (38:11) !
Related styles: Metal/Punk: Stoner Metal, Rock: Rock & Roll, Mood: Funny

People who are interested in Black Sabbath Clutch Monster Magnet should consider this download.


Details:
Applaud My Friends
The Comedy Is Over
*
A Potboiler by Black Tractor


What you are now reading is the tragedy of Moseley Reginald Blaide.

Moseley was born in El Paso, Texas on May 12th, 1962 at the Las Palmas Medical Center. His mother suffered a 17 hour labor only to give birth to little Moseley who was diagnosed with full blown Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. He suffered from poor coordination and a 24 centimeter head circumference. The small, oddly round shaped head gave doctors concern, but soon Moseley was released from the hospital and sent home. The effects of the Fetal Alcohol Syndrome followed him all his life, first and foremost causing Moseley to lack drive and motivation and finally culminating in his own alcohol dependency in later years. Moseley's father is an enigma. He could be any number of men his mother had liaisons with in bar restrooms. It is likely that Moseley was conceived in the Whatever Lounge restroom in early September, 1961. Ms. Blaide say the father is likely one of two men, an unknown trucker from Denver, or LaShawn Leopold Curtis Jackson, a black man who went on to join the Black Panther Party. He became disillusioned with the party when Huey Newton was convicted of manslaughter and left to join a commune and play a conga with a white chick. Enraged by Mr. Jackson's new love interest, Ms. Blaide attempted to collect child support for Moseley. The county dismissed her case when they realized the young Blaide was not a mulatto.

Moseley's formative years came and went without complication. Some may of thought his mother was a bit neglectful, but Moseley was happy with her indifference. Moseley spent most of his time playing in the creek behind his mother's apartment building. Armed with a bb gun, Moseley would open fire on squirrels and other wildlife. He kept jars in his room with craw-dads and salamanders imprisoned within. His mother confiscated the bb gun when she caught Moseley firing rounds into a dead rat for no reason other than the sadistic joy of it. She feared she was raising a tiny serial killer and proclaimed the creek off limits. Later in life Moseley regretted his animal cruelty. But reasoned with himself and figured it was a right of passage many young boys go through.

In 1976 at the age of 15, Moseley met Ashley Stanhope. Ashley was a pretty girl two years his senior who took an active interest in Moseley. They became quick friends and soon became romantically involved. One evening, Ashley invited Moe over for dinner. He accepted and nervously went off to meet her parents. Ashley lived in the Sunset Heights community of El Paso in a house like Moseley had never seen. An expansive back yard gave way to the golden plains of the Mexico desert. The Stanhope house nearly shared the border with our spanish speaking neighbors. Ashley's father was a no show at dinner and her mother was very talkative and was constantly fidgeting in her seat. The food was good but Moseley suspected it to be carryout from the indian place down the street. Moseley later explained to Ashley how the dinner had been "americanized" to please our palates. He said real indian dishes don't use heavy cream. Ashley said it was tasty and she didn't care.

A few short months later Moseley and Ashley's relationship was on pins and needles. She always said that her parents had given her chores to do while they were away at work. Moseley was only partially concerned as he had recently discovered marijuana and heavy metal music. The interest had begun with Black Sabbath and Blue Oyster Cult, it was now progressing towards Judas Priest, Iron Maiden and Motorhead. He could not be bothered with the troublesome ways of Ms. Stanhope. He had a new passion. On July 27th of 1977 Ashley was convicted of running a prostitution business out of her parents home while they worked. The police caught her and a gentleman named Jorje Mascuradis mid coitus. Mr. Mascuradis had a warrant out for his arrest concerning an altercation at a bar involving beer sales on Sundays. He was deported back to Mexico and Ashley went to a juvenile hall where El Paso county would fix her up real good.

Moseley, now without a girl to spend money on, quickly saved enough cash to purchase his first electric guitar. He purchased it at a thrift store and armed with a soldering gun, made any repairs required and began teaching himself to play. He began picking out the parts to countless Iron Maiden songs and soon he had taught himself to be a painfully average hack of a guitar player. He thought he was great, many of his errors hidden behind a hideous tone and copious amounts of volume. Moseley spent many hours in his room banging on power chords and adding midrange to his tone, but he could never find the perfect sound. He also ignored proper technique and lacked any kind of discipline. Moseley had arrived at the pinnacle of his playing exactly 7 months and three days after he brought the guitar home from the thrift store. Suck would be a polite word.

Moseley went on to graduate from Mountain View High School with a 1.6 grade average. Hardly stellar, but his mother was too distracted to even be made aware of the grades. On his seventeenth birthday, Moseley enlisted in the military, the army to be exact. He told the recruiter he wanted to get out of El Paso because it was "gay." The recruiter agreed, filled out the paperwork, and Moseley was on his way to basic training at Fort Benning in Georgia. It was there that the downward spiral that would became the rest of Moseley's life began.

Moseley quickly learned the way to get through basic training was to do as you were told and remain quiet. He tried his best to be invisible and was more or less successful. He did take great pause with a young man named Jamie Millyard. Jamie was Moseley's bunkmate and a violent homosexual. He made his sexuality known to everyone and was unapologetic. No one confronted Jamie because his girth was astounding and he could overcome most if not all his fellow trainees if things were to escalate to the level of a fisticuff. Jamie often made Moseley uncomfortable with back rubs and unwanted sexual innuendos. It was on Christmas Eve after Jamie imbibed some contraband alcohol that he forced himself on Moseley. During the rape, Jamie whispered in Moseley's ear how he would never be anyone's bitch again. Moseley cried quietly through the duration of the rape, praying no one was witnessing the crime. It was clear the next morning when the Military Police pulled Jamie from his bunk that Moseley's secret was public knowledge. After some psychiatric evaluations, the army decided it was in everyone's best interest to send Moseley home. Honorably, of course. Moseley's military career was over as soon as it had begun. He soon found himself back in El Paso with no idea as to what he would do next.

It was later reported that Jaime Millyard had died in 2000 of an HIV related illness. It was rumored that he had contracted the virus from Darnell "The Bossman" McGee. McGee was a man who had 101 known sexual partners and knowingly passed the aids virus on to Jamie and 19 other young black girls. McGee was gunned down in a 1997 robbery. Jamie never admitted to having the disease. He spent his final years ingesting 23 pills a day to combat the virus and spending his time in Chicago's leather bars, drinking and being a gay gay.


The army had given Moseley a handsome settlement to avoid any lawsuits. He bought himself a new guitar and a lot of unnecessary accessories. Once he had drowned his horrible tone in flange, he went about forming a band. The band was to be called Switchblaide and Moseley was to sing and play lead guitar. The fact his singing and guitar playing skills were completely subpar avoided Moseley completely. A young man by the name of Jizzy Bottom answered an ad Moseley had taped to a convienence store window and joined Moseley on drums. Switchblaide was born. Bottom's drumming was almost as poor as Moseley's guitar work but the two practiced endlessly, never seeming to improve. It's as if they were suspended in a state of musical retardation. Moseley went to work for a lawn care service and spent his nights writing songs and drinking with Jizzy. The duo spent the next three years writing song after song. Moseley always complained they weren't good enough and he wanted his first album to be his masterpiece. Shunning the live music scene, Moseley focused strictly on writing. Throwing his pen and cursing loudly was not uncommon as Moseley would hit an artistic block or be displeased with his creative output. He was his own worse critic and a harsh one at that. The only song he wholly approved of was an instrumental guitar piece he had written called "Twist the Blaide."

Moseley began to shun the duo's output and began to drink heavily. Moseley deemed Bottom incompetent and swore he would do it all himself. He fired Bottom sans tact and purchased a four track cassette recorder. He began recording demos in the early evening and going to the bars and drinking whiskey when musical frustration set in. He often would go to work the next day still drunk from the previous evenings escapades but his boss either didn't notice or didn't care. It was one evening in mid 1985 that Moseley met Rhonda Peters at the Alibi's Lounge in El Paso. The two drank heavily and went home and had a sexual liason. It was Moseley's first sexual encounter since the rape and his performance was subpar. Rhonda lied and assured Moseley she had had a wonderful orgasm and went home. Moseley immediately went to his four track recorder and recorded the gorgeous ballad "Love is a Blaide." A song that explores how making love can be so great and so painful all at the same time. Two weeks later, Moseley ran into Rhonda again at Alibi's Lounge. It was a bit awkward but with the social lubrication of alcohol, Moseley asked Rhonda out on a proper date. She agreed and plans were made for the upcoming weekend. Moseley took Rhonda to dinner at a fine establishment and she drank $36.00 worth of wine. As a result, Rhonda slept with Moseley for a second time, feeling she owed him something because she drank all the wine. Moseley again climaxed 26 seconds into the proceedings. He pleaded with her to let him try again in 20 minutes and Rhonda agreed. The second time around, Moseley proudly clocked in at 12 minutes and 32 seconds. It seemed like a very long time to him. Confident he had pleased Rhonda, he asked her out again. She agreed and Moseley was kinda happy he had a burgeoning romance with a girl he found kinda attractive.

The relationship had a glorious beginning but like many romances it was soon plagued with disfunction, sexual and otherwise. Rhonda and Moseley both drank to excess and often fought. Rhonda thought Moseley's music aspirations were silly and Moseley harbored rage due to her lack of support. The two lived in a one bedroom apartment and could barely afford the $225.00 rent. Moseley's sexual performance issues had only worsened. He reasoned with Rhonda that it was a byproduct of the rape and it wasn't his fault. After six years of dating, the couple's liaisons had decreased to maybe once every three weeks. Moseley would be doing well to break the one minute mark. Rhonda was frustrated. Moseley suspected her of infidelity, an insecurity surely stemming from his own inadequacies. She was faithful, but she did keep a shoebox in her closet with enough sex toys to please any woman. One ill fated day, Moseley stumbled upon the shoebox and the contents were a crippling blow to his self esteem. He dreamed of throwing all the rubber penises in the garbage can, leaving Rhonda with only his smaller weenie with which to please herself, but he didn't want her to know he was jealous of a big black rubber dick.

The relationship was now a complete shambles. Moseley was embarrassed of his small penis and drinking ceaselessly. Rhonda's housekeeping had failed and she also was imbibing. They would bicker constantly and Moseley would often sleep on the couch, sometimes urinating in his pants. He would than go to work in those same pants, smelling like a mixture of pee, whiskey and marijuana smoke. It was not uncommon for Moseley to hear Rhonda masturbating in the bedroom with the contents of that goddamned shoebox. As his confidence and penis shrunk even smaller, Moseley found solace in his music. His writing was reaching a fever pitch and his music was evolving. He would endlessly twist the knobs on the four track, tweaking every tone to have just the right amount of bad and hamfisted effects.

This was the state of affairs at their humble apartment for quite a while. Neither Rhonda nor Moseley had the courage to dump the other and they relied on each other for the financial responsibilities that came with the apartment. Moseley had not made love to Rhonda in 11 months and was beginning to consider the possibility he was a homosexual. He found himself drawn to the shoebox but had resisted the urges. He later decided he was just bored with sex and his new mistress was his music. He would find companionship when his masterwork was completed. He made the decision to take a vow of celibacy until the album was done. He gingerly told Rhonda about his choice and she said "Whatever." The response enraged Moseley and he found himself back at Alibi's Lounge, tearfully drinking whiskey and listening to country music on the jukebox. He stayed at Alibi's until closing and went home to the couch. It was there he routinely urinated on himself and drug himself to work the next morning. That was July 19th, 1993.


No one knows exactly what happened next. No one actually saw the accident. Somehow, while mowing the lawn at 8256 Prariebrook Lane, Moseley was decapitated by his 1989 Lawnboy EZ-Cut 5000. The occupants of the home made attempts to call the paramedics but they were too late. Moseley was pronounced dead on the scene and the EZ Cut was taken into police custody.
Rhonda's father, a lawyer, buried Moseley in a plot at the Wind Of God Cemetery in El Paso. Unfortunately, the grave is unmarked and very difficult to find as Rhonda's father refused to pay for a grave marker. In death, rumors swirl around Moseley. Legend has it both his severed head and the EZ Cut disappeared from police custody. Some say you can see a hazy apparition of the EZ cut silently tooling up the street in front of Moseley's old apartment. Other legends say Rhonda hasn't had to cut her grass in 10 years. She is married now with two children and they don't even own a lawnmower. And of course you can always hear Moseley's shitty guitar playing in the wind...

But alas...

Other legends aren't so jovial. One legend isn't so laced with whimsy.

It is rumored that Moseley bragged about making a deal with the devil himself. A deal which promised him the riches of 1 million lifetimes and the stamina of a stallion when it came to the women. A deal that would bring his musical prowess to it's full potential, guaranteeing him one album which would change the face of heavy metal music forever. The deal was apparently struck on a rainy night at an intersection in South Central El Paso. Moseley, while drinking at Alibi's Lounge, met a tall gentleman with an italian suit and leather boots and the bargain was made. This all took place on July 16th, 1993, three days prior to his untimely death. Unfortunately, Moseley didn't read the fine print. Much like many earth bound insurance policies, if the death is brought about by alcohol or suicide, the deal is off. Moseley's autopsy revealed his blood alcohol content was three times the legal limit the morning of his death. Satan was upset by Moseley's drinking and tore up the contract when Moseley arrived at hell's doorstep the morning of his demise. Moseley had arrived in Hell by his own doing and the contract simply was not needed. Satan had Moseley's soul and no reason to honor the contract. Satan, with great haste and gleeful abandon, fitted Moseley with a red hot iron maiden and set his nipples on fire, leaving Moseley to burn and bleed for all eternity. The final blow was a trio of beautiful young girls who ceaselessly pointed at Moseley's penis and whispered and guffawed. This was Hell indeed.

Moseley's whiskey soaked and tragic legacy soon faded into oblivion. Rhonda occasionally gave him a passing thought but never much more. He has become a bit of a legend in the El Paso music community. The late 90's saw bands such as Razorblaide, Bloodblaide and Corpseblaide all working the El Paso metal circuits. Tragically, all three of them really sucked and only added to Moseley's firey burdens. Eventually, Moseley Reginald Blaide was forgotten and his music faded to silence.

Until now. 17 years after his death, Moseley Blaide is reaching out from hell, making damn sure his music gets heard.

A completely average Cincinnati band called Black Tractor have unwillingly been drug into the Blaide legacy. They are complete removed from Moseley and his kin and have no ties to El Paso. They claim the songwriting is coming fast and furious, albeit with questionable quality. They claim the songs just occur, the lyrics just arrive at the lips of vocalist Johnny Potatoes and that they have little if not nothing to do with the creative process. They actually aren't sure they like their latest output, but they are compelled to record and release the music. There are other forces at work here, Black Tractor are merely a conduit for Moseley Reginald Blaide's hellish creativity. Sources say the album tells Moseley's life story, from childhood to untimely death. Rhonda Peters has contacted the band and she says the content of the record is detailed and concise. Songs address the rape while in the army, his sexual disfunction, his struggles with alcohol, private things Moseley would never reveal to anyone while he was living. How a heavy metal band in Cincinnati knows of a man's sexual disfunction 17 years earlier in El Paso is indeed a mystery. Some say Moseley has finally found a way to create his masterpiece. They say Black Tractor are simply the vessel for Moseley to finally complete his work, even if it be from the pits of hell. Other say Black Tractor just sucks.

Paranormal experts have visited Black Tractor's practice space and say the area is teeming with spiritual activity. Negative energy is in great abundance. The average temperature in the room is 24 degrees fahrenheit, regardless of the sweltering heat outside. The space is teeming with flies and reeks of urine and whiskey. It also smells of marijuana but Black Tractor say that is their fault, not Moseley's.

Religious groups are dreading the albums release, claiming it to be a sonic path straight to hell. The Vatican is pleading for the existing rough recordings to be destroyed and the project to be abandoned, but Black Tractor are continuing on. The writing process is nearly finished and the recording is due to begin in the upcoming months. A record that surely has one foot planted in the fiery terra firma of hell will be released on an unknowing public.

Moseley Reginald Blaide is the Songwriter
Black Tractor is the Vessel
Applaud My Friends...The Comedy Is Over.