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My Best Evil Friend

by The No Ones

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  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    Double vinyl. Disc 1 pressed on orange vinyl and disc 2 pressed on violet vinyl!
    Contains 6 exclusive bonus tracks only available on LP, including "All The Stupid Days," "Set List," "J.E.D.," "Solo In The End," "Kick Out The Dwarf," and "Slow Down."

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  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    The CD version of My Best Evil Friend arrives in a Digipak!

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1.
KLIV 02:45 video
One last kiss and the Peppermint Twist. The Monster Mash and Dead Man's Curve and Shangri-Las crying crash. 45s with Capitol swirl, Swan, and Tollie and VeeJay. Don't drop out -- no way, I'm here to stay. Again and again, and it never ends, from now to then. Always my best evil friend. Scratch my back, ride my pony! Ups and downs on the Merry Go Round. Show me a girl with skinny legs. Everybody loves a Cathy's clown. Tighten up with the Dixie Cups, Count Five and Petula, take us downtown. KLIV 1590, my own Syndicate of Sound. Again and again, and it never ends, from now to then. Always my best evil friend. James Brown screamed on the night of the phantom moves. I found a wife in wipe-out sonics, knifed-in strychnine grooves. Top Of The Pops, time is on my side, whenever the needle drops. Push that rock again, it's my family stone, and it never stops. Again and again, and it never ends, from now to then. Always my best evil friend.
2.
Nuzzled on a hillside, high — high in Mill Valley. You opened the door to Harmless and Halfwit. Blind Johnny and me. With tin heart of palms, exotic your hands, keys to wide ocean. Five perfect creations. Two boys in the clouds. We sat on the floor beneath the piano. To us you were a star. Double sun went gold if records not quite. And in my hallucination, he’s there and how we found you. In my hallucination, he’s there and it's real. Such a stylish hippie, a violet, the gentlest of souls. The closest I'd been to that Laurel Canyon. Swim now with dolphins, turtles dance hulu. Sun went platinum. We were your dolphins, the Blind Johnny 3. We sat on the floor beneath the piano. To us you were a star. Double sun went gold if records not quite. And in my hallucination, he’s there and how we found you. In my hallucination, he’s there and it's real. In my hallucination, two sad dogs bark at the sky. In my hallucination, on Molino Way. The sun turns to moon, on Molino Way. In my hallucination.
3.
Wine is soaking up the song. Words are marching from the field. Awful bleak on Bleecker now, and The Troubadour cares less. “Phil Ochs is dead!”, the village idiot once cried out loud, but he was wrong. Phil Ochs is dead. Well yes, I guess, but never too far gone. I’m on my way. I've been underneath too long — too much seaweed in the eye. A bay of frightened pigs, I stand in my pea coat and my cap. More chords, less fame. Phil Ochs is dead. The singing journalist was tried and found guilty of trying. Phil Ochs is dead. The sad-eyed patriot was never too far. He’s in my way. (The revolution was ridiculous. Turned out Elvis couldn't work with Mao or Che.) There's a spotlight on the shadow, but the shadow left the boards. The beats are drowning — so are we. The war is over in Grant Park. Mad cowboy loose in Tombstone town. Phil Ochs is dead. The sinking socialist got lost and found guilty of belief. The Folk Singer’s dead. Well yes, I guess but never too far gone. I’m on my way.
4.
In the garden, in the grotto, I will roam behind the stonework. I have planted every tree that an eye should see. There are rivers, slide beside me, like a Roman beyond the waters. I have planted every seed that a soul can need. Cocaine isn't funny. Sometimes booze can make you choose between spiritual addiction and which of us is best unseen. Love is breaking, love's a break-in. It will run as wild as the weeds do. I'll let it grow where and when, let the walls all fall. Good karma isn't quiet. Sometimes madness makes a sadness seem like spiritual affection, when a saint is torn between. There are secrets, hidden mystery. I can lose myself, but only when I'm alone. It's not because I'll never be lonely.
5.
My Blue Cheer Captain, when you're caverning at home. Keeping afloat on pool of sound. My Blue Cheer Captain, I would never paint you black. You've had worse takes to fill a track. Riding the waves, yeah, I'm a surfer too. We can't be bored here in an endless sea. Eternity likes me. Picture an airless vault, ten kegs of Ballantine’s. Lying in state on bricks and hash. My Blue Cheer Captain, hear the mutineers all sing for one. There are worse ways to come undone. Riding the waves I can be endless too. Let go the board, rise with the spray. My Blue Cheer Captain, I'm a lot like you. Our best mistakes should stay that way.
6.
He sang: "I don't know what your face looks like”. He sang it again — spit into the mic. Wasn't afraid to hit that fader too fast. She just a shadow, she out of the past. Didn't care how it looked in the dark day. Couldn't see her in the bright night light. Detroit to Philly, Cameo Parkway. Ride that Vox Continental out of sight. I said: "Hey, what you're face looks like" three times. That's the best way to make sure that it rhymes. Who could be sure about the color and shape? How to catch those Mysterians on tape? Didn't care how it looked in the dark day. Couldn't see her in the bright night light. Bay City on, Cameo Parkway. Ride that Vox Continental out of sight. He sang: "I don't know what your face looks like”. He sang it again — spit into the mic. Wasn't afraid to hit that fader too fast. She just a shadow, she out of the past. Didn't care how it looked in the dark day. Couldn't see her in the bright night light. Saginaw on, Cameo Parkway. Ride that Vox Continental out of sight!
7.
Mirror ball and big bout. Lions of love are ready to howl! The present is tense; boxing is now. Everybody here, policing their fear — is nature too foul? Sweat on the mat, blood in the towel. Oh what a match! Oh what a thrill in store! One night at the Fillmore. You’re better off dead. Tomorrow is gone. Last row is the skids. Richard Bright in a light show: Billy the Kid. In the other corner, caged like a fox and fondling its fur: Billie Dixon as Harlow (pronouns: she/her). Oh what a match! Oh what a thrill in store! One night at the Fillmore. It’s not that weird. It’s only The Beard, not war. One night at the Fillmore. Welcome to the ballroom. Poster the ghosts of spaces and ages. Seduction of words and sound on stages. We are all bags of meat, dreaming long-haired girls and boys. Still capable of such beautiful noise. Oh what a match, oh what a thrill! Oh what a trip, oh what a film! Oh what a shrine, eternity divine. Mammals fill the floor, spill out the door. One night at the Fillmore.
8.
Sugar Pie so high, she sings like a trampoline. Some Sister Sledge guitar, a percolating funk machine. Damning all torpedoes, we baking love not war. Music in every inch, lay my head on a vintage keyboard. Throwdown in Whispertown —1800 from a sweaty sack. Throwdown in Whispertown, it’s a holy hippie shack. Archie Fisher shots go down, mystic mountain rain. Drag the needle back again, he can murder me with no refrain. DJ Jake and Morgan, see, they go together best. Like a Sears clock radio, magic when you don't know what's next. Throwdown in Whispertown —I ’ll remember where an end begins. Throwdown in Whispertown, hard to find but full of friends. Throwdown in Whispertown. Team Human is bringing the beauty back. Throwdown in Whispertown — it’s a stone get-happy shack.
9.
Time sent Lewis to the canyons, with song like no one else before. A daughter of melody, strange as one, and so many more. A rabbit tripping through cat doors. You are highly functional — you're functionally high. They'll never bring you down, and who the fuck would try? Time sent Lewis to meet cancer, with heart to wrestle down the past. A daughter of mother lost, now as one, together at the last. Love is the weight, the heavy answer. You are highly functional — you're functionally high. They'll never bring you down, and who the fuck would try? Time sent Lewis such a castle. She said: "I need much less than more.” A daughter of harmony, so much undone. Love is the last war. Peace is never naff, only the gun. You are highly functional — you're functionally high. They'll never bring you down, and who the fuck would try?
10.
When I was just 16, I was loser to my dreams. One future clutched at me with a careless hand. Stumbled about the lot, encouraged by sods and gods. When I came out of the fog, it wasn't by plan. Now the band without a head has no pillows for smothering. A headless band needs nothing to be another band with no head. Back in Cavendish Avenue, a room of one's own view. What I wanted to prove was near and grooving. Yesterday on High Street, Chiswick came down on me. The future found my feet and they kept on moving. Now the band without a head has no pillows for smothering. A headless band needs nothing to be, just a band with no head.
11.
Turn it off. Read a book. Shut your mouth. Think aloud. Close your eyes. Open mine. Turn it on. Let it flow. Cut me up. Now again! I am lame. But I'll try. We are your band. Join with us. Ring the land, our magic bus. We were two, in love with love. "No, no still water" - just sky above. Wooden stage, preen a disc. Needles dig. All speeds go! Born to knit. Loud as earth. We are your band. Join with us. Clap your hands on Plastic Bus. We were two, but everyone. We are your band. Join with us. Paint the land, our magic bus. We were two, but everyone. "No, no still water" - outshine the sun.
12.
The show was spotted, less than triumphant. My flow was clotted, encore redundant. But now it's over, the night just starting. I'm getting closer to the after party… The Russian Tea Room — yes, Bowie will be there. A basement flat / tomb, doesn't matter where. At The Palomino, Miss Christine appears. Dan Tana's with Dino, I feel them draw near. I'm getting closer to the after party… That's me in the corner. Don't spoil my reverie. But soon come the morning. More mourning, less revelry. No, no wake-up bomb — who would care to go home? The hands of Blind Tom, pumping at the piano. And Booker Little jams. He's pushing Lena Horne to sing to pretty lost lambs that came to be reborn. We're all dead drunk and we're all drunk dead. The difference is none — nothing less is said. I'm getting closer to the after party…

about

"No one is defined as nobody. An example of no one is how you would describe who is in an empty house. Not one person, nobody. The logical negation of someone."

OK, that makes sense. The No Ones are also defined as "not a single person" and that's fine too. In this case there are but four No Ones, and you can put them all in one room, though not very often at the same time. They are, alphabetically:

Peter Buck - R.E.M., Minus 5, Filthy Friends, Baseball Project, Luke Haines, etc. Countless songs -- you can only hope to contain them! Double-LPs and pizza. Hound Dog Taylor, Raspberries and Sault. Warm weather and walking. Made three amazing and fucked-up solo albums that are available only in an alternate analog world.

Arne Kjelsrud Mathisen - I Was A King, Rural Tapes, etc. Drums, keyboards, percussion, vocals, etc. Arne played the controversial piano solo on "Turn Again" from first No Ones long-player. He loves forest green, his Korg MS-10, Can, and Raymond Scott. Rural Tapes (solo/collaborative instrumental project) release 2nd album Inner Space Music November 2022.

Scott McCaughey - Young Fresh Fellows, The Minus 5, R.E.M., Baseball Project, Filthy Friends, etc. Primary lyricist, plus bass, keyboards, guitars and vocals. He enjoys coffee in his spare time, and dreams of Neil Young and Irma Thomas fronting Sun Ra's Arkestra, with Nice As Fuck opening. Casablanca and The Florida Project are required viewing. Scott The Hoople is his solo side-career.

Frode Strømstad - I Was A King, Rider, etc. Master of melodies as well as guitars, capos, chords, and vocal cords. He parties down with GBV and Elf Power. I Was A King releases its 8th album Follow Me Home in September 2022.

So, making music comes naturally to this band, despite the obstacles. Conceived above the Arctic Circle, split by thousands of miles, and compounded by ridiculous schedules and pandemics... Thirty-plus songs later and we have My Evil Best Friend, the band's third release and follow-up to 2020's exceptional (by definition) The Great Lost No Ones Album.

My Best Evil Friend was realized in the way it was required, bouncing tracks back and forth from studios in Norway to the Dungeon Of Horror in Portland, Oregon, with a few other helpful home-recorders. Arne and Frode were able to track live guitars and drums together in Oslo, which somehow gives the vibe of a combo rockin' a high school gym -- owing much to the engineering work of Bård Ingebrigtsen, who also did the final mixes.

Whereas Great Lost Album was imagined as being discovered in 2054 by a retro-hipster-scribe in Mojo ("The Last Magazine"), the latest is a blurry tribute to our own LP collections and memories, the artists that populate our turntables, and those that continue to inspire us. Not exactly in linear or transparent ways, but you'll find shadows of Plastic Ono Band, Joe Tex, Sugar Pie de Santo, Nick Lowe, beat poet Michael McClure, Blind Tom, Pamela Polland, Dean Martin, and on and on. There are even outright paeans to George Harrison, Jenny Lewis, and Phil Ochs, among others. And once again the quartet has enlisted contributions from generous friends, through the voices of Debbi Peterson (Bangles), Norman Blake (Teenage Fan Club), Ben Gibbard (Death Cab For Cutie), as well as 'lead bass' from Camper Van Beethoven's Victor Krummenacher, and strings from Marin Ballemo Bakke.

With a 2020 tour of Norway repeatedly Covid-canceled, as well as lost appearances at Roskilde and other festivals, you might think it makes sense to hang it up. Well, it does, but that's not the way it works. When downtime is forced upon you, the committed musician just turns it into more songs, more records, more life. The No Ones still hope to meet you all in person, but for now, let's hope that My Best Evil Friend can at least pull you into their orbit, like a beacon from RKO.

-- Robert Stove, The Electric Bird Digest, THE Quarterly Magazines for Amateur Electrobirds

credits

released March 31, 2023

Peter Buck - 12-string, guitars, electric sitar, bass.
Arne Kjelsrud Mathisen - drums, percussion, keyboards, backing vocals.
Scott McCaughey - lead & backing vocals, bass, keyboards, guitars.
Frode Stromstad - guitars, lead & backing vocals.

Strings played by Marin Stallemo Bakke.

Recorded by: Bård Ingebrigtsen at Amper Tone Studios, Oslo, Norway; Scott McCaughey at Dungeon of Horror, Portland OR, USA.
Also by Arne Kjelsrud Mathisen at Nygrenda Kev & Dur, Grimstad, Norway; Erik Bekkeheien in Egersund, Norway.
And themselves: Ben Gibbard, Norman Blake, Victor Krummenacher.

Mixed by Bård at Ekkoko, Jan. 2022; except J.E.D./Cameo Parkway/Set List mixed by Scott.

Mastered by Kurt Bloch at Strictly Vintage, Seattle WA.

All songs: music by The No Ones (Buck/Mathisen/McCaughey/Stromstad); lyrics by McCaughey, published by MacNor Music (BMI) admin. by BMG/Wormwood Star Songs (SESAC).

Artwork: Scott.
Layout: Nathan Golub.

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The No Ones Portland, Oregon

The No Ones are Arne Kjelsrud Mathisen, Scott McCaughey, Frode Strømstad and Peter Buck. A band that stretches from the southwest of Norway through Athens, Georgia to the northwest corner of the USA, consisting of members from I Was A King, The Minus 5 and R.E.M. ... more

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