Some will be surprised and, perhaps, thrilled that the Chronicle has given "the most hated man in Austin music" (hat tip: Raoul Hernandez) some space on their Web site. The reality is that I'm delighted to be part of this blogging adventure. The concept allows me to get to some music, that would otherwise go unmentioned, with immediacy, and you can now attack me at will, via the accompanying comments. It should make for an interesting read. We went with Geezerville because I'm the elder of the group. You'll almost never find me at Emo's. I rarely get excited about Austinist.com. And I'm a proud member of the crowd that takes Loudon Wainwright's "Watch Me Rock, I'm Over 30" (or is it 40?) to heart. Plus, there's an amazing group of oldsters still making great music, each unwilling or unable to simply fade away.

"Every day I look at myself in the mirror and think, 'Man or manatee?'"

Ross Johnson is one self-deprecating bastard. He's just gotten off the phone with "one of his exes," he's got three kids, and he's anticipating a trip to Austin because, "for a middle-aged man, it's a busman's holiday."

Local maniacs the Golden Boys invited Johnson and Jeffrey Evans, both longtime Memphis players, to play this weekend, Friday at the Scoot Inn and Saturday at Beerland, after a show in Memphis last year.

"After the show, I said, 'All your songs sound like Roky Erickson's "Starry Eyes,"'" he laughs. "And they didn't say no, they just kind of looked at me like, 'So what?' But I just thought they were great; they didn't fit into any sort of garage ghetto. They just have this look in their eye like, 'I'm gonna hurt myself.' … I've been not drunk for a few months, and those boys do live the lifestyle that I've lived. I can't do it anymore so they do it for me."

Lamb of God’s Sacrament tour, which blesses Stubb’s on Sunday, features one of the best four-band lineups in recent memory. One by one, they will march Into the Void. Opening act and France’s next big thing, Gojira, spews galactic death metal with Prosthetic Records debut From Mars to Sirius. Singer and guitarist Joe Duplantier is the first to take the plunge.

Former Zom Zom and Old-Timer Patrick Healy sounds off about his high-energy solo project Pataphysics, his upcoming ski trip, his Austin City Limits debut with Clint Black, and why he qualifies to play the Make Austin Weirder Fest Saturday at Lovejoy's, starting at 4pm. Might as well jump:

Stumbling through the streets of New York City, a sixth sense pulls me to the underground lair of Hospital Productions. Located in the basement of Jammyland Music at 60 E. Third St., the black-and-red painted pit is only accessible by ladder. Destroyed microphones, blood-stained posters, and a mutilated guitar line the walls. This is where metal music comes to die.

The store only sells obscure death and black metal albums with a side of noise. That means no Southern Lord or Hydra Head, though the latter will be ransacked here in two weeks. I needed a guide for this venture into the underworld. Dominick Fernow, the store's owner, has worked with everyone from Thurston Moore to Wolf Eyes as his alter ego Prurient. He was my Virgil, hand-picking these essential albums from 2006.

When I saw Mistress Stephanie & Her Melodic Cat for the first time last summer at the Chain Drive, it was one of those right place, right time moments. The Mistress, with her jet-black bob and bustier, was Louise Brooks with Norma Desmond’s sense of dark comedy. She ignored, berated, and sung in perfect harmony with Her Melodic Cat, stage left with a guitar, baring ass cheek and wearing a half-interested sneer as their cabaret punk was thrown out with Weimar vitriol. I desperately wanted them to play a cover of the Doors' "Alabama Song (Whiskey Bar)," which is actually a cover of a Kurt Weill song, which is appropriate, as some of the set was in German. And this was at a gay leather bar.

Into the Void … With the Sword

Just as Black Sabbath plunged deep "Into the Void," knocking down the Wall of Dis with disorderly riffage, so do I now dwell in darkness with the comfort of the Southern Lord. Each week, together, we’ll traverse this realm of brimstone, fire, and all things metal.

This week, drummer Trivett Wingo, from Austin’s metal messiahs the Sword, which has been dormant for the winter, delves "Into the Void" before embarking on another West Coast crusade with Priestbird and Year Long Disaster.

ABANDON EVERY HOPE, ALL WHO ENTER HERE.

schadenfreude \SHOD-n-froy-duh\, noun: A malicious satisfaction obtained from the misfortunes of others.
The word comes from the German schaden, which means "damage," and freude, which means "joy." There’s no English equivalent for the word, which generally carries a negative connotation. However, the amalgamation of damage and joy is a perfect example of music’s therapeutic quality. One artist’s pain and failure is our existential backpat. Just watch an episode of American Idol or any of its mewling, quivering spawn, and the feeling literally oozes out of the TV.

Here, you can expect to absorb some of that ooze, the general weirdness Austin’s music scene is rumored to harbor, plus interviews, show reviews, and, if all goes as planned, a gallery of tragic band fashion during SXSW. In the meantime, this weekend is a good place to start: Basic and Finally Punk play Mohawk tonight, and Yellow Fever go on early (9pm) at the Carousel Lounge tomorrow. For a great example of this blog’s titular word, there’s Hug’s CD release for latest God Gasm at Room 710 Saturday.