Tuesday, December 2, 2008

How to post a fake blog post on my blog

Go to the Union Office.
Go on to any of the computers.
Go to blogspot, where google's persistent log-ins while sign you in as me in my blog.
post some dumb shit. 
Thank you google.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Irony At Its Goopiest

Nickelback, on the growing lack of good rock bands:

"I feel like there's not enough rock bands out there, especially when we go on the road," said Kroeger, who performs with the Canadian rock outfit on "The Tonight Show With Jay Leno" on Wednesday night. "It's tough to find other bands out there, because either they're making a record, or they just got done touring. So kids: Start rock bands. Set down the 'Guitar Hero,' learn how to play an actual guitar and start a band, because it's hard to find more bands to put a solid rock-and-roll package together, to get out there. It's getting harder and harder, but I think we've done it."

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Just like Cypress Hill...

I got to get my props.

(Copy/pasted from the LA Times site)

Propositions:   Precincts reporting: ~100.0%

1A: High-speed rail
Yes 52.1% No 47.9%

2: Farm animals
Yes 63.1% No 36.9%

3: Children’s hospitals
Yes 54.8% No 45.2%

4: Abortion notification
Yes 48.0% No 52.0%

5: Drug offenses
Yes 40.1% No 59.9%

6: Criminal justice
Yes 30.8% No 69.2%

7: Renewable energy
Yes 35.2% No 64.8%

8: Gay marriage ban
Yes 52.5% No 47.5%

9: Victims’ rights
Yes 53.5% No 46.5%

10: Alternative fuels
Yes 40.3% No 59.7%

11: Redistricting
Yes 50.6% No 49.4%

12: Loans for veterans
Yes 63.5% No 36.5
(Green is for winning propositions, Red is for winning bigotry)

Somewhere in America...

A stock car is crying.

Monday, November 3, 2008

I endorse Barack Obama.

Totally meant to do that earlier. My bad.

Oh, and I endorse him for President. But i'd totally endorse him for other stuff, too.

Hit the road slackin'

This year, for NaNoWriMo, I decided to go for it. Of course, I spent the first 4 hours of the month of November at a big-ass dance festival, so it should surprise no one that i've slacked so far. To my credit, however, I crap out a surprisingly popular (from my own informal polling 0f people who tell me so) column of 475 words on a weekly basis in a dark couple of hours on a friday afternoon. I know my small contingent of writer-friends will back me up on this. Either way, I figured i'd give a brief synopsis of my novel so you know I have some idea what i'm going to write about. It might sound a little derivative of other books, stories, and themes that I like, but that's exactly how I want it to be. Here goes:

A devastating nuclear accident in the Soviet Union puts an immediate halt to the Cold war and the United States is forced to re-allocate its significant-but-suddenly-unnecessary defense funds and nuclear resources into something less specious than the arms race in the wake of massive anti-nuke sentiment. So, the government decides to look into positive applications, bolstered by studies concluding that exposure to specific frequencies of radiation could affect the human body in suuuuperhuman ways. Of course, the good intentions of the director of the experiment find themselves encroached by the greedy and the malcontent and the program finds itself with some figurative and literal monsters to battle with. And of course, certain shadowy elements of the disgraced USSR remain bent on re-establishing the tenuous old balance of power.

How's that for a back cover blurb.

I was basically trying to throw in everything I like (superheroes, monsters, special agents) into an alt-universe backdrop where everything can --and will-- go wrong. Should be fun.

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Hey! you!

If you couldn't tell, i've been super-busy with the podcast. HERE.

I've got it to the point where I can mix in music for some constant chatter accompaniment.
It's like ridiculous how good i've gotten with GarageBand. 

Also, today I discovered that a Y chromosome may in fact be required to enjoy At The Drive-In. Sucks. I was totally going to use them on a date. Intensity!!!

So, for now you ought to go check out the pod, and I will attempt to refocus my musical wit on this stuff. 

For instance, Passman & I invented a game where we construct a band based on five parts (to fit our usual top 5 format). The picks go as follows:

First, pick a Drummer
Second, pick a Bassist
Third, pick a Guitarist
Fourth, pick a Vocalist
and lastly, your Wild Card
Then select a band name and a song performed by a different band (separate from the bands of your members).
Also, some rules. Only one member may be dead, and no two members may have been in the same original band. Also, you must pick them based on their main instrument, not on instruments they're able to play. So, for example, my band looks like this:

The Paranoia Thomson
Drums: Stewart Copeland, The Police
Bass: Les Claypool, Primus
Guitar: Tony Iommi, Black Sabbath
Vocals: Iggy Pop, The Stooges
Wild Card: Marc Bolan, T. Rex
...and they would perform "Peaches" by The Stranglers

See. One dead guy (Bolan) and no two members in the same project. Technically Les Claypool and Stewart Copeland were in Oysterhead, but that was a one-album project. 
Also, if you're REEALLY bored, here's Passman's band:

Pit Viper
Drums: Jimmy Chamberlin, Smashing Pumpkins
Bass: Peter HookNew Order
Guitar: Stephen CarpenterDeftones
Vocals: Robert SmithThe Cure
Wild Card: Frédéric Chopin
...and they would perform "Achilles' Last Stand" by Led Zeppelin

Feel free to create your own and be sure to subscribe to the podcast through iTunes so that I don't have to fucking tell you every time something gets posted. My GarageBand skills can only grow at this point so it should be some Crazy Goodshit (born: Craztopher John Goodshit) in the future. 


Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Back from the Gator Pit

Yes, I was attacked by gators. They got two toes and, more importantly, they stole my sense of security. My well-being took a serious hit, but i'm ready to blog again. Call it my small victory.
So I figured i'd just warm back up with a series of personal insults directed at musical figures; a ferocious five if you will. This one's pop-themed, since i'm still getting my groove back and pop is a damn easy target. Here goes nothin':

1. Fall Out Boy: I feel like I should point out that I have never been wrong about Fall Out Boy. That said, I can announce that their new album will sound like goats melting and everyone's little sister is going to masturbate to it. Except for MY little sister, who's been forcibly programmed to have good musical taste and also has no sexuality to speak of. none. end of story.

2. Heidi Montag: I don't know who the fuck this person is, but they should know that being a celebrity will never give you artistic credibility. For a list of other things that will not give you artistic credibility, listen to Heidi's single "Overdosin'". Scratch that, just read that title over and over again for three minutes; it'll be less repetitive, less depressingly mediocre, and a lot less headache-inducing.

3. Avril Lavigne: I know I pick on her alot, so I'll just let the news speak for itself. After the Malaysian government originally cancelled Avril's performance there due to pressure from Islamic traditionalists who felt she had a corruptive, sexy image, they have now reversed that decision. That's right, the ruling body of Malaysia has declared Avril Lavigne not sexy. (Aw Snap!)

4. The Jonas Brothers: I have no idea who these guys are but a cursory glance at their wikipedia page reveals that I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW THEM. Rule #1: If you wear a promise ring, you are not playing rock music. Rule #2: If you abstain from something and play rock music, you must tattoo your philosophy onto your body. I don't care if you're just allergic to penicillin, you better get it inked. That means you, diabetic Jonas Brother. Oh, and "staying pure until marriage" doesn't mean much when you're a media whore. Just ask Mandy Moore.

5. The Pussycat Dolls: Have just lost Kermit the Frog. Oh, wait, no.. that says Carmit. It must be, hold on there's a photo here. Nope, looks like a frog puppet to me. Lots of makeup though.

Friday, June 20, 2008

GIRL TALK. New Album!!!

If you can't pay, that's okay, you just have to click a reason why.

If you pay 5 bucks or more, you get a mixtape version (one big track).

If you pay 10 bucks or more, you get a physical copy of the album when it comes out in a couple months.

If you're not familiar with Girl Talk, it's sample-based insanity. If you're already part & parcel in the party people, rest assured the crazy juxtapositions are just as sharp and twice as shocking.

Example Honorees:

Flo Rida "Low" + Velvets "Sunday Morning"

Procol Harum "A Whiter Shade Of Pale" (AKA that soft organ tune that's instantly recognizable but otherwise a mystery) + Youngbloodz "Damn"

The Band "The Weight" + Young Joc "It's Going Down"

Radiohead "Paranoid Android" + Jay-Z "Roc Boys"

MIA "Boyz" + The Cranberries "Dreams"

Radiohead "15 Step" + Blackstreet "No Diggity" + Kanye "Flashing Lights"

Runner-Up Example:

Soulja Boy + The Cure + Thin Lizzy (check it yourself, it's amazing)

The Piece d' Resizzle:

Metallica "One" + Lil Mama "Lip Gloss"swooooon.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Rock Lesson #341: Select your "Diva" moments carefully

When you're a multi-platinum artist, everybody wants a slice of your time. In fact, they'd be perfectly okay with you having no time for yourself. So, as a matter of personal boundaries, its okay to pull back a bit and have a diva moment every so often. Morrissey is a great example, if only because he's already instilled within his public the notion that every show, interview, and public appearance may be scrapped upon half a whim. Pete Doherty & Winehouse work just as well, although Amy actually has some semblance of work ethic to it. These moments are important, and not just for the leisure time it affords, but also for the artistic cred that comes with being enigmatic. Remember that although Pearl Jam did far more for the world of confessional grunge rock, Kurt Cobain will always be the tortured genius. But these diva moments must be carefully orchestrated, or else "tortured genius" melts comically into "Whiny Egomaniac" faster than cheap tupperware in the microwave. Here's how it should be done:

Recently the French president Nicolas Sarkozy pulled out his microphone and walked away from an interview for 60 minutes. Leslie Stahl had decided to ask him about his impending divorce, but someone must've given him the impression that he'd be asked about, oh I don't know, presidential stuff. Ultimately, Leslie Stahl looked like a bewildered child suddenly unglued from the rules she had assumed were firmly in place; and the French president looked both presidentially invincible and dismissively French. It was perfect.

Of course, no blog entry would be complete without some heartless insult-tossing, so here's how you DON'T partake in a diva moment:

Kanye West: First he demanded a 2:35am set time instead of the paltry 8:15pm that fest organizers offered him. Then somehow the stage isn't ready until 3:30am, which isn't bad when you consider that Kanye didn't begin to make use of it until 4:35am. First of all, the set time was moved because he wanted it to be dark and Pearl Jam had the headlining slot. Now, I don't think 8:15 is a particularly bright hour, but I do think that it probably hurt Kanye's pride to think that someone else would get a better slot than him. So then when the headliner went long (which is why they're the headliner), Kanye's applecart got upset. So by golly, if he had to wait an hour, he'd make all his fans do the same. Take that, fans! Of course, some fans remained unassaulted and waited for Kanye. This devotion was of course rewarded by the rapper's expert use of a shortened set, virtually complete lack of crowd interaction (or explanation or apology), and a generally lackluster performance. One can only imagine the irony supernova when he performed "Stronger:"

Now that don't kill me, can only make me stronger.
I need you to hurry up now 'cause I can't wait much longer.
I know I got to be right now 'cause I can't get much wronger.
Man, I been waitin' all night now, that's how long I've been on ya.
You should be honored by my lateness
That I would even show up to this fake shit

Coldplay's Chris Martin:
One of the greatest maneuvers in the diva playbook is the interview-gone-wrong. It has very immediate and guaranteed press coverage, allows for a very clear pronouncement of the diva's grievances, and can sometimes provoke sympathy for the artist by transferring the problems onto the interviewer. But in an interview with the BBC, Chris Martin became uncomfortable when questioned about the new album's lyrical themes. After the interviewer asked if the album's title hinted at a recurrent theme or preoccupation with death, Chris accused him of trying to goad the singer into saying something he didn't mean. Heaven forbid Coldplay have any sort of lyrical arc or depth to their lyrics! The album, Viva La Vida Or Death And All His Friends, has received an enthusiastic "eh" from critics, all of whom do an amazing job of hiding their general disgust with Coldplay's chosen field of pastepudding pop by accenting how masterfully they make their non-fascinating music.

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

The Ten People You Meet At Coachella

The Friend: Probably the most depressing figure at Coachella, this person has no taste whatsoever but tags along with their hip buddy to all the bands they like. The sad part is that no matter how many great acts they are dragged through, they will never be able to get into music. They are on the outside looking in, and it is costing them a lot of money. 

The Mom: If you couldn't tell by her wide-eyed vicarious enjoyment, look for the kid keeping a stern 4 paces in front of her. Sure, she only bought a ticket to chaperone her child, but damn if she isn't just loving the journey.

The Obstacle: You know you're the obstacle if you're over 6'6" and love big hats. Also, you probably like swaying and standing in front of shorter people. 

The Mountaineer: closely related to the obstacle, the mountaineer has severely overestimated the Desert experience. He is easily identified by his hiking boots, wool socks, canteen, and wide-brim hat. He also easily identified by his ridiculously aloof appearance at the dance tent.

The Bro: In case you weren't aware, Coachella is in Riverside county. For further proof, that guy over there is wearing a Kottonmouth Kings shirt with no sleeves. 

Kid with Glow-sticks: Why the fuck does that kid have glow-sticks? He's not even doing anything with them.

Unfortunate Goth: Yep, no matter what, someone always thinks its a good idea to put on big black pants covered in buckles and go spacewalking through the desert. 

The Old Person: Coachella's new target demographic. Evidence #1: Jack Johnson, Prince, Roger Waters. Evidence #2: That flattened Ensure bottle on the ground. Evidence #3: There's a hell of a lot of old people around this year.

The Jailbait: Good God Damn, that 14-year-old is wearing a toothbrush for a top. Somebody call her parents.

The Random Celebrity: Is that Danny DeVito?

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Coachella Roundout part I: Jokes

When you've been writing about music for as long as I have, you start to get ahead of yourself at shows. The mind cannot help but try and form interesting sentences and descriptions which you'll no doubt forget by the time you write the damn article anyhow. But then, when you're as crazy as I am, sometimes the mind comes up with really odd shit to say that aren't particularly true or make any sense at all and honestly you consider printing it anyways (by the doctrine of "Anything Pitchfork can do, I can do better"). So... as I scramble to assemble viable copy from Coachella, I will assault you with these dumb things that I conjured up while watching various bands perform:

Holy Fuck: "If James Brown were alive today, he'd be Holy Fuck."


Roger Waters: "And then, silently, the world stopped taking its medication."

Deadmau5: "Either this guy's fucking amazing or I'm just a sucker for goofy masks. Or both."

Prince: "Prince is so gay he fucks women." (I'm such a class act.)

Stars: "Little did they know the hatred that seethed behind the delightful, loving pop tunes."

Gogol Bordello: "Then the great holy gypsy danced into the crowd, which offered him their wallets freely as tribute." (gypsies, pickpocketing, oh nevermind...)

Busy P: "They say the more alien in appearance the DJ, the better the set." 

Metric: "What's the sound of one man napping? Oh yes, zzzz...."

Fatboy Slim: "That guy might be older than electronics."

Goldfrapp: "She's wearing like 3 decades right now."

I'm From Barcelona: "It's like being diabetic. You could be in I'm From Barcelona and not even know it... Until your organs started shutting down."

Spank Rock: "In the history of Hip-hop shows, there has never been a more clothed female presence onstage than right now. Except for maybe Queen Latifah, but only if you go by yards of fabric."

Chromeo: "If you're cool enough to be onstage for this show, you're cool enough to take a punch in the balls from me."

Wednesday, April 9, 2008

I'm a blogcritic, Dottie. A rebel...

News From The Machine IV: A New Hype

Leave a comment if you read it. First person to leave one claiming that Weezer is "Teh best" gets mad kudos from me. Extra points if you call me a "Dumb Jock" or accuse me of being a rap fanatic.

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

Hideously Deformed Electro Of Superhuman Size & Strength

A couple weeks ago, I watched Toxic Avenger and fairly thoroughly enjoyed its campy indulgence. And now, in my latest plug, I feature a remix of a track done by the artist of the same name.

The remix end of it is Lies In Disguise, which is actually two dudes more famous for their other stuff than L.i.D. will likely ever be. It is:

Blake Miller, singer and laptoperator of the Moving Units (He plays guitar too, not sure if he still does)
Dylan Eiland, a.k.a. Le Castle Vania, DJ Destr-ordinaire and first to officially pun on the name of I Love You But I've Chosen Darkness. (He replaced Darkness with Disco*)

Anyways, I dug it when I first heard it on that IHC/SCION tape, so here's a proper nod to the Kabukiman-masked maniac. Proper.

*For my money, Darren's still got the better one: "I love you but i've chosen Shark Week.")

Monday, April 7, 2008


I made an awful logo!

I'll tweak it a bit so it looks more fitting, but I have a logo now!

After Digitalarmes-- a blog I frequently and indulgently enjoy-- changed their logo to add boobs, I decided I should step into the realm of images. So there it is. And until such time as I pick something cooler to put in it, it will have my picture.



Photo By Ryan Kobane

So, as some of you know, I went to Las Vegas last weekend with a few buddies and went to the Justice gig at the House Of Blues. As I predicted, the task of writing the article for the Union Weekly managed to bounce off all other involved writers and land squarely on my shoulders as I sat 400 miles away from the newspaper with only 24 hours' notice to get it done. Obviously, I slam dunked it and it looks fucking great. So now I bring to you the third in my Union Copy/Paste series, hours before it goes to print. Read it while it's still exclusive!

Also, please note that it is intended to be in Gonzo style. I could never duplicate the great HST, but I will dutifully follow his teachings. That said, here's the article which I wrote with the headlines and tag that I had no part in.

Fear And Justice In Las Vegas:
A Very Gonzo Account Of What May Or May Not Have Happened At The Justice Show
In Vegas

It began as all great stories will: an hour late and armed down to the floorboards with alcohol. As the convoy pulled out of sunny, safe Orange and headed east, there were no illusions of what was to take place. The stage was set for a baptism of filth, and the players were in rare form that evening. The plan was simple, or at least it started that way: Drive to Las Vegas, Attend a Justice show, and then do as much damage as possible before speeding off in the getaway vehicle before the first sunbeams reveal our deeds. Unfortunately, unreliable elements made their way in to the equation.

As far as Elvis fell from his glorious youth at the time he died, a quick glance down the strip makes even the King, bloated and rhinestone-studded on his death-toilet, look like a Kurt Cobain supernova. Las Vegas is the slick package that fools and sleazebags believe is the American Dream. Everything is commodified, and nothing is taboo. If others found your deepest delights to be uncouth, low, and insipidly bizarre, Las Vegas will sate you in ways you’ve never known. Long gone are the rat pack days of tousled tuxedoes and cigar-chomping flair. There is only elegance-flavored excess, a living postcard flattened, glossed, and built to entice. The mutants are running the circus now.

We checked in at 4pm to our all-too-basic room in the Tropicana, a winding fortress that always manages to spit you out at the casino area. I’ve been told that they saturate the air with oxygen so that gamblers find themselves feeling strangely invigorated simply throwing dice, so I breathe deeply hoping to pull in some of that slippery euphoria. It is hard to imagine that this place could tear your life apart, but I brand across my memory that it will if you let it. No one in our party gambles that night, making it the only vice we abstain from by choice. Within an hour, we are set up in our room with what has been officially coined the “Mobile Booze Lab.” It consists of:

 a large plastic flask of Vodka 
a bottle of premium Gin 
6 beers 
Strawberry Puree 
Sweet & Sour 
Margarita mix

...and an ice bucket that is woefully unequipped for our ice needs.

The drinks we make taste like strawberry lemonade despite their remarkable alcohol content. The television has only very few channels so we watch celebrity news until we set up some music. Adhering to the second law of concert-going, we do not listen to anything being played by the night’s acts. We are just about buzzed when a cursory check of the tickets reveals that doors open for the show at the ungodly hour of 6pm. It is 6pm.

Thankfully, Las Vegas has no (enforced) open container law. Beer bottle in hand, I stroll out of the casino and flag down a taxi. After directing him to take us to the House of blues, he chuckles and suggests we walk since it’s just a couple casinos down. So on we walk to Mandalay Bay. Within the Mandalay Resort Group area are three casinos at the southern tip of the Vegas strip; The Mandalay Bay, Luxor, and Excalibur. The Luxor shows its age more than any of the others, as it now bears a 15-story advertisement for cellular telephones.

Entering the venue was entirely without hassle except for a frantic phone chase by me for the inevitable afterparty and the happy problem of giving away the four extra tickets of which we found ourselves in possession. Drinks were outrageously priced, so I kept it simple with a shot and an energy drink to bolster my intoxication and keep it at optimum levels during the dancing. And oh, was there ever dancing. Somehow I found myself in a crowd of unfamiliar women attempting to fend off sleazier men unfamiliar to them. Observing a strip club approach to touching the girls (none, let them touch you), there began a sweat-soaked cotillion with an air of hypnotic sensuality. 

By the time Justice ended their set, I had nothing left. I sauntered defeatedly toward the door to sit out the coming encore. Thankfully, that notion of overoxygenated casinos seemed to ring true, and a sugary drink and a moment’s rest on the Mandalay floor had me back to what I’ve decided to call “Vegas normal.”

Somewhere in the muck of it all, I receive divine providence and a text message informs of the whereabouts of an afterparty. Since everyone in Las Vegas is far more interested in Vegas than some afterparty, none of the artists and no names worth dropping are in attendance. There are beautiful women, lots of them underage, taking refuge from the sketchy characters wandering the city. Even brief conversation with them points me to the conclusion that the achievement was simply getting there, and it becomes time to move on. On our way out, we ask the valet what bar he goes to. “Ellis Island.” He immediately offers, “Take a right just past Bally’s.” 

The walk takes forever. Men handing out flyers for hookers mob the streets and all of the Disneyland-like elements of the strip shut down. This is no place for children. The night stalkers are about. 

Ellis Island is definitely the insider’s drink spot. $3 nets a well drink and we cast out our trios of dollars as quickly as we could. The locals were deep into their karaoke and after ten minutes it became obvious we were never going to get our chance to perform. So we screamed what lyrics we knew until the fierce gazes of the locals, recognizing us now as interlopers, drove us out into the still-surging streets. 

Morning couldn’t come quickly enough. I was ready to rid myself of the lights and spectacles. The open road was as quick a cure as I could hope for. And so I stared out the window, down the broad spine of the strip, and realized how quickly one can get homesick in this cultural vacuum.

Sunday, April 6, 2008

Matt & Kim & Mano & Hollywood Holt

It's A Fact.

If you didn't blindly click that link, here's some things that'll make you wish you had. First of all, it involves Matt & Kim, who are always fun and great and fun and that's all there is to it. Also, it sounds kinda like a disjointed postal service jam with a little more sing-alongability and without that distinct air of wizardliness that PS' whooshy IDM always has.

Also, if you don't know who Matt & Kim are, you need to check them out. Super great music made by a super cute couple.

Come to my house Matt & Kim, I will pay you in good beer and good hugs. Like at least 4 beers, and at least 5 hugs.

If you live in europe, you can see Matt & Kim live. Otherwise, it's gonna be a hell of a commute. If you don't like it, call them and tell them to come have a show at my house. Mention the beer and hugs.

Here's the tour as it stands:

APR 30 - Bergen, Norway @ Bergen Festival
MAY 1 - Oslo, Norway @ The Garage
MAY 2 - Stockholm, Sweden @ Debaser
MAY 3 - Huskvarna, Sweden @ Popadelica Festival
MAY 5 - Haarlem, Holland @ Liberation Festival
MAY 5 - Groningen, Holland @ Liberation Festival
MAY 6 - Amsterdam, Holland @ TBA
MAY 8 - Antwerp, Belgium @ Trix Club
MAY 9 - Paris, France @ La fieche d'or
MAY 10 - London, UK @ The Underworld Camden
MAY 11 - Leicester, UK @ The Charlotte
MAY 12 - Leeds, UK @ The Cockpit
MAY 14 - Glasgow, Scotland @ Beat Club
MAY 15 - Sheffield, UK @ University Of Sheffield Fuzz Club
MAY 16 - Brighton, UK @ TBA
MAY 17 - London, UK @ The Luminaire

Please note that they are playing at a place called the "Trix Club" and another called "The Cockpit," not to mention "Debaser" and "La Fieche d'or" which I believe is french for "The Gold Fetch." Or it's just a typo and it's supposed to be "La Fleche d'or" meaning Gold Arrow. I'm sticking with The Gold Fetch.

Let's all move to Paris already.

Now we can take his gun!

Charlton Heston, 1923-2008

Thursday, April 3, 2008

Scott Weiland Loves Drugs

According to The Onion, Scott Weiland has left Velvet Revolver. Or, more specifically, Velvet Revolver has left Scott Weiland, likely due to his tendencies to achieve biblical levels of loadedness and his incorrugible talent at failing rehab efforts.

To get some idea of the level of drug abuse Scott was surfing at, he got kicked out of a band full of old Guns N' Roses members for it. I'm imagining him carrying around a brick of heroin and constantly nibbling at it through the day like a big narcotic candy bar.

Anyways, Velvet Revolver will hopefully die out now and Scott Weiland will have more residuals to persuade him against making any more music to sully the decently rockin' STP albums. As I mentioned not more than a week ago, if that guy could've lived and got loaded off of his STP royalties, there wouldn't have a been a single track released after Core.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

New Layout, same shitty aesthetic.

I attempted to make the blog look better today, and I failed.

I call upon anyone who knows a simple way to design a fairly simple blog with an image at the top and columns on either side to keep everything all centrally located to help a brutha out.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Pitchfork: Old And Busted; Ifoughtthelol: New Hottness

RichDork has once again proved how annoyingly predictable by pouring serious derision on something that's awesome but doesn't fit into their canon of musical cool. Let's look at some quotes:

"Barely adequate dance-rock to keep you occupied until the next Klaxons record"

That's funny, because I have never even given thought to the possibility of a new Klaxons record. If it means new Klaxons track remixes, though, i'll get on board.

"like they've bought up some old Chemical Brothers kit on eBay and haven't read the manual yet"

Name drops in total throughout this article: 5. (two were for the klaxons, who are treated only in the warmest, most fellatious tones)

If you couldn't yet sense the consistent theme of "These guys aren't sounding like the band I like and they don't appear to notice that and it makes me very angry," here's the piece d'resistance:

"old-school ravers... they're just rightly pissed at the band's tired ideas and terminal complacency."

What a logomancer we have in Tom Ewing,
another successful graduate of the Pitchfork School of High-handed Language With Vague Intent and Utter Knowitallism.


Did I ever tell the story about how the Pitchfork internet cunt threatened my life via a Radiohead forum? Seems he was upset that the forum folk loved my In Rainbows review more vocally than PF preferred.

Pitchfork Media: The Internet Tastemaker Without Any Taste Of It's Own.

"And we rule." Oh Pitchfork, your snarky sarcasm always gives me the giggles. I wish I had enough thesauruses to be like you guys.

My blog helps me be more self-absorbed

Today I got back the photos from the USU Year In Review bit that I did a stint modeling for. Needless to say, I look amazing. They all came with the phrase "Courtesy of Bonzon" written all over disc and folders, so due diligence suggests I mention that these photos are courtesy of Bonzon.

They told me to bring something that represents me so I brought my headphones. All in all it was a fun experience, up until they made me take off my top. "I'm a male model, not a male prostitute!" Ahh, now that was a great album. (the show wasn't bad either)

Anyways, I feel I should also mention that when I posted those VBS.TV clips about North Korea (which you need to watch if you haven't) were at the request of Biz 3, a publicity company (and just cool folk) that I work with a lot for shows since they tend to have the best acts on their roster. What I realized after directing Biz' Dana to my blog to see that I'd posted the NK vids was that Crystal Castles is one of their acts. So not only did she see my CC post from a ways back, but she also saw the image I made. She was very amused and sent a copy over to Crystal Castles! So cool. I love being a media stooge.

Monday, March 24, 2008


Those shades are fucking powerful. They instantly photoshop any image they appear in.

I found this lyric quiz which forgoes the usual banality by listing every word in the song in alphabetical order. It's remarkably difficult, but I knuckled up and succeeded wildly. See if you can beat my score (I don't trust your word as to what score you get, so don't try to wow me with a better score than I put down.

Are you the Alpha lyric trivia master?

Most of the ones I missed I wasn't bummed about (some of them I've only listened to once), but #48 really made me feel foolish.

Ultimately, I got 28 out of 50 correct, and as far as i'm concerned that is world champ level lyric identification. I may have to make a trophy up for myself.

As an addition to the quiz, i've added the following 5 songs simply because they look awesome when alphabetically rearranged. Guess 'em!

2 a Afghanistan AIDS airline Alabama always and anymore Arabia are Around away Ayatollah's back Bardot Bay baseball Beatlemania beats been Begin Belgians Ben Berlin Bernie Bien Birth Bloc blown bomb Brando Bridge British Brooklyn's Buddy Budapest burn burning But California Campanella can't Castro Catcher Charlse Checker Chi children China China's Chou Chubby Clock Communist cola Congo control crack Crockett Davy Day dacron Dean debts didn't Dien DiMaggio Disneyland do Doris Dylan Edsel Eichmann Einstein Eisenhower else Elvis En-Lai England's falls fight fire Foreign Fortune Gaulle Glenn go Goetz goodbye got gone Grace H Harry have heavy Hemingway Ho Holly homeless homicide hoops Hula Hur Hypodermics I in invasion Iran is It James JFK Joe John Johnnie Joseph Juan Kennedy Kerouac King Korea Krushchev Kwai Land law Lawrence Lebanon Liberace light Liston Little Mafia Malcolm Malenkov Mantle Marciano Marilyn martial McCarthy metal Mickey Minh Miss monkey Monroe Moonshot Nasser Nixon new No North of Ole on Pacific Palestine Pan Panmunjom Pasternak Patterson Paul payola Peron Peter Peyton Pigs Phu Place politician Pope Presley Princess Prokofiev Psycho punk queen Ray Reagan Red Rhee Richard Ride River roller Rock Rockefeller Rosenbergs Roy Russians Rye Sally say sex shores Since Santayana South space Sputnik Stalin Starkweather start Strange Stranger Studebaker Suez Sugar suicide Syngman take team television terror thalidomide The to Toscanini tried trouble Truman turning U under vaccine vets Walter wars was Watergate We what Wheel when Will Winchell winning Woodstock world's X

After Do Better Ever Faster Harder Hour Is It Make Makes More Never Our Over stronger Than Us Work

3 a ability afraid all also an and animals antibiotics ants associate at baby back bad bank better boiling but cage calculated calm car careful cat chance charity check childish comfortable concerned contact contemporaries credit cries cry dark days dinners down dreams drink drinking driven ease eating employee enjoy escape exercise fats favours film fitter fond for frequently friends frozen getting good grip gym healthier hole illness in into keep killing kisses laugh less like longer love memory microwave midday moral more moths much never no not nothing now of old on or orders pace paranoia patient pig plughole powerless productive public saturated shadows so spiders the then to too washing well with

a again alive all An and another around asleep back be beach believe belly beneath break broken bump bumped But came can Chop chords chorus city coda come comes coming confess could crashing cry crystal curse days die divides Do Doing down dress drop drug earthy else ever Face faith feel feeling fell for four freak games get give given gives go goes gold golden Good-bye got ground grows head her hit hold holding How I I'm in inside is it its jaws just Keep kind life lift like line listening little lives living locked made make mattress me meth motivation must my myself no nose not nothing now of on One Ovation over own packed panties pass pictures place plane play priestess red rhythm right rips rose round run said sand say says scared Semi-charmed she she's show sips sky Slide smile Smiling Some something speak stage Still stock stop struggling survive take takes taking test that the them then there They this Those through tick-tock to toes took tripped until up urge velvet verse want we wearing were we're what when where Will wish with won't would you You're

Alcohol and C-c-c-c-c Cocaine Ecstasy Marijuana Nicotine Valium Vicodin

enjoy. Post your answers if you'd like. i'm certainly not telling.

Carnaptious Yearlings On Acid

Heartsrevolution has a new EP called C.Y.O.A. that's coming out on the 15th of April. Since they're on the ever-so-thoughtful IHEARTCOMIX records, they've already got a video up and a single download as well. The EP has remixes by some favorites of mine (Brodinski, Dan Oh), and there's even a Flosstradamus mix running around the net. Anyways, the video's pretty cool and i'm always down to distribute Flossmus' work.

Still don't know how to make that a streamalicious flash object. oh well.

Also, if you just go to frankichan.com/websongs/, you can access a fucking ton of good stuff.


Thursday, March 20, 2008

Franki Says Remix

I'm sure you're all aware that besides my moonlighting as a blogger, I happen to be what they call 'press.' Like print media. It's kind of like a website, but you put it on paper and then fold a bunch of papers together and call it a 'magazine.' Anyways, I got an email from Franki Chan of IHEARTCOMIX and it asked all press folks to post his new mix. And since I'm always in the habit of circulating stuff by groups that I enjoy, I thought i'd oblige him. Plus, the more favors I do for IHEARTCOMIX, the closer I get to my dream of having Matt & Kim play at my house. So here's the SCION mixtape, which sounds a lot better than those god-awful machines look.

(Any HTML nerds that might know how I could make that stream with one of those flashy embedded deals ought inform me.)

Shill it 'til ya' kill it,

P.S. By the way, I hereby take credit for the phrase "FRANKI SAYS REMIX" if nobody else has come up with it. So long as you send me one of any product you place it on, i'll be happy. My T-shirt size is a spindly medium.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008


Vice just put up a really great travel documentary about North Korea. I don't want to ruin anything for you, but suffice to say if you've never seen a well-oiled propaganda machine this is a great opportunity.

The Vice Guide To North Korea

The rest you'll have to go to the site and get yourself, ya bunch of freeloaders.

Monday, March 17, 2008

Crystalgate: "This Is A Tricky Gray Area"

So the simple brushing of the cape that I received not too long ago has caused me to post about a comment I left on another blog which in all likelihood precipitated said brush.

On Digitalarmes, on this post, there was a whole lot of hubbub about an "artist" named Trevor Brown, some musicians named Crystal Castles, Madonna, and a shiner.

Basically, Crystal Castles was once tiny and unknown and they used an image they found somewhere by a tiny and unknown artist and put it on some stuff. Now, crystal castles has a record deal, Trevor Brown has a creepy website, and the issue of money has come into play. Each side is very quick to tell the other to go fuck themselves (since both operate outside mainstream taste, and outside of each other's taste, alot of "That's Not Art"/"That's Not Music" has been slung around), and it looks to each side as though the other is just being D-bags about it.

In the most direct sense, it's infringement. But then, once you think about it, it sort of complicates itself. The way I see it, this was the same kind of artistic borrowing that goes on between semi-professionals all the damn time. It's a truce forged on the idea that nobody's getting rich so we let it slide because everybody's got rent to pay. Then Crystal Castles broke the truce by becoming semi-popular and, damn it all, financially viable. Now they've got a label that can be sued for real amounts of money, and isn't that reason enough to get litiggy wit' it?

Also, i'm fairly certain there ought to be some sort of statute of limitations, but I won't go to bat on that. Sometimes, you just have to let it slide and find the silver lining. For Instance, wouldn't it hold that Crystal Castles digs the art and might consider using him for stuff in the future? And hasn't this all given Mr. Brown a vast amount of traffic that he wouldn't normally get, considering his artwork is mainly americanized hentai shock-porn?

In the interest of following my own preaching, here is an outside-the-box solution which requires no lawyers' fees.

I made this:

It's not very good, or at all original (Like Trevor Brown!), and I'm offering it for free to Crystal Castles, Mr. Brown, and anyone else of great, little or no consequence. However, if Crystal Castles would like to use it, i'm demanding an in-person handshake at the next CC show I attend (but that's negotiable). I don't want anything else, as it might encourage me to draw more things, and that's not good for anyone.

Also, best wishes to Crystal Castles' chanteuse/enchantress Alice Glass, who was recently injured in an automobile accident. As someone who also has suffered crash-related rib injuries and breathing difficulties, I extend my deepest sympathies.

Photo by Jez Cave!
(props to Tom for keepin' me honest.)

Get well soon.

Friday, March 7, 2008

Union Copy/Paste Vol. II

This was my byzantine word-journey through my Vegoose experience. I took a fair bit of crap for ripping off HST, but I felt it necessary to do a few nods in his direction given the subject matter. Plus, i've been doing that whole first-person meandering narrative bit for a very long time, since before I read (or watched) any Hunter material. Anyways, here 'tis:

A Mostly True Cautionary Tale

My first memory of Nevada is waking up, as it is for most people, I assume. Suddenly, a wave of nausea overtook me, which I chalked up to the loud music playing and my inattention to the road. But after a long night of drinking, singing, and general rudeness that had considerably cut into my sleep, I was in no mood to fight the itch to nap nor the resulting urge to vomit. Nevada is an excellent place to vomit. It is dry and in the mornings it is comfortably warm. And ever since the city committed itself to the “…Stays in Vegas” mantra, the driving populace has ignored such roadside adulteration. It did not, however, soften my bitterness at the loss of all that Gatorade.

I was not alone in this mission, as I still had too much alcohol in my bloodstream to be operating an automobile. However, I always treat these journalistic vacations as solo missions, and the sickness which beat down on my brain only helped to divorce me from the surrounding masses. That’s definitely going to be the word I use to describe the Vegoose audience: masses. Surrounding Sam Boyd stadium was a crowd of hideous clowns and skanky revelers. The upcoming Halloween holiday has always been an influence, I’m told, and the desert wasteland did little to discourage garish black dress-up. A man clearly hired off the street attempted to shanghai me without a press pass, but I evaded him by passing myself off as a photographer. As long as it gets me into the press area for my evening interview, I tell the man, I won’t have to call the site manager and tell him what a bucktoothed mooncalf he’d hired. He wrangled another ticket and assured me that the photo pass would allow me access to everywhere I was entitled and more. I vomited again, on the ground next to him, and moved on to the security line.
Once inside, I set myself to the stalwart task of curing this bastard hangover. As with any properly prepared trip to Vegas, I had a sizable repertoire of medicines, but I knew that I would need the whole load just to set me right that afternoon. A drunk near the toilets asked me to hold his drink, and I absconded with it. Certainly, he would have thanked me for my theft if he were clearheaded. It was cola and whiskey, and it tasted expensive. It went down well with pills. I set out to earn my press credentials.

The Vegoose grounds were set up like a miniature Las Vegas. In some towns, that might be considered disrespectful, but not here. You can gamble in gas stations and there are strip malls devoted to quickie weddings. Even Vegas has a hand in its own parody. A notable difference between Nevada festivals and those of our own fair state is the absence of beer gardens. In Nevada, the whole fucking festival is a beer garden. There were no less than twenty locations to purchase alcohol, and I’m fairly certain I indulged in most of them (the award for best bar going to the lovely ladies at the Double Down stage’s local watering hole). The downside of this is that the drunks are incorrugible multitaskers, and make every effort to do everything they’d normally do while holding their drinks. The charm of these lax drink restrictions wore out after about the tenth spilled drink on my remarkably ironic Acapulco shirt (which was also remarkably absorbent). Other than the always-transcendent Gogol Bordello, no performances really stuck out. I have vague recollections of STS9 being recommended to me by some Vegoose-savvy stranger, and I was pleasantly underwhelmed by them. It is an increasingly rare thing to find a band that still makes an effort to bring the energy of a crowd up while chasing their own tail with impossibly high conceptual aspirations. Kudos.

I was relieved when 4:45pm rolled around and I could sequester myself to the press area for my interview with Josh Homme. It went better than I expected, and I seized the opportunity to write some thoughts down. Blonde Redhead sat at the table next to me, and I played with Amedeo Pace’s pet Papillon while they did an interview with a hapless internet radio DJ.
Josh Homme is everything a rock star should be. He stands 6’5” tall and offers at least two hellos and goodbyes to everyone he meets. I steel myself with the knowledge that he is legally barred from carrying a weapon after an incident involving a beer bottle and the deserving skull of Blag Dahlia, frontman for the repetitive scatpunk band The Dwarves. Josh lights a cigarette before offering a second handshake and asking me how my day was. I ‘fess up to the hangover and he commiserates. “This is the first day in a while that I’m not.” A staff member comes over and informs him that he is not allowed to smoke in this room, nor is he allowed to smoke in any building on the grounds. Her frustration is palpable. Homme puts the cigarette out on his shoe and admits that he knew it wasn’t allowed and that he’d be harassed, but he figured he’d make them put in the effort to come and stop him. He speaks in proverbs. “We don’t try to be hip, we just try to shake hip.” He is tight-lipped about the upcoming Desert Sessions album, simply because there isn’t anything to say other than it’s happening. He says a new Eagles of Death Metal album is planned, and the title will have something to do with the phrase “Heart-on.” He also says he doesn’t have a setlist made for the night’s QOTSA performance. About a thousand terrible and childish questions enter my head and I feel an intense pride as I vocalize none of them. We shoot shit about drinking and rocking and generally positive bullshit that’s not worth reading.

Later, at the Queens’ performance, with my medicine salvo operating at full strength, I sit between the crowd barriers in the photo pit awash in rock. If there’s a glimmer of hope for modern rock music not made by computers for smarmy teenagers with too many feelings, it is Queens of the Stone Age. They are a living history lesson in the rich legacy of all the rocking that has been, and a testament to where it could go.

If there’s one inalienable clue that Vegoose audiences are, in large numbers, drunken automatons, it was the relatively light crowds for Iggy Pop & The Stooges. I guess it’s not particularly surprising considering the unsung nature of the Stooge’s Proto-punk bloodbath in the late 1960s/early 1970s. In a strange way, The Stooges’ aesthetic was pervasive throughout the festival, albeit in a strange mutation wherein the masses were all too happy to dress up in the most outrageous outfit possible and get wasted, but with the firm contention that nobody would have to get messy and we’d all go back to our window offices on monday. Something would have to cleanse my palate of all of this. Daft Punk.

If there’s anything more universal than a love of light shows, I have yet to find it. A screen flashed in red, and black words the size of monsters appeared and proclaimed such gems of affection as “HUMAN,” “TOUCH,” and “FUCK.” The crowd was immense. In any direction you could look, there was madness. The kind of cheap madness you can get in your own home, admittedly, but still impressive on such an enormous scale. Even in such a densely packed field of open eyes, we all danced like we were invisible. We sang like we were inaudible, and we probably were. Consider the implausability of it all, a desert in a vast realm of deserts, stuffed to the brim with electricity, music, dancing, and happiness. This was the ecstasy oasis. And just as quickly as it began, it ended. A mass exodus of mooing began, and the party continued in the parking lot fueled by entrepreneurial beer vendors.

Some strange convergence of dental assistant conventions and family reunions had sold out every semi-respectable hotel, motel, and campground in a 20-mile radius of the stadium, but luckily a kind innkeeper took some minimal amount of pity on me and offered to give us one of his hourly rooms (usually reserved for prostitutes, junkies, and unfaithful businessmen) for the night. I slept on the floor, unwilling to risk sleeping on whatever was living in the bed.

The second day was all about Rage. The hordes of troglodytic zealots showed up in force, in stunning tribute to everything that Che Guevara devotees hated about Rage Against The Machine. The revolution may not be televised, but there’s a strong chance that if it happens in Vegas it will be inebriated and shirtless. There was only one escape from the horror of these pooka-shell benecklaced dolts. I began drinking early. At the mock sports bar where I was sitting and testing the bartender’s knowledge of rum-based drinks, Ghostland Observatory and Robert Randolph both filtered in through the canvas walls in equal volume. The resulting mash-up, I assert, sounded something like Ratatat and Bocephus fucking. Something about this reminded me of war journalism, sitting in an unpopular bar waxing philosophically about the loud noises shaking the tent walls. “I’m sorry, Reggie,” my speech slurred when I addressed the bartender. “But I think I’ve still got another tour of duty left to serve out there.” And off I wandered, in search of a battle that could use a writer.

Infected Mushroom proved to be the surprise of the weekend. What I had expected to be uninteresting and heavy, ended up being engaging and energetic. What could have easily been accomplished with one man behind a set of keyboards was knocked out of the park by a crew of four absolutely stellar musicians. Not since the Basement Jaxx have I seen an electronic act that was so involved in making a live show (that was entirely independent of laser lights). Even the singer, who was left to repeat himself over and over again (since trance songs tend to have repetitive vocal samples), sold it to the crowd. He must have used the phrase “I’m deeply disturbed, and I’m deeply unhappy” a hundred times, and I believed every one of them. If I were a lesser writer, I would say something like: They really got the crowd going with their uptempo electronica. But I think it’d be a much more accurate hyperbole to say they caused two car accidents out in the parking lot as stunned concert-goers attempted to drive the band’s fabled cities of the future. Suffice to say, if you’ve never heard an Israeli trance band (they’re certainly my first), this would be a good place to start.

Rage Against The Machine was fun for about 3 songs. The anticipation was palpable, as a large portion of the crowd had never seen them live before. Cheers went out whenever anything happened on stage, only to flounder in the band’s tardiness in taking the stage. The jubilation was immediate and furious. Beers went flying, and lyrics were screamed at bloodcurdling volume. At the end of the first 3 songs, the air was wet with perspiration and alcohol and the crowd was giddy on an almost violent level. Every song afterward I moved 30 yards back, hoping to find a balance between a good view and a chill crowd. I never did. At 10:30pm, thoroughly drenched in other people’s excitement, I wandered back to the car. My companion, who had been so eager to boast his driving prowess, quickly began to succumb to sleep, and I took over the wheel. This was a weekend to remember, that was certain, even if it wasn’t entirely for positive reasons. About an hour later I felt my own sleepiness creep up, and reached into the backseat for a near-lethal dose of caffeine. I sucked the 24 ounces of Rockstar energy drink quickly, barely stopping to breathe.
We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the caffeine began to take hold.

Vol. III will be here just as soon as I write something for the newspaper again.

Thursday, March 6, 2008

Union Copy/Paste Vol. I

Yes, it's something I already wrote! Assuming some of you don't get a chance to pick up the CSULB Student Newspaper every week, here's a big CTRL-C (or Command-C or Apple-C, we don't discriminate) for y'all to wrap yo' brains around. This particular piece had everything and nothing to do with the grammys, since it was written before they took place and published afterward. Basically it's me doing what I love to do: Insult recording artists with all available gusto.

Hope ya hate it:

In case you couldn’t slake your hunger for trumped-up musical tripe with VH1 and Alternative Press, the Grammys were on Sunday. I’m writing this before they’ve happened, of course, but it really doesn’t matter who won. In fact, the only person who probably gives a shit about these little golden disappointments is Kanye West. What does matter is the gesture of avoidance that we make in ignoring this rock ‘n rollin’ circle jerk. So, as is my yearly prerogative, I will now insult the Grammy nominees.

Amy Winehouse: There’s something inspirationally fucked-up about Amy winning an award for a song about ducking treatment for her unrelenting drug abuse problem. Thousands of obituary editors wait with bated breath in order to finalize that last final detail: “Grammy-nominated songstress suffers fatal overdose,” or “Grammy-winning songstress suffers fatal overdose?”

Foo Fighters: Dave Grohl lives two lives. In one, he plays the drums, comes up with off-the-wall projects like Probot, and makes positive contributions to the world of music. In the other, he fronts the Foo Fighters and shits on my heart. If Kurt Cobain were alive today, there wouldn’t be enough shotgun shells on earth to satisfy his suicidal urges.

Paramore: This band is what’s wrong with music. A spunky retread of the clip-on pop-punk that Avril Lavigne was posing up years ago, Paramore is youthful rebellion marketed to people too boring for the real thing and too dumb to know the difference. And if the hair dye and homeroom power-pop weren’t bad enough, the band appears to be entirely incapable of stopping themselves from namechecking bands they have nothing to do with. Failure? Chicago? Why not just toss in Gershwin and Mozart while we’re at it? If you find this band enjoyable, please grow the fuck up.

Evanescence: As the Paramore of yesteryear, Evanescence’s recent tailspin toward insignificance puts a big sadistic smile on my face. Who knew that the twofold enticement of a pretty girl singing over nu-metal would have such a short shelf life? Or that 14-year-olds would one day tire of the mall-goth chic that once ruled their T-shirt selection?

Daughtry: As the line between rock and country continues to blur, so too does the line between popularity and garbage. Daughtry is a band forged by record industry persuasion and reality television; a modern day Monkees if you will. Frontman Chris Daughtry was famously on American Idol, although it should also be noted that the rest of the band has made sporadic appearances on COPS, The People’s Court and Locker Room Logjam 17.

The Arcade Fire: Wait, wha?

Nickelback: Puzzling though it may be that Nickelback has earned a Grammy nomination off of a special edition release of an album that came out only two years earlier, I think that the real issue goes much deeper. That album, as unilaterally boring as it is, has sold 9 million copies. So as much as Nickelback sucks, you have only to look deep within yourself to find the suck that is above all other sucks.

Michael Bublé: I can’t speak to his music, but I’ve always been a fan of his bath foam.

50 Cent: If it’s confirmed that Fitty used steroids, will they take his Grammy away? To be honest, I thought it was suspicious that his rhymes had increased so rapidly in physical strength and bulk. You can imagine how surprised I’d be to discover that that swollen head of his wasn’t just arrogance. Get buff or become infertile tryin’, y’all.

Feist: I actually feel bad for Feist. She’s locked in an award category with Amy Winehouse, Christina Aguilera, Nelly Furtado, and Fergie. Even a cursory comparison to those four is pretty degrading. And I heard that being that close to Fergie was how Macy Gray got crabs.

Best Metal Performance: Say what you will, my money’s on titanium. Ruthenium’s simply not at that level yet.

Vol: II, The Vegoose Chronicle, coming soon.

Creatine Vs. Evolutine

I've been taking Creatine lately now that i'm exercising and all that bullshit.
Apparently it may or may not help me work out more efficiently, but it definitely makes me look more muscular.

Because it makes the muscles retain more water!

Normal people might find that to be kind of a gyp, but it suits me just fine. Who wants to endure the hassle to be muscular when you can just appear muscular? It's like wearing water-wings under your skin!

Dream... fulfilled!

Also, I've officially jumped back on the "Third Party and Proud" bandwagon. Fuck Democrats. Fuck Republicans. Call it apathy if you have to, but at least i've given adequate pause to that stark realization that there is no light at the end of the electoral tunnel.

It reminds me of that line in waking life: "Which is the more universal human emotion, fear or laziness?"

It also reminds me that you should always assume the government is out to fuck you over, so then you'll be pleasantly surprised when it chooses not to.

This has nothing to do with music. Tsk.

P.S. I listened, without any sense of obligation, to the Postal Service record again after writing that last post. That's good shit right there. Makes me want to go be young and make mistakes.

Monday, March 3, 2008


...is never happening. ever.

Seriously, they're done. No joke.

Now go soothe yourself by listening to Give Up over and over.
You know you want to.

(So basically the news that started this was that even though they began work on a new release in Summer '06, Ben Gibbard and Jimmy Tamborello have both stated that they're going in other directions and that the project is not a priority for either of them. That means that we'll see them tour on the old record before you ever hear a single thing off of a new record.)

Ahh, memories. Semi-morbid, post-high-school-pre-college memories.

2 Albums, 1 Date (Now With Videos!)

Foals - Antidotes
"You got your Dance-punk in my Math-rock! You got your Math-rock in my Dance-punk! I'm Officer Foals, what's going on here?" Hahaha, Family Guy, get it? Oh that Peter Griffin, he's so fat.

"Hummer" isn't actually on the album, but I love it anyways. It's a good primer to Foals.

Does It Offend You, Yeah? - You Have No Idea What You're Getting Into
I Like Live Dance Bands. There, i said it. Now chew on this live performance!

Gotta love that weird Scottish dude in the intro.

March 24
mark your calendars.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Some Coachella Stuff, Some Other Stuff

So I now have the master press contact list for Coachella, which is awesome. It's got all the press info for every artist big and small and so now I can start harassing them for interviews. I also got a hotel booked, so no more sleeping on top of a borrowed tent that just so happens to lack poles. Although, when I look back, that was a pretty rocking time for Kobane and I. Just some good old fashioned skin-o-the-teeth adventurin'. But this time we'll be pretending to be professional, so we'll need to be able to rest and write/upload photos.

The Plastiscines, who will be at Coachella, are very pretty.

See what I mean? I'm really hoping that they speak capable english, because I really want an interview.

I'm thinking of doing an interview for every nation represented at Coachella. Here's the tentative list:
Canada: Stars
England: Does It Offend You Yeah?
Scotland: Calvin Johnson
Ireland: Flogging Molly
France: The Plastiscines
Germany: Boys Noize
Iceland: Mum
Sweden: I'm From Barcelona
Mexico: Austin TV
Australia: Midnight Juggernauts
Ukraine: Gogol Bordello
Brazil: Bondo De Role
Norway: 120 Days

The Swell Season is from the Czech Republic (but live in Ireland) but they're not doing any press.

Oh, and I found this surfing for photos of SFA (that event at the beauty bar I'm trying to go to). It's pics from that gossip show that I sold out at.

There's more, but why would you want to look at any pictures without me in them?

Also... New Murder By Death is always a good thing. I'm not going to say for a fact that i've gotten a digital copy and deem it to be probably the best record they've done yet, but I will say that it's their best album yet and i'm so buying it on march 4th despite the digital copy I may or mayn't already have listened to. March 4th!

Just check these lyrics from songmeanings:
I had jade colored eyes that shimmered in the sun,
if you stared at them too long,
you'd catch a glimpse of what I've done.
The faces of the damned,
and all the butchered lambs...
If I had to do it over,
I just woulda done it slower.

When we meet, you will see;
I will destroy everything of beauty.
When we meet then you'll know;
I'll be the axe that clears the forest.

He makes Colin Meloy look like Scott Stapp. But like a virginal Scott Stapp.

In before flame!

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

A Few Points Of Business

First off, some may have noticed that I've been gettin' into some more electronic music lately, and it has quite a bit to do with my new found interest in making electronic music. It's currently on hold until I can get a proper laptop, which will be when the dirty bitches down at Apple finally get around to making a proper notebook update (fuck the air, daddy needs a Pro strength laptop) i'll begin. Then hopefully i'll have more shit to post, like DJ mixes and gigs. s'word.

Anyways, If you want some semi-challenging, very funky electronic mixes to put on at your party, banggangpodcast.com would be a great place to start. Anything Bag Raiders does pretty much has my seal of approval.

Also, if you're not into Does It Offend You, Yeah? yet, you're way behind already.

Another plug: Villains

Last one, for real, i'm going to this:

should be fun. If you're 21 and like free dance parties with free alcoholic energy beverages that taste sort of like Lik-M-Aid, perhaps you should join. Due to it being in L.A., a caravan is forming now for the March 3rd Kill The Noise edition of Still Fucking Awesome.

In other biz, I went to St. Vincent and she was great. And not just cause she's really pretty.

Zooey Deschanel is in a band now. And it sounds nice.

I'm still waiting to be put up as official associate editor for Ground Control. any day now.

This week the Union Weekly undergoes drastic changes. It's gonna be hard work, wish us all luck.

And hey, if anyone wants to come over to my new place and see it I'd be more than happy to accomodate you for a mini-dini party. We can have some food and/or drinks and then marvel at the vacuousness of my furniture-less existence.