I concede

Last year I lamented over the holier-than-thou web reviewers who spew out year-end best-of lists that are easily predictable based on the bands they have propped up consistently over the course of the year (whom, subsequently, said reviewers will rip apart the next year). Following the guiding needle of my moralistic compass, I opted to avoid the music blog cliché of a year-end best-of list. In retrospect, a large contributing factor to this decision is what I found to be a lack of albums I truly enjoyed that were released in 2007. The majority of the albums that came to mind were released in late 2006 (Brand New, Blood Brothers, Manchester Orchestra). That being said, this snowy December I have thrown caution to the wind and abandoned my morals to bring you my favourite albums of 2008 (in no particular order)...

No Age - Nouns

My first encounter with No Age took place during Canadian Music Week 2008. Simply put, I despised them. Perhaps I was a little envious that a two-man flannel-clad band that channels grunge and noise rock had become so buzzworthy (keeping in mind that my own flannel-clad, grunge and noise rock influenced two-man band [we have since added a third member] had played its first show a week or so earlier and received little to no buzz). Perhaps I was already a little irritated due to the poor sound mix for Sebastien Grainger earlier in the night. Perhaps I am a snob. Perhaps propped high above the crowd on the Phoenix's stage is not the best setting for a low-fi post-punk band to play. Nouns incorporates aspects of grunge, noise, lo-fi punk, poppy no-wave, and post-rock to create a genre-bending album. Each song has its own angle, a specific sub-genre it aims towards, but does so in a manner that does not feel forced. Despite the divergence of influence from track to track, Nouns still has a natural flow. 

The Mae-Shi - HLLLYH

Oh my. What can be said about The Mae-Shi? Words cannot sufficiently describe the intensity, insanity, instability, ingeniousness, incongruence, indecipherableness, and in...um...yeah...of this band from the evil streets of Los Angeles (or suburbs thereof). The ludicrous levels of energy and unbridled enthusiasm of their live show will not ever be sufficiently captured on studio recordings, but one can still get the gist of The Mae-Shi's psychopathic grandeur when listening to tracks like "Pwned," complete with group vocals, chanting, spoken word, and static background noise. Songs like "Run to Your Grave" and "I Get Almost Everything" are more straightforward, with standard build-up intros and musical hooks that are immediately apparent, which highlight the band's pop sensibilities. Ultimately, HLLLYH showcases The Mae-Shi's ability to blend elements of noise, hardcore, electronic experimentation, quadruple vocals, pop, thrash, and every-fucking-thing else. 

Los Campesinos! - We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed

As I wrote previously, LC! bring ADHD-laden energy mixed with just enough ritalin-induced song structure to create a slap-happy album of post-punk pep (no, not a typo, I deem LC! to have spawned a new genre, "pep"). The he said/she said vocal mix and frenetic pace of each song may leave you out of breath, but in the most satisfying gasping-for-breath way possible (like chasing a puppy down that has your keys in his mouth). 

TV On The Radio - Dear Science
Spin named the Brooklyn-dwellers' Dear Science album of the year. One might think that would scare me off, or at least prevent me from admitting that I too find it to be one of the year's finest. This is not the case, simply because I cannot deny the well-rounded awesomeness of this album. TVOTR have crafted an album that is sexy, danceable, thoughtful, and musically adept. I cannot help but mention that 4 of the 5 members are black. Unlike another band made up of mostly black males (the one that claims to be the heroes of their gym class and prances around on the Warped Tour in hoodies and straight-brim baseball caps), TVOTR avoids rap-rock cliches, but still makes distinctly African-American music. Lyrics often reference the racism that has plagued the past and present and are sung over African-inspired tribal rhythms and black gospel claps and hums. 

Abe Vigoda - Skeleton

I will save any whimsical reference to the comedian and simply say this: Abe Vigoda perfectly capture the lo-fi, post-punk, no-wave, tropical sound and own it--to the point that none of those classifications are even necessary to describe the band. They are Abe Vigoda. One day, in a sonically perfect world, "Abe Vigoda" will be an adjective for a band that reaches the benchmark of the lo-fi, post-punk, no-wave tropical sound. However, no other band will ever ascend to that perch. 

Bloc Party - Intimacy

Upon the release of debut album Silent Alarm, Bloc Party instantly became critical darlings in indie rock circles--instantly for only an instant. It was far too easy to instantly adore Bloc Party upon a single listen to Silent Alarm--every song could be a single, complete with obvious yet contagiously catchy hooks, frenzied rhythmic energy, and the right amount of falsetto vocals one would expect from a Brit-rock band. The band could have easily followed suit with a sophomore album that follows the same winning formula. However, let's be honest, the British are better than that. In the New World, bands often find a niche sound and stick to it. No surprises, no experimentation, no progression. The British have provided the world with some of the finest, classiest, and intelligent authors, musicians, and comedians. Arguably, the biggest bands of the 20th century are from the UK: The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, U2, and Radiohead (who still reign in the 21st century). True to the artistic spirit of their countrymen, Bloc Party followed suit by releasing a sophomore album that wavers greatly from the sound of Silent Alarm. 2007 album A Weekend in The City is moody, melodramatic, experimental, and.... well, a little boring at times. The second half of the album becomes a little too self-indulgent, a little too mopey. In defiance of the opinion of most music critics, I believe that this year's Intimacy is a fantastic balance between the immediately likable poppy Brit rock of Silent Alarm and the moody experimentation of A Weekend in The City. In many ways the album feels like a mixed bag, but each track captures a specific facet of Bloc Party's musical abilities: "Ares," "Halo," and "Trojan Horse" channel the poppy punch of Silent Alarm, "Biko" and "Ion Square" capture the dynamic melodrama of A Weekend in The City, and "Mercury" and "Zepherus" are built upon vast electronic experimentation--albeit in very different ways. 

Sebastien Grainger - s/t

By far my most listened to album of 2008. I suspect that will carry over into 2009 as well. For loyal readers of this blog, I have spoken at length about why I believe this album to be one of the truest, finest musical endeavors in recent history. That being said, I will save the corny write up. 

Fucked Up - The Chemistry of Common Life

Thank heavens I saw Fucked Up at Sneaky Dee's this past October. I highly suspect that their next appearance in Toronto will be upon a far larger stage at a far larger venue with a crowd of far more assholes with far better sound and far less charm. As a band, Fucked Up are a bit of an anomaly: a big fat disgusting tattooed singer whose vocal style is the raspy snarlish scream of classic hardcore backed up by a cast of gangly dorkish misfits who have been heralded by Pitchfork and Spin as the future of punk. Chemistry is indeed a hardcore punk album. It is also a post-rock album, an indie rock album, a progressive experimental album, a pop-rock album. An obvious highlight for me is the track "Twice Born," complete with Sebastien Grainger's backup vocals. Before Fucked Up completely explodes and is on an episode of Gossip Girl, I urge you to listen to them--if for no other reason than simply to be able to say "Oh, yeah, I liked them back in 2k8."

Land of Talk - Some Are Lakes

I feel as though Land of Talk pick up where Eisley should have after their 2005 album Room Noises. Vocalist/guitarist Elizabeth Powell sings like a reluctant angel who was sent to Guelph, Ontario on a mission from God to spread sweet, aww-shucks sentimentality to all the local organic shopkeepers. Importantly, her lyrics deal with more than tall summer grass and free-range eggs. Although some songs utilize natural imagery (summer lakes, bovine eyes), others discuss what Powell calls the "damaging stereotypes of femininity." Not to suggest Powell is some sort of neo-feminist icon, but it is lovely to hear the lyrics of a morally sensible, Guelph-raised girl sung so beautifully atop an indie-rock background. 

United Nations - s/t

Not to put too much pressure on UN, but they are in fact a post-hardcore supergroup with superpowers. When your two vocalists are Geoff Rickly of Thursday and Daryl Palumbo of Glassjaw, expectations are high. These expectations are met handily. Years in the making, this album is intense--a fucking kick in the pants, slap across the face, broken bottle on the cheek intense. Palumbo's screams are terrifying. Rickly's wails are urgent. This is not just an album, it is a challenge, a call to arms. United Nations wants YOU (Uncle Sam style) to stand up, forget everything you know about the present state of hardcore music, question the inner-workings and covert imperialism of Western governments, and put a fist in the air as you do so. 

A house we barely speak of

It has come to my attention that my last few posts have been socio-political diatribes. My loyal readers, I would assume, must be asking themselves, "where are the mildly witty Pitchfork-bashing music 'reviews' ?" To that query I answer with this post.

One of my most anticipated albums for 2009 is Manchester Orchestra's Mean Everything to Nothing, which is slated for release early in the year (I hope this is indeed the case and they don't Chinese Democracy the release date). Although their 2006 debut I'm Like a Virgin Losing a Child is a little melodramatic at times, I find it to be done with a sincerity that makes singer Andy Hull's wailing and whining digestible. Furthermore, upon seeing the band live and experiencing Hull's vulnerability and passion in each song, in each lyric, in each syllable, I managed to connect to Virgin on a deeper level--now as I listen to each track I personally feel emotionally invested. Their 2008 EP Let My Pride Be What's Left Behind suffices as a delicious appetizer for the forthcoming album. The two new tracks on the EP perfectly capture the contrasting sides to Manchester Orchestra: "I can feel a hot one" is a slow-moving, melancholy track that does not ascend towards a grand climax, rather it builds upon a repetitious comfort and a simple but soothing guitar riff; "I was a lid" is an ascending rocker that captures the darker intensity Hull says the new album will be abound with--the track reaches a near-riotous peak during the bridge, complete with triple vocals. 

Let My Pride Be What's Left Behind

I'm Like a Virgin Losing a Child

Born-again colonialists?

By now, for those who have even the vaguest familiarity with Zimbabwean politics, it is apparent that President Robert Mugabe is a racist, fascist, homophobic, and ultimately nefarious man. Zimbabwe did show signs of potential in the early to mid-1990s as mortality rates decreased and immunization rates increased. However, overly racist and authoritarian policies halted Zimbabwe's growth. 

As a cholera epidemic has swept the nation over the past few months and shows no signs of slowing down, Mugabe now appears to be close to insanity. Unfortunately, his insanity has spread to all senior officials in Zimbabwe. Information Minister Sikhanyiso Ndlovu places the blame for cholera squarely on the shoulders of the British, claiming that they "are continuing to plant anthrax and cholera disease." Mugabe has long been known to refer to all his critics and detractors as "born-again colonialists," suggesting that anyone who disagrees with his "nationalist" politics really wishes to re-implement Western white rule in Zimbabwe. The claim that British PM Gordon Brown is to blame for the cholera outbreak is a new low. 

Just a few days ago Mugabe claimed that the cholera outbreak was under control. Seeing as Mugabe is 84 years old his remarks can easily be dismissed as senile. However, to hear the so-called Information Minister state that the British are using biological warfare on the Zimbabwean people is frightening. Even if Mugabe is deposed as President, it appears there are several other maniacal despots waiting to take power. 

Robert Mugabe has gone so far as to refer to himself as a "black Hitler" in the past. Upon initially being compared to Hitler by the UK Parliament, Mugabe controversially stated "This Hitler had only one objective: justice for his people, sovereignty for his people...If that is Hitler, then let me be a Hitler tenfold." As Mugabe stands by idly, going so far as to deny the cause of death for thousands of his people, he certainly is acting in a Hilteresque manner. Mugabe may not be a tenfold Hitler, but the fact there are ten or more Hitlers in the upper ranks of the Zimbabwe government is equally, if not more, terrifying. 

(Product) Bullshit.

When will everyone see past the facade of (Product)Red? Yes, some of the companies involved have committed a considerable amount of the revenue from their (Product)Red to the campaign (Motorolla's contribution of 50% of Product(Red) RAZR, KRZR, and SLVR). However, it is ultimately a ploy to generate sympathy revenue--a company puts on a sad face, pretends to care about AIDS in Africa and suddenly has won over consumers who had previously thought GAP or Starbucks to be evil multinational corporations who employ foreign workers for low wages. 

I do not intend to knock the (Product)Red initiative as a whole, rather the greedy companies who simply utilize the sympathy that participation in the program generates. In principle, the initiative allocates profits from otherwise greedy corporations to charitable organizations in Africa--money that the companies would not otherwise donate. The possibility of tapping into a new market of globally conscious and sensitive consumers is the appeal for companies to participate in the program. 

In the case of Starbucks, I do not believe that they are putting in nearly as much as they are getting out of (Product)Red. Starbucks' contribution to (Product)Red is as follows: "For every (Starbucks)Red Exclusive beverage purchased, Starbucks will contribute five cents to the Global Fund to invest in AIDS programs in Africa." On first reading that seems acceptable. Not overly generous, but acceptable--my response was to go "hmm." However, that "hmm" (accompanied by a slight smirk of complacency) soon became a "hmmm" (accompanied by an inquisitively raised eyebrow). Upon further inspection, I learned that the (Starbucks)Red Exclusive beverages are the Peppermint Mocha Twist, Gingersnap Latte, and Espresso Truffle. Upon further thought, that "hmmm" became a "hmmmmm" (accompanied by a frown and slight eye-roll). To begin with, these "exclusive" beverages are significantly more expensive than anything else on the menu. So, the problem I find is twofold: 1) These beverages will be ordered less often due to their higher price-point and overly specialized nature (gooey syrop shots) 2) If they are so expensive (over $4 CDN for a standard "tall" size), the company's contribution of 5¢ for every cup sold is pathetic. 

Every Starbucks cup is adorned with a cardboard sleeve bearing the (Product)Red logo and a sentence below it that says something along the lines of "Saving the world one cup at a time." This gives off the impression that every Starbucks beverage is a part of the campaign, rather than just three overly sweet, overly expensive beverages. Starbucks has completely warped the purpose and spirit of (Product)Red for its own form of sympathy marketing. 

A hole in the bag

Last week's proposal by Mayor David Miller to implement a five-cent fee for plastic bags at all grocery stores in Toronto is a delightful example of politics bending over and taking it from business. Instead of rewarding consumers for cutting back on wasteful plastic bags (the original proposal was to offer a ten-cent discount for every bag reused), Mr. Miller has now proposed to punish consumers for using plastic bags. This provides grocers with an opportunity to make a further (if miniscule) profit. Although the implementation of this proposal will make consumers more mindful of their plastic bag usage and waste, the original plan would be quite a bit more effective. The new proposal is replete with a large hole caused by Mr. Miller's desire to please businesses while appearing to support leftist causes. 

Another recent government proposal (on a grander scale) full of holes is the auto industry bailout. The suggestion that using public money to regenerate the North American companies known for making shit-quality private automobiles is preposterous. The bailout will not generate more jobs, it will simply provide crutches for an industry that has long been fading. The auto industry is beholden to the free market system. It is demand that determines the cost of automobiles. That being said, the automobile does not have a public value. Thus, public money should not be allocated to support automobile production. 

Beyond the limited public value of the automobile, the industry is actually detrimental to public interest and well-being. It is well-known that the fossil fuels generated by automobiles are damaging to the environment. Do we want one of the cornerstones of our newly established environmentally-conscious economy to be the auto sector?

If public money is granted to the automakers, the public should have a say in how the money is spent. How about putting the funds towards the development of ethanol-based cars? Or solar-powered cars? 

Jerk chicken and Irish moss.

So, a catch-22 arose as I read Pitchfork's review of the Sebastien Grainger album. If the self-appointed zeitgeist of interweb music reviewers was to herald the album as fantastic, I would be noticeably irritated--to the point that I might kick a series of doors, setting off said doors' alarms, and subsequently being arrested for mischief. The droning masses of wicked-hip indie kids who are always a step ahead of the rest ("The Acorn is sooooo 3.75 months ago, get with it") might then swallow up Grainger and his Mountains counterparts and step on my toes at the next show with their gritty Vans and Chucks. Conversely (get it?),  if Pitchfork was to dismiss the album as drivel (specifically in comparison to DFA1979), I might be enraged to have what I believe to be one of the best albums of 2008 torn to shreds. Furthermore, having it done at the hands (or dirty, sweaty, fingers) of some asshole who interned at Spin and is a level 87 vegan is infuriating. After reading the review I was relatively pleased, however, with Joe Colly's tendency to tread the line separating the two.

The album certainly does showcase Grainger's "command of melody" and "works best at its most straightforward."  That being said, I believe the entire album is rather straightforward. Colly writes it himself that the album "ventures down a more conventional rock path" -- that is what I find so novel and refreshing about Grainger's music. 

Overall, I find the album to be one of the most earnest in recent memory. As you listen to tracks like "Niagara" and "I'm All Rage," one can sense the passion and sheer fun had by Grainger and The Mountains in the studio (the former is said to have been recorded during a night of many alcoholic drinks) and on the stage (although the latter is not actually a live recording, it certainly captures the tenacity of a live Grainger show). 

Yes, DFA1979 certainly was a rather significant and groundbreaking band. However, neither Sebastien Grainger nor Jesse Keeler will ever "escape the shadows of their former glory" if critics insist upon comparing their current projects to DFA1979. With his album, Grainger aims to achieve a different aesthetic. To begin with, his solo work is devoid of the abrasively sexual lyrics. He has matured considerably and sings of more than pushing in and pulling out. DFA1979 was a dance-punk band that did not spend much time pondering anything outside the realm of booze and sex--what else do early 20-something males have to think about anyway? To gain a better perspective on Grainger's new musical and spiritual mentality, I advise at least a quick read of Exclaim's November piece on him (which, by Exclaim standards, is one of their finer articles).

Ultimately, I find that as per usual, Pitchfork has missed the mark. To put it simply, Grainger's album is one of the finest albums I have heard all year and despite listening to it several times a week since first downloading an advance (don't fret, I purchased the vinyl from Grainger himself at the album release show), I have yet to even slightly tire of it. That being said, a rating of 5.8 is more than a low blow--it's a fucking drop-kick to the nuts. Fuck you, Joe Colly--but, thank you. 

How about a champagne enema?

I still cannot completely wrap my head around the practice of soaking a tampon in alcohol and inserting it to gain an alcohol buzz that is apparently more intense and helps to avoid the liver damage and potential for puking. 

As for the bro-down alternative, funneling a beer up your anus, I completely understand and support it. Dude, let's do more ass-bombs! 

This temporary flesh and bone

Simply put, the new ablum by Las Vegas' The Killers is akin to their first release, Hot Fuss (2004). The soon to be released (November 24th) Day & Age sees a return to the synth-pop-rock, new wave-tinged sound of the first album. The Anytown, USA anthemic nature of Sam's Town (2006) was polarizing for fans who had come to expect danceable nu new wave ditties from The Killers. Although personally I prefer the straightforward American rock of Sam's Town, I must concede that Bruce Springsteen certainly has that genre covered. Despite my general disappointment in Day & Age, two tracks boldly stand out. The first is "This is your life," which fantastically incorporates tribal chanting throughout and a jumpy but generic "indie" bassline. The second is "Goodnight, Travel Well," which is not only the best track on the album, but one of the best tracks I have heard this year. 

The Killers - Day & Age

I doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion

The Age of Fear has reached its end. The election of Barack Obama brings about the dawning of a new age, the Age of Hope (cue the "Age of Aquarius" song, but replace "Aquarius" with "Hope" and stretch out "Hope" so it fits the spot where "Aquarius" usually is).

Obama ran on a platform that was upheld by two key concepts: hope and change. The Bush administration functioned primarily on a platform of fear. By spreading fear amongst the American populous, the Bush administration could act rashly, harshly, and violently to carry out their agenda. That being said, to end the Age of Fear, Obama ran under the pretext of beginning the Age of Hope upon his election to office. His campaign essentially aimed to juxtapose hope and fear and thus polarize Obama from Bush, the Democrats from the Republicans.

For as much as I find Obama to be a dreamboat and exactly what America needs in a president, I do find his platform of hope and change to be somewhat problematic. The polarizing of fear and hope is reminiscent of a scene from Donnie Darko:



Just as Donnie argues that fear and love are not opposites, I argue that neither are fear and hope. To begin with, fear is implicit in hope. One can only be hopeful if there is an underlying fear--Timmy hopes he will pass his math test because he fears failing the class. Americans hope the Obama administration will fare better than the Bush administration because they fear more futile military campaigns and further detriment to international relations. The fear created by the Bush administration is implicit in the hope purported by the Obama campaign. They are not opposites.

That being said, in a way, Obama ran on a campaign of fear. The other keyword in his campaign, change, hinges itself on fear: if things do not change in America, the end result will be negative.

Another element of fear in Obama’s campaign was the usuage of the current state of economic peril and the looming recession. Although the fear of terrorism has begun to fade, the impending financial havoc of the receding economy has emerged as a new overarching fear.

Obama’s campaign used the doomed economy as a means to generate fear on the campaign trail. The Obama bid asserted that McCain's economic plan guaranteed certain peril for the lower and middle echelons of American society: tax breaks for large corporations and wealthy individuals. Ultimately, this tactic aimed to balloon the pre-existing disquietude Americans felt about the economy.

To clarify, by no means do I suggest that Obama or his aides have misled the American public. Nor do I suggest that he is an immoral man unfit to be president. Barack Obama is an articulate, intelligent, and charming man--precisely what America is in dire need of at this point in time. I simply wish to point out that his rhetoric is a little problematic. The Age of Fear has not come to a close, it has simply taken a new, less aggressive form. Fear is a fantastic marketing tactic and a presidential campaign that does not make use of it will most likely be an unsuccessful one. America lives in fear and will always live in fear. If it is not a fear of Communism then it is a fear of terrorism or the economic recession or Mad Cow or AIDS or the Boston Strangler. Hope and fear work together on the same side of the spectrum. The Age of Fear shall remain.

Bumpy Lines

Do you remember the good old days when putting on a mock-British accent whilst singing some vaguely sexual lyrics gained you near-instant indie rock notoriety? This was a time long ago, before all this hipster nonsense was the supposed alternative culture and altbros wore skinny ties and danced awkwardly to The Killers at Dance Cave. During this era (2004-2006 AD) there were people who DID NOT wear skinny jeans and were still ACCEPTED as fully functioning members of alternative society. Unfuckingbelievable. No deep Vs either.

During the indiezoic period, it was musically acceptable to be a complete reproduction of Joy Division. In fact, such an act was heralded by indiezoic period emperor Pitchfork.

Luckily, back in 2004 Control had not yet been released and no one knew who Joy Division was. Had Interpol popped up on the scene recently, more than a few 30-somethings would recognize the "lucid expression of discontent and impending dread" Interpol vocalist Paul Banks exudes as a direct emulation of that depressed guy from that Control movie.

I must warn you, from here I will purport a conspiracy theory of sorts. No, it is not quite as half-baked as the Morrissey-Princess Diana conspiracy, but it is more legitimate than 9/11 Truth. Over the past five years or so, a few significant films have been released that are about musicians/bands who are either dead or far past their prime: Walk The Line, Ray, I'm Not Here, Control. Ultimately, I think this is simply a ploy to rejuvenate interest in the artists and sell merchandise.

The cast and crew of I'm Not Here worked in secrecy with the organizers of Bob Dylan's 2008 tour as well as the makers of dorm room full-size posters. There are many folk musicians (Sufjan Stevens, Rocky Votolato, Bon Iver to name a few) who sing about contemporary subjects and aren't 70 fucking years old and rich enough to buy a synagogue that should be plastered on dorm room walls and uploaded to iPods.

The cast and crew of Control were payed off by the estate of Ian Curtis in order to sell "that album with the bumpy lines thing" to entry level alts in order to collect royalties to pay for Natalie Curtis' Masters of Philosophy. Either that or they were paid off by Urban Outfitters to sell "t-shirts with the cover for that album with the bumpy lines thing."

Joy Division - Unknown Pleasures

Edit: To emphasize my poster point...

I hope your friends explode

I too can briefly toy with Photoshop to create a graphically poor "ironic" poster for my shitty event. I too can adopt a cutesy DJ name and "spin" a musically directionless set for hipster poseurs who are afraid to venture further West than Bathurst. I too can book electro acts and other DJs who will never quite gain alt-weekly notoriety beyond the "Last week in the clubs" three-line snippets. I too can over-expand my emerging empire of entry-level alt mediocrity and have three or four events a week that are all the FUCKING SAME: the same cookie-cut playlists, the same poorly dressed attendees, and the same roster of DJs. It is like Groundhog Day, but with a crappier soundtrack and instead of starring Bill Murray, it stars some asshole with an irritating near-ringlet of a mustache. I too can make my friends explode. 

Deep-Vs for all!

When I attended U of T and wrote my three or four infamous articles for the school's The Varsity student newspaper, I found myself resentful towards the paper's then-editor, Tabassum Something-or-other. She worked for The Toronto Star and was no longer a current U of T student. I felt as though she had overstepped her bounds in an attempt to fully grasp a journalistic holier-than-thou attitude and could only do so by reigning over undergrad students trying to build some form of a writing portfolio.

However, after reading a poorly-informed piece in last week's Eye that grasps onto the organic hemp fabric coattails of a poorly-informed Adbusters article, I have found a far worse and far more self-aggrandizing editor-in-chic than Tabassum Something-or-other. If you would like this blog post to be more than a cynical rant about Chandler Levack's misinformed hypocrisy, please read her article "Our Party Photos Are Us" before continuing to trudge through my Klostermanesque ramblings.

Some background information on Ms. Levack: She is currently the Editor in Chief of The Varsity and a regular contributor for Eye Weekly. She has also written for Spin and interned at Toronto's other alt-weekly, NOW. Impressive (that was not sarcasm, really). Seeing as Levack is still an undergrad at U of T, I do not suggest that she is in any way overstepping her bounds as Editor of The Varsity as Something-or-other did. Furthermore, based on her resumé, Levack certainly is qualified for the position.

The tobacco-laden distaste that lingers is for Levack's lack of credibility. She attempts to write this article as a third-party--someone who is far removed from the hipster scene.

However, she gives herself away early on as someone who simply is not astute enough to latch onto alt-trends early enough to not look like a poser. It was during her high school days eons ago that Levack perused the Cobranake's site: "After all, it was Cobrasnake printouts of gritty art punks with tattoos, black eyes and killer layers that I took to my hairdresser at the end of my Burlington cul-de-sac in high school ('I want my hair to look like that')."

Yes, Levack certainly latches onto the central existential chicken-egg question of hipsterdom: do hipster photo blogs show hipsters as they are, how they wish to be seen, or determine how they are seen? Why don't we ask Douglas Haddow to answer this culturaly iconographic question? You know, the fellow who wrote that Adbusters article a couple of months ago that made vodka-Red Bull waves in the hipster community?

As I wrote on this very blog, Haddow does not follow through with any of the culturally-pressing issues he presents in his article. Furthermore, he only scratches the surface of hipsterdom and simply identifies the most obvious and recognizable trends. However, in comparison to Levack's "why can't I be cool?" diary entry of an article, Haddow's piece is cutting edge journalism.

I will answer Levack's alt-culturally pressing chicken-egg question quite succinctly: no one fucking cares. Further proving that Levack simply does not "get it" (fuck you, Mom) is the fact that the whole party photo, nipple slip, Justice, deep-V aesthetic of hipsterdom is dead. The Cobrasnake is dead. All of these have gone the way of the mainstream. Everyone knows Justice. Bro-dudes wear deep-Vs, showing off their shaved chests, while still calling me a fag. Cobrasnake parties used to always be at a less accessible, less well-known Parkdale location. Considering the last one was at Circa, a ridiculously overpriced, oversized, overly neon-lit, centrally located amusement park of a club is proof enough that the particular hipster aesthetic recognized by Haddow, Levack, and EVERY-FUCKING-ONE ELSE has been snorted down by those less inclined to latch onto alt-scenes because they actually wish to be a part of something that is in fact an alternative to the mainstream (otherwise known as 905ers and all of my U of T undergrad classmates).

Looking past the fact that Levack found an old Adbusters last week at her new age "doctor's" teepee office and managed to get a poor rewrite of Haddow's article published, she gives herself away as a complete hypocrite and diminishes any journalistic integrity she may have possessed. This is accomplished by her inclusion of a Cobrasnake photo of herself at the end of the article, where she is proudly sporting the "oversized geek frames sliding down (her) nose" that she described so dismissively as a trademark of the hipster uniform.

As Levack ends with yet another question, "I wonder if some 17-year-old version of me will add my photo to their desktop “Haircuts I Like” folder?" she further proves that she simply wishes to be a part of the hipster scene. Once more, I will answer another of her pressing questions: No. No one likes your shitty haircut.

Ahhhhhieeeieahhhhh

That is the only "lyric" I can decipher in the lo-fi screamer "Niagara" from Sebastien Grainger and The Mountains' soon to be released LP (October 21st). I have professed my musical crush on Grainger previously on this blog and after listening to an advance of the album, I deem it wank-worthy--in other words, fucking fantastic. I will not include a link to download said album, I strongly urge you to purchase it. However, I will tickle you with this teaser video for the "hardest" track on the album, "Niagara".

Never Mind the Butter

The following video is a prime example of why cutting edge, revolutionary artists should never grow old:

Fuck the Boroughs

As of late I have been awash in self-importance. It has cleansed me of visible self-doubt. It has carried with it droplets of detriment for my writing. Sober Sunday afternoons are as good a time as any to reassert my creativity and supposed musical pretensions. 

Panic(!) At The Disco created a great distaste upon my palette for bands that include an exclamation mark in their name. Upon the release of their second album they dropped the punctuation from their name. A sigh of relief. I can now embrace another punctuated band: Los Campesinos! I find that bands often must come from isolated communities that are not exposed to wide-ranges of popular music in order to truly create a unique and untainted sound. The only example I can think of at the moment is Wintersleep, whose first two albums are quite difficult to pin down to a specific genre and sound unlike anything else mine ears have been graced with. However, as I mentioned about a year ago on this very blog, their third album Welcome to the Night Sky is a radio-friendly farce. Moreover, it has attracted fist-pumping, Edge 102-listening bros and their hos to the band as "fans." The Wintersleep show the other night was crammed with pot-smoking, quiksilver hoodie-wearing bro-dudes from God-awful places like Peterborough, each with boot-cut jeans wearing, Guess? purse-carrying hos in tow. Fuck that. (As a side note, I suppose it ultimately was my own fault for attending the show long after already declaring Wintersleep dead to me)

Back to the main point: Los Campesinos! They are another band from a fairly isolated community--that is, Cardiff, Wales (thanks Wikipedia!). Their style of "indie" post-punk is really unlike any other music that is classified as such. Each song is packed with enough ritalin-concentrated ADD energy to make parents consider a divorce simply to split custody. As well, LC! creates a frenetic he said/she said balance through the dual vocals of Gareth and Aleksandra (all bandmembers go by the last name Campesinos!--thanks again Wikipedia!). Listen. Listen now. Listen well. 

We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed

My Year in Lists EP

The Queen is dead

Adbusters: The Anti-Vice?

To begin with, I hope you realize the obvious "Anti-Christ" reference. I understand that "Christ" and "Vice" is a forced rhyme, so I felt it necessary to explain. Furthermore, I am poking fun at myself as a hipster by suggesting that Vice is my Christ.

In the past, Adbusters has come close to critiquing me: their harsh words for Zionism hits close to my Jewish roots (though I am by no means a Zionist), and my avid consumerism is frowned upon by their leftist contributors. However, this is the first time I feel as though an Adbusters article is actually directly about me. In true narcissistic fashion, I love reading about myself, even if it is a negative rant about my insistence upon being "lost in the superficiality of [the] past" and my inability to "create any new meaning."

Douglas Haddow's article "Hipster: The dead end of Western Civilization" does have its merit. Haddow immersed himself in hipster culture enough to identify the obvious trends: fake glasses, flannel, fixed gear bikes, Pabst Blue Ribbon, indifferent dancing, rejection of being labelled a "hipster." However, I do not find it to be a piece of cutting-edge journalism that reveals anything that is not already well-known. Thanks to the internet, trends and scenes spread like wildfire. Hipsterdom is already past its peak (this happened long ago, probably around the time Kanye West recognized a new market of white kids to attempt to appeal to and thus latched onto that Daft Punk "sample"). Everyone and his/her cougar mother owns a pair of wayfarers, has bookmarked hipster blogs, and listens to/pretends to like electro by now. 

Haddow sets up the opportunity to actually dissect what he calls a counter-cultural movement, but instead never delves deep enough into any point he starts. According to Haddow, by sporting vintage clothing, drinking cheap beer, and partying in post-industrial locales, hipsters uphold "shameless cliches of a class of individuals that seek to escape their own wealth and privilege by immersing themselves in the aesthetic of the working class." Well Mr. Adbuster, what exactly is wrong with that? Your publication is based upon redistributing wealth to reconcile the marginalized sides of the great poverty line divide. Instead of delving into the rationale of hipsters and their decision to reject the wealth of their upbringing, Haddow constantly changes the subject with topic sentences that are stereotypical attacks:

• "This obsession with 'street-cred' reaches its apex of absurdity..."
• "Lovers of apathy and irony, hipsters are connected through a global network of blogs..."
• "With nothing to defend, uphold or even embrace..."
• "An artificial appropriation of different styles from different eras, the hipster represents the end of Western civilization"

I will pick up the pieces for Haddow. This generation has been spoiled. Many of our parents are immigrants or the children of immigrants. That being said, they did not have the most comfortable upbringing and as a way of paying it forward, have provided us with lives that are more than comfortable. This has had an adverse effect on our motivation and work ethic. We expect everything handed to us and if it is not, we lack the motivation to reach out even a little to grasp it. Or perhaps we do not even want to grasp it. 

I myself am not motivated by money. I simply wish to earn enough to live comfortably. As a result, cheap beer and used/vintage clothing fit comfortably in my lifestyle. It certainly helps that my consumption of used clothing and certain cheap alcohol sits upon the apex of the alterna-cool aesthetic, do not get me wrong. However, my general apathy is not so much a choice as it is a product of societal conditions.

Each preceding generation has seen its fair share of rebellion. This generation--my generation--has little to rebel against. Or, in the case that there is something to rebel against, we possess the hindsight to realize that there is little we can do to alter the preconceived notions of affluent socio-political fraternities that shape government policy. Remember the mass protests against the Vietnam War? Yeah, our parents were a part of those. Based on that model, there is little we can do to stop the "war" in Afghanistan. 

That being said, this generation either realizes that there is little we can do to alter current circumstances, or perhaps we don't want to alter current circumstances. Haddow claims that hipsters have "nothing to defend, uphold or even embrace"--maybe this is because there is in fact very little to defend, uphold or embrace. Social conditions are not perfect, but there certainly is a decent amount of equality in society and there are political institutions in place to ensure this. The generation gap is smaller than ever before--our parents were bigger drug users than we are. Based on that, although they may not condone our dabbling in narcotics, they certainly do not condemn it. So, what is left to rebel against? 

Furthermore, remember the grunge "movement"? What the fuck did that stand for exactly? It certainly was not born in the womb of an angry flannel-clad co-ed protesting the Gulf War. It certainly did not stand for Native rights. It was a generation of disillusioned youth who could not find a half-decent career path to reluctantly drag their feet along. 

Finally, the ultimate hypocrisy of this article is that it panders to hipsters and is cashing in on the very scene that Haddow demonizes. Generally, Adbusters issues have an overall theme that is clearly depicted on the cover: Media Democracy, The Reconquest of Cool, Big Ideas of (insert year). This issue is not the hipster issue. There is just one article on hipsterdom but the cover would make one think otherwise. Considering Haddow's claim when discussing party photogbloggers that hipsters will "crawl out of bed the next afternoon and immediately re-experience the previous night's debauchery...wading through a sea of similarity to find their own (momentarily) thrilling instant of perfected hipster-ness," he is well aware that hipsters are self-obsessed. Thus, hipsters will flock to purchase a magazine that dissects their scene. Case and point: me.  

The giant swan took me to the river, Georgia will take me to the sea

It has reached a point where my opinion on Jaguar Love has gone back and forth about as much as (choose the most applicable):
a) a trophy wife on her elliptical machine
b) a candle in the wind held by Elton John
c) who "Candle in the wind" by Elton John is dedicated to
d) Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson's hep-C fest (I think that is also the name of the Motley Crue tour)

If you chose "all of the above" then you have not been paying close attention (and there was no "all of the above" option, dipshit). You remain relatively stationary on an elliptical machine. Although your arms and legs do move back and forth, the fact that your actual body does not makes a) an unsuitable option. If you selected d) you would be wrong as well. No one cares about Pam and Tommy, so if you are up to speed on the status of their relationship then you are reading the wrong gossip rag. Also, the fact that at this point even silicone cannot keep Pam's breasts from sagging is an automatic disqualifier. Either of the Elton John options are acceptable. Remember the masterpiece that was The Lion King soundtrack? That man will always have a place in my heart and Simba will always rule my animal kingdom.

What was my point again?
Ah, yes, Jaguar Love. I have had in my possession (or, on my hard-drive) their full album for a few weeks now. After listening to the EP not too long ago and pumping myself up for the fantastic album that was sure to follow, I must say I am disappointed. The best songs on the album are the tracks that were on the EP. Beyond that, the songs that remain are either tolerable ("Antoine and Birdskull," "Humans evolve into skyscrapers"), passable ("Vagabond Ballroom," "Jaguar Pirates"), or awful ("Georgia"). Then there is the video for "Highways of Gold." Take a peak:



Overall, a cute video. Johnny Whitney looks good and the simplistic and somewhat cheesy concept is mildly enjoyable. However, I have two huge problems with the video. The first is that Whitney's falsetto screams during the first chorus (right after the "Highways of gold, where do they go?" line) are cut out. Apparently the kids today cannot handle a high-pitched wail during the first chorus of a song, it can only be at the end. That is just how the ADHD-addled mind works. The second problem is that the song is shortened so the video can safely clock in at three minutes long. A few of the post-chorus instrumental bits are cut down to accomplish this. If your attention span cannot pass the three minute mark then you do not deserve to listen to this song in the first place you spoiled little brat. Go have another Doritos Extremezxxx!

Jaguar Love - Take Me To The Sea

Me-Me-Mercury

Bloc Party - Mercury



If the one-off single "Flux" from nearly a year ago and this new single (supposedly from the forthcoming new album... no one is too sure when it is actually coming out) are any indication, Bloc Party appear to be headed towards a slightly more dance-electro vibe. I cannot say I am a huge fan of either song, though "Mercury" does have a solid beat that possesses the ability to make the whitest of the white (otherwise known as me) dance a little. Bloc Party has always had fantastic tempo and beats in their songs that essentially made them a type of post-punk dance band, so I feel as though this turn towards a more electronic sound is unnecessary. Ultimately, what truly annoys me about this track is the electronic stutter when he says "Me-Me-Mercury." Pretty enjoyable video, though.

Flux

Abe Vigoda is not dead!

He is neither dead in body nor in musical form. When asked by a friend to describe the band Abe Vigoda's music, I stated that it is like a harder, better, quirkier version of Vampire Weekend, except not shitty, pretentious, or a post-ska ripoff (Bedouin Soundclash already perfected the latter). Moreover, Abe Vigoda has one of the most unfortunate yet enjoyable band names in existence. Double (secret probation) moreover, they kick major striped tail live.

Kid City

Skeleton

The online blogopolis

The newest development on the campaign trail for US President is that John McCain is apparently "aware of the internet." I respect that. I too am aware of things. I am aware of black oppression. I am aware of thermal dynamics. I am aware of menstruation. I am aware of the centre of a Tootsie Pop. In order to further aid McCain's burgeoning awareness of the internet, I provide this embedded instructional video:

The Great Plains

I certainly am a fan of Tex-Mex. Well, Tex-Mex food anyway. Last week I was at Rancho Relaxo for an evening of actual bona-fide indie music and had the pleasure of seeing the Rural Alberta Advantage, a Toronto-based band whose music captures the heartbreak and isolation of growing up in the Prairies (notably, frontman Paul Banwatt actually is from Alberta....not just appropriating the experience in order to have an indie edge). At times Banwatt's voice channels that of Neutral Milk Hotel's Jeff Magnum to the point that I forget who I'm listening to. By no means do I find that to be a bad thing, however. Following the show, I opted to gambol down College Street and have a Tex-Mex nightcap (three pitchers and veggie nachos) at Sneaky Dee's. If there was a Tex-Mex streetfight between the primary two Tex-Mex/Concert venue contenders in Toronto (involving secret moves like the enchilada death-ray), Sneaky Dee's would reign victorious and be awarded a die-cast figurine of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. 

The Rural Alberta Advantage - Hometowns

In the mid-90s when Eve6 put out their first album, which was a mildly enjoyable collection of post-grunge songs (before they became a sad, sad, post-Sublime band [I suppose that is slightly better than Ill Scarlett, who actually believe that they are the reincarnation of Sublime]), the ginger-tinged singer stated in an interview that the band really likes music videos that incorporate the band performing. Personally, I enjoy when a music video has a mild plot line (generally that involves something a little left of centre) and is able to incorporate some performance shots of the band in a manner that flows naturally. This brings me to the point of this post, The Blood Brothers' (yes, get used to my obsession) video for "Laser Life."






On a related note, I find their video for "Ambulance vs Ambulance" to be one of the finest low-budget videos I have ever seen.

My grandpa's sexier than your grandpa.

As if the Japanese did not already have enough odd fetishes (used schoolgirl underwear, anyone?), there is apparently a market for elderly porn in the land of the rising sun, or as I shall now rename it, the land of the rising wrinkled penis. In hopes that you are a faithful web-gazer and have clicked the embedded links I've provided (hint: if you haven't done so, do so now...do it!), to quote Derek Zoolander, "Fortunately not too many people I know read your little Time magazine or whatever it's called." If Shigeo's wife and daughter were indeed unaware of his porn career, I think there is an excellent chance they now know about it thanks to Time. Apparently, thanks to this here interweb, information travels quickly--especially when it involves pornography and/or anything potentially damning to one's life.

Apparently, if I had my heart set on becoming an elderly porn director (do you think I would actually have to stay and provide directions, or could I simply leave a running camera in the room and take off until they were done?) I could simply visit a nursing home, or at least this one. Old people certainly should be allowed to perform whatever drooping sexual acts they so desire and this Bob fellow's son should lighten the fuck up (I mean, how many times have I walked in on my parents? Actually, none, but for three years I could hear them trying to make my younger brother on a nightly basis). Ultimately, the son should turn what he sees as a negative into a positive: film that arthritic hardcore and market it in Japan.

But surely, expulsion is not the answer.

When I was in the final stages of my pubescence and my testicles nearly reached their full descent, I attended a party. After sipping three beers and half a Smirnoff Ice (I know...I know...) I made myself believe I was more drunk than I actually was. Or perhaps I was indeed drunk, I was a youngin' after all. Either way, the video you are about to see came on The Wedge. I remember thinking to myself that watching it was like doing LSD.....ON ACID!!!



Feel fucked up now? Good. Now some obligatory information:
The Avalanches are an electronic group from Australia. They have only released one album, 2000's Since I Left You, on which every track is comprised of vinyl samples from old music, television, and movies. One more tidbit of information you may enjoy (because I sure as hell did, so basically, you have to enjoy it--I run a totalitarian blog here) is that they once played a gig as The Swinging Monkey Cocks. Delicious.

The Avalanches - Since I Left You

I loved Jaguars in a past life

This post shall be another homage to the Blood Brothers. Prepare yourself. 

Are you adequately prepared? Good. 

Anything as artistically groundbreaking as the Blood Brothers unfortunately cannot last. I mean, look at what happened to Wham! After releasing five genre-bending albums that ripped the "scene" a new one, for reasons unknown the Brothers broke up. By no means do I wish to create gossip-driven controversy about the reasons surrounding the breakup, but I do find it notable that on final album Young Machetes, second vocalist Jordan did not have as integral of a role in the songs. He certainly took more of a background role compared to earlier albums, where often he had his own songs that were accented by Johnny Whitney's falsetto-on-acid vocals.

Furthermore, in their Dear John letter to fans announcing the breakup, the Brothers state that they feel it is best that their "futures move forward on separate paths." It would appear that there are only two paths: Jaguar Love and Past Lives.

The two post-Blood Brothers bands took only a few months to form and each is fronted by one of the two singers. Remember when Blink-182 broke up and Tom Delonge promised us all that his new band would cure AIDS, bring back orphans' parents, and provide us all with multiple orgasms? Well, Angels and Airwaves did not quite live up to the hype. Mark Hoppus on the other hand kept relatively quiet about (+44) and the end result was....well, a band that is nearly as crumby as AvA. Thankfully, neither of the two post-Blood Brothers have given me the enormous blue balls that AvA and (+44) did. 

I initially was a bit of a "hater" (but not of the playa' assortment) towards Jaguar Love (Whitney's band). The demo they streamed on myspace a few months back made me tearfully mourn the demise of the Blood Brothers. That being said, I put all my faith into Jordan's band Past Lives and the musical gods looked kindly upon me, as the initial live videos they had streaming were fantastic. Then I heard recorded demos of said songs and they were weak in comparison. Then, on the other side of town in an exterminator's van that actually was a sexy surveillance van run by sexy alien agents from a sexy spy organization....from OUTER SPACE, I nabbed the Jaguar Love EP. Fuck yeah, muchachos, fuck yeah. It doesn't sound anything like that disappointing first demo. In fact, it is fabulous. But hey, don't take my ill-informed word for it, you web-gazing scoundrel. 

Jaguar Love - EP

Past Lives - Demos

As a bonus, enjoy some Blood Brothers:

Crimes

Burn Piano Island, Burn

Give your kids American names

Perhaps I am a Sebastien Grainger groupie. This past Tuesday marked the release of Sebastien Grainger and The Mountains American Names EP. After seeing them perform three times now, it is due time that the band finally has released some material. Although the four-song EP includes two tracks I have heard in different forms over the past year and are nothing new ("American Names" and "Ways to come home"), it is nice to hear clean recordings of the two.

Had Grainger not been the heart and soul (and voice and lyricist) of Death From Above 1979, I am not so sure his new project would be such a success (not to suggest that it is even that big a success right now). The current "hip" music scene is abuzz with indie-dance bands that lean more towards either nu-disco or club-worthy dance music. That being said, it is difficult for a more traditional straight-forward rock and roll band to find a niche market to appeal to. Grainger's new band is quite a stretch from the fast-paced dance-punk of DFA1979 and certainly will not appeal to many of the former band's fans. Personally, I find them to be a breath of fresh air from the shoe-gazing arrogance of the current hipster scene. Gazing at your shoes during a song used to be an innocent act for slightly shy and slightly awkward "indie" kids in the early 90s, not an opportunity to look at your limited edition high-tops.

An excellent point that was made by a fellow Grainger groupie this past Monday night at the CD release at the Horseshoe was that with his neatly cropped brown hair, mustache, and all white ensemble, Grainger is beginning to look like Freddy Mercury these days. The photo above does not illustrate this well, but believe me, the comment was an apt one. It is rare that I actually agree with what someone shouts out at a concert ("Seven Yearrrrs").

Sebastien Grainger and The Mountains - American Names EP

Alphabetical Misanthropy

I have come to the realization that the alphabet has done me a disservice. Either that, or my parents awkwardly conceived me a few years past when they ought to have. Why do I say this? I will tell you presently: I should be a member of Generation X.

My rationale on the subject is as follows:

1. I fucking love flannel
2. Grunge music has influenced me more than I had initially realized and it comes through in the music I write
3. I work in a shitty store and am overqualified for the blithering nonsense I am required to do in order to earn just above minimum wage. Despite my BA, I will probably continue to work unfulfilling jobs that neither challenge me nor require any use of my intelligence. 
4. As a detraction to my proof, I do not have rich parents who constantly bail me out like some type of spoiled brat poorly played by Winona Ryder. Close enough, though. 

To further illustrate my point, enjoy a clip from Mr. Show:

I suppose I am a "slacker" by societal standards. However, I would like to be employed, just not for an employer that I have absolutely no faith in. Ultimately, I want to hang out, drink beer, play guitar, listen to Blood Brothers albums, and help some kids or animals somewhere in between and make enough to pay rent and purchase beer, shoes, guitar strings, a new record player, and some tofu. If you or anyone you know is seeking to employ an individual with those qualifications, please contact me. Otherwise, fuck you and your society's rules with all the crocheting and homemade fudge for the blind. 

This revolution is for display purposes only.

Since purchasing Banksy's book from....sigh...Urban Outfitters (hey, I could have lied and said I purchased it somewhere reputable...cut me some slack) I have developed a new appreciation for graffiti as a viable art form. Yes, there certainly is a lot of awful and redundant graffiti in existence (generally spelling out the artist's name in those acid-trip letters or the standard "fuck" on a warehouse wall), but there is a movement towards socially-conscious, political, and aesthetically pleasing graffiti that really was spearheaded by the efforts and sheer awesomeness of Banksy. Personally, I like graffiti that is either original or difficult (ie, location) in composition or makes a social statement. If both conditions can be met, then you have a piece that will one day be considered classic, once society can get its head around the notion that graffiti can in fact be an art and no one can really claim ownership to anything that is publicly accessible. 

This brings me to the Graffiti Research Lab. A site definitely worth checking out, the group has videos chronicling their various graffiti endeavours. Some of the videos and actual pieces are particularly enjoyable (like Jesus 2.0), while others don't completely satisfy or serve a real purpose (like the laser tagging). Regardless, their innovative contributions to the graffiti art should definitely be noted and appreciated. Take a look at their site, I urge you. 

Grizzly Bear - Yellow House

Damn right your Dad has a dick

Your Mom wasn't your Dad's first. Your Dad nailed at least one new chick a night. Even a Bolivian immigrant. Your Dad got the clap twice and beat it over with a wooden board. Condoms? Don't even bother. AIDS scares your Dad about as much as that bear he wrestled in '68. He even nailed that bear's wife after the fight. Guess what else, son. Your Dad drank Canadian Club. Everyday. With every meal. For dessert. As a main course. Heard of the drink Rusty Nail? Well your Dad drank his Canadian Club with actual rusty nails in it. Go ahead and enjoy your wine cooler, son. Your Dad drank CC when he went fishing. Even that time he had a head-on collision with that 8 year-old in a paddle boat. That's right, he nailed the kid's Mom right after the accident. Your Dad was a man. What are you, you fucking piece of effeminate tampon waste? You're nothing. Nothing until you down some CC, load up your buds in a van, drive to a barn in the middle of the night, and nail the shit out of the animals. Only the female ones of course, your Dad wasn't a fag. Are you, son? Your Dad only loved one type of cock: the kind that were waiting inside the barn, trying to defend their sexy chicken wives. What did he like about those cocks? He liked snapping their necks with his bare hands and then sucking their blood for sustenance. That's right, your Dad was a goddamn succubus. But only for cock. Your Dad loved to suck cock. 

Death Cab for Cutie - Narrow Stairs

The yum-yum fish...they're back!

Simply stated, =w=. That's right, =w=. Much like the triumphant return of a once believed eradicated species to an island that was overrun by European assholes who brought God and topless beaches (God loves tits!) with them, Weezer has returned with an album that actually sounds genuine and is catchy too! Although they appear to be going for a look that registers somewhere between a slightly less gay Village people and total dickweed, what I've heard thus far of album six is a return to the true, virtuous Weezer: repetitive, head-sticking four-chord songs and cutesy-cheesy lyrics that make you cringe and smile simultaneously. As well, it appears that Rivers takes several jabs at the present state of the music industry––a reference to Timbaland's ability to shit out hits for shit-stained artists in "Pork and Beans" and what appears to be a shot at the forced male bravado that is abound in mainstream hip hop in "The Greatest Man That Ever Lived" (yes, the nod to Queen in this track is obvious as well). It's quite a relief to hear Weezer back in fine form. Perhaps I should remove them from my "Bands that are dead to me" post...

Weezer - album six preview

Edit: I overrated this album upon one listen (and that one listen was only half the tracks). I made myself believe for the moment that I still gave a shit about Weezer. To recap: Blue Album was awesome. Pinkerton was decent (cult classic? that's a bit much...). Green Album was mediocre. Maladroit was slightly above mediocre. Make Believe should never be mentioned (but since I've mentioned it, fuck terrible). Red Album is below the mediocrity line.

Don't blame me...

Thankfully, we'll never need another all-American hero thanks to John Kerry. No one will ever be able to fill his shoes (nutmeg brown loafers). First he took the White House, then he saved the United States from certain economic and social peril by ending the war in Iraq simply by using his "mind powers," which involved a lot of furrowing of the brow with a dash of crinkling for good measure. What an upstanding, kick-ass dude. I want to buy him a beer. Something domestic of course. If there's one thing John Kerry stands for, it's supporting local boys. That's why I would buy him a sixer of Pabst Blue Ribbon, or some equal shitty brand of Yankee piss (when GQ profiled Kerry upon his nomination as the Democratic candidate in 2004, the interviewer met him in some backroads "all-American" bar and the K-man ordered a Guinness). Now that the world is free of evil and peaceful democracy has found its way to the Middle East (along with rockin' guitar solos and skinny jeans and hemp soap and veganism and longboards and bodywash and rubber and God and hybrid cars and cheese steak sandwiches and humility and camera-phones and stirrup leggings) John Kerry can breathe a little easier, sit down on the White House back lawn while sipping the sixer I bought him. Awesome. 

A Harry Potter Spell: Blogus Readus

Some thoughts as of late:

1. Tom Thomson was not in the Group of Seven. He died (or was murdered or something depending on what you believe) before the Group really officially formed. As a side note, Emily Carr was not in the Group of Seven either (as if they would allow a woman in....)
   
2. The Group of Seven suck anyway
   
3. If I wanted my own thoughts (those being ones of a somewhat privileged, white middle-class male with dry wit and enough smarmy cynicism to fill Janine Garafalo's presumably über-hairy vagina[I bet you love that visual, you sick fuck!]) I would simply make my blog one that requires a paid subscription and then subscribe to it. That is just one of the reasons as to why I think Chuck Klosterman is a fucking grotty wanker.
   
4. The other primary reason is that if blogs had become popular just a few years earlier, Klosterman would have never been offered a publishing deal and no one would have thought his ideas or his style are that novel. A white, suburban, middle-class male with vast musical knowledge and a keen sense of sarcasm?! I've never encountered one of those before!
   
5. By no means do I suggest that I should have a publishing deal. No one reads this blog, so why should anyone read my book? I don't think I want to be financially compensated for my creative thoughts anyway. At that point they are no longer my own and belong to every blockhead who purchases my book at Urban Outfitters where it is displayed beside some book about raunchy sex positions and below some book about RZA or maybe the lesser GZA.
   
6. Do not paraphrase an open letter by Dave Grohl addressed to Metallica as a negative rant when it is in fact praising them. The overlord of scene news, Jason "I know Fallout Boy" Tate, led me to believe that Grohl was lamenting on Metallica's mediocrity as of late. From there I began to lament on the mediocrity of the Foo Fighters as of late, seeing as their last two albums have been quite bland, and then labeled Grohl as somewhat of a hypocrite. Alas, after reading the letter, by no means does Grohl "[implore] Metallica not to release their new album unless it 'kicks ass.' " Learn how to paraphrase, Tate. Come on, you went to some middle-range American University. They still teach English there, don't they?
7. Montréal actually preserved their architecture from the 19th and early 20th Century. As a result there is an actual identifiable style. Take note, Toronto. 
8. I think I prefer the old pornographers. Either that or his daughter. 

Don't be a prima(hey!)donna.

That's about as clever as a combination of Madonna and Justin Timberlake gets. Remember when Madonna "came back" out of hiding (where she apparently spent her time adopting half of Africa and working out at least as much as my Mother [who, in case I failed to mention previously, has a slight obsession with her "power walking" and does so at least three hours a day]) in order to show off her disturbingly fit body in that disturbingly crotch-emphasizing one-piece gymnast outfit? You know, that video where people are randomly dancing in unconventional locales (the roof of a building?! Why, that's not a place for dancing!) and Madonna uses every excuse to spread her legs apart while sprawling on the floor of some dance studio? No, you don't remember? The lyrics involved something along the lines of "Everything you say or do...come on.....I've had enough of you." Anyway, that first comeback was unnecessary enough. By now, to retain her iconic status, Madonna should have either disappeared into obscurity in the Himalayas or committed some type of extravagant suicide (like the crotch of her once-piece gymnast outfit riding up so high that it slices her in half). Madonna should not grow old and Mother children and bake bundt cakes.

If you have read my blog in the past you should already be aware of my general dislike for Timbaland's production. He is not a bad producer, but artists who already possess some ingenuity do not need his prodcution graces (nor do they need his insistence on always appearing in the songs he produces to add in those much needed "uh huhs," "yeeeeahs," and that stupid "breeka breeka" sound he makes). Alas, Madonna has given in and allowed Timbaland to produce half her new album and has thus become as homogenized as the rest of the hip-pop genre. Soon every poppy hip-hop song will have that fat-headed buffoon's synth-dependent, "uh huh, yeeeah, breeka breeka" stamp of production on it.

Finally, the "subtle" implication in this song that Madonna is going to mount Justin Timberlake makes my stomache a little uneasy. First of all, isn't she dried out by now? The woman is going to be 50 in a few months. Timberlake is 27. I try not to put too much emphasis on age, because age is really a state of mind. However, the idea of Madonna trying to generate enough moisture to wang-chung Timberlake disgusts me. She really should have just gone the pills and alcohol route. It all went downhill once she stopped sporting that phony beauty mark.