Look, I Was 12 - Okay?

It's the weekend. No Rebecca Black jokes, I promise.

In the ongoing interest of deeply personal and potentially embarrassing confessions, here's one that's bound to disappoint someone: I can't stand U2. There. I said it. Now, I should clarify I don't loathe them to the degree with which I detest Bon Jovi but it does run deep. Maybe it's not even U2, but what they've come to be in our shared pop culture lexicon - Bono with his stupid yellow sunglasses. I pretty much picture him posturing and mugging for the camera at all times. South Park hit the nail on the head. They weren't always like this, though. I do appreciate their early work when they had passion and something to prove - Sunday Bloody Sunday is fantastic, as is Where The Streets Have No Name. I guess it's somewhere right around the Popmart tour that I just lose the connection. There's justifiable egocentrism and then there's ego for ego's sake. When musicians begin meeting with heads of state we might have crossed a line. But really, this is coming across as far to damning. What the preamble is aiming to do is set up the fact that, while I am no big fan of the band, there is one particular song that not only is a massive guilty pleasure for me but seemingly a mere footnote in the band's canon. This brings us down the winding path of personal recollection, though, so strap in while I shovel the nostalgia out of the way to explain just why 'Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me' is such a fantastic song. 

As I've written about to an embarrassing degree, I was brought up in the heady days of the 90s before the propagation of the internet, when irony was just becoming a thing that Gen X-ers were beginning to wield as a self defense mechanism. What this meant for my adolescent self was that if it was in the main stream of pop culture, especially marketed to me, I was in. Hook, line and sinker. Maybe I was too young to know better. Sure, I can look back now and say Batman Forever was where the original run of the series began to go downhill, but as a young male with a predilection for comics and (lets be honest) anything Batman related, this was mega. Around this time I had just begun to explore the world of music and MTV, via the gospel of my older brother. To connect the dots in the most blatant manner, what we end up with here is the Batman Forever Soundtrack. Yeah. Like I said, embarrassing if honest confessions. But what's of particular curiousty to my own understanding of the world is how chicken-and-egg this soundtrack was for my musical tastes. It's a veritable slice of mise en scene for the mid 90s music scene. Look who made (inexplicable) contributions to the compilation: U2, Brandy, Method Man (lolwut?), Nick Cave (again, what?) The Offspring, Sunny Day Real Estate, The Flaming Lips, PJ Harvey and Seal. Now, how many of those artists do you think of and then say to yourself "Yeah, Batman would totally listen to that!" All of them, right? Me too. It's a like an anthropologist could dig this up in 100 years and say "Huh, what a mess of a pop culture they had. Must've been before advertisers really went nuts and homogenized and niche-marketed everything in Hollywood..." From glam rock to hip hop to punk to emo, all these genres are things I still cling to today. So I ask myself was this the reason or an indicator? Strange. 

I say all this with withering scorn and all the self-aggrandizing hindsight and yet I still love at most of those acts. In particular, though, is the U2 contribution. It's in that sweet spot where the band was just edging up to the line of ego-driven arena rock. To wit, the song is about, according to Bono himself, being a rock star in a massively popular band. Okay, while I can swallow that, it's still a fantastic song. The structure and layout of the song show a deft use of dynamics, as it opens with a buzzsaw riff that displays why The Edge is such a respected guitarist. Despite the name, he can create really unique sounds and scenes with his instrument. The verses are looping acoustic guitars accompanying Bono's crooning, and it's here where I can still see the appeal of the band. He has a fantastic voice and absolutely knows how to phrase his vocals. There are a series of solitary notes The Edge picks when the chorus begins that just set such a distinct tone that feels iconic. Bono wails the title to the track over some evocative chords and the song's cycle begins again. It's a little by the numbers but given the fact it was relegated to a sub-par popcorn movie soundtrack, I can forgive that. What I think hooks me is the tone and mood of the song. It's mysterious and glam rock at it's best. So why do I have such a schizophrenic view of it? I guess it would be that I can't admit to myself that I really like the song, yet can't stand the band. Everyone has one of those, I'm sure. For me, it's this.

I though perhaps it was the rose-tinted lenses of nostalgia tainting my appreciation for the song, but 99 cents later I listened to it and...it still holds up. The video is deliciously mid-90s cheese, all animated clips of the band playing interspersed with movie footage, but I would watch the Masters if I knew that Batman would start fighting with the Riddler on the 18th hole. Still, I find myself contesting my own appreciation of this fantastic song from a detested band. No one wants to confront the fact that all their assumptions and opinions may be wrong and that's what this song represents on some level. It suggests that maybe U2 is okay and I'm too harsh on them. This is certainly one of the most negative posts I've written and I think it stems from this cognitive dissonance. Regardless of my internal strife that derives from a near 20-year old song, you should listen to it, just to see what all my fuss is about. 

Triple Take

Here we go again.

When I was in my senior year of high school I was severely grounded for some dumb things I did. Not to get into the details, but I totally deserved it. My grounding butted up against our senior class trip to the east coast. For me it was a chance to escape my bedroom and the watchful, rightfully judgmental eyes of my parents. For others in my class it was their first time out of the tri-county area. That's how it was. Some of us had left the continent, some hadn't left town. So while others were gearing up for the City Mouse/Country Mouse story, I was mostly dreading how to deal with an extended bus ride out to New York. Yes, we took a bus to New York, because that's how people travel, right? Sigh. I made peace with that fact and tried to drum up ways to entertain myself for the 1,000 hours I would be on a cramped coach bus barreling down the highway with 70 of my classmates crowded around me. Aside from the fact that this would be the worst potential bathroom circumstances of my nervous life, I also was looking for any new music I could find. A kind-hearted friend of mine in the sophomore class took pity on my situation and burned me a disc, courtesy of the wild west of file sharing (which at the time had not been clamped down upon, like it soon would). Knowing our mutual love of punk and my guilty pleasures of heavy metal, Mark burned me a disc of assorted songs by the California based band Thrice. Along with a few of their latest songs, it was a random disc of cuts from their first album and EP, some of it not very high quality, but that didn't concern me.

What did concern me was that this band was right up my alley. Anguished, howled melodies with lyrics about social injustice and betrayal. Furious riffage layered with dueling guitar licks. It was everything my 18 year old brain could desire. The distance of about ten years affords me the perspective to see how obviously cliched some of the music can be through a slightly more sophisticated mind set, but I still find myself playing through a few tracks on spring mornings like today's, getting a fleeting glimpse back at that time in my life and marveling about where I was in light of where I am now. It both boggles and amuses me and I smile, thinking of my simple yet charming view of the world I entertained as a senior in high school. Who doesn't think they have all the answers at that time in their life? Regardless, I'm quickly descending into self-indulgent reminiscing, so let's refocus and take a look at why I loved Thrice's latest album at the time, The Illusion of Safety. 

Hailing from California, Thrice was part of the passionate yet not-quite-emo scene at the time. They weren't quite screamo, yet they weren't just a thrash punk band either. They've grown away from the sound in the last ten years, but around the turn of the century the band was a fast and furious ensemble playing nuanced, detailed metal riffs over frantic rhythms, often bordering on an out-of-control sound. Having released their debut EP First Impressions and subsequent album Identity Crisis, with their new album The Illusion of Safety Thrice found a nascent heaviness and sense of song structure. On this latest release they found themselves with higher production values at their disposal, adding a heft and density to their mix which lends credibility to their sound. You can play as intensely and aggressive as you want but if it's with a bad mix it will all end up sounding like tinny children's toys making whining sounds. A bit harsh on their previous efforts, but let's be honest here - if you wanna play hard and heavy, you need to back it up with a proper mix. The band did just that on The Illusion of Safety.

All this talk of their fury and focus does little justice to the song writing of lead vocalist and guitar player Dustin Kensrue, though. While previous efforts had hinted at it, here we had genuine melodies with deftly crafted hooks and intricate harmonics. The album opener 'Kill Me Quickly', while holding an absurdly bleak title, has some astoundingly solid melody over the central riff of the verse. The dissonant guitars on top of the bass line make a sound that almost provokes your brain into scratching an itch created by the dissonance. It's a crafty trick used by a fair amount of pop-punk bands of the time, and to be honest I love the lack of resolve it creates. 'See You In The Shallows' starts out as a fairly straight forward Thrice song, one you could point to and say "That's about what you should expect, heavy riffage, decent melody, rhythm breakdowns and anguished lyrics." What makes the track stand out, though, is that about halfway through there is a fundamental key and tone shift that absolutley lifts the song to a higher level, taking the theme of the chorus and putting it into a new context and chord pattern. The mix of familiar and unfamiliar in this case really makes your mind sit up and say "Hold up, what was that?" It shows that Kensrue was really growing as a writer by leaps and bounds. Similarly, when you see the progression of some of the writing and structural choices the band makes on this album it becomes apparent that they are actually much more clever than they would initially have you guess, given the genre in which they work. While the single 'Deadbolt' is fantastic in its own right, a speeding bullet of a track full of hammer-on riffs and hurtling momentum, when the song winds down it changes gears in a curious manner. A classical piano motif begins to flourish up and up the keyboard, winding up with intensity then daintily descending. While this could be dismissed as a band attempting to add a touch of gravitas to their work it's actually an intelligent segue-way into the next track 'In Years To Come'. Having put the two songs back to back like this, the band actually created a seamless transition that eases the listener from the panic of 'Deadbolt' to a piano theme of 'In Years To Come', which then kicks in full bore, with Kensrue wailing about his obsessive dedication to an unrequited love. It's a genius segue-way, really. 

There are other examples of this intelligent use of dynamics, as well. 'So Strange I Remember You' begins with an extended, cleanly played guitar solo that both establishes the central theme to the song as well as building tension. This somber solo comes after the crushing end to the juggernaut assault of 'To Awake And Avenge The Dead'. Again, the titles are wince-worthy but the songs are nothing short of epic, even if they often clock in under three minutes. This band knows its sense of self and dynamics - they know when to dial back and when to light up with everything they've got. Where other bands would become dull from a full on, relentless assault, Thrice knew on this album when to pull their punches. While there are a share of dreary or wearing tunes present, they're far outweighed by the fantastic, shining examples of what they can do right. 


Almost ten years later I can still put this album on and nod along, picking up the frenetic energy and nervous tension through which they find their pulse. It's a phenomenal example of what a genre too often dismissed as juvenile can do when given the opportunity to breathe. Also? The title is great. I love to think about the meaning of the illusion of safety, a phrase supposedly drawn from Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club. It's a great, if niche album. Give it a spin. Welcome to the weekend.

Embarrassing Confidence

Watch me write this from multiple angles.

I may have mentioned this before, but in the off chance you're joining us midway through our program, I was raised in a small town in the Midwest. A no-coast style, to quote Mictlan. Having been brought up in a small town with only minimal amount of access to what was a newly-developing internet, I was most assuredly missing out on some of the meats in our cultural stew. While I would discover, years later, the joys of indie rap, trip hop, Japanese authors and other microcosms of my current world, I had to enjoy what was available. Namely, whatever crap MTV peddled to me and what was correspondingly available at the local mall or Best Buy. This is not to make excuses for what was no doubt typical taste of teenage boys - I certainly could have done more research into what the great big world held in store for me. No foolsies, it was my own fault. Whenever I would take the opportunity/risk to branch out of my comfort zone I was often richly rewarded. One of the few avenues available was the dual pseudo-journalism of Rolling Stone and Spin. Their respective recommendations did a great deal for shaping my burgeoning musical tastes. It was through their reviews I was exposed to the wonders of Bjork, Portishead, The Strokes and more.

Additionally I had an older brother with great taste in music - I fully credit him with the establishment of my musical Torah, pilfering his CD collection (how quaint) to feverishly devour albums by the likes of Stone Temple Pilots, Pearl Jam, Red Hot Chilli Peppers and Faith No More. He was a god-send, both in the sense of having a 'good example' (I instead opted to be 'the horrible warning' to my younger brother) and showing me what was in. I would have completely missed the boat on Tenacious D had he not told me, nor would I have been privy to the cult classics of Office Space, the Christopher Guest films and High Fidelity. His attendance at an out of state college, however, limited his influence after a while.

Why do I write all this, you ask? Besides the joy I garner from traipsing down memory lane, stopping occasionally to examine my own narrative? The point is, whether it's in self-conscious defense or simple positing, that I had to eventually cobble together my own tastes and preferences from whatever sources I was exposed to. Everyone eventually finds some thing, some moment, where they realize that not all is pre-ordained and decided for you, that we are free to like whatever wonderful or trashy things we please. For me, one such moment was the first time I listened to Marilyn Manson's album Mechanical Animals. Before you start throwing rotten tomatoes and assailing me with whatever insults and withering glares are instinctual at the mention of the album, let me unpack this statement.

Marilyn Manson is an artist whose reputation is more widely know than the actual art. I do mean art, not just music. While the events and miscast blame of Columbine High School were still fresh in the memories of parents and students everywhere, here was a musician/band vilified for something in which they shared no part. To listen to this group in my small town was to immediately be labeled as one of 'those kids' who wore eyeliner and the big, groady looking JNCO pants that looked like sails. None of that for me, thanks. I was much too wholesome. I was, however, curious about the imagery and songs I saw on the ol' MTV. I was fascinated by the world MM would construct for their videos, full of decrepit, decaying things and broken, dirty landscapes. Generally the songs were pretty good for what they were - intentionally over the top heavy metal. This is not to say MM approached the intentional satire of, say, GWAR, but I always thought of the band more in the lines of a modern day Alice Cooper - it was obviously all an elaborate show, and at times it was interesting to a horror movie fan who liked bizarre music. So when I saw the videos the band had done for the singles off Mechanical Animals I was intrigued. Gone were the nightmarish imagery of torture devices and broken glass. Instead there was strange alien imagery and quasi-futuristic cops, distorted bodies and misshapen people railing against mass media and Kennedy look-alikes. A mish mash of vague ideas, in hindsight, but to a fifteen year old it was something different. So on a whim I picked up the album and it wasn't half bad.   Sonically it was a decent album, full of strong riffs and odd structural choices. Kind of cool, and Manson's voice wasn't bad when he wasn't screaming. My older brother had once said the same, that if he would just give in to normalcy and accept that he doesn't have to try to be controversial, he could be a much more appealing artist. But I digress.

What I gathered, having listened to the album and seeing the artwork and accompanying videos, was that while previous efforts had been in the Alice Cooper vein, this was a modern David Bowie/Glam Rock take on the Manson sound. It really wasn't too bad. It really was quite an ambitious re-invention from the ground up for the band and a brave move, to be honest. All the kids wanting more violent, supposedly Satanic imagery were confronted instead with androgenous images and proclamations about rock being dead and the hollowness of pop culture. A pretty clever trick to play on the world, in hindsight. I was skeptical, then, when Manson would years later decry the album as similarly fake and an attempt to simply hook in the mall kids. Sure, it looked like it worked, at least on a dummy like me, but I felt like he was dismissing the album simply because it was such a departure from their typical sound and style. I think what really happened was Manson was a bit embarrassed by a failed attempt to switch gears and simply reverted to what had worked. As a concept glam album it still works and has some great song writing on it. Sure, there are some trite or predictable lyrics to be found, but you have to give them credit for branching out and incorporating acoustic instruments or techno/electro elements to the degree they did. Having been pigeonholed as a metal band and straying from expectations so much took some guts, so I can understand why they would be sheepish to admit it never caught on. How often does Garth Brooks discuss Chris Gaines? Remember KISS going disco? Yeah.

All apologist ranting aside, it wasn't really the album itself that made such a huge impact on me, but the way I perceived it in contrast to what I perceived to be its broader reception. Vividly I can recall how teachers or parents of friends would recoil or sadly scold me for listening to it. Looking back its almost quaint that music could be perceived as so evil or threatening a mere fifteen years ago. It was more the idea that I found something that was actually kind of a hidden gem, a rich but inherently flawed album that was deeper than anyone I knew would guess.
  

Notorious Remix

Watch me hit the ground running.

Good evening and welcome back to our normally scheduled programming. I have been listening to a lot of music in the past year that is not necessarily morbid or depressing, but rather comes from a place of ominous or somber contemplation. Just what does that mean, you ask? Looking at the posts I've written about Portishead, Akira Yamaoka and Gayngs, it should be apparent that I have a certain zeal for music that serves, in a way, to create an ad hoc soundtrack for my own life. Songs that fit well behind walking down the streets of Minneapolis and observing life while contemplating my own narrative. Par example, there is a play list on my phone titled 'Sneaking'. This is not to say I do any sneaking of any sort, but that it would all be music that would fit well behind footage of a spy looking over their shoulder as they slip undetected past guards, or perhaps a gumshoe trailing someone while flipping through a notebook, perusing his clues. I like the idea of living out a noir film in my mind; admittedly it's escapism at the basest level. I probably sound incredibly vain and delusional as I type all of this. 


The admission, though, does nothing to diminish the enjoyment. It's just a thing I do to help me find an amusing little way to get through the day. A dark winter's night walking back from the bus stop feels a little less difficult to endure with the proper soundtrack. I've probably scared you off by now, haven't I? Oh well. The point of all this embarrassing admission is that in my play list I stumbled across a song that, while certainly fantastic and notorious among certain circles, it goes largely unappreciated by today's audiences. The song I speak of? Radiohead's sublime addition to the soundtrack of 1996's Romeo + Juliet, 'Talk Show Host'.

Radiohead, as I've written here before, are the hipster deities of youth, making some of the most widely celebrated (and according to some, overrated) post-modern music around. Having vaulted to the top of the charts courtesy of the radio hit 'Creep' in the early 90s, the group quickly grew tired of the alt-rock scene, all verse-chorus-verse and guitar oriented songs about love and loss. So they branched out. Each album saw them grow progressively left of center, eveuntually descending into the noise-songs they make today. There was a period, though, in the late 90s where the band hit a sweet spot right between avant-garde, intentionally unapproachable art and radio-friendly alt rock. This would be just after The Bends and segeuing into OK Computer, both of which are often hailed as cultural touchstones for alterna-rock and modern music in general. Between these two albums was a song they either dismissed or offered to Baz Luhrmann's ahead-of-its-time take on the Shakespearean classic.


Initially a b-side to the heartbreaking and bleak single 'Street Spirit', 'Talk Show Host' was actually remixed by Nellee Hooper for the soundtrack and given a whole new feel. Hooper's influence here is certainly worth note as well, in particular for his work with other artists I've written on such as Bjork, Garbage, Massive Attack and the amazing (and pending relevant article) single by U2 'Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me'. Hooper's influence added a bit of thump and groove to what is otherwise a talented if stiff and uptight band of self-important artists' artists. What would have been a fairly rote take on the Radiohead sound at the time was suddenly broken and allowed to breathe. It turns out when you crack open a Radiohead song and let the songs grow in their exposure to the natural world around them, they do so organically and in a very natural progression of ideas and themes already present.

The song itself is very sparse, a mix of eerily plucked guitar notes and a simple bass line. In stark contrast to the spinning, blinking and glowing world of pop music and frenetic attitude of the film it scored, this remix of 'Talk Show Host' is almost a minimalist approach that makes it stand out from the pack. One could almost forget what has been played, or even what was happening around it, as it suddenly picks up again, notes beating against the lingering bass line. Thom Yorke's vocals are muted and soft, barely finishing his phrases. He comes off as conversely confrontational and self-dismissive as he sings of daring those in search of him to "come find me" and to "come on and break the door down, I'll be waiting with a gun and a pack of sandwiches" finishing each verse with "I'm ready". It's quite a haunting (to continue my overuse of the word) and disturbing mood he creates, both antagonistic and self-loathing. Basically Thom writing from his wheelhouse. 

This song is an absolute hidden gem, a wonderful, secret thing that lies waiting on your hard drive to be stumbled upon via shuffle. If it's in your collection, put it on. I guarantee you'll find yourself saying "Oh man, I totally forgot how good this song was!" Then you'll probably start flipping through the soundtrack and put on great cuts like 'Lovefool' by The Cardigans and '#1 Crush' by Garbage. A good sign of the times. Dig it up and see. I'm glad to be back doing regular posts, thanks for sticking it out through the break.

Modern Sounds

Hello, hello.


This is it, friends and neighbors. My last round up before I start writing regular content again. I must confess it has been nice not to be under the perpetual self-imposed deadline of fresh, charming content every day. On the flip side, I've begun to itch, not having that full release of the creative mind. I've had a chance to reboot and restock. Watched a few movies, listened to some music, dl'ed some podcasts and am in the midst of another book. So starting tomorrow I'll be doing my usual columns on things you SIMPLY MUST KNOW ABOUT but may already be well aware of. At any rate, we will soon be back at equilibrium. Until then, feel free to look back at some of the more modern selections from the first 100 posts of sekrit awesome things:


Das Racist - The craziest post-modern, da-da rappers around. DL their mixtapes. NOW. 
Simple Science - The Get Up Kids return from the grave with renewed vigor!
Spoon - Their freshest single is a sick, sick mess full of off kilter drums. It's a knockout.
Sleigh Bells - Noise-pop electro duo from New York making some of the most popular music in some circles.
Atmosphere - Minneapolis' legends of hip hop put out a crazy good free album a couple years ago.
The Strokes - In light of their new album I offer a look back at the album that shaped the decade.
Childish Gambino - A look at the multi-talented career of Donald Glover and his musical exploits. Not long after that article was written he released a brand new EP. Check it out.
Gayngs - The mega-group has made huge waves in the music community this year. Find out why.
Analog Heart - American Idol winner David Cook made a phenomenal, hush-hush album before his big win.
The Gorillaz - Damon Albarn and Co. made an entire free album all on the iPad. It's a strange, beautiful thing.


That's it for now, kids. Like I said, I miss the regular grind even if the break has been nice. I just had to take a brief reprieve to build up a little momentum. Tomorrow we're back at it. Until then, read up and sweet dreams.

Gene Splicer

Evening. 


Way too late to be doing this. See how it gets when you let life happen? Things get re-ordered and priorities get in the way, and suddenly I'm frantically typing up a blog post just to get one up and tallied for the day. In the spirit of a frenzied feeling of harried crossed wires, the theme of today's roundup is posts on Mash-Ups and cultural jams, things that are spliced and resequenced for the sake of art. I think the reason I obsess over this concept is that it expresses the sheer possibility of infinite permutations, that even after a thing is created and labeled finished it can still be reconstituted and put into fresh context to become a new thing with new meaning. Peruse these pieces, won't you?


Kids & Explosions - A look at a fantastic mash-up album that doesn't just pair up songs, it creates whole new pieces.
Simpsons/Futurama Crossover Crisis - Just as good as it sounds, honestly. Two great tastes that go great together.
Chronologically Lost - Why my brain melts at the idea of watching Lost in sequential, chronological order.
Star Wars Xmas Invasion - Nothing at all related to the horrible special you're thinking of. Just look.
Fan Edits - In which I fawn over the concept of new & improved versions of films perceived as flawed.
Jaydiohead - Hipster Gods meet Hip Hop Deity courtesy of Max Tannone.
The Hood Internet - Watch these artists reconstitute the amazing work of Felt via Electro records. As dope as it sounds.
Affiliyated - In which the relentless Doomtree re-grind the slow-burn slow-jams of Gayngs.
Girl Talk - The DJ who crashed the internet last fall with All Day, a sick party album.


See what I meant? All these posts are basically accounts of my brain shutting down over the circular, downward spiral logic of these meta-contextual works of art. Read 'em and weep. My brain is fried. Yours can be too, just read up. 

Local Love

Holy Hannah, people.


Super warm today.


Like, warm enough that there are real threats of thunder storms and bad weather. I love storms. Can't get enough of it. As long as it doesn't interfere with grilling, then it's all gravy. Spent the weekend getting things done. Paperwork, errands, cleaning, all that jazz. Spent last night watching Shaun of the Dead and poking around on my iPad. Fun way to watch movies, felt like I was researching it the whole time. But that's beside the point. The point, dear readers, is that you need, I mean NEED to know about Doomtree. These local musicians are masters at what they do. I went so far as to spend an entire week just breaking down their members and respective releases, all the while barely scratching the surface on what this amazing rap crew has accomplished. Talented to unfathomable depths, they comprise the best and brightest Minneapolis has to offer. Check out these posts to get a rough idea of who they are and what they've done:


Hand Over Fist - The unstoppable duo that is Mike Mictlan and Lazerbeak.
Ipecac Neat - A look back at the rise of P.O.S. and his debut album.
Sims' False Hopes 14 - The stealth release of a fantastic artist whose ethic is relentless.
Dessa's Scattered Interlude - An examination of the literary genius of song-smith Dessa Darling.
Rebel Yellow Deluxe - How multiple versions of Cecil Otter's superb 2nd album makes an interesting extended mix.
DJ for MCs - The sublime nature of Paper Tiger's False Hopes and why it moves me.
Meatcleaver + Shotgun - MK Larada's Break In Two and some other details of the crew's work.
Affiliyated - A look into Doomtree's re-grinds on the mind-blowing Gayngs album Relayted. Read it.


Thus ended the week-long Doomtree Diatribe. They're abosolute favorites of mine, whose work and crazy live shows I evangelize to any and all who will listen. They made a massive splash at SXSW this year and now Dessa and Sims are embarking on a national tour, so be sure to check them out. I'm gonna cut here, as the temp has dropped a solid 15 degrees and I have a dinner to grill. Gotta beat the rain, son. Shrimp's waiting.

Not A Single Mention Of Flannel

Gang busters.


Been resting and pressing reset. Feels great but I am still mending. Lost my voice a bit but it's coming back. There's no misery like wanting to blow off some steam with a happy hour on Friday but not being able to due to sheer volume of consumed cold medicine. Oh well, if thats the worst I'm dealing with then my life is just fine. My better half and I spent the day running around and filing paperwork for Big Things and we're both exhausted. While she's heading out with her friends, I'm taking time to get stuff done around the apartment, so tonight's post is another roundup of previous posts. Tonight we look at the music from the turn of the century. It seems to be a period that I am particularly focused on, due in part to the impact it had on me as I grew up. Everyone loves the music they listened to when they were like 16-21 and I'm no different. That's probably why I proselytize so much about this awesome era of music that (thankfully) has yet to see an ironic resurgent ascension. Regardless, here are some amazing, if neglected, albums from that time:


Depresso - A tale of my joy in finding a lost gem by the Smashing Pumpkins.
Nirvana - A similar tale, only centering around a sekrit Nirvana treasure.
Portishead - Hands down the best Trip Hop music I've ever heard. Adds a film score to your life.
Siamese Dream - A definite desert island disc, one of my favorite albums EVAR.
Adore - The fascinating and underrated sea-change in the Smashing Pumpkins story.
Garbage - Remember when this band was the hottest ticket around? This was why.
Version 2.0 - In which Garbage one-ups their own sublime debut. Still fantastic.
Neon Ballroom - A sign of the great things to come from a young band, where Silverchair grew the beard.
Dust Brothers - A fantastic marriage of du-jour music and ascendant film style.
Foo Fighters - Before they were the best modern rock band around, they were just one man. Literally.
The Colour and the Shape - Foo Fighters sound even better as a full band. A phenomenal album.
Fiona Apple - Her sophomore album is a beautiful, bizarre thing that surely merits more praise than it gets.
Homogenic - I swoon for Bjork; this envelope-pushing album was years ahead of it's time.
Check Your Head - My favorite Beasties album, feels like a cohesive band wrote & played it because they did.
Is This It? - Wherein The Strokes changed the landscape for the next 10 years.
Can't Change Me - Chris Cornell's haunting, absolute tops single that was criminally under-appreciated.
Insomniac - When a band like Green Day feels persecuted, they go deeper into depression, with great results.
J.A.R. - How did this awesome single hit #1 and I never really heard it? I look into why this is.


There we go. As you can see, I have a bit of a fixation on this time period in popular music. I guess you write what you know. So it goes. You take a look through here and see if something doesn't strike your fancy. I've got an apartment to clean and a hungry self to feed. I'll see you tomorrow. Till then, kids. Till then.

Web Slinger

Friday, kids. Good gawd.


Took long enough to get here. It's quickly become patio weather here in MPLS and I've even seen more than a share of kids rocking the shorts already, despite the fact it's only 60 at the moment. Considering how cold out it was just 10 days ago, though, I'll allow it. Myself, I can never wear shorts. Just don't care for them, plain and simple. I know that sounds nuts. But that's me, not you. You should enjoy short pants all you want. You should also enjoy your Friday night. If, like me, you're still shaking off the grip of a nasty little virus, you might not be out and tearing it up tonight. That's just fine, I dig. To improve your Friday night entertainment options take a look at this collection of posts I wrote about online content. I put online content in your online content so your online content will...never mind. Just peruse at your leisure.


Webcomics galore - A series of absurd and hysterical webcomics, all highly respected.
Nerdist - The best podcast also has a fantastic site now! Go and see!
Gamespite - A repository for retro/2D gaming with a great community to boot.
The Ricky Gervais Show - Also available in podcast form. Witness the insight of Karl Pilkington.
WTF With Marc Maron - An amazing series of interviews with the best, most notorious comedians alive today.
Nostalgia Critic - Tearing apart the best and worst of your childhood entertainment
Think Geek - Coolest shop I've been on.


I think between these posts you should be able to find something funny or insightful to help you relax and unwind this weekend. Take a look and enjoy coasting into Saturday.

Page Views

Hey there, friends and nieghbors.


Short post today, still fighting the lovely bug I picked up in the aeroplane. Weather is gorgeous (for this time of year) in MPLS. Tomorrow is Friday, super excited for that after an exhausting week. Been reading on the bus a lot (and my lunch break when I can sneak it in) and working my way through the stack of books my loved ones were kind enough to impart on Christmas. Shows you how busy I've been and how many books I received if it's April and I still have a few left. I don't want to just chew through them though, blindly flipping pages and glossing over developments in a desperate quest for completed titles. To quote The Simpsons "I would be morally remiss to display these books on my shelf if I hadn't read them, all". So in the interest of encourage more torrid affairs with the written word, secretive nights with reading lights and hardcovers, I offer these posts I've written in lovely ode to the written book:


Sleepwalk With Me - In which Mike Birbiglia breaks our hearts and funny bones with personal anecdotes.
Calvin & Hobbes - Hands down the funniest, smartest strip to emerge from the newspaper.
A Dirty Job - How the gift of this book introduced me to this amazingly funny and twisted fiction author.
The Stand - King's magnum opus, an American Lord of the Rings, inspiration for the amazing Lost.
Fluke - Another of Moore's insane, funny and astounding novels, this one about whales in Hawaii.
Norwegian Wood - Murakami blowing my mind with his touching, nostalgic work about (not his) youth.
Wild Sheep Chase - Another amazing Murakami work, this one a hard-boiled detective story.
The Long Halloween - The best Batman you'll find, other than Year One. An crazy good tale, inspired the Dark Knight.


That's all for tonight, folks. I'm gonna cut loose here. Gotta rest up and get plenty of fluids and rest. Tell you what - I'll make a deal. You read some of these and I will too. How's that sound? Good? Cool. See you tomorrow.