The Publications Office

You're The Reason For The Width Of My Smile: This Is My The Juan Maclean Post

2008-10-01T10:48:00.002-04:00

I would really feel shitty if I didn't tell you, the internet, about something that occurred to me last night at The Juan Maclean show at JB's. It was pretty obvious that the majority of the crowd knew the show was special. But I don't think anyone had seized on why the show was so amazing, or moreover I don't know if anyone who heard what I heard last night could. I little bit of background info about myself, I was weened on jazz, bebop jazz. As good as the refrains were, bebop was all about the solos. Bebop completely seizes your attention because you have no idea what direction the musician is going to take you, what note comes next. Now you have to know the Juan's songs inside and out to catch it, but the live versions are packed with the same spontaneous improvisation of bebop jazz.

First Juan's theremin riffs were spectacular-- so happy he kept it a part of the show. Though they were minor, the riffs on oldies "Tito's Way" and "Give Me Every Little Thing" should have been greatly appreciated by those who attended prior Juan shows. They took it to another level for "You Can't Have It Both Ways" and they took it even higher for "Happy House." For what I can make of it, "Happy House" is a redemption song of sorts, a track that is very personal. Maclean and co. poured their souls into it's live rendition. They played the first eight minutes of the song note for note to perfection, and then launched all of us into space with to my best guess a ten minute jam that builded and builded and builded and builded and builded, you get the idea, and then exploded, and then cooled off and then went back up one more time for the close. Crowd and band were wiped out. Everything was given to the song and the moment. It amazes me that The Juan Maclean attempts this kind of performance so much. I couldn't imagine performing a set like that more than once a week.

Like all DFA live shows, the sound was impeccable. The lights were shitty, but at a small venue like JB's, you knew it was going to be the one downer going in. It's too easy to criticize Nancy's vocals. Listen to what she is saying and you'll understand why she's so phlegmatic. When she belted, she's no Beyonce, but she did well. Hey another idea, and i'll leave you with this: the entire DFA collective gets together with Beyonce and makes a disco record.

Akachan Ga Kawaii Deshou!!

2008-09-18T22:07:00.007-04:00

I took 3 kids (Henry and his two Wurasian wonderfriends) out to sushi dinner tonight while their mothers were at Curriculum Night and a "Surprise Fancy Restaurant Dinner, Daddy's got to guesssss" respectively. The kids were all interested in writing me "secret messages" in my diary. None of them can read cursive. Anyways, they young, so... I handed it over.

I got specific instructions on the children's tastes.

Hey Everyone

2008-07-09T18:44:00.008-04:00

WE STILL HERE!

We'll have some updates again soon, you know, hopefully by the end of August. You can expect posts about "Crazy" Carl "The Machine" Boccuti's legendary playoff hockey goal scoring spree. I know you must be wondering how many nicknames the guy has. The honest answer is no one knows. We've got the goods on our boy Steven Bloodbath and his crew, Philadelphianz for Strawberry Water Ice! Tagline: "They don't already have that." "Nah man, Fla-Vor-Ice." "Oh." Finally, I am currently [in my head at least] constructing my masterpiece, what surely will be the acme of my blogging career, the annihilation of Chris Wheeler.

Things I've recently been fucking with:

Scuba - A Mutual Antipathy
Deerhunter - Microcastle
Babytalk - Chance 12"
Watussi - Purple Moon 12" [especially b-side "If all we had was love"]
Mark E - Slave 1
Runaway
Force of Nature - Transmute (Still Going Rmx)
Still Going Beats in Space mix
Trus'Me Beats in Space mix
This interview with Juan Maclean

how bout that picture one more time

This Guy Was Behind Me on The Escalator

2008-05-23T19:30:00.001-04:00

Heard on SportsCenter

2008-05-23T01:09:00.003-04:00

M-E-S-S, Mess Mess Mess. (delivered gravely)

Taking A Big Ol' Bunny Hop Off A Short Bridge

2008-03-25T14:00:00.001-04:00

Bunny Hop
Fairmount
3/20/08

Disgruntled with "Hip Philadelphia", I've begun to seek alternatives. When a mixture of old and new friends invited me along for The Bunny Hop, not going to lie, I was gung-ho.

9:00 P.M. I waited around for a friend to come in from out of town, so we were to meet up with the larger group. Walking over to the London, I began to have serious doubts as to what I was getting myself into. Before I go any further, for those of you not in know, the idea is: cough up ten bucks for a good cause (Leukemia), having done a "good thing", you can now act like the asshole you truly are. Ten bucks, complete exoneration. The proof that you're a good person, a set of bunny ears (Easter, baby, get it?), that if you're an ultra-confident party animal (ha) you wear all night long. Oh and then you're entitled to unlimited $3 Stellas. One sweet deal. Ok, so we turned the corner onto 24th street where some dude wearing pink bunny ears was vomiting so hard that I'd swear he vomited his soul. Farther down the block we crossed paths with two 30-something sorority girls, who interrogated us as to our lack of ears, "Where in the fuck are your ears?" "Why the fuck don't you have any ears?" "You wouldn't like it very much if you had Leukemia." What you also need to understand, that I should've pieced together more quickly, is that because of the long weekend, the vast majority of bunnies left work and headed straight to the bars, and were pretty much in the center by this time, 9:00 P.M.

9:15. We spent 10 minutes outside of the London trying to herd some of our party that had wandered off. We found out they were in Rembrandt's and we headed over there. My friend Andy and I still didn't have bunny ears. Thankfully, the only clean shirt that I had was my disco shirt, which let me just tell you the color scheme: cream, sky blue, pink, and silver, metallic silver. Well, that's bullshit, I just wanted to blow everybody away with the shirt. I left the top two buttons undone so as to display my chest hair which I'm becoming increasingly proud of. Anyway, when we got to the table where you donate the 10 dollars, I informed the young lady tending it that I wasn't going to make a donation. She took one look at my disco shirt and decided it best not to hassle me. We made our way upstairs and I instantly was pained by the memory of $5 beers. Btw, do you know that when you buy a case of Lager in New Jersey, the price per bottle comes to 66.6 cents? Wrap your head around that the next time you think you're getting a deal paying three dollars a bottle at The Barbary. You should by now be able to predict the moral of the story: the best place to get drunk and enjoy the company of friends is in someone's house/apartment, not a Fairmount bar.

10:45. After only an hour and half of receiving disapproving looks for my shirt and lack of bunny ears, after observing a couple alternating between making out and fighting, after not being able to talk with all of my friends because the bar was too packed, no place to sit or stand, after having two girls expect me to let them in the bathroom ahead of me after I waited 10 minutes in line because two girls going to the bathroom together is apparently hot, or something, after hearing one dude tell another dude about how he was fucking some girl doggy style when his roommate walks in and he tells his roommate to whip his dick out, that this girl's a freak, and how she starts to suck his (the roommate's) dick and then bang both of them, I had had enough, and called it a night. The Bunny Hop Woo-Hoo! Yeah! I was the guy on the mat.

He Told Me I was his Best Friend Today, also

2008-02-25T20:34:00.002-05:00

Henry had a playdate with his friend Jake today. I sat the two boys down for a rice, roasted chicken and broccoli dinner. Henry found a wishbone in his chicken and explained what is was to Jake. Jake won the bigger piece, to his delight.

"I wish-"

"No! Jake, you have to say the wish to yourself or else it won't come true," Henry warned him.

Jake bowed his head and closed his eyes. He whispered, "I wish Batman was real."

Maybe I Am Gay

2008-02-21T00:00:00.004-05:00

Even though I'm like the one to the left

"A month after I'm supposed to care, it's still kind of unbelievable to me how little NYC disco made it into Zach's poll or the other one...

... I really hope Antony Hegarty is enough of a hook here to backdoor increasingly uptight indie rock circles--who I couldn't care less whether they actually liked the record, just that they know it would be a good look if they did...

... but the point is this album is very lush, very (for lack of a better word) expensive-sounding, just so enormous, made to play the Big Room, made for a time when records like "Blind" did in fact play those Big Rooms...

... Right now those Big Rooms are, EMI assumes, only in the EU and UK, which (from what I understand) might be why EMI still hasn't figured out a US release for H&LA. It makes sense as a European dance-pop act, but US pop has hip-hop and dancerock on the mind..." -- Nick on the new Hercules And Love Affair record

By now I think you know what I would have to say about the H&LA record, if not, then it would basically go: "This will be my absolute favorite record of the year." And it will be. So, instead, I'm going to latch on to something posed by Nick and focus it on my own locality. Why does Philadelphia so abhor NYC disco?

For our time New York City is the Center of the World, both financially and culturally. Envy follows such status. Hating on NYC may be a universal sentiment, but believe me, it is particularly strong in a city, which for some unfathomable reason detests being labelled "The Sixth Borough". As if we deserve such lofty praise. By so fervently attempting to establish a unique identity my city has actually ruined any chance of doing just that.

How do you vituperate the axis of the world, Philadelphia? You condemn it as pretentious and smart and expensive and gay. I have already said enough about the gay thing here, and I can't believe more hasn't been made out of it, not that I expected anything, but really, having such a large gay population, we should be ashamed about it. The expensive thing, you can't hack it in New York, the pretentious and smart stuff, you're too stupid and insecure for it, city of mine.

All of the disco acts and tracks that Nick cites in his post are extremely prententious sounding, true, but they overcome it by being very very good. All the arguments I've heard against New York disco in Philadelphia, and this comes from the very top of our hipster food chain, basically condemn it as "dorky and gay", "pussy shit", "faggot music." Well, if that's what you want to call the new Hercules And Love Affair record, Philadelphia, can you please shove your dick up my virgin ass?

The one word that I really want to focus on is "dork". Most hipsters were probably at some time in their lives dorks, most likely in school years. After school, with complete freedom to choose friends and form cliques, hipsters isolate themselves. So insulated, they gain a false confidence, and all too quickly forget the hardships they endured, the fact that they were, almost in a sense innately, dorks. They become like all the jocks and cool kids before them, circumspect and insecure, overly concerned about their appearance. They don't dare to "dork" out on a dance floor. They live on the knife's edge. Philadelphia hipster dance clubs are SO stale at this point-- NYC disco almost entirely absent from everyone's rotation. Consequently, nothing spontaneous or FUNNY ever happens on the floor. The same people talk to each other over and over about how good they look and whether they were able to get tickets to the Cobra Starship show. Most hipsters, at least from what I've experienced personally, currently, in Philadelphia, are actually hypocrites.

Why bring all this up? The survival of NYC disco is at stake. "Blind" hatred is suffocating it. Hercules And Love Affair does not at present have a US release! What place other than Philadelphia, if we could finally smarten up and dissolve our prejudice, could better boost NYC disco? Which brings me to the close. Right now I can think of only three others in the city that truly love the record. Two of us four are Broadzilla DJs. Let's start to set things right, Philly, tonight.

It's On!

2008-02-04T14:00:00.000-05:00

Choose sides. Right now. Either you're with us or you're against us. And if you're against us, we're not fucking around anymore. We're out for blood. You've been warned.

I fully endorse the Todd Burns Pazz and Jop essay. I think the point Todd's trying really hard to make is that with the emergence of acts like Justice (and let's face facts, they're going to be around for a while) there's a NEED to differentiate between "true, balls-to-bone dance" music and pop (which I'm defining as on the one side of the spectrum Hilary Duff [has anyone else listened to "With Love"? That song was almost something] to Metallica/Linkin Park on the other) you can dance to. I also think you're an idiot if you think that Todd doesn't think it's possible for good dance pop to exist. The guy listed Miss Diamond To You as his favorite record of the year.

"Dance" music, however, is all about prolonged builds, builds that elicit a bacchic and physical response other than fist pumping. I think what Todd's trying to say is that the survival of "dance" music, e.g. Dinosaur L's "Kiss Me Again" to Reese & Santonio "How To Play Our Music" to Villalobos is being threatened by the need-for-immediate-consumption society we live in. Which brings me to drugs-- drugs seem to me the mechanism driving Justice's success-- "yo dude, when you do twenty lines of cocaine, you have to listen to this." Has anyone gone to a Justice show sober? That would be the true test. What's really in control, the music or the drugs? That's my thing about drugs: are they really setting you free? Maybe up to a certain point, but then they just become another type of control. Hey, I just finished Brave New World. Reading a lot into it, I think Todd also might be worried that it's the drugs. What Justice really try to do is will themselves on the listener-- all of the songs start out so aggressively. How can you not feel the violence, the intrusion, if you're not already numb? I don't think it's a sentiment at all, Mr. Wilkes, but an entire lack thereof.

It makes me again turn to LCD Soundsystem's "Yeah" (Pretentious). When I listen to that track, I hear James Murphy putting in time to get his audience to freak out. Moreover, I think he's requiring us to put in our time. Your string must be stretched to its limit. I wholly believe the first ten minutes of the song are the ten most schizo minutes in all of music, you're ready to burst, and when the acid line comes in at the end, it's there for only twenty seconds, not 5 minutes. If it's done right, that's all the acid it takes. I'm never going to do cocaine because I don't have to-- how can it possibly be any different from listening to this song?

But I digress. It all comes down to the music. Chris and I have been talking a lot recently about how so much of the music produced these days will be going along just fine and then will fall completely flat on its face. Lots of Justice songs do just that. Thinking about it, it's indicative of the fact that it's too easy to make a record these days, that people who really don't know what they're doing make music, and way too much of it. It's all too forced. These people don't care about making good records, mostly because, like DJCB says in the post linked in the sidebar, no bloggers/critics blast music anymore, I'm talking about the Forkcast section in particular, which endorses everybody who coughs up the goods that keep the section going, but also Fluxblog. Just keep belting out the catchiness, we'll come up the words to back it somehow. Just crank out the music. Liking something because of its marketability is a bad idea, and it scares the shit out of me because it seems like we have become such consumers, especially of music, since most of us are getting it for free, that everything has a market. Well, we at TPO still love to hate fuck Capitalism, it's just absurd that with the way things now are, it appears that the best way to do it would be to stop listening to everything, to stop reading Pitchfork and Fluxblog and support financially only those bands you've chosen to truly love. Oh yes, the battle lines have been drawn!

Gone, But Not Forgotten

2008-01-23T15:20:00.001-05:00

Into playlists again.

Eh? (Disc 1)
Eh? (Disc 2)

Made this one for the New Year's Eve trip to the shore with Crazy Carl. (A few changes have been made, dude. You know why.) The mix strives for universality, as you'll hear-- I can think of only one major personal conceit on it. Song titles have been changed to maintain the surprise factor. I'm sure you all can figure most of them out, well I hope so, because I'm not doing a tracklist. Would love some feedback.

I'm almost caught up on music. A few things I belatedly enjoyed from 2007:

Ame - Fiori
Baby Oliver - Shot Caller
Discemi - Data Sapiens (Radio Slave Rmx) [I know I've already talked about how much I like the track, but I like it a lot more than his Deetron remix everybody jizzes over. But that new Partial Arts one...]
Black Dice - Load Blown (Can't believe I didn't make time to hear this last year.)
Stars of the Lid - And Their Refinement of the Decline
M&E - R&B Drunkie
Optimo - Walkabout
Melchior Productions Ltd. -No Disco Future

De A-Sides: Man Man is this really good band from Philly. But let me get serious. The record has moments, just too few of them, and you can hear the urge to just make a record / art, which probably is really just an urge to be in a band, be considered cool, get laid. So many of the songs turn into Fountains of Wayne rips, and, believe me, that's an accurate description. The guy who was my ride to high school loved that fucking band. Fountains of Wayne will always be a 5.7. But the review did kind of suck. Misuse of "fey", or a correct use of the 4th most common usage? No good. And how in the sweet everlasting love of fuck can you call The A-Sides "orch-pop"?

I'm liking the new Excepter record Debt Dept., and even with releases from The Juan Maclean and Hercules & Love Affair looming, the Atlas Sound record will enamor me for the rest of the year. In terms of tracks, obviously, "Blind" and "Happy House."

Every now and then my dad discovers some bizarre and seemingly irrelevant record that is absolutely amazing. Recently, he asked me home to do him the favor of putting a few records onto my old iPod, one of which was the original score to an obscure film, The Mission. Turns out to be Ennio Morricone, and absolutely one of the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful pieces of music I've ever listened to.

One more thing on the music topic. I don't know what's going on with Peedi Crakk, but the fact that he doesn't have hundreds of mixtapes available exclusively to the Philadelphia market pisses me off.

Vonnegut's Slapstick struck me as a kind of masterpiece, supremely fluid and funny.

I love Dashiell Hammett. His prose is truly elegant and his dialogue slick. Everything is precise, efficient, plausible, purposeful, real, and altogether human, which makes it very hard to put his stuff down. He tells the best stories.

This is definitely the last post I'm ever going to force.

I ask you, readers, why doesn't anything happen in Philadelphia? I leave you the charge, city. As for us, it's like a very wise man from SJP once said, "Expect Less." He's now a serious Muay Thai kickboxer.

Our Alycia Lane Coverage

2007-12-24T08:00:00.001-05:00

Now that she won't be getting any money shawty's like an 8 tops

I know what you might be thinking: "T.P.O. why are you always so behind on your coverage? This Alycia Lane thing went stale a week ago." Well, excuse me for being too busy fucking. Do you even know how hard it is fucking these glamorous bitches? I'm getting paid for it, too. And what about that Wikipedia? Those Kurt Vonnegut, Ghostface Killah, Spaghetti Western, La Boheme and soup articles-- off the magnet! Do you people know that on Saturday night I was at the same party as a guy who knows Bobby Dabolt? Have you heard the new Herc & Love - "Hercules Theme?" Ten steps behind, Baltimore. Suck my dick!

Pulling a Philly what? Alycia who? I got Tim Tebow's girlfriend emailing me, son! I'll see you motherfuckers in 2008, "The Year of the Don." ©

Dance, Punk, Dance!

2007-12-14T11:55:00.000-05:00

Um...

Over the last two years many genres have competed for the hipster dance crown. Disco has made a real comeback, and I have to say that of all the contenders, it's the one that I like best. You can make jokes with disco dance moves and I like that. It also doesn't eschew the word and concept "hipster", which is becoming the new hip, btw, the eschewing. Nothing sleazes things up more than Baltimore house music. It only incites gratuitous grinding with girls, and, as I used to be a fat kid, I still don't feel confident enough to grab some smoking hot girl from behind and rub my dick (and not yet forgotten fupa) all up in her butt crack. There' s also this stuff popularly known as blog house, which sounds more like "power saw fart" house to me. The stuff has become really popular this year, and never wanting to be considered insular (most of the stuff comes from Europe, which btw apparently means infallible in hipster), I gave p.s.f. house a shot.

A Sunday night, at the Trocadero, in my hometown of Philadelphia. This act, Justice, which is p.s.f. house's flagship, was playing live. Man, did some weird shit go down at that show. These guys walked onto the stage wearing robot masks, no robot suits. Instead, they sported altar boy cassocks. The room was almost pitch black. All the sudden, this gigantic cross lit up at the back of the stage and the entire crowd fell to its knees and these really metallic synthesizers began to crescendo and the crowd started to recite the "Our Father" over and over, increasing in volume with the synths.

The robotic acolytes then jumped off the stage and began to administer Communion, which I immediately noticed tasted nothing like the body of Christ. I said, "Hey!, robotic acolytes, this tastes nothing like the body of Christ!". To which the taller one replied (in a robot voice), "Yea, but it is, my son. The Catholic church has been telling you lies your whole life. When Jesus Christ our Lord died he wasn't buried, but rather cremated. His ashes were spread over the entire earth by a mighty hurricane. In the year 909 in what is today Columbia, South America, a farmer named Jesus found some of Jesus' ashes, but he didn't know Them and so being a poor, hungry farmer, he [Jesus] consumed Them and received great feelings of euphoria. Today, you may know the ashes of Jesus by the slang name of cocaine. That's the Communion you've just eaten. That feeling in your heart, that uncontrollable throbbing, that's the everlasting life kicking in." As soon as he finished, this 4/4 bass beat kicked in, and the crowd started to chant, and I saw ten guys having missionary sex with ten girls upon this huge neon altar that appeared out of nowhere on the middle of the stage.

After that, I wanted nothing more to do with hipsters and their p.s.f. house. Funny thing, when I regained my sanity and could resume downloading music, I stumbled across this record, Myth Takes, by the !!!. In spots the record was chintzy, but it does contain two really great songs, "Must Be The Moon" and "Heart of Hearts." After doing some research, I found out that people termed this type of music "dance punk" and that it was the epitome of hipster culture from 2000-2004, and that any attempt at it outside of that time has been universally panned. I found a wealth of really great tunes from the era from bands like The Rapture and !!! (I've listened to "Me and Giuliani..." upwards of 50 times this year.) and Out Hud and the DFA and LCD Soundsystem before they went Funk, and Liars before they got Serious. All awesome dance tunes that made you dance in the most Bacchanalian of ways, made you forget the pretensions of prior hipster generations. Now, for some reason unbeknownst to me, it's sacrilege for a hipster DJ to play one of these songs in the clubs.

In today's hipster scenescape you can't be an out of the closet dance punk. In the time of p.s.f. house, what are we, hipsters, but innate dancers too, who don't want to partake in bizarre religious cocaine orgies, to do? Standing around as if petrified or jumping up and down or wrestling isn't dancing, people. It's like the singer from The Rapture says on that one song, "People don't dance no more, they just stand and pump their fists..." We have NYC Disco, sure, but without dance punk to what do we now lose our shit? Can we even lose our shit anymore, or has our shit already lost us?

My first two records from 2008:

2007-11-30T14:52:00.000-05:00

Yeah.

The name Atlas Sound has stuck in my head ever since I first heard it. I found out recently that it is derived from the brand of tape player that Bradford Cox used as a child to make his first recordings. But before that, in my efforts to parse it, I had gotten to thinking that Cox is a man who has upheld a ponderous burden but looks upon the world without malice or jaundice. He is someone on whose shoulders the earth as a whole might weigh heavily, as an outgrowth of what one could call an unfortunate lot, if one were to put stock in that sort of thing. Yet he keeps his mind occupied with wonder and genius, and makes these unbelievable records, so even if this sound is the Atlas sound, Cox is Atlas sound. Unbowed.

Maybe I'm a dildo and he didn't mean for the name to evoke any of that. The point is, I invite you to try to name a person as rad as Bradford Cox right now, and to get in an argument with me about it, and lose. I can't review the record quite yet, but I am going to.

I really like Black Mountain, too.

Interview Week: DJ Khaled

2007-11-30T11:45:00.000-05:00

T.P.O.: I want to start by saying what an honor this is for me. DJ Khaled, I think you're the best.

DJK: Listennn! This isn't about me. It's about we: me, you, Fat Joe,

T.I.,

Ross,

Kells,

Jeezy,

50,

Pavarotti,

Donald Driver, Eva Gabor, George Bush, Mariah Carey, Trina, Trick, ZZ Top, Queen Latifah, Plies, Cheesy, Leonard Nimoy-- I don't give a fuck. Man, "We the best!"

T.P.O.: I don't know. I think you're better than all those guys, DJ Khaled.

DJK: I don't want any more of this shit, so let me make myself clear. "Listennn!" "We the best!" And that's all there is to it.

T.P.O.: JHN RDN?

DJK:

T.P.O.: Even Diplo?

DJK:

T.P.O.: Okay. Okay. Sorry, DJ Khaled. We at T.P.O. love you so much. We got you this little token of our appreciation. Here, it's in this "brooowwwnnn paaaaaaaaaper baaaaaaaaag! brooowwwnnn paaaaaaaaaper baaaaaaaaag!"

DJK: "Listennn!" Thanks.

T.P.O.: You're so welcome. Hey, DJ Khaled, I'm kind of confused again. Who's the best?

DJK: We!

T.P.O.: Who?

DJK: "We the best!"

T.P.O.: "Haha!"

DJK: You're starting to get it, JS.

T.P.O.: "A! A! Shawty is da shit! Shawty is a 10! A! A!"

DJK: Now, who's the best, JS?

T.P.O.: We.

DJK: Who?

T.P.O.: We. "We the best!" Man, I never thought I could learn so much from an interview. Thanks, DJ Khaled.

DJK: My pleasure, man. I'm out.

Interview Week: Capitalist Rock Stars!

2007-11-28T18:00:00.000-05:00

Today's interview features two stars of the indie and crossover charts. They're part of a growing contingent of music personalities who are biting the bullet and facing the facts of the American music industry, breaking through on the radio, charts and even licensing music to chain stores for use in advertisements, causing much consternation among their indie fans. We have agreed to identify them only by their initials, so that they might speak freely.

T.P.O.: Guys, pleasure to have you. So there's this debate about whether or not each of your bands have sold out for success, obviously. Something about your new records, or career path, or tone, or something, really seems to have shifted, and some people are unhappy. What is so different now? What is it in your old...

IB: I know I'm still not going to fucking talk to any dickhead reporters about any fucking old records. Talk to me about the shit I do now, the shit that made me a multimillionaire.

KB: My older records are a panoply of ecclesiastical carnivals. They were made by a young man who was intent on walling up his Oresteian frenulum in a rocky Alcatraz, you know? I don't want to dwell on times when I worried every day if I was insane. Forgive me, Buenos Aires, but I don't have your Agamemnon.

T.P.O.: It's fine. I'll move on, no problem. So, K----, you seem to be newly converted to, shall I say, a frontier mentality with regard to not only the music business but life itself, society itself. Is that right?

KB: Yeah, I think there are two types of people in this world, those who decide to kill, and those who decide to be killed, by deciding to alienate themselves from the system. There are those who handle all the cocks and get them stuck up their asses are the ones who fail to figure out the workings of it. The fascists who spend their time hating capitalism are the ones who get killed out in the wild. I just got sick of being fucked by the giant dicks and kept isolated in the wilderness in hiding from menacing cocks.

IB: I mean, I grew up on the West Coast but I just want to make sure I say I don't really agree that it's necessary to handle dudes' dicks, necessarily, in the first place. So I can't, like, say I agree with K---- on all of that, but yeah. You are either the predator or the prey. You figure it out and do it or you lose.

KB: Well, it's just the image, but I think that it's, if you want to try to constrain your male sensuality, well, I don't know if you've ever read The Fountainhead...

T.P.O.: Well let me ask, I----, your point all along has been that you can't argue with success. What has been different for you since you became a breakout success?

IB: Now, if I wanted to, I could fuck any girl on any college campus in the U.S.? I'm kidding, of course. I love where I'm at right now. You know what they say. Go ahead and switch the style up. I used to think "fuck the world, fuck these people." Now it's more "fuck everybody who doubted me." I am in a great place, and my music takes people to a good place.

KB: I made a Asklepius Ascending the Venusian Bluff of myself and came out with these records that some people loved so much. But I was always upset that I didn't have any savings. I realized how much I envied those who had a lot of money in the bank and didn't have to worry about that. The truth is, the only truly happy people are the ones with all kinds of extraneous money to spend on whatever they want. I decided no longer to try to pull the ultimate balancing act. I was tired of trying to suck the dicks and then cut them off, so to speak. I decided to allow myself to become commercialized, and not to remain confused and isolated on the paranoid perimeter... Pericles...

T.P.O.: It's like there is a new you, a totally different shift in attitude. Both of you seem to be really getting away from the reputations you'd acquired in your early careers.

KB: And that's because it is an inevitable thing. Everybody gets jealous of a life of wealth and economic success. People thought I was insane, like, I was diagnosed with psychological problems. I thought my life was over. I wasn't getting a lot of what I wanted. The desire for wealth, like, to pass along to your children, to buy nice things for yourself and others, it's a universal human trait, and you can't feel bad about it. Money is and always will be the most important thing. End of story. And rich guys don't have, like, women thinking or saying that they are psychotic and weird. Or any of that.

IB: Yeah, people used to tell me I sounded lonely. I had bad posture and shit. Now, it's like, if you just saw all these beautiful girls trying to grab on me at every show. And of course I am with someone, so it's all just so absurd. Sometimes it is hard to even fucking get away from people who want to hang out with me. I play rugby with one of the local leagues, incognito, like, I just run around try to truck people, like I'm the man, not some kind of scrub. I carry myself straight and wear a watch. I walk into a bar like I own the place and then I only have one drink.

T.P.O.: And both you guys have really been helped by cutting down on the partying and taking antidepressants, am I right?

KB: Yeah, all the time, it's the only way for me to keep from being bitter about having to tone myself down and think about simple things, such as success. Surprisingly... see, I find myself doing things like alliterations, in my head, it's like my mind is wandering away. Probably to start thinking of what someone else wants from me, what someone would prefer that I do. But I can't let it. I need my mind to be focused on me, getting me what I want, doing what I have to do. That is what you call maturity.

IB: Stop asking me about drinking. I'm past that. Yeah, I used to agonize over metaphors. Until they were just so. Like I really worried about making sense to all the people who listened to my music, getting across to them. You know what? Now that I take some medications to calm me down, I don't have to think so hard, I can relax and let it come to me. If I happen to thinking of a ship I'm going to write about something nautical, or water. Fuck what people want to hear me say. Let's say I want to talk about the ocean, or crabs and scallops. People will respond to it, because we make great rock music that sounds good to them, and they like hearing it on the radio. Everything should be this easy.

T.P.O.: So I assume you guys had your idols in the rock world. Now you guys are, to some degree, rock stars yourselves. Do you still have idols?

KB: Back in the day I would have said something about, like, David Bowie. But David Bowie lives in a tax shelter. The social order is capitalism, and it is beautiful, and it's important that we show respect for it. Artists and fans alike. You as an artist have to be an adult, and so do your fans. So I identify myself now with all artists who are fiscally responsible, really, not just Bowie. And the great artists who believe in American capitalism more than in pleasing some unappreciative hypercritical losers. Gene Simmons is a great guy.

IB: My answer was always The Pixies, or The Smiths. And it just so happens that now I have J---- M--- in my band, and K-- D--- texted me one time and said if I ever wanted to get together she was down, I don't know if she meant to fuck or to make a record or what. So I don't have idols anymore so much as people I admire as distinguished peers. My ship sails fast. There are no holes. In the hull! And that's ALL! RIGHT! BY! ME! You see what I mean. And think about that with two drummers.

TPO: So, this question is for both you guys, if there was one thing you could say to the fans who have been complaining that your old records were better, you used to have more to say, and so on.

KB: History is fleeting buffet of Pompeiian parquetry. Some people try to tell me that my lyrics suck now that I have decided to be as honest as I want. They can tell me that I've become blunt and tiresome since I decided I had to grow up and face the facts. They'll never know how awful it is when people think you are bizarre. I used to be so hard to get along with, when I was sucking the twin freakish cocks of alienation and confusion and trying to stab the ones that would have made me happy, the time-honored kind of dicks our parents used to suck. And to anyone who says I have blown my load, just wait until you see what I'm cooking up for my next release.

IB: I'm different now. I don't try to have grudges and problems with people anymore. My music isn't about condemning shit. Life is much better when you don't think about things bothering you. If you're always checking for leaks, you will have nightmares about taking on water, and wake up with an inch of water in the lifeboats.

T.P.O: Thanks again, guys, for your time. It's been great.

T.P.O. Presents Interview Week! Today: Donovan McNabb (A.K.A. 5)

2007-11-26T09:16:00.000-05:00

_________________________________________________________________________________

This week T.P.O. will run some interviews that we were able to get with some of our favorite people. Today, it's Eagles QB Donovan McNabb. Stay tuned later in the week for interviews with DJ Khaled, Diplo, and maybe even a few others.
_________________________________________________________________________________

Following the Eagles stunning upset of the point spread last night, T.P.O. caught up with Donovan McNabb for his thoughts.

T.P.O.: Donovan, thanks for taking the time for the interview.

McNabb: Call me 5, man.

T.P.O.: 5?

5: 5, because I'm a quintuple threat. I pass. I run. I make plays. I design clothes (Super 5). I speak for corporations (Campbell's Chunky Soups, AirTran).

T.P.O.: I see. You don't rap?

5: Funny you should ask. Me and my boys Kanye, Chi town connect, you know, and ?uestlove have got something planned for next year.

T.P.O.: That'd make you a sextuple threat. You'd have to change your number and your clothing line. Should I start calling you 6?

5: Nah man. For now, I'm still 5. But when the right time comes, I'm willing to make the change. I also hope to get into movies.

T.P.O.: Horror?

5: Exactly.

T.P.O.: That'd be a good look for you, I think. Plus that'd make you a septuple threat and I could call you "7, that lucky number."

5: I like the way you think around here.

T.P.O.: Well, I like your style too, 5. "We the best!"

5: Man, I feel you!

T.P.O.: What would you rap about?

5: Well, actually some heavy stuff, like haters. Everybody's always hatin' on 5. White people and black people. Everything I do, it's hate. And yet I've had nothing but love for everyone. That's why Kanye's producing it, man. The beats have got to be strong, like me.

T.P.O.: Well, I like Kanye beats, but it sounds like you'd be hatin' on the haters and I think that, according to guys like Lil' Wayne and even Kanye West, you're just supposed to let your money pile up, let the haters hate.

5: But if we let the haters hate then how are we ever going to make a positive difference? That's where I think I have a unique perspective. After all the hate I've endured, my faith has kept me strong. That's the message the record's going to send.

T.P.O: We understand that you sat out tonight's game with thumb and ankle injuries. How are you feeling?

5: Better. There's still some swelling in both areas. But I think I'll be ready for next week's game.

T.P.O.: Hmmm. Your thumb doesn't look swollen to me, but I'm not a doctor. What do you think of AJ's performance tonight?

5: Well, AJ threw three interceptions. They really brought his rating down. I mean 83.9 and what am I at 84.7? That pretty much sums things up. Now maybe all the Philly fans will understand why I fumble so much.

T.P.O.: But what about the 350 passing yards? What about coming back from an early interception? What about 3 touchdown passes?

5: What about AJ not being the play maker that I am, especially at the end of the game, when things matter most? What about the two interceptions he threw at the end?

T.P.O.: Whoa, big guy, relax. You're right. Feeley admits the interceptions were all clearly his fault, whereas, in your case, the guys around you just haven't been making plays. And we all know how clutch 5 is.

5: That's what I've been trying to say all year, man.

T.P.O.: Well, we've been listening. 5, sometimes we get some secret info here at T.P.O., and we heard that the writers for the hit HBO series The Wire have been kicking around an idea for extending the show into a sixth season, an idea that actually centers on you.

5: I love that show, man! I'm boys with Idrus Elba, the actor who played Stringer. He hasn't mentioned anything yet, though. You sure? TV... that'd make me an octuple threat. 8, how does that grab you? It's not as good as "7, that lucky number." I could flash my big smile after saying that. I guess I could do without the horror movies. They'd only just kill me anyway.

T.P.O.: Or you could shut down Super 5.

5: ...

T.P.O.: So, the idea goes like this: Det. Jimmy McNulty (for some unfathomable reason) thinks that you obviously suck, that you obviously are the most inaccurate passer in the history of pro football, that you make horrible decisions, and that you lack the competitive fire to lead anything. It is utterly irrational to McNulty that Eagles' coach Andy Reid continues to start you at quarterback. McNulty feels there's something else going on, so he starts digging up some dirt. He finds out that a judge has called Andy Reid's house a "drug emporium" and maneuvers to get a wire tap up on Reid's home phone. Reid, in a moment of pure hubris, too rapt in celebration of your seventh straight season with an "injury", gives up over the wire that he has to keep playing you, keep you in Philly, because he and you are actually involved in drug trafficking. During that call Reid informs The Head of the Organization (Jeff Lurie) that your (5's) plan to elude police by reupping the stash by means of Andy's son's, Garret Reid's, asshole has been a success. That's all they have so far.

5: This interview is over, motherfucker! (Turns and walks briskly away. No indication of ankle discomfort.)

T.P.O. (chasing after): What did I say? Hey, 5, one last question. We hear that you've been doing some work with the American Diabetes Association. Do you have Diabetes?

(no response)

For All My Real Rappers

2007-11-15T09:00:00.000-05:00

like M. Descartes

What do you think rapper 50 Cent and boxing champion Floyd Mayweather Jr. built their friendship on? According to Mayweather it's the fact that "real recognize real." If you're real, then you definitely don't front. Look at 50 and Floyd, they back they shit up over and over: Mayweather continues to prove himself the best hit-and-run pussy fighter and 50 keeps on writing the most uncreative and insubstantial verses. Both men, however, maintain their "real"-ity because no matter what public perception of their products might be, 50 and Floyd get they stacks, and no I'm not talking about the new OS X feature.

We don't quite got our cake, guap, weight, and shine on 50's level yet, but we try very hard to keep things moving, and we feel that at this point we're pretty damn real. Read our most recent posts. We're calling motherfuckers out. We know that as far as Philly goes "we the best"-- we raise the bar every time we write a post-- and we're not going to front about it. Check out the revised "T.P.O. Endorses" list in the sidebar. But let me give you another example of how we don't front.

Sure we've been able to dance a whole song without spilling it, but we also openly admit to spilling it, especially during songs by The Rapture, LCD SS and The Hives. Right now we're spilling it one out of every three songs. Sometimes it's just a drop here or there, other times, well, it's like Riffs taught us, you just have to make your own slip spot. We're doing what it takes to improve though. I'm doing four extra biceps curls a week so that I can keep my arms upraised longer, keep my drink above traffic. CJR did some assisted pull ups this week. We hope to spill it only once every four songs by the Making Time this weekend, and we're not stopping there. We won't stop until we dance the whole night without spilling it. And we won't stop there either, because 1. we can't and 2. this song isn't just about dancing without spilling it, it's a metaphor. Dancing a song without spilling it isn't easy, just like life, but if you make up you're mind, put some time in and learn to fall in line with life's rhythms, then there's no limit for you, soldier.

Letters To The Editors: Philadelphians React To Being Named "Least Attractive"

2007-11-14T10:00:00.000-05:00

Over the past few weeks, TPO has received many strongly worded letters from readers objecting to the recent condemnations in the international media of its citizens' taste and culture. Today we are excerpting some of the best of the mailbag, with the aim of covering the whole spectrum of these objections.

"We are talking about a city where in my neighborhood, designated as a resurgent mecca for artists and daring young couples, every single one of the people who live on my block is a tubby balding dumbass who walks around in sweatpants all day with about four huge dogs that get fed ground beef, and all the sidewalks are so covered in shit I'm afraid to wear nice shoes. Every guy who starts a conversation with me is wearing some kind of clothes he got on sale three years ago. The best attended nightlife event is Bloodbath spinning Madonna and Hall and Oates at Silk City, and half the people there look like they listen to metal. But still, do you really believe we're lamer than, say, Omaha?"

Caitlin Bergstrom, Fishtown

"The problem is ladies who had to eat a lot to get their ass that big who do not cover up their chest and stomachs when they go out. Also, it does not help one bit that they wear tight jeans with their tank tops and other little shirts. It does not matter where you are from, Philly to Dubai to France to Senegal, when you are in the Gallery you do not want to see ladies with their big bodies hanging out their shirts, or stuffed into a halter top looking like the girl is stealing ice from the A-Plus. I am not surprised that all over the world people are talking about Philly ladies not knowing how to look good."

Michael Gamble, South Philadelphia

It is no secret that Philadelphia's geographical conjunction with the Tastykake factory, in addition to Entenmann's, Stroehmann, Herr's and Utz production and distro hubs, made it virtually inevitable that we fall prey eventually to an obesity epidemic. And we wonder why so few Philadelphians are "attractive." Whole generations of Philadelphia-born men and women have come to regard Tastykake as an "ultimate" dessert, just as they regard Herr's as "our hometown" chip. Eating these foods, for us, is a way of investing in the community.

Some will go so far as to eat two or three fruit pies back to back, a whole box of Pop'em© donuts, or even an entire pound of thick-cut kettle chips during just one night of television watching, in the course of their laudable but misguided efforts to support Phillies advertisers, help keep factory jobs local, and so forth. The bargain prices and virtual ubiquity of these companies' superior products only worsen matters. In our search for answers in the wake of this epidemic, we cannot overlook the impact of the greater Philadelphia snack empires on our diets, minds and morals.

Bob Iacovetti, Lehigh Valley Professional Park

"I am sure they spent all their time downtown where all the bank ladies are walking around, and all those art school girls with metal in their face and big trees tattooed on their arms and shit. The problem is that all the girls who go to the gym and dress fashionably and all that are from the suburbs and South Jersey, or go to Villanova or Penn State, and I guarantee they did not go out to West Chester and see some of the model hot girls that go there on weekends. No doubt they went to some place in Olde City where everybody is dressed like a vampire and drinking wheat beer. Somebody bring those dudes to Brownie's next time and then they won't have shit to say about where the good looking people are at."

Evan Graveley, Havertown

"I feel that this criticism does not apply equally to every neighborhood and the study is flawed. There is nothing wrong with the health or attractiveness of my children or those of my friends and family here in East Falls. It is not our fault, for instance, that we are able to maintain strong recreational sports programs but other neighborhoods cannot. In communities like here and Roxborough, our volunteer coaches keep our children busy after school. Every hour that my sons spend at baseball practice is an hour that I don't have to worry about him wandering into less desirable areas and their thug lifestyle of Oxycontin drugs and "low-low" prison pants, no steady job, bad eating habits, and no respect at all for our laws and law enforcement. Some of us are doing our part and we deserve respect."

Grace X. Schultz, East Falls

"It's not pretty out here, but it's real. If you act up you are bound to get knocked and everybody knows it. When we are here, we lay low, because you are not going to get hit for something nobody knows you got. I guarantee nobody came and saw us tear up the Borgata like we do. That is when the jewelry comes out, and that's when we bust our stacks, all that snow, everything. There ain't no way they'd talk that way if they saw how we do. Real Philadelphia pimps know that jealous cats in this city will stick you up daily because this is a city where the jealousy and hatred never stops. We save our shine for where peoples can let us shine a little bit, Jersey, NYC, Miami, wherever."

Ryan Wierkiewicz, Andorra

Let's See How Many Times I Can Use H4, Clearly The Best Subheading Size, In One Post. Alternate Title: Freestyle Blogging 2

2007-10-31T18:47:00.001-04:00

Waters of Fairmount

On the music concrete tip, which really if you're not on..., anyways I've been trying to attune myself because a lot of not necessarily funny, sometimes it's funny, sure, but at least interesting things are constantly sonically colliding. Here are a few instances I remember well enough to recount.

So the new place that we moved into is right next to a construction site, and in particular my room is nearest it. So every morning sometime between 7:00 and 7:30 I am woken up by heavy machinery moving on rusty treads. And every morning I say to myself "that fucking Justice song." ("Waters of Nazareth)

Now I don't want to come off prejudiced against construction equipment. About a month back walking up Penn. Ave, right outside the Philadelphian, I'm listening to !!!'s "Heart of Hearts" (which by the way I think is going to be my favorite song of the year), right at that part of the chorus when the female vocals fade out ("heart of heart of heart of") and the guitars start going crazy, a fucking power saw turns on right above me and complements the guitars and drums so perfectly that I go back to my room and bang my head against the wall for the rest of the day.

Or take the time when an insomniac me went to the gym at 5:45 in the morning. Everything was so peaceful on what is usually such a frenetic walk that I could actually listen to some Panda Bear. With "I'm Not" playing, I heard these birds start to chirp, my guess would be sparrows or hummingbirds, which I think are only pedestrian singers in the bird world (hey one thing T.P.O. never claimed to know about was ornithology), but they started doing this like harmony part with the "ooh"s that was so pretty that when I finally got to the gym, which was packed (I guess there's either an insomnia bug going around or some people are just way too fucking vain), I spent the entire work out banging my head against the titty bike and crying my eyes out.

But the without doubt coolest instance of this was when I was driving back one night from I have no idea where, when what must have been an accident forced me off the crosstown express and onto Vine St. local at Broad. All the sudden into audio range came this helicopter and it landed on the roof of adjacent Hahnemann Hospital (so there are all these crazy lights going off too (concert stage efx concrete?)) at the exact moment when the guitar switches chords in The Rapture's "Love Is All."

Eureka!

I spent a large part of my recent hiatus doing some serious research, some investigative blogging if you will, and will now reveal my findings at the risk of really pissing off some people in Philly.

You may recall in my recent accounts of nights spent at Silk City descriptions of a character who wears leather pants and cut-off t-shirts, who has a $500 dollar haircut, and who obviously considers himself really good looking. I've found out that this guy goes by the letters Jhn Rdn. If you google Jhn Rdn, the first two hits are a myspace and blog for our man, in which he masks his real name, going by the pseudonym John Redden. But if you just take a look at this guy

clearly you'll see a resemblance to 80s rock icon and Philadelphia native Joan Jett. Now poring over her Wikipedia entry, you'll see that Joan appeared on the hit TV series The Highlander. Everyone knows that show only casted French people. So our man Jhn Rdn, clearly Joan Jett's son, must also be French.

Now, we've all read The Da Vinci Code and we all know that letters (in this case vowels) can be arbitrarily attributed any way we want. Who said that the understood vowels between r and d and d and n had to be e. Now the first name I can't come up with anything else, I mean I could say suppose an a came between the j and h, making this cat's first name jahn, which if you throw a macron over the a could be pronounced jane, but that'd just be ridiculous. But there's definitely something up with the last name-- clearly this guy's name isn't Redden-- Rdn only has one d. Suppose an o came between r and d and an i between d and n. That would spell out Rodin, as in Auguste Rodin, Frenchman, who spent time in Philadelphia, who in that time must have sired Joan Jett, Auguste Rodin being the only French guy besides Lafayette to ever set foot in our city. Joan Jett in turn bears Jhn Rdn, who's last consonant cluster cleverly conceals the fact that he is Auguste Rodin's grandson.

On Solecisms

To sound like a stickler, does anybody over at CityPaper give a fuck about proofreading? Ha, maybe you guys thought there were no mistakes in last week's edition. My bad. I'd gladly lend my services. I'm currently getting sixty a bag.

How Many H4s?

T.P.O. Proudly Premiers: Pulling A Philly: That's Gay

2007-10-24T12:24:00.000-04:00

From the T.P.O. Lexicon (1st Edition):

Philly [fil-ee]

-adjective, li-er, li-est, noun, plural -lies

-adjective

1. characteristic of that 100% raw shit; belligerently upfront and honest
2. conveying the sense of community as a derivative of the city that is known as "the city of brotherly love."
3. overly unpretentious; lacking tact and restraint; crude, crass, plebeian

-noun

1. colloquialism for a city in the Mid-Atlantic U.S. located between Washington D.C. and New York City
2. a member of an awesome baseball team
3. a blunt
4. an act so in your face it can become stifling

also -verb

1. to freak the fuck out

From the T.P.O. Thesaurus (1st Edition)

Philly

adjective

synonyms: crass, vulgar, plebian, raw, trill, rad

antonyms: patrician, New York (esp. Brooklyn), gay

I've lived in Philly my whole life, probably will too. I love my city. I love it so much that I want to try to make it better, not different, better. I love Philly (adj.). But what first won me over with the raw beauty of its honesty has recently become nauseating. Socially speaking, I remember when hipster Philly kind of got down with indie rock and brit pop and an occasional bit of disco and house and disco-house, all genres that can more than foment an atmosphere of Philly. Now it apparently needs to be relentless blog house or fucking Snoop Dogg or Spank Rock and Diplo, in other words stupid, simple, dirty, slutty Shit. I wonder when exactly our city felt a need to do a 180 from New York. Well, FUCK BALTIMORE! And even though New York will never be as honest and communal as Philly, everybody still trying to one-up everybody, there's something to be said for actual conversation, dancing, dressing up, recreational drug use, and dance floors not covered in puddles of alcohol, sweat, puke, blood, jizz and pussy jizz. Phillying is a fine line: in fitting doses it can be transcendent, but sometimes there's only so much Philly a rational human being can handle.

"That's Gay"

"What do you want to do tonight (Tuesday), Jim?" "I don't know, Ted, I kind of want to relax and watch a movie." "Jim, you're gay. I, on the other hand, am Philly. I am going to my room, breaking out the two mini strobe lights that I got at Home Depot last week, doing a couple of eight balls, putting on some Justice and thrashing against the walls for a couple of hours. I am going to haunt the dreams of the neighbors' six year old daughter. You sure you don't want in, I mean I have four or five eight balls. I could definitely spare one, you faggot." "Fuck you, Teddy, calling me gay. Let's go."

In Philly, once someone calls you gay, you're fucked-- there's been no come back that can surmount it. It has even become emblematic, a sort of badge of honor for the city, as in, "hey, we call 'em as we see 'em, and right now you're being gay." But recently, the phrase has been so overused that any utterance of it is bored and bordering on wistful. It has lost the joie de vive that constitutes a true Philly. And so, let me trump that Philly with one of my own: calling someone/thing gay has become totally gay.

The proscription is thus issued: any use of "that's gay" from this point on will be gay. "But how am I supposed to put people down now?" We should have never been about so facile a putdown, something which in itself (the putdown) is too facile for the primary definition of philly (adj.) (characteristic of the 100% raw). Because really, if someone's throwing some serious New York in your grill, and you want to be true Philly, don't call them gay, punch them in the face.

T.P.O. Coming Back With Dour Dour

2007-10-23T11:27:00.000-04:00

This Is My M.I.A. Post

Just when you may be thinking that we're done, I come correct with the following oh so strong a post and you know we still here. I thought I'd give ample time to see if someone else would pick up the torch. Allow me. Because really people this isn't dissension for its own sake, this is just truth. Strapped in? Kala isn't good, it's mediocre, and M.I.A. isn't cool, she's just Sri Lankan.

Upfront, let me deal with the record. I admit liking "Bamboo Banga", "20 Dollar", and "The Turn" especially the latter two. They are about something more than the Third World and self-proclaimed terrorism (the only thing Maya's probably ever blown up was Diplo's ego (Ohhhhhhh!)). I like hearing Maya recount her childhood and her favorite artists in "XR2". I even appreciate "Jimmy" for also not being about makeshift bombs. Musically, "Paper Planes" is the only other worthwhile cut in addition to the ones above (minus "Jimmy" of course-- a top ten worst production of the year). Is it just me, or isn't the rest of the record nothing more than a cacophony of whistles and gunshots and booty bass and at best third world repping ad nauseam and for the most part prattle?

Why all the love for Kala then? Shit I could drop no fewer than thirty records from this year that I know are better than Maya's. Why am I so worried that her record is going to be bestowed the crown of Record of The Year by the venerable Pfork, Sty, VV, etc? Could it be because things are so fucked up that the trend has become more important to an unquestioning society than the aesthetically beautiful?

M.I.A. is the epitome of the trend: Indian, hot, rapper, absurdly dressed to ex/impress, I hate America, I am woman hear me roar. You see her look and attitude beginning to run rampant among the youth in the "cultured" northeast part of our country. She's a fucking gold mine. Critical outlets such as Pitchfork, for example, who have also financially reaped the benefits of the trend, could never go against their flagship act and covergirl.

Maya and her new record produce a glib notion of cool. To me it's cool when people think that being white, dorky, into indie rock, partially prudish, not so far as conservative, but moderate, i.e. themselves, can be cool in its own way. I think it's cool when people show interest in their own canon and culture first, try to find the good in it, rather than spring for that which is other. What I am trying to say here, people, is that, if you stop and consider for a sec, I am obviously cooler than M.I.A.

She who reads the meters twice a day eats eagerly four times along the way...

2007-09-25T14:00:00.000-04:00

And now, our hearts press hard against our vests
alarmed by the approach, with leaden steps,
of hefty women heaving heavy breaths
and badly straining seams of sky-blue chests
of shirts whose vast expanses often dwarf
a cloud-occluded face devoid of warmth
that never meets the gaze of passers by,
though neither you nor I evade her eye.

Her puffy, gloating glower prophesies
ill-omened bolts striking intrepid guys
who dare to stop in Fairmount or nearby
compelling them to park briefly beside
some curb cut, dumb dumpster, construction crane
or other oddball obstacle that plagues
the parking on each street that runs one way
or has numbers or letters in its name.

She scribbles up the charge upon her scrip
and slaps a scrap right on his windshield, with
sweet dreams of the rewards she's sure to reap
today to grab a fork, though, keep it neat,
not to be forced to scoop it out in clots
on corners of a large Mike and Ike box
with far too few small napkins as defense
so grease gets on her pants and all her pens.

When it begins to rain upon our land
Tickets leave inky stains upon on our hands
and every plate ends up upon the lists
kept by those self-perpetuating cysts,
except for those who've drawn that blessed lot
that designates a dedicated spot
and frees them from the suffocating squeeze
that buys the ladies' Wawa mac and cheese.

It can storm on any beautiful day
it can cost fifty dollars just to stay
for sixty seconds next to some gray tank
that takes up all the spaces at the bank
And eight days later, time to escalate
the state's claim on your wage to eighty-eight
and then begin the incessant requests
that you, not she, cut out a pound of flesh.

But If You Try Sometimes, Well You Just Might Find, You Get What You Need

2007-09-12T03:18:00.000-04:00

Things I Learned By Going Out With Old High School Friend Matt Tinari To Monday Night's King Britt's "Back to Basics" Party @ Silk City

1. That no matter how many Ricardo Villalobos songs and Canadian Indie Rock records I listen to, I will never be able to say "jazz is dead."

2. Corona Light is just as good if not better than Corona extra.

3. That when you ask for a Corona at Silk City, you get a Corona Light. It's like they're taking it on themselves to inform you about Light. That at Silk City, which I also realized is just another name for Utopia, they know better than you-- "hey, we know the customer is always right, but just try this and tell us it isn't better." I wish I could, but really, I can't.

4. That the guy who owns the Silk has worked really hard, not to mention has also spent a lot of money, perfecting his fake Jeffrey "The Dude" Lebowski look, and has succeeded unlike any I've seen before. A 10.

5. That, while we're on the topic of fakes, that Miss Kathy Diamond is definitely a Universal Donor.

6. That everyone who was 16-20 circa 2000 in going to this party is desperately trying to capture one last remnant of the awesomeness of the Philly Neo Soul movement that they were too young to experience at its prime.

7. That this is still very much possible in our city, either because of those that were responsible for the movement in the first place, like ?uestlove, showing up and still clearly supporting the scene, or because going out en masse on Monday nights is just how we do.

8. That ?uestlove likes talking on his cell at Silk City about 1/16-20 as much as Diplo Pentz, and the fraction's only that large because it's a way out of dealing with the entire white portion of the crowd that still feels obliged to give him props.

9. That ?uestlove and I have something in common: we both love putting tons of Tobasco in our soup.

10. That if you go to this party there's a chance that DJ Jazzy Jeff will swing by and you'll get to watch him play the drums.

11. That DJ Jazzy Jeff can really play the drums.

12. That you're allowed moreover encouraged to bring your own instruments with you to the party and air play along with the band.

13. That doing so will get your dick absolutely shredded by the hottest girl in the place.

14. That that $500 leather pants and haircut guy that I was only sorta enviously ripping in that Bloodbath post goes to Silk City every night of the week, solo if he has to.

15. That even when this guy shows up without any friends I still dislike him.

16. That there's something that I have yet to understand about Silk City as to how it can draw a steady crowd every night of the week, and that it has to be more than just the location.

17. That the enormous bouncer from Fluid hangs out at this party. The very same man who once had to carry a stupefyingly drunk and dislocated-kneed me from the floor of the Vitalic live show.

18. This:

(Pharrell's "Can I Have It Like That?" has to be the best song for this.)

19. That Matt Tinari went to elementary school with a girl who does it.

20. That it's kinda stupid. That dancing in the same manner without the hula hoop would be much funnier. That hula hoops can be too serious.

21. That the awesome bum who works the Silk City/Transit beat, the very same bum who once saved me from a $75 parking ticket before a Making Time, who by the way wins without doubt Best of Philly Bums 2007, goes by the name Freddie ("like Freddy Krueger") Lloyd.

22. That bums have email accounts.

23. That bums like Freddie who are genuinely polite about the whole thing-- Freddie struck up a good 15 minute conversation with us about hula hoop girl before blessing us and asking us for some CHANGE-- deserve some cash, and that you'd have to be an extremely cold person not to throw him a buck or two.

24. That there weren't any cold people attending this party. That one person described the night as "good vibes."

25. That if your alternator/starter/battery dies while at a Silk City party, Freddie Lloyd would be more than happy to set up your jumper cables.

Just another in a long series of despicable Patriot acts... (oh shit)

2007-09-12T02:58:00.000-04:00

What, you mean the team with the raging neocon Republican QB is violating the "civil rights" of its opponents through "illegal surveillance?" I blame that goddamn FISA vote-of-capitulation. Next thing you know, you'll be reading in the Wall Street Journal that the Jets defense was getting their plays directly from hardline Sunni and the "surge" in the Pats' offensive production is for the greater good.

"Brady speaking. Yeah, sure, Dick, I'll write you guys whatever check you want, just let me borrow one of those cameras y'all have, you hear?"

TPO's Lowered Standards Gazette Presents: The Hold Steady

2007-09-11T13:26:00.000-04:00

In case you haven't noticed yet, the Hold Steady is some pretty vapid, mediocre crap. If you have any taste with regard to the written word, you'll join me in being disgusted by the unanimous praise that has been spouted at this band, congratulating them for their potent, high-concept slice-of-life humor/poetry. This guy writes absolute bullshit songs. If you really give them the benefit of the doubt, you might pick up, as if through a thick wall, faint cries of an infant good observation shrieking in its crib due to malnourishment. The consensus on the Hold Steady as one of the most kickass bands in America is the equivalent of giving a high school freshman the Pulitzer for his paper on Rabbit, Run.

This is a perfect example of our climate of degraded expectations, which is the new hot issue in the TPO office; it's had us buzzing for a month now. WXPN loves to play The Hold Steady every day, Pitchfork massages Craig Finn's cock a couple of times a month, and people putting Hold Steady records on at parties and play air guitar, and I can only wonder: what the fuck makes anyone think these guys merit this much attention?

It would be easy enough to correct this sad state of affairs, too. Every time they're thinking about playing some monotonous Hold Steady Song about how awful the kids are (hmm), WXPN could instead choose to put on some Will Oldham, which people really need to hear (Days in the Wake or Viva Last Blues, especially). Pitchfork could let everyone know that they should listen to The Bees all the time. And as everybody knows, the only record that should ever be put on at a party is either that new Aesop Rock. I'm kidding, of course, as it's actually Piper at the Gates of Dawn, or maybe A Saucerful of Secrets.

The City Is Rusting Itself Away
lyrics: Craig Finn

And I met her at a party on a Friday, we were both seeing double
Five feet nothing, but when she's drunk she's trouble
She said she...
wanted to cuddle
And she was snorting up cocaine and she had tattoos on her arm,
"I Don't Need Your Advice"
But she was very... nice!
And I didn't think twice, I took her to the heights
And we spent the whole goddamn night
Sprawled out in the back of a cheap car,
And then the next morning we went straight to the bar, because

The kids are all on drugs
Oh the kids are all slugs on drugs
It's a world full of slugs and sluts
Sluts on drugs!

And it was 4 AM, and she'd been passed out for 4 hours plus
And she was so out of it she didn't care what I touched
Even though we were on the bus
And we were both broken from the weekend but we had a good time
And she wakes and asks me where she got that new tattoo
it looks kind of your like a picture of your face... hey, is that you?
I'm starting to worry about her attitude

Because the kids are all on drugs
And they're all gonna die
And this whole town is gonna collapse!
Because of all the sluts on drugs!

Worth The Wait

2007-09-05T18:59:00.000-04:00

2007-08-30T17:42:00.000-04:00

This Is How We (Apparently) Do It

2007-08-27T21:18:00.000-04:00

I only wish it was this bad. Fake John Reiff?

Friday, August 24, 2007: 1:30-2:00 A.M.: Silk City

"Oh, hey, what's up, man? (packs pack of cigarettes, slides hand in back pocket, does this after every sentence) Me? Did some blow, had some PBR. Yeah bro, I love Philly, too. You know Stevie's in there killing them? Yeah, yeah, it's bad, like the tub is overflowing tonight. Good tunes. Did I mention that Wes is here. You know Wes right? Diplo? That's him obnoxiously talking on the cellie, yep. Just another guy, really down to earth. And that Spank Rock chick, Amanda, is here too. Yeah, I came like this close to f'ing her in the bathroom one night. Well, I had the drugs. But then this other chick came in, and Amanda got all uncomfortable for some reason, like I called her bluff or something. But yeah I made out with her, Amanda that is. And then I f'd the other chick. Yeah I'm that good looking. Oh shit! Can't believe he dropped this one. (The Notorious B.I.G. (Feat. Puff Daddy & Mase) - Mo Money Mo Problems, which apparently gets dropped every time as the party is called 'Mo $ No Problems' which why in the fuck is he playing this song then?) Who's hot, Who's not... Chachi... this song's so my shit. You want to go hit the floor, bro? Excellent. (New song comes on, people can't quite figure it out, then the chorus hits and everybody flips out) Ungh! What was that again? Na na na na. Sorry man this song... Ungh!... totally kicks ass... Na na na na. Yeah, Bloodbath is so next level, so unpretentious. Those fuckers that go to Kildare's shouldn't be the only ones that get to enjoy these awesome party songs from our youth... Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh... Yeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!... the mac dad'll make ya, the daddy mac'll make ya, kris kross'll make ya... (jumps, jumps, etc.)... Oh man I wonder what he's going to play next? (music abruptly stops, then Montel Jordan: 'This Is How We Doooooooooo It') Holy Shit, man it's like Stevie B's in my head! I am going to show this honey right here, hey honey, how I do it. Chicks love the leather pants and the $500 haircut and the $300 tattered black wife-beater and the confidence, I like to call it 'swag'. Yeah good seeing you dude, don't be such a stranger. See you here tomorrow? Good shit. Okay, hun, let's go, probably only one more song after this (by now we've got M.O.P. - Ante Up), so you better just start grinding the shit out of my cock if you want me to f you. Oooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh!!! More Biggie. (Hypnotize) This is definitely the last song, babe, so make it count." (Girl: "All Philly hoes Ooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!! ...")

I'm Going SACPOP

2007-08-03T09:46:00.000-04:00

Get Down!

T.P.O. Presents: The Without a Doubt Best Way to Spend a Summer in Philadelphia

Something that I realized a long time ago was that the shore is stuffed full of deesh. The Philly ones are bad enough, but the New York ones... No shore for this guy. There's all this parking space in the city. And you can go out at night and easily get service, though I don't do that anymore-- go out that is, because there's no place good to go out in Philly. What the fuck am I going to do, go hear Josh Wink spin? Remember, I declared SACPOP, and if you can't figure out what that means let me explain it to you by telling you to fuck off. Got it?

Right, so nothing fun to do. What am I going to do, go to Johnny Brenda's and listen to all the pseudo-intelligentsia look good, while I suffer through three really bad Indie Rock bands, just to hear a Fujiya & Miyagi set that will probably end up being my like Medusa? Nope. What am I going to do go out to a bar to see the same people act the same way, have no conversations because they've already exhausted every possible thing to say to one another, while listening to the same songs, and try way too hard to have fun, i.e "freak out", "go philly"? Nope. Philly, I love you, but you're bringing me down. I know, all very disheartening shit, right? I'll get over it, I just need a break.

So I've taken to trying to tie up all my loose ends. I'm trying to make as much money as possible at my job, while it lasts, because I'm still broke. I've taken to finally resuming and this time finishing the I.J. which is hands down the most important thing I've ever done. I've taken to fixing all the bad habits developed in my own golf game, and I can happily report that I'm totally striping it right now, and I've taken to trying to improve my physical appearance for when I re-enter The Game.

To accomplish this last aim, I joined PSC. This isn't going to be a gym digression, it's just that one of the amenities of the membership is a private swimming pool, and it's really fucking hot out. I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed going to this pool this summer. First off, the kids there are hilarious. There are these styrofoam tube floats with holes at each end out of which they squirt water in their parents' faces. They also like to beat each other up with the tubes. I'm happy that these kids are enjoying their privileged youth.

Second, there are a lot of foreign people that go to the pool, and because the sunlight is too strong, and I can't get any reading done there, I love hearing the alien tones of for example what I guessed to be Portuguese-- I mean with that body she had to be Brazilian. The foreigners are also far more polite-- they understand that the proper soundtrack for sunbathing is some John Cage, ya deeg?

But there's a flip side to that because the conversations you do overhear are too precious. Oh yeah before I go any farther, let me say that I have painstakingly counted 21 different copies of The Kite Runner at the pool. I have listened to a totally ripped and tan guy try to hit on a girl that he is easily way more attractive than, but I guess he was desperate, by striking up a conversation about reading material.

Guy: Hey, I see you here all the time. Starting a new book I see. What's it called?

Girl: The Kite Runner

Guy: Hmmm, never heard of it. What's it about? Any good?

Girl: Oh yeah, it's really well written. It's centered around (more on this later) life in Afghanistan. Just a really moving story. It's opened my eyes to how ignorant we Americans are. You know it's like there's a whole other world out there, where people are suffering. (No shit, this is what she said.)

Guy: I'll have to stop at the Rittenhouse Square (no, he really pointed this out) Barnes & Noble. I'm reading an awesome book right now. The new Dean Koontz?

Girl: ...

(5 minutes elapses)

Guy: I'm going to head, but it was nice to finally talk to you. I'm Troy. (Offers hand)

Girl: (Receiving hand) Jesse

Troy: Jesse, I'm going to need your phone number, so I can call you later tonight, to make some plans for our date on Friday night.

Jesse: Um, okay.

Back to "centered around." It's like the entirety of my time at the pool is centered on "centered around." What's funny about this pool though is that some Philly hipsters/artsy people (after all, the pool's in Society Hill) also use it. Half of the dudes under 40 have mentioned that they DJ, and I overheard some girl tell some guy who was raving about a recent Matisyahu show that she had a whatever the fuck it's called, exhibit, show?, on a First Friday (which, I know, I should experience first hand for some more material) that was "centered around post-post modernism." To which the guy responded:

Jesse, I'm going to need your phone number, so I can call you later tonight, to make some plans for our date on Friday night. You've heard of Johnny Brenda's, right?

I lay at this pool for hours at a time in utter peace, knowing that this is the place these types of conversations should happen, that these conversations should happen. It's like affability for the greater good. My PSC pool is so utterly unhip Philly that I can't help finding it the new hip Philly.

From High On Olympus Zeus Hurled His Fire Down, And The Carnage Was Too Great To Describe

2007-07-31T08:39:00.000-04:00

I really am so far behind this year. But all this recent talk about good dance music got the old juices flowing, and I set aside some time for catching up on (what else) DFA news this weekend. Thankfully so, because they are set to launch an unstoppable invasion, even with no signs of anything coming from staples The Juan Maclean or Black Dice anytime soon, the first wave of which is set for 6 August, on which date DFA will unveil a new subsidiary, DFA (Death From Abroad-- pretty self explanatory). The first two releases will be a new one from Mock and Toof and a reissue of an extremely rare 2005 single by a character named Altz. Both are exceptional (I really love the "this is for all the real motherfuckers" in the Altz track), and you can hear them at the DFA myspace page.

I didn't catch up too much on the Prinzhorn Dance School stuff, but I did enjoy the new track "Crackerjack Docker", and its accompanying video, also preview/listenable on the label's myspace page.

Next, in a year unfathomably (seriously no one saw this coming, right?) dominated by indie rock, like in surplus, like I just listened to the new New Pornographers and even that was good, new DFA act, Shocking Pinks, has managed to make a stand out even against all of this year's stand outs. If you don't take me at my word by now,

Download: Shocking Pinks - Blonde Haired Girl

Download: Shocking Pinks - This Aching Deal

(again only for seven days, because I refuse to shell out the $ for the upgrade.)

It seems that the main label will release singles by Holy Ghost!, Hercules and the Love Affair, and Still Going by the end of the year. I don't know if I'm entirely sold on Herc and TLA yet, but I love what I've heard so far from the other two. I think all of these bands have myspace pages with some samples up. Lindstrom and Prins Thomas used Still Going's "Still Going Theme" in their Essential Mix (see sidebar). If that's not enough, I guess there's a new Shit Robot track that you can listen to from a beats in space set from a couple of months ago, which even though I haven't heard it yet, is probably better than any Ed Banger track.

So there you have it. T.P.O. giving you a little advanced warning. Starting Aug. 6, look to the skies.

I Guess I'm The Only Writer On This Blog Staff That Capitalizes The First Letter Of Every Word In His Titles. Yes, Even The Articles.

2007-07-27T10:19:00.000-04:00

The Bat's back

I haven't been out too much lately. Kinda need to recharge. But I used to go out alot, especially this past winter/spring. Why did I stop? Hipster nightlife music in Philly went stale. If you don't like Hollertronix, or Club (MT's preferred genre as of late), or really, really bad disco, or ?uestlove, or Britpop or "Sweet Caroline", you're pretty much fucked. I don't know if there ever was a time or place when it really was just about the dance music, maybe like the very nascent days of DFA and dancepunk, maybe now with DJs like Optimo and Tim Sweeney, but I don't think this ever really caught on in Philly. I think it's always been scene first, then "phillying" the shit out of the scene. Now part of "phillying" is that you have to do everything just harder and so lots of drugs started getting done. Now I know Optimo loves the snow too, but they're just so many light years ahead of the rest of us, they can do whatever they want, but I really think the drugs, and the Philly mentality, the urge to freak out, the urge to be dirtier/sluttier chic, and therefore, paradoxically, somehow more of a pure hipster than the polyester shirt/sport coat clad one, and a lack of care about dancing in general, all together, have created this void of really good, which I would say would be both extremely eclectic and cutting edge, dance music nights in our city. Let me just say to all you fucking Philly DJs who might read this and be like "Hey, I'm cutting edge", no you're not, and you need to pay attention.

***Class In Session***

Here are some songs that I have not yet heard in Philly clubs, that if you want to be the next best thing in Philly DJing you should start playing.

1. Lenny Kravitz - Are You Gonna Go My Way?

If you play it, they will dance.

2. Daft Punk - Revolution 909

Still in my opinion Daft Punk's best dance song. Still haven't heard anyone play it.

3. Matthew Dear - Dog Days

Now's the perfect time people.

4. Medeski, Martin and Wood - Bubblehouse

I want to talk about this one for a second-- this song really being the quintessence of what I'm talking about. Here is a song that you've probably never heard at a party, but has enormous potential, that has rock and house and funk all combined, that you can freak out to, but also geek out to. I guess nobody in Philly ever listened to MMW that much or, again, none of DJs have the gift of foresight, of how many light years ahead of itself this song still is, the gift to be enlighteners.

5. Kaito - Color of Feels (Album Mix)

Once or twice, the Making Time guys have dropped Gui Boratto's "Beautiful Life", to surprisingly results, the crowds being more than receptive, but this Kaito track of the same pretty, micro trance-y type genre, so shits on the Gui one. It's so pretty it could deep freeze ya, but somehow can still be danced to, leaving you cold and hot at the same time, and generally feeling great.

6. Paperclip People - Parking Garage Politics

A classic, plain and simple.

7. N.E.R.D. - Things Are Getting Better

You may have never heard this one, but it too is a classic, plain and simple.

8. The Rapture - Sister Savior

Philly says, "With all the other bangers The Rapture have made, you want to hear that?" Just so we're clear, I'm not talking about any remixes either.

9. Spektrum - May Day

If you want bangers, here's a good one.

10. !!! - Heart of Hearts

Why hasn't this song been played at a Making Time? Seriously?

There's so much more, so much dirty disco, and funk, and hip hop, and rock. Trust me, city of mine, there's music to get people moving and shaking and freaking out and just having fun and enjoying their youth other than Baltimore House (isn't Philly supposed to scoff at Baltimore anways) and Nu Rave.

If our parents did this with "The Neverending Story" I would probably have a meth habit by now

2007-07-20T01:59:00.000-04:00

Excerpt from a Harry Potter fanbase mothers group. Republished with author's permission for the use of TPO.

"The world of Harry Potter is a place where the mundane and the marvelous, the ordinary and the surreal coexist. It’s a place where cars can fly and owls can deliver the mail, a place where paintings talk and a mirror reflects people’s innermost desires. It’s also a place utterly recognizable to readers, a place where death and the catastrophes of daily life are inevitable, and people’s lives are defined by love and loss and hope — the same way they are in our own mortal world." - New York Times July 19, 2007.

Good morning all,
Just some words from the morning paper I thought summed up and also opened up our discussion from the past 4 weeks. Tomorrow, or rather midnight tonight our families will open the last new pages of Harry Potter!! When you first opened a book in this series, chances are your little wasn't even a glimmer in your eye .

Haha, I'm sure I was in a coffee shop with a fancy latte, a magazine, and 2 hours to kill... those were the days.
For we in the Seven and Under of this webgroup, our children came into a world already entraced with Pottermania.

Moving on. It was the steam blast that allowed me to come to grips with THE issue. Ladies, when your 6 yr. son is known to be in a now "frozen zone," a book about wizarding becomes a non-issue.

For the past three weeks we have been discussing (with threads rather heated. sorry on my part, Diane!!:0 )

Yes, Harry Potter may die in this next novel.
Yes, the most recent movie is far too graphic for his younger audience.
Yes, we may feel un-safe from spoilers tonight at the book release at B&Noble tonight.

To those who wish to keep away from the release party for fear of shouters/spoilers/rabllerousers... will you let these sour apples spoil the butterbeer? If we bring games for the line waiting, snacks, and trivia coloring books (donated by Jodie Trilling) I feel confident we can make this a wonderful experience for our children.
I
encourage you to dive in and join the fun.

To address the J.K. Rowling advisory against taking under sevs to the current flick: we are all in this for the childrens literature and not media-angling (and sexualizing)...
NOT UNDER SEVEN! Take 'em to Ratatooile!!

Hopefully we can keep this meetings going as we close the final pages of book seven.
See everyone tonight, costumed and excited, at Barnes and Noble- 14th at 5:30pm!

Wingardian Leviosa!!!!

France and Her Influence On Just Society

2007-07-14T21:08:00.000-04:00

In this story, it is noted that the French public wishes its right-wing President would quit embarrassing the country with his constant jogging.

Some say that the anti-aristocracy movement in France was the ideological model for the American Revolution. There can be no doubt that the material support from France was integral to the success of the eventual rebellion. Say what you will about the motivations behind French intervention, but if it weren't for that beacon, America may never have found her way.

Granted, it is difficult these days to give much credit to the men who fought to free the colonies. Things have turned out so poorly, after all. It is all too easy to forget that America was not always the global epicenter of hateful capitalist prick behavior; it may even seem that blustering, dismissive self-proclaimed ruling class ponces are an American invention. It's not so.

There have always been rich people who love to cheer for winners. There have always been people who won't ever shut up about the afterlife. Lying newspaper columnists, sinister executives, wretched bishops, uninformed students and rapist soldiers have been right there to take part in every Republic there's ever been.

America has, quite simply, forgotten how and why they ought to hate the right wing. Somehow, United States society has allowed its conservative dickheads to worm their way out of the stigma that they deserve. The accumulated scorn that ought to tarnish their principles seems to have rubbed off, ever so gradually, such that they sometimes pass for just as good as any other. Mercifully, France is still there for us, to remind us of the way things ought to be.

You turn up your nose at hunting. You poke fun at NASCAR, and you snicker when someone orders grits. You shake your head when you overhear someone's cartoonish xenophobia. That's not enough. What this country needs is for its bravest, most independent citizens to speak what they know to be true. Tell them: business and enterprise are for assholes. Ignorant old people are shameful. Going to church is pathetic, and the Army is full of douchebags. Conservatism as a whole is a cowardly fallacy, and, yes, joggers are dicks. As a culture, we remember these things, somewhere deep down. Let our minds recall the wisdom of a brighter day. Let us look to France for strength.

The next time you hear a guy say that you can't argue with success, the correct thing to do is to spit in his face.

Called It!

2007-07-10T10:07:00.000-04:00

... Interpol-- hey the first record was great, the second good, there's no reason not to be stoked for the new record, except of course if you believe there's a strict rule that says indie rock bands have five year shelflives. -- Me 5/23/07

... five year shelflives or three records or a major label deal.

The Politics of Indie Rock

Here and, well, here you go.

It's politics, baby, pure and simple. Arguments can be made on both sides, and usually the smart ones take a little from both camps and fall into wise moderation. Usually, I try to be one of the smart ones. But sometimes one side runs amuck, and the other side must stand tall and check the fuck out of it. Case in point, the Republican party right now. For a while, I agreed so much with one Republican ideal (the dissemination of government power to state and local levels) that I actually voted for George W. in the 2000 elections. Now though, all I say about Republicans is "Fuck those assholes." They've run amuck. The Indie Rock Establishment, Pitchfork, and to a lesser degree Stylus, have turned into Republicans.

It's a lot to put on a review of one band, one record, but I think it's all too tragically what has happened. When I read reviews that focus on album art and live Fort Lauderdale (???!!!) shows from two years ago as much as the record's content I get very upset. Too many reviews are spending too much time contextualizing a band's most recent release. Just once I'd like to read something different, a record review of a band such as Interpol with no context whatsoever, one that deals with that release alone. A great chunk of the marks, 6.0, D, I think comes from relating the new record to Turn On The Bright Lights. Proving that the record sucks in and of itself leaves no room for debate.

But I don't want to drift from the politics idea. An indie rock god turns its back on all things indie; signs a major deal; starts playing shows at venues like The Borgata; starts "embarrassingly" writing lyrics advocating threesomes. It's so fucking indie rock to think that people should feel embarrassed for wanting to have threesomes. Ha, just so you know where I stand, I want to have threesomes all the time, regardless the make up of the lineup, one girl though, no homo. I haven't had a threesome yet (I have to reread that The Game chapter about the massage) but it has to be hilarious. Watching, hearing other people in real life doing it, having them watch and hear you do it, the facial expressions, the moans-- you'd have to be in stitches the entire time. Banks knows that indie rockers are going to cringe at "Threesome's" lyrics. But it seems to me he's testing indie rock's devotion to his band, brilliantly knowing the stubborn adherency of indie rock to its tenets (the immorality of the threesome) and also brilliantly knowing that he doesn't need Pitchfork's or Stylus' audiences' support anymore. "Rest My Chemistry" is an even better example. Paul Banks doesn't "not-fuck" the just slightly cute-nerdy glasses wearing girl from the coffee shop, he "not-fucks" superhot model/groupie types who probably, more like definitely as I've come to find out how much all chicks really love to do blow, which is to say hilariously and all too ironically, just wanted to fuck him for his cocaine. It turns into one big gag, and I love gags. I thought indie rock did too. Guess that's only when it can be in on the jokes, not the butt of them.

Politically speaking, Pitchfork and Stylus should have taken the indie community's backlash on the chin for a band who made a record (Turn On The Bright Lights) that probably helped make the websites what they now are, and dished out high marks for the new record, regardless of what they acutally thought about the record, just so that they could say to people like me "this isn't about politics." Objectively speaking, they should have tried to change as Interpol has: less serious, less morally pure of heart. No, fuck you, indie rocker who is reading this, you do think things like "I am so morally great. My love is such a pure love." I know, I used to be really into that shit too. But as I've aged, I've found out that mindset isn't really mine, it's that of the establishment's, one that wants to control you, oh yeah, and one that never gets you laid, snatches your youth and vitality from you, speeds up the aging process, leaves you weak and incapable of rebelling. I'm not saying you might not be one of the lucky ones to have stumbled across true love in your twenties or even earlier, but chances are you're not, because news flash, chances are you'll never find true love, just an approximation of it. You can also find that when you're 30-35. Historically, what has been the easiest way to control the masses? Bullshit morality, see Catholicism and the Republican party. Now see Indie Rock. See our youth getting fucked or rather not getting fucked by being told not to enjoy a harmless, catchy, big, orchestrated, "for the kids", rock record.

Running With Dave P

2007-07-05T09:18:00.000-04:00

Everybody that knows me knows this: I love shitty food. But I'm also trying to get in shape, cause well, I like skinny girls. I know that's awful, at least I'm honest. Wait a sec though, it's the fact that skinny girls only get with skinny guys and are making me work out like crazy that's truly awful. I guess skinny girls are great and awful. So it goes. Anyways, I've reached an impasse. I can't get any more in shape than I currently am without changing my diet, but I'm working out so hard that the only way I can satisfy the appetite I build up is with greasy Greek food. Or, I stuff myself with Greek food and look at myself, and see how disgusting Greek food makes me look so I think that I better go for a run later in the day, so that I don't ruin my chances of getting with a skinny girl. This latter set of circumstances was the context in which Dave P and his girlfriend, Patty, ran into me on Kelly Drive.

Dave: Snake? Yeeeeaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!

Me: Holy Shit! Holy Shit...

Dave: So what do you do?

Me: Well, I just came over to do something light. I just finished stuffing my tits with some greasy Greek chicken fingers and mozzarella cheese fries, smothered in ketchup of course...

Dave: ...

Me: So yeah, just something light. But hey, we should run together. I never get a chance to run with anybody, so let's do it.

Dave: Rad!

And we were off. We did a warm up along Boathouse Row, I'd say a nice 5.0 mph. Everything was great. I was running with Dave P. He talked about Daft Punk and Booka Shade and new tracks, and I tried really hard to not only remember all this stuff, but also to not burp too audibly. Dave exchanged pleasantries with almost everyone we passed, and they all either returned in kind or actually knew him. I was quickly reminded of how lucky Philadelphia is that New York or Chicago or Berlin hasn't taken this guy from us yet. Somehow unbeknownst to me our pace had shot all the way up from 5.0 to like 6.7 mph, which is cutting it pretty close to my limit. I had definitely begun to burp audibly, which prompted Dave to ask me, "How are you holding up? You know you're burping right?" "Me (gasp for breath), fine (another grasp, burp). You?" He was doing just fine.

We reached the agreed upon halfway point of the run, the 1 3/4 mile marker just past the grandstands, turned around, and began heading back. Harsh fate had actually granted me a second wind, or a little bit of digestion, and coming off the downhill from the grandstands I was actually able to up the pace a little to let's say 7.1 mph. Dave of course had no problem with that. Everything was fine until somewhere between the 1 1/4 and 1 mile markers. Suddenly, I felt my stomach simply drop. I began slowing down, panting, and burping, and what was worse, visibly holding Dave back. I dug deep and pressed on a little longer, however, right before the 3/4 marker I let out what would have been a room-clearing burp, accompanied by the extremely rare simultaneous fart, though thankfully the burp drowned it out. Dave looked frightfully over and I was already waving him to go ahead without me.

He thankfully took off like the Road Runner. I was slightly worried that maybe he had heard the simultaneous fart. As I jogged back along Boathouse Row though, I saw that Dave, now rejoined by Patty, was waiting for me. I frantically apologized for holding him up, and burping, and he replied in typical Dave fashion, "Dude, loved running with you, let's do it again. You should totally get some better running shoes though. I don't know how you run in those things. Hey, I'm going to this house party around here later tonight. You should come."

Btw, I'm going to this, so...

Download: Dan Bensons Project - (Skinny) Ladies Get On The Flo'

This Could Be The Beginning Of The End, But Dammit, I Like T.I. Vs. T.I.P.

2007-07-03T09:30:00.000-04:00

I don't want to say that T.I.'s freaked out by white people, but he might be. Do we really make faces like that? I would be scared too

Not going to go here (Okay, I have to admit it, I don't dislike "Independent Women"), I'll just tell you how I hear it, no generalizations or vagaries. I don't know anything about T.I.'s previous records or singles, and I really don't care. I'm talking about the new record only. It's really smart. It's a record that can win a Grammy, while maintaining its street cred. I really think this record may actually be a watershed moment for rap. Factions have emerged, either you're into trap, or party, or backpack. But this record is sometimes all three, and it really may be the genre's first and only record to achieve such universality. "Act III: T.I. Vs. T.I.P. The Confrontation" reveals it best. Here T.I. is schizophrenic. He concretizes the struggle between an inveterate need to keep it hood (T.I.P), and the rational desire to not get shot and enjoy the wealth born out of his hardship (T.I.). The result, with a little bit of inference, is that T.I. makes a better philosophical point than any backpack song ever could: the struggle needs to occur, an individual such as T.I. must live both ways of life, he needs to achieve a balance.

There's also this really great party rap song on the record, it's called "Show It To Me." No surprise it features Nelly, and it's simply about asses. Can't wait for the video.

Wesley!

2007-06-29T09:05:00.000-04:00

First this, now this. Look, Wes, we care about you, no shit. We're from the same town. Brotherly love, bro. You've run amuck, and we need to get you back on track. So, we contacted an old friend of yours for some assistance in the matter. We received this hand-written reply from him within a week:

Dear Masters T.P.O.,

I cannot express in words my gratitude for how much you care about my Wesley. I fondlingly remember all those nights that Wesley and I would stay up late and talk about the most important of issues, like AIDS and... But yes, being impotent, my darkest secret, I always cared for the Owens children as though they were my own. It was very difficult for me to read your catalogue of my Wesley's recent exploits. I have failed him so very much. The only persuasion toward upstanding life that I can offer to my beloved little one you will find enclosed. Please, masters, make sure it reaches him.

Humbly Yours,
Mr. Lynn Belvedere

Here it is, Wes:

My dearest, lovely, most tender, Wesley:

You know how crude I find the mincing of words, Wes, so straight to the heart of the matter. I strongly object to the company that you're keeping and the music that you're producing. Wes, where did you meet such people,

the heart of darkness?

And making music that encourages such filthy, slutty behavior

(Cheering a young woman for moving her bowels in public? What is this world coming to?) are we? You need to come home to Daddy, Wes. Right this instant, young man!

Do You Hear What I Don't?

2007-06-27T08:00:00.000-04:00

October of last year, or somewhere thereabouts, I purchased a pair of Bose Triport earbuds. I noticed a huge difference. I discovered bass. One month later, some cold weather came into town. It was my first chance to break out my new Diesel cargo jacket. The jacket has no side pockets, only front ones, pockets that place an earphone jack at a strenuous angle. Fast forward yet another month. Getting ready to walk from The Last Drop back to Fairmount, I cued up Fizheuer Ziheuer for what I thought was going to be the best walk of my life. I hit the play button. The sound out of one channel crapped out. Amazing how the best can instantly change to the worst. I didn't care how long I had to wait for the 48, I wasn't walking anywhere on that day. Keep in mind that this happened during the time of the year when I was flat broke. There was no way I could afford another set of headphones. Luckily enough, Bose fully stood by the product and gave me a replacement set without any hassle, that or they didn't want to look like schmucks in front of all the holiday shoppers whom I made sure were present when I attempted the return. An amazingly bitter cold gripped Philly from the end of January through the beginning of April-- cargo jacket weather. Fast forward to two weeks ago. With the casing around the jack already worn away, the wires finally succumbed to gravity and severed. I vowed to never spend $100 on a set of earphones again. I thought the product should last much longer. I decided to return to using the earphones that had lasted me for a year, the Apple jobs.

It's funny how you're always going to learn lessons about which things you can and can't skimp on. Earphones, it turns out, are one of the things which you can't cut any corners with. Why? Bass. You can not fuck around when it comes to bass. This incident again reminded me that bass is not only the best instrument ever, but also the key component to an enjoyable listening experience. When it's right, it enriches the experience tenfold. E.g. Beyonce's "Freakum Dress." I can totally understand how people that only hear this song on TV speakers or shitty earphones can think it's not the best song ever. On my Bose buds that bass awakened something in my soul, a 1-2 juggernaut. Any song with sub bass was turned into a automatic winner, except of course blog house songs or B-more house, come to think of it the quality of the earphones actually enhanced that stuff's egregiousness.

Who needs sound that good? I do because I care about this shit, electronic music that is. So much of the music employs and actually depends on the sub bass that you could probably dismiss almost the entire genre as overly cheery and cheesy without it. The instrument is so in your face and it carries the gravitas that makes electronic the genre of both today and tomorrow. Goddamn, I hope I was wrong about these Apple earbuds lasting a year. Maybe I knocked over one of the fourteen unfinished bottles of Deer Park water on my desk, where the earphones are also presently, and they shorted out while I was writing this. Then all I'll have to do is spend $500 on a new Diesel winter coat, one with side pockets for sure, so that my $100 dollar earphones can last longer than five months. And there's nothing wrong with that.

Did You Ever Really Think We'd Make It This Far?

2007-06-26T08:54:00.000-04:00

"Fuck yeah, I did." Thanks, bro

100 posts. Wow! Honestly, it's just an excuse to put this Radio Slave remix up.

Download: Discemi - Data Sapiens (Radio Slave Remix)

Only 7 days though. Why leave it out there? Some assholes would find a way to fuck him over the way others did oh, i don't know, DAFT PUNK!

Stop playing this shit, and start playing "Revolution 909", on repeat. You'll seriously be the best DJ that ever lived. But yeah, we going to keep it moving. Can't stop, won't stop. And, of course, we stayin' focus.

Ti Metto Il Cazzo In Culo E Te Lo Faccio Uscire Dalla Bocca

2007-06-14T21:39:00.000-04:00

An ambiguous "ending" is a huge sell-out, a way for a writer to appease his entire audience. Let me just go on record to say that no T.P.O. writer or associate has or will ever ambiguously end a piece, unless of course they're heaping on the sarcasm. Which sounds like a kinda good idea, so maybe every post from here on out will end ambiguously, maybe it won't. Ooh. Are you getting as pissed at me as I am at myself for writing this? Isn't this the best way to really convince you that ending was elephant shit?

How much more money do you honestly want to make from this series, Mr. Chase? Everyone's going to buy the DVDs, cause everyone's loves being right. But what upsets me is that it's pretty clear what happens to Tony Soprano, I know it and you know it, Chase, and this isn't me being cute either, I'm going to reveal it, and it's really pretty simple, that is if you've read a book before. But ending it the way that Chase did, not showing it, allows idiots who haven't read any books to formulate so many illogically optimistic outcomes-- cause after all here was a real American badass, who never, ever could go down-- allows these half-wits to do what they do best, defend American immorality and general dooshy behavior.

But yeah, they whack Tony. Probably shoot him at least fifty times in the head. They probably kill A.J. too, because why leave the son alive to later exact vengeance? Look, the shots of the shady dudes being shady, the one shady guy going to the bathroom, the black guys blocking the restaurant's only exit-- what the fuck else is going to happen? Need more? In Tuesday's Inquirer, some lady brilliantly caught some details I hadn't, details which would suggest Paulie had his hand in it, which makes sense. He had motive, recall how he was shitting himself about having to take over the crew whose former bosses had all been whacked. Makes good sense to me.

But fuck this minutiae. In the history of literature all prideful, boastful, immoral, evil, megalomaniacal sociopaths fall. Tragedy, people. Shakespeare, baby. Balance and moderation have to be maintained. It's the way of things. Yin and Yang. Check and mate, America.

Sidewalk To Heaven

2007-06-12T19:15:00.000-04:00

So, I live in the Fairmount section of Philadelphia. Having lived here after college for three years now, two in Fairmount, I have learned that nothing ever happens in the city as a whole (except of course the rise of the Broadzilla), and especially in my neighborhood. Not entirely hating here. I like the tranquility of my neighborhood so much. All I have to put up with each year are bicycle and crew deesh. But it's nice when something changes-- it gives you something to blog about. Well, today my life in Fairmount changed in the biggest possible way. The sidewalk of the Art Museum's new building, situated on Pennsylvania Ave., between 26th St and Fairmount Ave., was finally opened to walkers. Fucking huge deal, I don't need to tell you.

I can't tell you the countless hardships that I had to endure before this sidewalk opened. The Museum or construction company or whoever set up a most crude, temporary (ha!) walking lane, an eight foot high chain-link fence on one side, brutal concrete barriers on the other. The lane was definitely no more than three feet wide. In the winter, the lane would fill with inches of slush, and we all know how that shit can fuck up your day. Also, for a period of time, you would have to traverse a sheet of leftover lauan spanning a fathomless hole. Life risking shit.

And the people, the double-edged sword of Fairmount. There are no hipsters in Fairmount. I love that. No competition. There are a few grups, but nothing I can't handle. For the most part Fairmount residents are yuppies, or older intellectual types. Honestly, pretty great people when you think about it, except when they walk. These people are of the ilk that refuse to break formation, like they can't miss any of the conversation, like they have to be in position to one-up their mates. So I can't even tell you how many times I've been body-checked into one of the concrete barriers-- though at this moment I do have six otherwise inexplicable bruises on my thighs-- or worse into the chain-link fence. What happens when you get pushed into a chain-link fence is you completely lose your balance, but the fence is just strong enough that you won't fall backwards, through it. No, it slings you forward, back into the people that pushed you in the first place, knocking them into the barrier, which slings all of you back into the fence. After two more cycles of that, things finally calm down, and you are left awkwardly knotted in the arms of a sixty something who because he's clearly ten times more worldly and intelligent than I am, leaves me the asshole of the ordeal.

Today's the happiest day of my Fairmount existence thus far. If you passed by the intersection at some point today, you probably saw me walking (skipping with ecstatic exultation) back and forth on the new sidewalk, thoroughly enjoying its bright white concrete and newly planted trees, passing other pedestrians quite amicably and safely. The sidewalk on Pennsylvania between 26th and Fairmount: let's get into this, Philly.

Even Heroes Die, Little Billy

2007-06-07T11:17:00.000-04:00

LCD's set from last night's Fillmore at the TLA show

HINDSIGHT: A BITCH

I really thought that everyone's championing of LCD's Sound of Silver would place the best possible horseman at the reins of general alternative music, and that this charioteer would be able to lead us straight through the sun, to our much yearned for Eden, a place free of indie bitching, an Eternal Disco. I was wrong.

WHY DIDN'T ANY ONE UPSTANDING CRITIC TRY TO FIND FLAWS IN SILVER?

No good answer. Maybe it was too early to do so. Maybe I am one of the first ones, even just now, able to attempt such a thing. Having now probably listened to each track around 500 times, I can say it is entirely possible to get sick of the sound of silver, to think that "North American Scum" and "Us V. Them" need to be shortened, that maybe the speaker of "Time to Get Away" is too much of an asshole, etc, etc. It's possible. Clearly one of the band's biggest fans, I stalked and then found the leaked Silver files very early, I think it was just before Thanksgiving, IN HINDSIGHT the worst fucking possible time. Everyone stopped releasing music in '06 because "how the fuck am I going to get on critics' year end lists by releasing a record in December?" I had all the time in the world to listen to the new record. And I fucking did, and when I wrote this, I thought I had spent the perfect amount of time with the record, that I had found my own kairos for writing about it. IN HINDSIGHT, what had probably happened is hubris had kicked in, that I had become disgustingly proud of myself for knowing this record inside-out, and that I, like every other critic, had become caught in its spell and gave it just a little more credit than it deserved.

"WELL I'M LOSING MY EDGE / TO ALL THE INTERNET KIDS / THAT LIKE THE LCD SOUNDSYSTEM FOR ITS / 'SONGS'."

What I hadn't thought of was that every other indie, alt, hipster dude/ette out there would soon enough be as enamored as I was with Murphy's transformation into a songwriter. It still took about a month after Silver had been officially released for the oldschool hipster caveat to well up in my mind: if the indie/hipster chic establishment endorses something, there's probably something wrong (not hip enough for uber hip me) with it. I have no problem with this line of thinking. Neither would James Murphy, first and still foremost, creator of "Losing My Edge".

"HOW CAN YOU NOT LIKE 'SONGS'?"

This all came to a head at last night's free (bad idea), myspace sponsored (worse idea), LCD show at the Fillmore at the TLA (worst idea ever). You see, I have been spoiled. In 2005, at what I guess was the fifth anniversary of Making Time, an incipient LCD live act had lots to prove. And IN HINDSIGHT, but remembered like yesterday, on the relatively small main stage of Transit did they ever prove it. They, the accredited members of LCD Soundsystem, not some motley crew, took the stage. Red light on Murphy's mic. He stepped into it, already sweating. He took a swig from a bottle of Jack Daniels. He took two tambourines, one in each hand, looked at them in turn, first the left, then the right, and then slapped himself in the face with them. The band immediately launched into "Beat Connection". It is still the best live performance of any song in the LCD catalogue that I have heard.

Tracks, better, jams, like "Beat Connection" as opposed to songs like "North American Scum" or "Daft Punk Is Playing At My House", work really well live. They are so big that they simply set a crowd on fire. At that early show the set included similar jams "Losing My Edge", "On Repeat", "Yeah" (Crass), and for the denouement a cover of Paperclip People's "Throw." The set and the energy and the environment were perfect, and what happened that night wasn't an LCD Soundsystem show, it was a Rage Against the Machine show, and if, like me you didn't have the balls to go to a Rage show, then you were ecstatic at the realization that another band could set you free in that way.

By comparison an atrocity occurred last night. I need to get this out of the way here, the lighting (I don't know whether LCD or the TLA's to blame) was terrible: way too bright, and white, not nearly enough colors or effects. What was truly upsetting though was how a growing in popularity headliner, now with a more than sufficiently large catalogue, could perform way too short of a set, maybe barely reaching an hour. That set needs to be at least twenty minutes longer. No "Get Innocuous" the best dance jam on the new record. No "Someone Great", Murphy's best song. No "Beat Connection" or "On Repeat" or "Yr City's A Sucker." No "Jump Into The Fire" or "Give It Up." James (maybe this will light a fire under your ass if you, like me, like to Google blog search yourself), The Rapture's live act slaughters yours.

What's worse, made even more unbearable by the fact that it happened here, in Philly, the one place where things like this don't happen, is that general sense I got from the placid and serene, and in no way even 1/2 moshing, crowd was that the show was great. Was nobody else from the Transit show there last night? Why in the fuck weren't we throwing all kinds of weird shit on the stage in protest, throwing shit off the balcony, raising hell, until we got the performance that we didn't pay for, but deserved all the same?

AND THE 64,000 DOLLAR ANSWER...

With songs like "All My Friends" and "Someone Great" LCD stopped being just for kids who didn't want anything to do with the bullshit aesthetics of 21st century punk, and who were maybe just a little bit curious about disco music too, but who still liked to fuck shit up from time to time, and started to also be for pussies. Which isn't entirely a bad thing, but it's definitely not the best thing, especially on stage, and which made me firmly realize this morning, at around 7:02 A.M., that LCD Soundsystem and their new record Sound of Silver have left plenty of room for improvement.

The Phillie Phanatic Is Fucking Huge

2007-06-06T08:03:00.000-04:00

Nowadays, it's hard for me to be surprised by our sometimes fair city, but it still happens occasionally. Take Monday for instance. The Phillie Phanatic and I were working the same charity function. At first sight I was taken aback by its enormity. My only Phillies perspectives had been wide-angle TV shots and 200+ level seats at the Vet. So that you're not as stunned as I was, here's a full comparative description.

The PPh is bigger than Giant Gonzalez.

Its shoe size (34P) dwarfs Shaq's. It's green is brighter than TMNT mutagen. The tongue is not quite as long as Gene Simmons'. Most noticeable though, its ass' surface area is at least twenty times that of J Lo's.

There's just no way to explain the Phanatic's skinny legs.

It also particularly struck me how real the Phanatic is-- there is no vestige, physical or spiritual, of a human being under all the green. Some guy and that costume have fully melded. Finally, you realize how fitting its name is. This thing is fucking nonstop nuts. First off, it will, literally, mime your every move. Its high fives hit like wrecking balls. It hops around like a flightless bird. Using its other mode of transportation, an ATV, it does way more crazy shit than those guys from the Ruff Riders videos: backflips, frontflips, death rolls, shit just owning an ATV in Philly is straight bonkers. Also, if you're sitting down, it will plop right down on you, and it will give you the best lap dance of your life.

If There's Nothing Funny to Blog About, You Live in Philly. Alternate Title: The Facileness of Music Blogging

2007-05-23T10:04:00.000-04:00

Crazy Dave dancing

Download: Lindstrøm & Prins Thomas - Nummer Fire En

"Julianne wrote a great piece on Lil Wayne today, worth reading because it is most likely about you, the hyperfingered blogskimming danceremixing motherfucker who hasn't listened to any one song the last six months more than six times, except maybe "Young Folks."-- Riff Market

This whole trendfucking trend: grading music, making aesthetic evaluations (um, some suggested reading btw: Kant, Immanuel, Critique of Judgment), according to preconceptions of artist and genre-- until last week I maintained some hope that hipsters really didn't work that way. But the blind acceptance of the new Axis of Evil (indie, new rave, mash-up) in fact proves that "hipster" is a euphemism for scenester. I define a scenester as a Catholic, someone that needs a support group, that can't stand alone, can't ask questions, and never can be wrong. People like me, (I say this with honest conviction) ex-download whores, who were bloodthirsty for the new, the free, back when our iTunes libraries weren't billions of gigs, in large part created this monster. Now we have to suffer it.

I guess it's job and/or old age be praised, my bad habits have been broken. Since last November I have not heard much music. But I have spent some quality time with a few things. Here they are:

LCD SS - 45:33, Sound of Silver
Lil Wayne - The Greatest Rapper Alive, Da Drought 3
Wolf Parade - Apologies to the Queen Mary
Sunset Rubdown - EP, Shut Up I Am Dreaming
Keith Fullerton Whitman - Playthroughs, Multiples
Lawrence - The Night Will Last Forever
The Rolling Stones - Exile on Main Street

To a slightly lesser degree:

The Arcade Fire - Neon Bible
!!! - "Heart of Hearts", "Must be the Moon"
Beyonce - "Freakum Dress"
Faze Action - "In the Trees" (Carl Craig Remix)

Some new stuff sure, but three items are from 2005, and attest to my own whoreishness. I didn't listen to the entirety of the Wolf Parade record until around X-Mas '06. It's one of five cdrs (along with LCD, Weezy, Sunset and Whitman, ok my copy of Peedi Crakk 4 Prez is still in there, but that's a good thing) in my car, the place where I now most often listen to music (SIX RECORDS), whereas in previous years it was my iPod (5,000 songs, divide by average of ten, 500 RECORDS).

I think this Lindstrøm & PT track may be the next big thing for me. I guess that parental inculcation of fucking Coltrane's "Ole" has left me with a soft spot for 15+ minute tracks. Heard it for the first time yesterday, have listened to it four times since, that's right people over an hour of my time on one song. Sprawling and organic sure, its first half surprises with its sinisterness, something Lindy and PT aren't exactly known for, and provides that somehow never cliched foil for the prettier second movement. You can dance to it sure, but it's special to me because of its ubiquity, I can listen to it before work to psych myself up or after work to unwind. If you aren't an asshole, you'll want to listen to this track more than once.

The near future has some promise too, so don't despair. I'm curious about this Get Him Eat Him stuff. New Sunset Rubdown, Wolf Parade, Caribou, Interpol-- hey the first record was great, the second good, there's no reason not to be stoked for the new record, except of course if you believe there's a strict rule that says indie rock bands have five year shelflives. So for those few like me, maybe we'll have a chance to reclaim some ground in the next few months. Let's keep up the good fight.

Rag Sags, Dragged Down by Rap Baggage

2007-05-19T16:32:00.000-04:00

Today, I read another really infuriating T.I. review. I think this might be the new worst T.I. blowjob ever, although there have been plenty of others. It got me thinking: what can be done to combat the plague of bad rap love in the independent press?

In case you don't feel like reading it, here's what happened in the article. In the course of reviewing a generic new rap single, a minor rap dork casually proclaimed that T.I. was definitively not a case of style over substance. In this case, the proof lies in "inscrutable" substance that the rap dork is willing to take on faith.

After all, T.I. could never be making generic, forgettable hip-hop. There are, of course an infinite number of reasons. First, he battles the thug inside himself in a pushup war (which the author cites as a potent artistic expression of inner turmoil). In addition, T.I. has a great wardrobe, definitely makes the best Southern rap faces, and shows conviction in his swagger (grabs his di' really hard, perhaps).

Pitchfork published an article that calls that video an inscrutable expression of inner turmoil that is convoluted but extremely exciting. It's a generic commercial hip-hop video. What's it got to do with Pitchfork?

"Okay, we have to really to be on point for this new T.I. Breihan will knock our teeth out if I don't give dap to the King. ha-HAA! No haters in this place! Okay, I need an article that says that T.I. is a totally complex guy. Here's a video of him in a dualistic struggle. Make it work, okay?"

All jokes aside, I'm sure this was written of the author's own free will. No matter what, though someone has to read an article like this one and say "wait, this doesn't even makes sense." It's state school campus paper sports section. It's Long Island prep valedictorian personal diary. Its only clear thesis is "the editor of this section is in way over his or her head."

No one is charmed or convinced by Pitchfork's primarily vapid obsession with mainstream hip-hop. It's obviously forced, and increasingly absurd. This is the most inexplicable review yet.

T.I. is like "Keep my big shit poppin, D, in and out ya mouth."

~~~~~

Here is a playlist of 10 psychedelic songs that are guaranteed to blast all thoughts of shitty hip-hop entirely out of one's mind:

Caetano Veloso - Irene
The Bees - The Ocularist
Panda Bear - Bros
Black Moth Super Rainbow - Melt Me
Os Mutantes - Baby
Deerhunter - Wash Off
Caribou - Bijoux
Pink Floyd - Remember A Day
The Besnard Lakes - And You Lied to Me
Blood, Sweat and Tears - I Love You More Than You'll Ever Know

Black Madonna! Begone once more from this place.

2007-05-18T11:35:00.000-04:00

JS came home from the thrift store the other day in good spirits, with a small bag. I asked him what he'd bought.

"Authentic Brazilian jeans," he announced, "a hundred bucks," pulling out a slim, sleek bundle, which he then began to unroll. My head swam in a familiar way. The jeans spoke to me of a deep history, as objects sometimes do, owing to my peculiar disposition. Their deep indigo threw me into daydreams.

The most patrician Tropicalist there ever was, pupils blossoming, scaled a tree that grew from warm, wet ground... in these same impossible jeans! He reached the top, straddled the trunk, and the sweet woodwinds seemed to ring out just as he shouted in triumph: "Quero ver Irene dar sua risada!"

"How remarkable. Those truly are Brazilian jeans. Are they the size 29 that you require?"

"28," he replied, as he ran upstairs to try them on. My consciousness exploded with imagery from the legends with regard to Brazilian jeans. Miraculous control over a soccer ball in a man who'd never laced a cleat. Leonine chocolate manes sprouted from a gray, stubbled head after just two weeks. What blessing might be conferred upon my old friend by the bountiful character of Brazil that bolsters those seams?

Five minutes later, he'd yet to return. My stomach wrenched with guilt as I charged up the stairs. I'd left him alone far too long.

Before I could even ram his door, and my face twisted as though I were the stricken Priam. Through the door, plain as day, came the shriek of that old nightmare, the one I thought I'd heard for the last time. I burst in, ears covered, but still heard it plainly:

"CHARLIE, HOW YOUR ANGELS GET DOWN LIKE THAT!"

That obscurant shade, the queenly succubus, had perched again by the bed of my oldest friend. Her otherworldly shout tripled impossibly into harmony with itself. A shitty R&B beat looped like a camouflaged midnight adder beneath JS's feet, which struck the floor on beat with nightmarish precision. The single pulsed sickly under the needle of his turntable, and on his laptop screen danced the Queen herself, in Yellow, clutching the scolloped scraps of her vestments in a way meant to excite the obsessive feral appetite.

He pumped his fists in empathy as she howled, in three distinct and chilling tones:

"CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW LIKE VERIZON! OHH! AND THAT'S THE WAY IT IS YEAH!"

"JS! I squashed the power switch on the receiver and swatted away the hand that shot out by reflex. He looked up at me with dull eyes, and mumbled "... exciting.... anth...anthemic chorus... and hard druh.. umbeats."

I fled the house in tears of grief. There would be no bringing him back this time. The song was nearly over. It had done its Stygian worst.

What happened on that day? I've always thought that the impetuous courage endowed upon him by the Brazilian jeans was to blame. As indestructible as he felt, it is no wonder he decided that he could stand for just one last look at the visage of the Black Madonna herself, the stupefying siren. And he must have found his fix, maybe some B-side I'd never discovered, never taken any precaution...

No mortal man can stand to be entangled with the mad Queen in her tattered mantle. I had reminded him just three hours before.

Sorry We Haven't Been Blogging. We Forgot To Take Our Freakum Dresses Off

2007-05-09T09:12:00.000-04:00

Just playin, B

T.P.O.'s "Freakum Dress" Spectacular

I know, you need some explanation. I have not yet listened to B'day. I figured why bother, there'll be videos for all the "good" songs, I'll get what I need from MTV Jams. Kinda liked "Ring the Alarm", not so much the others. (So far I think "Deja Vu", "Irreplacable" and "Upgrade You".?) "Deja Vu", well, indeed. "Irreplacable" is the most misleading song title of all time. Also, its message is way more devilish than any Lily Allen could birth. "Upgrade You" is too cocky, and way too materialistic. To be expected, (yawn), etc. Then I heard "Freakum Dress".

While everybody still trendfucks Justice and new rave and Diplo and sleaze, I'll make my stand here, and say "Freakum Dress" has become my "Best Song Ever" for this week, and right now, I can't imagine liking anything more this year. The video debuted either early last month or very late in March, which for me means 2007 single. Can I talk about the song now?

Thematically, "FD", amazingly, offends no one, and moreover is universally relatable. We all have that one goto outfit. The one that fits perfectly, for your physique and spirit. Mine? I'll tell. It's a dark gray t-shirt that reads "Creature of the Night" and a bullet-hole riddled pair of Diesel's. It's a song about looking, but more importantly feeling your best, and thankfully Beyonce's vocals are complementary: her most confident and powerful yet, even more so than on "Crazy in Love."

Musically, the Rich Harrison production also outshines former standard "Crazy". On "Freakum Dress" the producer deepens the bass, immediately giving the song a more delightfully sinister feel than its predecessor. The muted, synthetic saxes, and understated Morse code beeps, as opposed to the blaring trumpets of "Crazy", wisely defer to, rather than struggle against, Beyonce's brilliant performance.

"Freakum Dress" exemplifies my ideal pop single. It celebrates and empowers, has universal appeal, and does so tastefully and concisely. Hey, Indiedom, the song hasn't blown up like it should. You won't lose face if you get behind it. What you will do though is show that discriminating crossover knowledge and eclecticism you now spuriously tout.

Exhibit B

2007-05-03T20:10:00.000-04:00

Today on Bitchfork (Whose bitch? The dollar's.):

Stream: M.I.A. - Hit That

"Who knew M.I.A. could do subdued (the appropiate tone for a sex jam, keep reading)? Over this skeletal (unfinished), stuttering (unsure) Bangladesh Production beat, her voice actually sounds smooth in places (good enough). Just in case the song's title was unclear, she's driving the point home: This is a sex jam. Of course, it's also about how awesome she is (you're kidding me, right?), and her trademark cockiness (TM) is still omnipresent. Even her come-ons sound like challenges ("Boys let me see you hit that"). Still, it's an interesting change of pace (bad career move) to hear her over a beat that isn't all destruction, terror, and mayhem."

--------------------------------------------------

I had a talk with a few people that know about these things in August 2005, and we agreed M.I.A. would be finished after Arular-- she couldn't possibly have anything left to say. If "Hit That" represents the entirety of Kala, then we were right. This Spank Rock move was all too inevitable, and sounds just as awful if not more so coming from Maya. If, after brutally punishing yourself for four minutes, you think you can still defend this song-- well, you know what, you're right, and I'm wrong, you're under Pitchfork's umbrella.

Local Rumors Clearinghouse: Man Man Edition!

2007-04-20T20:19:00.000-04:00

Man Man have a record deal. Let's just say they're label mates with Clap Your Hands Say Yeah!

Man Man's members like to clap their hands and say yeah.

Man Man despises Cherry Coke.

Ryan Kattner owns CityPaper.

Joey Sweeney is Man Man band member Cougar. (Let me get serious for a moment. Guys, can't we all just get along? T.P.O. offers its services.)

Ryan Kattner and partner (Joey Sweeney) now own Philadelphia Weekly.

Man Man is gay and loves butt sex.

The band's studio lineup includes ex 76er great, Eric Snow.

(Might not look like Eric Snow, but trust me, it's him)

Man Man's new record doesn't mention unrequited (gay) love.

Man Man's new record is going to be available for free download via pitchforkmedia.com, get an 8.4 rating from the site and the coveted "Best New Music" tag. The review will say shit like, "On this record, Man Man refines its sound and grows lyrically and structurally." As a result Man Man has already been booked to play PMF and Lollapalooza '08.

Man Man hates polar bear cubs.

2007-04-17T09:39:00.000-04:00

"The Virginia Polytechnic Institute slaughter forces American society to once again examine itself, its violence, the obsession with guns of part of its population, the troubles of its youth, subjected to the double tyranny of abundance and competition." --France's Le Monde newspaper.

Philly Heroes: Our friendly service

2007-04-15T17:46:00.000-04:00

The cautious countermatron from the shop
Stopped slinging seven shades of stringy slop
For several seconds, staring at her screen
With consternation fit for a cruel queen
For, though her store is ratty, crude and mean
It's surveilled by systems such as you'd see
On some sort of top secret submarine:
It's said that in her culture, women must
Never be placed in positions of trust.

A look askance from crook'd italic eyes
As suspicious intentions she descries
Request for rolling papers met with such
I neither goggled, bobbled, grayed nor blushed
Instead I grabbed a can of bakéd beans
Three Trojans, Mach 3 razors, shaving cream
Meanwhile watching her watch me on the screen
Expecting me to stuff these in my jeans
Smoothing my jacket o'er distended seams
Just like the finest feckless Fairmount fiends

The total comes to seventeen odd quid
But this bitch still squints at me like a squid
Just for my wish to twist up a quick spliff
And pay fucking tuition for her kids.

At least I can skip out on CVS
That cluttered, venal, spirit-sucking mess
Though closer by a mile to my address
Presents the most unconscionable distress
Of asking a young lady to cut short
A heated phone call in which she exhorts
Some big playa who think he way too fly
And think he get to hit it on the sly
He don't know bout how I stay focus, B
And she was like you must not know bout me
And where he think he gon get some head at
And find some otha trick ass bitch to tap.

While I tap on the counter, bitter brain
Boiling and burning with impending shame
The old woman behind me is immersed
In some circular from some Catholic church
And meanwhile I'm about to say 'He-aaaaay,'
Stop squatting on that copy of B'day
Ain't hatin, just get out here, I need help
Please open up that sliding condom shelf."

And worst of all, I'm still always the one
Willing to wait until she thinks she's done
While trying not to grit or grind my jaw
Beyonce will be first against the wall.*

*figure of speech, not proof of fascism

Philly Heroes: John Barlow

2007-04-13T09:00:00.000-04:00

John Barlow as Brad Pitt as Achilles in Troy

Philadelphia sports history was made this past weekend in the Hill Top Flag Football League. I don't know if that's the right name, but it's the league that plays its games in front of Memorial Hall. I can't believe Inquirer Sports hasn't covered this story. It's a story about... about balls, big balls... really big balls... Balls. Here's my account of it, a first person account, utterly exaggerated and untrue, and as I retell all things, in egregious, fake epic language. But that's beside the point.

Saturday, April 7, 2007. Imagine a morose afternoon, cold enough to unleash the hounds of hell, cold enough to ruin many a sack, that is unless your name is John Barlow. Barlow and I were in the Red Belts With Devices for Attaching Flags That Don't Fit Size 30 Waists or Less reserve core together, preparing for duty. Daily, he was running laps around the country. For my part, I had begun overhearing sports talk shows on ESPN while doing the crossword puzzle. Two soldiers had fallen in a prior engagement, and the Commander in Chief of the "Red Belts", 6 star General H.C. Rogers IV, had to activate us for Saturday's game.

Jesus knows, he didn't want to. John and I were as green as a bad case of the frozen Green Giant spinach shits. This was going to be our first battle. Of course, the enemy that day was to be the most difficult yet, the Norristown Blue Spandex Thingy Clad Boppers. They boasted of a champion, Papa Shango,

(This is truth btw. One of the guys on the opposing team was fucking enormous and had his face painted exactly like former WWF wrestler Papa Shango.)

that could defeat the champion of any other team in single combat. As in olden times, they offered to decide the contest in such a manner. Until that day the strength of us Red Belts had been our intellect. We were known for the labyrinthine stratagems of our Commander Rogers, and thus our ability to outmaneuver as a unit. But now that had changed. Now we had... Balls.

The briefest interval of silence, then from the rear of our camp, a voice bellowed back, "I accept your challenge, you bunch of pansies", John Barlow's voice. The two combatants stepped onto the field. Papa Shango chose offense. Barlow was to stop him, either strip him of the ball, or strip him of a flag. They began at breakneck speed, driven by an unseen motivation, just as two rams vying for an ewe in heat.

They clashed at the center of the field like Olympian thunder. Shango, up to that point, had been the strongest warrior in the league. He certainly could not fathom a scrawny 135lb white kid being as strong as he. But he had no idea of John's Balls. Shango suffered demoralization and confusion. Barlow had seized Shango in his vice-like grip, and was driving Shango back toward his goal-- Barlow was seeking the ultimate victory, one that never occurred to any of us, the safety.

However, Shango regained composure somewhere around the 15 yard line, and realizing how more diesel Barlow was, he resorted to treachery. As a smaller sumo wrestler will draw his larger opponent to the end of the ring in hopes of using the larger opponent's strength and momentum against him, so now did Shango lead Barlow on. John, catching sight of the goal line, drove Shango back with all his strength. This was Shango's chance. He fell backwards.

Barlow, still raging like an untamed lion, immediately tripped over Shango's feet. John prepared to break his fall with his hands. He did not anticipate however, the velocity with which he had been driving Shango back, and his right hand hit the ground a split-second before his left with such force that his right wrist exploded on impact.

Shango unravelled his feet and took off for our end zone. His touchdown dance was a combination Unk's "Two Step" and Crime Mob's "Rock Yo Hips." Only seconds before he realized the superiority of his opponent. Already, he had forgotten it, and was arrogantly stomping in our end zone and calling himself "The Shit."

Oh Justitia, how you so reliably smite such hubris! Running up to Shango, the league official held a blue flag, a blue flag missing from Shango's blue belt, a blue flag that the hand of John Barlow, Red Belt, ripped from that blue belt. John Barlow had defeated Papa Shango. You see, all along, Barlow, the paragon of both cunning and humility, had Shango's flag in hand. When John tripped, Shango's flag came with him.

Shango cried and cried for hours, as did his teammates, and they were so ashamed that they would never play flag football again. Barlow, with the legend of his strength and courage preceding him, is currently being hit on by hot nurses across the Delaware Valley.

Get Well, Dude

Best Fern In Your Cappuccino Foam

2007-04-11T09:00:00.000-04:00

Spent the day in my old neighborhood in Williamsburgh yesterday... ended up leaving my favorite winter hat in my favorite old coffee shop, and had to turn back. Before I left the asshole "barrista" and I had words,

"Um, excuse me. Do you have my hat? Um, I left it in here a little while ago."

"Um, excuse me... do you have, like my hat?" Copious eye-rolling.

He pissed me off and my orange hat was lost to the universe, so I grabbed his small brown leather unruled diary. (I had seen him writing in it in a corner while I drank my coffee about 30 minutes previously)

Here's an excerpt from November 17th 2006:

"Had a pretty decent day yesterday. Got up early, did some body cleansing Pilates. Ate soy sausage and tofu scramblers with sage.

Screenplay Idea: A man writing a Dostoyevsky novel using only clowns. Theme/Tagline: Insert comma where you wish...

Sometimes when I'm handing out tourists their coffee I just freak out about the state of America. Why am I serving coffee to some Republican from Illinois when I should be writing lyrics???

Toxins:
The night ended in cocaine and jukeboxes. Then I became depressed and self-concious when a blue-eyed chick across the room yelled out, 'I can just TELL this playlist was made by a loser.' "

------
Actually, I ran back into the shop, got the eyeroll and sass, and then spotted my hat on the floor in a corner.

Masters 2007 Recap: It Is What It Is

2007-04-09T11:07:00.000-04:00

If you didn't already know, before being struck by the hand of The Hipster Almighty, some of us at T.P.O. used to be really into golf. There you have it, Philly. I'm out.

I couldn't find the video footage on YouTube of an interview with Tiger Woods in which he uses the phrase "it is what it is", but it's somewhere on The Golf Channel's website. Add another name to the growing list of douchebag athletes using this one. "It is what it is", Tiger. How does it feel to be a loser?

Watch your step, big guy

Some no-name won because he hit the ball straighter than everyone else, and with the course being dry, the distance advantage was nullified. As part of the majority of golfers that isn't 6'6, 250 it's always nice to see the accurate little guy get one. It just sucks that this guy really, totally loves Jesus. Zach, if you are such a good Catholic, you would've checked this thing they do in the Phillipines out

instead of playing in the Masters. Jesus didn't help you win, because Jesus would've been against competition. However, your desire to crush may have had something to do with it.

And let's not forget about T.P.O. affiliate Riff Market's favorite, Vijay Singh, who also played in this year's Masters. You'll want to crank up the volume for this one.

For All His Talk Of BJJ Training, I'd Bet James Murphy Still Couldn't Take The Juan

2007-04-04T12:06:00.000-04:00

With Silver taking the world by storm, you might forget about the rest of DFA, which would be a seriously bad idea. Seems like it could be a big year for not only the label's flagship act. The Juan Maclean and Black Dice should release new records some time soon. Tim Goldsworthy's thrown down some amazing remixes. Tim Sweeney keeps improving as a DJ. Shit Robot is probably brewing another single. Hot Chip-- well, whatever. Most importantly, it appears the label is growing. First off, there's the reported debut from Prinzhorn Dance School. Next, there seems to be connections between DFA and a couple chic as fuck acts, Holy Ghost!, whose "Bell & James" is going to be on everybody's year end lists, and Hercules & Love Affair. Finally, not 100% sure, but DFA may have picked up The Shocking Pinks, whose Dance the Dance Electric showed lots of discopunk promise. Xmas 2007: Compilation #3?

Loyola Deesh League: Draft Wrap

2007-03-30T09:30:00.000-04:00

Team: Pale Fire
Manager: CJR

Who are you? How long have you played with these guys? How have you done?

I am a young professional and freelance intellectual from the Cradle of Liberty, Philadelphia. I am the most estimable baseball authority that I know of, and my scouting reports are generally considered nonpareil. Last year, Utley and Howard (Rounds 2 and 6) kept me in first for most of the season, but my pitchers shit themselves in the second half and I did not contend for the title.

I am known for my innovative progressive fantasy baseball platform; for example, a moral imperative in the team code of ethics specifically interdicts the signing of athletes from the Yankees and Braves, as well as any players who are Texas dickheads. My teams are always racially integrated; bilingual players are given preferential consideration in all drafting procedure. A proposed amendment to team ethics that would ban Colorado Rockies players on grounds of excessive Christianity was nearly adopted, but was determined to be in violation of the team charter and dropped before the draft.

We've had this league going for six years, and I have heroically battled through stints of Baltimore deesh fatigue and improved my ALUMP, or average lineup updates per monthly period, from 2.3 for 2000-2004 to 40.26 in last year's season. My status swelled to "serious contender" for the first time last year, following a legendary and coup-heavy draft, but even this was spoiled by Matt Holliday's decision to play the first few months of the season with his dick in his right hand at all times, resulting in his swift release, as it were.

I've known Matt Kraemer, Chris Lucas, Rob Selby, Rob Donlan, Tom Croskey, Kevin Ellis and Mike Zuidema since 2000, and I consider them nothing but an indistinguishable swampy pit of reptilian Reagan-dick-slurping protofascists whose spiteful, righteous capitalistic solipsism roars off their interactions with the world around them like hot and sulfurous gas. Each one can be considered a veritable embellished emblem of today's slipshod American college education system, commemorating its unconscionable failure to instill discernment in even its purported brightest talents.

I am something of a personal hero to each of these men, a beacon of idiosyncratic ideological brilliance and taste. In addition, the merest memory of my achievements on our various intramural teams can reduce any one of them to blushing, fist-pumping reminiscence, and they speak of me only in only the most respectful and deferential terms.

Who's your biggest competition this year?

Selby and Donlan, without a doubt... sike. Dead Coyotes are scary. He's got a lot of good players. Ramrod has good hitters but dogshit pitching, same with Doobs. Vasco's always in the hunt, and his team looks okay. Ellis had a good draft and is dangerous. I think top three is me, Croskey, Ellis.

What was your draft strategy?

I picked only players who I consider a lock to produce what I need from them in designated categories, barring injury (and I chose not to count on any players that I consider injury-prone). For hitters and pitchers both, a bad supporting cast made some players all but undraftable in my book. I want to thank Buster Olney for his amazing work this past year, too; now, better than ever, I know who sucks and who doesn't. My only real blind wager, Matsuzaka, broke the heart of everyone in the room. But mainly I just wanted to make sure I represented as many cultures as possible on my team, and drafted accordingly.

Best pick?

10-Verlander/11-Frank Thomas/12-Lugo. I can't decide.

Worst pick?

Hard to say, but I was quite close to having Hamels instead of Myers, so I think jumping on Wells may have cost me slightly, even though he is going to hit.

Any holes you need to fill? Do you prefer to trade to improve your team? Work the waiver wire? Pray?

I need to get an outfielder, and I have excess quality pitching to trade. Brad Hawpe should be rotting on my bench like 2004 David Wright, while some poor schmuck is platooning Corey Koskie and Pedro Feliz. Pray not, for there is no God, and your prayers will not prevent your going under.

Any secrets to your success?

My main advantage over this big box of dim bulbs is my exemplary intrinsic brilliance, which shines through to light my efforts in most everything that I attempt, and such limited and agymnastic individuals as Matt Kraemer cannot even comprehend in theory the astonishing breadth of the spectrum that I perceive. Also, this year I went so far as to ignore one of my team's traditional ethical roster restrictions and draft a motherfucking Marlin with my second pick, just so Vasco wouldn't casually walk off with the SB like some linen-clad Euro cutpurse. That is how serious I am about winning. Also, I have Ryan Howard, the best player you've ever seen.

Die Album Die or Long Live Singles and B-Side Comps

2007-03-27T09:57:00.000-04:00

Ed. Note: I was on my last leg. I couldn't take the purity of the indie rock coming from SXSW any longer. Even in the nut house, I kept hearing it. Then, one more head butt against my cell walls away from killing myself, I heard what sounded like LCD SS "Sound Of Silver." The song was getting louder and I immediately started to pull myself together. Next thing I knew a wrecking ball crashed through my cell, and almost instantly, another crane snatched me away. Assman and Crazy Carl, thank you guys. Also, big ups to cranes and disco music.-- JS

It has become hot for artists to include only a few new songs in their "albums". Hey, I call it like I hear it, they're releasing comps.

Be honest with yourself and your audience, fellas. And ponder this: shouldn't you allow the old material to stand as it was originally released, on its own. Give us new music or at least follow the lead of artists from the good old days of 2006: record new versions of the singles for the album.

Ditchfork (Part 1)

2007-03-21T12:15:00.000-04:00

Ed. Note -- Jake is still in the insane asylum in Austin. We're currently forming a rescue operation though. Hopefully, we won't be too late. This piece was something he'd been working on for a while. We thought he'd want us to go ahead and run it. -- CJR

I remember the days when Pitchfork would cover new trends. Now it seems they just defend the old ones. They turned me on to artistis such as Deerhoof, The Rapture, Black Dice, and Madlib. Some of this website's staff had realized that young people might and should want to listen to something other than indie rock. But it seems that a new faction has seized the power at Pitchfork. Now that indie has become the new yuppified mainstream, and the powers that are have realized that they have a product from which they can make millions, Pitchfork clearly has set up shop in the sadsack world of mostly shitty indie and has begun persuading its audience to do the same. Forward thinking has been sacrificed for the availability of the dollar.

Now let me just say that I think Pitchfork still does some good. Look no further than Tuesday's LCD review. You'll find the best review of the year so far. And while sometimes days behind a story, and while clearly subversive in tone, in the sense that they're pushing asshole language and opinions as the only cool, the News section is so comprehensive that one must use it. For the most part, my problem is with the new section, Forkcast.

I know that you might think that I'm biased, because for a very brief time early last year, I reviewed a few dance tracks for Pitchfork, but I say this honestly, that before, during, and for a brief time after I wrote for the website, as a regular reader, the old Track Reviews (RIP) section, which Forkcast has replaced, was undoubtedly the highlight of the website for me. I could get an idea, quickly, about diversity in music. The format also allowed for some of the site's more colorful reviews, and yes, I mean the ones that would shit all over their songs. That doesn't happen much anymore in the almost all-positive Forkcast section. What about the material? The new Pitchfork has overlooked so many recent, non-indie tracks. What about Depeche Mode - The Sinner In Me (Villalobos Conclave Remix)? Shit, they have the biggest Ricardo freak on the planet, Phil Sherburne, writing for them, and they didn't have him review Villalobos' best remix? Or take Stephen Marley's "The Traffic Jam." How are the non-MTV Jams-watching indie kids going to find out about this gem? Also, the hip-hop coverage, that allowed the site's best writers to deal with what they know best, has all but vanished. So many Lil Wayne tracks. Why can't I get some Dombal/Fennessey/Breihan/Macia on "Army Gunz"? Two of these writers jumped ship because Pitchfork was, in their minds, never going to be a friendly place for writing about hip-hop. Believe me I could go on for hours listing tracks. Instead, I get banal indie. 75% of the section is devoted to some form of indie rock, most of which is shit, but, hey, it's all available for download! The half-assed music garnering shameful praise is breeding half-assed reviews. Take this Mary Onettes one from a corporate News guy:

Too many revival acts get the spirit but lose the feeling, and even more fall short the other way around (What?). So raise a glass to Sweden's regrettably named Mary Onettes, who manage to pull all the right strings (har har) (fart noise) on "Lost". It's a soaring throwback epic ready-made for the wallflower protagonist of a film, from an era where (when) pop stars wore frills, mascara, and bleached hair.

The Onettes' first single for indie pop powerhouse Labrador sounds familiar right away and will have you mining your mixtapes and grey matter for the precise 80s act these four are mimicking so lovingly. For starters, those opening notes nail "Age of Consent" (which they don't) hook, line, and sinker (then why would you have to mine your mixtapes?); feel free to fill in the blanks from there.

While it sounds lost in translation at first, titular refrain line "When lost is all you have" reveals these Swedes to have a more nuanced understanding of their second language than one might think (How so? I dare someone to convince me that 'And I know you feel / the weight that's ***on*** your back / can get you through / when lost is all you have" really means something.). Vocalist Philip Ekström saves the high notes for "If I could dream a way," as concisely wistful (indeed) a pop sentiment as any.

"Lost" doesn't have the vicissitudes that distinguish spiritual forbearers like "If You Leave", "Bizarre Love Triangle", and "Take on Me", but it nonetheless stands tall among these and other romantic pop milestones. Your innovation-craving mind may be skeptical, but your nostalgic (a song's being nostaglic alone is not enough for such high marks) heart will grow fonder with every note.

Of the remaining 25% of the section, Pitchfork gives a good portion of the ink to new, but facile and low-b Girl Talk/Diplo type remixes. Read this (and be sure to check the link, it's to the Pfork review) critique triggered by another Forkcast entry. To take it one step further, I have to think that a lot of the blame for the increase of these shitty remixes belongs to PF for bestowing them with good reviews. It's mutually advantageous: the artists get their 5 minutes, and the site not only gets to appear to keep in touch with The New, but also to lavish it on their audience.

This may seem trivial, but I honestly know Pitchfork has huge influence. I actually learned the number of daily hits sometime in 2004 and was stunned. I can't imagine how many times that number has multiplied by now. And the thought deeply saddens me, that if I'm still alive 30 or so years from now, my kid may only get to listen to new "I'm From Barcelona" records and tell me how they've changed his life, entirely due to the agenda pushed by one of, if not the, main authority on alt music of our generation.

This Is My SXSW Post

2007-03-16T12:00:00.000-04:00

The Diarrhea Faces

I've institutionalized myself in the musical utopia of Austin, Texas.

The bands were so good, I knew I needed to be restrained. I don't know when or if I'm getting out, Philly. Things are so awesome here that the doctors only grant one opportunity to blog about it. So, I am insanely pleased to give to you perhaps my final blog post:

T.P.O.'s Top 50 Discoveries from this year's SXSW (So Far)

1. The Prep
2. The Gay (Best New Band '06? Can't wait to hear their debut, Smarties: Yum, Yum, Yum!)
3. John Vanderslice
4. The Wtfs
5. The Erections
6. The Asps
7. Tortoise
8. The Chicagos
9. The Deesh
10. Girl Talk
11. The Sad Sacks
12. The Sadnesses
13. The We Are Sads
14. The Blues
15. The Quaint
16. The Coquettes
17. The Old People
18. The Esoterics
19. The Mary Onettes
20. Beirut
21. The Blenders
22. The Pineapple-Coconut Smoothies
23. The Skateboarders
24. The I Feel Sads
25. The Cougars
26. The Sad Mohawks
27. The Sads
28. The Dads
29. The Chores
30. The S.E.C.s (Sausage, Egg and Cheeses)
31. The Farts (noise music)
32. The Words
33. Block Party
34. The
35. The Bravery
36. The We Shit Ourselves and Now We're Sads
37. The Chia Pets
38. The Lovely Sunsets
39. The Poetic Backdrops
40. The Conifers
41. The Spruces
42. The Beeches (In case you couldn't already tell, the tree is 2007's wolf)
43. The Larks
44. The Polar Bears (Ok, I know these guys should be Top 10, but they were just a little off when I heard them)
45. The Coys
46. The Fawn
47. The English Bulldogs
48. The Vanna Whites
49. The Tears
50. The Rivers of Sadnesses

Mims the Word

2007-03-14T09:00:00.000-04:00

My computer is an iBook G4. My homepage for Safari is apple.com/start. For the last two weeks, each time I open the browser, I have to see that Mims' "This Is Why I'm Hot" is topping iTunes downloads.

You can read this, and I could tell you that I gave Young Jeezy's "Go Getta" 3 stars for my iTunes rating, to understand that I have clearly become one of Hipsterism's best apologists for main-stream hip-hop. But there's no way I can pardon Mims' climb to the top. Songs like "This Is Why I'm Hot" are the reason that pretentious stalwarts of bush league indie rock still think they have a point.

First off, the song contains the most egregious use of guap to date. Then there's the whole "I'm hot cause I'm fly, you ain't cause you not" business, or in other words, "You're not hot, I'm not you, here are 500 ways I differ from you, thus I am hot." Well apparently Mims must not know bout us! T.P.O.'s official hotornot.com rating is 9.4. Clearly, there's no way that Mims would do any better than 9.2.

But on a serious note: the rhyme pattern blows, the diction is stale, and according to Mims he is hot for the same exact reasons that every rapper in the history of rap has been hot. Not hot.

And really, if Mims were hot, wouldn't he be doing a little better on Google Image searches?

Youtube Essay: Serious/Serious?/Not Serious

2007-03-12T09:30:00.000-04:00

The following Youtube Essay contains some serious content. Not all videos are ideal for at-work viewing.

SERIOUS

SERIOUS?

NOT SERIOUS

BONUS CRO COP HIGHLIGHTS

Breaking News: New M.I.A. Record Leaks!

2007-03-10T16:29:00.000-05:00

Rad SS gigposter by Strawberryluna

"Exclusive: "T.N.M.I.A.R.I.G.2S.", from M.I.A.'s new record, Bento

Scissor Sisters
The Electric Factory
03/02/07

The year was 2004. The date, September 8th. That evening, Scissor Sisters played a way-sold-out show at The Khyber in Philly (incidentally, it was also the first night of the fun, but short-lived, "Cobras & Matadors" Wednesdays!). They exploded people's minds with their refreshing mix of totally-danceable neo-disco-meets-fag-hag-theatre-rock and over-the-top stage antics. "Take Your Mama" was a minor hit at the time, so it was no surprise that the show was utterly freaking packed. During the time that Scissor Sisters graduated from Pretzel-lovin' crowds of 250 to 2,500, their ability to translate their songs into body movin' live anthems has impressively improved. At their recent Electric Factory show, first-album hits like "Tits On The Radio" and "Filthy/Gorgeous" were effectively enhanced with bouncier synth basses and steady 4/4 drum beats. Meanwhile, newer SS tracks "I Don't Feel Like Dancin'" and "Lights" and "Kiss You Off" (à la Stuart Price) naturally translated quite well to the we-do-feel-like-dancin' crowds of flamboyant men, large women, and run-of-the-mill hipsters that SS (understandably) attract. I'm not usually one to judge or psychoanalyze, but I have a message for that dude who looked so miserable during the show, standing with his hands in his pockets, looking disgusted, accompanying his girlfriend (who was having a great time in spite of his BS): You're obviously a serious homophobe and you need to consider dealing with your issues. (You also probably wouldn't know a good album from a video game soundtrack and are sadly incapable of loving another human being.) And yo... Don't forget to change your socks & clocks!

TPO's Beautiful Philly Roadshow presents The Manayunk Project

2007-03-06T09:30:00.000-05:00

The #1 most common complaint about Philadelphia: low fucking culture. No offense to those who do their best to keep us out of the toilet tank. For example, Philadelphia is way less grim than Baltimore. However, Philadelphia is inferior to New York, because there are too many dickheads fucking everything up. Now, how can there be progress without protest?

The municipal zoo for douchey behavior in Philadelphia is Manayunk. There are some joints there where the rock music that people listen to in Iowa and Montana and Iraq plays all night long, and other places where the DJ has just mixed In the Club into a Bow Wow song for the 82nd Friday night in a row. Every live band plays a Sublime cover. Sometime later tonight, the shittiest college kid this side of the Mason-Dixon line will finger a Northeast girl who will drive 45 minutes home while blackout drunk and then smoke weed with her 33-year-old dad. Everybody loves McNabb in every single bar in Manayunk.

One night in the near future, representatives of The Publications Office will be coordinating Project Manayunk. Participants will dress, and prepare to act, like they are going to Medusa Lounge or Fluid, but instead they will convene in Manayunk. T.P.O. wants to take, let's say, everybody who knows Dave P, and try to get something going on the dance floors at Kildare's.

T.P.O. will capture video from several perspectives and edit it into a coherent feature. Designated security will accompany the project, and female participants will be shielded at all times from Manayunk date rapists. Desirable prizes will be awarded in the following categories:

-Best photo of a Manayunk dude who has got his ass up
-Best photo of a dumb slutty bitch
-Best 1 minute of footage
-Best homophobic reaction induced
and/or
-Best dancing

More info to come; in the meantime, please refrain from washing your hoodies.

New Look, But The Same People Can't Stop Staring

2007-03-05T18:38:00.000-05:00

How I feel about TPO's new layout, as expressed in terms of Rowdy New York Bitch myspace emblems:

And, I ain't bragging, I'm just the fucking best, you know it, and when you talk about me you show it. This layout and me are two raw ass bitches with a hearts of gold, and we will straight up end you if you fuck with me or say shit behind my back. Me and my chicks are hard as bricks, we drink till we fall down but we puke till we rally! You already know... tHAt's whY MY NamE iS On YOUR LIPS... AND WE'VE NEVER EVEN MET... SO YOU DON't KNOW mE!

----------------------------------------------------

I'd also like to thank our sponsor for the new format, Big Spendas Lifestyle Entertainment, throwing the hottest parties all over the greater New York area, featuring the hottest girls from Westchester to HOBOKEN serving up $6 test tube shots of Jager, featuring DJ Aaron Ruiz spinning the hottest new Billy Joel-Tiesto mashups on Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday. This is why we're hot!

Help support TPO, buy an official Big Speezy bumper sticker!

Also, we are proud to offer for sale our first TPO Lifestyle Series T-Shirt, in partnership with American Apparel:

FRONT:

BACK:

Coldplay's Chris Martin Writes Quote The Perfect Song Unquote? I Write The Perfect Blog Post, No Quotes, No Question Mark

2007-03-05T09:00:00.000-05:00

Read this.

According to the journalist, Martin "called" the song "quintessential." Though nowhere in the shown quote does he use the word quintessence, there is an ellipsis, and it seems like that would be the perfect place to drop the word or its concept. So grant it that Martin did call the song "quintessential."

quin·tes·sence [kwin-tes-uhns] –noun
1.
the pure and concentrated essence of a substance.
2.
the most perfect embodiment of something.

dictionary.com

Did you get a good look at the picture? I don't think this guy is fucking around. I think Martin may have actually made THE PERFECT SONG.

I don't even know where to begin, this would be so fucking awesome. "The Song" would be all that I'd ever have to listen to, all that I'd ever want to listen to. I wouldn't have to feel guilty about file sharing because it would stop. No longer feeling guilty about free music, I wouldn't have to buy hundreds of records a year (hey those singles from Juno add up) as penance. I would save so much money that I could finally invest in some biotechs and junk bonds and really boost the economy. So much of my time would be freed up. I wouldn't have to waste hours out of my day searching for Radio Slave and Ricardo Villalobos remixes. I would begin to write an Extras script. I would do community service. I would become a DJ-- "The Song" would surely be able to accomodate every dancefloor need. Great cultural divides would be bridged: Hip-hop hand-in-hand with twee, house with classical, jazz with blues, indie rock with indie pop with shoegaze, disco with space disco, Phish with Dave Matthews. All of your iPod hard drive space could be used for movies, and best of all, the iPod Shuffle would be so fucking small!

I wonder about the length of the song. If I had a guess, I'd say 4:55.

Are You Havin A Laugh? I Am

2007-03-02T14:23:00.000-05:00

Another Friday with T.P.O.

Got a really strong response for the last one, so here's another perfectly planned Friday for you, our readers, as only we can bring it to you.

Start off by taking care of business:

Next, hit the links:

Get a date:

Finish the night by impressing your date with some new moves:

Dear James...

2007-03-01T13:31:00.000-05:00

Who is that handsome man in the portrait above the mantle?

So these are the latest upcoming LCD Soundsystem tour dates. As the story often sadly goes, the itinerary has been released without a Philly date! But as the story ultimately goes, we're quite sure one will be added later (we Philadelphians here at T.P.O. can read the holes in touring itineraries like Neo can read 1s & 0s).

But, James, just so you know, dude, we want our Philly date as soon as possible! However, James, please feel free to take our suggestions at this time, since we are in the fortunate position of suggesting the exact details of what we want from your TBA Philly date. Check it:

1. Location: Powell House ballroom***
(where George & Martha Washington celebrated their 20th anniversary!)
2. Capacity: 75-100
3. Openers: Dave P. & co., Simian Mobile Disco, 2 Many DJs
4. Post-set DJs: Daft Punk dressed as Ben Franklins
5. Theme: "A Rave-o-lutionary Dance War" (ie, A Colonial Rave: fake muskets, real glow sticks)
6. Catering: Pretzels, but no cheesesteaks (let's keep it classy)
7. Date: We'll let James pick the date.

So you got all that, James? Can't wait!

***Dancing ban temporarily lifted for this event only!

T.P.O. Records To VH1's Ego Trip's The White Rapper Show's John Brown: We'll Put Your Record Out

2007-02-27T00:29:00.000-05:00

John Brown on that dime shit!

This Just In: White Rapper John Brown Robbed of VH1 Show's Top Prize

Needless to say that most of this show was unfunny, over-scripted, and banal, but it did have some bright spots. Most of these moments were authored by a wide-eyed youth calling himself John Brown. I'll face facts: right now I could give two shits about rappers that get their philosophical/social-consciousness asses up, which were half of the show's contestants. The rest were either haters (Persia) or bitches (Sullee). On the other hand, Brown crafted a unique and original persona, "The King of the Burbs", accompanied by his "Hallelujah Hollaback" catch phrase, which gave his songs freshness. On the song that he performed for the finale, ingeniously titled "Car Wars", Brown raps about a necessity for rich suburban kids to have the dopest rides. Initially, it seems a light topic, but the wordplay captivates the listeners, and reveals the song as having underlying meaning, informing us that black rappers/hustlers aren't the only people that want to stunt, that the priviliged white suburban youth also feels compelled to do it. Brown lost to Shamrock, whose song was about hating on people that hated on him. Eghck! Ultimately, Shamrock won because throughout the show he displayed the greatest work ethic and also the most obsequiousness to host MC Serch and the guest judges. Republican bullshit! JB, you deserved to win.

And In Other News: VH1 Show Reveals Hip-Hop Producer/Mixtape Mogul Clinton Sparks Is White

With that name, who would have thought to Google Image it? Unless, of course, you knew about this mixtape.

Attack of the Paranoidpornsword Killer (Part III)

2007-02-23T16:01:00.000-05:00

Yeah. It was sort of an atypical day. Anyway. The time was just after 5pm. I had just gotten home from a long day of eating pretzels and looking at the Liberty Bell in contemplation (as I often do on Wednesdays). I took off my soggy shoes as soon as I walked in the house. The snow was melting quickly now that the sun had returned from its extended weekend. Suddenly, I remembered that I had a DVD I'd been meaning to watch. "Aw, Dennis," I said to myself. The due date was fast approaching so there was no better time to watch it. Changed my attire, grabbed a blanket, and basked I did! Boy, was I relaxing! And the movie wasn't half bad to be honest! ...Until my neighbor... well... just check this out. Anyway.

*Note: names and locations have been changed to protect the identities of those involved.

Hey, Apples In Stereo, Shame On You

2007-02-22T14:38:00.000-05:00

The Fonz successfully jumping over the Apples In Stereo @ The North Star:

Me, not so much:

The Apples In Stereo
The North Star
2/16/07- 2/17/07

John Vanderslice's live show sucks because he takes way too long to set up, demurely talks to the crowd way too much, and doesn't do anything.

The Applies In Stereo put on a worse live show than John Vanderslice. The Apples In Stereo put on the worst live show I've ever gone to.

They also did a terrible job of pulling a "The North Star": devising an imaginary obstacle that the headlining band needs to overcome before they can start their set, thereby holding the audience hostage at the North Star for an entire Friday night and forcing them to drink overpriced beer. Apples' excuse, the lead singer all the sudden got a sore throat, but assuredly after a few cups of hot tea with lemon, which took an hour and a half to drink, he was just fine, and they pressed on, and as they promised during the wait, they "rocked us out." If, by "rocking us out", they meant doing this

to us, then they succeded.

Pulp Diction

2007-02-16T12:49:00.000-05:00

That easy, huh...

I think it pretty safe to say that a majority of people under 40 would admit to at least liking Pulp Fiction. The movie epitomizes our generation's notion of cool. The characters talk fast and dirty and sharp, and they all live extraordinary lives, killing, doping, dancing-- no nine-to-fivers. When we watch this movie, we satisfy a repressed curiosity and yearning for the distasteful. Decorum (and i think rightly so) demands nearly all of our time, but eventually you feel the urge to tell decorum to go fuck itself, and that is when you pop Pulp Fiction in your DVD player. Well, I think that listening to certain coke-hop can also satiate that appetite.

Take this mixtape by Juelz Santana and Lil Wayne, Blow: The I Can't Feel My Face Prequel. I got my hands on it about a week ago, and since then it has completely seized me. It's not what Elz and Weezy are saying, it's how they're saying it. This is poetry at its finest, new and elegant. It's just like listening to Tarantino's Vincent and Jules for the first time. I could quote the record ad infinitum to hammer the point, but a few examples from Santana should do the trick:

"I cook good, make it look good, damn straight. / Put coke in the pot, take out pancakes. / Double stacks, triple stacks, why not? / I got that syrup too, jus call me IHOP."

"... fiends go to work, after the work you sell 'em. / They know they got to buy more, they head hurt, they eyes sore. / You sellin' that cheap rock, sheetrock, drywall /... I be chef, the chef / you never have to rechef what I chef. Comprende?"

"Now let me introduce the world to my girl. / She white, she bright, she shine like a pearl. / And I ain't talkin' 'bout Lindsey Lohan / I'm talkin' 'bout that sniff, that blow man."

I know that this kind of Rap can be misunderstood, and that it should in no way fall upon the youth. But it would be a great mistake to eradicate such creativeness and polish of language. It does serve a purpose. It does create a fanciful world for adults, just like the world of Tarantino's Pulp Fiction, in which we can safely transgress the restraints of ordered society and briefly don the costume of a bad ass. I think that listening to Blow or watching Pulp Fiction can be healthy activities if we use them to cathartically purge our frustrations and fulfill our fantasies, not establish them.

Freestyle Blogging

2007-02-09T11:00:00.000-05:00

I guess it's possible

Exclusive: Adam Sparkles - T.P.O. Mix

First, many thanks to Adam Sparkles, one of the city's best djs, for a stellar mix. We know it'll liven up your weekend as much as it did our week. Check out the track list here.

I didn't get into some of the previous year's best music until it was too late, but here are some things that should have been included in my best of '06:

Birdman & Lil' Wayne - Stuntin' Like My Daddy
Bell X1 - Flame (Chicken Lips Rmx)
Depeche Mode - Sinner In Me (Ricardo Villalobos Rmx)
Ricardo Villalobos - Fizheuer Ziheuer
My My - Got It
2020 Soundsystem (Feat. The Glass) - No Order (2020 Soundsystem Rmx)
Goldfrapp - Fly Me Away (C2 Rmx 4)
X-Press 2 (Feat. Rob Harvey) - Kill 100 (Carl Craig Rmx)
Sunset Rubdown - Sunset Rubdown EP
Wolf Eyes - Human Animal

After finally caving in and subscribing to Bloglines, I've reentered the world thanks to Yahoo! News. Apparently some pretty terrible shit has been happening, especially this. I am anxious about the precedent this would set-- only a matter of time before it hits Philly. Do they really expect me to be walking along, a minute or so into "Get Innocuous", right before the drums kick in, and pause that just to cross the street? How about all cars yielding to pedestrians in crosswalks no matter what, or Back to the Future cars?

Speaking about iPods, I wonder when the touch-screen iPod will debut. I hope it's soon. I've been advising everyone I know that buying an iPod now would be just about the dumbest thing you could do. After watching the Macworld keynote and seeing the iPod capabilities of iPhone-- well that's just it, the touch-screen iPod already exists. I know that the phone isn't slated to hit until June or July, and that mass production takes a long time, but Apple has always been so on point with the iPod, that I can't imagine them hoarding this technology for that long. And it's so next level, the ability to "touch your music." I'd imagine a camera being thrown in the mix as well, maybe digital voice recording capabilities and the email suite too, everything today's youth could ever need in a 2x3x.2 inch box. I know I'd regret not waiting the extra however long for such a radically better product.

Everybody's probably sick of my recent obsession with the HBO series Extras. Its over-the-top way of dealing with touchy subjects makes you cringe instead of laugh sometimes, but it seems to be confronting important social issues every bit as head-on as let's say Mind of Mencia, and in actually funny and much more realistic ways. I mean that last episode detailed a no homo gone wrong. What could be more relevant than that?

Packing on New York Moving Eve

2007-02-08T19:23:00.000-05:00

I feel grossly unconfident. I pretty much failed at New York: Round 1. September 1, 2006 I moved on a whim, maybe wanting to be a bigshot Japanese-corporate power suit. (Pennsylvania State University Main Campus' ubiquitous Business School assholes probably had an influence there) It also must be said that New York was home to a crushed-upon boy but- er, well, in reality I truly forget my rationale back then. However, tonight I am back in Fihdehfiya and in the process of packing for the second attempt. To move up for good this time and be an actress and- Why did I leave? T.P.O's inquiring readers might ask. The bottom line is Lyme disease (undiagnosed in the very etymological sense of the word) masquerading as as infestation of bed bugs no es bueno para el cuerpo. End scene.

Anyway, tonight I was sorting through all my goddamned SHIT when I had a black hole, What am I doing moment. True, I'd been dreading this, battling against it by sleeping at either of my brothers' houses for days on end as to be away from my room. My room crammed with all my SHIT, some of which must be sorted for New York- bound rolling suitcases. Last night, at said brother's, I was enlisted to clean his room and do his laundry- for a fair price. I was caffeinated, so the request was agreeable. Now, brother is not one for organisation of his room. So much so that a fairly prim friend of mine, after visiting the space noted and commented days later. Yeah, guy floor was home to many, many CVS receipts and pennies and coffee cups. However, my brother was perfectly okay with with me "messing with" everything in his space. Everything! This made me spazz. My brother's room was a perfectly utilitarian space for him and not a den of old superfluous emotionally-tied crap. This I blame for my frenzy now. I cannot get it together and pack. Just what things do I need to hack it in Gotham City so I can have a room free of bullshit?!

I know this is no novel dilemma- I've even heard that ancient people believed it necessary to raze and burn their town every couple of years- to keep life simple. Just yesterday some magazine was staring me in the face with its "Ponder the type of life you want to have in your new home. Ask yourself which of your belongings will help you create that life and which will not." Well, I don't flipping know!! My tentative plan is a huge suitcase of hygeine acoutremonts and non-splashy clothing and my guitar, easily stowable in the belly of the illustrious Fung Wah. But not a stick of furniture, Biss? Not a bed? How will you find comfort in your new room? Will crash with friends while feung shui-ing my room. Will get any and all furniture from local garage sales. Maybe I'll even paint my room- who knows? Tomorrow is the deadline, resistant as I am to separate myself SO MUCH STUFF!!

Okay, okay I did say feung shui back there. I've been in people's houses who have studied this; I usually depart envious. (And full of Community Sustainable Game Meat) Yesterday I told my brother feung shui is supposed to bring prosperity- and that I planned to be a slave it in my new environ. Brother doesn't believe in 'prosperity', he says. Frankly, he had a point. And I was back-a to square one. My brother had nothing to hide in his room- and wouldn't it be nice to live somewhere like that?

Ahem.

An Inability to Plan for a Content. New York. Lifestyle: Redux

and

Shame for Failing the First Time and for Having Too Many Belongings

are the same damned thing. This bites.

The Sinner In Me

2007-02-05T11:47:00.000-05:00

I was a philosophy major, so I ask you to indulge me...

Why did Tony Dungy win the Super Bowl? According to him, it was because of his faith. I think that's ridiculous. If it were up to his faith there would be no winner, because there would be no competition, every one would deeply feel an unconditional urge to help their neighbor-- there are no winners and losers in Christianity, just winners. Dungy did partake in the competition, his team left full of pride and accomplishment, Luvie Smith's full of disappointment and loss, therefore Tony has a desire to conquer, but no faith. And the reason, ultimately, why his team won the Super Bowl was not master strategy. Listen, football is a set science with set actions and reactions, and assuming that both sides have equally complete knowledge of the science, over the course of the game, the measures and countermeasures should cancel out. No, Dungy won because his bloodthirsty pack of savages were a little more thirsty and a whole lot more savage than the other guy's. So Tony Dungy is America's role model, the faithful sheep, the good Christian, a GOOD person. But it looks to me like he's nothing more than a hypocrite and an idiot. Though Dungy is stupid, it would appear he's still a good person. I disagree-- a stupid person can in no way be a good person.

America, if you're reading (and judging from my hit counter you are), we need to chastise stupidity. It goes against our nature. Aristotle, Metaphysics, line 1: "All men, by nature, desire to know." How proud Aristotle would be at our progress, that in 2,000 years, the world's dominant nation has completely suppressed that urge! Stupid people, sheep, are inhuman. They are irrational and overly emotional. They can not understand the causes of things, they have no ability to formulate solutions. They are impetuous, they often start wars for no good reason. They don't see the larger picture, they are too egotistical, even those like Dungy, a guy that is probably so solipsistically wrapped up in his own faith, he doesn't make time for hearing other prospectives, specifically atheistic ones. (Which, by the way, I'm not championing.) Irrationality breeds greed and the desire to crush. It does not make the world a better place.

Is it just me, or is this really depressing? I guess that we could content ourselves with the fact that improvements have been occurring throughout history. We are no longer neanderthals, we cooked meat, we built cities, crushed fascism. But I think we have regressed somewhat, that present-day America has eradicated some earlier progress. It's as though Karl Marx had never penned "religion is the opiate of the masses." It as though Latin has been entirely forgotten, that the Latin word religio meant bind back, enslave. In a country with so many great technological advantages, specifically, the availability of computers and the educational abilities of the internet, why has this happened? I can think of only two reasons. First, the majority of the human race doesn't have the intellectual capacity to realize what's going on, at which point you need to ask why our punditry, why our political leaders, the intellectually fit, are not taking counter measures. Second, the majority doesn't want to use their intellectual capacity, they are fine with being sheep, fine with being animals, don't care about being human, and that the intellectually fit, succumbing to their own irrational greed, are fine with them remaining that way. Alas, there is nobody to drag us from the cave. We are forever doomed to darkness. Jesus Christ it's time for another French Revolution!

But hey, I am just a Communist and an atheistic asshole. The sheep and Tony Dungy have the right idea. Eventually, they'll be slaughtered and then they'll be in heaven.

This Is My LCD Soundsystem Post

2007-02-02T14:31:00.000-05:00

Wait until they hear "Get Innocuous"

Probably my favorite band, um, recording moniker. You really do have to remind yourself that James Murphy crafts 99.993% of LCD's material. Listen to yourself say it: "James Murphy is LCD Soundsystem." It is how he expresses himself. The depth with which he expresses himself on his new record due out in March, Sound of Silver, devastates me.

So far, LCD Soundsystem has been about levity and play. Its most lauded song, "Losing My Edge", is about not taking oneself seriously. "Beat Connection", "Too Much Love", and "Never As Tired As When I'm Waking Up" are about The Game. There was the extremely unsubtle swipe at every artist that released a song in 2003, "Yeah." In 2005 Daft Punk played his house and fat guys were singing left and right. Now believe me, I know that "On Repeat" and "Disco Infiltrator" are about The System. But though the lyrics can at times be most relevant and weighty, the frivolity of the music and the "geek out" reactions that occur to it make LCD's catalogue prior to S.o.S., make James Murphy prior to sometime after the self-titled release, seem immature.

LCD Soundsystem had a pretty big impact on the indie dance music scene. It opened the flood gates, and now more than ever, truly immature music is overwhelming the market, e.g. The Klaxons, Kitsune. It is only fitting that LCD, (let's just say) the band, that arguably spawned this epidemic, cure it. Well, Sound of Silver is a very mature record. The "silver" is polish. Before you even listen to the record, Murphy is conveying through the title that what you're about to hear is not cheap and quick, but painstaking and rich.

Murphy has always proclaimed a deep love for disco, the genre of silver, and on Silver he immediately honors it with a new standard, opener "Get Innocuous." No dance punk here, thus, we are healed. "Time to Get Away" bluntly advises knowing when to call it quits, when to stop feeling guilty and when to move on, and the music falls in line as well, no house synths, no arpeggios, just simple Rock. "Daft Punk Is Playing At My House" is a poor man's "North American Scum," a song which wisely realizes that most people in Europe are snobby assholes, and that N. Americans that don't embrace their own culture are even bigger assholes (e.g. me, but I really am trying to change now-- I just downloaded all the records by The Doors. Strange Days is great). "Us V. Them" places rock before disco, flipping the "Beat Connection/On Repeat" formula, and reiterates the Caddyshack "slobs" (us) v. snobs" (them) theme. "Watch the Tapes" informs Upper-Middle class America that it sucks. "New York I Love You, But..." hypothesizes that New York reached its capacity in culture, in business, in population some time ago, maybe 5 or 10 years, and that any further development will actually suffocate the city to such a degree that, well, you better have an awesome girlfriend before you move there. ("Mother told you true... maybe there'll always be someone there for you and you'll never be alone... but maybe she's wrong, maybe I'm right... and so here's this song.") But I haven't even talked about the good songs yet.

The title track really breaks new ground in terms of LCD. Just when you think you're going to get a disco banger, when that beat and that bass get you going, the piano sounds, the drip efx kick in, and the cerebral smacks you in the face. You're paralyzed. Even when the bass returns, you don't move, you just stand there, jaws agape, "Ahing" along with Murphy at his ethereal creation.

"All My Friends"-- I know what every critic is going to say about this one: "Here, Murphy masterfully apes New Order"-- should not be so quickly classified. It is much more than a New Order pastiche. First, the piano is so sincere and almost overly symbolic: you touch it, converse with it, no third party (power) necessary, just you and an old friend. Second, the song's message. The song warns against forgetting your friends and the importance of shared human experience, warns against becoming an introvert and a workaholic. This is a song that each male prep school in the country's graduating class should play at its senior prom. Trust me.

Lastly, there's "Someone Great", James Murphy's song about loss. Whether he's talking about a parent or his first love or his best friend, shit maybe even his dog, it doesn't matter, the phrasing is that beautiful:

"To tell the truth I saw it coming / the way you were breathing. But nothing can prepare you for it / the voice on the other end... the coffee isn't even bitter / because what's the difference... and then it keeps coming / til the day it stops... there shouldn't be this reign of silence / but what are the options / when someone great has gone?"

James, clearly you decided to grow up. Thanks, bro. Before Sound of Silver you gave me music I could enjoy, now I have something to cherish.

My Hustle 2

2007-01-30T11:27:00.000-05:00

Jack Bauer has just dived through their window

A few new things I discovered this weekend:

Matt Tinari is really intense when it comes to "Scattergories." But the intensity in no way rivals his brilliance at the game. He also knows all about pussy jizz.

Georges Duboeuf's Merlot is awesome and it only costs ten bucks for the big bottle.

Everybody should snag the edit of Panda Bear's "Bros" if they have a sec. The album version clocks in at over 12 minutes, with the final seven minutes doing that sprawling jam thing, so its nice to have the catchy part of the song at your disposal.

While we're on the subject of music, because it had linked T.P.O. (thanks btw), I found a crit/mp3 blog with really good taste in dance music. I fully co-sign the Killer Mike critique.

The bar between 2nd and 3rd on Market, the one that is only identified by the stained-glass window above the door which reads "Tavern", has as much of that Nietzschean "relaxed/content man in a Dingey during a hurricane" appeal as does The Khyber, maybe more. We went there on Saturday night. While having a cig, we were able to make fun of all the people waiting to get into Red Sky. Later that evening, a dj came in and played Konk's still amazing "Baby Dee."

London Broiled lunchmeat and Emeril's "Smooth Honey Mustard."

Ma'am: Shush (or, The Motherfucking Car)

2007-01-27T15:56:00.000-05:00

First, a word about Roxborough. Roxborough is fucking terrible. It's the most asshole neighborhood I've ever spent a lot of time around, even worse than lacrosse suburbs in Baltimore. Guys from Andorra can turn out all right, I guess, but it seems like the further one wanders from Andorra, the more fat hardass white kids are dressing like Fat Joe and walking around with their eyes 3/4 closed, looking for Oxycontin or their bookie. They were the kids whose dads came to baseball practice in Eagles sweatpants and tried to taunt the coach into a fight from the back of the bleachers, while smoking Black and Milds. They turned into kids whose actual favorite thing to do, no exaggeration, is to punch each other, in a practice known as Roxboxing. They're also the kind of dickheads who break into cars, but most of them are too pussy to do anything more dangerous than selling shitty weed. Roxborough kids have the worst possible taste in movies (Rush Hour 2), music (Tupac and radio rock) in the world.

Oh, and then there are Roxborough girls. I would rather kill myself than marry a girl with a Roxborough accent. They wear Nautica fleece pants, big earrings and big perfume.

T.P.O. performed a study, and determined that it has been 7 years since the last time that anyone who lived in Roxborough uttered a sentence that was not, in some way, stupid.

With that out of the way, here's the best Philadelphia argument I've heard since I was a kid, from the other day, noted on location in Roxborough:

(Big, young, cornfed, douchey looking dude appears with a puss on his face)

Angry Man: "Jim, get out here and move this motherfucking piece of shit fucking car you got sittin right in front of my fucking house!"

(Jim, older man, appears)

Jim: "What you mean, you don't own the spot there, get away from my car."

Angry Man: "Jim, fuck you, you don't move your fucking car I'm gonna, it's gonna, you're lucky there's no sticker on that car because you motherfucking never move your fucking CAR RAH RAH RRRHRHAHRHAHRHARHHH"

Jim: "Asshole, get outta here"

Angry Man: "Jim, you've got a garage and a driveway, you've got two cars, there's twoaya, you never use this motherfuckin car and you always, you got people in this street, you got neighbors, they have... spot, you need spots for when... you gotta start to think about your neighbors RAHAHRHAHHh

Jim: "You're an asshole."

"If you don't move that motherfuckin' car it's gonna get moved, Jim!"

Jim: "Get away from my car."

"Think about your fuckin' NEIGHBORS! RAAAHRARARARARRAHRH"

(Older lady emerges onto her porch, next door)

Lady: "(something I couldn't hear, but which sounded really stupid)!"

Angry Man: "Ma'am! Ma'am! Shush, Ma'am!"

Lady: "(skreeeeeeech)"

Angry Man: "MA'AM! SHUSH!"

(Dogs start barking)

"Who was that hot guy you took home last night?" "Girl, that was T.P.O!"

2007-01-22T12:55:00.000-05:00

Haha, Haha! T.P.O. keeps it moving.

Girl Talk
Johnny Brenda's
1/19/07

When we heard that Pitchfork upstart, Girl Talk, aka Greg Gillis, was playing Johnny Brenda's we nearly passed out. As hipster currency goes, this guy is 2006-7's Diplo. It's not so much the music, but the spectacle, the event that is Girl Talk, that consumed us. We heard that this guy had discovered the perfect formula for inciting total hedonism at his shows: gangsta trash-infused Nirvana mash-ups + lots of coke + taking your shit off = every possible kind of sex other than missonary. But that description more than understated what we witnessed at JB's.

Most of the show was improvised, or at least it seemed that way. Thus, Girl Talk as an act can play entirely to the crowd. At JB's he immediately picked up on the Philly "ecstasy now or death" vibe, and threw together a rabble-rousing "House of Jealous Lovers"-"10 Dollar"-"Smells Like Teen Spirit" jawn. Lots of Houston rap verses over sped-up rhythms, which birthed disturbingly awkward quick-paced grinding, which looked exactly like stand-up, clothes-on fucking, later, Gillis closed with a masterpiece blend that was too "Philly" for Philly. He let the mix wind to a close and shouted to the crowd, "Hey Cats, you ready for the one I like to call "The Super Soaker?" Then he took his shirt off. Then everybody took their shirt off. Then Spank Rock's "Bump" began playing. Everybody started fucking, clothes-off. He blended in Lil Kim's "Magic Stick." Jesus Christ. Then it happened. Gillis slammed on Belinda Carlisle's "Heaven Is A Place On Earth" and pussy jizz started spraying everywhere. There was so much of the stuff no one could keep their footing, not even those observing from the balcony, i.e. T.P.O. And that was how the show ended, hundreds of naked hipsters, lying devastated in puddles of female ejaculate.

The show, the event, it has changed T.P.O.'s entire philosophy on things. If "trash" can produce SO MUCH sex, gallons and gallons of it, then why not swim in it?

Please don't watch 24.

2007-01-20T15:23:00.000-05:00

People who like 24 also like:

The Eminem Show
Cost-Benefit Analysis
Velvet Revolver
Comparing interest rates
Classic Family Guy
Sister Hazel
Miller Lite
Diddy
Mitshbishi Eclipse
the Yankees
Management Methods
Stupid women
U2
Maxim
Tom Brady and/or the President
Ludacris
Wingtips
2Pac
"Dre's beats"
Subway sandwiches
Shareholders
Hair restoration
Church
Batman Begins
Dunce Capping
Kazooing

Too Much Love (For YouTube)

2007-01-19T12:35:00.001-05:00

Ed. Note: This may be the longest blog post ever. But we like it enough to recommend you set aside 20 odd minutes and experience it in its entirety.

Let's start the perfect Friday post off right, by exercising:

Next, some school (Warning!: serious ripping to follow):

Then some after school recreation:

Followed by a night on the town with Lcd Soundsystem:

After that, late night chillin' with some old friends:

Lastly, some introspection:

"Hibachi": Lenny Kravitz - Are You Gonna Go My Way?

2007-01-17T08:00:00.000-05:00

I was ripping the exercise bike pretty hard yesterday when I peeked this video on the TV above me. It totally pushed me to burn an extra 10.

Maybe you, like I did before yesterday, have forgetten how awesome this video is? Allow me to refresh. First, its setting is either an enormous three-tiered hole in the ground, into which both psychedelic and disco light are poured, or its the innards of a gigantic, again three-tiered, disco ball, or it's the inside of an alien's butt, or it's a combination of the three. Cut it any way you like, it's J. There are hott rock & roll chicks dancing. Its run time is 3:33. EVERYBODY has long hair. Kravitz sports a sleeveless, red, velvet, bell-bottom jump suit!? There's 360 degree paning during the solo. There's a blurred-out tit shot, and the bass player is wearing a cape.

Jesus, fuck, ladies, I would totally get into "Brad Pitt" shape if I had one of those video iPods and could run this video on repeat. Can't afford one right now, but if you're a lady, you can leave a comment to set up a donation.

And You Thought Hurricane Katrina Ruined New Orleans, It Just Razed Philadelphia

2007-01-14T11:45:00.000-05:00

Let's get right to it. Clearly the Saints and the Eagles are the best two teams in the NFC. Clearly their game determined our conference's entrant into the Super Bowl. Clearly either of them could play with Baltimore or Indianapolis. Maybe the Chargers are that much better than everyone else this year, but at least the Saints will get that shot, while we, a city that needed the celebration even more than New Orleans, are left to suffer another Rocky story, while we are left the guy who threw it all on the line, the guy who should have won, but now will simply be another loser. With Donovan Fucking McNabb coming back next year, there'll be no sequel, and that is the worst part of this loss. The fact that now Jeff Garcia, a man who needs to be honored as a hero of the city, is now finished. This was it, a singular moment in time, that has now passed us by. And why? Because of that fucking hurricane, because of the fact that poor officiating still occurs in the NFL (not even the false start, but the phantom Dhani Jones holding call, the lack of which would have forced the Saints to punt and kept the score 21-20) and the fact that our nation is entirely too maudlin.

How To Steal A Banana From The Last Drop

2007-01-11T14:51:00.000-05:00

Want some?

True Story

Look like "The Oracle" from The Matrix.

Smell like egg farts.

Place two "looseys" in your left hand. One between your index and middle fingers, the other between ring and pinky fingers.

Pace around the coffee shop uneasily.

Approach the counter, say absolutely nothing, take two steps left to where the bananas are located. Stare at them. Leave.

Return. Ask for a cup of water. Be told, "there's a pitcher of ice water on the server in the middle of the floor. Help yourself." Leave water-less.

Return. Ask for a cup of water. The counterperson gives you one. Take two steps to the left. Stare at the bananas. Leave.

Return. Approach counter. Say absolutely nothing. Do a few laps. Re-approach counter. Say nothing. Take two steps to the left. Stare at the bananas. Leave.

Return. By now you'll have pissed off / scared the counterperson sufficiently that he / she'll want to get rid of you. Approach counter. Be told to leave. Leave.

Return, smelling like egg farts and the ocean. Approach the counter. Take two steps to the left. Stare at bananas. Leave before being told to.

Return. Approach the counter. Be told to leave for good or face the cops. Stand still for a couple seconds as considering. Lunge for bananas. Snag one and make a break for it. Run two blocks.

Return, causing everyone there to think that you are harmless, just completely off your rocker. Be forced out of the shop. Enjoy banana.

Call Me Apocalypto

2007-01-09T13:11:00.000-05:00

The following scenario:

Jeff Garcia scrambles on 4th and 6, chased by two defensive linemen. He turns the corner, angles toward the sideline. Just past the first down marker, Garcia is tackled by two players directly into Andy Reid, wiping out the ol' Coach and causing him to drop his famous laminated chart of shitty plays. Garcia gets up and dusts himself off, unharmed. Meanwhile, Donovan McNabb, while moonwalking on the sidelines to impress Jevon Kearse, slips on the slick chart and destroys both knees forever. Reid shrieks "MY BOY, MY SWEET BOY!" and dies of a broken heart. Marty Mornhinweg is promoted to head coach, the Eagles draft a QB to develop behind Garcia, and we all live happily ever after.

Bonus Coverage: (Actual, non-satirical) quote from Wilma McNabb, on the subject of Jeff Garcia's popularity in Philadelphia, thanks to Deadspin.

It's kind of bitter sweet for me as my son, the quarterback sits out on injured reserved watching the game during his rehab. I polled my family too and they feel the same. We want our team to win and even go to the Superbowl and win it in Miami especially if they continue to play as they have. But oh oh, if they win the Superbowl without my son, what would be the real outcome with the fans? Will they crucify him? Maybe ... Bitter sweet.

Why I Like The Mummers

2007-01-02T19:51:00.000-05:00

Gigantic, dancing cacti

My full name is James Stanley ("Stosh") Smosinski. I am 31 years old. I have no woman, no kids, no car. I live in the Bustleton Gardens area of Northeast Philadelphia with my parents (who are now getting pretty fucking old), Mary and Fritz Smosinski. 364 days out of the year I come home from the Bud Plant, cause the overtime is too good to turn down, and I gotta catch the same shit from my folks. "Why did I waste all that money sending ya to dem parochials? Didn't ya learn anyting when ya went to Cardinal Dougherty? Everybody always said how smart ya was, how much potential ya had, how we should be real proud. Now look at ya. Ya turnin out just like ya father." You believe I catch this shit from my own mother. Fuck Me.

But the first day of every year, for one day, I become a hero. See, there was some things that I learned at Dougherty. I learned how to play alto sax real good. My music teacher said she'd never seen that kinda talent. She said I was going to be the next Kenny G. I found out that guy played soprano sax, though, and my boy Charlie down the other end of the block told me he was half a fag. So I almost quit. But I did love to play. It was the one thing that kept me from throwin in the towel all these years. And since everyone tells me I'm so good at it, and since there's some big shortage of musicians in our city, and since it was the one thing that I could do once a year to get my fuckin folks off my back, I decided a couple of years back to join the Fralinger String Band.

See in Philly, the annual New Year's Day Mummers Parade is sacred. It's the one thing that the city still has that is about family. It's the one thing, that as the city is becoming all modernized and yuppied to high, holy hell, that the hardworking neighborhood folks can still enjoy, still take their families to without worrying about getting shot. Wonder why crime is going up so much in the city? I'll tell ya why. Just look at downtown, all these condos and foreign foods and shit, no more neighborhoods. This isn't New York. This is a town of blood and sweat and loyalty and devotion and gettin up for work when you gotta. But hey that's just the opinion of one Northeast Philly schmuck.

So yeah, my cousin Teddy, was in real tight with one of the dancers of Fralinger. He said that he could get me into the troop no prob. So I said "Sure." Man, I have to tell ya, there's no feeling like the one ya get marching down Market St., blowing ya brains out on that horn. You're the center of attention. And it's like everyone needs ya. You're putting big smiles on all their faces, and it's like for just one second, all the past gets erased and you think that you can start new. That's the power of the Mummers. It also helps being in a band that's one of the perennial contenders, not like Polish American or 2 St., cause nobody cares about those guys.

I remember the time when we won two years ago. I came home and Ma had cooked my favorite dinner, Chicken Parm with spaghetti and meatballs. I remember walking through the front door and being hugged real tight by dem both, being told how proud they were of me. I remember eating till I was real stuffed and throwing back a few brews with the old man that night. I remember taking the best two hour nap of my life, before pulling a shift and a half the next day.

Man, I can't wait to get out there this year. God decided that we needed some rain, so things got pushed back a week. Everyone round here was real upset. Things just won't be the same with the parade not on New Years. But we got a plan to cheer everyone up. We're going to play "When The Saints Go Marching In."

Best of 2006, Blogged Live From Canada's Nutsack

2006-12-27T20:40:00.000-05:00

TPO is about more than space disco and coke rap. Here is some more year-end best of.

Ten favorite tracks this year:

1. Joanna Newsom - Emily
2. Great Lake Swimmers - Song for the Angels
3. Grizzly Bear - Knife
4. Band of Horses - The Funeral
5. Evangelicals - My Headache
6. Sunset Rubdown - A Day In the Graveyard II
7. Destroyer - Rubies
8. The Octopus Project and Black Moth Super Rainbow - (Var.)
9. Junior Boys - In The Morning
10. Growing - Cumulusless

Five best Canadian rock records:

Destroyer - Destroyer's Rubies
Sunset Rubdown - Shut Up I Am Dreaming
Swan Lake - Beast Moans
The Thermals - The Body, The Blood, The Machine
Neko Case - Fox Confessor Brings the Flood

Five best Gypsy Folk/Rock records:

A Hawk and a Hacksaw - The Way the Wind Blows
Beirut - Gulag Orkestar
DeVotchKa - Curse Your Little Heart
Man Man - Six Demon Bag
Espers - Espers II (more minstrel than gypsy, really)

Five big fuckups:

88.5 WXPN's format was changed to "acoustic dork shit only."
My Morning Jacket played the unacceptable douchebag venue The Electric Factory.
The Decemberists fussed after they got buried by Chris Ott.
"Top Back (Remix)", that's some monumentally bad rap.
Comets On Fire were self-consciously metal as fuck, and it sucked.

Honorable Mention:
Brightback Morning Light, Prins Thomas, Psychic Ills, Calexico, The Knife, Frog Eyes, Islands, Tropicalia: A Brazilian Revolution in Sound, Yo La Tengo, M. Ward, Liars, Akon's "I Wanna Fuck You"

Best Youtube videos:
Let's Paint TV

The Worst Christmas Ever

2006-12-25T22:27:00.000-05:00

James Brown Dies On Christmas Day 2006

James Brown died today. James Brown died today? Impossible. The father of the UNSTOPPABLE GROOVE? Died? This man...

... died?

As I write this, exactly thirteen hours have passed since I heard the news on Temple's 90.1 while opening presents with my family this morning. I am now listening to one of those Urban reissue LPs that includes "Give It Up or Turnit A Loose", an alternate take of that song, "Get On The Good Foot", and "Make It Funky." All at once, I recall all the many happy memories that I have had listening to and enjoying James Brown's music. I remember listening to "Sex Machine" with Crazy Carl in the original Publications Office and breaking out into a series of awkward thrusting gyrations that would later come to be known as "The Mrs. Day Dance." I remember bringing a copy of In the Jungle Groove to some hip kids' dorm room in college and getting immediate respect. I remember getting drunk that night and dancing on one of their beds to "Funky Drummer." There was the time when Chris, Nick and I freaked out to "Get On The Good Foot" at one of Nick's Lampoon parties. I remember staying up until three one morning listening to the entirety of The Payback. I couldn't get over the record's peculiar beauty. It was so fucking real.

This hurts too much. James had a way of just making you feel better about yourself, a way of putting a little smirk on you face. Somehow, I felt safer knowing that he was still around. Knowing that for all the terribly egregious Bono performances, James Brown was still grooving. But now the groove has died, and Soulwax have become the deepest assholes in the world.

A Very Thankful Christmas

2006-12-24T13:34:00.000-05:00

T.P.O. is thankful for Dan Bejar.

The Publications Office surveyed celebrities nationwide, asking them what they were most thankful for this Christmas. Here are some of our favorite responses.

Young Jeezy:

I am thankful for the game. Shit's been good to me. The game is as real as it gets. The beauty of the game, it's like, you move your shit and then you got stacks, and your stacks turn into Phantoms, and then it's like you don't give a fuck no more and you can just be ya self. Like me, I like to wear white shoes and a gold watch and not give a fuck what any other man think, and that's just me, you know? The game is life and it got me where I am now, on top, and it's like, who got shit to say to me now? It's so fucking real, it's like I'm so big and tall it's like I roll on STILTS. Yeaaaah.

Stephen Colbert:

I am thankful for my writers and their relentless energy. Just the other day, I was in a big rut. I felt run down, out of ideas, at the end of my rope. I was on my way over to the writers' conference room to tell them not to bother with tonight's show. But when I opened the door, I saw thirty jokes waiting for me on their whiteboard. Everything was going to be just fine. And I ended up using all thirty, too... I was so inspired by their energy, and respectful of their devotion to comedy, that I couldn't bring myself to say that one was funnier than any other.

Isaiah Thomas:

I am thankful for the fact that we young black men are still fighting for the right to live a street lifestyle all over America. It's our world too. This ain't no nice world. I ain't gonna let a man come into my world and tell me I can't take my life, everything I've learned in my life, and that ain't something he want to hear. It's like, I gotta get it the way I know it and you don't understand, well, something just might happen to you. And the way I see it, you earn your respect, you don't just go out and smile in a man face because the world try and say you need to be like a certain way.

Amanda Blank:

I am thankful for hard cocks beating up my pussy. Everywhere I go they want to give me the cock. All over Europe, even, they were telling me they want to lift up my skirt and fuck me right there on the speakers. They hear that bass and they know it's time to fuck. It's been a good year, I've been fucking pretty much nonstop. All over the globe, they wait in line to taste my pussy.

Conor Oberst:

I am thankful that I got to spend this year kind of out of the limelight. Taking some time off from writing and performing has just helped me put everything in perspective. It's hard when you let your thoughts bleed out of you onto the page and then the wind just snatches up that page and it swoops through the city streets, and the people tighten their scarves against the cold breeze. But I just like to sit by the fire with my girlfriend, uhh, girlfriend of the moment, heh, and sometimes I'll just be staring at the ceiling wondering if each crack in the ceiling of this crazy-ass New York apartment (God, I love New York) if each crack is like a memory, and it grows deeper as you age. I think we all keep our memories in our hearts, and each heart is like a picture that we all look at every day.

Tom Brady:

I am thankful for George Bush, the Republican party, and their efforts over the past year. It's always been fashionable to resent those who know best, those who look out for your safety. What's really hard is to stick to the principles of success every day, to wake up in the morning and do your best. There is a lot of negativity out there about leadership and success. But I'll tell you this. Where would I be if I screamed at my offensive line every time they let up a sack? Where would I be if I ignored my dad when he told me to hurry up or I'd be late for practice? A real man responds to strong leadership. We should all be thankful for those who work hard and stick to their guns.

Prins Thomas:

I am thankful for the groove.

Morality 101

2006-12-23T12:50:00.000-05:00

MP3: Justin Timberlake - My Love (Diplo Remix)

Diplo has decided to rip off LCD Soundsystem's as of now unreleased "Someone Great" in toto for a fucking Justin Timberlake remix. Good Job.

Here's what The Juan Maclean had to say on the DFA Forum. Best rant ever:

Jesus fucking Christ, this is so bad I can't even believe it would be someone like Diplo, who I don't know much about, but I figured must be capable of something better than THIS. Fucking Abelton, I met the guy that wrote that program in Berlin once, and first thing I said to him was "so YOU are the fucking douche bag...." And he was like "i know, i know, we all know how terrible it is..."
For those of you who don't know, Abelton's Live is a program with which, among other things, you can take two tracks, and it will pretty much 'line them up' so you can simply layer one on top of the other without a care in the world. I met this girl in Austin recently, and she was espousing the glories of some piece of period chunk called Girls School or something like that, something that's like one dude with a laptop and he jumps all around and rips his clothes off, and she was like "he layers like, an Elton John song with a Black Sabbath song, it's fucking CRAZY...." I couldn't believe it. I was like "honey, you could to, with the press of a button, the only difference is people would much rather see YOU naked than that cocksucker that Pinchfork is hyping.
So Diplo made this thing? So what. What the fuck is the point? I honestly think it's a joke, it's THAT bad. It's like DJ mixes these days - NOBODY mixes with two turntables live, except someone like Tim Sweeney. That's why his radio show if 5,000 times better than anything else. All these dj 'mix' cd's that are done in Abelton or edited to shit in the computer so that they are entirely seamless, what the fuck is the point? That's why I like James Murphy's disco mixes so much - there is an energy in the 'off'-ness of it. It's the difference between the Sex Pistols playing 'God Save The Queen' and some band of Berklee School Of Music yeast infection puss drinkers playing it 'perfectly.'
Fuck you. And you too. Everybody.

Diplo. Homo. Woof.

In this staging of King Lear, the part of Edmund will be played by Diplo. The part of Edgar will be played by James Murphy.

Act I, Scene 2, ll. 16-22

Edmund
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land.
Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund
As to th' legitmate. Fine word, "legitimate"!
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed
And my intention thrive, Edmund the base
Shall top the legitimate. I grow, I prosper.
Now, gods, stand up for bastards!

Take My Piss

2006-12-22T13:00:00.000-05:00

In his write-up of Hot Chip's The Warning (#2) for Stylus' "Top 50 Albums of 2006" Evan McGarvey penned:

If The Warning’s intelligent, game phraseology (“What can you find in a drain?”) won’t win you over, peep the destructive, cleansing swagger: “I’m a mechanical music man, and I’m starting a fire. / Hot Chip will break your legs / Snap off your head / Hot Chip will put you down / Under the ground.”

As someone who has read Neil Strauss' The Game, I know that "What can you find in a drain?" is not good Game. You don't want to neg your competition, an act that implies a low estimation of self, instead you want to neg the girl. So Evan, if Hot Chip were in fact using "intelligent game phraseology" they would have said something along the lines of "What can I find in you, drain?" And if you want music with a "destructive, cleansing swagger", you should listen to Wolf Eyes not Hot Chip.

Honestly, I don't get it. Is it because Hot Chip are English? Cute? Play synthesizers? Pitchfork ranks "Over and Over" #16 in its Top 100 Tracks of 2006 and "Boy From School" #7 and The Warning at #26 on its Top 50 albums list. Stylus has "Over and Over" #23, "Boy From School" #11, with the album again at #2. First, I consider "Over and Over" a 2005 jawn, maybe even 2004 depending on how far ahead on the ssX curve you were when the song leaked. "Boy From School" is a good song, but it's not 5 stars. It's something every "indie" kid can identify with, the "We tried but we don't belong" line. However, Alexis myopically repeats the line way too often and by the end of the song it loses its initial, devastating punch.

Such diminishing returns resound on all of The Warning's tracks. They grab the listener's attention early, but by the halfway point they get stale. They each possess sounds and structures that remind me of a lullaby. So they are soporific, which can be useful, it just seems to me not quite as useful as something that impacts your life, makes you more awake, makes you see things more clearly. I truly don't understand how a narcotic can be a "top" record.

Leader of the Pack

2006-12-21T08:00:00.000-05:00

Not what it looks like

A phenomenon took this country's digital cable audience (or maybe just my roommates and people that came by our house on Friday nights) by storm, the National Geographic Channel's The Dog Whisperer with Cesar Millan. Cesar is simultaneously assertive, comical, authoritative, rigid, naive, and absurd. He also has several homosexual tendencies. He likes to imitate the behavior of some of the dogs, which for some reason usually involves him arching his back and getting on his knees and shaking his shoulders and making noises such as "Adi, didi, didi."

Above all, though, Cesar is a dog's best friend. He understands dogs as dogs, not as toys for human amusement or emotional crutches, but as complex creatures with whom one must choose to enter into a relationship. He fulfills the primordial needs of dogs under his care. He treats them as instinct-driven animals, not as human beings, and it is easy to see the results on the dogs' own faces. They repay Cesar for his leadership with good behavior, loyalty, and affection. Few things could make life more enjoyable than a dog that is willing to requite its owner's love. Thus, unanimously, we declare Cesar Millan, Dog Whisperer, our "Man of the Year" for 2006.

Yup, Yeah Me Too

2006-12-18T10:40:00.000-05:00

Thanks Google Image

Ed. Note: We may or may not do more of this year-end stuff. You know how this time of the year is.
--JS

As I listen to way too much music, I think I owe a few year-end lists to myself. The sole criterion for the lists was how much of my time each particular item occupied. I multiplied according to my iTunes and iPod counters. I think the results are pretty interesting.

Genre of the Year: Disco

Albums:
1. Clipse - Hell Hath No Fury
2. Booka Shade - Movements
3. Sonic Youth - Rather Ripped
4. The Knife - Silent Shout
5. Man Man - Six Demon Bag
6. Junior Boys - So This Is Goodbye
7. Spektrum - Fun at the Gymkhana Club
8. Sunset Rubdown - Shut Up I'm Dreaming
9. VA - [DCR Presents] Death Before Distemper
10. The Whitest Boy Alive - Dreams

Tracks:
1. Escort - Starlight
2. LCD SS - 45:33
3. Delia & Gavin - Relevee (DFA Rmx)
4. The Clipse (Feat. Pharell) - Mr. Me Too
5. Junior Boys - In The Morning
6. Padded Cell - Unknown Zone
7. Dub Kult - Chick
8. The Knife - We Share Our Mother's Health (Radio Edit)
9. Prins Thomas - Fehrara
10. Tahiti 80 - Big Day (Idjut Boys Main Remix)
11. Rihanna - SOS
12. Kaito - Color of Feels (Album Mix)
13. Rick Ross Vs. Simian Mobile Disco - Hustlin' Hustler (Cadenece Weapon Hi-Speed Edit)
14. Kaos - Cerebral Tremolo (Brennan Green Edit)
15. The Orichalc Phase - Respond in Silence
16. Dondolo - Dragon (Shit Robot's Fire Breathing Remix)
17. Amerie - Take Control
18. Sonic Youth - What A Waste
19. Shit Robot - Wrong Galaxy
20. Lindstrom - Another Station (Todd Terje Rmx)
21. Delia & Gavin - Relevee (Carl Craig Rmx)
22. Superpitcher - Enzian
23. Sascha Funke - In Between Gates
24. Robbie Williams - Lovelight (Soulwax Ravelight Dub)
25. The Juan Maclean - Love Is in the Air (Mock & Toof Rmx)

New Artists:
1. Sunset Rubdown
2. Escort
3. Shit Robot
4. Brennan Green
5. Cadence Weapon

Indie Folk? We Got 'Em

2006-12-14T21:05:00.000-05:00

I still need your digital camera

Archer Prewitt, Angela Desveaux, Honey Church, Ponie Heart
The Khyber
12/12

First, a big thank you to the hardworking folks over at Philebrity for plugging this one. I would not have found out otherwise. Second, I should let you know that I've decided to give up on big shows. If there's going to be more than 500 people, I don't want anything to do with it. Chances are the show's all ages, and half the crowd will be full of sixteen year olds that are already becoming way too absorbed in alt-scenesterism and drugs and are running around the venue like chickens with their heads cut off. Case in point, the Broken Social Scene show a while back at the Electric Factory was down right egregious. There was a big performance going on, and from what I observed, CJR and I were the only people trying to watch it. So when I saw that Archer Prewitt, this cat whose latest record, Wilderness, I've liked a lot for the last couple of years (you can read this to find out exactly why; I agree with it entirely) was playing The Khyber on a Tuesday night, I said to myself, actually uttered it out loud, "perfect." And I was not disappointed. At no point in the night did the crowd exceed 30.

Unfortunately, as I found out about Tuesday night so very last second (7:30) I missed opener Ponie Heart. But judging from the quality of the other opening acts, Honey Church and Angela Desveaux, I would have to think that it was at the least average indie folk / country, which depending on the mood your in, if you happen to be in the same self-pitying one that I was in Tuesday night, can be pretty endearing stuff. Reason why is it follows the K.I.S.S. (keep it simple, stupid) formula to the T. The music was definitely without pretense, the majority of it written in 3/4 time, and performed by people who were obviously not 21 year old hipsters. Also remember they were playing for mere handfuls of people. It was like they were playing for me. Honey Church are a local getup that are currently a diamond in the rough. A little more diversity in the song structures, like some key changes, and more poetic lyrics and they'll have something. It was pretty much the same deal with Ms. Desveaux-- she just needs to come up with some sort of schtick to differentiate herself from the pack and she'll be fine. On the plus side, she and her band had some positive things to say about cheesesteaks. And without doubt all of these bands are much better live than John Vanderslice. Trust me.

Prewitt and band were great. Clearly, these guys are grizzled veterans of the indie scene. Keyboardist / laptopper / trumpeter, I think his name was Mike, was kind enough to reveal that he was 44. His long gray hair, goatee, and slightly more than hipster thin frame was far more refreshing, and far more provocative on stage than the anorexic-Asian-indie-hipper than thou-girl-keyboardist cliche. Not that I'm hating, anorexic Asians (as a matter of fact I'm currently accepting applications for an anorexic Asian hipster girlfriend in the comments section), just saying different is refreshing. But yeah, these guys were talented. As some of Wilderness' material borders on the saccharine, the band did a masterful job erasing any such traces live, even on songs such as "No More", "Without You" and "Wilderness." All of the songs played were infused with a psychedelic, hard rock edge, giving them far more pop and zest than on the record. It was very encouraging to hear a band which is at heart into "chill" music move out of its comfort zone and pump some enthusiasm into its live act.

This night was the best surprise I've had all year. I did not feel like it was a guilty pleasure either-- there were no thoughts of "but it sucks that these people will not get wealthy from doing this." Prewitt & Co. knew well what the turnout was going to be, but put forth great effort anyway. My guess, they did it because they needed to do it for themselves and for their art. And if that isn't an uplifting thought at a time when "indie" is becoming heavily commercialized, then I don't know what is.

Crate Digging 2006: Daft Punk's Homework

2006-12-12T10:05:00.000-05:00

Just a couple of faces in the crowd

So much music came out this year, too much if you ask me. (check those 857 Papoose freestyles) Alot of it was really good too. It seemed like there was zero opportunity for crate digging this year. Well here's a dig for most kids 11 or younger in 1996. It's called Daft Punk's Homework. If you like electronic/house music, and haven't heard this, all of it, be prepared to hear something that's far better than 2006's batch of indifferent house. It's been 10 years. Reflection on this record and renewed admiration for it are more than fitting. So I made a card to express my feelings for a true benchmark in the history of electronic music.

My 10th Anniversary eCard to Homework

Dear Homework,

You've given me so much over the last ten years. You've given me "Around the World", still the world's quintessential party starter. Never have three words had such an impact on how I interact with music. Never have three words salvaged so many of my desperate nights. I think "Revolution 909" is the fifth best song ever. "Teachers" taught me everything I need to know about rock music, "Da Funk" everything that I need to know about robots. Where would dance music in general be without you? Would the vocoder's potential be realized? Would lengthy repetition be acceptable? Would there be "uncompromising" 4/4? Would people's shit ever really get lost? And you have more to give. Eventually the public will recognize "Oh Yeah" as the world's next great breakbeat track. Someday DJs around the world will hear the floor potential in "High Fidelity", "Burnin" and "Indo Silver Club".

I just wanted to let you know how much I still appreciate you. ✓+

Happy 10th Anniversary
JS

Yo Philly!

2006-12-11T11:03:00.000-05:00

Warning: More low blows to follow

After an entire weekend of my TV time being saturated with Rocky Balboa commercials, I have concluded, Philadelphians, that we need to boycott this shit. First, the things that the movies stand for, brutal, gladiatorial violence, unrealistic optimism, machismo, stupidity, ridiculing the brain damaged, are not positive activities. These stigmata have become what our fair city is most recognized for. Second, Stallone while ostensibly harmless, is really quite the asshole. Third, do you think that it's going to end with this movie? I foresee no fewer than six additional Rocky movies.

Merry Xmas, Delaney:

Rocky VII: Rocky fights Chuck "The Iceman" Liddell. Iceman: ... Rocky: Hey, how you doin, Iceman? Iceman: ...

Rocky VIII: Rocky fights the Super Shredder. Super Shedder: Super Shedder uuuggghhh! Rocky: Super Shredder uuuggghhh!

Rocky IX: Rocky fights Satan. Rocky: Hey yo Paulie, you can take the man out of the fight, but you can't take the man out of the fight...

Rocky X: Rocky fights Breast Cancer. Breast Cancer: I'm undefeated. Rocky: Yeah, well, you know, there's like a first time for everything, you know?

Rocky XI: Rocky fights Mel Gibson. Mel Gibson: The power of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ flows through my right hand and the power of the great Aztec chieftain Huitzitlaloc flows through my left hand. Prepare to die. Rocky: ...

Rocky XII: Rocky fights the Highlander. Highlander: Rocky, there can be only one. Rocky: One what?