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

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

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

This Is How We (Apparently) Do It

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

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

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.

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

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

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!

... 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

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.

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!

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?

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?

"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

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

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

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

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.