Oh, Carles. You are like the Power Glove: people love you, you’re so bad. As Hipster Runoff, you remain the only blogger outside of Andrew Sullivan who possesses the most haters among your readership by percentage. Perhaps it’s the bad grammar and spelling that would make an angsty teenager look at your trainwreck and think, “man, I can’t read this, this is embarrassing!” Maybe it’s your attempts at music criticism that seem more like an ego trip filled with animated GIFs than making an honest case or rational argument. Maybe it’s the fact you sold your sorry ass off faster than even Ben “Yahtzee” Croshaw, who can actually pull the whole “I don’t give a shit for the lulz” satire routine with pizazz.
I must say, though, you make for a quite a bounty. Surely the disputed king of Brooklyn, Pitchfork wants your head on a platter for creating chillwave, thus robbing them of relevance and forcing them to make up that joke of a genre called witch-house. Lana Del Rey (who we honestly never cared about to begin with) and James Blake (who we really do care about) want to punch you in the face for being a prick and trying to undermine their aspirations with your attempts at mockery. Graphic designers have baseball bats with your name on it for ruining Helvetica for everyone. Dov Charney wants his women back. The list goes on.
So why risk your sorry ass by hosting a “festival” in the middle of CMJ, at the Cameo Gallery in Brooklyn? (And why host it during CMJ, come to think?) Sure, you managed to get hype beast Neon Indian to play your Bleepy Bloop Fest on October 21, along with upcoming heroes Beach Fossils, plus Dent May and Teengirl Fantasy. But you already got a bad start by calling it “Bleepy Bloop.” How many synth pop and chip tune players have you pissed off by calling their work bleepy bloop, your generic term? Also, you brought in Tao Lin to DJ? I understand he’s your buddy (I even heard claims that he’s you, but I doubt that), but I suspect that kid would not let a song last 20 seconds before punching the crossfade because it looks artsy.
Finally… you, DJing? Psh. You are probably too big a coward to show, in case your enemies try to go after you. Though, you might make a lucky escape if you play last. By then, around 4 AM, everyone will be as drunk as Matt LeMay at a Destroyer show and will prolly fight amongst themselves before they realize you’re on stage. Still, with it being free and no RSVP required, I doubt you will be safe. You might just want to stay in the Williamsburg cellar you call your apartment. I do suggest moving, though… I hear Mr. Mangum and his wife are really annoyed with your squatting.