Walkmen Drivecars, Tourcities, Playsongs

The Walkmen are back on tour this March, so if you haven't listened to any of their albums yet, now is the time to catch up. As a public service, we at TMT would like to give you a head-start by transcribing the lyrics to their biggest hit thus far. That way, you won't be the only one not singing along at their shows:

"Hot sun beating down / Burning my feet just walking around Hot sun making me sweat / Gator's getting close, hasn't got me yet

I can't dance, I can't talk / Only thing about me is the way I walk I can't dance, I can't sing / I'm just standing here selling everything

Blue jeans sitting on the beach / Her dog's talking to me, but she's out of reach
She's got a body under that shirt / But all she wants to do is rub my face in the dirt

I can't dance, I can't talk / Only thing about me is the way I walk
I can't dance, I can't sing / I'm just standing here selling

Oh, and checking everything is in place / You never know who's looking on
Young punk spilling beer on my shoes / Fat guys talking to me trying to steal my blues
Thick smoke, see her smiling through / I never thought so much could happen just shooting pool

I can't dance, I can't talk / Only thing about me is the way I walk I can't dance, I can't sing / I'm just standing here selling

Oh, and checking everything is in place / You never know who's looking on
A perfect body with a perfect face / UH-HUH!

No, I can't dance, I can't talk / Only thing about me is the way I walk
No, I can't dance, I can't sing / I'm just standing here selling everything."

Even the most callous listener cannot deny the power of these words set to heavenly music:

Battles To Tour And Release Album, But Seriously, Guys, Would A Press Release Hurt? Really? Just A Little One?

According to an incredibly uninformative message on their MySpace, Battles are getting ready to release their debut album, y'know, soon. Ish. It's going to be preceded by a single, and both will be released on Warp.

Uh... It will come on either an LP, which will be large and round, a CD, which will be smaller and shinier but still round, or as MP3s, which are invisible. It'll probably use instruments like guitars and drums, and some other stuff, and will be available in shops. It'll have a name, as will all the tracks on it, unless any of them are untitled, in which case they won't. It probably won't smell strongly of anything and will stop playing if exposed to extreme heat or pressure. If snapped, it'll break into several pieces, some of which will be very sharp, so watch out for that!

And that's all I can find out. Apparently actually telling anyone anything about it would be soooooo uncool. Well, FINE. Maybe I just won't BUY your stupid album. How d'ya like THAT, Battles? Huh? How d'ya like THEM apples? Are you crying? You crying? Aw, don't cry! Crybaby!

Oh, they're going on some dumb tour or something, too:

Hold Your Tongue and Say “The Apples in Stereo Tour”

[Scene: Kids are eating cereal at kitchen table. Dad enters.]

Dad: What the hell are you kids doing?

Son: We're just eating Apple Jacks dad.

Dad: What? What the hell are Apple Jacks?

Son's friend: They are like cheerios, but more colorful and festive.

Dad: What? A gay cheerio? Give me a bite, you little pissers.

Son: They're good, huh?

Dad: What? No, they don't taste like goddamn apples.

Son: Parents just don't get it!

Dad: And what the hee-haw is this jibber jabberin you dillweeds are listening to on the radio?

[The Dad walks over to the stereo on the kitchen counter, and violently knocks it onto the floor.]

Son: Dad! That was The Apples in Stereo. They're flip floppin' awesome. And they're going on tour to promote their latest masterpiece New Magnetic Wonder due in stores February 6, 2007. You may remember seeing lead singer Rob Schneider play the theme to The Colbert Report on the show back in December.

Dad: What? They don't sound like apples!

Son: Ha! See parents just don't get it.

[The Dad angrily grabs his son's arm, and then he stabs his son's friend in the chest.]

Son: Dad, you're hurting me. And you smell like whiskey and the dog's butt.

Dad: Where's your mom? YOU TELL ME NOW!

Son: She's still in the basement.

Tourdates:

Thermals Snuggle Up with Big Sleep for Coziest Tour Ever, Break Curfew with the Hold Steady

Indie "supergroup" (sorry, that just makes me think of Live Aid or the Super Bowl Shuffle) The Thermals started as a little ol' side project of Hutch Harris, Kathy Foster, Ben Barnett, and Jordan Hudson, who may or may not have been part of the following: All Girl Summer Fun Band, Kind of Like Spitting, and Operacycle. David Lee Roth tried to get in on the action, but he was de-NIED, which may or may not be the reason he recently went crawling back to Van Halen (I shit you not), but that's a whole other story we probably won't cover. Anyway, the fates smiled upon The Thermals, as O Holy Highness of Indie Rock Ben Gibbard nudged 'em toward Sub Pop, and three full-lengths later, they've provided us with The Body, The Blood, The Machine and a brand-spanking-new tour with Brooklyn dreamers The Big Sleep and Brooklyn transplant champion drinkers The Hold Steady.

(Beer) Cozies for everyone:

Just When I Thought William Elliott Whitmore Wasn’t Going on Tour, William Elliott Whitmore Announces He’s Going on Tour

When I was 14, my uncle Kasey told me that "Life is like the song of a blackbird." He didn't really explain why, but it was so poetic to my young ears that it sure made a lot of sense back then. As I worked my way through high school and finally college, the analogy stuck with me, even though I never really questioned it. Maybe it was because deep down I knew there was no meaning to it. Or maybe I was too scared to discover the truth.

Last year, I decided to seek out answers. I called my uncle and we met for coffee. After some superficial conversation about airlines (he's a pilot), I mustered up the nerve to ask him what he meant by his blackbird analogy. To my surprise, however, Kasey didn't even remember saying it! WHAT THE HELL. I looked him right in the eye and muttered, "Wrong answer." He let out a nervous chuckle, as I preceded to take out a hammer and fucking pound on his right arm until it looked like silly putty. BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM!!!

That dipshit. Wait... now that I think about it, I think it might've been uncle Perry who told me the analogy... Ha, isn't life funny?

William Elliott Whitmore tourdates:

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