The “Mona Lisa” of indie rock trading cards has sold for a record $2.35 million. The Calvin Johnson card is considered the most valuable cards in existence, according to SCP Auctions, the new minority owners of the card. SCP said on Tuesday the primary purchaser, a Southern California collector, wished to remain anonymous, though many believe him to be either Chris Noth (the guy who plays "Big" on Sex and the City) or Jon Cryer (best known as "Alan" on Two and a Half Men).
Calvin Johnson, a K Records shortstop, was one of the first five players inducted into the Indie Rock Hall of Fame. Originally released in 1909, there are no more than 60 known cards in existence. The card just sold is believed to be in the best condition of all the known Wagner cards. “I’d consider this card’s condition an eight out of 10,” said SCP acquisitions director Allen Miller. “The next closest card is maybe a five out of 10.”
The card last sold for $1.26 million in 2000, and has nearly doubled in price three of the last four times it has been sold, according to SCP. Previous owners have included film director Todd Solondz and Warner Music Group CEO Edgar Bronfman, Jr.
Check it out for yourself:
French Toast with Molasses, Croquet and Baked Alaskas:
Things that seem serene:
(2) Indie Rock
(3) Being naked
The Most Serene Republic Tourdates, Being Serene with Ladies Wins You Spicy-Hot Dates:
Gibson Screws Contest Winner, And Not In The Typical Way With Its High, High Prices, But With Baffling Musical Racism! Play Fender, Everyone!
I always knew there was something I didn't like about the Gibson Company. Maybe it stemmed from the fact that their holier-than-though guitars were always leagues out of my modest, "regular-guy" price range. Or maybe it was just that many of my musical idols growing up preferred to use Fender gear. But no matter how biased, unfounded, or unfairly personal my reason for mistrusting that Mecca of music companies seems to have been, I am proud to be able to report to you today a very sweet retroactive vindication of one of my (many) irrationalities! And boy, oh boy, there's nothing like uttering the sentence "See, I was right all along!" to brighten up another dreary work day.
So, exactly what happed? Well, like all good tales of corporate music's exposed fucked-upedness, this one is just plain FULL of Grade A douche-baggery. Observe:
There's this kind-of douchey music festival with the kind of douchey name of "Lollapalooza" that takes place in the otherwise relatively un-douchey city of Chicago. And every year, they do this incredibly douchey contest called Last Band Standing in which a whole slew of unknown acts (yes, most of which are HORRENDOUSLY douchey) pointlessly internet-battle it out for a horrible slot on the shittiest stage on the crappiest day of the festival. The whole thing is based on fan "votes" and stuff like that, so it's supposed to be all grassroots and "anyone can win, even YOU!" and shit... Sounds douchey, huh?
Yeah, well, it turns out that back in 2006, Lollapalooza and Gibson, the douchey sponsors of this-here contest, got a bit of a curious surprise when the winner turned out to be NOT the douche-tacular Velvet Revolver knock-off that they were imagining, but a fresh, un-douchey hip-hop artist instead! The unfortunate musician's name was Tonedeff.
See, part of the supposed prize package was supposed to be "$10,000 worth of equipment from our friends at Gibson. (yes, believe it!)." Well, poor Tonedeff believed it, but he should have known better than to underestimate the douchey powers-that-be at Gibson and their TOTAL aversion to anything that's not rock ‘n’ roll-related... lest it make a (shudder!) bad ad campaign!
Sadly, Tonedeff has spent the last year-and-a-half trying to get Gibson to make good on their promise, finally going public with his woes on his blog last week in an effort to let the world know "how they tried to weasel their way out of this, and how they tried to play me cause I'm a Hip Hop artist."
According to the persecuted hip-hopper, when he finally reached Gibson (they never called or e-mailed him after he won), Don Pitts, the certainly douchey Entertainment Liaison for Gibson Guitars, told him to go online and pick out what he wanted. Tonedeff promptly picked out a Baldwin piano. Pitts wrote back, "Baldwin is the only division that's not part of the deal..." Bummed out and suspicious though he was, Tonedeff picked out a list of guitars, using Sam Ash and Guitar Center to check prices because Pitt refused to provide a price list. Pitt responded this time with revised prices that were at least 50% higher, reducing Tonedeff's prize list by... that’s right, kids, 50%. After some back and forth on MSRP ("manufacturer’s suggested retail price") versus MAP (the “retail” price that stores like Guitar Center and Sam Ash would actually sell this gear for), Tonedeff gave up and opted instead to pick a single item, the most expensive he could find that came in under $10,000, which turned out to be a Gibson mandolin with an MSRP of $9,999. But alas, the great pundit Pitt just stopped talking to him at that point.
The details and back-and-forth e-mails dutifully posted on the blog weave a truly convoluted and amazingly douchey tale of gross irresponsibility, empty promises, and semantic bullshit that is well worth reading to get all of the excruciating details. As of last week, Tonedeff STILL hasn’t gotten his promised $10,000 from Gibson, MSRP or otherwise, and the douchey folks at Lollapalooza haven’t exactly been much help. But, as Tonedeff muses, maybe he should have seen this veritable genre-hate-crime-action coming when Don Pitts allegedly told him, "I mean, this is kind of weird, because you know, you DON'T play the guitar or drums."
See??? Told you it was douchey.
Looks like I’ve been behind the times, ladies and gents. Apparently, steroids (seriously) are set to join the ever-decadent, always delicious smörgåsbord of mainstream hip-hop accessories, in between the platters of AK-47s, bitchin’ hoes, and velveteen leisure suits.
Earlier this month, 50 Cent, Timbaland, and R&B performers Wyclef Jean (..really), Mary J. Blige, and others were accused of steroid use.
However, none have been accused of lawlessness, which is probably unfortunate considering the kickin’ political-minded anti-establishment collabs that could come from these beefed-up, toned, hunky hunky performers.
Like, Wyclef Jean. He’s jacked, right? Totally.
Again, it’s that time of year when we ask for your support. Unsatisfied with our brief winter break, the TMT news staff has caught itself in a quagmire of lugubriousness, and that means, in order to keep your little eyeballs filled with texty goodness, we need help. Your help.
That’s why I am taking the totally unsanctioned initiative to launch this year’s “Unofficial 2008 TMT Reader News Story Pledge Drive,” where you, the reader, can write your very own TMT news story. You may remember the theme from previous articles such as “Exclusive: Create Your Own Burning Star Core News Story!” (TMT News) and “Let’s Write A News Story: Marah — Which Sounds A Lot Like Mirah — Is Touring; Hey What Is Mirah Up To?” (TMT News). Today is the first time, however, that TMT has gone the extra step and suggested that you (YES! LOWLY YOU!) have the potential to climb the ivory tower of music journalism and become published (albeit anonymously) on the virtual Olympus that is Tiny Mix Tapes.
The most basic and essential part of this process is the selection of an artist who is doing something newsworthy and has not appeared on TMT for that newsworthy thing. To make the experience more realistic, you may want to recreate the writing process as it exists for the actual TMT newswriter. First, I would suggest wasting a sizeable chunk of time reading Wikipedia entries or even a past TMT feature. I enjoyed a Chuck Klosterman exposé while writing this very tidbit. If you want to go for the full experience, you may also want to become an ex-convict, learn conversational Esperanto (Estas bela tago!), or cover yourself, or a neighbor, in Vaseline.
When completed, just copy the goods into this box, or better yet, compose a story in the style of your favorite TMT newswriter and send it to him or her. No one will ever know.
The formatting should resemble something close to the text for the upcoming RTX tourdates that follows. As you may have noticed, the content doesn’t really matter:
$ El Paso Hot Button
! Bad Wizard, Blues Control and more
% Viva Viva, the Life Partners
@ Telepathe, Child Abuse, Necking
^ Panache/Lovepump SXSW Showcase w/ Monotonix, HEALTH, Clipd Beaks, Old Time Relijun, The Apes
( Burning Brides
) The Mae Shi, Bad Dudes, Foot Village
Hear Ye, Hear Ye! Volcom Entertainment Hath Announceth Subscription Club Utilizing New Recording Format: a 7-Inch Vinyl Record! RTX, Turgonegro, and Valient Thorr Sign Up For Middle English Language Lessons
In a move that provoked astonishment from both the liberal left and the righteous right (and bursts of flatulence from a few old codgers at the back of the room) Volcom Entertainment has bucked the popular trend of releasing music in playable formats by establishing a singles club. Lonely hearts need not apply (unless they have working turntables), because the Volcom Ent. Vinyl Club (VEVC) will be a yearly, six-release, subscription-based, split 7-inch vinyl series of records shipped bimonthly to paid-up punters beginning in February.
The class of VEVC '08 will include the following impressive graduates: Birds of Avalon, Dark Meat, Earthless, Monotonix, Red Fang, RTX, Totimoshi, Turbonegro, Tweak Bird, Valient Thorr, Witch, and Year Long Disaster. The first single shipped will feature Turbonegro and Year Long Disaster. As a bonus incentive, Volcom will throw in three free 7-inch singles from their back catalog with each subscription (Riverboat Gamblers’ “Keep Me From Drinking,” Totimoshi’s “Viva Zapata,” and Year Long Disaster’s “Leda Atomica”) as well as a Volcom Ent. slipmat (while supplies last).
So that’s $30 for the six VEVC 7-inch singles released every other month starting in February, the three bonus singles, a trusty slipmat, and...
...call now and we’ll include the Hercules Hook!, 1-Stitch Personal Sewing Machine!, Slice 'n' Dice Mice (“the mice that slice and dice!”), a Samurai Shark!, “Urine Gone!,” The Lens Doctor (M.D., Rx, PhD, BaRf), The Infinity Razor, Riddex Pro, the “Pull Up and Get Chicks” door bar!, Abs + Ass = “Abss of Steel,” Time Life Classic Soft Rock Series #3 (who doesn’t wuv “soft rock”?), “Dust Be Gone!,” “Swivel and Sweep While You Sweat to the Oldies Vol. 4,” Green Bags! (you haven’t “gone green” yet? Sinner!!!), Handy Switch!” (the WIRELESS light switch! TM), “Camel Toe Be Gone!,” Velcro Fromaggia (the Velcro that actually smells like cheese, for some reason), 5-Minute Forearms!, “Abss Be Gone!,” and many more products that can only be advertised using many exclamation points and some capital letters!
Last time Menomena toured Europe (TMT News), they had quite the time trying to teach Europeans how exactly to pronounce their Muppet-inspired moniker. This time around, however, the trio is heading overseas with their very own translation guide.
The following is an excerpt:
French: Le Menome
Dutch: De Menomenek
Tour Dates, s'il vous plaît:
*Blitzen Trapper, Boat
Supergrass are releasing their sixth album, Diamond Hoo Ha, April 15 via Astralwerks (March 24 in the U.K. via Parlophone). Since I know you guys are all simply dying to read our review, I've managed to talk Mr P (editor-in-chief) and Jay (music reviews editor) into letting me post the intro and conclusion of our forthcoming Supergrass review (author to be revealed at a later date). Enjoy!
I had never even seen a shooting star before. 25 years of rotations, passes through comets' paths, and travel, and to my memory I had never witnessed burning debris scratch across the night sky. Supergrass were hunched over their instruments. Gaz Coombes slowly beat on a grand piano, singing, eyes closed, into his microphone like he was trying to kiss around a big nose. Mick Quinn tapped patiently on a double bass, waiting for his cue. White pearls of arena light swam over their faces. A lazy disco light spilled artificial constellations inside the aluminum cove of the makeshift stage. The metal skeleton of the stage ate one end of Florence's Piazza Santa Croce, on the steps of the Santa Croce Cathedral. Michelangelo's bones and cobblestone laid beneath. I stared entranced, soaking in Supergrass's new material, chiseling each sound into the best functioning parts of my brain which would be the only sound system for the material for months.
The experience and emotions tied to listening to Diamond Hoo Ha are like witnessing the stillborn birth of a child while simultaneously having the opportunity to see her play in the afterlife on Imax. It's an album of sparking paradox. It's cacophonous yet tranquil, experimental yet familiar, foreign yet womb-like, spacious yet visceral, textured yet vaporous, awakening yet dreamlike, infinite yet 48 minutes. It will cleanse your brain of those little crustaceans of worries and inferior albums clinging inside the fold of your gray matter. The harrowing sounds hit from unseen angles and emanate with inhuman genesis. When the headphones peel off, and it occurs that four men created this, it's clear that Supergrass must be the greatest band alive, if not the best since you know who. Breathing people made this record! And you can't wait to dive back in and try to prove that wrong over and over.
We'll post the entire review around the album's release date! Something tells me this review will go down in history.
[Photo: Ben Ling]
CFTPA (Casiotone for the Painfully Alone) Goes MIA (Missing in Action) From Left Coast USA (United States of America)
My roommates are playing Balloon Golf. Their course: the entire house. The rules to Balloon Golf are simple and go like this -- you have a balloon, you have something you need to hit with the balloon, and depending on the complexity of the "hole," there are parameters, like banking off a certain wall and not stepping past a particular line. Furthermore, you must drink Scotch both before and after each round. As you can imagine, Balloon Golf is a carefree and exciting game of drunken fraternal competition in which I'm usually pleased to partake, but not today. Not knowing what I know: Casiotone For The Painfully Alone is shunning the West Coast. For Florida.
FLORIDA ONLY MINI-TOUR MMVIII (download show flyer here):
02.16.08 - Miami, FL - White Room *
02.17.08 - Tampa, FL - Transitions Art Gallery *
02.18.08 - Orlando, FL - Back Booth *
02.19.08 - Gainesville, FL – TBA *
02.21.08 - Tallahassee, FL - Club Down Under @ Florida State University *
02.22.08 - Jacksonville, FL – TSI *
02.23.08 - TBA Mystery Show *
* Dear Nora
It's a grievous thing, and when grievous things happen, I usually listen to CFTPA's Etiquette, but listening to Etiquette under this circumstance only exacerbates my indignation. I have locked myself in my room and am wearing my black pajamas, so as to lounge in mourning. I even wrote a song to express my grief while my ukulele gently wept; one verse goes like this:
"Hey guy from Casiotone For The Painfully Alone/ Why you gotta' play me like that?/ When I found out your mini tour wasn't intended for the West Coast/ I felt pretty bad."
That one's entitled "Hey Guy From Casiotone For The Painfully Alone, Why You Gotta Play Me Like That?" and I recorded it early this morning after a couple gin and tonics (I expect it to be released through Sub Pop as part of my debut EP just as soon as they pick it up). In the original take, you can hear my belly growling due to the fact that I've also gone on a hunger strike, except for just a few meals a day, demanding that Casiotone come to California before they jet off to the U.K.
UK & IRELAND TOUR:
So, tell me, Casiotone -- what's a U.K. audience got that we don't, huh? Nothing! Just non-American accents, which get old real fast -- you'll see. I'll have you know that we here in Cali speak a non-regional dialect marred only by stoned slurs and surfer slang, which is WAY COOLER than English-English. You'll be sorry for avoiding us till early summer 2008.
Castiotone For The Painfully Alone April East Coast tourdates TBA +
May/June West Coast tour dates TBA %
+ Clue To Kalo
% Foot Foot
Hey Mr P,
Jerry from Warp Records here, just checking in to see how you've been. It's been cold lately, right? You still into music? If so, that's so funny, because I just heard about this crazy new album by Jamie Lidell that's coming out April 29 on Warp Records, and even in this personal catch-up e-mail, I just have to tell you a little about it!
Well, Mr P, as the editor of a successful mp3 blog, I'm sure you heard his 2005 record, Multiply (TMT Review), and I hope I'm not off the mark in assuming that you not only heard it but loved it, due to its deeply felt song writing and meticulous production skills. Yeah, separately we had some great times with that record, and I don't know about you, but I fostered some pretty deep connections with my peers as a result of our common interest in Lidell's balance between the spontaneous creativity of his raw ideas and the careful craft and
polish of a great record.
But like my fiancé was saying last week (yes, Mr P, we're tying the knot!), this new one, cheekily titled Jim, is even richer and more refined. Like a lot of things she says, though, the truth of her statement didn't dawn on me until I was at a concert featuring other Warp artists like Aphex Twin, Boards of Canada, Autechre, Plaid, Vincent Gallo & many more. My mind started to wander between sets, and her positive assessment of Jim suddenly came into my head and I thought: God I love her so much, she's absolutely right! At that moment, Mr P, I knew that Jim would alternately switch me on in the morning, move me on the dance-floor in the evening, and take me down in the small hours. It was a good feeling, man, like coming home or something.
I don't know about you, Mr P, but it's been a tough year for me. The wedding is next December, which gives me something to look forward to, but in October the garage door came down on Smokey and he's been limping around the apartment ever since. It honestly just makes me want to die sometimes to know I can't afford the surgery he needs. Wait, oh my god, Mr P, you'd have to actually see this to know I'm not making it up, but I just put on a promo copy of Jim and my dog is sprinting around the house exactly like when he was a puppy. This is insane.
Although now that I'm listening to it again, it makes sense that a bold and promiscuously diverse album like Jim would work previously unknown magic. The only thing I can't pin down is what aspect of Jamie Lidell's music worked fastest to heal my dog's leg... was it the gospel grooves? The sweetly sung and fiercely passionate soul? Or was it the delicately moving ballads, the thumping early R&B, the synthed-up disco? I'm sure those all had something to do with it, but I don't think it would have been enough to heal broken bones if it hadn't been for that light touch of hillbilly funk. You can actually help me decide which track sounds most healing, if you have a free minute:
Well, now that I've just blabbed on and on about my life, how are you? You still into music?