“Gliddy glub gloopy/ Nibby nabby noopy/ La la la lo lo/ Sabba sibby sabba/ Nooby abba nabba/ Le le lo lo/ tooby ooby walla/ Nooby abba naba/ Early morning singing song.”
Needless to say, to someone accustomed to the bookish, transcendental lyrics like these lovingly displayed above, the generic, low-brow, and downright lifeless words of chief Mountain Goat John Darnielle don’t really rocketh my world with the same poetic intensity of say, Avril or Sir Jon Bon Jovi. You would think with 27 albums to his credit that he would eventually hit some sort of stride and start to produce a few bon mots of quality. But noooooooo.
Nah, I can’t keep up this charade any longer. It is a given that Darnielle has a gift of lyrical gab matched by very few (and peerless songwriting finesse to boot), so whenever word spreads that a new Mountain Goats album is coming down the pike, we get unusually giddy. Assisted by Franklin Bruno, Annie Clark, Erik Friedlander, Peter Hughes, Jon Wurster, and The Bright Mountain Choir, Heretic Pride will be released through 4AD on February 19, just in time to give your postal carrier [Editor's note: awwww yeah!!!] his or her belated Valentine’s Day gift. The album was produced by Scott Solter and John Vanderslice, features art by the godlike Vaughan Oliver, and contains 13 songs, none of which will match the nadir of expressive wizardry, Coldplay’s “Yellow” (“for you I’d bleed myself dry”... [oh no you wouldn’t, you whinging ass-bag!]).
1. Sax Rohmer #1
2. San Bernardino
3. Heretic Pride
5. New Zion
6. So Desperate
7. In the Craters on the Moon
8. Lovecraft in Brooklyn
9. Tianchi Lake
10. How to Embrace a Swamp Creature
11. Marduk T-Shirt Men’s Room Incident
12. Sept 15 1983
13. Michael Myers Resplendent
No, no, you're wrong, George Bernard Shaw... a heretic is always better live!
12.08.07 - London, England - Union Chapel
12.09.07 - Manchester, England - Moho Live
12.10.07 - Glasgow, Scotland - Oran Mor
It’s Never Too Late to Show Some Support; Locust Relief Fund Not Meant to Relieve Anyone from Locust
As the story goes, November 25 was playing out like another shitty-as-usual Sunday evening in St. Louis. The Locust were touring in support of their third full-length release (if you can call a 23-minute release a full-length), New Erections, when their van was broken into and things were stolen. Note my use of the un-accusingly passive voice, employed to reserve judgment on the sort of low-life, hell-bound trash who break into tour vans and steal meager amounts of worldly belongings that include but are not limited to: three computers and, as reported by the Three One G: Locust Relief Fund, "phone chargers, money, and anything else you can think of."
"Three One G is all about family, and we consider The Locust nothing less. We are doing what we can to help these guys out, but we are reaching out to you the fans to help bring some resolve to this situation."
So, I wonder what exactly was stolen from The Locust? Four nylon body suits with mesh eye pieces? Perhaps an embarrassingly extensive collection of Detroit-based disco albums circa 1972, thus their failure to be explicitly reported as missing? Maybe the October issue of Musikkpraksis magazine and a Norwegian-to-English dictionary (I have a feeling Justin Pearson is just that sort of hip)?
Monetary donations and literary condolences are being accepted at firstname.lastname@example.org, so, fans, hop to it. And haters, sit tight.
There's a bar in NYC's Alphabet City that boasts the best jukebox of them all, by far. If they've got an artist, they've got their entire discography. Be nice and I'll tell you which. The point is, I was sitting on a barstool watching Art Brut's Eddie Argos struggle with the ball mouse on the jukebox (note: having a ball mouse on a jukebox in a bar seems kind of cruel, but I guess that's the price you pay), and I genuinely can't tell you if I helped him or not. That chunk of the memory is gone. But just know that I really, really wanted to.
Coming off a tour of the States with The Hold Steady, Art Brut are picking up some dates seemingly everywhere but the U.S., in continued support of their latest, It's A Bit Complicated. Someone, anyone, please buy me a plane ticket immediately. Nag nag nag.
What's wrong? Scared to commit?:
I won a Good Housekeeping Magazine contest earlier this year, in which the winner, randomly chosen, had a chance to hang out with Sunn O))) and Boris for any Saturday of their choosing. Last Saturday was finally the day that worked best for all of us, so I had Sunn O))) and Boris fly over to my apartment in Madison, WI. I was extremely excited.
Too bad Sunn O))) and Boris are extremely boring in person. Most of the time was spent "chillaxing," per Stephen O'Malley's request. We seriously spent most of the day just sitting there watching TV, barely even talking. Sadly enough, the highlight was when we had dinner at Applebee's (almost went to Perkins), if only for the dollar beers. Sunn O))) and Boris kept talking about how the day was "just what they needed" and that "these lazy Saturdays are the best." All I could think about was going home early. And I did, as they wanted to hang out there and "watch the game."
Anyway, Sunn O))) are playing the Portishead-curated All Tomorrow's Parties and will perform the album Altar (TMT Review) with Boris the next day, followed by scattered dates around Europe. I can assure you Sunn O))) and Boris aren't boring live.
* with Boris Presenting Altar
Meanwhile, Boris are releasing a new album on Southern Lord next April with help from Michio Kurihara and boring-ass Stephen O' Malley. They've titled it Smile. But, I ask you Boris, how can you smile when you're not happy? When everything in your life has turned to shit in just three months? When all the people you've ever loved have now turned their backs on you? You'll never experience the pain that I have, Boris. Never.
[Photo: Jenny Mcgee]
When is it going to stop? Answer: probably never. The RIAA, in yet another fabulous attempt to sue already debt-ridden college students off their asses, has sent out its tenth wave of litigation letters to places of higher education across the country. The letters ask schools to specifically identify students whose IP addresses the RIAA already has and to forward pre-litigation letters to those students. Wondering if you should be erasing your existence from the internets? Don't hit "delete account" so quickly, unless you go to...
But of course, the fun doesn't stop there, no! The government is against you, too. Rep. George Miller (D-Calif.) recently introduced his College Opportunity and Affordability Act of 2007 to Congress. Buried in the act are provisions which:
- encourage colleges to provide information to students and employees about illegal downloading and its legal consequences;
- require colleges to create alternatives to illegal downloading for students and explore illegal downloading deterrents; and
- authorize the Secretary of Education to donate funds to schools that make advances in discouraging and stopping illegal downloads.
Spokespeople from both the RIAA and the MPAA are hailing the legislation as an important step forward in the war against illegal downloads. What they really mean is that the bill will make it easier for them to invade students' privacy and force colleges to bend to the organizations' wills. Hey, I hear there's a sale on telescreens over at Best Buy this week.
"Did you check the post today, darling?" former Kinks singer/songwriting Ray Davies asked between sips of his early afternoon latte.
"Oh, it's just a bunch of AARP pamphlets, as usual," replied an aging blonde, whose twinkling eyes were the last vestige of the 1960s knockout she once was.
"Wait, here you go. It's another one of those royalties checks from that Anderson chap. I guess he made another one of his quirky motion pictures this year," the woman chirped.
"Ah, fuck!" said Davies, grabbing the check begrudgingly. "Have I no shame?" he muttered under his breath. "Have I no shame..."
Former Kinks frontman Ray Davies, the force behind such classic albums as Arthur and The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society, will finally see his new solo record arrive Stateside February 19. Working Man's Cafe, Davies' supposed "American record," was initially released October 22 in the UK, appearing for free a day earlier in the Sunday Times newspaper in a strategy also employed by Prince with the release of this year's Planet Earth.
The LP is only Davies' second official solo release after 2006's Other People's Lives, in addition to the 1985 film-and-album combo featuring Return to Waterloo and the partly spoken-word autobiographical live album, The Storyteller. Unfortunately, Working Man's Cafe is not a concept album about Davies getting shot in the leg while chasing down muggers in New Orleans. It does, however, include these tracks:
By going to the Noise Pop Festival official website, you're setting yourself up for disappointment. I know this because, if you're anything like me (which you are), you'll go straight to the schedule link and shit your pants over the slated acts, before realizing that you've messed yourself in public over what in fact is last year's lineup. Spare yourself the humiliation and read on.
A select few acts of 2008 have been disclosed to the media, and I'm telling you now, they are indeed shit-worthy: our lord, Stephin Merritt's very own Magnetic Fields will headline two shows at The Herbst Theatre in support of their justly anticipated album, Distortions. The Mountain Goats will play three separate shows at three separate venues soon to be announced. Then there's Gutter Twins, the collaboration between Greg Dulli of Afghan Whigs and Mark Lanegan, performing in support of their debut album Saturnalia, which is set for an early 2008 release through Sub Pop.
Want more? How about Cursive, Kelly Stoltz, Tilly & The Wall, Capgun Coup, and Blitzen Trapper -- and that's just the start of a soon-to-be-fully-unveiled roster of 100+ bands to appear from February 26 - March 2 at a dozen or so close-to-our-heart San Francisco venues, like The Great American Music Hall, The Independent, Mezzanine, 12 Galaxies, and Bottom of The Hill.
As you can see, it's shaping up to be a damn good hoopla, with 2008 marking the sweet 16 of a festival that's been bringing bay area rockers the dope-est (I've heard a lot of people saying that again, "doooooope") in indie, punk, and electronic music since its establishment in 1993. At its advent, Noise Pop was a one-night hoo-ha, but that hoo-ha has evolved into the week long, hip-hop-happenin hoodang it is today, shooting above and beyond your average West Coast gala. Some would go as far to call it a veritable cultural shin-dig, its sticky fingers now involving gallery art shows, a music-themed film festival, a discussion panel led by musicians and minimally sordid music industry professionals, and a number of planned and spontaneous events, of which there's nothing more exciting.
Unlike the overwhelming nature of CMJ or SXSW, Noise Pop has forever been unique in its dedication to bridging the gap between fans and bands, keeping the venues intimate and ticket prices low. Year after year, show-goers revel in performances by the not-unknown-for-long, who add themselves to a roster that's showcased acts the likes of Modest Mouse, The White Stripes, Devendra Banhart, Bright Eyes, The Decemberists, Frank Black, Jeff Tweedy, and Spoon.
NOTE: The following is too funny to riddle with absurd metaphor, irony, or funny hahaha details. The biz of news is direct, sparse, and... manly. True to form, so is this update. Just call me your stone-cold-cigarette-fanning Ed Murrow. Do not call me Al. Unless I ask you to be my bodyguard, or if I happen to be your long-lost pal.
NEWS: Belle and Sebastian recently announced plans to release a calendar, titled “Toast to Glasgow 2008,” in tribute of their hometown.
Photos were taken by Marisa Privitera and band-man Stuart Murdoch.
For updated information on appearances, DJ sets, and the like, visit their site.
While we join as an indie-pendent-minded nation in noting the absurdity of HUAC and Joseph McCarthy, Belle and Sebastian continue to plug and chug away on “God Help the Girl,” an opportunity for competition-winners Brittany Stallings and Dina Bankole to send some vocal cha-cha Glasgow’s way.
Girls will not be in the calendar.
Good night, and good luck.
It was the pre-holiday shopping season. Billionaire mogul Guy Hands strolled leisurely through the streets of London. A particularly shiny piece of jewelry in a shop window caught his eye. "Avast!" a startled Guy exclaimed. "What an exquisite bauble. It will make a perfect gift for my wife." He gallivanted into the store and was excited to discover that, with every purchase over €500,000, the customer was entitled to a multinational firm at the paltry cost of €1,000. It was the high-end version of getting one of those lotion box sets with a makeup purchase. "Well," mused Guy, "I like rock ‘n’ roll, so I think I'll take EMI."
Pleased with this impulsive buy, he pranced back home. But when it dawned on him that he'd just acquired one of the world's Big Four record labels, he promptly began hyperventilating. He went into panic mode, assigning two-thirds of his team to the new project and effectively disregarding most of his other companies. He also told his investors, in a frantic conference call, that he would fire all artists who were not "working hard enough." But even the potential gains of this outlandish claim would not sufficient to satiate the monstrous appetite of EMI's losses. He sat on his luxuriously upholstered armchair, curled into a ball, and began sobbing.
And that, boys and girls, is why you don't buy debt-ridden multinational corporations on a flight of fancy.
Okay, so I know this sounds contrived, but last night, in a bizarre turn-of-events that is certainly in no way a journalistic exploitation of the fact that it's almost Christmas or to a certain Victorian word-monger, I was visited by THREEEEEE SPIIIIIIIRITS!
Spooky, I know. Here's a recap from my journal... I mean, "Xanga":
- 1:00 AM
Ghost of Musical Christmas Past arrives in my room. I freak out.
- 1:05 AM
I calm down. We fly out the window, stop at Waffle House. Ghost of Xmas Musical Past has an egg white omelet. I just have coffee.
- 1:35 AM
Ghost flies me to Memphis 1952, where jazz guitarist and inventor Les Paul and the Gibson corporation prepare to release their new "Les Paul Gold Top" guitar just in time for Christmas! This 1952 Les Paul features two state-of-the-art, P-90, single-coil pickups and a one-piece, ‘trapeze’-style bridge and tailpiece, with strings that were fitted under (instead of over) a steel stop-bar. Despite these technological amenities, guitar playing is still quite the act of performance art, as this original Les Paul guitar has problems with intonation, neck angle, and pitch and require a good ear and a real "musician's touch" to perform on.
- 1:53 AM
Ghost flies me home bewildered. I go in for a hug. Ghost backs away and extends hand for shake. It's awkward. Ghost then disappears promptly.
- 2:00 AM
Huge guy appears in my room, calls himself the Ghost of Musical Christmas Present. I know the routine this time, so I put my shoes and coat back on.
- 2:03 AM
We hit the streets. It's the next morning, somehow, and everyone is staring. I'm tired. Ghost wants to bum a cigarette from me. I try the “dude, I only have like 3 left” line, but it doesn’t work.
- 2:10 AM
Ghost of Musical Christmas Present whisks me over to a present-day Memphis guitar plant where the Gibson guitar company is eagerly preparing to release the world's first self-tuning guitar on December 7, 2007 (also just in time for Christmas!). This technological whiz of a guitar, apparently called the “Bigson Robot Les Paul,” will retail for around Â£1,400, the ghost tells me.
- 2:12 AM
I explain to the ghost that I'm American and don't know what that price means. Ghost rolls his eyes and tells me that it's $2,200.
- 2:13 AM
Ghost continues his diatribe, explaining that, aside from being ludicrously expensive, this new gadget will actually allow different tuning presets to be "stored in its memory," meaning tomorrow's players can simply push buttons to flick between presets without actually having to alter the string tuning by hand. Gibson apparently bills this as a "remarkable music experience" and claims that this new axe will be available at 400 music retailers across the world.
- 2:21 AM
I think that this technological advance sounds "sweet." But the ghost disagrees. Says something about how, in time, advances like these will lead to the ruination of creativity and artistry in popular music, etc.
- 2:40 AM
I'm weary from his lecture. Ghost of Musical Christmas Present rolls his eyes, snaps his fingers. Boom. I'm back home.
- 3:02 AM
Ghost of Musical Christmas Future shows up. "You're a little late," I say. Ghost flips me off. Apparently, this guy doesn't really talk.
- 3:03 AM
Ghost wastes no time shuttling me to the Gibson plant of the distant future, which is now located not in Memphis, but in Beverly Hills, California. I take a look around and see, to my horror, that manual electric guitars are no longer being produced. I pick a Guitar Center Christmas ad book out of a nearby trash can and promptly read the front-page advertisement for the 2057 Gibson "Guitar Hero XXIV" model. There are no strings; there is no wood. Lights and buttons are everywhere. Thanks to the needless technology first used by Gibson's 2007 "Bigson Robot" model, guitar playing has apparently now become a video game that any idiot can play as long as he or she is willing to shell-out the cash. A "free tab" sheet in the ad depicts a very foreign series of triangles, squares, Xs, and stars. The title at the top of the page reads: "Master of Puppets," by Metallica. I realize that the Ghost of Musical Christmas Present was right after all. There is much wailing, gnashing of teeth, etc.
- 3:15 AM
Distraught and upset with Gibson, I commit suicide by running in front of a Gibson truck that is hastily leaving the plant in order to deliver these sinister, self-playing guitars all over the world. But just as everything is fading to black... I WAKE UP.
I know! Creepy, right?!?
What does all of this MEAN, you ask?
Well, to be honest, I don't rightly know if it was all a dream or not. My girlfriend assures me that it was. My stoner friend who listens to Tenacious D all day swears that it wasn’t. Either way, just to be on the safe side, if you want to keep the musical world safe from swift, mechanized, creativity-squelching oblivion, DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES visit this address this Christmas.
You have been warned.