Okkervil River Announce Tourdates, None of these Tourdates Are in the U.S.

Okkervil River, though not in the good ol’ US of A, will obviously rep us so well by:

(1) feasting nightly on hefty portions of meat, potatoes, and apple pie,

(2) curing world hunger with aerial drops of freedom fries,

(3) democratizing other nations.

Obviously, all the while with waving American flags announcing their presence.

Good luck, boys! Make us proud!

Liberty, justice, tour dates:

Holy Fuck to Watch Their Language, Tour with Super Furry Animals and A Place To Bury Strangers

Last year, my New Year's resolution was to make a resolution and stick by it, but seeing as that was the resolution, I had nothing to stick by. So this New Year's was actually the one when I had to pick something to uphold. As a writer, I figured examining my frequent use of "fucking" and "hella" (as opposed to more descriptive adjectives and adverbs) would be a good start. That said, it's pretty fucki-- I mean, fairly challenging to keep my language under control, especially when it comes time to discussing things that completely unhinge my enthusiasm, like Canadian, lo-fi supergroup Holy Fuck (which being a proper noun cannot be considered profanity) and their upcoming tour.

Utilizing toy ray guns and other non-instrument instruments, Holy Fuck's improvisational EP kicked fucking a-- err, I mean... was a strong debut landing them festival gigs worldwide, such as Coachella, CMJ Music Marathon, All Tomorrows Parties, and given their past propensity to reach out, slap you around, and draw you in (figuratively speaking), I predict that every show on this tour will hella rock the house-- fuck, I said "hella."

Golly, I'm excited.

* Super Furry Animals

$ A Place to Bury Strangers

Why I have more in common with Enon than the United Kingdom ever will: a short list.

Reason number one: The band's name is Enon, a town northeast of my hometown of Dayton, OH. Incidentally, also the hometown of band founder John Schmersal. Daytonians are supposed to be closed-minded and unworldly, John. We DON'T travel to England.

Reason number two: I know the whereabouts of and have played Brainiac's old Micromoog synthesizer. Sorry John, I'm afraid you'll never get it now.

Reason number three: Clotted cream. Who are these guys kidding with a name like that? I already know it will fill my body with lipids and all kinds of unhealthy cholesterols, they don't have to advertise it. Plus, it's impossible to eat scones and jam without looking pretentious. Talking with a British accent can have the same effect.

Reason number four: Profit.

Alright, my argument isn't as convincing in text as it was in my head. Maybe I like using verbs of being when action verbs could be used! They are are essential to righting a well wrotten newsstory, and I efuse too list to your English Oxford bullbabble!

I must be losing my mind... I need you Enon, more than you'll even know.

Dates and oats:

Flipper Gets Their Replacement Tour Bassist to Play On Their New LP. Who Cares? The Replacement Bassist is Krist Novaselic. Oh Cool!

It’s been a good 15 years since Flipper last released an album. Suddenly, they find themselves compelled to re-enter a rock ‘n’ roll market now full of kids who aren’t even familiar with the maritime heroics of the original Flipper.

Shrewdly, the group appears to have realized they needed a hook, something to pull today’s adderall-riddled kids (read: me) away from their Hannah Montana body doubles and their Nintendo Wiis they got for Christmas. Luckily, the band has been playing some shows with former Nirvana bass player Krist Novaselic (TMT News).

When it came time for Flipper to re-enter the studio, they asked Novaselic to play on their currently untitled new record, and he not only said he would, he also said that he would setup a makeshift studio in his house and that he that he would tap Jack Endino (Mudhoney, Soundgarden, Nirvana’s Bleach) to produce. What a nice guy!

Drummer Steve DePace claims the album is “99% done” and also that they “can write songs with Krist now that sound just like Flipper.” The group wants to be on the road again by “the spring and summer,” so here’s hoping we all get to see that gangly Andy Kaufman-looking motherfucker in a town near us sometime soon.

Industry Alphabet: RIAA, EMI, IFPI, LMNOP

"Guys, this is fucked up. We've got to re-evaluate our game plan," EMI was reported to say before filing a letter of resignation to the IFPI, effective March 31, 2008. Upon receiving said letter, the IFPI was all, "Dude, we totally suck," and then the RIAA was all, "Hey, if we merged, we could be, like, Kings of Assholes worldwide," and the IFPI was all "Stoked."

And that's pretty much how it might have and could have possibly went down. For months now, industry officials have been undergoing ball-crushing discussions in hopes of bearing an industry merge/restructure that will save them all, like a major label Jesus. Besides a possible merging of the IFPI (an organization that represent worldwide recording interests) and RIAA, which would become the somewhat ironic PIRAATE (Phonographic Industries and Recording Associations for the Amelioration of Troubled Earnings), industry sad-men are looking to consolidate functions with minimal overlap, which, yeah, sounds like a more solid business structure.

"What can be accomplished by one global trade group would be preferable and more cost-efficient than two," said a greasy, unnamed EMI source involved in the discussions. Essentially, EMI is saying that it will drop out of the IFPI by March 31 unless there is a "solution" it can "support," as it is undoubtedly worried about the cost of paying two industry groups on top of its piling bills. Whether that solution means a consolidation of the RIAA and IFPI or a 25% off coupon remains to be seen.

Like a Rhinestone Cowboy, Castanets Are Riding Out on a Tour Through The West Coast

I always envied that Castanets guy. He tested out of high school at age 15! And then he traveled around the United States on a Greyhound bus for four years! This is like, my life dream! (Well, maybe I'd choose a train or a car instead of a Greyhound bus, but still.) Just imagine the diner waitresses and railroad tramps and wily bluesmen he must have encountered!

Not to mention the three amazing albums Mr. Castanets, Raymond Raposa, has released on Asthmatic Kitty Records. Sparse, haunting, and thoroughly lovely, the latest of these releases, 2007's In the Vines (TMT Review), is setting Raposa and friends on the road for a series of dates on the West Coast.

In the Vines features performances from frequent collaborators like Vanishing Voice's Nonhorse, Viking Moses, Jana Hunter, Phosphorescent's Matthew Houck, Rafter Roberts, and Shaky Hands' Nathan Delffs. The album was inspired in part by Raposa's experiences on the road and by a Hindu fable about the inevitability of fate.

Prefix opens story with brilliance rivaling Pitchfork: “The Smog, or (Smog) if you will, has lifted, and now we’re left simply with Bill Callahan.” I, on the other hand, am taking a class on Hemingway this semester.

The man sits down at the bar. There are three bottles to his right. They are empty. To his left is a woman. She sits lower than the man.

"I don't understand," says the woman. She says this as a child might, wanting instructions from a father.

"I have to go," says the man.

"But why."

"I love you."

"I can't believe you anymore," says the woman.

The man orders another beer and looks at his suitcase on the floor. It is covered with stickers of the places he's been. To the left of the suitcase is a guitar case. It is older than the woman.

"I don't know that you ever did," replies the man.

"If you leave, who will sing you to sleep?"

"When I leave you will no longer want to sing me to sleep."

"I still have my harp. Take me along."

The man takes three calculated sips. One is a taste. Two is a reassurance. Three is a goodbye. He looks at the door. It is the type that swings without the safety of a spring-loaded closing mechanism. It flows freely. He draws parallels. The man runs his fingers through the long hair of the woman. She reminds him of an elf.

"You are very pretty, but I must go."


EMI to Allow Live Concert Broadcasts in Movie Theaters for Those Too Lazy to Camp Out in Line for Tickets or Make Up Egregious Lies About Family Members Dying in Certain Wars

After the shame of having its ass bought out by private equity firm Terra Firma, EMI surveyed the wreckage and realized, "Hey! I still own the rights to these here Spice Girls and Coldplay, et al... let's whore them out a little more and see what they can do. Those dang scalpers won't know WHAT hit ‘em!" In this case, fans of said bands will be able to totally bypass that pesky live experience for a real-time streaming broadcast of the concert they want to see in movie theaters owned by Terra Firma, which holds the rights to Odeon/UCI, the largest movie theater conglomerate outside of North America. For all of you businessy types, this makes the bucks for EMI as such: "The format would be used to launch new albums, with fans, media and music executives invited to the screenings and given the option of picking up the CD or film of the concert on their way out of the cinema." Thanks, Mr. EMI Suit Man! You're so kind.

Now, I understand if you were all kinds of pissed that you couldn't seen Led Zeppelin's reunion show in London because, well, you didn't feel like going to London for one concert. That's legit. But broadcasting concerts live in the SAME city these acts are touring? Really? Could someone please help me understand the purpose behind physically standing up, walking out of your house, and going somewhere ELSE to sit on your tush and watch a concert? It's like going to a McDonald's drive-thru and going to Burger King to eat your Quarter Pounder. And I guarantee both practices will do nothing to enhance your cultural experience. Just sayin'.

Jens Lekman to Tour, Rocky Dennis Not to Tour, or: In 30 Years, I Will Wear Jumpers and Comfortable Shoes after Going to See Movies Featuring Diane Keaton

Dear Jens Baby Sweetheart,

Things could always be worse.

Like, for instance, rather than your likely frustration with the public thinking your name was “Rocky Dennis,” (due to confusion over the Mask-inspired song title “Rocky Dennis’ Goodbye Song to the Blind Girl” back in the earlier ‘00s), you could have, say, had your little sister Sarah agree with you when you mentioned that you thought in your old age you would look like your hefty, poofy-haired high school teacher of the past.

Crying shame.

Eating my heart out, aiming for 100 extra lbs, old and new tourdates:

[Photo: Kristin Lidell]

Henry Rollins Announces Tour, But Only The Confirmed Cities (Kidding)

I could give you the blabber on Rollins’ past and future endeavors (Black Flag, his TV show, other things I have no idea about), but that’s all better served by his website, 21361.com. Instead, what I want to talk about is Wrong Turn 2: Dead End, the straight-to-video horror sequel released this year starring Henry as retired Marine colonel Dale Murphy. At first look, the film has all the makings of a bland, formulaic, shock-gore throwaway flick. But with Henry Rollins in the credits, you might wonder if the trunk-necked pontificator is able to save the sequel from its seemingly preordained bargain-bin destiny.

While the film’s thoroughly disfigured inbred hillbillies -- its own West Virginia-inspired Texas Chain Sawers -- hit a bit harder than Black Flag fans circa 1984, unfortunately no amount of intestine splatter, no number of mutant makeout sessions, nor even an electronic music-hating 46-year-old could make the film any closer to being watchable. TMT wholeheartedly backs the advice of YouTube user pecker213323, who recently commented on the film’s trailer by asking, "are there any boobies in this? I'm not gonna bother watching this shitty movie unless a fine ass chick gets naked. (sic)" That would be a "don’t even bother," Mr. Pecker.

With that out of the way, I imagine this Rollins tour, Provoked: An Evening of Quintessentially American Opinionated Editorializing and Storytelling, will be essentially the same spoken word act he’s been doing for decades. You know what you’re getting into: a opinionated, rambling dude with a butt chin and a neck leathery enough to sharpen razors on.