Outfoxed: Rupert Murdoch’s War on Journalism, or: how large media conglomerations threaten the public’s right to information, as exemplified by Murdoch’s Fox News.
Wal-mart: High Cost of Low Prices, or: the human cost at which Wal-mart offers its low prices.
Why We Fight (1, 2, 3, 4), or: an exploration of the motives behind the neo-Conservative obsession with endless warfare.
Avey Tare & Kria Brekkan – Pullhair Rubeye
Man, this shit’s backwards! I’d never really listen to this in its retail form, but the reversed/pitch adjusted versions available on the internets to any slightly resourceful person is pretty awesome! Soothing, psyched out pop. If you don’t know, Avey Tare is one half of the core of Animal Collective. And Kria Brekkan is his wife. And a member of Mum. “Lay Lay Off, Faselam” (reversed, of course) is one of my favorite songs right now. Dig “Sis Around The Sawmill.”
The Field – From Here We Go Sublime
My most listened-to album of ‘07 so far, and maybe my favorite. I’ve been listening to it on a nightly basis for a good month or two. Prolific artist Axel Willner’s work under his Field moniker is characterized by minimal, trancy 4/4 drum beats and broken-record repetition of samples. It’s ambient, but never boring. Never has a sequencer been played so warmly and organically — every song was sequenced live and kept intact, mistakes included. But don’t take my word for it! Listen to “A Paw In My Face.”
All Smiles – Ten Readings of a Warning
Ex-Grandaddy guitarist Jim Fairchild recorded this album in his shed with the help of such percussionists as Joe Plummer (Black Heart Procession, Modest Mouse), Danny Seim (Menomena) and Janet Weiss (Sleater-Kinney). He certainly always had a lot to do with why Grandaddy was awesome, although his role in songwriting was nominal. The songs here embody the kind of breezy melancholy of Beulah or old Modest Mouse. Should be a good summer album. Listen to “Moth In A Cloud Of Smoke,” the best song on the album.
Venetian Snares – Pink + Green EP
A new EP that basically sounds like most of drill’n'bass artist Aaron Funk’s other material, aside from the transcendental Rossz Csillag Allat Szuletett. It’s glitchy and noisy and agressive and cathartic and I LOVE IT. Great for turning up way too loud in the car and annoying your passengers/cars around you. MP3: “Pink + Green.”
Xiu Xiu – Remixed and Covered
A bunch of cool artists covering/remixing Xiu Xiu songs! Good stuff: “The Wig Master” by Why?, “Fabulous Muscles” by Kid 606, “Apistat Commander” by Sunset Rubdown, “Hello from Eau Claire” by Gold Chains and Xiu Xiu’s own cover of Joy Division’s “Ceremony.”
APPEND: Forgot a little something, for the fans.
WORST ALBUM OF THE MONTH: Bright Eyes – Cassadaga
Look, I tried to like this thing. I tried to love it. I wanted to be able to say, “you know, I’ve always despised Bright Eyes, but this album is really something!” I heard “Four Winds,” and thought it was a pretty okay song, if not good, even. I used the time and bandwidth to pirate this. Unfortunately, though, it is still self-conscious, unlistenable tripe. It’s not even comically bad like I’m Wide Awake It’s Morning (seriously, that first track is pure hilarity — “we all love you very very very very very very very very very muchhh!”), it’s just boring and irritating. I DO NOT APPROVE. And I’ll have you know, I’m a real authority on the matter!
I called My Brightest Diamond out on their lame rockstar theatrics (as well as their bad music) in my review of the Decemberists show on the 21st. Apparently, it was an accident waiting to happen. According to a news story on Pitchfork, frontwoman Shara Worden had a little mishap the other night.
According to a spokesperson at Asthmatic Kitty, Shara “went for a rock jump during the song ‘Magic Rabbit’ and upon landing, dislocated her left knee. Worden finished out the song from the floor and then requested a chair and an icebag. She finished the set but was then carried off stage and taken to the hospital.”
[ . . .]
What’s more, “Just before the show in Vegas, [bassist Nathan] Lithgow ['a champion volleyball server'] and Worden, ironically, were practicing jump moves as a pre-concert warm up. It seems that Worden’s competitive spirit brought her downfall.”
This is not Shara’s first onstage slip-up, either. According to AK, she also landed on her tush after some hang-time at a previous St. Louis gig.
God they looked stupid. I feel bad, but this really does make me happy. It’s a sign — leave the stage jumps to more qualified musicians, like Green Day. Or Fallout Boy!
Hilarious. I love the Onion.
LOS ANGELES—Despite the existence of cinema classics such as Citizen Kane, The Godfather, and Seven Samurai, the 2004 film Garden State starring Zach Braff and Natalie Portman is some poor fuck’s favorite movie, according to a posting on imdb.com.
“I thought the interplay between the main characters was beautiful, and the soundtrack was amazing,” wrote the miserable bastard after another post called the film “self-indulgent” and “annoying.” “It’s this cynical society’s snap reaction to dislike a movie about finding one’s true self. I honestly cry every time he gets off that plane.”
The sad sack of shit was swiftly put in his place by another IMDb user, who argued that the film was just a “knockoff” of superior predecessors, such as You’ve Got Mail.
Seriously, though, Garden State is awful — I hate that damn film more than most things.
I had to write a letter welcoming some girl I don’t know to my position on the newspaper staff next year. She is going to receive, by far, the coolest letter.
Dear Ms. xxxxxxxxx,
Word on the street is that you’re going to be the lifestyles editor (I think) for the wonderful publication that is the Northmen’s Log next year. And I’m supposed to write you some really boring letter about how I had such a great time this year, and had sooooo many great experiences that will like totally stay with me for the rest of my life. Or maybe give you some advice about what it takes to succeed! So let’s see how this goes.
I guess the main challenge next year will be basically starting fresh, only holding over two staff members from this year. I say use this to your advantage. Think original. Don’t try to mimic the example of the last few years. Because, let’s be honest, there has been a lot of retreading the same ground, and nothing, in my opinion, that has been anything too exceptional. Honestly, if I learned anything from being on staff this year, it is that it is much easier to just slide by and produce mediocre work than it is to really step up and do something cool. But I think if one pays any amount of attention to the student body, he would have to conclude that they’re pretty bored with the publication. While a paper does need to cover the “important” news stories, I think things could be much more reflective of what, you know, the kids who read the paper want to read. But that’s just me!
The following of a list of things I think would make the Log much better next year. And mind you, I am being completely serious. Completely.
Gossip columns. Libel laws are just formalities – they haven’t enforced those things for years! We need administrator gossip. We need to teach our photographers paparazzi tactics. We need people outside of the house of every teacher and administrator at every moment we possibly can. “Skretta: affair with Roberts?” “MacArthur is a communist sympathizer!” Now that would get the kids talking, am I right!?
More stories about global warming. I mean come on, this is serious business!
More editorials about things that annoy people. “What’s the deal with flip flops?” “The color white is so overrated.”
More negativity. Particularly in the sports page, I think. I mean, how cool would it to see an article completely bashing the quarterback of the football team for screwing up the season? Pretty cool, I think. And more personal attacks on bad teachers. I mean, these people need to be held accountable.
Less words, more pictures. Seriously, who reads these days?
More stories about animals. Honestly, I don’t think we had a single story about animals this year. And it’s a shame! Everybody loves animals
More water stories. One story about water this year was simply not enough. Particularly about fluoridation. Come on, that’s a commie conspiracy if I’ve ever heard one.
Follow my words, and you will find yourself in the ranks of the greatest journalists in the history of the art form. I’m talking Bill O’Reilly caliber. Don Imus. Stone Phillips. April from the ninja turtles, even. And, xxxxxxx, it is an art, and don’t let anybody tell you it isn’t. And follow your heart, always. Don’t let anybody tell you how to do your job when you know what’s right. The journalism world is a cruel mistress – trust me, I know. It never came easy. It sure as hell never came easy back in ‘Nam. I’ll tell you one thing. I know pain. I know pain. Having to look a crying Vietnamese boy, clothed in tatters, after the US Marine Corps mercilessly burned his village to the ground – that’s pain. Nope, it never did come easy. Everything I’ve earned – all the fame, all the women, all the money – I had to fight for it all, and nobody ever gave me any encouragement. So take it out there into the real world. Fight the good fight. But mostly, follow your heart.
Sincerely,
Mr. Daniel C. Giordano
Thee More Shallows have been some of my favorite musicians since I ran across them on the now-defunct music site Epitonic, back when they were still known as Thee Shallows (boo copyrights). I used the haunting “Ballad of Douglas Chin” from their debut, A History of Sport Fishing (along with some Rapeman song, I think) in a crappy video a friend and I made for my freshmen year high school talent show. 2005’s More Deep Cuts is a should-be classic, a near perfect album, an emotional tour-de-force and one of my favorites ever, and inextricably linked to a period in my life of bizarre, confused depression which took place over winter break 2005, during which I did not leave my house and the following words became my unhealthily-obsessed mantra:
Let’s not go out
Let’s not stay up late
Let’s not go out
Let’s not celebrate
Cause there is no time
Left in tonightTomorrow is already here
Personal context aside, Thee More Shallows are wonderful. They make intricately crafted albums of sparse synthesizers, gentle guitar, violin, toy piano, and intoxicating, whispery vocals. The upcoming Book of Bad Breaks is their debut on Anticon Records — formerly a prolific collective of underground hip-hop artists, but more recently releasing basically anything, including work from awesome musicians like SJ Esau and Bracken. The new album is slightly more spontaneous than the meticulously worked and re-worked Cuts, and much more experimental. Lots of new sounds, more electronics, different structures. The album was written on a Casio HT-700 and an acoustic guitar (a demo CD-R is available if you pre-order). As a result, there is much less quiet meditation, replaced by noisy, uptempo songs with loose, sloppy parts. The tone here still evokes dread, but not so much a deep, personal dread as a wider social discontent characteristic of these helpless times. I can’t tell if it will match their other work after I digest it, but early listens are promising.
Listen to a few tracks from the album at their Myspace.
They’re playing the RecordBar on May 12, the day after my birthday. I hope to God it’s 18+ and not 21+. But I’m sure it won’t be.
I need a bicycle. I don’t need a bicycle, but I would like one. For college and such. If anybody around Kansas City is selling one (preferrably small, and sans gears), drop me a line or something.
You know, I really was not too excited for the Decemberists; they are one of those bands that I just sort of like by habit. They have some nice pop songs, a singer with a cool voice, and smart lyrics. I basically never listen to them. I knew I had to go to this, though, if only out of nostalgia.
Did they suck? No. I mean, I think what I enjoyed more than the music was seeing the personalities of the people behind the music that I sort of grew up with. Meloy is basically the guy you would expect him to be. He had a lot of truly funny exchanges with the crowd, and proved to be a master of audience participation (surpassed only, from my experience, by Jeff Tweedy). He went off on this discourse about “gray areas,” somehow involving the Sex Pistols and Fleetwood Mac, that I hope somebody recorded, because it was truly hilarious. Their piano player is downright adorable, too. She tried to give back somebody’s hat that he threw on stage earlier because it looked “special” or “really broken in” or something. I smiled.
Oh yeah, music. Basically, it sounded like their albums. Which is what I expected. They played the two songs I really wanted to hear, “Here I Dreamt I Was An Architect” and “July, July,” both from Castaways and Cut-outs, the first album I heard by them and my favorite. The set drew pretty heavily from The Crane Wife, and solidified my opinion that their newest album contains some of their best and worst material. “The Island/The Landlord’s Daughter/You’ll Not Feel The Drowning” (I feel like a damn fool typing all of that out) was as boring and self-indulgent as it is on the album. “When The War Came” is still a pretty bad song. And “The Perfect Crime,” which I have vocally detested since I first heard it, was still lame, even though Colin set up a “dance contest” in the middle which ended up being more of a pseudo-mosh thing. On the other hand, “Yankee Bayonet” remained a bloody gorgeous song (performed with that cute girl from My Brightest Diamond; more on them later), and “O! Valencia” was still rad. Basically, they are at their best when they cut the theatrical bullshit and just write good pop music.
Other good stuff: “16 Military Wives” was a rollicking good time, slightly hampered by an overly long sing-a-long thing at the “la de da de da” part. For his encore, Colin came out and covered “Everyday is like Sunday” by the MOZ, who I guess he idolizes or something. Look, kids, I know I’ve said some things about Morissey in my time, but my complaint has never been with his song-writing talents, but with his irritating voice. Sung by Meloy, I think it might be the high point of the show for me. Somebody recorded it. Watch:
He finished with “Eli the Barrowboy.” I sort of had my heart set on hearing the epic “Mariner’s Revenge Song,” but “Barrowboy” is a damn fine song and proved to be a great way to end the night.
Oh yeah, My Brightest Diamond opened. And, you know, I really don’t think much of them. I don’t think much of them at all. The girl is painfully cute, but their music just bothers me on some level I don’t quite understand. The best description I can think of is “Joanna Newsom if she decided to start writing bad music and hired some really annoying bros who like to pretend like they’re rock stars and jump around a lot to back her up.” In fact, I’ve drawn a bit of criticism online (Last.fm is serious business) the past couple days. More specifically, some 22-year-old told me the following:
“Go back to singing your Pokemon showtunes, you sorry emo brat. Get a haircut too, you cliche. Obviously, you have no musical taste if you can stand Xiu Xiu but not like Brightest Diamond. Oh well, have fun jerking off to the lead singer of the Decemberists.”
I want to track this person down and shake my head disapprovingly.
Dig my photos of the show on Flickr.
The general consensus on the venue for this show, some bar called the Embassy where Recycled Sounds used to be, was, “what?” Beer sitting around in buckets? Annoying tables everywhere? Bouncers in front of Lightning Bolt? Excuse me? Whatever. The show ended up getting busted up by the cops anyway, and they will never, ever have another show.
Despite the annoying venue, Lightning Bolt still rocked the place. After seeing so many damned YouTube videos of their shows and hearing countless “Oh my gawd I saw Lightning Bolt and I’m sore and I totally can’t hear lawl” stories, it was sort of cool to finally see them. There is something super badass about their whole setup and Chippendale’s wacko mask. Hearing them play together was really impressive, and sort of forced you to get into the whole violent thrashing/spazz dancing zone. They played “Dead Cowboy,” the only song by them that I’ve ever really loved and listened to consistently.
Honestly, I don’t have much to say. Lightning Bolt is good. You know what their shows are like. The Embassy isn’t cool. Don’t go there.
Have to weigh in on this one, I guess.
The shooting at Virginia Tech is tragic. 32 people dying is never, ever a good thing. I feel awful for all families affected. This morning, I ran into a blog post with a list of victims, and hundreds of comments from friends and family asking for information about loved ones. Since those comments were left, virtually all of those names have been added the list of dead. Truly, this was a despicable act.
Of course, though, the media latched onto the story and began exploiting it within a few hours. This should not be a massive news story. There is nothing to follow. Cho Seung-Hui is dead. All the damage that could be done is done. Leave the families alone. All that is left is for the big media outlets to find out and/or fabricate as much information about the killer to appease the dark apetites of the dumb American public. He was a very disturbed individual that truly needed help. End.
I would love to believe that the people in the news media are just that damn compassionate. But the pieces just don’t fit. Those stories of people dying in Iraq, BAH, no shock value anymore. Doesn’t sell. But REAL AMERICAN BLOOD! College kids, no less. That’s a story! And a depressed sociopath from Korea! Somebody should option this shit!
Also quite expectedly, countless people are already trying to politicize the massacre. For instance: this piece by Mike Hendricks in the Star. Look, I hate guns. I’ve never shot, or even touched one. I despise them. But guns are really not the issue. Certainly not the only one. If guns were outlawed completely in US, we would still probably have an astronomical murder rate. Would killing somebody be less convenient? Sure. But guns are very far from being the only means of doing so. I guess it helps people who don’t want to see a problem for what it is to objectify it by attributing it only to the concrete cause of the tragedy. I think if anybody spent more than a few minutes thinking about it, though, they would realize that there is a pervasive sickness eating the people of the United States from the inside out. Everything from its culture to its language to its value system has become diseased and repugnant. “Mental disorders” have spread exponentially over the last century. Every kid, it seems, has ADHD. Every adult suffers from anxiety and depression. Without a drastic change to the fundamentals of this country, in fifty years, it will be a fucking wasteland, and there will be a massacre every week.
Our morally empty, emotionally numb youth are mocking this tragedy. Look. We’re on our way.
Stop pointing fingers. The problem is not the existance of guns. The problem is the politicians. Yes, the problem is television. Yes, the problem is video game killing simulators. The problem is Christianity. The problem is the exploitative, immoral news media.
Our leaders murder hundreds a day — why can’t we?
Sayin’.
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