Monday, December 15, 2008

"Sleepy Head (White Sirens of Burr Remix)" by Passion Pit


Born in the future world, The White Sirens of Burr were sent back to modern day to begin a crusade against a future full of complacency and idol-worshipping. Emerging from a cloud of mist they streak across the night time like the frigid glow of neon that illuminates midnight diners. They will not quit or be held back. The future must be saved.

Finger on the Pulse NYC held a remix contest a while back for Passion Pit's "Sleepy Head" and none other than the White Sirens of Burr chosen as a personal best of the entries. Picked by the NO Big Deal crew as their favorite, the little Portland Electro/Metal/Healing&EasyListening group has already started down the path towards the destiny that awaits them. Complacency should prepare to be sodomized.

Sleepyhead (White Sirens Of Burr Remix).mp3 (No Big Deal fave)

Music and politics

Not too long ago, a song held lots of power over the political arena. A song could inspire people to rise up and fight for what’s right. It could show the evils of government and inspire change, Bob Dylan, the Clash, Sex pistols, and so many others’s politically inspired songs enlightened the people.
At least that’s what people like to believe. In reality, these songs only reflected the already charged opinions of the people. None of these artists caused the change we saw. The riots, the injustices, and the social outrage of all the people caused the change, not the songs of a few bards.
Music does not inspire political change. I cannot think of a single time that a mass group of people’s beliefs were changed by a feel good political song. Not in any book, music based or historical. Music reflects the politics and atmosphere. I find it hard to believe that music has any mass effect on politics itself.
Don’t believe me? Well look at the music “politic” events. Live 8 could be considered a good example. Massive amounts of bands turned out to show their support for forgiving Africa’s debt. And who did they convince? I’m pretty sure that Africa is still sweating over how much it owes. The people may want it, but the music isn’t what convinced them.
I think it’s time for the music community to accept that we’re not going to create any large political change anytime soon. Or ever for that matter. If you truly want political change, try writing a book or speech. Organize a march. But singing a song isn’t going to get the big wigs prepared to change anything. Let us just accept that we reflect the political atmosphere, we do not cause any significant change.
But why? Well think about it. Most musicians are college educated Harvard grads in economics or political theory. They’re just out of high school or even drop outs. Nothing against them, but politicians aren’t going to take political advice from someone who spent their life dedicated to a guitar. The 6 string instrument, as beautiful as it is, doesn’t give much political insight.
That said, no one should stop making political songs, since they normally are filled with passion and emotions. They can be, and I believe normally are, damn good songs. So by all means write them. Just don’t get into a drum circle and talk about how awesome the songs are, and how we’re going to get change soon. Cause guess what, it isn’t going to happen, and if it does, it isn’t because of your “stellar” song.

Saturday, December 13, 2008

Finals

Well, its official, finals have started...fuck. Good luck to you all. and hey, if you want an oh so needed break, just remember that bad girls need love too:


"Bad Girls Need Love Too" -Toxic Avenger

Friday, December 12, 2008

Cornelius

"Cornelius" by the Bloody Beetroots

CORNELIUS from borntofilm on Vimeo.

Taking a cue from my boy Dylan over at portlandplayground I feel the need to share with you this masterful video of debauchery and all around good fun from the Bloody Beetroots. Reminiscent of Justice's recent release of A Cross The Universe, this video keeps on the idea that our generation is going to make civilization swan dive straight into the shits of chaos, abuse, and all around anarchy. Oh the beauty of it all. One thing to note is that this type of shit doesn't happen in Portland, because of its non existent dance/electro scene. But do not fret good sirs and madam es, this is about to change, thanks in a large part to the aforementioned portlandplayground and its leaders, the White Sirens of Burr. So prepare to sodomize complacency and hopefully this video, and the Blood Beetroots (they are fucking amazing, check their shit out, it is mind blowing) will tide you over and prepare you for the irrevocable change that is awaiting our great city
[Nick Erickson]

oh dear, I do hope U got UR holiday sweater on!

oh there is much to be said about the Portland Cello Project's Dec 5th concert, but first...
thoughts on which punk band would best adorn a holiday sweater?
a. the dead Kennedys
b. the violent femmes
c. the ramones
d. the sex pistols
e. the clash
i vote the ramones because they could have a line of ramones holiday sweaters on which each would have a different ramone {Dee Dee, Johnny, Joey, etc.} buy two get Johnny free!

Oh you, dear reader, would have been quite the stud if you had come dressed in a Johnny Rammone Holiday Sweater to Portland Cello Project's Dec 5th concert at the Aladdin. Everyone would have swooned over your festive frock. Many studs strutted their holiday sweater stuff at the PCP show for if you wore a holiday sweater you got a free ep from the merch people. the MC, Adam Shearer, even wore a Christmas-lighted sweater! The set list was just as spirited as Shearer's sparkling sweater...from a cover of "Mad World" by Tears for Fears to "Generosity" by savory local, Mirah featuring the full Flash Choir. (to see all fine music played visit PCP online) My personal favorite highlight of the evening was the audience participation. Witty and daring really! Throughout the show MC Shearer had the audience text to his phone what they would say if they really saw their mom kissing Santa Clause, then he'd red em. one text read, "mom, i don't want a Nintendo wii that bad!" but if i had to sum up the night in one statement I would second the comment from someones child who sat in front of me, "mom. mom! I see cellos, cellos everywhere!" That's right, cellos, cellos everywhere! and I would urge you to see cellos, cellos everywhere live. for more show dates and details visit PCP.

i like the disco version better, monique

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Trash Talk, Cower, Death A.D., Ill Intent @ Good Neighbor Pizza 11/17


I thought I was on the east coast again. In a land seemingly full of happy circle pits and straight ‘getting rad’, Good Neighbor Pizza earlier last month was full of spin kicks and windmills. Machoism was in the air, and if it wasn’t for the brutal riffs I think I might have actually left. Death A.D., though they look like they’re all batting at 17 right now, started the night with some spastic, grindy influenced hardcore. Their songs were short and fast, which is all I can ask for, but something about their stupid antics – showy ironic fingerpicking, singer collapsing on the floor, etc. – got to me after a while. The drummer was wearing an Infest shirt and the influence definitely showed, and overall it was a good set. Ill Intent played typical bro mosh and sucked. Nothing more can be said. But rest assured when Cower played they made sure that every last person’s insides were sufficiently pulverized. D-beats gave way into crushing sludge riffs and, yes, they managed to protect that age-old rule, abused so many times now by new age shitty metalcore bands: yes, if you play that line again that much slower, it will be that much heavier. Last up was Trash Talk, representing the oh so raging Sacramento California (…?). With songs lasting an average 50 seconds or less, these dudes threw down some impressive choppy thrash that wasn’t afraid to slow it down for a few seconds before launching into 10 seconds more of blazing brutality. While still bringing their own style to the table, the classic oldschool hardcore influence was hard to miss. Trash Talk came to rage and without a doubt succeeded, but their sound was just a little too clean for me. More feedback, more distortion on the bass, less attention to detail, please. By far the most impressive part of the night, however, was the fact that I made it back to the bus at Pioneer Square in 15 FUCKING MINUTES. (Dekum St. is really god damn far north). Cower is playing again soon with Autistic Youth somewhere on Alberta – come see it if you want to rage it and avoid a far too serious scene. -ds

Sunday, December 7, 2008

The superiority of Vinyl

Everyone loves their Ipod, Zune, or whatever MP3 player they have. They are the most beautiful creations the world has seen, and I think if mozart had seen one, he would have weeped for joy.

But theres one think about them that hurts; the loss of sound quality. It seems with every step down in size, sound quality steps down. now for those of you who disagree, ask someone in the music biz. A mp3 file loses sound quality over a wav. Its sad. theres a reason that CDs dont adopt the MP3 format. And its not because CD players won't play them either, more advanced ones will.

Which brings me onto the point. Vinyl. I love albums. Sure they can scrath. sure they can break. sure you must keep them within a certain temperture. But you know what, you can't beat thier sound quality. (btw, a album in proper condition doesn't have that background scrath people associate with records. only old, well well well played alums do.

Someone once explained to me it was basically an issue of sound waves and layering of the music, and when the music is compressed into a smaller format, that the levels are compressed to a single level, but on vinyl this never happens.

Which is why is sounds incredible. Don't believe me? well heres a test. Put on Cat stevens, any of his albums, any of his songs (I particularly like Moonshadow), on an mp3 player. Then listen to it on Vinyl. The real casual listener won't notice. The serious music efficienato, will.

Some artists (like Cat Stevens, Tom Petty, or any band who uses alot of layering) improve greatly, others really don't.

But the fact that you can get old albums for extremely cheap (like 50 cents at Everyday music) just puts the icing on the cake.

And want it on your mp3 player anyway? well you can buy a usb turntable to fix that.

Pandora Music

..is one of the greatest Music inovations of our time.

For those who don't know anything about it, heres a little information. It's an online Radio station. It calls itself the Music Genome Project. Basically, what you do is when you first arrive, it asks you to name an artist or song. It then selects a similar music based on that. Pretty basic, nothing new, really.

But whats great about this is you can continue to add artists to the list. You can even exclude certain artists. You can thumbs up or down a song. If you thumbs it up, it will show up more, but it will also add more songs and artists based on that selection. If you thumbs it down, it will not come up again, and it will avoid that kind of song (unless other songs similar are thumbed up).

As a result, the more you use it, the more it will match your tastes. Not only that, you can have more than one station to have, thus allowing you to have more than one genre at a time.

The reason that all this is legal is they have carefully looked at the copyright laws and carefully sidesteps them. plus, its connected directly to amazon.com, so no one really cares.

also, you can have your own account, so it will save all your information.

check it out

pandora.com

Saturday, December 6, 2008

White Fang Show


Sup Dawgs?
So I was at the white fang show last night at the artistery. I will admit, I wasn't always the biggest fan of the white fang. When they played at the Holocene last summer for the pdx pop now CD release party, me and my friend opted out to go see some free titties next store at Sassy's. But back to the show last night. Deelay Ceelay, or was it Ceelay Deelay? either way was pretty good. Two drums, some prerecorded synths, very cool with the fog and video show projected behind them. Next came Mad Rad, which were okay, their beats were definitely a little more dance like then fitting for hip hop beats. Finally came white fang, right off their aborted US tour, back for some p-town lovin. Even before they started, the crowd began moshing around so that 30 seconds into their first song they had to stop because we had knocked over the drum set. They loved it, the people working at the artistery, not so much. Newly equipped with two guys to keep the crowd from rushing the tiny stage, they started again, wailing away on their assortment of instruments. The crowd ate it all up, jumping around, propelling bodies into one another, there was no lack of injury. Multiple times large sections of the crowd would loose footing and pile up onto itself. Unfortunately I had the pleasure of being under a lovely pile and succeeded in getting my knee stomped on, bruises are already starting to form. All in all, it was a great show. Tiny basement given live through the motion of so many bodies, what a sight. It solidified its success when my friend said she got punched in the eye, and was now going to finally have the black eye she has been wanting for forever. She also felt it necessary to reprimand me and my other male friends for being such pussies that we hadn't been able to punch her in the face. Well, maybe another day.
[Nick Erickson]

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Pretty Cool: famous 70’s rock stars with their parents

I guess rock stars are people too. I caught a glimpse of these pics and it just made me laugh. Some truly notable musicians with their parents. It is weird to imagine, and even more weird to see. Check it out here
[Nick Erickson]

Monday, December 1, 2008

Uneasy ground


I haven't been going to many shows lately. Money feels thin in my wallet and the day calendar has become a mocking face, bleeding puss-like ink all over my sanity. But a few weeks ago I had a quick one-two punch of live music: namely the November 13th Dirtbombs show at Berbati's and Yeasayer at the Aladdin on the 21st. Perhaps my emotions were shaped by the order of the events, or money finagles, or that I've been listening to soviet rock anthems and Smithsonian field recording of historical Appalachian Mountain songs for the last couple months, but damn I want emotion when I go to shell out some bucks. Lets look at this comparison in Thanksgiving analogies. The Dirtbombs are the messy dark-meat, the fried giblets, the stuffing soaked with gravy, the dank piece of pie left in the back of the fridge, your uncle Joe after too much sparkling wine. They are a fever that excretes dirt and frantic power. They rock you and make respectable people want to dance like nobody's watching: sweating and shaking and beating on relatives/stage-equipment. Yeasayer, in contrast, represent that comatose state reached after stuffing your face full of everything in reach for 4 straight hours. It's that moment near death when the final swallow of pie ruptures your stomach and starts to squeeze out your pores and the gaps between tooth and gum, dimming your vision. You don't know if you're hallucinating or dreaming, and while your breath is rattling your brain is working as if permeated by an opium cloud - sporadic bursts of incrdulous electricity. Moving is practically beyond question and introspection overcomes the surrounding reality/stimulus of loved ones and speech.

Now depending on your personality, you might be predisposed as to which one of these scenarios you like best; and the question emerges whether one must choose exclusively. Both bands are obviously talented and urban and have their respective followings and scenes. Both are anthemic and push blood into a frenzy and fill your body and soul with beautiful noise. But my personal choice (and I like gorging my brain-out to a reflective stupor as much as the next Jack or maybe even more) is the former to the latter. Call me a poser of the underdog or whipping-up an idealic/delusional rocking-class Detroit background rather than embracing the indie-pastige product of Brooklyn that should be my suburban siren - but I'll take the sweat-dripping giblets over dream-headed fog anyday.

As a final check-out:
D: Crappy live recording in their hometown


Y: Crappy live recording in their hometown


Luv,
~SpecSocWrite

Travis

(some leagal garbage...the copywrite to this film is owned by Independiente Limited 2007)

lovely!

Xmas sweater bonanza


While home for Thanksgiving break, I rifled through my family's front hall closet and uncovered a lost gem! Buried amongst broken umbrellas, unused tennis rackets, and my stepdad's reflective jogging pancho was my beloved childhood holiday sweater, the one my mother made for me circa 1995. The finest of cotton and hippest color of red, my childhood sweater was once all the rave. It has a sewn-in white turtleneck and an iron-on cut-out of Mickey Mouse. And the best part is if you press Mickey's ear he sings "jingle-bells jingle-bells jingle-all the way"! However, now that a decade or so has passed the tune sounds more like Tom Waits took two too many sleeping pills and sang "ju-un-gle be-al-as...ju-un-gle be-al-as...ju-un-gle AAALLL th-uh waaaay." You almost expect to hear him burp after it plays. Nonetheless, to a 5 and 1/2 year old this holiday sweater was dope (and frankly, still is). Truly one of a kind. Well almost, apart from the fact that my brother had a matching green one. How, you might ask, should I remember this? because we have a Christmas portrait from 1995 perched on our fireplace mantel, in which the entirety of my family is wearing equally as dope sweaters. You should see my stepdad's, I didn't even know they made iorn-ons that big...I'm not saying he's fat he's just 6'2" and broad shouldered, and he certainly wouldn't have fit into my Mickey Mouse sweater, I should know because after I dug through that front closet I couldn't help but try the sweater on. You may be curious, did it fit? Let's just say I'm a little disillusioned that they don't make children's size smalls with larger neck openings.

Has all this talk of childhood Christmas sweaters got you nostalgic? If so, you should join me and the Portland Cello Project this Friday at the Aladdin Theater in SE Portland for an Xmas sweater bonanza. The Portland Cello project is a local, but nationally renowned, group of up to 16 indie contemporary classical cellists (one of which is an LC alumni!) they are known for getting indie kids to listen to classical music and classical junkies to venture into the world of indie rock. That's right, indie rock! They will be preforming with guests Mirah, Ritchie Young, Jenny Conlee (from the Decemberists), Justin Power, Ali Ippolito, Matt Sheehy, Shostakovich, and The Flash Choir this Friday December 5th. Expect the unexpected (bet you've never heard superMario brothers or Britney Spear Toxic on cello) and WEAR THOSE TACKY HOLIDAY SWEATERS FOR FREE MUSIC!


-mh

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Check This Out (Also an article on how to give homemade tattoos)

Fecal Face
First off, no, this is not some poo fetish site involving faces, or even poo for that matter. In fact, his is a really cool San Fransisco Art site/blog that features an array of cool articles and photoblogs. Ranging from Free Fridays, which have a theme and call for submissions of original art according to that theme, to interviews with really cool artists from SF and around the US and more. It was on this site that I figured out how to give homemade tattoos, and have been giving and receiving them ever since. I check out the Photo of the Day well, daily. Overall this is a really dope site that you should check out, it is on my daily rotation of sites to check, along with pitchforkmedia, well only their music news (which is first to know on all sorts of music news from touring, to releases, to the goss, and some show pics which are cool) but not their reviews because they are a bunch of music snob cunts.
Back to the point, this is a site you should check out, and for a sampler I will provide the link to one of my favorite articles:
Homemade Tattoos
(thanks Andreas Trolf for this masterpiece)
[Nick Erickson]

Best Late Night Televison Preformance Ever


Do you love music? Do you love live music? Are you an asshole? If the answers are: yes, yes, and well the last one doesn't really matter much, then check out this video of Death From Above 1979 preforming on the Conan O'Brien show.
[Nick Erickson]

Getting a Little Freaky Down In P-Town

For all of you who don't know, Portland is fucking awesome. That said, there are a few things that need changing. For one, we have all of these people in our great city that need to be forced to do anything, and are reluctant to go check out a show or band unless there is some hype or they are in right now. Another is the complete and utter lack of constant dance parties. Being someone who loves to get down and dance the night away, this is a complete drag, yet there's a savior on the horizon. A little coalition know as PortlandPlayground (portlandplayground.blogspot.com) has high ambitions to fill that void. Headed by members of a little upstart group know as The White Sirens of Burr (myspace.com/whitesirensofburr) are hoping to collate a collaboration of Portland musicians, artists, writers and give them a space to present their work. As of right now they are small, consisting of five members, yet their ambitions are not reflective of their size. Armed with a set of concert speakers and a wish to dance the night away, this is a force not to be reckoned with. Their goal is to oppose the complacincy we have with our current scene and hope to provide an outlet for musicians to preform in front of audiences and to give people a steady set of dance parties and shows, did I mention these shows are set in warehouses/rented storage spaces/rented moving trucks/dorms/ and any other place that they can break into and plug in. So check out this blog (they even have a link to our own) and keep watching for more news on these up and coming Portlander's
[Nick Erickson]

Sunday, November 23, 2008

The Google Android

Also called the G1.

This baby is a beaut. But before I go over the good things, let hit the bad.

Activating it. I got in on friday and called to activate it. Everything was go, and they told me 2 to 48 hours for activation. Every other phone Ive had and friends had was about 30 minutes, but whatever, I'm cool.

48 hours later, I call. I get transfered twice before I get to the right place. The person was really nice and patient, but it took her about 10 minutes for her to notice that they didn't update my plan at all. so once they got it updated, she transferred me to another guy, the G1 speciallist.

He talks me through a bunch of different solutions, none of which work. He even has me put my sim card in an old phone to see if the sim card is working. After about an hour of talking through, he says he'll fill out a form to get it replaced. as we start, he notices that since my plan was just changed, it couldnt of activated, and there probably wasnt anything wrong at all. if there was, we would have to wait another 24 hours to see. about an hour later my phone activated it. The best part? my father had called before and they had told him completly different information on how to activate it. T-mobile support, although nice people, could use some fixing.

Now on to the review. This thing is pretty. Its resolution is outstanding and it responds to the touch like an eager girl on ecstacy. But those features are nothing compared to the internet. IT IS FAST. Incredibly. this phone moves faster than the internet on the computer labs, or even my friends alienware. and the direct connection to youtube is pretty nice to.

another thing I feel I should add is that even though it doesn't appear to have the motion sensor thing the i-phone has, it does its not involved in the immediate menu, but it doesn't need to, since the screen will automatically adjust when you open the keyboard. The sensor is there, and so is the programing, it just needs an application for it to be used. Is it the I-phone killer? maybe. When google opens up there global information thing though, you will need one to access it.

price, 180, I think, but I know that for unlimited internet, its 25 dollars, with unlimited text 10 dollars more.

Tmobile did something good :O

Illl tell you more next week, when I get more use to the pretty thing.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

WIN YEASAYER TICKETS!




while you're getting over that major bangover from the doom show on thursday why not win some tickets to YEASAYER this friday? tune into Blow-Up from 2 - 3 pm PST for a chance to win!

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Represent yr hip hop

Back in October many of you rocked to the Blue Scholars in Stamm. Besides the Seattle natives a Portland/LC collaboration blew the stage: MC Says, MC Empyr, and MC O performing real tracks off their album "In Peace".

As well as an interview in the recent zine (if you haven't picked one up, swing by KLC in Templeton to nab a copy!), we also have video footage of the show care of your buddies at KLC TV. Check it out below:

BRONZE AGE ASSHOLES


KADJA


Mercutio WITHOUT ERROR


Keep your ear to the ground to catch other great shows approaching on the horizon.

Luv,
SpecSocWrite

Wicked Show This Thursday on Campus!














Thursday November 13, 2008
!

Acre, Ecomorti, John Krausbauer and Brown of Tecumseh, Taryn Tomasello and LC's own Brocaine will be playing on Thursday Nov. 20th in Council Chambers and Templeton Student Center. The show starts at 6:30. This concert is FREE, so you have no excuses to miss this. Get there and get your brain straight faded.

Anarchy in the UK,
KLC Promotions

Sunday, November 9, 2008

Two stores...

Everyday Music

Located about 2 blocks down from Powel's bookstore, this place is truly a Godsend. They have a massive collection of pretty much everything. It's about 3/4 the size of the bon, and filled with nothing but music.

In CD's, they've got all your normal stuff you expect, pop rock, reggae, and all that, but this place also has an expansive collection of Jazz, blues, and world. and not tiny selections either, they truly have a decent collection.

However, the best part of Everday Music is the record selection. They have tons of vinyl. Its not the best organized, but its well made up for its 5o cent bargain selection, which is really big. nor is all of it christmas music, but the who, cat stevens, grateful dead, the eagles, and tons of classic rock. The only problem is that all of it is "as is"

A really great place.

Jackpot Records.

1 block from powels in the opposite direction, Jackpot is much better organized. It's also about the size of maggie's though. And, even worse, it's really expensive. finding any vinyl below 8 dollars is impossible here, and some of them are reacing 40 dollars. as much as I like music, I can't justify myself on a 20 dollar album, unless its pretty rare.

That said, they do have some pretty rare stuff. First printing beatles and black sabbath can be found. Even some stuff that you wouldn't expect to find anywhere, Like Warren Zevon, or Flogging Molly. It may be a bit pricy but sometimes you got to shell out for the good stuff.

A nice place, but not as good as Everyday. Hit this place 2nd.

Friday, November 7, 2008

Keep murderin'



Come out to NE P-town tonight for a riotous good show with some of your favorite K/LC bands! Support local music!!!

Who: Brainstorm, Cars & Trains, Ghosts & Mysteries, Hello Electric, and Silence Dogood
What: Rock'n'wastoid show
When: Friday, Nov. 7th at 8:00pm
Where: The Philosophy Mansion (3635 NE 6th AVE)
Why: Plenty of reasons that won't be posted here for fear of a government crackdown

- SpecSocWrite

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

A Haiku.

Robert Kelly is.
I know what R. Kelly do.
He sing beautiful

J.Bren.

The Joycean Composition in R Kelly's "Sex Weed"

Not since Joyce’s Ulysses has an author bestowed as much abundance and unity to his metaphors as R Kelly bestows upon the extended metaphor of his song “Sex Weed” from the third installment of his Twelve Play series, the fourth of which comes out this fall. In the “Ithaca” chapter of Ulysses Joyce presents the idea that a truly successful metaphor consists of “obverse meditations of involution increasingly less vast,” in that he replaces the essence of one thing with that of another, and vice versa, thinks about it, and then looks at things more carefully to see what it means for one thing to be, at the same time, something else. What occurs in this concept of a metaphor is that reality1 (i.e. the blood of Stephen Daedalus and Leopold Bloom) and reality2 (i.e. the universe) are described simultaneously in a single moment (“the universe of human serum constellated with red and white bodies, themselves universes of void space constellated with other bodies”), which thus makes the reality of the text (the consolidation of reality1 with reality2) an amorphous ambiguity that could be called “the protagonists’ blood” while being considered “the universe,” or the other way around or any combination of the two.

The hallucinogenic experience heavily informs this mode of thinking, and indeed Daedalus’ state in the chapter is the product of drinking a lot of absinthe and losing his grasp on typical conceptions of reality, and, in the case of Kelly, one half of the “obverse meditations of involution increasingly less vast” of “Sex Weed” is marijuana, a substance that has far more psychoactive properties than it did when it, paired with LSD, was the cornerstone of traditional psychedelic music. “Sex Weed” is not smoking weed and then having sex, nor is it having sex and then smoking weed, nor is it having sex while smoking weed, nor smoking weed while having sex—all of these, in some way, would put the two concepts in some form of hierarchy. Instead, through its Joycean word play, the metaphor succeeds in uniting the psychedelic experience with the sexual experience to the point that simply smoking pot is “Sex Weed” and romancing a lady when sober is also “Sex Weed.”

The apostrophe to the “Girl [who has] got that Sex Weed” begins as a fairly simple metaphor: he wants “to hit it all the time” because “it” is “sex so good that it gets [him] high,” using the ambiguity of the idiom “hit it” to begin the destruction of the segregation of Sex from Weed. Double entendres characterize the song as a whole, addressing the girl as “Mary Jane” at the end, for example, though the exceptions give the most interesting moments. The use of a simile seems ridiculous in the face of Kelly’s level of figurative language, yet we have two at the beginning of both verses as though we need to be reminded of the simplicity of his project: “How did yo[ur] sex make me feel this way / Like I been smokin’ purple haze?” and “Girl it’s like a dime bag of [hy]dro[ponic marijuana] / The way you movin that cush real slow.” The latter simile seems silly because “cush” is another way of saying weed, so of course it would be “like a dime bag of dro,” because it IS. But of course “cush” means something else here. The motif is reversed in the line “Sex give me the munchies / And now I wanna eat it up oh,” because “Sex” is understood to be Weed, and “the munchies” are the not to be understood to be anything other than the desire to do something explicitly sexual.

The dependence upon “Sex Weed” comes up in the second verse, that Kelly is “a bud head when it comes to [the girl with the Sex Weed] / Cuz Can't nobody drop it baby / Bounce it baby, stroke it quite the way [she does].” He wants her like a drug, yet at the same time, unlike a drug, nobody can create the effects that she does. What therefore is at stake is not the immediate physical sensation, but what, a step further down the causal line, what that sensation causes, for the a psychedelic does not take its user away from the world into the senses, but rather overwhelms its user with the world by liberating the capacities of the senses. Sex, then, is therefore is a process of instigating mind-blowing experiences in another person while they reciprocate, as symbolized by "do[ing] a shotgun." "Sex Weed" is the beginning of a greater experience that becomes the beginning of a psychological dependence—“Girl I’m addicted to everything / That you do to me / Your sex got me open baby.” “Open” can mean simply “high,” “hazy,” “silly,” “flying,” “buzzing,” or “about to explode,” as he has stated, but can also mean readiness for it to all happen again, as the singer first politely requests towards the song’s end—“Let me hit that in the coupe / Girl, let me hit that in the jeep / Girl let me hit that at the crib / Girl keep bringing me that heat”—with a kind of urgency and appreciation of an adolescent hot boxing his parents’ Camry for the first time or smooching a girl for the first time in the backseat, or both. Kelly insists on the legitiamcy and thoroughness of his metaphor, that it's too heady to pin down and explain, by descriptions of his own befuddlement in the face of his dependence on "Sex Weed," that it's "about to explode [his] brain," that it's "about to drive [him] insane," and that he's "about to go up in smoke / because [her] Sex Weed ain't no joke." One cannot ultimately put either the psychedelic nor sexual experience into words, which would be to explain these contradictions in a joke that allows us to move past it; one can merely construct a text to parallel how inexplicable it is, as Kelly has done, to make "Sex Weed" the song something that'll make the listeners go up in smoke as they listen to in the coupe, the jeep, or the crib, hitting the Sex Weed. Which only makes sense if we read the apostrophe literally as Kelly addressing us, his listening audience, describing how wonderful it is to be on his side of the listening experience, getting "blowed" by the fact that so many people understand the significance of desegregating Sex and Weed, and always wanting more.

Artist Profile: DjH2


www.myspace.com/djh2
Sometime in the summer of 2007 I was stumbling around electronic artists on MySpace (yes, MySpace) and happened upon this diamond in the ruff. Straight out of Harlem, DjH2 has fat beats on par with every big name producer I have encountered. Upon hearing a few of his tracks, I set out on a desperate search to download anything and everything I could of him. Yet low and behold, he was not signed to any label, or anything of that nature. He had few mixtapes up to download, and so I took what I could get. I was amazed by the talent and quality of the tracks available for download, and amazingly enough, over a year later he is still a regular in my rotation. Any time I want to relax, or listen to some smooth beats, DjH2 is first to be put on. When posed with the task to list my top 5 chillist beats, DjH2 held the number one spot. His MySpace www.myspace.com/djh2 is regularly updated with fresh new beats, and the occasional free EP’s for download. Also to my great excitement, he has an album ElevatorMusik available for purchase, as well as two others, TalkingWalls and Poison Punch Socials, which will be available soon. So when you want some music for the soul, hit up his page and prepare to be taken on a ride.

Reminiscent of old school beats, and heavy jazz influences, H2 is one of the most talented Dj/producer/beat makers of our generation. Long overdue for big success, his intricate working of obscure (Star Trek radio show vinyl) and oldschool breakbeats and samples lets his immense talent shine. He touches down on the soul of earlier eras and creates something completely new and his own, all the while paying tribute towards those he samples from. This underground producer is one that should not be missed and is a must have in any hip-hop/soul/funk/jazz/blues aficionados music library.
[Nick Erickson]

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Nightmare or utopic future?

Interplanetary Revolution


Saturday October 25th, was the annual Revolution party - this year hosted at Plan B. On the bill were both of p-town's only Russkie bands: Mirumir! and Chervona; as well as Niayh and a hectic set by Golden Greats

Arriving late, one was presented with a devilish scene. The dark misty night, pierced by cries of joy or pain, was juxtaposed with a packed darkly flashing room. It was a circus. What it might have looked like if the 1917 revolution had taken place in a cramp basement with a hodgepodge of 20th century misfits getting drunk to celebrate the end of time. Explosions of glitter and melting faces, trapped between concentric loops of gyrating soviet hips, sip that 22 out of your bag because you shouldn't drink whatever these people have been. A free speech stage in the back lot, sporadic piles of bicycles and heaps of broken youth, while someone's sad mumbles of the futility of our supposedly democratic system were washed away by the chanting of the red-painted Obama youth brigade. A confusion of elements, Halloween a week too soon? Mario with sad drooping whiskers bent over a mechanical music monster, perused by Hunter Thompson in board shorts and safari cap, while a chair fight broke out over the last of the cold left-over socialist french fries. sensory overload

So swig it fast, try to ska-dance, and get the hell out of there while you've got your wits about you. Tom Waits, heckling and jeering, the Master of Events, his waxen face almost brushing the stage lights as he beats those lousy derevniks in their striped shirts. beats and beats them with his howls and curses; oh so painful - as they strike up another rollicking tune.

Back outside, lit cigarettes, and nervous shuffling. What's 5$ when you have the whole future ahead of you?

Lurve,
SpecSocWrite

FEEL THE MAGICK

Thursday, October 30, 2008

KLC Presents

You probably shouldn't miss this. It's going to be really fun. Promise.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Have you met my father?



Hey guys, I miss loafing in Conor’s basement, chugging cheap Tecate and Smokehouse and playing grand theft auto, vice city. If you don’t know shit about who Conor is, it’s cool; he’s just some guy. If you don’t know shit about who this puckered-lip pin-striped fella above is, then now’s your chance to learn. Pay attention rugrats. Karl Lagerfeld is like the place between Heaven and Hell; he’s like the austere, brawny middleman who decides your ultimate fate. He’s like the silent, tall kid who would submerge your head in the toilet while Jack the Ripper and Terrible Tommy yanked your underwear, robbed you of your sloppy joe and chocolate milk lunch money, and flushed the poop pot. Like Karl Marx, he’s a German bloke; Unlike Karl Marx, he’s a bulky socialite, not a Socialist. It’s probably just the sunglasses talking, but before I begin lecturing, remember that Karl Lagerfeld has the power to crunch some scrawny human bones.

Karl got shipped off to design school in Paris by the time his first armpit hair had sprouted. So at like fourteen years old, Karl (with a fucking “K”!) was designing fine dresses and attending sumptuous parties with le riche while you were still picking your nose and hoping to acquire that prehistoric Charizard card in the Pokemon booster pack. By age 23, Karl had gained some height and weight and created an “eau de toilette” fragrance for men, women, cats, dogs, kings, queens, and squirrels. And Jesus Christ! Are those scented bottles of piss lucrative or what! Basically after this landmark, Karl started doing well with everything in the fashion world, and then some.

Think of that landmark black and white tweed suit hanging in your grandmother’s closet amongst the nappy caribou fur death coat. Think of that squeaky quilted bucket tote with the two C’s. The two fucking interlaced Helvetica C’s. Oh! The ghastly Chinese plastic-drenched knock-offs! Karl Lagerfeld enlivened the crème de la crème, the cream of the crop, and gorilla of fashion houses: Chanel.

Chanel is to couture fashion as McDonalds is to MDC’s Corporate Deathburger. Karl’s the guy who wears the pants in the convoluted relationship between me and clothes. Sure, it’s true that McDonalds makes an 875-calorie hamburger, but I’ll still gladly eat them, and maybe I’ll even pick up a flimsy Burger King crown, In-N-Out animal fries, and one order of indigestion while I’m at it. It’s also true that I can’t resist the magnetic pull of Chanel Gambon ballet flats and the urge to pet Karl Lagerfeld’s soft, grey ponytail. I have zero self-control with my extreme diet of punk rock, fast food, and Chanel. One day, I presume, I will purge myself of these radical obsessions. Perhaps I will become a vegan who enjoys the soothe-saying melodies of cool guy Jack Johnson and the tinkling Mahavishnu Orchestra. My body will undulate with every step I take in my tye dye marimba pants and loose-knit burlap hoodie. But seriously, my real life has just begun, and if we’re really gonna try and get all hypothetical, I’m just gonna go back to Conor’s couch and pop Vice City back in to the dented Xbox and smunch warm chocochip break n’ bakes. Oh yeah, that’s cus Karl Lagerfeld has a generic avatar character in Grand Theft Auto Vice City. Look for him, the ultimate king of fashion, next time you feel like clenching a sweaty vibrating controller, getting a virtual lap dance, and then killing some cops and hoes with your loaded automatic.

Fondly, Lauren "Bobby" Fischer

Sunday, October 26, 2008

$7 billion bailout







Look there on the ground. Is that a dime? Shit if I’ve ever seen one. Quick pick it up. That’s worth at least 10 cents. Oh no, there’s some gum stuck to FDR’s face. Who cares, it’s a DIME! You’ll be 10 cents richer!

These hard economic times are hurting us all, and just like Sarah Palin, I am ill! I even contemplated gathering my measly possessions into a handkerchief bindle and bumming around Burnside for spare change with a sign that reads [broke college student]. Heck, I haven’t even bought a legitimate concert ticket in the month of October. GASP! But don’t panic, I may not be able to see Russia from my house, but I certainly have one sure-fire solution that’s not even on Palin’s radar.

For only a $6 buck cover you can catch one decent show at the Artistery on SE Division. Last last Friday I crowed into the basement venue for an energizing night of Tango Alpha Tango. And let’s just say that for $6 bucks I’ll pay to see someone kick their guitar (literally) again! So avoid the panhandling, defeat the second coming of the great depression, rub it in Palin’s face, and check out the Artistery (you may even have money left over to buy some Tango Alpha Tango)!


-mh

Apocalyptica, this thursday

The first thing I noticed at the Apocalyptica concert was the calmness. It was very strange. For a finnish band that skates awfully close to being called full blown metal, the audience was extremely calm. No one was pushing, not one person tried to mosh (not that it was moshing music, but usually someone tries), and everyone was happy go lucky. Concidering we were watching a band who covers both Metallica and Slayer, it was a little shocking. In fact, I don't think I saw the bouncers do anything at all during the show, which a first for the Roseland.

They came on 30 minutes late. Ordinarily, this doesn't bother me at all, but this time it did. They had already had the stage fully set up when we got in (right when the doors opened). There was no opening band, so they didn't have to change anything or preprepare anything. And no roadies were running around setting things up. They wernt trying to get the band on stage quickly or anything. They were sweating us out, and that is not cool. Seriously, that pisses me off.

But I could deal. They finally got on stage, and they were fantastic. Theres something about 4 cellists and a drummer rocking out together. But like I said, the crowd was crazy at all. Everyone was dancing happily. They played extremely loudly, and it was great. They rocked pretty hard.

But not very long. They played till about 11, so around an hour and a half. Before they even got started, they were saying they were gonna play one more song.

Overall, it was a pretty good concert, but I expected alot more. I felt let down, and I think alot of other people did to. It was a wierd concert, and seriously, I feel like Apocalyptica did not deliver on their reputation.

Grant,
the-this-is-pretty-good-wait-its-over reviewer

Monday, October 20, 2008

Licking County



For fall break I went to a quaint little place called Granville, Ohio to visit my girlfriend, and while it was probably one of the best weekends I’ve ever had, like ever, the east coast was a bit shocking after spending six whole weeks cooped up on Palatine Hill. At Denison University, where I spent a good portion of the break, I found few “heavy chillers,” as we might call them here at LC. Nor did I go to a “kickback” or find too many “hella legit” things going on in general. No, this school was far more rambunctious than Lewis & Clark. While we might have a “woodland creatures” themed party that ends when campus safety so much as rolls down the street, Denison is having a “barbie and ken” themed party that doesn’t end until someone pulls the fire alarm. Or while I’m standing in the keg line for twenty minutes at the woodland party, trying to get my five dollars worth of pbr, a Denison student has already had four shots of cherry vodka and on their fifth beer without reaching into their wallet yet.

The dynamic was completely foreign to me. Never have I seen a dozen pretty blonde girls walk into Maggie’s and talk for twenty minutes about how shithoused they got the night before. At Denison, this kind of thing is everywhere. Partying absolutely dominates and the kids absolutely love it. They go out on Mondays, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays of course, and sometimes Sundays. And while “going out” at LC might mean riding bikes down to the cemetery for a beer, or having a half dozen people over to your dorm room to sing along to bob dylan, at Denison it consists of beer pong in one hall, a dance party in another, followed by anywhere from one to three frat parties, five nights a week.

So while I’ve opted for a mellower, less douchey environment than the Denison kids have, they are going to have a much better story to tell ten years from now. It’s much more impressive to hear, “In college, I partied like a National Lampoon movie” than it is to hear, “Man, I used to chill hard in college!” This is something I just didn’t think about when looking at schools. Maybe it would have been sweet to come out of college with a nickname like “slam” or with a reputation for being the kid who actually supermanned a hoe, but as for now, I’m comfortable with keeping at least a few of my brain cells and staying here at Lewis & Clark, even if it means I have to overhear lesbian sex every other night.

-Squaw

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Iron and Wine (Sam Beam)


[October 6, 2008 Eugene, OR McDonald Theatre] Gray Tuesdays, lying in your lover’s arms, with nothing else in the world but you and her. I will admit that this was a show that packed a large emotional punch for me. There was baggage there that surpasses any other artist or song on my iPod, all 58 GB by last count. For 6 months even hearing the soft cords or melodic voice that Sam Beam has would fill me with dread and nausea, yet not at all because of his skill. Eventually though, his songs were so great that I could eventually get past my emotional hang-ups, and move on once again to loving his music. Now instead of dread I feel the love of what once was, and what will be. Alone on stage, it was up to Sam and his lone guitar to serenade the crowd with a mountain man beard and soft beautiful voice. He was surprisingly friendly (not that he would have been mean, just that he often chatted with the crowd as one would with a friend). On his first song he messed up, forgot the cords and skipped lines, only to stop and chuckle, laughing about how one can never be perfect. It was endearing. It showed you what music really was; his art, yet it takes practice and he got warmed up. Going through his set he would talk to us, commenting on how we should be doing school work (Eugene is an university town) and all the ups and down (mostly ups really) of smoking weed, which of course we all do/did. I have never felt as close to an artist than at this show. He would talk about how lonely the road is when you are by yourself, and it was like we were his band mates for the evening. One instance in particular was very memorable. During the middle of his set a string broke. Normally this would be a thing kept in back, and a quick change of guitars would be done, and the crowd would be none the wiser, yet there was no background, only him. With no extra guitar, he tuned his to make the next song work, and asked in back for his lone guitar string in the front of his bag. Playing the song sans a string, he was still able to make it come alive. Afterwards he got the string and strung it onstage, yet never missing a beat, always talking to us, making us feel as important as artists always say we are. Finally he got it perfect and continues on. Later on though, while tuning the guitar for his next song (no spare guitars meant he had to tune for most songs) he heard a twang and feared for the string breaking. He had no guitar and said that with no extra string, well that would be terrible. Yet we all knew what would happen. Any of us would run out to our cars, grab our guitar, and hand it over gladly. At times he would stop and we would yell out songs. “Jezebel” was common (it ended up being his encore, chosen by the masses), and as he said, “There is a set list, yet nothing is ever permanent. I can always change it up.” There was the classic call for “Free bird” and instead of ignoring it as usual, Sam responded. “I might just play it, then won’t you look like a dick” and just chuckles. Playing a large part of Shepherd’s Dog and of course Our Endless Numbered Days, it was hard not to be impressed. One could have even sat down and had it all sink in. Sam has even asked for that at shows in the past, and on that night it would have been fitting. He carries a show with just the basics, guitar and vocals. It is amazing how much it can affect someone. I will admit there may have been a tear or two; I know I was not alone, because it is hard to not be hit on some level by his lyrics.
[Nick Erickson]

MSTRKRFT (with Felix Cartal, Congorock)



[10-02 Seattle, WA – Showbox]
When I found out the closest show MSTRKRFT was playing on their 2008 Fists of God tour was in Seattle, I knew that I had to go. Means of transportation went from my friends car, to mine, then at 6 am day of show I found out neither were and option, and needed to resort to train, missing class and committing to an all nighter in Seattle. Every bit of it was worth it. From the sketchy dinners to the homeless crack head trying to sell us weed, it was an amazing experience. Most of all was the five-hour dance party that was the MSTRKRFT show. If you have never been to the Showbox, which is directly across from Pike’s Market, I highly recommend it.
We had the dance party shocked into life by the musical talents of Felix Cartal and Congorock. Although I had never heard of either, both were very good and got all the foreplay with the crowd out of the way so that when MSTRKRFT took the stage, all hell broke loose. Bringing down the curtain, a monolith of screens emerged. On them were elaborate video to mesh with the fantastic mixing of JFK (Jesse F Keeler former bassist of the late great Death From Above 1979; he gave me his cigarette before the show…it was awesome) and Al-P (Alex Puodziukas, a producer on the aforementioned DFA 1979’s You’re A Woman, I’m A Machine) From robots, to acid washed 80’s femme fatal videos, the crowd was taken from small venue to a living, evolving thing. I have been to many dance/techno/dj shows in my time, yet this was by far the most fun I have had. Dancing around, one only had to glance up at JFK to see that they were having just as much fun. Dancing and singing along, he would sneak the occasional drag of his cigarette before the music would drop again, sending the crowd into frenzy.
Standing on stage, arms spread out to embrace the crowd; I was able to see the extent of the destruction the we were doing. Removed from it all we were dancing the night away. Lights and smoke drifting from behind me, I could tell it was time to ascend back into the masses, and leave this stage of gods. And so I jumped as if a question to the crowd, and the sea of people answered back.
Lastly I want to add a slight blurb about their encore. Leaving the stage, the visuals started to melt down and make the dreaded computer error malfunction sound of death. Walking off all cool like, a tip of the hat was all we needed. Screaming and shouting, stomping our feet and chanting MSTRKRFT in unison, we knew we would get what we desired. Finally Al-P walked out to the overwhelming sound of applause and he set the stage. Getting Daft Punks “One More Time” prepped up, he gets it started, but it is just the rise. Repeating words and beats, he just starts the underlay of what is to come. After what seems like an eternity, like the build up to the climax of The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly, JFK runs out like Clint to end it all. Cigarette in tow, he inhales deep and jumps up, slamming his hand upon the button that releases the beat to roam free. The beat drops, and we are in total dance mode once more.
[Nick Erickson]

The Roseland

Nestled in between a homeless hangout and a strip club, the Roseland is a nice little music venue only about 2 blocks from pioneer square. At first look from the inside, it looks like a pretty crappy place thats falling apart. And although it kinda is falling apart, it is also an awesome place. The whole place, including the stage, can probably fit inside stamm comfortably. Although this forces there to be way less available ticket slots, it also means your so close to your favorite bands that you can practically fondle them. Speaking of fondleing, here are a few of the problems with the roseland. 1) the fondleing. You get fondled. Although some people don't mind, i find it odd when a drunk chick you dont know runs up, grabs your ass, and bites your nipple. True story. 2) the younglings. There are alot of middle schoolers and high schoolers. Depending on the show, thats not so bad, but its kinda wierd looking at these kids in sluttly clothes and having them eye you with foul intentions (repember folks, they may seem fun, but its a felony! :D ). and finally, the worst thing about the roseland, 3) the bouncers. some of them are nice, alot of them are dicks. Go to any kind of show where there is moshing and croud surfing, and they get a bit ruough. I've seen them kick the shit out of people for no reason, other than they got thrown forward and they were super happy about that. But those problems aside, the tickets are cheap (15-30), and since its so small, most bands dont have a problem coming into the crowd and signing stuff (after everyones calmed down a bit, of course). Its probably my favorite venue in portland, and I suggest you check it out. (ticketswest.com, search Roseland).

Grant,
the Hi-there-I'm-OH-GOD-YOU-KICKED-MY-TEETH-IN

Saturday, October 18, 2008

There For Tomorrow, the four piece set from Orlando Florida, in the last two months just released their brand new 8 track EP Pages, were signed to Hopeless Records and have been on featured on national tours with All Time Low, Anberlin, Ivoryline and the Warped Tour. They are technically considered punk rock but their songs don't the whiny quality (which I love) that many other mainstream pop punk bands have. The band was formed in 2003 but they've just hit it big in the past year with features on MTV, MTVU the Daily Chorus and Alt Press. Though they were the first set of 3 opening bands for Anberlin when they played at the Wonder Ballroom last Sunday they were miles ahead of any of the other bands (Straylight Run, Scary Kids Scaring Kids) in terms of creativity and energy. While listening to the other bands I was tempted to leave and take a cab back to campus because after listening to TFT they seemed dull, old and uninspired. Also the fact that the oldest band member is still not able to drink makes it all the more enjoyable because they actually want to stick around after shows and talk to fans because we're all the same age. They are the first band I've encountered in a while who actually wants to be friends with there fans and have no problem standing around and talking for hours or adding you on facebook. They are basically just a group of really really talented kids who have the ability to create awesome music that makes it impossible to stand still during their shows. Plus they're funny as shit which always makes shows more fun, and they do a sick cover of Icebox.....listen now!

Friday, October 17, 2008

Margot & The Nuclear So And So's: Animal!/Not Animal!

           

The Dust Of Retreat, the debut album of Margot & the Nuclear So and So’s, was a nearly perfect tapestry of lush chamber pop that skirted dangerously close to being a masterpiece. It’s not surprising, then, that the band was snatched up almost immediately by Epic, nor that anticipation for the group’s sophomore release reached fever pitch, especially after the announcement that the band had clashed with the label over which songs to include on the album and that, as compromise, two albums would be released: Animal!, the band’s vision of the album, and Not Animal!, which contained the label’s selections.

            Despite the fact that the two albums share five of the same songs, the sound of Animal! differs considerably – and surprisingly – from that of Not Animal! It’s easy to hear why Epic rejected the band’s selections: while neither album is immediately accessible, Animal! is the tougher, denser sibling and takes listen after listen to digest properly. In addition, Animal! presents Margot as moving forward from their carefully layered chamber pop to a dirtier, though still lush, rock sound. Whereas on Dust Of Retreat, the electric guitar only took predominance on two tracks, the instrument dominates the majority of the songs here. On the other hand, a listen to Not Animal! would lead the listener to believe that Margot is staying within the boundaries of their debut, with tracks composed largely around acoustic guitars, pianos, and strings.

            But in spite of the starkly different sounds, both albums demonstrate that Margot has a firm grip on and understanding of whatever genre they may be working with: both releases have excellent tracks scattered across their lengths. On Animal!, there is “O’ What A Nightmare!” with a roaring, anthemic chorus that segues unexpectedly through a meter change into a restrained, smoldering middle section. There is the murky, late-night wandering of “Love Song For A Schubas Bartender,” and the silent-movie esque strings of “There’s Talk Of Mine Shafts.” There’s plenty on Not Animal!, too, most notably a fleshed-out recording of long-time fan favorite “Broadripple Is Burning,” the quietly haunting “Real Naked Girls,” where waves of dissonant vocal harmonies fade in and out like static on the radio, and the straight-ahead folk-rock of “The Ocean (Is Bleeding Salt).” The tracks that appear on both albums, however, are those that straddle the line between the two extremes, and are, obviously, the best of the bunch. “A Children’s Crusade On Acid” is driven by ominous tom-toms and low, growling guitars, “Cold, Kind, And Lemon Eyes” is a mournful and epic waltz that features the most breathtaking build on either album (culminating in a great wash of sound practically overpowered by a rumble of feedback), and “As Tall As Cliffs” just may be the best song the group has ever recorded.

            But while the melodies are gorgeous and the layers of sound wonderful to pick apart, what truly sets Animal! and Not Animal! apart from the rest of the indie-rock pack are lead singer Richard Edwards’ terrifically honest lyrics. Dust Of Retreat was hardly a happy record, but it’s truly to our advantage that Edwards hasn’t really cheered up any since, because his lyrics are filled with fascinating tales of people losing their lives to booze, lovers cheating on each other, and world (and sometimes just plain) weariness. Like any great folk record, they are what give the album its magnificent depth – they are what pull the listener back again time after time again. And it’s all for the best, because it’s only through time that Margot’s albums can reveal every layer of their magic.


Download These: “As Tall As Cliffs,” “Cold, Kind, And Lemon Eyes,” “A Children’s Crusade On Acid.”


~ Will Preston

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

How many hours has YouTube sapped from you life?


Oh the glory of YouTube! A couple of Sundays ago I spent glued to my computer screen mindlessly watching hours of Ghostland Observatory videos, eyes blinded by pure brilliance. Their live footage will really rock your socks kids…but if you want laughs, just tune in to their profound words of wisdom taken mainly from band interviews. Here are a few good examples:

Airways interview- question: “do you find it easier being just the two of you?” Thomas Turner answers: “(scratches head) yeah. I mean…we can do what ever we want, ya know?”

Click to see video

2006 ACL Interview- Aaron Behrens proclaims, “Let them get down if they want to

Click to see video

DocuBlogger (life in central TX) - Terry Lickona Producer, Austin City Limits director (he's like 100 yrs old) describes their sound “it’s not typical dance music or electronic music in my mind or to my ears it’s a combination of the electronic sounds but also genuine melodic music.” “What turns me on is the new jam…something fresh, something new

Click to see video

Greenville St. Patty Parade Speech- people getting rowdy Aaron Behrens proclaims, “were all here to have a good time…so everybody needs to cool it calm ease up…I don’t wanna see nothing but positive shit going on right here…get the negative out of the place and bring in the positive because I ain’t haven it…it is gonna take you somewhere only if you let it take you there, everybody let's you go there

Click to see video

2007 SXSW- question: “what do you call your music, rock or electronica?” Thomas Turner answers: “whatever blows your hair back.”

Click to see video

now that YouTube has sapped up more of your precious time and that you've become well vursed in Ghostland Observatory savvy...I'll have you know that GohstlandO will be preforming live at the Crystall Ballroom THIS Saturday OCTOBER 18TH! hope you've got your tickets kids.


iLikedTheDiscoVersionBetter, Monique

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Geezer Brigade

There’s been a somewhat disturbing trend over the past few years. Punk rock, long the haunt of the young, has seen more and more of its ancient, historic bands reform and start touring. Of course, very few of these bands are actually producing new material. Mostly, they seem to be cashing in on teen punx bucks. Making money off of an audience who are less interested in seeing something recent, relevant or even good, and more interested in trying to pretend like they are back in the nonexistent heyday of American punk music. Many of these bands seem to be simply shadows of their former selves. The Dead Kennedies without Jello Biafra or The Misfits without Glenn Danzig, for example.

A few weeks ago, I walked into the Satyricon with some of these concerns on my mind. The occasion was Final Warning’s second of two reunion shows. For those who aren’t cool and in the know, Final Warning was one the most important and 
influential hardcore bands in the Pacific Northwest during the mid-eighties along with fellow Portlanders, Poison Idea. I could go into a detailed account of all the songs that they played during the show and what parts were particularly good and what bits I thought were less good but, to be honest, I don’t really remember and it’s not all that important. The important part is that I needn’t have worried: they played a fantastic show. As skeptical as I may have been as to whether a bunch of old farts like the folks in Final Warning could really pull off their songs with any real energy, they totally did. Even though they may have been past their bedtime and were almost certainly arthritic, it didn’t seem to keep them from head banging, jumping about or generally thrashing around like they were in their early-twenties. It was an impressive comeback/ending and walking
 out of the venue, I felt good knowing that I’d just witnessed what was possibly Final Warning’s final show. 


-In other news, The Ergs! are breaking up. Yet another band breaking up before I ever get the chance to see them play. Godamnit.

-Also, I was gonna’ make a muxtape mix for this post, but it appears that Muxtape.com got shutdown since I last went on it. Bad luck strikes twice!


-Spineless


The Politico Piss Artist Presents: No. 1: Fear No Evil

In the run up to this election, it is essential to remind ourselves of how politics bring s out  the worst in people.  So many campaigns are ran on idealistic crap peddling another vision for America to be discarded as soon as seats have been secured.  Unfortunately people are stupid; oh so very stupid, and as a result we vote the same fucking wankers into office because they pander to peoples base fears.


One has to look no further than the bigoted racist shitheads who show up like rats crawling from sewers every time the Republican Veep candidate, Sarah "I can see russia from my house" Palin speaks to see what fear mongering can accomplish.  Such people thrive on ideology, misinformation and general hate for humanity.  One has to look only 60 or so years back to see what happens when people blindly follow ideology, even unto the edges of hells hot.  


"So what can we do to save ourselves? "I can hear you say subconsciously.  There is one way we can succeed in ensuring the long term survival of the human race: Do Not Fear.  It is this fear mongering that has done more to destroy america like so many other countries pitting neighbor against neighbor, countryman against countryman.  Do your part to ensure your survival:  love someone today.


(Sugested Listening:  Fear No Darkness Promised Child by Timo Raisanen)


{Brought to you from an underground bunker by the Politico Piss Artist}


Monday, October 13, 2008

Hey Pretentious Indie Kids of LC!

Here is some bad humor at your expense:

What's the Difference between a puppy and an indie kid?
Eventually, the puppy stops whining.

How many indie kids does it take to change a light bulb?
Oh it's some obscure number; you've probably never heard of it.

How many indie kids does it take to change a light bulb?
2; one to change the light bulb and one to write a crappy song about it.

So an indie girl walks into a bar...
Then she immediately returns home to write in her livejournal about it and post the random ass things she took pictures of along the way onto her facebook.

How can you tell when an indie kid is hitting on you?
He doesn't ask for your number. Instead he asks you for a cigarette and if you like Postwar American Fiction.

Disclaimer: It's good to poke fun at ourselves every once in a while, so if you are actually offended, you can just go suck on your cigarettes and write a really confusing poem about how much I suck that doesn't make any sense to anybody!

Be3p bo0p b0P
DJ SimonBot 5000

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

R Kelly's impending release

This one goes out to Kellz.

Last summer R. Kelly put out perhaps the most thematically cohesive, yet polyphonically rich album of the present decade; he incorporates his now fully developed style of multi-voiced versified storytelling, and brings in
distinct, well-known personalities, though still having Kelly providing the voices for different characters and even singing an apostrophe to a girl on the other end of a cell phone call. The themes of doubling in the lyrics align very well with the dynamic voicings of the record. Kelly let's us know very explicitly that he is taking everything he's ever done to the next level in his headier-than-thou intro to the title track: "Sixteen years, nothing but hits,
and they still don't believe. There's only one thing to do, and that is, double up." However, his purpose ultimately has little to do with the weight of these songs, and thusly he makes a turn, "Now that we got that out of the way, let's double up," and drops the beat, letting us know immediately that everything said at least means two things, playing with this binary of weight and lightness, and asserting that doubling can mean anything as heady as realizing he and his friend Usher are in love with girls who seem to be identical in every way ("Same Girl"), to simply having a threesome with two girls (the title track that features Snoop Dog as a second character who also doubles up).

Dostoevsky's novels are most famously attributed with the narrative device of "doubling," a term conceived by the Russian critic Mikhail Bakhtin. He termed the novels polyphonic, in that a large number of different, often combative, characters possess distinct voices in the work. These voices are then, "not an object of authorial discourse, but rather a fully valid autonomous carrier of his own individual word." The disagreement of "Real Talk," for example, not only tells the livid story of a break-up, but presents a genuine expression of polyphonic ambiguity, the kind of "catastrophe of disunited consciousnesses" that results from putting "closed" or "autonomous" consciousnesses into dialogue. "Real Talk" complicates the interaction of these personalities because we only have Kelly's side of the conversation and the implied presence of his girl on the other end; though by the end we are by no means convinced the Kelly is right in this situation, for his voice is so consistent in the album that we can assume from "I'm a Flirt," "Hook it Up," "Sex Planet," "Freaky in the Club," and from what we know of the singer himself, that Kelly in all probability "was with those other girls" in the club. We see through his blatant hypocrisy when he tells his girl to "watch her mouth" because he has already set a profanity-rich precedent with idiomatic gems such as "how the fuck she knew I was with them other girls then when the whole club packed—?" Our sympathy for his girl in spite of her lack of voice alienates Kelly from his audience because the song gets so "real," as it declares itself to do.

That "Real Talk" manages to assert an implied second character puts the song in a distinct category considering an album with ten songs that feature other singers, with several songs with more than just two voices, and the use of the phrase "Double Up" finding it's way into so many songs, while absent in "Real Talk." The persona of Kelly reaches a sort of purity in this context, for the clash of consciousness occurs between Kelly and the listener his or herself. "Leave Your Name" furthers this monologue-as-dialogue concept, which, while still addressing an implied girl on the phone, is not a live performance, i.e. talking in this moment on the phone to someone, but a recorded one, that is his outgoing message ("You have reached R Kelly unfortunately I am asleep"). The song is characterized by a more internal-thinking Kelly that represents the shift from an oral, live form of storytelling to that of a recorded, textualized form that is concerned with a more introspective tradition. The doubling of the vocal track by Kelly reinforces the self-doubt and self-examination, in a soliloquy of sorts much in the spirit of Hamlet's
inner-made-outer dialogue, Shakespeare also being cited by Bakhtin as a very effective user of doubling in his narratives.

However, the song presents a curious concept of the outgoing messaget: the recording describes why he is asleep, that is, the experiences of the night before. "You have reached R Kelly unfortunately I am asleep. [I've] been out partying all night, and I'm blasted off that Hennessey." The tense here moves to a present tense that indicates a more habitual feeling about the song and the singer's predicament: "I hop to hotel lobbies, going to them after parties, throwing up and carrying on, bout to have somebody drive me home, I get through the door, fall on the floor, get up. I'm staggering. [I] look upstairs. Shit is blurry because I'm real bent." An outgoing message makes sense because anytime someone calls he will be recovering from being overly intoxicated. This confessional honesty becomes "real" in the same vein as "Real Talk" with his desperate honesty about his alcoholism, sex addition, and enthusiasm for marijuana: "And now I don't know whether I'm coming or going." We are told then right before the chorus to whom this mechanical apostrophe is addressed: "And this goes out to all of my honeys that's calling." Kelly directly addresses his condition of being in dialogue with one's self in the next verse: "Drinking Belvedere, 7-Up, and gin, I told myself never again, sleeping while the club is crunk, don't make no sense to be that drunk. Arguing through the night, pushing on people and starting fights. I was fucked up: I confess, people saying Kellz is a hot mess. Even after that I was taking shots, shot after shot, shot after shot. Then I couldn't even open the door to my Benz. Dropped off and I get in the door now. Lying on the stairs snoring now. Why you calling me calling me calling me?" The verse gives an image of the "real" R Kelly, a self-destructive "hot mess." The repetition of "shot after shot" reinforces the habitual, potentially infinite extent to which Kelly is describing how he ends his nights.

What makes it appropriate as an out-going message is its repetition, how many times the evening is doubled, and then doubled again. However, we don't know what R Kelly does every night, and therefore we don't know the extent to which
it is a satire on unspontaneous, structured, and un"real" recordings, or if it's a sincere diversion from his spontaneous, highly idiomatic, and "real" performances. For every time the out-going message plays it reinforces the habitual character of its story and its existence as a mechanized performance (i.e. the production of a record), becoming less of a polyphonic voice. That he ends the song saying "Damn, 200 missed calls" is a joke about how the ambiguity of one's consciousness, the polyphony of a single person, does not allow an unequivocal interpretation, that is one that does not assert the implausibility of others. Here we can see the essential quality of R Kelly's project: describing two poles at once and inhabiting the ambiguity that lies between—me and/or you, improvised and/or meticulously crafted, from the heart and/or from the head, hot mess and/or king of R & B, flirt and/or alcoholic, doubling up and/or doubling up. This sophistication is what brings us back to Crime and Punishment, Hamlet, and, now, Double Up, for the experience with the works is a dynamic one, the listener always challenging and re-thinking what the work is accomplishing, for is it about "believing" in R Kelly's profundity or his levity, can we even call him profound, or does his switches between the two describe our generation so well that we can't call him light. That he ironizes his characters and flips over their interpretations, even when the character is himself, makes me over a year later amazed at these songs.

The present question is then, how will Kelly follow up, or potentially double up this record with the impending "12 Play: Fourth Quarter," whose release was delayed by Kelly's court dates and inability to promote it. Will it, like the hypothetical "bad motherfuckers that look like her, act like her" in "Hook it Up," that will it provide us with a doubled version of what is known to be "bad." From "Hairbraider," a song about "doing [his] hairbraider" we get more of the self-referential discussion of what it means to be R Kelly, but the context does not provide us with anything as brilliant as "I'm a Flirt"—the apostrophe that warns potential victims of his magic—, U and K having a cell-phone conversation in "Same Girl," or the genius of "Leave Your Name" and "Real Talk." "Skin," the second single is also disappointing for the most part. Double up has its defects, and so I don't wish to judge the fourth installment of 12-play yet, but if it acts like its predecessor, Tell her girlfriend [double up's double] to holler at her future boyfriend [me]." I have heard snippets of other songs since the album was leaked in July. "Might Be Mine," for example, is a great example of Kelly's polyphonic, spontaneous compositions, beginning "Gather round, this is a true story," creating a scene of Kelly performing to a group at his feet, like a veritable Greek prophet, and presenting an ambiguous binary between whether the kid is his or not ("there's a very good chance that it might be mine"). It is a "good chance" that it "might" be his kid. What the hell does that mean? He's already got me guessing.