Bad Idea Blue Jeans

Consumption: The Best Show on WFMU

2011-03-09T12:40:00.000-05:00

"Hello, this is John Hodgman, here to collect your pledge."

It's disarming to hear such a distinctly familiar voice as I heard last night. I called WFMU to pledge to The Best Show, which I started listening to a couple years ago via the iTunes podcast. Since hearing just a couple of the surrealistic, long-form skits that Tom Scharpling and Jon Wurster put together, (I recommend the 6/29/09 Planet GG or the 8/9/10 Big Bill & Little Bill segments from this page as entry points) I've been hooked.

I had originally planned on pledging $75, to earn the Best Show prize pack, the crown jewel of which is a 7" of GG Allin covers, cleaned up of all explicit lyrics by The Mountain Goats, Ben Gibbard, Ted Leo, and others. But earlier in the day I told Tom that I'd instead offer $1 for each new Twitter follower I gained throughout the day. Thanks to his re-tweeting, I had 91 new followers by the time the show rolled around. By happenstance, my phone call routed to John Hodgman's station, and after a few minutes of pleasant conversation and address gathering, the following scene played out:

TC: "I told Tom I'd give a dollar for each Twitter follower I gained during the day, so I'm pledging $91."
JH: "So are you saying that if I follow you right now, you'll up that pledge to $92?"
TC: "Well...sure."
JH: "Tom I have an idea. I'm completely willing to accept your pledge right now. But what if I were to tweet your handle out and ask you to call back in a half-hour with an updated number would you do that?"
TC: "Sure, I'd do that."
JH: "Now, are you SURE? Because it could end up being a VERY big number."
TC: "That's fine. Let's do it."
JH: "Very well. I'm going to tweet this out right now. Call back in a half-hour, and if somebody else answers, tell them you need to speak to me."

True enough, this happened shortly after:

And in turn, within SECONDS, my inbox looked like this: (Click to enlarge and note that all occurred at exactly the same time.)

It goes without saying that I immediately realized the stunt had gotten wildly out of hand. The power of Hodgman to inspire his followers is like nothing I could have imagined. They just kept coming. Hundreds upon hundreds. Some made vague threats! Some said things in Spanish! Some brought up Edward James Olmos! I literally counted the seconds until 9pm so I could call back and end the madness. By coincidence John answered again.

TC: "It got a little out of hand."
JH: "Hold on. Right after we talked I followed you and I wrote down that you were at 423, and that counted 92 new followers from the day. Where does it stand now?"
TC: "786."
JH: "HA! I told you it might get out of control!"
TC: "You were correct. They won't stop either!"

As our chat continued, he told me he felt bad and wanted to negotiate a fair pledge amount, while not holding me to the strict numbers of the deal. He then told me that he would match my amount and give the same, as he did on-air shortly afterwards. Here's the clip, wherein Scharpling starts by chiding Hodgman for outing celebrity pledger Jason Woliner, and ends with Tom calling Hodgman "the devil" for tricking me into his plan.

Long live The Best Show on WFMU!

The Sunset Tweet (Or "A pun I immediately regret")

2011-02-14T00:06:00.000-05:00

I'm overdue on Consumption reports! They will be coming soon. But first, a thoroughly shameless moment of fanboy bragging from tonight.

I feel so much immediate pressure!

Also, in the spirit of Arcade Fire winning Album of the Year, I'm beginning my campaign for Merge Records to repeat next year. Vote "All Eternals Deck" in 2012!

Consumption: Ondine

2011-01-25T20:24:00.003-05:00

Ondine (d. Neil Jordan)

Ondine is the story of an Irish fisherman named Syracuse (Colin Farrell) who catches a woman - literally - in his fishing net. After saving her from drowning, he finds that her presence on his boat has resulted in the catching of a shitload more fish. ("Shitload" is a fishing term, matey.) Naturally, this begs the question: is she real, or a witch, or mermaid-like creature? And why is it that she's always singing a song when the fish are being caught? This well-told fairy tale gets weird toward the end, with the following overly meta scene in which the fisherman hears the familiar mermaid's song from an unlikely source:

Keep in mind that his daughter eight years old. How many 8-year-olds know Sigur Rós? Perhaps even a more appropriate question is this: Have we reached the saturation point on using Sigur Rós in the climax of films yet? Understand that they're one of my favorite bands ever so I understand the urge to go to the well repeatedly. The music is ethereal and cinematic in scope, but just from films I remember off the top of my head, it's become an issue.

Cameron Crowe got in on the action early in 2001.

Then a couple years later, Wes Anderson broadened his Brit-pop horizons to score Steve Zissou's jaguar shark encounter.

That same year, Gregg Araki's excellent Mysterious Skin had a familiar climactic soundtrack.

Notice that these are all happening at the climax of each film? Such was the case in 2006's Penelope, a film I never actually saw, but apparently they branched out and chose Peter Dinklage to play the role of the film's little person.

Even 2010 Best Picture nominee 127 Hours makes use of Sigur Rós's "Festival" as a one-armed Aron Ralston struggles to survive the film's final moments. It's time to say ENOUGH to the filmmaking community. Ease off the Sigur Rós. If you can't find the emotional power to end your film without cheating by using the soaring falsetto of the finest post-rock to ever come out of Iceland, then perhaps it's time someone takes your music budget away. It will be returned when you've shown your responsible enough to handle it like a grown up.

Bill Murray has always been a genius

2011-01-22T23:22:00.000-05:00

From 1982:

This is the kind of stuff people just throw on their Tumblr site (oh by the way...) but no! It needs to be as widespread as possible.

Here's an honest question. Is there any settting within the known universe wherein Bill Murray could walk in and NOT be greeted by all attendees as a welcome addition? I say definitively NO. Seriously. Give me any possible situation: The closing of an auto factory. Your father's funeral. A school board meeting. Any possible scenario and/or setting that exists within the earth-bound universe would be improved for EVERY ATTENDEE if Bill Murray showed up. And that my friends is the difference between Bill Murray and everyone else in the world.

Yeah, I've been drinking a little. BUT THE POINT STILL HOLDS UP.

Consumption: Blue Valentine

2011-01-18T23:49:00.000-05:00

Recommended If You Like: Being reminded that anything good will someday go to shit!

I was having a decent day. Then this movie. Fucking hell. Wanna kick my dog while you're at it?*

*I don't have a dog. My dog died almost twenty years ago. Thanks for the reminder, Blue Valentine.

Consumption: 127 Hours and Buried

2011-01-17T17:53:00.000-05:00

The whole "numbering of posts" idea in the subject line was not well thought out, so I'm abandoning it before it gets to be March and I'm trying to remember whether I'm Books Vol. III or Films Vol. XIV or whatever the hell it is. And now onto the claustrophobia!

127 Hours (d. Danny Boyle)
Buried (d. Rodrigo Cortes)

I watched these movies on back-to-back days last week and let me tell you this: Any romanticism I ever held dear regarding finding myself trapped in a confined space for hours on end has virtually disappeared! Both films center around one person hanging out below the earth. James Franco (whose character is based on a real person, but I'll just keep calling him James Franco) spends about 20 minutes running through the desert and enjoying a no-pants swim with Amber Tamblyn before a massive boulder alters his plans and he spends the next 127 Hours (GET IT?) screaming, reminiscing, and recording a series of progressively depressing video blogs.

When I first read about Danny Boyle choosing this as his post-Slumdog Millionaire film, there were reports that the film would feature an hour without dialogue. This piqued my interest, but apparently this plan went out the window at some point, because the film is peppered throughout with vignettes of past family and friends from James Franco's life. Shooting in one confined space also appears to cause Boyle's OCD to go haywire, as he starts cramming in jarring camera angles whenever possible. If you've ever wanted to see a extra close up of James Franco touching his eyeball while he wets a contact lens in his mouth, you're in luck. Same to those who thought they might live their whole life before seeing the flow of urine through a Camelbak SHOT FROM INSIDE THE CAMELBAK TUBE. And of course it all leads up the "thing with the arm." For all the gimmicks that Boyle goes through behind the camera, he gets an outstanding performance from Franco that makes the film worthwhile in the end. I suppose I just preferred the possibilities within the daring sparseness of his original treatment as opposed to the hyperactive edit of the final product.

Buried, on the other hand, has no flashbacks. In fact, aside from a short cell-phone video, there are no actors on screen other than Ryan Reynolds in the 90-minute real-time sequencing. Reynolds' only communication with the outside world comes from a series of cell phone calls, which proves for a fact that I'd get better cell phone reception if I were buried in a Middle East desert than I do in my office building in Northbrook, IL. (Sidenote - it drove me insane trying to place one of the voices on the phone, before I realized it was podcaster extraordinare Stephen Tobolowsky AKA Ned Ryerson.) Nearly every review I've read of this film brings up references to Hitchcock, and indeed, this is the kind of minimilastic tense thriller that owes no small part to films like Rope in particular. While I felt more engaged overall by 127 Hours, I admired Cortes' spirit more than Boyle's. It's a ballsy move as a director to spend a full film inside a box in the ground, and like Boyle he shows a bit of camera-positioning flash by looking "through" the ground at times, but the moves always feel vital in amping up the energy of the story. And he gives the viewer a well earned "What the fuck?" moment at the end.

Consumption: 2011 Book Edition Vol. I

2011-01-14T13:57:00.000-05:00

Ah, January! Every Christmas, I end up getting upwards of a half-dozen books, and I convince myself that the following year will be the year in which I spend more time reading and less time watching Survivor. Every year, this plan blows up. It likely will again this year. But it hasn't in the first two weeks! Probably because Survivor doesn't start for another month or so.

The War for Late Night by Bill Carter

One of the main reasons that The Late Shift was so compelling at the time was the internet's infancy meant most people (anyone who didn't subscribe to the New York Times) were reading Bill Carter's behind-the-scenes accounts for the first time. This time around, Carter was on top of every Conan/Leno development as they happened, and likewise anyone with internet access could essentially follow the behind-the-scenes ups and downs in real time as he was publishing numerous stories on the Times web site daily.

The draw of Carter's book is his ability to flesh out the private conversations and characteristics of the key players. Leno isn't a calculating villain as much as he's simply oblivious to anything other than himself. (He utters the mantra "I tell jokes at 11:30 at night" so often that you wonder if he values any other skills in himself.) Conan seems retroactively doomed from the start of things, oblivious to any issues until he was already on his way out.

And then there are the NBC execs. Jeff Gaspin comes off as the most sensible, noting that Conan had turned off a significant number of his Late Night fans (winning them back only when he went for broke the last couple weeks), while failing to attract the broader audience. Jeff Zucker avoids becoming the true antagonist of the book, but only because his shortcomings as an executive and human being are easily trumped by Dick Ebersol. Early in the book, it's pointed out that Conan delivered a handwritten touching letter when Ebersol's son was killed in a plane crash. Throughout the rest of the book, Ebersol acts like a complete asshole, treating O'Brien as a dumb rube for not taking his notes on "improving" the show, and bitching about Pearl Jam playing on his first show. (What's that? An out of touch 62-year-old man doesn't think Pearl Jam are a musical draw? Perfect.) For a guy whose main professional achievements include installing Colin Quinn as SNL Weekend Update anchor, and overseeing an Olympic games that lost "a couple hundred million bucks" for NBC, this guy sure gets upset at people who ignore his terrible advice.

While the mindset of Conan and Jay throughout is fleshed out, it's obvious that Carter was never able to talk to Letterman, as any quotes from Dave are taken directly from Late Show broadcasts, but of course it's unlikely he'd get anything better than this either way.

As far as on-air talent goes, Jimmy Kimmel ends up coming off best. He pointed out to Letterman that he thought Dave threw Jay a life preserver with the Super Bowl ad. And of course, there was this, which can't be seen enough times. WHAT'S THE BEST PRANK YOU EVER PULLED?

Carter's epilogue features an interview with Jerry Seinfeld, who says "What did the network do to him? I don’t think anyone’s preventing people from watching Conan. Once they give you the cameras, it’s on you." This point is entirely correct, though of course it's odd to hear Jerry Seinfeld using this line of reasoning, considering it took four seasons for Seinfeld to become a hit show. Had NBC followed his logic, it would have been pulled after one. But I suppose that would have been his own fault?

From my point of view, the best all-encompassing summary of The Tonight Show with Conan O'Brien comes not from The War For Late Night, but from Louis CK, who hit the nail perfectly on the head.

When Letterman really wanted 'The Tonight Show' I didn't understand it because he has his own show called 'Letterman.' And when they rejected him he went and got 'Letterman' again. He's doing great. Conan had 'Conan.' Nobody really called it 'Late Night' that's how much he had made it his. That was 'Conan.' And I don't know why he'd want to give that up to host 'The Tonight Show,' which is just this old, shitty thing. Let Jay have it. It's a little presumptuous of me to tell Conan that his dreams are misguided... but they are."

Consumption: 2011 Film Edition Vol. II

2011-01-11T15:34:00.001-05:00

45365 (d. Bill Ross and Turner Ross)

Have you ever been to Sidney, Ohio? Neither have I. It's 40 miles north of Dayton, and one of the city's most notable natives is Joey Long, who spent less than a month in 1997 pitching for the San Diego Padres, compiling an 8.18 ERA.

This is more information about the city than one would get from watching 45365, but knowledge is not the point of the film. There's no linear storyline. There's simply a series of impressionistic vignettes of Midwest America. Characters reappear in different settings, but there's no overarching theme. As a viewer, you show up in the middle of their lives, and you leave in the middle of their lives. One moment a radio DJ debates the innuendo of The Who's "Squeeze Box" with a listener, and the next an enterprising young man is convincing his older neighbor that he could get top dollar by selling the bat dung inside his barn to marijuana harvesters.

From a tonal perspective, the film draws easy comparisons to "Friday Night Lights" with the reliance on unobtrusive camera placement and natural lighting. Nothing seems contrived, from the demolition derby, to the interaction of police and criminals, to the high school girl arguing on the phone with her delinquent boyfriend. And the Ross brothers buck the current trend of making a grand political statement with the town and its residents. There's no over-the-top glorification of "Real America," and no weeping pity for the economic struggles of small towns.

45365 is a gorgeously shot 90-minute postcard. Like most postcards, it won't change you're life, but if nothing else it brightens your day, and you feel happy it was sent to you.

Consumption: 2011 Film Edition Vol. I

2011-01-11T02:34:00.000-05:00

One of my goals for the upcoming year is to chart, or at the very least list, the films I watch, books I read, at least a portion of the audio I consume in various formats, and any other artforms. With this goal in line, I'm labeling the effort Consumption. I'm hoping to make more frequent, shorter-in-length posts covering all topics. Through the first 11 days of '11, I've read one full book (review upcoming) and seen five films. Here's the first.

SOMEWHERE (d. Sofia Coppola)
Back in the earliest days of IFC, I remember repeatedly seeing a 15-minute short called Lick the Star that I really enjoyed. Sofia Coppola was the director and I was eager to see The Virgin Suicides when it came out on DVD, but the movie left me lukewarm. Once Lost in Translation knocked everybody's socks off (mine included), Coppola's stock was high. Then came the snore-fest of Marie Antionette, and heading into Somewhere, I couldn't get a read on whether Coppola was a director I like who's made two below average films, or a director I find overrated who started with a nice short idea, then happened to strike gold on Translation. After seeing Somewhere, I'm pretty sure it's the latter. The trailer is far more compelling than the actual film (though both contain this awesome Strokes demo.)

What's interesting is that so much of the tone and nuance that worked perfectly in Lost in Translation is repeated here, yet it completely backfires. Every time there's a silent stare between Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson, the ambiguity is subtle and engaging. Given their status at strangers to each other, you never feel like you're missing out on necessary information. But when similar scenes of drawn out silence take place between a father and daughter, as they do repeatedly in Somewhere, depriving the viewer of any sense of the characters' past relationship only makes the film that much more frustrating - and not in a challenging artistic way, but in a "Why the fuck do I even care what I'm watching?" way.

Likewise, the surreal haze that made Japan simultaneously engaging and alienating in Lost in Translation is poorly imitated by LA's Chateau Marmont. It's meant to depict the retreat and lavishness awaiting Hollywood's elite, but you can only take so much of watching Stephen Dorff silently laying down all around the hotel before you hate every room in the place and find yourself cursing the fact that John Belushi died here, yet this fictional character keeps on living just for spite. Elle Fanning and - surprisingly - Jackass's Chris Pontius are effective in underdeveloped roles, but the movie goes nowhere*, up to and including the film's climax, which again tries to recapture the magic of this scene. Toward the end of Somewhere, Dorff's character says something that his daughter doesn't quite here. We as the audience do hear him, but by this point we just don't really give a shit what he's saying.

*Nowhere, AKA the opposite of Somewhere! If anyone needs me, I'll be waiting at the mailbox for my award celebrating artistic achievement in the field of pun-related insults.

Best Music Videos of 2010

2010-12-19T22:43:00.002-05:00

It's that time of year again. I'm sure you've been anxiously awaiting the countdown of the year's best music videos. I believe this will be my 4th (2007, 2008, 2009). And while we still have a week or so left in 2010, I'm confident that no one will make a good one in that time. It's safe to post this.

Luckily, the internets has picked up the torch that MTV and VH-1 abandoned for pregnant teenagers and rehab shows. The #1 video of the year, as you'll see, epitomizes the influence that the internet (a.k.a. the only place to see music videos now) has had on the medium.

So let's get to it! I give you the 15 best music videos of 2010:

#15: David Crowder Band "SMS [Shine]"

Remember when you were 7 and you had used up all the templates that came with your Lite-Brite? And you came up with your own design? Didn't you feel like such an artist? Well, after watching this video, you'll realize that the smiley-face sun you made was crap. Check out the "making of" feature here.

#14: TIE between Local Natives "World News" and Mumford & Sons "The Cave"

I don't know which band came up with the idea of resort hotel staff lip dubbing their song first...but I think we can agree that they BOTH stole their aesthetic from Wes Anderson films.

#13: Broken Bells "The Ghost Inside"

I prefer this fan-made video to the official video, which is pretty great in it's own right. But come on. Hall & Oates! That beats the chesty gal from Mad Men in a sci-fi tragedy any day.

#12: The Boy Least Likely To "George and Andrew"

While we're on the 80's male pop duos kick, let's talk about Wham!.Not since the cast of Seinfeld fictionally reunited on Curb Your Enthusiasm has a fictional reunion...well, ever happened. And what a coincidence that Andrew is still wearing his "Choose Life" shirt!

#11: Hanson "Thinking "Bout Something"

You're damn right I'm putting a Hanson video on the list. Deal with it. It's sort of a cross between a homage to pawn shop scene in The Blues Brothers and the parade scene from Ferris Beuller's Day Off. Plus Weird Al is inexplicably playing the tambourine! I dare you not to love this video.

#10: Ted Leo & the Pharmacists "Bottled In Cork"

TC wrote about this a while back. I'll let his review do the talking.

#9: Janelle Monáe (feat. Big Boi) "TightRope"

This is more about the song than the video. Still, both One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and It's Kind Of a Funny Story would have been well served to have an asylum dance-off.

#8: B.o.B. (feat. Rivers Cuomo) "Magic"

This was my favorite pop song of 2010. I still love it. And the video is just as good. Sexy Fruity Pebbles in the bathroom. Bizarro Being John Malkovich-like plot. Rivers Cuomo wearing a puffy vest from 2001. Classic.

#7: Cee Lo Green "Fuck You"

I'm not the biggest fan of the Happy Days-ish video. I prefer the text-only version. There's something mesmerizing about it (did you know that the third "oooo" in the chorus is spelled 4 "o"s, not 3?!).I mean, honestly, this song is clearly about the words. Oh, and you have to check out Whitney Avalon's reply, "Clearly Obsessed"

#6: Ok Go "This Too Shall Pass"

Of course they're on the list. And while I have a soft spot for their alternative version that features and is played by the Notre Dame Marching Band, you just can't beat a Rube Goldberg machine. It's the rules.

#5: Kanye West "Runaway"

I've been rooting for Kanye. He gets picked on my bullies like Taylor Swift and Matt Lauer. Jerks. And yet, while everyone else is declaring his new album the best of the year, I've been left a bit disappointed. Still, his short film about a Phoenix falling from the sky (and a giant paper mache Michael Jackson head?) is epic indeed.

#4: Arcade Fire "The Suburbs"

From the best album of 2010 (my opinion...sorry Kanye), and the best music video director around (my opinion...sorry Hype Williams), this video reminds me of the climactic scene in E.T., but without that older brother with the giant nostrils...or the iconic red hoodie...or the alien.

#3: The Black Keys "Tighten Up"

I first saw them when they opened for Guided By Voices NYE show in Indianapolis in 2002 or so. This year, the Black Keys have deservedly blown up. And as adorable as the kids are in the video, I think my favorite moment is the sage advice given in the first few seconds...that when your playmate partner smells like ranch dressing, you just hold your breathe or something.

#2: Vampire Weekend "Giving Up the Gun"

So many great things in this video. RZA reffing tennis. Joe Jonas wiping his hand off after his post-loss handshake. Evil Jake Gyllenhaal taking a swig of booze before and during his match. Coach Lil' Jon. The flaming tennis racket. The boom box playing "Holiday." It took a technological spectacle at #1 to knock this out of the top spot.

#1: Arcade Fire "We Used to Wait"

I've probably watched this video using roughly 20 different locations. If you're unfamiliar, you start at the video's website

. You enter an address, preferably your childhood home, to get the most of the nostalgic/tragic/creepy feel they're aiming for. And then you watched a hooded figure run around your old haunt while trees begin to sprout. It's nuts/awesome.

Bad Idea 2010 Playlist Part II

2010-12-06T00:09:00.004-05:00

2010 Playlist: The Sequel. Does the quality of Volume 2 rise above that of Volume 1 (a la "Kill Bill"), or does it merely serve as a cheap, soulless imitation of the earlier inspired incarnation (a la Schottzie 02, the dog that NEVER won a World Series.)* I maintain that much like the legacy of George W. Bush, history will have the final say on which answer is correct, at such a point in time that both you and I will likely have been dead for ages. Happy holidays everyone! Let's kick out the jams!

UPDATE: Soundcloud took down the stream - advance straight to the zip file.

LCD Soundsystem - If you are a fan of things that are great, you'll be interested in James Murphy's outstanding interview this week on Sound Opinions. He is quickly rising to Tweedy/Darnielle/Finn status as front men who as entertaining in interviews as they are musically.
Jonsi - I always find it enjoyable how Sigur Ros lyrics are sung in a non-existant language, so I was a little worried that Jonsi singing in English would lessen the impact. Fortunately, you still can't understand anything he's saying!
Arcade Fire - After years of struggle, they've finally worked their way up to the level of critical acclaim enjoyed by Katy Perry. (Sidenote: Have you looked at the list of recent "Album of Year" winners? It's amazing! I think the reason there hasn't been a proper Outkast album since 2004 is because they're traumatized by their win.)
Frightened Rabbit - I legitimately wonder what the benefit is for bands to sign with major labels any more. Radio play and promotion budgets don't really exist for rock bands in 2010, right?
Kurt Vile - I enjoy mocking bands whose music may appear on Grey's Anatomy, but anyone who gets a song to close out Eastbound & Down is a winner in my book.
Hollerado - I had never heard these guys before seeing them open for Free Energy last month. They made a video for this song that's so awesome, I imagine OK Go watching it and seething that they didn't come up with the idea first.
Frontier Ruckus - Yesterday I said that Phosphorescent reminds me of when Ryan Adams was good. Frontier Ruckus apparently reminds RYAN ADAMS of when Ryan Adams was good.
Harlem - I'll always be partial to sloppy garage rock. Likewise, I'm always inclined to negatively pre-judge any band in the "chillwave" genre. That's the worst new genre name, right? Am I forgetting a worse one?
Girls - This band was started by someone who grew up in the Children of God cult! Seems like he should have been able to come up with a more creative band name.
Gayngs - This song is from their live Daytrotter session. Justin Vernon's falsetto was made to cover Sade songs. The couples' skate soundtrack at the hipster roller rink.
Yeasayer, Local Natives, Sharon Van Etten, The National - These songs are all great. Enough with the chatter already.

--Zipped file of all 25 tracks here (216 megs)--

*I went to Marge Schott's wikipedia page to verify when the original Schottzie died, (1991 if you're curious) and read something I'd never seen before. She re-gifted flowers to pass them off as a condolence bouquet for John McSherry's funeral. This of course, came AFTER she bitched about McSherry collapsing on the field and "ruining" opening day in Cincinnati. I obviously knew she was an old mean racist, but STILL, holy shit!

Bad Idea 2010 Playlist Part I

2010-12-05T01:33:00.004-05:00

Musically speaking, 2010 has clearly been the year of the reunion. Four regroupings inparticular triggered my interest, each for a slightly different reason. Observe my reaction to each:

Regarding Soundgarden's pre-Lollapalooza gig: "Holy shit! I loved them in high school and am very excited!"

Regarding Pavement's reunion shows: "Holy shit! I only got into them during the Terror Twilight phase, so I missed most of their hey day. This will be great!"

Regarding the Guided By Voices reunion: "Holy shit! I've missed these guys! And they're only playing songs from between '92-'96?! I don't have to sit through 'Glad Girls'?! That's so great!"

Regarding new album/tour from Superchunk: "Holy shit! I forgot that band still existed!"

And while Soundgarden, GBV, and Pavement were all enjoyable, the re-discovery of Superchunk was my personal highlight of the year. 2010 has not been my favorite year for a variety of reasons, but I've listened to "Majesty Shredding" more than any other record since it came out in September, for no reason other than the fact that it's one of the few things within my control guaranteed to improve my mood immediately. And look at all the happy bouncing taking place at the video at the top of the page! For a band that's now known more for the label they started as opposed their musical output, this is the best album they've made. I hope they don't take another 9-year break before the next one.

On that note, Allow me to present Part 1 of my 2010 playlist, AKA the songs I dug the most these past 12 months. Part 2 is coming tomorrow.

UPDATE: Soundcloud took down the stream - see the main page for the zip files.

Phosphorecsent - Remember how great Ryan Adams was at the beginning of the decade? That's what this record reminds me of.
Beach House - In my top 3 for favorite albums of the year. iTunes tells me I've listened to this track more than any other 2010 song. It's fun when a song's personal worth to you can be validated statistically.
Steel Train - Liking this song might mean I'm a 14-year-old girl, but so be it. I thought the same thing last year when it came to the band fun. Try and get this melody out of your brain. You will fail.
Warpaint - My newest obsession of the year. Their album is good, but the live setting is where they shine brightest.
Superchunk - Come find me in 20 years, and I'll be a 52-year-old still singing "Slack Motherfucker." Majesty Shredding is streaming here, and a digital download of the album is currently less than $6 on Amazon.
The New Pornographers - The Steve Nash of indie pop bands. Always reliable. Always consistent. Always Canadian.
Kanye West - Great album, but it is NOT perfect. For example, that Chris Rock bit doesn't exactly improve with repeated listens (though the line "I put the pussy in a sarcophagus" does improve with age.) The Nicki Minaj verse is so great here that it bums me out even more that her actual album is so terrible.
DOM - I know nothing about this band. If you told me they were a chorus of home-schooled children, I'd happily believe it. It sounds like a trippy jingle for a Skittles ad.
The Hold Steady - "The theme of this party's the industrial age. And you came in dressed like a train wreck." Boom! Roasted! Best steampunk-related burn I've ever heard.
Deerhunter - It seems odd that this is the only band on the list to incorporate an animal within their name, since it seems like every other indie band formed lately involves a deer, bear, panda, bird, or fucking wolf in their name. In fact, I just invented a new band named Bear Wolf and we should have coverage on Stereogum within the week!
Cee Lo Green - The can't-miss album of the summer! So of course it was released in November! Score another great decision for major labels!
The Besnard Lakes - These guys did an awesome free show at Millennium Park in May. I was looking for footage on YouTube and found this crappy cell-phone clip, where the back of my head is featured prominently in the foreground.
Ariel Pink's Haunted Grafitti - If any John Hughes movies had featured recreational use of ecstasy, this would be the soundtrack for the montage scene.
Bottomless Pit - Last month, John Darnielle issued an order to see this band. I followed that order. He was right as usual.
Justin Townes Earle - Winter in Chicago encapsulated in 4+ minutes. From the gospel according to Springsteen.

Part 2 (and a link for download) coming tomorrow.

Take a whispering class!

2010-08-24T18:16:00.001-04:00

Any down time in my last 24 hours have more or less consisted of jumping between Cee-Lo's delightfully profane "non-video" video and this magical journey to the stage of Ted Leo and the Pharmacists:

Ted Leo And The Pharmacists - "Bottled In Cork" (Official Video) from Ted Leo and the Pharmacists

Interestingly, The AV Club (along with the plague mouth-breathing, mutant commenters that render that otherwise great site mediocre) are viewing this clip as pure mockery of Green Day, though I didn't see it that way at all. I think it's no doubt satirizing the trend for Broadway to latch onto pop music as opposed to other original content, but it's not "mocking" anybody specifically, except maybe the Rx themselves.

That said, the video didn't remind me of Green Day nearly as much as it reminded me of the AMAZING disaster from four years ago, when a musical based on the music of Bob Dylan was actually greenlit, and actually on Brodway for a month before everyone realized it was terrible and nobody was going to see it and they should all stop making it.

If you've never seen this, it's amazing. And you will never be able to un-see it as long as you live.

How does it feel? It feels terrible. To describe my feelings any better, I'd need a giant ball to bounce on.

Off the Record

2010-08-19T23:33:00.003-04:00

A couple nights ago, I was watching POV on PBS. One of the short films that aired was based on record collector Paul Mawhinney, who has been trying (unsuccessfully thus far) to sell his collection of 2.5 million vinyl records. The 7-minute-feature (shot two years ago) can also be seen here, and I highly recommend it, as the direction is top-notch, and the lighting of Mawhinney's cramped archive is truly gorgeous.

Judging from the majority of responses on the POV site, people see Paul Mawhinney as a martyr who spent his life devoted to collecting an artform that society has deemed basically worthless. People see him as an ultimate victim who has sought after and cared for these items, yet now in his time of need he's unable to sell them for even pennies on the dollar.

I'm clearly in the minority, because I see him as kind of an asshole.

Obviously, Mawhinney's health concerns inspire a large part of the emotional response, and indeed it's sad to see these ailments taking hold of his body, understanding that he could no doubt use the money this sale would bring. But a significant amount of Mawhinney's own commentary raises some red flags as to A) his status as a "collector" vs. "dealer," and B) His understanding of the marketplace.

My issues started literally within the first 20 seconds of the video, with Mawhinney showing off this supposedly priceless artifact by pawing at it, slapping his entire palm over it like a gorilla ready to toss its own feces. And he doesn't say anything along the lines of "Imagine the history of what I'm holding, etc..." He just mentions (twice!) that it must be worth a boatload.

Throughout the rest of the video, I have a hard time seeing this guy as someone who's truly in love with what he possesses. The way he talks about records is the exact same way that show dealers at Eastgate Mall talked about baseball cards when I was 11 years old. They enjoy what makes them money, and they are always in sell mode when showing off what they've got. When he shows off The Rolling Stones crown jewel of this collection, he doesn't make mention of how many copies were printed, or whether it's a UK or US edition, or any of those music nerd details. But he sure as shit knows the price range for it. Of course, his range of $6k-$10k is pretty wide, and a copy sold on Ebay last month for less than $1,800, so perhaps he sould take it easy with throwing that 10 grand figure around. By that same token, Mawhinney's dealer-enhanced claim of the collection being worth $50 million means nothing without a buyer. Shit, how about if I hereby appraise the entire collection of Ken Griffey Jr. Starting Lineup figures through the years at 15 grand! Do I hear a bidder? Act now and I'll throw in every Dante Bichette model from 1995-97!

I'm highly skeptical of his claim that 83% of the music in his collection isn't available through other media formats. We live in a time where releasing reissues with a built-in and known demand is a far safer business proposition for labels than bankrolling new bands, so it would seem a safe assumption that most of the music in his collection that legitimately won't be re-released to the public is most likely not that valuable to being with.

Granted, Mawhinney's commentary about people "not giving a damn" about vinyl have been disproven in the time since the video was made, so he can't be chastised for not knowing that in the time since he made those comments, vinyl sales would be the ONLY media form of the record industry actually thriving. But Mawhinney's insistence to sell the collection as one lump all-or-nothing transaction seems...well...stupid. If these albums truly mean something sentimental, why not keep them and pass them down when death comes knocking? If they don't hold that attachment, sell what people are willing to buy. Either way, Mawhinney's act of martyrdom seems played out at this point, nearly a decade after he first had a deal fall through with the U.S. Library of Congress. I'm guessing that deal (which he rejected) was for more than $3 million. That small plot point wasn't mentioned in this feature, but I'm guessing it just didn't fit the narrative.

Drift Shaft records not included

2010-08-12T22:15:00.001-04:00

I made peace awhile ago in regards to what Weezer has become. Despite the diminishing returns of each album, they still have become masters in marketing themselves in ways that have nothing to do with their songs themselves (Exhibit A-Z: Snuggies!) Perhaps Weezer truly are the second coming of Kiss?

The pitch of style over substance was on display again this week. I saw the band's new single linked a few different places, but those mentioned were dwarfed drastically by news of the album's cover photo.

Delightful! Although Hurley was partial to another band, this photo couldn't be more joyous if he were fully decked out in a Mr. Cluck's uniform.

Will the album be good? Who knows? Probably not that good, but maybe kinda good! Does it matter? Not really! What matters is that I want LOST connections on all indie rock album covers from now on! So I took it upon myself to make several of them! Feel free to print these at and glue them to your CD covers. (That is a joke - nobody buys CDs. Please copy and past into your magical lower-left iTunes box to your heart's content.)

Was this good use of a couple hours on a Thursday? Or THE BEST use of a couple hours on a Thursday? You do the math.

Bad Idea Show Review: Lollapalooza 2010 at Grant Park

2010-08-09T23:47:00.007-04:00

via

It's 2010, everybody. We as a nation need to examine proper crowdsurfing situations with a more discerning eye. I'm not going to go so far as to say it's inappropriate in every situation, but there is no acceptable reason for why crowdsurfing is occurring during sets from Yeasayer or The Black Keys. Let's all make better choices. Go with yourself.

My Lollapalooza weekend started a night early, as I unexpectedly had the chance to see Soundgarden at the small Vic Theatre on Thursday night with a friend. It was a really fantastic show, consisting mostly of Badmotorfinger and Superunknown tracks. Cornell’s hair was at 1992 length, as was his voice which sounded great. Kim Thayil is now fat, with a gray beard and goofy hat that at first made me wonder, “When did Dr. John join Soundgarden?” Anyway, after getting the rock endorphins flowing, the weekend was off and running. And by running, I mean walking carefully. Nobody needs to run at festivals, kids!

FRIDAY

I arrived at 11am, and the gates had not yet opened. Bad start, Lollapalooza! After silently wondering if I should protest by leaving, I instead waited to be let in, then wandered down to the south field, which for some creepy reason was already damp/muddy, despite the fact that it hadn’t rained in days. B.O.B. started the day off, and if you wanted to see any hip-hop at this festival, he was basically your only hope unless you liked Cypress Hill. (Just kidding of course. Nobody likes Cypress Hill.) B.O.B. has clearly tapped into the niche of rap for emo kids, as he showcased by strapping on an acoustic guitar for some terrible Dashboard Confessional-esque ballad about a soldier in Vietnam. His album is also besotted with guest appearances, so during the live show you’d often hear the disembodied voice of Rivers Cuomo screaming out of the speakers while B.O.B. danced and waited for his verse. He closed his set covering “Kids” by MGMT, and naturally the crowd went apeshit. I took the chance to make my first cross-park walk when Wavves was playing on the opposite end. It was a farther walk than I remember, and there wasn’t even a reward when I finally made it to the other end; there was just Wavves playing shitty and acting shitty between songs, and looking clearly out of place on the massive north main stage. I left, bored after 20 minutes, and wandered over to one of the small stages where The Ettes were rocking mid-set with a fuzzed-out, straight-ahead approach that was a refreshing cleanser from the overly precious brattiness of Wavves.

Friday turned out to be a day of one headliner after another. I headed back down south to take in a solid set from The Walkmen, then chose to go back up north for Mavis Staples at 2pm. She was scheduled up against Raphael Saadiq, which frankly sucked, as the two biggest R&B/Soul draws of the fest shouldn’t be paired against each other. I chose Staples, and was glad I did. She put together one of the best sets of the day, and had a surprise cameo from Jeff Tweedy to boot. (Side note: Between seeing The Autumn Defense in June, On Fillmore in July, and Mavis Staples, I’ve seen all 5 members of Wilco perform this summer, without actually seeing a Wilco performance. News you can use!)

While watching Staples, I met up with my friend Marc and we wandered to the opposite north field for Drive-By Truckers. I first saw them on a co-headlining tour with The Hold Steady a couple years ago. It was a natural pairing, as the Truckers are basically a southern country-fried cousin to the Hold Steady, right down to the everyman lyrics and goofy grinning energetic frontman. They were excellent then, and they’re excellent now. Their hour-long set flew by, and one they wrapped, we went back across the north field for The New Pornographers. It’s borderline embarrassing that I hadn’t seen them live before, but they were awesome. There were easily 35,000 people in the north field watching at this point, and not to be outdone by Mavis Staple’s surprise guest, the Pornos brought out their own help in the form of Tad Kubler from The Hold Steady. As great as their songs were, the highlight of the set may have been Neko Case’s hat.

This hat will kick the ass of any Lady Gaga costume.

Sticking on the north end, The Dirty Projectors started at 5pm.
Me at 5:00pm: "They sound pretty cool. I'm digging this.
Me at 5:10pm: "This is boring. I'm bored now."
The Dirty Projectors do one cool thing very well, but hearing a two-minute-long trick over and over for an hour is like...it's like hearing a two-minute-long trick over and over for an hour. There’s no more appropriate analogy. It made me sleepy. But as I started to get sleepy, The Black Keys said “WAKE UP YOU JERK! WE WILL ROCK ALL BODIES AWAKE FROM YOUR MINIMALIST SWIRLING-INDUCED COMAS! WE MAY EVEN RAISE THE DEAD!" They slayed the stage, playing about 2/3 of their set as a 2-piece, and the other third as an expanded 4-piece, playing mostly songs of their new album. They’re killer as a 2-piece, but they’re actually even better with additional instruments. Go see this band now.

After the Black Keys wrapped, I trekked down south, stop for a few minutes on the way to relive a bit of 1980’s synth-pop courtesy of Chromeo (Guess what? The 80’s aren’t much better now than they were then), watched the beginning of what was apparently an underwhelming set by Lady Gaga, and saw The Strokes. I thought they were very good. And I'm not alone it seems.

SATURDAY

My first thought when waking up Saturday was “I’m very sore, almost as if I spent all damn day yesterday repeatedly walking around a 2-mile radius.” My second thought was “I have a headache, even though I didn’t drink at all yesterday.” You know what they say is great for headaches? Rock shows! Tons of them! The more the better! So away we went.

While Friday seemed stacked all day with one headlining giant after another, Saturday did not. (“Who wants to go see Blues Traveler on the main stage at 1:45?” is a question nobody who likes music asks themselves.) With that in mind, and with friends checking out the DJ tent most of the day, I went exploring the small stages, and made several happy discoveries. Harlem (from Austin, naturally) not only have an impressively large kick-drum, but had a nice ramshackled garage-rock vibe that came off much more charming (and better overall) than Wavves the day before. Wild Beasts were strong as well, but the discovery of the day was Warpaint on the smaller northwest stage. I’d heard their name before, but never their music, and they were amazing, in a spaced-out Explosions in the Sky-with vocals type of way. They’ve only put out an EP so far, but based on the songs they played Saturday, their first album is going to be fantastic. Mark my words. Mark them!

Other impressive acts on the Saturday small stage included Dawes (1970s folk harmonies) and Deer Tick (alt-country rock endorsed by Brian Williams!) and Dan Black (he likes Prince). On some of the bigger stages, Against Me! proved my past suspicions correct. I would have LOVED these guys when I was in high school. Ex-Hold Steady-er (and still KING of the mustache) Franz Nicolay has joined the band on keyboards, for reasons unclear to me because I couldn’t hear any keys, but he’s still got the patented one-hand-up-while-yelling move that made me yearn for another THS show. Moving back north, there was a GIANT unmoveable clusterfuck surrounded the stage where The xx played. My head was still killing me, and with no cloud cover at that stage, I wandered back south, grabbing food and shade, listening to Gogol Bordello from afar while watching their gypsy escapades on the webcast screen. I checked out about 30 minutes of Metric afterward, and while I like a few of their songs, they left me underwhelmed. I bypassed seeing Spoon again to watch Social Distortion, and they were as good as I expected them to be. Mike Ness is gray and balding but is still a badass, not to mention one of the few living people who can pull off a Johnny Cash cover without sounding like a complete hack.

Have you ever said to yourself, “I’d love to watch a terrible ska/reggae band cover both John Denver AND Nirvana?” If so, then Slightly Stoopid is the band for you. Also, you should jump in front of a train because you are a terrible person. I don’t know how this band got such a great timeslot, but there was nothing redeeming about them. I sat and tried to remain still if only to avoid another cross-park walk. That said, I was still intrigued by how Green Day would close out the night.

People tend to forget that before American Idiot was released, Green Day’s popularity had taken a pretty substantial nosedive, though Nimrod and Warning were still very good albums. Their most recent album made it clear that they’re not a band for me anymore, but the kids still love them, and based on Saturday night, Green Day is still for the children. Billie Joe Armstrong still dicks around between songs A LOT. Escapades on Saturday included mooning the crowd, urging a teenage kid to stage dive into the crowd (he BARELY made it over the 15-foot-barrier to the front row of fans), and impromptu covers of Guns n’ Roses, AC/DC, and wedding reception staple “Shout.” They may have a Broadway musical to their credit, but it’s hard to imagine Billy Joel shouting “Who wants a fucking t-shirt?!” while firing shirts from cannons into the crowd. But the momentum kept moving. Simply put, the show was a big, dumb, explosion-filled two-and-a-half hours of pure fun. Armstrong repeatedly threatened to play past the 10pm curfew, and proved to be a man of his word, as the band blasted until about 10:15pm, infuriating union workers and likely incurring a huge fine in the process. Money well spent. Oh yeah, and some kid sang all of “Longview,” and got an awesome gift for his rendition (at the 5-minute mark). Best karaoke jam ever!

SUNDAY

The most notable bands playing early on Sunday (The Dodos, The Antlers, and Blitzen Trapper) were those I had already seen at previous Pitchfork fests. Plus it was raining, so I delayed my arrival until about 2pm, and watched the last couple songs of spirited roots-rockers Ike Reilly Assassination before arriving to an already packed stage for Mumford & Sons. I like this band, but the Bluegrass-via-U.K. routine seems a bit gimmicky to me. A little goes a long way, but the crowd loved it all despite the hottest sunlight of the weekend. On the north main stage, a huge crowd gathered for Yeasayer, and while their performance was far more engaging than their set at Pitchfork last year, the crowd around me opted for lazy swaying as opposed to much cheering.

If it’s raucous crowds you’re looking for, look no further than BIBJ-endorsed Frightened Rabbit. They were stashed on a smaller stage, timed up against Mutemath and Erykah Badu, but drew a massive enthusiastic crowd. This band has transitioned nicely from solo confessional songs to bigger and fuller arrangements, and have put together louder arrangements each time I’ve seen them, and Sunday continued the trend. It also continued the trend of Hold Steady connections permeating the festival, as Scott Hutchinson dropped in a reference to “Southtown Girls” during their set-ending “Keep Yourself Warm.” (Co-headlining tour guys. Think about it...)

2 unrelated sidenotes here:
1. I did not see Erykah Badu, but apparently she showed up 20 minutes late, and when she attempted to play past her 6pm cutoff time, she was blown off stage by Wolfmother from across the south field. Badu vs. Wolfmother: Best feud ever!
2. Celebrity encounters of Lollapalooza: The worlds of best drama on TV and best comedy ever collided violently, as I walked past Jesse from Breaking Bad chatting with Maeby from Arrested Development. I successfully fought my urge to scream “Marry me!”

I met a friend in the JAM PACKED north field for MGMT. (The festival grounds expanded this year, allowing C3 to sell an extra 15,000 tickets each day, but since the position of the 4 main stages didn’t change, they pretty much just added more people into the same area that’s always been crowded as it was.) MGMT were a terrible live act at Lolla ’08, and while they’re slightly better performers on their new songs, the crowd couldn’t have cared less about anything off their new album. They wanted “Time to Pretend” and they wanted it now! When MGMT acquiesced, the mass of colored sunglasses hopped approvingly, though the band took apathy to a new level on “Kids,” literally not even playing instruments, just dancing and singing to a pre-recorded music track. The delirious crowd didn't give a shit about instruments, they just wanted a dance party. Congratulations, indeed.

I love The National, but having seen them several times, and with possible plans to see them in the fall, I decided to listen to them from the other side of the north park while staking out a decent spot for Arcade Fire. That said, this clip of Matt Berninger serenading a 4-year-old (and removing the f-bomb from “Mr. November” while in the toddler’s presence) is a MUST SEE moment.

Arcade Fire. There’s not much more to say about them. They’re clicking on all cylinders these days. The setlist only contained 3 Neon Bible tracks, smartly focusing more on the debut and new album. I can’t really stand “Rococo,” and would have preferred the far better "Suburban War" in its place, but that was the only minor misstep in an otherwise full-throttle 90 minutes. The harmonies soared, with “Crown of Love” being a standout sing-a-long, and faces were melted during “Month of May” and the “Power Out/Rebellion (Lies)” combo that they perfected during the MSG webcast. An encore of “Wake Up,” complete with 50,000 synchronized “Oh ohs” was an amazing, spellbinding ending to a long weekend. I felt sunburnt, tire, sore, and couldn’t have enjoyed it more. Thanks to the friends I met up with at various points over the weekend. As I told you all, I’m too old to do any more of these. And I might see you again next year.

NOTE: Some outstanding photos of Arcade Fire's set can be seen at Robert Loerzel's blog.

Last Nite

2010-08-07T10:37:00.000-04:00

photo via Kate Gardiner

Of the 37 Strokes songs on my iPod, roughly 2/3 of them have been listened to 4 times or fewer each. Of course the first two Strokes albums were released before I had an iPod, so those numbers may seem a bit deflated in relation to my actual enjoyment, but the fact remains that as much as I still love hearing one of their songs, I haven't particularly had an urge to listen to them much in recent years. With Lollapalooza serving as their U.S. reunion debut, I was looking forward to the set, but by the end of a long, action-packed, not-that-hot-but-still-pretty-hot Friday, I wasn't expecting a whole lot.

Since Lady Gaga started 30 minutes before The Strokes, I watched the beginning of her set. If it had been worthwhile, I was contemplating staying there, but it ended up being mediocre community theater, complete with terrible between-song "dialogue" and lots of screaming the words "Chicago!" and "Lollapalooza!" to force undeserved screams. So to the North stage I moved, noticing when I got there that in all honesty, the crowd disparity was 75/25 for Gaga. Huge gaps in the crowd allowed me to move within 100 feet or so from the stage. And then we waited. The 8:30p start time came and went. After about 15 minutes (during which time I honestly thought to myself "Maybe they've broken up for good just now!") At that moment, the stage went black, and Queen's "We Will Rock You" blared through the speakers. And another thought took over. This might be good.

What it ended up being, hyperbole aside, was one of the best shows I've ever seen. As in, top 5 in my life. Since the moment it ended, I've been trying to think about what made it so fantastic. The band was as perfectly tight as ever. Casablancas' voice was on point, bouncing from slurs to screams while still rocking a hooded sweatshirt AND leather jacket in decidedly non-chilly conditions. But what put the night over the top was the crowd, and I don't think I've ever thought that at any point during a festival show.

I'm placing the credit firmly on the counter-scheduling of Gaga. Throughout the day, it was shocking to me how many Gaga fans were in attendance, but it was also obvious that she was going to get all the casual Lolla-goers as well. This of course is perfectly understandable. If she had been playing opposite Phoenix or Green Day, I probably would have gone to her set as well out of sheer curiosity. The Strokes, on the other hand, were not going to have anyone seeing them out of ambivalence. Even people who hated Lady Gaga were going to opt for just going home as opposed to standing and watching a band they don't really care about sing songs that were never on the radio. If you were going to see The Strokes, it was because you loved The Strokes, not because you wanted to stand and watch while chatting with friends. Again, this a mindset that really never happens at festivals, but last night was a perfect storm, and from the moment the band opened with "New York City Cops," it became evident that this was something different.

Festival shows can provide a lot of great performances, but they hardly ever result in transcendent moments. When they do connect, it's a lightning strike of collective energy. LCD Soundsystem at Pitchfork this year was a perfect example of an otherwise outstanding set, that contained within it a moment of something different during "All My Friends" wherein a switch was flipped, and the collective power of the crowd went off the charts. The Strokes' set last night was that moment, for about 70 minutes straight. Every word to every song was screamed by every person, fists in the air and dumb grins on our faces. (Okay, maybe not every word, but only because nobody can really sing the chorus of "Hard to Explain" without butchering the order of the lines.)

Gaga had the majority of people on her side of the park, but there is no possible way they were louder or happier than we were. Her stage set was the most expensive in Lollapalooza history, and from what I saw it was sterile and underwhelming. The Strokes had an Atari version of Pac-Man being played on the screen behind them, and it was perfect. From one song to the next, the collective energy just kept going, to the point where everyone had a look in their eyes wondering "Is this happening?" and the only answers you would get were the looks in other peoples eyes asking the same thing. The set was a little short, but nobody cared. We just filed out, hearing seemingly every person around mumbling "Oh my God," at what just happened. Everyone was saying the same thing, but it wasn't quite as synchronized as our collective chorus of "Juicebox."

Your work is cut out for you on Sunday, Arcade Fire. Act accordingly.

The Setlist:
New York City Cops
The Modern Age
Hard to Explain
What Ever Happened?
You Only Live Once
Soma
Is This It
Vision of Division
I Can’t Win
Reptila
Last Nite
-----
Juicebox
Someday
Under Control
Heart in a Cage
Take It or Leave It

Bad Idea Show Review: Pitchfork Music Festival in Union Park

2010-07-22T18:27:00.001-04:00

I attended my third Pitchfork Music Festival last week, and it seems to be following the trajectory of the greatest trilogy in cinematic history – Back to the Future.

Pitchfork 2008 was my introduction into a new world of music festivals (or time travel)

Pitchfork 2009 took it to an even higher level with multiple epic bands (or hover boards)

Pitchfork 2010 took a step back (or Mary Steenburgen).

Let me first point out that the crew I rolled with was stellar. They are exempt from my less than glowing review.

Tom (host and brother)
Paul (newbie and loudmouth)
Crystal (girl and vodka-smuggler)
Pat (future Mr. St. Vincent and industry insider)
Joey (Venom enthusiast and a 3.7 rating)

So let’s with the fashion! The only thing Pitchfork-goers like more than music is making fun of hipsters (while casting a blind eye on their own hipster tendencies). When trying to figure out what hipster wardrobe was the hippest in 2010, I sadly noticed that it looked identical to 2009: Ray-Bans and 90’s basketball jerseys. This guy know what I’m talking about. And so early on, I gave up on tallying up the fashion trends. Like when George gives up on trying to ask Lorraine to the dance when he sees that she always swoons over Calvin, I mean Marty.

Now, onto the music:

Friday

Comedy stage: We never ventured to the comedy stage on Friday, and my most accounts, that was a good thing. Michael Showalter, who I love, apparently bombed. And the rest had to talk over rock bands. Who do you think won that battle? My guess is that the comedians got pretty frustrated with this, and snapped at the band stages just like Huey Lewis snapped at Marty McFly’s band during their talent show audition.

Robyn: The pop star was doing her set while we were waiting in the ID bracelet line…and the beer ticket line…and the beer line (there’s gotta be a better way!!!). By the time we had a beverage, her set was pretty much done. But she’s not really in my wheelhouse (I didn’t know she was in Pitchfork’s wheelhouse, either), so I didn’t mind listening from a distance. I saw her on Letterman this week, and think that during her Pitchfork set, I probably would have just stared at her chipped tooth anyway. She must be one tough cookie. Is she the female goon in Griff’s posse?

Modest Mouse: When Pitchfork was announced, this was the band I was most excited to see. If I had done the scheduling, I would have had them end Sunday night, switching places with Pavement. But I’m a young buck of 29. What do you I know? I do know that I thought Modest Mouse killed it. The first time I saw them live, I was surprised at how rabid Isaac Brock performs. I used to make fun of my friend Brennan, who broke his ankle moshing at a Modest Mouse show, but then I saw this, and I started to realize that despite the banjos and horns, Modest Mouse doesn’t resign itself to folkiness. They don’t mess around. Isaac Brock = Biff Tannen!

Saturday

Free Energy: I really didn’t want this band playing at 1:00 pm on Saturday. Before the festival, I listened to most of the bands, and couldn’t get enough of these guys. Simple, loud pop rock. They energized the crowd that was there as the gates opened for the day, and I imagine if they’d played later in the day, they may have been thought of as one of the best rock bands on the weekend (Pitchfork seemed heavy on both ambience and dance music, but light on rock). While I wish they would have ended with their self-titled song last instead of their other single “Bang Pop,” it was well worth getting to the park early.

DeLorean: Well, I love their name, for reasons made obvious by my clearly unhealthy obsession with BTTF. I would have been happy if the car just rolled out on stage and opened its doors to the sky. But their music forgave their lack of a stainless steel time machine. The festival was a little dance/electonic heavy for my taste, and I was expecting to leave this set fairly early, trying to save myself for LCD Soundsystem, but I loved this band. As with most electronic music, I can’t really pinpoint why. It’s attraction and power is as mysterious as the flux capacitor.

Titus Andronicus: They played the first Saturday slot in last year’s festival, and this year upgraded they the fifth. I guess that’s progress? While Paul will forever be disappointed that no bagpipes were played, they still held their own with the more traditional rock and/or roll instruments. While they’re a bit too historical for a guy like me, who prefers not to listen to lyrics, I enjoyed slow tapping (then stomping) my feet to their music. They definitely aren’t a band that will be playing the Enchantment Under the Sea Dance anytime soon. And as evidenced by the stars and stripes adorning their stage, they sure do love 'Murica.

Wolf Parade: Paul insisted that I give this band much attention before the festival, and I’m glad I did. Their performance was one of the most energized of the weekend, but one that I think, if unfamiliar with the music, I wouldn’t have gotten. Still, their music did inspire an assembly line of morons trying to crowd surf from the middle of the crowd by using a recycling trash bin as their launching point. It did not go well.

Panda Bear: Tom reported that most people were tweeting “more like Panda Bore!” during whatever Panda Bear wanted to call it (A performance? No, there was nothing to watch. A set? No, there were no clear starts/finishes to songs. Concert? Hell no). But I should get too worked up. We just sat on the ground in front of LCD’s stage waiting for the real deal.

LCD Soundsystem: Wowsa. For a guy that looks like a fat Brett Favre, James Murphy knows how to get 18,000 feeling like their on top of the world. There was virtually no dead time between hits. The crowd didn’t stop dancing. The skanks shaking it on top of the trash cans previously used as crowd surfing launch pads certainly didn’t. My only wish was that the final song brought the crowd’s spirits up, rather than back down to earth, as “New York, I Love You But You’re Bringing Me Down” did. I mean, even Marvin Berry and the Starlighters knew not the end the dance with “Earth Angel.”

Sunday

Beach House: Ug. I was bored by this. As much as I love glitter kites (and I LOVE glitter kites!), I just can’t handle the blahness. I’m going on record to declare a fully anti-blah music philosophy.

Local Natives: Another band I had listened to quite a bit before the weekend, their lead singer’s moustache only improved their stock. They remind a lot of people of Vampire Weekend, which I get. Their set actually reminded me of Vampire Weekend at 2008’s Pitchfork, only these guys seemed to be loving what they did, whereas Vampire Weekend seemed obligated. I could easily see this band blowing up in the same way. Perhaps fame is their density…I mean, their destiny.

Surfer Blood: We sat down in the shady corner while this band played. We definitely thought it was enjoyable to listen to….while sitting in a shady corner. At that point, there wasn’t much that would have gotten us to stand up and actually watch a band. But they certainly didn’t push us away. I think that’s a win.

St. Vincent: While Pat kept proposing to her from afar, I wasn’t as impressed with her set. I don’t know. I had trouble with the drastic shifts in tempo, tone, style, etc. I like to know what’s coming next. But with St. Vincent, I just felt like I had ordered a nuclear bomb, but was only given a shoddy bomb casing full of used pinball machine parts. And we all know how well that goes over.

Major Lazer: Holy crap! Giant Dragon puppets, a hype man that looks like what will happen if Dave Chappelle is cast as the next Riddler, only with a sex addiction. Ballerinas. A ladder. This band caught a lot of people off-guard while they waited for Big Boi. No other act did I see cause so much of the crowd to stand up, face them, and try and figure out what the hell was going on. Did he just reverse cowgirl that dancer? Yes. Did he just scream that someone in the crowd was gonna get pregnant? Yes. Did he just take off his pants while standing atop a 10-ft. ladder? You betcha. And my personal favorite, did the dj just throw in a sample of Ace of Base? Hellz yeah!

Big Boi: I listened to his new album on the way up to Chicago. Twice. Eh. I really feel like both he and Andre 3000 together are greater than the sum of their parts. Luckily, Big Boi did not shy away from Outkast’s catalog. In fact, he went through its entirety. Granted, most songs were about half the length (because, you know, half the band wasn’t there), but I enjoyed its frenetic pace. And come on, child break dancers for “The Way You Move”?! Outstanding.

Pavement: Talk about going back to the future! While I still wish they’d have switched places with Modest Mouse, Pavement did impress me. By the time I got to college, Malkmus had already gone solo. So I knew of his solo work first, and Pavement second. And they’re one of those bands that I don’t even try to get into, for the mere fact that their cult fanbase implies an all-or-nothing mentality. Either you know every single song, or you shouldn’t even bother. What I found, though, was that even as a casual fan, I recognized most of what they played. Not specific songs, necessarily, but in contrast to St. Vincent, I knew where they were going. Knowing that old man Biff is going to create alternate 1985 doesn’t stop me from watching it happen. Of course, I wish Pavement had axed the whole comedy skit introduction so they would have had time for an encore, but it was Sunday night. I was certainly spent.

Just like Back to the Future III has the components of everything I love about the first two films (time travel, allusions to previous films, Doc freaking out) while in no way living up to them, it felt like this year’s festival had everything I love (a festival in the city, reasonable start/stop times, exposure to new music) while still leaving a bit to be desired. But let’s be honest. Even if Pitchfork pulls a BTTF III and goes western next year, I’ll be there, ready to help get that train up to 88!

Best Performance: LCD Soundsystem
Best New (to me) Band: Local Natives
Band I Regret Not Seeing: Here We Go Magic
Band That Is Most Likely To Inspire Dave Chappelle to Return to Comedy: Major Lazer

Scenes from a Winnipeg City Bus

2010-07-13T19:28:00.000-04:00

I would defy any motion picture art director to design a scene with as much nuance as whatever is happening here.

The longer I look at this, the more questions I have. First off, the captain of the Stanley Cup champions is riding on mass transit of Winnipeg, Canada, for reasons that go unanswered. The bus itself is cramped and claustrophobic. The sunglasses on the ignored toddler are pulled from central casting. And Jonathan Toews is legitimately channeling his inner Lost in Translation/Broken Flowers-era Bill Murray to pull off a vacant unflinching stare of existential contemplation. Finally, add in the Stanley Cup, which makes every situation approximately 71% more surreal simply by its mere presence, and before I know it, I feel myself staring at this thing the way Cameron Frye was captivated by Georges Seurat.

I'll Fight Like Hell to Hide that I am Giving Up

2010-07-04T20:33:00.004-04:00

The year is 2010, and a black democrat is in the White House. As you can imagine, it’s becoming more and more difficult for Rage Against the Machine to viewed with any degree of relevancy. Oh sure, some “musicians” in RATM’s position might decide that the time is right to inflict another terrible album onto the masses, but after some quick thinking, they remembered their penchant for empty political posturing, and thus the Sound Strike was born, to protest State Bill 1070 in Arizona.

I am not going to argue about the merits of the bill one way or the other. But what I am going to argue against is the overall inanity of the artists who have chosen to boycott the state as a result of this bill. The list contains a curious number of bands who aren’t even currently active (Nine Inch Nails, Throwing Muses, Tenacious D) as well as a few whose presence on the list I find genuinely disappointing (My Morning Jacket in particular.) Michael Moore and Maroon 5 are also on the list, which if anything seems unfair to the other 49 states that they’re choosing to NOT boycott.

As an Arizona concert promoter succinctly pointed out, this boycott basically only hurts the people actively supporting (both financially and politically) the majority of these bands. In response to the points raised by the promoter, Conor Oberst recently answered back with his own open letter. I decided to give Oberst’s letter the Fire Joe Morgan treatment that it so richly deserves. His actual words are in bold.

Dear Charlie,
I read your letter and I do understand where you are coming from. You bring up valid points. I personally regret any of the collateral damage the boycott is causing you, other like-minded arts promoters and the fans in Arizona. A boycott is, inherently, a blunt instrument. It is an imperfect weapon, a carpet bomb, when all involved would prefer a surgical strike.

Did you want your war analogies brought up before your appetizers? Because they're ready immediately. It's an interesting tactic of basically leading with “we’re destroying everyone in your shitty brown-people fearing state.” Do go on...

I agree with you in part, and the radio host you quoted, that the authors and supporters of SB1070 could give a shit whether or not my band, or any other Artist, ever plays Arizona again. The only thing, clearly, that these people care about is Money and Power, that and the creation and preservation of an Anglo-Centric Police State where every Immigrant and Non-White citizen is considered subhuman. They want them stripped of their basic human rights and reduced to slaves for Corporate America and the White Race. They are engaged in blatant class warfare. It is evil, pure and simple.

Oberst math lesson: “Only thing” equals several things. And possibly another thing!
Oberst grammar lesson: Use capitalization whenever the hell you feel like it.

I have on many occasions spoken my mind from stage. I have offered organizations table space by the merch booth. I have donated a dollar-a-ticket, or the entire guarantee, to different causes. I have registered voters. I have played on behalf of political candidates.

“These actions allowed those organizations to raise money for their causes. They helped my supported candidates get elected, and in general they provided a forum for people who may not have known each other at the beginning of the day to connect and join forces to affect positive change for their community. Obviously, that was all pretty fucking dumb.”

Sadly, this time, I fear none of that is enough. If I return to Arizona to pay lip service to a roomful of kids at the Marquee it will do absolutely no good for anyone.

Hey, remember in the 1960’s when Bob Dylan went down to Mississippi to “pay lip service” to kids during the civil rights struggles? What a rube he was! He obviously would have been much more effective singing his protest songs from coffeehouses in the Village. I can’t believe that asshole thought it did any good by confronting the issue at its source, when he should have just boycotted the South! Too bad his foolish fuck ups rendered him a mere footnote in how to integrate activism and music.

What I can do is to help organize, and play my small part in, what I hope is the largest and most effective boycott this country has seen in a long time. To work it will have to involve members from all sectors of society. The Sports Industry, the Entertainment Industry, the Tourism and Convention Industry, other State and City governments, private businesses and individuals from around the country and the world---all of whom, by the way, are already participating in the boycott. Much of the Artist end of the boycott is symbolic, I acknowledge, and no real threat to the economics of the State. But it is an important part none-the-less for awareness and messaging. The Boycott has to be so widespread and devastating that the Arizona State Legislature and Governor have no choice but to repeal their unconstitutional, immoral and hateful law. It has to hurt them in the only place they feel any pain, their pocketbooks.

Did this dumb simpleton proofread his letter? He readily admits this boycott has “no real threat to the economics to the state,” but one sentence letter claims it has to hurt said said state’s legislature in “their pocketbooks,” which he just acknowledged won't happen. This is not like withholding a giant events on the scale of the Super Bowl or massive conventions that states build their budgets around, where those travelling to the state are staying in hotels or spending multiple days supporting the economy. This isn’t even a massive event like Lollapalooza; it’s a lot of little rock shows by bands who enter and leave the state within the same day, and the powers that be couldn’t give a fuck about such short trips that are inconsequential from an economic standpoint. The only point where it will get any recognition at all by state higher-ups will be after rock clubs, promoters, caterers, stage crews, etc, have already slowly bled to death. Congrats, asshole, you’ve ruined the lives of the very people who allow you to tour in the first place. Go fuck yourself.

What I would encourage you to do, if you haven't already started, is to organize with all the local businesses you can to put as much pressure as possible on your State Government until the Law is repealed. An economic death rattle is the only cry of outrage they will hear.

“I don’t live in your state, but please allow me to tell you how to handle your local politics. I suggest you complain to them when our actions put you out of business.” What a piece of shit. He should have the word “economic” taken away from his vocabulary. He can have it back when he learns to use it properly.

I realize that the people of Arizona did not vote on SB1070 and I empathize with the anger and frustration you all must feel. I applaud what you are doing with Viva Arizona and do wonder if there might be a way to reconcile both our efforts while maintaining the integrity of each. After all, we are trying to achieve the same thing. But just as you may feel the boycott is an empty gesture, I fear that if we return to business as usual (under the guise of some civic movement) that this will all devolve into the typical grandstanding that is political activism in music. It might make us feel better but won't do a damn thing to change the minds of the radical, racist minority that seem to have controlled Arizona politics for decades. In short, it will lose its teeth.

Playing in Arizona = “guise of some civic movement.”
Staying away from Arizona=GENUINE civic movement, apparently.
I have to be honest. I always considered Bono pretty untouchable in the category of most self-delusional “activist,” but Oberst is pulling out all the stops here and approaching with Super Saver-like speed.

Just this past week, the little town of Fremont Nebraska passed a very similar, almost more radical, city ordinance. It was co-authored and championed by Kris Kobach of Kansas who helped write SB1070. I was outraged, saddened and embarrassed for their town and my state. I am already in the process of organizing a fund-raiser for the NE chapter of the ACLU who is suing the town of Fremont. Our situation requires immediate legal action and a campaign for public awareness (there has been very little press on this). Charlie, I promise you, if this Fremont law had been passed Statewide instead of in a rural town of 25,000 people, I would be the first to call for a boycott of my home state. This way of thinking and legislating is so dangerous, and such a threat to our basic ideals as Americans and Humans, that we cannot stand by and do nothing. We cannot play on as if nothing is wrong. This is not just about Arizona. I am not just skipping a tour date. This is not going to be easy for anyone.

So it's worth setting up a fundraiser in Nebraska to protest a city ordinance, but if that ordinance had been passed state-wide, you would stay away completely? Get fucked, asshole. Seriously, this feels like a contest to see how many different ways this you can show yourself to be an abject fool. A nice touch letting Nebraska know that they’re on notice though, tough guy. Why not cut the bullshit and just say that all Red States are on thin ice?

Here's a little-heard about a small state called California. In 2008, the state passed an amendment in 2008 known as Prop 8, which reversed the State Supreme Court ruling allowing same-sex couples to legally marry. The amendment (which was passed by the voting public, as opposed to Arizona 1070) was protested by an overwhelming majority of musical artists, yet mysteriously nobody on the Sound Strike roster has argued for a boycott of the state. It’s fortunate to know that the civic minded artists haven’t passed up any paydays in LA, San Fran, or San Diego.

Charlie, I consider you a friend and you have always been great to my bands and me. I have played for you many times and I hope to do so again soon in New Mexico or anywhere else. I sincerely look forward to the day when I can return to Arizona and this will all seem like a bad dream. But I can't come back now. I'm sorry. I hope you will understand.

“Charlie, feel free to drive your sorry ass 8 hours from Phoenix to Albuquerque if that works for you. Otherwise, assuming the actions of myself, Joe Satriani, and that guy from System of a Down don’t cause your business to go under, I’d be glad to let you work on setting up a show for me down the line. I truly hope we can agree on an occasion where it becomes more beneficial for my image to venture into enemy territory. But for right now I really need to milk this stunt for all it’s worth. I hope you will understand. Though I honestly couldn't give a shit either way.

XO,
Conor Oberst"

One ring to rule them all (except for 65 others)

2010-06-21T00:50:00.000-04:00

We can all agree that this is completely ridiculous right? I just want to make sure I'm not alone on the island of brain explosions. Because looking at this makes my brain explode.

They actually make NIT rings? Is this something I should have known? Because it seems insane. Thank you, Josh Parker, for the aneurysm. Go Flyers.

F O U N D

2010-05-25T22:42:00.006-04:00

I fell into L O S T like most teachers: summer boredom. It was the summer after the 2nd season that a friend loaned me the dvds for the first two seasons. And like most fans who got hooked via dvds, I watched those two seasons in about 12 days. From season 3 on, I was in. I routinely checked the theories on darkufo.blogspot.com. I planned my life around whatever night L O S T was being shown that season.

And so, naturally, I watched all 5 ½ hours of programming on Sunday. These are my thoughts.

First, how ridiculous were those text messages embedded into previous scenes during the two-hour recap. Jack reading a scrap of paper. Desmond checking the computer screen. Ben reading the newspaper. All so Tori from Hartford, CN could say “I don’t know what I’m going to do without the show. Maybe feed my children again.” But thank GOD they didn’t run them during the finale.

But onto the show. I pretty much loved it. There are some critics that weren’t fans. They said that there were too many unanswered questions. For example:

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

But my brother put it best when he tweeted that the finale made him not care about the answers that weren’t given.

First of all, CJ Cregg prepared us for this during “Across the Sea” when she told Claudia (pre-rock bash to the head) that every question would only lead to more questions. I hated that episode at first, because while it gave concrete answers (Jacob was a normal dude, with a twin, who loved checkers), it only led to more questions (what was Mother’s nature, how long had she been there, what’s the alcohol content of that wine). So I’m glad the finale chose to focus on the characters. Screw answers. The best stories make you think. They don’t give you an answer key. And for God’s sake, you have to suspend your disbelief when reading/watching a story. It’s fiction, people.

Alright. I’m just going to run down what I liked about the finale:

• While I was frustrated that some of the plot lines from this season seemed to just kill time and ultimately have little significance (Dogen and the magical baseball), I enjoyed that Desmond’s purpose became clear. His years of taking those shots in the Hatch allowed him to survive the destruction of the light, which in turn make Flocke mortal, which in turn allowed Jack to kill him. Which by the way, how awesome was Jack’s flying punch into the commercial break?! Freaking awesome. That’s how awesome.

• I was trying to sort out how the two worlds we’d been seeing all season would merge or replace one another or whatever. And it was when Locke told Jack that he didn’t have a son that I said “Maybe the sideways world is heaven.” I was close.

• Jacob – protector of the island for 2,000 years. Jack – protector of the island for 2,000 minutes. Hurley – protector of the island for ????? I loved that Ben stuck around to help Hurley, and that he was apparently a “great #2,” according to Hurley at the church.

• Speaking of Hurley #1 and Ben #2, Ben telling Hurley that he could make his own rules, I think, confirmed that so much of what happened actually happened. Not as much of the island stuff was magical. For example, the FDW. At first, we were told that if you turned the frozen donkey wheel you could never return to the island. Ben turned it. And returned. Locke turned it. And returned (sort of). It was a rule created by Jacob for his own purpose. It wasn’t a law of island physics. And Ben’s scene with Hurley suggests that many of the rules were manmade. They were meant to keep people in line. It’s clear that Hurley is going to/did choose a different way of running the island, most likely involving putt-putt.

• I wasn’t as emotionally moved by all of the golden memory moments of love as most seemed to be. I mean, they were nice. I am glad they didn’t bother to show us what Boone’s epiphany moment was.

• I am in the camp that believes they knew the final scene from the beginning. Jack and the coffin. That’s what it was all about early on, and that what it was all about in the end. When he realizes he has died, how great was that. And what a great idea, to think that when you die, everyone that was important to you, regardless of when they died, will be there. Who knows when/how Kate or Sawyer or Ben dies. And who cares? Not me. That’s who.

• Rose and Bernard. How great were they. I mean, sure. Everytime I saw Bernard, I thought of the principal from Head Of the Class. And sure. I was hoping he'd be the principal at Ben's school. Instead, they seemed to be enlightened both on-island and in the sideways world. When Jack talked to Bernard in the dentist office, it seemed like he knew everything. That was our first glimpse at the goofy/confident smile that the characters all got by the end of the finale, once enlightened. But then I think back to Rose on the plane when season 6 opened. One of my early theories was that we'd see that scene again, as the final scene of L O S T. But now, it seems like if you were to put things chronologically, Jack would close his eyes and die on the island, and then he'd "wake up" on the plane, and Rose would tell him that it was ok. And that he can "let go." Awesome.

In closing, please enjoy my two favorite clip videos from the last couple weeks:

“Dude”

L O S T Deaths

Know your 1997 pop-tween outfits

2010-05-16T01:52:00.002-04:00

The public has been dying to know. After 60 Minutes, who would get the next exclusive interview with Conan O'Brien?

The answer: Hanson. Of course. On a webcast following Conan's show in Tulsa.

I recorded the live stream. (Apologies for the video stutters that came from the source feed.) Hear Conan spill all the details on the art of autographing boobs, and his undying love of the jackalope.

Expect Jay Leno to steal this idea and record a hard-hitting sitdown with Aqua any day now.

Tramps Like Us and We Like Tramps

2010-05-11T20:12:00.002-04:00

I spent the end of last week in the bustling metropolis of Columbus, Ohio. While my Thursday was spent congregating with thousands to bear witness to Band of Horses and Pearl Jam***, Friday involved a quick trip to the thrift store. While we unsuccessful in our attempt to find a cheap couch for Dan, we found a surprisingly decent amount of vinyl gems mixed in with hundreds of castoffs from the likes of Mitch Miller and various mid-60's man bands.

I was pleased with my take from the lot. The Goulet purchase was a 50-cent investment in kitsch, and the Mellencamp purchases were fueled by a mixture of good fortune and resentment. (A pristine copy of Scarecrow shouldn't be sitting in a damn thrift shop next to some post-Lionel Richie Commodores album! In fact, I resent this thrift shop for only charging me 90 cents! Show some fucking respect to the Coug!)

But the highlight purchase of the trip was Bruce Springsteen's The Wild, the Innocent, & The E Street Shuffle. Not for it's content (though it's a far better album than it's more popular follow-up), but for the amazing photo on the back of the album.

There is nothing NOT amazing about what Clarence Clemons is/is not wearing here. Every clothing decision he's made just leads to more and more questions. He's a one man wardrobe version of LOST. Sorry, guy in the doorway. Not only are you wearing shoes, but you're missing a cabbie hat AND ascot. And you call yourself a rock star? For shame, sir.

***Bad Idea Show mini-Review: Pearl Jam are fucking fantastic. An "Eldery Woman" singalong had everyone grinning like fools, and the guitar solo from "Alive" still carries more nostalgic resonance than any instrumental passage has a right to hold. It's time that we all admit that in the canon of 1991 albums, Ten is better start-to-finish than Nevermind.

The Kid Stays in the Picture

2010-04-29T00:25:00.000-04:00

Last Sunday, I went to the Mariners/White Sox game. Ken Griffey did not start, but in the 9th inning, the Mariners were trailing 3-2, with 2 out and 2 men on base. Griffey came in to pinch-hit with the game on the line, and for the next 64 seconds, excitement was in the air!

Through 16 games, Griffey is batting .226. A double on opening day has been his only extra-base hit thus far. Predictably, Griffey's lack of production is becoming a driving force among those covering the Mariners. While some writers offer theories in regards to fundamentals, others simply wonder how much a 40-year-old with several surgeries behind him could have left in his tank. But of course, any time an aging superstar starts to show his age, you can be assured that some misguided rube will champion the self-righteous position of the fan who considers "few things sadder" that witnessing such a legend "embarass" himself. These were the same whiners who projected their own self-hatred onto a fat, jump-shooting Michael Jordan in a when he dared to put on a Wizards uniform past his prime. Really, you consider it painful that a guy who used to get 3 hits per 10 at bats now only gets 2 hits per 10 at bats? Go fuck yourself.

The truth of the matter is that 40-year-old baseball players are SUPPOSED to have terrible numbers. If there is one major fallout of the steroid era, it is the fact the two most famous cheaters became the most famous specifically because they cheated when they were old. Bonds and Clemens ruined the curve for older players, because instead of their bodies breaking down like they were supposed to, each pumped themselves full of every possible hormone, and were rewarded with multiple MVPs and Cy Youngs.

In the final season of his career, 43-year-old Willie Mays batted .211.
In the final season of his career, 42-year-old Hank Aaron batted .229.
In the final season of his career, 40-year-old Frank Robinson batted .224.
In the final season of his career, 42-year-old Stan Musial batted .255 (his career avg. was still .331.)
In the final season of his career, 40-year-old BABE FUCKING RUTH batted .181.

Griffey is one of the very few players in baseball whose legacy has been helped by the steroids scandal. After all, the standard-issue excuse has been that players used them to recover quickly from injuries, and as every Reds fan will testify, Griffey was never one to be accused of coming back too quickly from pain.

If anything, baseball should be celebrating Ken Griffey and his .220-esque average. In a sport that gets wrapped up in it's on sanctimonious nostalgia far too easily, what better way to market its return to Americana values than to shout out to all who will listen, "Hey, it's the new era of MLB, when old players look like old players again!"

And remember this, angry Mariners fans. Griffey may be struggling at the plate, but he continues to lead the team, and all of baseball, in the all-important category of "Ichiro tickling."

Red Hot

2010-04-19T00:55:00.001-04:00

In the last couple weeks, I've spent a significant amount of time watching Cincinnati Reds games online. A few games ago, Thom Brennaman made an offhanded comment about it being the 20th anniversary of the 1990 World Series campaign, and three thoughts quickly entered my mind.

1. Holy shit, I'm old.

2. Why isn't Fox Sports Midwest making a bigger deal about this? It would be great to have a flashback each game with highlights of the corresponding game from the 1990 season. Which would you rather see - highlights of Paul O'Neill winning a game with a walk-off single, or more replays of Joey Votto striking out twice a game?

3. I AM OLD. AND WHERE'S QUINONES?

In an attempt to feed my nostalgic hunger, I discovered something amazing. I don't know how it came to be that I had never seen this video before, but now that I have, I can't imagine I ever lived in a world that did not include the glorious rhymes of B-Lark and The Homeboys.

Good heavens, where do I start? Paul O'Neill gets things off to a rousing start, and honestly looks like he's reading a statement in a POW video. Seriously, this is the face of a man who is blinking in morse code for help.

While hearing B-Lark take the mic, I find myself puzzled. Obviously the video does not match the audio on the track, but the audio has some sense of vocal inflection, and you would think that when recording the video portion, he might appear slightly life-like, but no such luck.

But let's move to Eric Davis and his RIDICULOUS READING GLASSES! What is happening there? They're so distracting that I barely notice his entire acid-washed wardrobe. He must have won those frames in a dance off with that spaz that shows up at the end of the "Beat It" video.

If there's one aspect of the 1990 Reds that truly separates them from any other team in history, it has to be the Nasty Boys. Aside from closers, there's no such thing as a stud pitcher in a major league bullpen, and yet this team had three of them who were not only great, but became oddly famous as well. And as great as they were on the mound, they were equally as AWFUL when trying to speak in rhythm! But I do appreciate the guy attempting to "conduct" on the left of the screen.

Remaining highlights include Billy Hatcher rapping with the ferocity of Jim Caldwell, Mariano Duncan wearing pants up to his nipples while paraphrasing MC Hammer, and of course, the obvious appeal of Chris Sabo lisping all over the studio in a manner that makes you wonder if this whole thing was a cruel prank on Spuds.**

I'm just sayin'...

Kids, please listen to the 1990 Cincinnati Reds - say no to drugs, AND say no to crack. We can all win the World Series of life. Take it from Jose Rijo's sunglasses.

**Further evidence of the team ganging up on Spuds happens in the post-music video portion of the clip, where the 1990 team appears at a reunion from last year. All players are wearing their jerseys EXCEPT for Sabo. I believe it's because he got bad advice from everyone else in regards to wardrobe. In actuality, he probably forgot it at home. Ob La Di, Ob La Da

Bad Idea Show Review: Atoms For Peace at Aragon Ballroom

2010-04-11T16:04:00.004-04:00

Thom Yorke put out a solo album in 2006. It served as a decent, above-average space holder during a four year gap between Radiohead albums. While The Eraser was an interesting experiment by a man and his laptop, it seemed odd to A) wait four years to tour in promotion of such an album, and B) recruit Joey Waronker and Flea to be in the "backing band"
(along with Nigel Godrich) for songs that contain little live percussion and bass.

And yet, by the end of last night, an unexpected thought had entered my mind. This performance was as a good as a Radiohead show, or at least a flash-sideways version of a Radiohead show. The songs on The Eraser sound like demo versions compared to the full band arrangements on display at the Aragon. Yorke's minimalistic blips were transformed into angry guitar riffs. He danced and screamed in contrast to the reserved nature of early Radiohead performances. Waronker utilized a souped-up drum and electronic percussion kit. Flea was Flea, blue-haired and gyrating with Yorke, while remaining fully clothed! Case in point: "Harrowdown Hill."

It's got a nice beat and you can to it! Atoms For Peace are essentially The Eraser on steroids. The good kind of steroids. In addition, Yorke and Flea faced off at one point in a heated wood block vs melodica battle.

This song needs more blow-organ!

After running through the album front-to-back, Yorke returned solo to play a new, as yet untitled song. He makes reference at the beginning of this clip to his "other band" working on an arrangement, at which point all the nerdy Radiohead fans nerd out in their nerd-coated delight.

Then another Radiohead song! During which the one person between myself and the front rail** decided to have his own personal "clap over your head" party. Down in front, poindexter! Some of snuck in flip cams in our pants, and you're fucking with our visual art!

** Ah yes, did I mention I was in the second row? Whatever, no big deal. It doesn't mean I think I'm better than anybody. It just meant that I could serve as a source of disappointment for my show-going partner for my refusal to leave the spot to get beer after the opening act. "Are you out of your mind? I'm not leaving this spot! I've gone all day without even drinking water so that I'd have no reason to move!"

SET 1:
The Eraser
Analyse
The Clock
Black Swan
Skip Divided
Atoms For Peace
And It Rained All Night
Harrowdown Hill
Cymbal Rush

SET 2:
Untitled New Song [Thom solo]
I Froze Up (Kid A outtake) [Thom solo]
Everything In Its Right Place [Thom solo]

Paperbag Writer (Hail to the Thief b-side)
Judge, Jury & Executioner
The Hollow Earth
Pulled Apart By Horses

More of my photos are here. MUCH BETTER PHOTOS ARE HERE.

Big River

2010-03-09T23:46:00.001-05:00

By sheer coincidence, I spent my Sunday reconsidering Rivers Cuomo over two different forms of media. A chapter in Chuck Klosterman's Eating the Dinosaur posits that the reason Cuomo remains an enigma to this day is because he is literally incapable of writing with any viewpoint of irony, and his earnestness is perplexing to an audience that accepts irony far easier than sincerity. (Klosterman also charges Werner Herzog and Ralph Nader with similar afflictions.) This point seems to be more or less echoed by Cuomo himself in a remarkably reflective interview done for Chicago Public Radio's Sound Opinions. I can't recommend listening to this program enough. Not only does Cuomo tackle a set of impromptu songs while backed by Chicago riot grrrls The Cathy Santonis, but he also directly answers the charge that his songwriting has devolved into pandering schlock.

I've been racking my brain trying to come up with any band that's had a similar career trajectory to Weezer. Green Day is clearly the best parallel. Granted, they released a couple independent albums before Dookie, but they more or less mirror Weezer from the time each released major label debuts in 1994. Both bands' sophomore releases were initially seen as commercial disappointments (though Insomniac wasn't as critically reviled as Pinkerton.) Both spent the last few years of the 1990s fading toward obscurity, as Green Day put out two albums that few people outside myself bought, and it became accepted as fact that Weezer was likely done for good. And both have achieved a resurgence in album sales in the new millennium, becoming the types of bands who now play arenas in front of crowds populated mostly by fans who never listened to either band in 1994.

Of course Rivers Cuomo and Billie Joe Armstrong are viewed in completely different ways as songwriters. Armstrong has always been a rock star, who simply wrote songs as a means to continue being a rock star. Cuomo on the other hand is a song writer who has been spent his career getting used to the notion of becoming a rock star (especially in terms of stage presence, where Cuomo's evolution from shoegazing nebbish to spotlight star is similar to that of Michael Stipe in the 1980's.) The content of Armstrong's stories consists largely of obvious fiction, whereas every song Cuomo writes seems to be the newest chapter in an ongoing memoir. This is why you can hear "Wake Me Up When September Ends" and simply think, "Wow! What a shitty song!" Yet when you hear "Heart Songs" or "We Are All on Drugs," the first reaction is, "What is wrong with him? He can't possibly think this is a good song!"

While I'll allow that Cuomo's never-ending sincerity accounts for some aspects of the sea change in perception, it can't be seen as the only reason. In the Sound Opinions episode, Cuomo addresses the particulars of writing the epic turd that is "Beverly Hills." And when you hear his reasoning, it sounds like a perfectly acceptable method of writing a song ("I read something. I felt a particular way in that moment. I wrote from that fleeting point of view and accepted it as truth,") but it's only reasonable for someone who has JUST STARTED writing songs.

This is the key to Rivers Cuomo's songwriting. The man refuses to age. He's the Richard Alpert of bespectacled front men. The songs on Raditude are not necessarily worse than those on The Blue Album, because they're basically interchangeable inasmuch as every one of them could have been written within one random day by his life. As fans, this is what's troubling. The songs of The Blue Album and Pinkerton are ingrained within our coming of age, but I can't relate to the songs off Raditude any more than I can relate to the songs of Taylor Swift, as I am no longer a teenager, and both are writing songs from strictly a teenager's point of view. This is not to say the songs can't be enjoyed; it just means that enjoyment of Weezer in 2010 must come with an emotional detachment. In this respect, one can fully appreciate the catchiness of "(If You're Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To" in the same way one appreciates the catchiness of Lady Gaga.

Rivers Cuomo is playing the part of the freshmen girls in Dazed and Confused, and we as a people are communally playing Matthew McConaughey's character, Wooderson. We are getting older, and he is staying the same age. All right, all right, all right.

2010 Oscars Live Blog

2010-03-07T19:31:00.056-05:00

I just watched Ryan Seacrest leave James Cameron, Maggie Gyllenhaal, and Tom Ford bewildered all within a 3-minute sequence. This can only mean that the 2010 Oscars have commenced! Or as they are known technically, The 2010 Academy Awards Based on the Novel "Push" by Sapphire.

8pm ET Pre-Show: Kathy Ireland is here! Can somebody put the wheels in motion on Necessary Roughness 2? The public demands more Sinbad.

"George Clooney, tell me about your pranks!" is the entertainment reporter variant of "Coach, give me your assessment of the first half of play."

What is going on with Kathy Ireland? She's talking to everyone as if they're autistic. Or as if she's had a stroke.

I watched The Box a couple weeks ago, and am frankly disappointed to see Cameron Diaz without her terrible southern accent. Sidenote: The first half of The Box is shockingly compelling. Luckily, Richard Kelly remembers that he's Richard Kelly halfway through, and the second half is a laughably ridiculous mess. There are zombies involved. Seriously.

I like how much of this pre-show involves movies that aren't being released for months. Also I love how this jackass reporter is giving Steve Carrell and Tina Fey shit and telling them "This isn't the Emmys," but everyone acts like it's completely normal for Miley Cyrus to be there.

Sherri Shepherd just asked the Twilight kid, "What did you do to prepare for tonight?" I can't think of an acceptable answer for such an insane question. Should he have done research by attending other awards show beforehand? She also called him "The most famous werewolf in motion picture history." We've gone from zero-to-fucking stupid in record time this year.

7:30p: We open with the 10 lead actor nominees getting introduced. Is this American Idol? A Neil Patrick Harris song does little to answer this question.

Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin clearly had no need to rehearsal. Their timing is awful, but on the flipside they accused Meryl Streep of being a Nazi. So I suppose it evens out.

A reference to Jews in Inglourious Basterds is followed by an immediate cutaway to Ethan Coen. Ethan Coen is Jewish? Now I've heard everything!

7:48pm: Christoph Waltz wins for Inglourious Basterds (based on the novel Push by Sapphire.) That's a bingo!

That guy is awesome. I'm staring to think that maybe it was good thing that Tarantino didn't pick Leonardo DiCaprio to play Hans Landa.

I bet Gerard Butler is already preparing his speech for when The Bounty Hunter takes all the Oscars in 2011.

7:55pm: Fact: George Clooney fit the casting bill better in The Fantastic Mr. Fox than he did in Up in the Air. I may repeat this later on.

Pete Docter kinda looks like a cartoon, doesn't he? He called Up an "oddball" film. Yes, Pixar clearly is the home of outsider filmmaking.

Miley Cyrus's dress is so tight that I think the excess blood has literally enlarged her head.

8:04pm: Crazy Heart (based on Johnny Cash's autobiography Cash by Johnny Cash) takes best original song. The most shocking aspect of that film was Colin Farrell as a surprisingly effective country singer. Colin Farrell's ponytail as said singer was slightly less shocking.

Also, T-Bone Burnett apparently gets his hair cut at the same lesbian hair salon that James Cameron frequents.

8:13pm: Robert Downey Jr. is still wearing his Avatar 3D glasses! It's like he could reach out and touch the microphone if he wanted to!

Ugh. The Hurt Locker script was pretty medicore. Did you see that clip? Voiceover: Guy punches the other guy. His script didn't even have any Bear Jew references! Who writes a war movie without a Bear Jew?!

8:18pm: I'd gladly watch John Hughes clips in place of clips for any other of the 27 best picture nominations tonight. Though I think the brat pack tribute would seem more heartfelt if Jon Cryer actually dressed as Duckie.

Nice teaser: Which movie will win for best visual effects? Will it be Avatar, Avatar, or Avatar?

8:32pm: I like how excited the lesser known winners get. They run down the aisles like they're on The Price is Right.

What the hell just happened? Who is this interrupting lunatic woman? She's a middle aged white woman version of Kanye. Get off the stage, Kathy Bates! You've been MUSIC'D!

Not even the full on Navi treatment could convince Ben Stiller to shave that mess of a goatee.

Roger Ebert just sent out this link to watch the Oscar-winning Logorama. That guy is the best - he should write about movies or something.

By the way, I have ZERO DOUBT that J.J. Abrams full scripted the speech of the Star Trek makeup artists to give clues about "LOST." Every third word contained 2 vowels! To account for the two parallel universes! Duh!

8:50pm: Precious: Based on the novel "Superfudge" by Judy Blume wins for best screenplay! I'm glad to see it beat Up in the Air, which had 2 writers who never met each other nominated to share.

I'm glad that In The Loop was nominated here, as it's the best comedy of '09. Written and directed by one of the geniuses behind British sensation Alan Partridge, you should watch it.

8:55pm: Good Lord, the clips for each nominee are SO. DAMN. LONG. But nobody throws shit like Mo'Nique! My favorite part of Precious was when she did an uncanny impression of an owl.

WHO-WHO-WHO! How many licks does it take to get to the center of an incest ridden, AIDS infested obese teenager-driven character study!

Ha! Everyone else just saw Samuel L. Jackson give the "That chick is wack!" reaction there, right?

Every time I watch the more obscure Olympic events (this is going somewhere, I promise) I find myself thinking, "I'm sure if I started training to master the bobsled, or luge, or fencing, I could be an Olympian." I understand that this notion is ridiculous of course. There's no potential sport, culture, or profession that one can expect to waltz into without any type of experience and immediately be heralded as the best at that particular job. Unless you become an actor! Are you a terrible host on a terrible VH1 reality show? Are you a singer who finished in 7th place on American Idol? No problem here, we think you're the best!

Did they just say a salute to horror films was coming up? That sounds perfect. There haven't been nearly enough montages for my taste yet tonight.

9:05pm: James Cameron is like a mob boss. Anyone who wins an award for Avatar better kiss the boss's ring, and you do it BEFORE you thank your family or mention how you nearly died, art jockey!

Let's be honest. The key to costume design always seems to be ridiculous hats. The more ridiculous your hats, the better your odds. That's just basic math.

This chick just completely dismissed winning her third Oscar! Look lady, if you're so tired of winning, then just start working for films that don't require hats. As long as you insist on strapping peacocks to the heads of actresses, shut the hell up.

When Charlize Theron was choosing an Oscar dress, she had one condition and one condition only: to hypnotize viewers with her boobs.

I just realized what Martin and Baldwin's terrible chemistry reminds of: The Kids in the Hall vaudevillian sketch. And I can't find it on YouTube. Damn you YouTube for not having every thought I think of available immediately!

Kristin Stewart seems downright delightful.

9:23pm: I imagine James Earl Jones silently seething with rage every time Morgan Freeman gets another voiceover gig. Peace, love dope! Now get the hell out of here!

Man, apparently the best sound editing is done in pitch black windowless rooms. That guy is translucent.

Did Carl Yastrzemski sign off on these YAZ birth control pills? They provide "triple crown" protection against unwanted pregnancies!

9:36pm: The Avatar cinematographer dared to thank the academy BEFORE Cameron. You'll pay for that, you dirty guido.

It would be highly inappropriate for James Taylor to shout out "Fuck Facebook!" at the conclusion of the "In Memoriam" roll call.

9:46pm: Sorry Neil Patrick Harris. You've been usurped in the category of "Gayest performance at the 2010 Oscars." There's a thin line between interpretive dance and misinterpretive dance.

The guy who did the score for Up also does the score for LOST, so I'll allow this win.

Avatar wins for visual effects. Remember when they teased this category over an hour-and-a-half ago? I think it's safe to say it was worth waiting for!

Oh Jason Bateman, not even Michael Bluth could make me upgrade Up in the Air from a SELL to a DON'T BUY. Several people whose opinions I hold with high regard loved this movie, so clearly the problem is on my end, but man, it's been a long time since I hated a movie so much.

10:02pm: I mentioned this a few days ago, but you should watch The Cove. The message of the movie aside, the documented method of the lengths they went to make the film is beyond thrilling.

Collapse is a documentary that should have been nominated but wasn't, but is spellbinding as well. Chris Smith (the man who found Mark Borchardt) talks to Michael Ruppert, and it's fucking nuts.

This is the first time I've ever seen Tyler Perry do whatever it is Tyler Perry does. Is this the same feeling black people have when they see Dane Cook on TV?

By the way, fuck off Fisher Stevens. You stole all the speech time away from the guy who actually DIRECTED The Cove. That's why you got killed off on LOST, you credit-stealing asshole.

10:16pm: Quentin Tarantino can't even read a list of nominees like a normal functioning adult. He's just the best. Unrelated, but this category reminds me of my favorite moment from last year's Oscars, when James Franco tripped over a name and Seth Rogen laughed at him.

Based on the advice of the sign held up when The Cove won, I just texted "Dolphin" to 44144. I'll be expecting a free dolphin on my doorstep tomorrow morning, thank you very much.

10:25pm: Please welcome to the stage five people who have never been in my kitchen!

Good Lord. The band has cut off winner after winner for talking longer than 20 seconds tonight, and yet they get to this category and they're in no rush to let everyone yammer on ad nauseum. WE KNOW JEFF BRIDGES IS GOING TO WIN. JUST GET ON WITH IT, JACKASSES.

10:33pm: JEFF BRIDGES WINS! STUNNING! And he does his best impression of The Dude giving an acceptance speech. So great. That Oscar is really going to tie the room together. All that's missing is a white russian. Nobody has the balls to chime in the music now.

10:40pm: Hey, remember how boring that garbage was where we canonized every nominee? Now it's the ladies turn. I get the impression they want me to believe they're all good at acting. I'm surrendering, please stop shooting at my white flag. If they wanted to do something innovative, bring out the co-stars from their bombs. "I'll never forget the first day of meeting Sandra on the set of Speed 2..."

I should point out I just looked up Carey Mulligan's wikipedia bio, in regards to my own awkwardness about her overall adorable factor. Turns out she's 24 years old! Leave me alone, Chris Hansen!

10:48pm: Sandra Bullock wins for All About Steve! I'm starting to think that Meryl Streep just won't be able to catch a break.

Truth be told, The Blind Side was not nearly the train wreck of sap I expected. Except for the ridiculous scene where she "teaches" him how to block. That scene was so ludicrous that they might as well have had him wearing his helmet on backwards.

10:55pm: Here we go! Battle of the exes! Cameron! Bigelow! Three innocent bystanders!

Good for her. Nicely done. Though I think Babs' "The time has come..." prelude unnecessarily got Lee Daniels' hopes up. Not cool, Babs.

10:58pm: Whoa, Hanks is not fucking around with that quick trigger on the envelope. For a second I thought Jason Reitman had crashed the stage of bearded producers.

11:02pm: And we're out! It's a moral victory for America that nobody had to listen to James Cameron trigger his voluntary asperger's on stage. Good night America, and I only hope to do this again this time next year, perhaps while honoring Precious 2: Based on the novel Push 2 by Sapphire 2.

Get That Junk Outta Here!

2010-03-05T22:45:00.000-05:00

Rob Lowery is a walking contradiction.

Who knew it could be so angst inducing to play your way off the most mediocre bubble in tournament history?

Bad Idea 2010 Oscars preview

2010-03-04T17:43:00.001-05:00

The Oscars are Sunday night, and my plan right now is a Bad Idea Live Blog, following in the mediocre tradition of 2008 and 2009. This year's Oscars seem to be the most predictable in recent memory, so enjoy the hours of interminable waiting that leads up to inevitable wins for Christoph Waltz, Mo'Nique, Jeff Bridges, and Sandra Bullock! But at least we can watch ex-spouses fight over Best Picture.

If there were any question that I was unemployed for the latter half of 2009, the fact that I've seen all 10 Best Picture nominees would erase all doubts. My two favorite films of '09 were Inglourious Basterds and A Serious Man, and while both are nominated here, both will lose. However, I also loved The Cove, and it has a great shot at winning the documentary category. There's been a rash in recent years of documentaries about Iraq/Global Warming/Corporate corruption/etc. And while I have no problem with those topics, those docs are usually ridiculously boring, as if I'm watching a visual representation of a good magazine article. On the flipside, The Cove is ENTHRALLING, and I love any excuse to openly wonder "What the fuck is wrong with Japan?" The trailer will hook you:

I'll likely elaborate on various throughts throughout the live blog, but here are my mini, twitter-sized reviews of each of the 10 best picture nominees. Spoiler alert: I REALLY hated one of these 10 movies. See if you can guess which one!

AVATAR: Classic conundrum. Amazing visuals like you've never seen before, combined with the worst dialogue since my 3rd grade play. Gets worse the more I think about it.

THE BLIND SIDE: Loved the book. Expected to hate the movie but surprisingly did not, aside from a few scenes. Also: college coaches "acting" as themselves!

DISTRICT 9: Great first hour: Innovative and awesome. Terrible final 40 mins: I thought perhaps the final reel was replaced with TRANSFORMERS 2 .

AN EDUCATION: In every one of his movies, Peter Sarsgaard is driven to kiss you, kill you, or break your heart. Stop toying with my confused feelings sir!

THE HURT LOCKER: Decent script, but the movie would be ordinary with a standard director. The framing/distance of each sequence are the magic of why it works.

INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS: Opening scene is 20 mins of point-perfect dialogue, tone, & tension. Gets even more fun from there. Ballsiest final line in recent memory.

PRECIOUS: Lee Daniels made you feel like shit with MONSTERS BALL and does it again here! Best date movie since DANCER IN THE DARK! Also, Lenny Kravitz.

A SERIOUS MAN: Might be funniest Coen bros movie ever. Increased my knowledge of Yiddish exponentially. Will only enhance your love of Jefferson Airplane.

UP: AMAZING first 10 minutes and enjoyable ending cover up a by-the-numbers middle 60 mins. MR FOX is the more consistent animation of '09.

UP IN THE AIR: Every aspect of it is a mess. Clooney is miscast. Script makes no sense. Character development is one 180° turn after another. Just brutal.

Bad Idea Show Review: Evan Dando at Double Door

2010-02-20T14:46:00.003-05:00

Today is Kurt Cobain's 43rd birthday. The thought of a 43-year-old Kurt Cobain makes no logical sense. It's impossible to create an image of what type of music or existence Cobain would be creating were he alive today, as no genre seems particularly viable.

Evan Dando's 43rd birthday is less than two weeks away. Like Cobain, he spent the early portion of the 1990s appearing on magazine covers and consuming a ridiculous amount of heroin and cocaine. Unlike Cobain, Dando avoided killing himself, and it appears that his artistic reward for still being alive to to try and figure out how to navigate the waters of his past, his future, and pop music as a genre. There's a misconception that Elliott Smith's songs were sad and miserable because people thought of Smith himself being sad and miserable. This is not the case, but listening to the It's a Shame About Ray or Come on Feel the Lemonheads today reveals something obvious in retrospect: Evan Dando was a pretty miserable junkie in his heyday, albeit a junkie whose talent for composing hooks loomed even larger than his habit. The songs and arrangements were so catchy that few has any incentive to delve into the actual lyrical content. After all, who wants to spend time examining layers of the guy who writes "Bit Part" or covers "Mrs. Robinson." It's much more fun to keep the critiques simple, and revel in the eternally adorable backing vocals of Juliana Hatfield.

At the Double Door last night, Dando seemed like a man at a crossroads. He seemingly no longer relates on any level to the songs that made him a twee Gen X poster boy. He sings them like a busker on the subway, literally sounding like he's doing a cover version of a song he wrote himself. Examine the following sequence, where he soullessly shuffles through trimmed down offerings of "Into Your Arms" and "It's About Time," before segueing into "No Backbone," an excellent song off The Lemonheads' 2006 self-titled album (and one that actually seems to carry some emotional weight in the performance.)

This presents an obvious quandry. If Evan Dando is bored with being Evan Dando, what's the course of action? Apparently it's cover songs. Lots of cover songs. Hank Williams was on display along with Elvis Presley, GG Allin, Townes Van Zandt, Willie Nelson, and of course, Linda Ronstadt.

It wasn't until Dando invited opening band The Candles* to the stage that he really seemed enthused about his own back catalogue, with spirited offerings of "Big Gay Heart" and "Hospital."

(*I was conflicted for much of The Candles' set. At their best, traces of Being There-era Wilco impressed me. At other times I grew weary of Gin Blossoms-esque by-the-numbers pop. Naturally they won me over in the end by ripping through "Back To the Lake.")

Dando's continuing evolution as a songwriter will be interesting to chart, but I'm intrigued by his process so far. His recent covers album showcase songs that mean something to him, and his enthusiasm for playing those songs make it obvious that right now, those viewpoints resonate where Lemonheads songs largely do not. (They also allowed him to bring a surprising amount of depth to a Christina Aguilera track.) I see no issue with this, as the covers seem to remind him what he actually enjoys about music.

As he took the stage for his encore, I was expecting a semi-obscure country offering of some type. I certainly wasn't prepared for anything off Hate Your Friends. Evan Dando is nearly 43 years old, but still unashamed of once being a 19-year-old ripping through laughably sloppy inneundo. We should all be comfortable in owning our past.

Your Move, Harry Connick

2010-02-04T17:23:00.000-05:00

Last month, Indianapolis rapper G-fresh created some buzz by becoming (I'm guessing) the first artist to get a video featuring Haughville showcased on MTV and BET.

But as I learned today - via My Old Kentucky Blog - G-fresh is not one to rest on his laurels. This is evident in a Colts-centric remix of his single "On My Momma," or as I like to call it, "The Greatest Thing You'll See Today."

Who's up for a game of shoe football?

Lil' Ronnie could not be reached for comment.

Big Ten Expanding - Is Pitt It?

2010-01-31T19:31:00.002-05:00

Word on Twitter has Pitt announcing a jump to the Big Ten. The official word could come as early as Thursday.

Of course none of this is official.

First off, the only reason I can see for waiting until Thursday to make the announcement is to avoid conflicts with National signing day. (By the way, is there even precedence on what a shift in conference would mean to recruiting?) Regardless, I'm not putting much hope in hearing anything official in the coming days, and that includes denials.

But should Pitt join the Big Ten, the magical 6-team divisions would be one of the next major announcement. Looking at football, this would mean that teams would play all divisional opponents plus half of the other division. At present, Big Ten teams have two exempted rivalries permanently on the football schedule. Seeing as Pitt would supplant one of Penn State's rivals, the dominoes fall. It will be interesting to see if any school wants to revisit their choices (a la Purdue's selection of Northwestern).

How then will the new divisions balance rivalries and geography? Here's how they might break down.

East & West

East: Pittsburgh, Penn St, Ohio St, Michigan, Michigan St, Indiana
West: Purdue, Illinois, Northwestern, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Iowa

North & South

North: Iowa, Northwestern, Michigan, Michigan St, Wisconsin, Minnesota
South: Purdue, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio St, Pittsburgh, Penn St.

Rivalry Sensitive

Purdue, Indiana, Penn St, Pittsburgh, Wisconsin, Minnesota
Michigan, Ohio St, Illinois, Northwestern, Iowa, Michigan St.

End result: These divisions are gonna be a tough mash up. One completely insane idea would be to go with three 4-team divisions.

OK, that won't happen. And let's not forget, this whole Pitt thing might not happen either.

Bad Idea Field Trip: The Conan O'Brien Chicago Rally

2010-01-19T01:33:00.000-05:00

I believe that buried within the subtext of Martin Luther King's Lincoln Memorial speech, he had a deep a profound hope that one day the citizens of America would unite on his holiday to march in protest of a talk show host getting fired.

This is the only possible exclamation I can deduce from the fact that protests were held in four - FOUR! - different cities today to voice displeasure at NBC canning Conan O'Brien. What possible reason could there be to hold a protest in Chicago for a talk show that takes place in Los Angeles? I have no idea, but I decided to venture down to the NBC5 Tower and see how the crowd was.

I encountered about 150 or so protesters toting signs, home made masks, spray-painted orange mop-tops, and a variety of orange clothing. What was particularly fun about this "protest" was that it essentially consisted of 100 or so people wandering around. Once in a while somebody would start a "CoCo!" chant, or "Masturbating Bear!" chant, which would last about 15 seconds, and then people kept milling about.

My favorite moment was when somebody decided to start this age old protest battle cry:

Guy: "Who do we want?"

Crowd: "Conan!"

Guy: "When do we want him?"

Crowd: "[Indecipherable nonsense, as 1/3 of the people shouted "Now!," 1/3 shouted "11:30!" (the time the show starts on the East Coast,) and 1/3 shouted "10:30!" (the time the show starts in Chicago.)]"

Perfect.

Here's a bit of the footage I threw together to give you a taste of the bizarre scene. If you notice toward the end of the clip, you'll see my favorite sign of the day: Jon Hamm Should Play Captain America. That guy's got a point.

Best Music Videos of 2009

2010-01-13T20:12:00.006-05:00

I did it in 2007. I did it in 2008. And, though a bit belated, I now bring you the top videos of 2009 (remember that year, back when Conan hosted The Tonight Show?).

I decided to narrow it down to only 10 this time around (I'm not late and lazy with my blog!). No particular order here.

The Avett Brothers – “Slight Figure of Speech”

The first time I saw this, I assumed it came from FunnyorDie.com. This video doesn’t acknowledge its existence as a music video, or even the band, until 2 minutes in. Before that, it’s a collection of VHS dubs from someone who was fascinated by QVC. I’m sorry, TAB. Once the band shows up to hawk their CD, it’s not long before they opt to destroy the studio, for motives unknown. Best line from the host: “It’d look pretty weird to see a guy cleaning.”

Grizzly Bear – “Two Weeks”

Ok. I think the creepiness of this video comes from the eyes being slightly larger than they typically are in proportion to the rest of the face. Sort of like if Simpson characters were actual flesh and blood. It utilizes slow motion, which as you’ll see from this list, I’m obsessed with. AS they video continues, you try to pinpoint what’s going on. Are they angels? Are they just really bashful? Are they radioactive? Oh, of course. They’re robots.

Jookabox – “You Cried Me”

Jookabox = Indianapolis’ next great hope to conquer Europe! This video is the what happen when a Scooby Doo episode, a Charlie Brown special, and Radiohead's “Paranoid Android” video do mushrooms and make a baby. And if you like this, you’ll love “Don’t Go Phantom,” which is what happens when The Nightmare Before Christmas, Pacman, and the opening credits of Pee-Wee’s Playhouse do ecstasy and make a baby.

Matt & Kim - “Lessons Learned”

I listened to Matt & Kim’s Grand quite a bit in 2009. But somehow I missed this video until a few weeks ago. I was slightly fascinated with Kim…..until this video…..that took care of that. I just watch this, imagining the Naked Cowboy watching Matt & Kim do what he’s been half-assing for years in Times Square. Come on, Naked Cowboy. You’re clearly not a cowboy, but everyone can be naked. Oh, and don’t stop watching until you see what happens the last three seconds. It comes out of nowhere.

Depeche Mode – “Wrong”

TC wrote about this one (and a couple others) earlier in the year. All I know is that when I watch it, I’m disoriented. Is the car going backwards? Is the video being played backwards? Are my eyes going backwards? Oh, of course. It’s Jason Voorhees, trapped in an automated car. Doy.

Lenny Kravitz – “Let Love Rule” (Justice Remix)

OK. If had to rank one of these my fav, this is it! I’ve got three sweet spots: (1) Lenny Kravitz songs that embrace his Beatles impression, (2) Justice, and (3) Back to the Future!!! Marty McFly guns down some dude, gets the girl, and the credits start rolling….until they get caught on this sleeve. Whu whu what?! Visual gags galore the rest of the way through.

Unkle – “Heaven”

Spike Jonze + slow motion + skaters + dynamite = me willing to sit through a 7-minute song that sounds like Enya.

Carl Sagan – “A Glorious Dawn” ft. Stephen Hawking

I have no idea what’s happening here. But ha! I tricked you into learning about science.

Phoenix - “Lisztomania” (Brat Pack Mashup)

I am confident that Phoenix wrote this song by watching The Breakfast Club on mute and imagining what was in Anthony Michael Hall’s heart. Too bad all the Mannequin clips get in the way. I don’t mind Ducky, though. Try not to smile while watching this. I dare you.

She & Him – “Why Do You Let Me Stay Here?” ((500) Days of Summer edition)

I still haven’t seen this movie, but did see JGL (waaaaay more dreamy than JTT) on SNL (he did a flip during the monologue!). The video is reminiscent of Catch Me If You Can starring Christopher Walken and “Weapon of Choice” starring Christopher Walken. Clearly, JGL should have revisited the Continental. Try not to smile while watching this. I double dare you.

And, as a final special treat, I give you the Spike Jonze/Kayne West/Kanye West's weird creature that lives in his belly's "We Were Once a Fairytale." Epic, I say. Let's see Taylor Swift stumble around pretending to pretend to be drunk!

Kicking Television

2010-01-12T19:09:00.000-05:00

Sunday night, I watched The Simpsons 20th Anniversary Special. While it took about 20 seconds to remind me how much I despise Morgan Spurlock, there was some worthwhile content within the program, as well as this clip, which may now serve as a spoiler alert:

Obviously, the internet is tilted in choosing which side to back in the Leno vs Conan war. Anyone online who is actually taking Leno's side is likely doing so from an AOL account in between visits to the Columbia Record Club. I can only speak for myself, but it seems the most impressive thing about Conan's statement today is the backbone he's shown by passive-aggressively calling out NBC and Leno himself. Keep in mind that while it's easy to look at this as simply a "Jay vs Conan" battle, the fact remains that NBC also disrupted the lives of hundreds of Conan's staffers (most of whom are not millionaires!) to have them move across the country, only to change their mind six months later.

That said, I can't help but be curious as to how many of those pledging their loyalty to team Conan have actually been watching The Tonight Show on a consistent basis. Again, I can only speak for myself, but my DVR is set for Letterman every night, and to be honest, the sporadic Conan clips or episodes that I have seen in the last several months have been subpar for the most part. His guests have been mediocre (I swear Bradley Cooper is on once a week), they still don't properly know how to use Andy Richter, and aside from the reliable by-the-numbers "fish out of water" bits, the writing hasn't shown any bite. This is another key reason why Conan's words today seemed so shocking - they had a fearlessness to them that has been missing from his personality on the air.

Hopefully this is just another turning point for Conan. After all, he spent most of 1993 trying to "be a talk show host" and was basically canceled for his efforts; only when he realized that the end was near did he finally show his real personality and succeed. Perhaps this week is another turning point, though this time his success will likely come with another network. For what it's worth, I'd be leery of any involvement with FOX, but if Conan is willing to take a pay cut in the name of freedom, he'd no doubt be able to put together a killer 2-hour block with Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert on Comedy Central.

Then again, the pastures of Spain are lovely this time of year.

Good Time to be a Mastadon

2010-01-10T19:20:00.006-05:00

Thursday night, the Indiana University -Purdue University at Fort Wayne fighting Mastadons will square off with Summit League rival Southern Utah Thunderbirds. Not only will this be a battle royale of mythical/extinct animals, it just might decide who's best...in the nation...sort of.

IPFW enters the game 4-9, smarting from a recent loss at Oral Roberts. Yet if the Mastadons prevail and the communicative property of sports upholds (which it never does) IPFW may be the best team in the nation.

Let the dominoes fall.

IPFW defeats Southern Utah
Southern Utah defeated UC-Riverside 76-65
UC-Riverside defeated Long Beach St. 69-67
Long Beach St. defeated Wisconsin - Green Bay 81-69
Wisconsin - Green Bay defeated Wisconsin - Madison 88-84
Wisconsin defeated Purdue 73-66
Purdue defeated Tennessee 73-72
Tennessee defeated #1 Kansas 76-68

Were these games the only ones ever played, the Mastadons could make a case for world domination. Somehow, I feel Texas and Kentucky might have an edge at the top of the polls though.

Bad Idea Photoshop Jeans: The BIG FAN DVD Cover

2010-01-04T21:00:00.002-05:00

This movie poster was used for the theatrical release of Big Fan earlier this year. It's a pretty great image, don't you think? The design is simple and pointed, as a character study should be. Without knowing anything beforehand about the film's concept, you can look at this image and realize that there's a world of subtext behind Patton Oswalt's face paint. It's unsettling while remaining compelling, in the vein of simlilar "lonely man" genre classics like Taxi Driver or Raging Bull. It grabs your attention with striking focus, and conveys so much and so little simultaneously.

I was not able to see Big Fan during it's theatrical run, but considering that Robert Siegel wrote my favorite movie of 2008, it's been on my list to check out when the DVD comes out. Last night I found myself thinking that the date would likely be approaching soon, and a few clicks later, Amazon told me that in fact the DVD would be coming out next Tuesday. But that was not the only information I got from the Amazon page. It also provided me with the DVD cover art, which proved to be bothersome on a completely different level.

Observe:

I'm sorry, WHAT MOVIE IS THIS? I clearly must have been off base with my assessment. That first poster had me expecting a gritty and likely troubling character study, perhaps of a social misfit who inadvertently crosses the understood boundary between a fan and the object of fandom, then realizes that he can never quite go back to the ignorance he cherished earlier. But now that I see how this DVD is marketed, I have to assume that Patton Oswalt is playing a kindly retarded man who just wants to score a touchdown of his own...a touchdown in the game of life, we can only hope.

Look at him smiling away in his very own jersey, just dreaming about candy and birds while yearning for the day that maybe he'll be picked to play with those logoless, jersey number-less football players at the bottom of the image! Finally, white people have a Radio of our own! This truly looks like fun for the entire family! If only it had come out a few weeks earlier, it would have made for a terrific impulse buy when doing last-minute family shopping at Target. "Everyone gather around for the annual Christmas night movie! I hope Grandma doesn't fall asleep before Patton gets brutally assaulted in the strip club!"

Big Fan will be released on DVD and Blu-Ray January 12. Right on cue for the playoffs.

The NFL Can Stop Restings its Starters: Here's How

2010-01-03T16:44:00.016-05:00

The NFL is in quite a quandary. What are they to do when teams that are resting peacefully in the playoffs find themselves still stuck with regular season games? If you're the Colts and Saints this year, you sit the starters to stave off injuries, or rather sit them to maintain records (Drew Brees's season completion percentage) or start then sit them to maintain records (Peyton Manning's consecutive starts).

That philosophy doesn't fly well with fans.

So the NFL is exploring what possibilities it has to make these final games a bit less like pre-season cake walks. The opportunities of maintaining the status quo yet compelling the Colts and Saints of the world to play on with their starters are bleak. Should the NFL demand teams NOT in the playoff picture play their established starters and eschew giving backups and rookies a chance? Additionally, how long would a mandate last after Tom Brady gets his Bernard Pollard on again and a playoff contender loses a valuable contributor (oops, there goes Wes Welker)? In short, the NFL has no way to (and never would) demand that teams play "starters." That would only add an additional layer of Belichick-esque gamesmanship as the league tries to quantitatively define what is a "starter."

So, what's a league to do? I have three options.

THE MODEST FIX - Stop seeding all divisional winners 1 through 4.

Take the Green Bay Packers. They're stuck in the NFC 5 seed at best. Despite their win/loss/tie versus Arizona today, they cannot play into the top 4 and gain a home game because Minnesota already has the North division locked up thanks to the Vikings dominance in head-to-head. Yet if the Packers beat Arizona (head-to-frickin-head) the Pack is still in 5th place even though their record is better than the Cardinals, who are resting the aged Kurt Warner (possibly because of osteoporosis).

If the league allowed the teams to be seeded on their overall record, a Green Bay win today might mean a home game for the Packers. That's definitely something worth playing for (even if the Packers are playing to NOT be the 6 seed). Equally, Arizona would definitely need to play for their seeding. Still guarantee a spot for division winners, but take away a bit of the spoils for such a feat because like it or not, winning the NFC West isn't the same as winning the NFC East.

While this scenario is meaningless to teams locked into top seeds like the Colts and Saints, it could potentially remove the impetus for lower seeded playoff teams to rest starters. Give them more to play for.

THE MODERATE FIX - Weeks 15, 16, and 17 are exclusively divisional matchups.

After head-to-head, the next tiebreaker for two divisional teams is the division record. For the Colts, these 6 games finished in week 15. For the Saints, week 17. Green Bay knocked out 2/3 by week 10 with both Chicago games left in weeks 12 and 16. So teams looking at playoff opportunities may have tiebreakers decided relatively early. (I know, I know. If you want the playoffs, win the games.)

If the final three weeks are round-robin divisional matchups, then both top tiebreakers come into play. If a team lost the earlier matchup, then they get a chance to knot the head-to-head total. At the same time, 50% of the weight of the second tiebreaker (division record) is still in flux entering week 15.

Now, I'm woefully ignorant on what it takes to schedule a 256-game NFL season, but I think they could find someone to make this division-only flurry work. Hell, maybe even pride might compel teams like Dallas not to rest starters against rivals like the Eagles.

THE NUCLEAR OPTION - Add a team. Three conferences with no divisions, top four from each advance.

Why not blow the place to hell. Here's a wild solution that reaches in lock-step with the NFL's plan of world dominance. The Jaguars move to Los Angeles and the league expands internationally with the new London/Montreal/Mexico City franchise to push the total teams to 33. Abandon all divisions and say adios to the AFC and NFC.

Welcome to the Western, Central, and Atlantic Football Conferences, each one comprised of 11 teams. The newly realigned league will now play a round-robin divisional schedule (5 home, 5 away) along with 3 teams from each of the other conferences. The top four teams from each conference will advance to the playoffs and be seeded 1 to 12 with the top 4 getting first round byes.

The head-to-head tiebreaker may or may not survive the lack of home and away matchups. But the season-ending divisional flurry (maybe only the final two weeks) would remain. This would make a division championship all the more impressive (10 games vs. 6) and worthy of playoff fates.

What might it look like?

Western: Seattle, San Francisco, Oakland, Los Angeles, San Diego, Arizona, Denver, Houston, Dallas, Kansas City, St. Louis.

Central: Minnesota, Green Bay, Chicago, Indianapolis, New Orleans, Tennessee, Detroit, Cleveland, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, Buffalo

Atlantic: Philadelphia, New England, NY Jets, NY Giants, Baltimore, Washington, Carolina, Atlanta, Tampa Bay, Miami, Mexico City/London/Montreal

* * *

The key to all of these options is making the final weeks' games pivotal and not so easily meaningless. With no way of forcing starters and stars to play, the whole season must be re-envisioned. The playoffs (12 teams, 4 rounds) are sound and don't need much tweaking after they get going. But the NFL must solve the problem of sneaking more full-price, pre-season games into weeks 16 and 17 or the fans will start voting with their feet.

LewJack is "feeling real good"

2010-01-01T10:59:00.003-05:00

Purdue's huge test with West Virginia will be the basketball story of the day and possibly Purdue's story of the regular season until MSU or Wisconsin comes to play.

Still the Boilers are soldiering on without preseason starting point guard Lewis Jackson. LewJack is nursing one of those damned nagging foot injuries that just need more and more precious time to fully heal. Early word has been a February return for #23, but the Boilers may end up using a redshirt on the lighting fast Jackson. To this point, Purdue is averaging under 12 turnovers a game, but the play making and passing ability of LewJack would be invaluable for a long tournament run.

Just yesterday, the Boilermaker faithful might have received some reassuring news from the horse's mouth.

Sure it's only one workout, and of course he WANTS to feel good and he's still not a doctor, but come on. We need a light of hope in this story.

At least, as far as you can trust twitter, LewJack's spirits are up. It has to be tough watching from the sidelines as your #4 in the nation teammates continue on a storybook season. Hopefully his diagnosis pans out.

Now go take down the Mountaineers!

Meanwhile, Jim Sorgi's Wikipedia Page Remains Unvandalized

2009-12-27T19:36:00.001-05:00

6:26pm Indianapolis local time:

6:27 Indianapolis local time:

BIBJ Playlist of the 2000s: The Recap and #1 Entry

2009-12-21T00:00:00.005-05:00

THE LIST THUS FAR:

100: Against Me - Thrash Unreal

99: The Thermals - Pillar of Salt

98: Drive-By Truckers - The Righteous Path

97: Gnarls Barkley - Who's Gonna Save My Soul

96: Robbie Fulks - Fountains of Wayne Hotline

95: Plumtree - Tonight's Not Alright

94: The Hold Steady - Positive Jam

93: Mike Doughty - Fort Hood

92: Bob Mould - Paralyzed

91: Lupe Fiasco - Kick, Push

90: Jurassic 5 - The Influence

89: Mew - 156

88: British Sea Power - Lights Out For Darker Skies

87: Feist - 1234

86: Wolf Parade - Shine a Light

85: MGMT - Time to Pretend

84: Bloc Party - Banquet

83: Flaming Lips - Fight Test

82: Sigur Ros - Untitled #4

81: Iron & Wine - The Trapeze Swinger

80: Stars - Elevator Love Letter

79: The Shins - Saint Simon

78: Daft Punk - Digital Love

77: The White Stripes - The Hardest Button to Button

76: Dirty Projectors - Stillness is the Move

75: Bon Iver - Blood Bank

74: Rogue Wave - Chicago X 12

73: Art Brut - Good Weekend

72: The Hives - Die, All Right!

71: Beyonce - Irreplaceable

70: Jimmy Eat World - Authority Song

69: Regina Spektor - Fidelity

68: New Pornographers - Letter From an Occupant

67: Modest Mouse - Ocean Breathes Salty

66: Mountain Goats - No Children

65: The Hold Steady - Constructive Summer

64: Wilco - Impossible Germany

63: Wilco - Wilco (The Song)

62: Guided By Voices - Chasing Heather Crazy

61: Nirvana - You Know You're Right

60: Spoon - I Summon You

59: Radiohead - Pyramid Song

58: M83 - Kim & Jessie

57: Animal Collective - Summertime Clothes

56: Petra Haden - Don't Stop Believin'

55: Mike Doughty - The Only Answer

54: Tom Waits - Day After Tomorrow

53: Elliott Smith - Twilight

52: Sufjan Stevens - Chicago

51: Phoenix - 1901

50: The Decemberists - The Island

49: Johnny Cash - The Man Comes Around

48: I'm From Barcelona - Treehouse

47: The Postal Service - Against All Odds

46: R. Kelly - Ignition (Remix)

45: Ted Leo - Me and Mia

44: LCD Soundsystem - All My Friends

43: Grizzly Bear - While You Wait For the Others

42: Nada Surf - See These Bones

41: Dntel - (This is) The Dream of Evan and Chan

40: Radiohead - All I Need

39: Twilight Singers - The Lure That Would Prove Too Much

38: Spoon - The Way We Get By

37: Kanye West - Jesus Walks

36: My Chemical Romance - Teenagers

35: The Hold Steady - How a Resurrection Really Feels

34: Danger Mouse - Encore

33: Mountain Goats - This Year

32: Death Cab For Cutie - Styrofoam Plates

31: Band of Horses - The Funeral

30: Nine Inch Nails - 1,000,000

29: Arcade Fire - Intervention

28: Spoon - You Got Yr. Cherry Bomb

27: Gaslight Anthem - The '59 Sound

26: The National - Apartment Story

25: My Morning Jacket - Off the Record

24: Modest Mouse - 3rd Planet

23: Neko Case - This Tornado Loves You

22: New Pornographers - Sing Me Spanish Techno

21: Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Maps

20: The Strokes - Someday

19: Annie - Heartbeat

18: Girl Talk - Smash Your Head

17: Glen Hansard - Say It To Me Now

16: Frightened Rabbit - This Modern Leper

15: Sigur Ros - Hoppipolla

14: Bon Iver - Wolves (Act I and II)

13: The Hold Steady - Massive Nights

12: UGK - Int'l Players Anthem

11: Fleet Foxes - White Winter Hymnal

10: Ryan Adams - Come Pick Me Up

9: Wilco - Poor Places

8: Bright Eyes - Lua

7: Bat For Lashes - Daniel

6: Kelly Clarkson - Since U Been Gone

5: Gnarls Barkley - Crazy

4: Arcade Fire - Rebellion (Lies)

3: Radiohead - Everything in It's Right Place

2: OutKast - B.O.B./Hey Ya!

Take your best guess as to the identity of entry #1, then click below to revel in your own indifference!

1: TV On The Radio - Wolf Like Me

From a musical standpoint, the decade of the aughts/naughts/Robert Parishes was one of deconstruction. Hip hop thrived under a movement that made stars of producers who embraced minimalistic beats, looping them into memorable hooks-turned-anthemic ringtones. The wispy beard rock movement channeled their inner wayback machines to the eras from decades ago, utilizing bare harmonies and simplistic chord progression to remarkably dense effect. Jack White likely had the most prolific decade of anyone by distilling the rock ethos down to it's blues-laden core. A relatively noteworthy British quintet began the decade making a record that stripped away any element of conventional rock, and ended the 00s by stripping away the conventional middle man system of record labels. Bombast and stadium rock retained their presence, but it's a notion that feels far more antiquated now than it did in 1999. Instead straight-ahead rock has been usurped by the more subtle textures of layers and space within compositions.

To a large extent, TV on the Radio fit seamlessly in with this movement of "less is more, but more weird is even more." As "I Was a Lover" opens Return to Cookie Mountain, it's an initially uncomfortable introduction. The horns battle with an uneven drone, rocking back and forth as if in a drunken stupor, accented by drum machines both subtle and decidedly unsubtle. This swirling atmosphere of dizzying production continues through the first four tracks. It's a good thing that press releases informed the public of David Bowie's backing vocals on "Province", because otherwise I'd have no idea he was somewhere buried within the walls of reverb and feedback. By the time the listener gets through the first 18 minutes of the album, he or she feel exhausted figuring out what they've digested.

Then "Wolf Like Me" kicks in.

If any of the previous ambience has lulled the listener into a catatonic and/or frustrated state, the drums offer a quick kick to the teeth, as if to say, "Hey asshole! Wake up!" From the outset, the rhythm is an unrelenting runaway truck, flexing it's might and eschewing any notion of subtlety or experimentation. The guitars are fuzzed to the limit, barely keeping up with the intensity of the skins. It's a balls to the wall rock song, even before Tunde Adebimpe start howling like, well, you know...

There's nothing overly innovative about the lyrical content. The animalistic power/sex/mind control themes aren't breaking any ground, but the urgency is overpowering. After the dream-like bridge allows a chance to breathe, the outro ramps the fervor back up to full blast. The vocal chants swirl underneath each other, prepared to remain howling forever. Who would want to stop them?

BIBJ Playlist of the 2000s entry #28: You Got Yr. Cherry Bomb by Spoon

2009-12-20T00:05:00.000-05:00

Can you go wrong with any song from Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga? The answer is no. Unless you go with "Eddie's Ragga." In that particular case, you indeed can go wrong. More like Eddie's borophyll. Am I right everyone?

Regardless, if Phil Spector was still spending his time focusing on innovative production techniques, rather than shooting b-movie actresses, this might be the result. It's a fact: Chimes have never detracted from a song's quality.

Earlier this week, Metacritic declared Spoon to be the artist of the decade, based on the average review scores from the four albums they released in the 2000s. I can't argue too much with that pick, but the logarithm that they developed to reach the conclusion seemed too nerdy for me to even bother deciphering.

BIBJ Playlist of the 2000s entry #4: Rebellion (Lies) by Arcade Fire

2009-12-19T00:00:00.000-05:00

Attention Arcade Fire:

I would like to see this happen at some point between August 6-8, 2010, in Grant Park. Thank you and good day.

Every time I see footage of the music festivals at Reading or Glastonbury, I always think the same thing: what is with the massively huge flags? I like to picture the flag wavers actually trying to get through the front gate at the start of the festival hauling such a comically large banner. Do they plant them in the ground or actually hold on to them the entire time? It really just seems like a big hassle, but I say that as someone who hates bringing anything I don't need to outdoor fests. Every year I have an inner debate on whether to even bring sunscreen, weighing back and forth the slight inconvenience of a bulge in cargo shorts vs. a sure-fire blistering sunburn to my pale Irish face. It's usually a 50-50 proposition on whether I bring the sunscreen or not.

BIBJ Playlist of the 2000s entry #50: The Island by The Decemberists

2009-12-18T01:57:00.001-05:00

I often wonder if there's any record of the first band to achieve critical acclaim on an independent label, then later sign with a major label. I would guess that due to past technological and financial overhead, this mythical band would have to be relatively recent, say in the last 30 years or so. And I'm guessing as the first wave of the occasion took place, people likely thought that a band getting more money to record in a better studio with a better producer and wider distribution channels was a pretty positive thing.

But the tale has become one of wariness. You get the feeling now that if a successful band announced their leaping from an indie to major label, they'll hear as many people saying "Watch Out!" as those that give congratulations. This notion would be one of pop music's great myths, except that all too often the bands themselves turn the folklore into reality. They end up writing radio-friendly, emotionally vacant singles that they never thought of doing before, or they waste their advance checks, or they over-experiment with all the new toys at their disposal and end up pulling a 180-degree turn from the songwriting that got them the deal in the first place.

Whether actual or simply perceived, the pitfalls remain present. But it was clear on the first listen to The Crane Wife that The Decemberists had not only avoided every obstacles that have caused many other bands troubles, but they actually played the game perfectly. Not only would it become their best-selling album to date, but simply their best, period. And the first listen showcases the duality brilliantly.

"The Crane Wife 3" is a classic table-setting song. It's clean and bright with an air of mournful wistfulness, but it's also melodically restrained, unwilling to give much away in terms of what's to come on the album's later singles. But the key to Meloy and co.'s continued success lies in the second song/movement on the record. 12-and-a-half minutes that basically breaks down like this:

No vocals for the first 2 minutes and change. Just a dirty series of riffs and whammy-ing that would turn the ear of any Jethro Tull fanatic.
A tonal shift to acoustics for haunting reverbed vocals which seem to indicate that shit just got real. Meloy keeps shouting "Come and see." But I get the impression that whoever he's talking to would rather not see any of this madness. "Thanks, man. I'm cool over here, secure in my ignorance of whatever the hell Sycorax and Patagon are."
Sure, he could end the song there at the 6:30 mark and save what's left for another track, but this band wrote The Tain, so as far as they're concerned, six-minute songs are for housewives and little girls! The "Landlord's Daughter" segment launches the prog movement into hyper-drive with synths running over keyboards. The obscure nature-based lyrics of "Come and See" have given way to overtly literal words. The shit is going to hit the fan and there's no time for symbolism! We've only got three minutes left on this track, for the love of God!
I'm not exactly professor interpretation, but the subtitle "You'll Not Feel the Drowning" would seem to indicate that the story does not have a happy ending. The nylon guitar finger-picking provides a much lighter dichotomy to Meloy's mournful wake singalong. Did people used to put dimes on the eyes of the dead? I think that's right. I'm not positive, but as opposed to researching, I just going to assume that was a custom back in the day. It sounds like something dumb people would do back in the days before the internet and indoor plumbing.

So there you go, Capitol Records! Track two of the album! Spoler alert: Track 9 is cut from the same cloth. Enjoy and Happy Christmas!

Obviously, the album still contains it's share of more conventional singles, all of which are great. But "The Island" was the point where any apprehension about the band's changing methods were answered with what I fondly think of as a 12-and-a-half minute overly-wordy synonym for "Fuck off." Point taken.

The Island - The Decemberists

BIBJ Playlist of the 2000s entry #96: Fountains of Wayne Hotline by Robbie Fulks

2009-12-17T13:14:00.001-05:00

98% of all parody songs every written fall in the mediocre-to-terrible range. But this 2005 Robbie Fulks offering is hilariously stunning. It's fun in all aspects of music theory, cracking the code of the keys to Adam Schlesinger's glory. Who knew there were so many Geralds available to assist with cracking the final chorus?

From 6pm Tuesday to 6pm Wednesday, I was at the Second City theater witnessing Steve Albini's annual fundraiser for Chicago kids in need. There were about 200 people packed into the small theater when it began, and I decided I was going to stick the whole thing out. It took several hours for me to regret this decision.

After an hour or so of improv to kick things off, Jeff Tweedy took the stage shortly after 7pm. Guess what? He's pretty good. He played a quick three song set comprised of "Someone Else's Song," a song I didn't recognize (probably a cover), and "Passenger Side." He left the stage for about 10 minutes before returning and offering his version of the "Tweedy lap dance." For auction-style donations to the charity, he would venture into the audience and offer a "private" performance of whatever song the winning bidder wanted to hear. This was pretty awesome. Separate auctions resulted in the amazing "Remember the Mountain Bed," "Reservations," and "Impossible Germany," which he prefaced by stating he would not be attempting the solo.

After a couple more songs, Second City went for the big bucks, starting a live auction for the Jeff Tweedy 30 for 30 package. The winning bidder would personally choose a 30-song setlist, and Jeff Tweedy would come to their house and perform said setlist for the bidder and 29 of the bidder's friends. This is an amazing concept, and during the auction I came to the conclusion that I can't imagine any other songwriter of Tweedy's notoriety who would literally go to someone's home to play. Especially when he's not getting a dime out of it!

An amazing escalating sequence of events took place at the conclusion of the auction.

1st: The bidding war ended at $24,000 for the performance.

2nd: The winning bidder approached Tweedy to shake his hand, and announced on the spot, "I'll throw in an extra five grand if you sing "Sin City" right now." (Honestly, this guy instantly became my favorite rich guy ever. If I were loaded, I would totally spend my money by offering up charity donations to rock stars if they would instant sing Flying Burrito Brothers songs.)

3rd: Tweedy knew how to play it on the spot! And got the bidder to sing the harmonies with him!

4th: Tweedy announced to the two other bidders involved heavily that did not win, that he would put on similar performaces for them if they would match the winners $24,000 offer. And they did!

5th: This came the next day, but another bidder asked to match that mark. So in summation, Jeff Tweedy will be playing at 4 people's Chicago homes in the days to come, and in the process he single-handedly raised over $100,000 for charity in about a 10 minute span. Insane.

It took a while for everyone to come down from the mania of the events, myself included. The improv picked right back up until 10pm, when Robbie Fulks showed up. I'd only heard about a handful of his songs in the past, so I knew very little about him, aside from his reputation as the anti-Nashville country singer. The guy can shred the guitar, and he announced that he's recording an album of Michael Jackson covers, which I'm oddly intrgued by. The also closed with the "Rap of the Dead," which apparently he re-writes in December of each year as a tribute to those who have died in the previous 12 months. It's in ridiculously poor taste, so needless to say it was awesome. The amount of memorization was stunning, I enjoy any song that has a crowd laughing at Robert Novack on second, and audibly "Aww"-ing for Jay Bennett the next. A few decent photos of Tweedy and Fulks are here.

From about 11pm to 6am, the improv continued basically interrupted. I realized that waking up 7am on Tuesday was a terrible decision on my part, and I really should have planned things out better. Horatio Sanz showed up with Matt Walsh at one point, so Ian Roberts is now the only one of the 4 main UCB alums that I've yet to see live. Show yourself Roberts! Right around 1am my head started pounding and I thought about trying to run home for 4 hour nap, but instead I went across the street to get some coffee and aspirin and power through. Also, while there was a large crowd of rotating improvisers, there were about 10 Second City memebers who stayed for all 24 hours, and I felt a certain level of amazement watching them keep going. When I heard the word "improv," I instinctively think "terrible," because most improv is brutal to witness. But these guys and girls are literally the best at it, and the line between good and bad is made unquestionably clear when you realize that you're seeing much more than a series of terrible impressions in stupid situations. Honestly, at one point in the proceedings, an audience member wanted a scene where William Shatner talks to HAL 9000. I groaned inside at his terrible judgment, but the performers seemed downright offended by the choice. The disgusted reaction won me over. After my coffee break, I decided I could at least tough it out for now and reasess how I felt at the 12-hour mark.

And right at the 12-hour mark Bonnie Prince Billy took the stage, fully decked out with a Christmas tie, and bringing a couple extra musicians with him. It's basically a universal truth that if you see a band with an upright bass, they will be worth watching. It was the perfect musical accompaniment for a those of us who had achieved that level of fatigue where you have to remind yourself that you are in fact, awake, and not dreaming.

A decent amount of people showed up for Bonnie Prince Billy, and most of them proceeded to file out after he finished. At one point around 9am, I looked back and realized there weren't more than 50 people around, which was to be expected. A Second City member asked if everyone who been there since 6pm would take the stage, so I did so, joining in on a few scenes. I don't remember what I said or if it was funny, but I did get some laughs, so I'm counting it as a win. I think if I only had to perform on people suffering from insomnia, I'd clearly become a comic legend.

As slow as time seemed to move for the first six or twelve hours, it seemed to speed off once we reached 10am Wednesday. The entire theater decided to go outside and re-awaken with sub-zero wind chills to the face. Around Noon, Nina Nastasia played while Steve Albini attempted to create some ambience with dry ice in a styrofoam cooler. The results were less than he expected. Quickly, it was 2pm and it was time for The Mountain Goats.

John Darnielle attacks an acoustic guitar like few people I've witnessed. He strums like he's trying to chop the damn thing in half. His in-between songs banter was as funny as the professionals, and he remarked he was so inspired by what he had seen the night before, that he wanted to improvise a song on the spot. He was give a location of "bathroom," an object of "organic toothpaste," and a narrator age of "75 years old." He proceeded to literally make up a song about an old man looking in his bathroom mirror and reflecting on long lost love letter that was better that 85% of all pop songs ever written. The room lost its collective mind. He mentioned his envy of witnessing Tweedy's charity song auctions the night before, and immediately the crowd responded, and Darnielle added another 500 bucks or so to the charity.

While the improv was outstanding for the entire event, I really don't remember the first hour or so of what they did after Mountain Goats wrapped, but that's to be expected. We were entering the final few hours and the laughs were still active, but at that point I could barely recall what had been said five minutes earlier. Darnielle started getting into the improv act, and proved that he can deftly handle the concept of serving as an imaginary busboy. Around 4pm, The Blisters started carrying their gear in. The drummer of the Blisters is Spencer Tweedy, and his dad is their roadie, schlepping a drum kit from outside, one piece at a time. The band sounded remarkably tight for their age, and proved to be just the kind of fun needed to make it through the final hour. Wednesday mid-day to end photos can be seen here.

At about 5:40pm, I took the stage again and it was now filled with the couple dozen performers and patrons who had stuck through the entire affair. We rotated in through scenes, until we were interrupted by the room PA playing Phoenix's "1901." A dance party commenced at 5:58pm, complete with a 10-second countdown to 6pm and appropriate celebrating. I high-fived several people, one of who whom fucking wrote The Sunset Tree! It was a pretty amazing event. I have no idea how those core performers made it through the grind, but I'm already marking my calendar to do it again in December 2010.

BIBJ Playlist of the 2000s entry #76: Stillness is the Move by Dirty Projectors

2009-12-16T00:00:00.001-05:00

Hammer pants. Of course. If you're going to co-op the best aspects of hip-hop production, why not simultaneously channel the secret shame of the industry. Sew up some curtains and the rest is smooth sailing.

The early 1990s was clearly the heyday of ridiculous pants. Parachutes pants may had fallen from grace at that point, but nobody really had time to miss all those zippers. Instead, society witnessed an epic collision on the x-y axis of fashion when the irresistible force of Hammer pants met head on with the immovable object that was Zubaz, (a company I'm amazed to discover still exists)! By the time I was in 7th grade, I had a pair of legitimate Notre Dame Zubaz pants, along with an additional pair of Dunham's-style Zubaz knockoffs. Hammer pants never quite conquered the consumer market; they were more a symbol of what could be attained one day as opposed to a logistical reality for pre-teens of the midwest.

But on an 1992 overnight bus ride in Pennsylvania, I discovered what it was like to witness the majesty of the Hammer pants with my own eyes.

The 8th grade buses were returning from Washington, D.C. to Indy. I sat wavering in the miserable state between sleep and consciousness for hours, still not fully recovered from an ugly stomach-related illness that befell me at Chuck E. Cheese a couple days previous. It was sometime around 2AM when the bus pulled off the interstate in Wilkes-Barre, PA to gas up at one of the many lovely gas station/convenience store/24-hour diner hybrids that litter the width of the state. Most kids stayed sleeping on the buses, but a few handfuls filed off to use the bathroom or grab some food. I ambled off like a zombie just to get some fresh air.

We were milling about outside when the first couple girls came sprinting out the doors. "MC HAMMER IS INSIDE!" The high pitched squeals rang through the parking lot as the hopping grew more widespread. Were I to compile a list of sentences I expected to hear in outside a Pennsylvania diner in the dead of night, MC Hammer's presence likely wouldn't have been a factor in any of those listed declarations. But he was (supposedly) inside eating dinner at 2AM. Of course, the rivalry that had formed between the girls and boys buses over the course of the trip made us skeptical of their claims. A group of guys followed the girls back inside, and I came face to face with the hair guy:

Holy shit.

I would have had no idea that the hair guy existed were it not for the seminal 1991 Taco Bell ad wherein Hammer chastised hair guy for having the audacity to crave a burger, then led his crew to paratroop over a Taco Bell entrance, using their Hammer pants for a smooth landing. But there in that disgusting diner, I stared directly into the eyes of hair guy as he walked out the bathroom door and right past me. His majestic Hammer pants silently glided through the stagnant air, his hair stood higher and firmer than I could have ever imagined, and I was frozen in the new hyper-reality we had launched into.

I turned my neck to the left and indeed, Hammer and his crew had stuffed themselves into a couple booths. The 15 or 20 of us who had left the bus stood along the wall, gawking as if we were at a zoo, staring at a rare species of eagles. We whispered back and forth, though I can't image what we were discussing. Finally Lathrop - clearly the most fearless among us - approached the booth. One of Hammer's bodyguards stood up, as if to protect the grown man from the 13-year-old who might do him harm, but Jeff somehow convinced the hired help that he wasn't a threat, and reached around to shake Hammer's hand. We stood stunned, as if we had just seen a friend greet the President, or appear on the local news. Earlier during the field trip, we were chastised for speaking during a ceremony at the tomb of the unknown soldier, or for not paying attention to our congressman during a meeting at the capital, but HERE? We stared with rapt attention for about 30 more seconds before one of the chaperones walked inside and screamed at us to get back on the bus. We boarded the bus and continued the trip home. Try as I might, I can't recall if I wearing my Zubaz pants at the time.

BIBJ Playlist of the 2000s entry #2: B.O.B. / Hey Ya! by OutKast

2009-12-15T00:00:00.002-05:00

That's right, we're going Two for Tuesday!

Classic Rock FM radio has offered no shortage of terrible ideas throughout the years, but the "Two for Tuesday" concept might be my favorite. (And by "favorite," I obviously mean "most despised"). I spent the summer of 1998 in Clayton, Indiana, running electricity at a new school construction project. The electrician running the job had Q95 blaring for 8 solid hours a day, so I became well versed in sitting through roughly 7 1/2 hours of awful classic rock/Tom Raper radio ads each day, clinging to the oasis of the random Led Zeppelin offering that would disrupt the stream of Foghat or Yes or Skynyrd or any other godawful 70's "legends". But Two for Tuesday was clearly the most brutal day of the week. "You mean instead of suffering through one shitty Santana song, I have to hear that terrible guitar for two songs in a row?! Perfect. If you need me, I'll be in the room next door driving this phillips head screwdriver directly into my ear canal. Hopefully I'll have bled to unconsciousness by the time the back-to-back Foreigner hits make it on air. Feel free to resuscitate me when the 'We Will Rock You'/'We Are the Champions' medley hits. Or when they play some Supertramp."

But where was I? Ah yes, Bad Idea Two For Tuesday!

It's a given that everyone is now contractually obligated to sing the praises of "B.O.B.", even if it was more or less universally ignored upon it's original release. Sometimes great art has to age. Just ask Vincent Van Gogh. Not only did that jerkstore die penniless, but he also failed to write anything with the cultural significance and staying power of shouting "~~Bible~~ Power Music, Electric Revival!" 23 times in a row.

But as the saying goes, fool me once: shame on you. Fool me twice, and that's what a fool believes.** So nobody would be caught sleeping on "Hey Ya!", even if it made everyone more that a little uncomfortable that your parents were shaking their Polaroids during Aunt Barb's second wedding reception. That said, 2003 was a long time ago for a duo who haven't released anything since (aside from a soundtrack), so let's pick it up boys. It's not a good sign when there have been two Tupac albums and only one OutKast album in the last six years.

**Fuck the Doobie Brothers.

BIBJ Playlist of the 2000s entry #78: Digital Love by Daft Punk

2009-12-14T00:00:00.000-05:00

Only 7 more to go! I'm feeling winded and may be hallucinating. This is where the grind of all those summer park practices is really going to pay off. Or I'll collapse in the final sprint. But first, let's journey to the way back machine:

Of the six tracks that feature vocals, four are smothered with the synthesized pitch corrector. On tracks like "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger," the duo make it work by pushing the instrument to its breaking point, squeezing out subhuman glips and merging the vocals into a Vai-style synth-guitar solo. But when the band relies on the tool merely as a gimmick, as on "Digital Love" and "Something about Us," the sentimental love songs come off with all the heart-melting earnestness of Kid Rock's "Only God Knows Why."
- Pitchfork 6.4 review of Discovery, 2001

They wanted their listeners to get the rush of context-free delight they had hearing music as kids, and on "Aerodynamic" and "Digital Love" they succeeded wildly, dissolving a decade-plus of dance music good taste...When a generation looks back and tries to catch a fuzzy hold of the music that made them happy this decade, Daft Punk's will be top of the list.
- Pitchfork on Discovery, the 3rd best album of the decade, 2009

The genius of music criticism is that you can never be wrong if you simply choose both sides. See also: Neutral Milk Hotel.

Also, it's interesting to note that although Discovery came in as the #3 album of the 2000s, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (a 9.0 album at the time of its release) did not crack the top 200. Apparently the much ballyhooed influence just didn't take in that instance.

Who's Number 12?

2009-12-13T20:48:00.004-05:00

The talk is on again.

Big Ten athletic directors (athletics director?) are calling for the conference to add a 12th team so that it might split into two divisions which would then lead to a conference championship game in football. It's not a new idea in the slightest, but according to Adam Rittenberg's report, the push this time might have a bit more muscle behind it. Or in Barry Alvarez's case, a bit more cheese.

I've been an advocate for a 12th team for the exact same reasons as Paterno and Alvarez. The Big Ten stopped playing football this season some time around Halloween it seems. While these conference championships and service academy showdowns fill the airwaves, the Big Ten and their two BCS teams are back in the Midwest twiddling their thumbs and shoveling snow. But the conference championship game will only be one effect of expansion.

The obvious first question is "Who?" Let's get this out of the way: it will not be Notre Dame. Notre Dame values autonomy almost as much as they value that NBC contract. The Irish aren't a large research institution like the majority of the Big Ten, and since they can't play defense they naturally belong in the Big East for basketball. Boo frickin' hoo, they already play most of the Big Ten in football anyway.

The usual suspects are thus: Syracuse, Louisville, Missouri, Iowa St. I'd say that Syracuse is out based on its private status. (Northwestern is a charter member of the Big Ten, but sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the publicly funded behemoths.) Iowa St. is a land-grant school (much like Purdue, Michigan St., Illinois, Minnesota, Ohio St., Penn St., and Wisconsin) but are they willing to back out of the Big 12? Missouri is in the exact same position.

That's why my money is on Louisville, and here's why. They've only been in the Big East since 2005. It would be an easy exit. What do they gain? Doesn't seem to be too much but they do get what every upwardly mobile entity wants: their own TV network. Additionally, they would be more geographically centered to their conference on an east/west axis, and I can see that making a much bigger deal for the travel budgets of smaller sports like volleyball and cross country.

If Louisville's the new belle at the ball, how will the divisions shake out? No doubt the deciding factor will be geography, but whose geography? Each school already has two permanent "rivals" as fixtures in the football season. I'd think this provision would stand in the new lineup, but then we must decide are we going East and West or North and South? If the breakdown were left and right we'd have

East: Michigan St, Michigan, Purdue, Indiana, Ohio St. Penn St.
West: Minnesota, Wisconsin, Iowa, Northwestern, Illinois, Louisville.

Were it up and down we'd get a mess

North: Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan St., Michigan, Northwestern, Purdue/Penn St.
South: Illinois, Iowa, Indiana, Ohio St., Louisville, Purdue/Penn St.

That scenario just won't fly. One can't expect Purdue and Indiana or Michigan and Ohio St. to vote on that separation.

The 12th team would add a tremendous amount of publicity for a short smattering of time and the Big Ten would no doubt shove it down your throat with more "Big Life. Big Stage. Big Ten." commercials. What would really go up in smoke though, no matter who is added, is a round-robin basketball schedule. Unless the Big Ten has plans to scrap the post-season tournament, there's little chance you'll see them expand to a 22 game home and away season.

Should all of this come to pass and I wake up one day shocked to find East Carolina or Ball St. in the the conference, I do know that one thing will not go away.

They'll always call it the Big Ten.

BIBJ Playlist of the 2000s entry #40: All I Need by Radiohead

2009-12-12T12:00:00.000-05:00

Twenty years from now, the children of the world will look back and laugh at us. And they will be right to do so. They will be browsing wikipedia from the dashboard of their hover cars and read all about how a band put out an album in 2007, and there was seemingly a worldwide mandate that everyone have an opinion about the distribution method of said album. Preferably an opinion drenched in hyperbole.

In Rainbows is an excellent album. But this is not enough for people who write about music. It needs to be a physical symbol representing the obvious death of the record industry as we know it! Or it needs to held up to embody a band so disconnected from their beginnings that they are hurting fellow artists by allowing their music to be sold for a fraction of a typical album! In actuality, they are a band that realized every album is leaked early anymore, so they simply controlled the leak themselves.

From my perspective, there were two marketing aspects of In Rainbows particularly fascinating that I'd like to see more of (and neither involve payment plans.)

The first was the timing of the actual announcement. Jonny Greenwood announced the album's completion on October 1, and it was available nine days later! I'm a big fan of the tight turnaround here, and which more bands could employ the sneak attack method of announcing release dates as close to said date as possible. Record labels would like us to believe that it's necessary to announce releases months in advance to secure all promotion and logistics can be put together, but this also drastically increases the certainty that the album will be leaked far earlier that it's released.

The second aspect of In Rainbows that I'd like to see more bands take notice of were the live webcasts leading up to release day (and afterward.) The Most Gigantic Lying Mouth of All Time was essentially a series of YouTube clips released before YouTube was invented. The In Rainbows sessions were relatively pedestrian by comparison, but seemed to be the perfect showcase for a band routinely accused of taking themselves too seriously. A few particular highlights from the broadcasts:

Morgan Freeman discovers what's in the box.

"Jigsaw Falling Into Place" with Helmet-Cams!

Covering Joy Division's "Ceremony"

Thom Yorke "re-brands" himself as "not miserable" while the white balance is set