Monday, May 27, 2013

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Trudgers - Nothing Perfect Ever

I used to think Brent Mitzner was just a member of a band called Trudgers. Now I know that Brent is Trudgers and I think he's a genius. He's got the Midas touch.

Monday, May 13, 2013


ANTWON aka YUNG BABY TWON aka Tony (But That's the Old He) is a trap rap, cloud slap, art rap, heart feelin, San Jose (Sunnyvale) native who literally dumps his heart and dick into every song. I've never listened to a man who makes me want to fuck and cuddle all at the same time. Which is probably why I love him so much.

ANTWON is the nut of a blunt wrapped with the echoed voice of Biggie Smalls, sprinkled with the keef of Robert Smith, packed with the heart of Hoax/Bauhaus, and burnt with the fire of the interwebs electronic bedroom beat scene (courtesy of his producers, DJ SEX PLAY [RIP], Froskees, & Cities Aviv).

When you're in the mood for giving/receiving fellatio, smokin on somethin your shady ass friend from the bay brought you, or cuddlin up on the couch with the one you love, who by day is your queen and by night is your master, ANTWON ought to be the shit you're listening to.

Listen to LAP OF LUXURY, COLD SWEAT, and DIAMONDS AND PEARLS off of his END OF EARTH mixtape when you're feeling too high to die.

This year he released IN DARK DENIM on Valentine's Day to help you lovers die within.  Listen to KARMA SUTRA and 3RD World GRRL.

Sunday, May 12, 2013

The Men - Immaculada

It's been awhile since I posted anything really heavy. The Men are a band that makes heavy music. There is some yelling involved, and also some loud guitars and loud bass. I think I'm getting worse at writing these reviews.

Thursday, May 9, 2013

Slam Dunk - Welcome to Miami

By way of circumstance I saw this band play three times in four days. They make really fun music. I think my two favorite things so far are 1) punk rock saxophone, and 2) all the group shouting vocals. Also their guitarist looks like a white trash Kenny G. 

Sunday, May 5, 2013

Of Montreal Hate-A-Thon - Results and Commentary

Since I've stopped getting submissions I have decided to close the Of Montreal giveaway contest. Congratulations to all participants! I got a lot of great entries from both this blog and Reddit. I don't want to say that the choice was that hard, and it wasn't clear to me that any of you were trying all that hard, but you all wrote something and hit some buttons on a computer and that's something to be proud about. I think my favorite thing about this contest was how many entries I got from people that did not want anything to do with Of Montreal. I've always been under the impression that people like free shit but you've all made it pretty clear that you aren't even willing to receive 49 square inches of flat, free vinyl. I feel that this fact alone justifies my opinion of their music. The most surprising thing was the clear, abject bitterness you all demonstrated about something you purport to love. Finally (and most importantly), I totally blew away the previous comment record of this blog by a whopping TWO comments. Let's get to the results! I've made up clever names for all the different categories.

The Didn't Answer My Questions Award YrSonicDeath writes :

I ordered a bunch of stuff from Polyvinyl and ended up with some Of Montreal as well. It's not something I would typically come across or listen to but I actually dig it, especially the more lo-fi older recordings.

I also have far more 7" records than other types of records, they are both annoying and endearing to me.

This doesn't really fit into your prompts as it is random rambling.

Awarded out of sympathy/solidarity.

The Jaded Record Collector Award This award goes to the submission that best represents the bitter resentment that goes along with an outdated, frustrating hobby like collecting vinyl. Reddit user PerceptionShift writes:

7"s. Shit. I thought they'd be like 12"s. Every time I play one, I think they're going to sound great and play long, but they don't. They're little bastards of vinyl. Sometimes you feel like they're not so bad, like little baby records, but then you get a bunch and find out they play like shit! Damn! Should have just bought the LP for $7 more! Then, they have no real place to go on your shelves. They're almost as bad as 10"s, but you can get away with putting the 10"s in with the 12"s. For the 7's, you just have to figure something out. Maybe a little carton or something, but then if you like looking at the spines, tough shit for you, my 7" owning friend.They're hard as hell to collect too. I refer to them as "varsity record collecting" just because collecting 7"s is so much more difficult. You go to the record store, gonna flip through some cool looking 7"s. But you know what? It's a huge pain in the ass because of all the darn paper sleeves, bending at the corners you go to grab them with. Then they don't fit in the trays right either because sometimes the sleeves will be seven inches, and sometimes they'll be seven-and-a-half inches. They flip flop about inside there, basically just pissing you off until, hey! What do you know? A fine copy of Pictures of Matchstick Men. Boo-yaa! You are so excited, any normal person would think you just got laid instead of finding some record.And that excitement builds and builds! It's in great shape, you've been looking for this forever, it's only $15, and you are just so damn pumped. You dig around more, pass up on a pretty good album because you already have this bitchin' 7", and get your butt home. All right! Time to let this mother rip! Take off the dust cover, and switch to 45. Except, wait a second... It won't switch to 45... So you fiddle with your table some. Turns out, the belt is loosening some and doesn't like to shift up to the 45 track so easily. Cue the next half hour spent trying to figure out a way to get the belt to switch up but not fall off.At long last! Every thing is peachy and green, and that platter is spinnin like a MoFo. You take that badboy out of it's little sleeve, clean it off real fast, and stick it down on that table. Oooh yes, you're about to rock.Crackle click click crackle fuzz crackle crackle crackle. All the way through the song. And it's all distorted too. You play through again, same deal, looks good, sounds bad.Damn. Not the first time, won't be the last. Just damn.And that my friends, is why 7"s only offer broken dreams and bitter disappointment. Ashes to ashes, buy the album, not the 7".

Reading this made me hate 7"s even more than I did before. Also, where are you going that 7" records cost $15? This internet award comes with a real life award and a story. I once bought a copy of the Ventures' "Surfing" because of this:

I got home and the actual record was by Philadelphia native and Fresh Prince contemporary, Steady B. I don't know why I think this award is so fitting but I do. It's in pretty bad shape.

The Regis Philbin Award Giraffes are Burning:

While I understand the need for variety and different tastes in modern music, there is a certain band whom many like that I will never be personally able to enjoy. I just find this band to be the epitome of everything which is bland, off-putting, and displeasing. It is rude, uninteresting, and a wonder why this band is even around. This band, is of course, Regis Philbin. Now, some might say that Regis Philbin is not a “band,” per se, but I would consider him to be a “band” of all the elements which make up an unlikable person. From his unspeakable, self-absorbed sense of vanity to his snappy, rude, inconsiderate conversation mannerisms, Regis Francis “Rx Philbicillin” Xavier Philbin (talk about pretentious band names!) is one of the worst influences on today's up-and-coming musicians! I heard a nice young lady once asked him for the time of day. He proceeded to pull out a pocket mirror, lick his thumb, spent a minute combing his eyebrows with it, then told the lady, “I don't have time to tell people like you the time of day.” I know my hatred for Regis Philbin may seem a bit unreasonable at times, but come on! Who does that!? So yes, Regis Philbin is a band I hate for no reason.

The Made Me Mad at My Own Question Award Kelly came up with an impressive list of bad band names and it actually made me a little pissed off. 

too many consonants, not enough vowels, see: Nguzunguzu, strfkr, MSTRKRFT, SBTRKT, XXYYXX, Dntel, etc
See also making sentences one word (pop punk what are you doing): alexisonfire, Playradioplay!, etc.
I spent all of ages 12-14 wondering if it was alexis on fire or alex is on fire. dumb.

I always wonder how bands think they can get away with such obvious copying. Like with the no vowels thing. "Oh hey you know what would be great? If we did the same thing that these other bands are doing. That's still cool right?" I've also noticed this happening with animal names (see: Wolf Eyes, Wolf Parade, Wolf Gang, Sea Wolf, Wolfmother), bands with exclamation points in their name (or any punctuation, really), etc. Kelly is the only one that mentioned that she actually would like the records so she wins She's a Rejecter. Congrats Kelly!

Best Fake Band Name(s) Two: The Last Thing I Said to My Son, and A Thing We Should Have Buried. 

The Way Better Than Anything I was Expecting Award Awesome. Ent-angled wins the other two singles for sheer bad-assery. 

It's 3am, I'm sitting alone contemplating how long it will take for the ash to fall from this cigarette, I can't quite remember when I lit it, or when I last took a drag; I don't quite think that's what is occupying me. I can't keep my head out of the water. I feel like I'm diving deeper and deeper the light slowly fading from the surface of reality. It was her, I know it was her. They always blamed me for the incident. It's 3:14, a lonely siren echoes through the dilapidated brick that separates me from the rest of the world. I think I saw a fly meandering its way about my space, I only hope it has been better off than I have.
I don't know why I moved to this shit hole of a city, the food is tasteless, about the same caliber as this Marlboro No. 27, lasts about as long until I've had enough. Fucking Montreal. The people are coarse, just like she was, and the trash collectors might as well just work on cleaning the streets. Exhale. A familiar taste that's still bitter run my mouth, I can still taste it on her breath, she used to smoke these too. Time seems rather arbitrary right now, but it seems I spend most of my nights like this, it's a miracle I still function at work, but Ted is too much of a flat-footed mouth-breather to fucking notice if I'm ever a few minutes late.
It seems like it was only yesterday I fell in love with her, Aunt Lucy, with her crimson locks, always perfectly curled the night before, she always had Marlboro No. 27's, maybe that's why I found them so alluring. She was always bringing different men around, "Say hello to your Uncle Steve my little Twinkle!" They never lasted long. I heard her fighting with one of them one night. She was playing some 'Pop' music that I couldn't quite make out over the screams, I thought it was a woman singing at first, she just kept screaming, so I wanted to go ask her why the woman in the band kept screaming. Then I saw.
The smoke in here seems to only get thicker. I've gone through a couple packs, but I can't seem to ever remember making it through one of these fucking fire sticks. My eyes seem to wander towards a flaccid looking ham and cheese sandwich I'd made some time ago, it couldn't be more than six hours old right? The smoke though, that's why I remember, it was so thick, and what was that female vocalist saying? Protect something, protect... I should have been her protector. I remember opening the door, the screams were so loud now, the handle was warm, it was one of those old brass door knobs as we lived in an older house.
The light was blinding. I couldn't take my eyes away, I couldn't understand. What was screaming of what I now understand is a mans voice, became a distorted warble, almost satanic as the record player too became enveloped in flames. The entire bedroom was blinding, and there in the heart of the flames like a demon her self was my Aunt Lucy. I couldn't believe it was her, I refused to believe it was her. "I know you're not her" I told myself. Still I want you, Aunt Lucy, and I can't shake the feeling that you're still here with me in Montreal.

The Mark P. Stambaugh Award for Unnecessary Vulgarity I briefly considered making one of the prompts a challenge to insult me in the most horrific, vulgar way possible but I realized I was consulting the internet and that my name is attached to this blog. I was secretly hoping for some terrible imagery and Christie really came through. She managed to bring up both my penis and her (or someone's?) vagina in the same post, including a not-very-creative play on My Bloody Valentine. I almost wonder why she bothered writing anything at all. The reason I'm kind of disappointed with Christie is that she mentioned a lot of genitalia but totally missed the connection that this is a contest defined by records that get their name because they are 7 inches long. In sports this would be called a "softball" and I would be said to have "tee'd it up" for her to "hit out of the park." I'm not really sure how she could have fucked this up, but she did. 

Anyways, for her lack of good taste, Christie will receive this:

I bought this record from a mild-mannered school teacher for 25 cents. Literally the last thing she said before I handed her my chosen records to count was "some of these covers are really gross. I don't know why anybody would want gross albums like that." It's pretty chock-full of classic songs like The Strip Club, The Dirty Bird, Nasty Dance, One Leg Up, Get it Girl, Get it Boy, Doo Doo Brown, Table Dance, and of course, Fraknasty Da' Dip. The rhyming on this is seriously so bad that it needs to be heard.

Thanks everybody! I hope you enjoy my shitty records!